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basicjetsetter · 4 years ago

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Part V

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Fluffy scenes, anxious moments, cliff-hanger

▹ Words: 3.3k

▹ A/N: We are reaching the eye of the storm. Happy reading!

“ ‘Kay, so there’s no way they’re gonna win this game without him turning into the Wolf, right?”

“Finish watching it, Peter.”

Peter musingly shakes his head, mouthful of his fourth slice of pizza. “There’s no way.”

You level a patient smirk at him and point to the television, wordlessly telling him to see for himself.

The screen’s brightness fills your otherwise dark living room, casting shadows along the angles of Peter’s concentrated face. His body is sloped forward, and if he didn’t possess the body control of an enhanced being, he’d fall face-first into your carpet.

Tonight’s movie selection was your choice, and you didn’t want to disappoint. So when Peter said he’d never seen Teen Wolf, you were over the moon. Usually, you’d watch every single second of the classic film, but with Peter sitting cross-legged next to you, his hip pressed against yours as your crossed leg rests on top of his, you spent the entire time covertly peeking at his fascinated expressions.

Well into the third month of your friendship, Peter’s presence in your apartment remains to be an odd sight in a good way. Out of your ordinary. His first time in your apartment came on a day you both chose to escape the sun’s sweltering heat with A/C and ice cream, and like your first conversation in Hal’s, he never made it weird.

It was effortless. Every moment with Peter was like breathing.

If anyone else suggested Friday-night movie nights, you’d have spared no time shutting them down. But your yes to Peter harbored no resistance.

“No way!” An excited smile spreads across Peter’s face as Scott steps to the baseline to take the game-winning free throw shots. “Is he seriously gonna make these?”

You seal your lips, choosing not to spoil the moment, but Peter doesn’t see. His eyes never stray from the screen, and his lips slightly part from the nail-biting suspense. As the last shot falls through the hoop, Peter’s whole jaw drops.

When the end credits roll, he slowly claps. “That was awesome. Like I’ve got some serious chills. How am I going to top that?”

“Eh, you probably won’t,” you reply with a boastful grin. Hidden joy thrums through your body from his excitement. “Might as well call a wrap on movie nights.”

Peter playfully nudges you with his elbow, then checks his watch. “Ah, man, it’s late. I needed to be on patrol half an hour ago.” He’s up in a flash, slipping his shoes on and chewing up the rest of his pizza.

“Do you have to go?” A hint of sadness tinges your words.

“Yeah, the city would be a mess without me,” he jokes, but you weren’t remiss of his undertone sincerity. “Oh! That reminds me. Some bad guys are out on a robbing spree lately, tailing people at night, so if you work late, can you ask Chris to walk you home? Y’know, just in case I’m not there.”

He does this every time he’s over. Each week, there’s a new thing or group to be leery of, and each time he asks, you immediately nod to erase the gut-sinking concern in his brown eyes.

You rise from the couch and follow Peter to the door. He turns just as he’s about to twist the handle, stalls for a second, then envelopes you into a small, reluctant hug, leaving his arms lax just in case you wanted to pull away.

Hugging is new, something you’ve only done about five times. The first was an unplanned disaster featuring a hard shove, repeated apologies, and a long, awkward moment of silence.

You didn’t mean to push him away. It was one of those moments where, even though the urge to reciprocate was there, you couldn’t allow yourself to find comfort in such an innocent gesture. You weren’t ready. He respected that.

You knew your rash reaction bruised Peter more than he let on, but he learned to ease his way into your comfort zone with small touches. An intentional brush of his hand against yours, scooching closer to you on the couch, hi-fives with minimally laced fingers.

It took a while for the second hug-attempt, but you were cautiously prepared when it happened.

This time around, you return the gesture, winding your arms around his middle and setting your chin on his shoulder, resisting the urge to nuzzle your nose against his warm neck. His closeness frazzles you, even more so when he diminishes the gap between you, holding you tighter to his chest before releasing you and clearing his throat.

“Be safe,” you warn softly.

He puffs out his chest. “I have nothing to fear except fear itself.”

“That confident, huh?”

“Comes with the job. You get knocked down enough times, you get pretty confident once you realize you can always get back up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And yet you still have a fear of heights.”

“Never said I wasn’t afraid of falling. Just that it gets easier getting back up. ‘Sides, most of those petty offenders scare easy. All I gotta do is say I can plant eggs in ‘em.” He shudders at the idea himself.

“Please, Peter,” you implore, a smile sullying your stern frown.

Peter’s grin, always so wholesome and calming, blankets over your nerves. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, I think Spider-Man needs someone to worry about him, sometimes. Even if he can get back up. Just… let caution work alongside confidence.”

He heeds your words with a more allayed smile, curtly nodding. “Vigilance. I can do that.”

You’re tempted to wrap him back into your arms to protect him from whatever dangers lie outside of your apartment. Instead, you exchange simple goodnights and shut the door once he reaches the stairwell.

The room and your shirt preserve his crisp evergreen scent long after he’s gone. It lingers as you crawl into bed. An aromatic reminder of his caress and warm skin.

As far as friendships go, you’ve never had one quite like this. The line you drew in the sand moves. Accommodates. Shrinks. Whether he’s aware of it or not, the time you spend cracking jokes with Peter at Hal’s, listening to his adventurous feats, becoming comfortable with his physical proximity, seeing his smile and the way his eyes light up when you smile at something funny or interesting he’s said, you fall just an inch.

He's growing on you. His presence. His laughter. His beaconing smile. His tentative touch. His uncanny ability to endear himself to your foreclosed heart.

It was easier to deny the connection when you didn’t know Peter. But now that you do, every moment you’re with him intensifies what you’ve painstakingly tried to avoid.

You’re falling in love with your Soulmate.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

Once again, it’s the Saturday brunch rush, and once again, Hal’s is up to its neck in bloodthirsty customers. All the booths are packed, as well as the stools. Some of the parties compact a seat meant for two with four people, and the aisle clogs with those who just came to grab a cup of coffee and conversation.

Chris is in his element, swinging from one booth to the next like a controlled tornado collecting orders, while you and Wendy are the unfortunate bunch who have to clean up desecrated tables and feed the greedy.

“If someone asks me what the specials are one more time, I’m going to rip my hair out,” Wendy grouses behind the counter as she puts away five menus.

You grumble back the same sentiments. Menus exist for a reason. And most of these people aren’t new to Hal’s, so the fact that they always have to ask grinds your gears.

11:30 a.m. is your saving grace. If you can hold on until Peter gets here, you’ll be fine.

Chris stops by the bar, pocketing what appears to be a twenty-dollar bill. “Lighten up, ladies. At least you’re off tomorrow.”

Wendy, in her 5’3’’ stature, looks feral. “I want to be off now.”

A rowdy group of high-schoolers sitting in the farthest booth is holding a contest to see who could drink a milkshake the fastest, and the two unlucky contestants shriek like banshees from self-inflicted brain-freeze. All three of you wince.

“We don’t get paid enough for this.”

Hal shouts from the back. “Order up! And stop slackin’ off out there!”

Wendy’s eye twitches as she marches to the back to pick up the orders. You’d have acted the same way if you didn’t have something to look forward to.

“They’re not going to tip me. I just know it,” Chris says to you, despondently looking over at the teens’ table again.

“They’ll come around. No one can resist this moneymaker.” You lightly bump him on the chin to indicate his smile. Heck, his whole chiseled face is a moneymaker, but that exuberant smile sells it all.

Over the last three months, just like your friendship with Peter, your friendship with Chris has improved. Even with Wendy. You aren’t at each other’s throats nearly as much as you used to be. Last week, she complimented your hairstyle, though it was immediately followed up with a snide comment: progress, either way.

Chris laughs. “And here I thought my friendly personality racked up all the tips.”

“It’s a bonus.”

He chuckles again, then blows out a hesitant breath. “So, Y/N…”

“So, Chris…”

“There’s, um, there’s gonna be another music festival in Cunningham Park tonight, and I was wondering if, y’know, you and Peter might want to come and hang?”

You and Peter… As if you were a pair. An item. A couple. To unsuspecting eyes, you knew you and Peter seemed to be just really good friends. Not even Hal questioned why you spent half an hour talking to him every weekday. If he had an inkling of who Peter actually was to you, he’d have confronted you by now.

Chris, on the other hand, kept a sharp eye on you when Peter was around. As meticulous as you were about keeping up pretenses in public, sometimes you’d slip. Your smile would be a tad too bright when Peter walked through the door and took his usual seat. You’d giggle at his jokes too loud. You’d stare into his eyes too long. Signs too blatant for Chris to miss.

You’re just waiting for him to put the last piece in the puzzle.

“I’d… I’d have to ask Peter.” You take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “But, yeah, I’ll go.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Sure. Sounds like it’ll be fun. What time is it?”

Chris lays a hand on your forehead. “Temp seems fine. Pupils aren’t dilated. How many fingers am I holding up?”

You swat his hand down with a laugh. “Shut up.”

“Look, I know you probably don’t want me saying this out loud, but I’m glad you met Peter. We all are.”

“Why?” Evidently, you’re not that great at hiding your feelings as you thought.

Chris leans against the bar top, keeping an eye on the door just in case customers walked in. “Well, for starters, you literally just agreed to hang out with me for the first time since you started working here, which was—what—two years ago. And… you… I don’t know. You’re more open, y’know? Smiling and such.”

“I smiled before,” you say, a little defensive.

“Not like you do now. Before, it was all—,” Chris screws his mouth up. It’s strange. Alienated and wire-tight. The corners of his lips don’t fully come up, and it barely reaches his eyes. You instantly recognize it—the smile you hid behind.

Did you really smile like that? How is it that you never noticed how off-putting it was? If a server ever smiled at you like that, you’d assume they wished you disappeared off the face of the earth. Is that the smile people saw? More importantly, when did you stop putting it on?

“Two more strawberry milkshakes over here!” shouted one of the brain-freeze victims.

Chris hops to it. Always the perfect server. On his way to make the shakes, he says, “7 p.m.”

“I’ll be there.”

You weren’t going to confirm for Peter until he was there to answer for himself, but he doesn’t show. 11:30 a.m. and the rest of your shift flies by without a sight of him, which is strange, but not uncommon. Homework might have him tied up. September is a pretty busy month for schoolwork, and mid-terms are approaching, so he might be buried in assignments.

Worry doesn’t settle in until you’re getting ready for the music festival at 6:30 p.m., and Peter still hasn’t sent so much as a voicemail.

Evening summer sunlight filters in through your open window, the active sounds of Queens’ busy streets and subway station not allowing your room to fall quiet. Nights like this are perfect for outdoor festivals because it’s warm enough to sit in the grass and not bring a jacket.

Rather than enjoy the idea of getting out for the first time in years, your mind remains hooked on Peter.

It’s not like him not to leave a text if he’s caught up in other things. He’d make sure to tell you where he is, how far away. Since the beginning of this friendship, starting with his little notes, Peter’s constant communication wasn’t something you expected. But now that you do, this behavior just doesn’t match what you’re used to.

You pace the floor of your small bedroom, back and forth, wall to wall, abusively chewing your lower lip and turning your phone around in your hand, working up the nerve to call him, summoning up the will to voice your concern if he did answer.

When you do call, you get his voicemail. Trying again, you end up with the same result. Okay. He’s not picking up his phone.

Fear foregrounds your frustration. It bleeds into your words as you leave your fifth message. One after the other, they morph from mild concern to despairing panic. As the sun dips lower and lower on the horizon and the orange sunlight dwindles, so does your desire to go out.

Because… maybe you shouldn’t go. Maybe you should search for Peter. Finding any trace of him at all would be a stretch, and Chris might be upset about you ditching your plans the next time you see him, but you can’t possibly go out knowing something may be horribly wrong with Peter.

No. No, you won’t cancel plans like that. Peter is fine. Of course, he’s fine. He’s Spider-Man. His duties as a hero come first, no matter what. And he wouldn’t want you to stress so much about him.

Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he is okay. He’s alive. You feel it.

Somehow, you break the trance of your pacing and convince yourself to grab a cab ride to the park. When you arrive, the festival appears to be at a content standstill. It’s not as crowded as you assumed it would be for a Saturday night. Many of the attendants, ranging from all ages, are sitting on the grass, soaking up the fading rays of the sun while the bands finish up prepping. You’re greeted by the distinctive smell of hotdog vendors intermingled with ripening leaves.

There is nothing truly scenic about Cunningham Park, aside from the interspersed trees and trails. You’d been here a handful of times when you were younger, hanging out with friends during summer break, and one thing you loved about the park back then is how the sun shone through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on nature.

You’re more appreciative of its beauty without the sun’s effect.

It wasn’t that hard finding Chris. All you had to do was look for the person most likely garnering friends from other groups. He’s on a blanket, seated in the center of the crowd and chatting with a group of three people.

When you’re close enough to be spotted, Chris’s face mouth out into a wide smile.

“You came!” Then his eyes roamed around. “Where’s Peter?”

You try for a carefree grin but let it fall when the effort became too much. “He couldn’t make it. School stuff.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine.” His smile drops fractionally, less joyful and more sympathetic. “I’m really glad you made it. Hey, guys. This is Y/N, my friend from work.”

You wave a little and hope for a genuine smile to grace your lips as they all scoot to make room for you on the blanket.

Chris introduces them all. He points to a buff, curly-haired guy named Dez, who you wouldn’t have guessed would be the type of guy to enjoy small park festivals. He looks like the kind of person who regularly crowd-surfs at huge concerts and somehow always winds up with a VIP pass. The next person is a slender girl named Asha, who has thick black hair knotted into a messy soccer bun and a glowing smile.

The last person Chris introduces you to is his Soulmate. You knew just by the way he said his name. Resounding. Reverent. Borderline fanatic. His name is Quint, and unlike the others, he wraps you up in a surprising hug. What’s even more surprising is you hugging back.

“Nice to finally meet you.” His voice is richly robust, exactly how you would expect someone with his Adonis-like face to sound. Two gorgeous, outgoing Soulmates just seems unfair.

“Nice to meet you, too.” You can’t help looking from Quint’s face to Chris’s, then back again, and wondering if this is what people see when they see you and Peter—a perfect match. “Chris has told me a lot about you. All great things.”

“He better,” Quint says, jokingly gazing at Chris as a blush flared across Chris’s cheeks. “And he’s told me a lot about you and Peter.”

There it goes again: people pairing you two. It’s hard not to notice how natural that sounds, as though you two were meant to be spoken about as an inseparable whole.

You brush off your startled expression as best you can and ask, “Good things, right?”

He nods, then shares a smile with Chris. “I would’ve liked to meet him.” You roughly translate that to mean, ‘I would’ve liked to meet you both.’ The blush on Chris’s face deepens into an embarrassingly bright shade of red when he catches your eye.

A plucked, low-pitched guitar string echoes out to the crowd and effectively commences the start of the music festival. You must’ve missed the band's introduction because they got right into their music, playing a melancholic pop song that sounded pretty good. You were more interested in the guitar riffs and melodic piano notes than the lyrics, but they’re no doubt about love.

Halfway into their set, your stomach growls, and you remember that you didn’t have anything to eat since you got off work. The whole thing with Peter staved off your hunger. He’s still in the front of your mind, but you’re doing your best to enjoy the night with Chris and his friends.

Standing up, you tell Chris, “I’m gonna get a hotdog.”

He tilts his chin up in acknowledgment, then goes back to swaying his head to the music.

You got up just in time to beat the line. There are only two vendors in the park, and they’d be slammed once the music hits its intermission. The one you’re at resides near the outskirts of the crowd, closest to where you left the group, and two people are in front of you.

You wish Peter were here.

Your hand touches the outline of your phone in your back pocket while you wrestle with the idea of calling him again. Maybe he’ll pick up this time.

You’re just about to unlock your phone when you hear someone calling your name—a girl.

The voice gets closer and more breathless, like they’re running at you full speed ahead and couldn’t reach you fast enough. You turn to the sound just as the body slams into you, yanking you out of line and clutching you to their frame.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

You pull away and stare straight into her face, not trusting your own eyes. “Manda?"

...

Taglist: @alexandria-euphoria

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart

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itsbenedict · 3 years ago

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Two-Faced Jewel: Session 14

A Ferry Good Experience

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party finally wrapped up their business in the small town of Barley, and headed back to Cauterdale to catch the ferry to Thunderbrush across the Bay of Uneasy Repose. In this session, they make a few more last-minute preparations, and embark on a nautical voyage!

Said nautical voyage is swiftly set upon by a few different kinds of trouble.

Before they leave for the docks, Looseleaf catches Orluthe alone while he's having some trouble with street food. There's some sort of tough overcooked octopus dish he can't quite figure out how to eat.

Looseleaf: "You could, maybe, use a knife?" "Or, I guess, maybe you're not supposed to because overcoming a challenge like extremely overcooked seafood is, like, a triumph or something and you're not supposed to back down from those?" "Is that how the cleric thing works?" Orluthe Chokorov: "Sorry, um..." He looks around nervously. "What, um, makes you say that?" Looseleaf: "Well, you know, the fact that, all your combat cantrips involve you declaring how victory is certain or whatever, the fact that after Oyobi dealt with that bobbledragon you channeled your divine avatar to heal Mr. Cutter and your god was all like 'ah, that great beast you have overcome and slain is a honorable offering and you're super cool for having overcome this challenge my man' or whatever..." "Like, I'm just, puttin' all my cards on the table here, it's pretty obvious?" Orluthe Chokorov: "..." "You, uh..." "That's not... something you can, um, prove," he says, unsure.

Looseleaf manages to talk Orluthe into putting his cards on the table, too. Apparently he's next in line to be the head of the Temple of Diamode in his hometown, and he's been sent to study at Blacksky to prepare. Only problem is- he's not a cleric of Diamode. Or even a cleric, for that matter- he's something else, instead. His disposition is noticeably non-Iska-Peakstrider-Goddess-of-Triumph-ish, you might've noticed.

Remember how Orluthe is a shifter? Apparently he thinks of his other form as a different person, and that person is way more in line with Iska and her obsession with victory and superiority. Iska chose his feral warball champion alter ego- the Alpha Doomhound- and has been helping his more mild-mannered side fake being a cleric of Diamode in order to help him attain the headship of the temple for some reason.

Looseleaf... attempts to pry a little more.

After asking a few more questions about how exactly channeling divinity works and feels (kind of incomprehensible sometimes, since godthoughts connect to godmemories you don't have when the channeling ends), Looseleaf reassures Orluthe she'll keep his secret, and the party sets off for the docks.

At the docks, they meet a few goblins from Cauterdale Harbor Management, who tell them all about the amazing deals! Ferry vouchers (like those provided by Blacksky) are four gold, good for any ferry at the harbor- but some ferries cost extra on top of the voucher. Their options are:

The Satellite Islands Transit Company is the budget option, which will get you across the bay for only the price of the voucher- if you're fine riding a crowded and dubiously-seaworthy old tub.

The Cauterdale Armored Navy operate a smaller and more secure ferry- an armored military vessel with advanced protection against sea monsters, for an extra two gold.

Cabana Jim's Pleasure Cruise is an enormous yacht with an onboard spa, for an extra ten gold on top of the voucher- and comes with a coupon for half-off at Cabana Jim's Luxury Resort and Spa.

Looseleaf sees no reason not to cheap out, so they pick the SITC- except Vayen, who goes for the Armored Navy so as not to be on a crowded boat with the rest of the party. Until... the surprise reveal that oops, they've got fantasy airport security, and in order to go on the SITC ferry, they need to submit to an inspection due to an "elevated maritime threat level".

The inspection is pretty thorough, and Saelhen's sleight-of-hand rolls to conceal her knives fail- which they apparently don't care about. What they care about are the party's magic items. The cloak, rug, and pillow all check out, apparently- too minor, not waterproof.

Unfortunately, Saelhen is unable to conceal her bracer, and as it's apparently an ancestral heirloom. They're going to need to put it in a lead carrying case, which costs extra- and also, oops, it doesn't come off Saelhen's arm, so it's going to cost extra extra to stow her entire body in a lead vault.

Why? Because Darkflame Retribution Everwatchful Black Sapphire, Mistress of Turbulent Waters might be out there, and she has a habit of attacking ships to steal powerful magic items. Unnessie just likes fish, and Krakalackie "plays with boats" but is harmless, but "Darkie" is a genuine threat if she senses a magic item.

So, the party instead springs for the Cauterdale Armored Navy ferry, since they have certain measures in case of dragon attack. They head to the boat and find it manned by Medd Cutter, the guardsman they rescued! Also, they find a rich dwarf, a family of gnomes, and Vayen, who is unpleasantly surprised that the party changed their minds and followed him.

Medd explains the security measures on the ship:

The mess hall inside the cabin, which locks with an airtight seal

The recessed seating area on the deck, featuring seatbelts

The diving-bell helmets under the seats, which have an air supply if they get pulled underwater

The magical water-repelling forcefield that holds out long enough to get everyone's helmets on

The levers on the helmets that switch on to make them soundproof in case of dragon

There's a cacophany of acknowledgment from the load of gnome children, and the ferry gets underway.

As they're traveling, Saelhen and Looseleaf ask Kensa why exactly she's so excited to get to Corolos.

They show Kensa the Anycloak, and she immediately loses her entire got damn mind. She offers to do ANYTHING, ANYTHING to have it! Saelhen... takes this as a teachable moment. Kensa needs to learn to haggle.

She doesn't do a particularly good job, and Saelhen gives her some pointers- and eventually agrees to four conjurations per fashion lesson. With that, she puts on the cloak... and makes the Wisdom save that using the cloak triggers.

She gets a 1.

And what happens is... the last thing the cloak transformed into, a super-opulent fancy armored winged battledress... bleeds into the sundress Kensa imagines up. And those elements of the design, leftover from Looseleaf's imagination, seem to Kensa to have been her idea, somehow.

That's... probably... safe??

And soon after Kensa revises her design again, she looks out at the sea, and points at something in the distance, and asks "What's that?"

It's some sort of huge mutant plesiosaur, sniffing at the SITC ferry.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Yamatake, I swear to heaven, if you try this again I will tell the dean that you tried to murder me in my sleep for my valuables." Oyobi Yamatake: "Gods, don't freak out. It's not like I could even fight it anyway! It's under the water!"

Then Unnessie cries out in pain and dives back below the water, leaving the SITC ferry alone. Just as a giant tentacle spears out of the water right next to the party.

Everyone scrambles to get on their seatbelts and helmets as the tentacles wrap around the ship and begin pulling it underwater. The gnome kids scream in terror and/or delight as the parents try to corral them, and the dwarf retreats into the cabin. The party stays out on the deck, and the layers of magic forcefield begin to fail as they're pulled underwater.

So, this incomprehensible warball-field-sized eldritch abomination pulls both the CAN and Cabana Jim ferries underwater, and starts swinging them around. Everyone but Saelhen passes their CON save against nausea!

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I AM A DELICATE FLOWER AND DO NOT DESERVE THIS TREATMENT."

They both roll high on perception, though, and are able to notice...

Benedict I. (GM): After about ten minutes, as promised, the tentacles retract, and the boats begin their ascent back to the surface. The horror retreats back into the depths. Looseleaf: A very timely horror! Most children aren't so fastidious about keeping to their deadline promises. Benedict I. (GM): You break the surface, and after a minute of checks, the magic fields turn off. Water drains out the edges of the boat. Looseleaf: Is this not another example of the marvelous beauty inherent to this world? "That was... actually a lot more- a lot of fun!" "Nobody got hurt, right?" Orluthe Chokorov: "I'm all good!" Oyobi Yamatake: "Oh I have to kill one of those someday." Looseleaf: "Oyobi noooooo. It's just a little baby." Kensa Kanthalga: "That... was fun, right? That was fun? I'm not traumatized?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Well, I had a nice time."

And then, because two sea monsters wasn't enough, something huge and made of deep-blue crystal breaches the surface of the water right next to them, and lazily leans its upper body on the deck.

Everyone immediately switches on their soundproof helmets, and the dragon... pulls out from the water a terrified-looking sahuagin dressed in rags, holding a sign reading "Parley". The dragon performs a lip-zipping gesture, and points at the fishman.

Next time: oh my god a DRAGON in this DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS campaign

#twofaced jewel #tfj log

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sohannabarberaesque · 4 years ago

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Hawai’i calls The Banana Splits back, if but out of sentiment (part two)

(With apologies to Webley “Webb” Edwards [1902-1977] and his long-running Hawai’ian music radio programme Hawai’i Calls [1935-1975] as much as Hanna-Barbera)

The morning after: Following the Continental breakfast offered by the hotel, one of the porters handed Fleegle, de facto leader of the Banana Splits, a message by parties unknown directing them to “meet us by Duke at 10.”

“So who exactly is the ‘Duke’ referred to in this message?” was how Drooper queried things, with the manager explaining that such referred to the statue of “Duke” Kahanamoku at Waikiki Beach, one of modern surfing’s more revered figures by virtue of his introducing that ancient and most revered of Polynesian water sports through exhibitions at Huntington Beach in 1911 (introducing surfing to America) and Freshwater Beach, Sydney, in 1915 (likewise to Australia)--which seems ironic considering that Christian missionaries from the United States, inter alii, tried to suppress surfing in the Hawai’an Islands during the 1820′s and 1830′s because of the “immodesty” inherent (as in the boardriders going naked, which was looked on as one with Sin, never mind that the nakedness was largely out of comfort as much as custom).

At any rate, strolling down Kalakaua Avenue, basically Waikiki’s “main street,” from their hotel, Our Bhoys managed to get surprised looks from surfers and other beach goers headed out to a day’s pleasure on Waikiki, aloha print or no aloha print--and maybe one or two autograph/selfie requests--towards the Duke Kahanamoku statue, bound to see its share of leis draped around his neck (with only the statue of King Kamehamela in front of ‘Iolani Palace getting more) as a show of affectation. And once The Duke’s statue was reached, even as the Kalakaua Avenue traffic was going along at a good clip--

“Hello, boys!!”

It turned out being no less than Mildew Wolf, one with Peter Potamus’ Travelling SCUBA Par-tay, delivering such with trademark snarkiness.

“So you’re The Banana Splits, huh--Bingo, Drooper, Fleegle and Snorky?”

The which Snorky responded rather affirmatively, as confirmed by Drooper so interpreting.

Which had Bingo asking “Why would you want us to meet you beside a statue of a surfing legend like ‘Duke’ Kahanamoku when you happen to be part of a diving troupe?”

“I can see the aloha print is rather flattering,” Mildew observed, never mind that Mildew’s style was more Crazy Shirts, which begat the cheesy T-shirt phenomenon on Waikiki in 1962. (In Mildew’s case, his shirt drew inspiration from Native Hawai’ian lore.)

“So let me guess,” Fleegle enquireth, “what you have in mind--you want us to take up the diving experience, I assume?”

“However did you guess?” After a short pause, Mildew Wolf remarked “Follow uncle,” and led them to a side street about halfway towards Ala Wai Creek, whereupon they were directed to a campy-looking rebuild of a Volkswagen minibus whose entrance door featured the “Diver Down” flag prominently; not long afterward, same would be opened by--

“PETER POTAMUS?!” exclaimed the Splits in sheer disbelief.”

“None other than!” would be the reply, even if Peter’s trademark safari jacket and pith helmet seemed borderline suspicious in the tropical heat.

“So why choose us exactly, Peter?” was how Drooper parsed the question. “And how exactly did you know we were spending a few days here, to begin with?”

“Dumb luck” was all Peter could gather. At any rate, all got into the minibus and set off ... which began with a short excursion to the USS Arizona Memorial at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, paying solemn respect and tribute to such sailors as were killed in the shock Japanese attack on the naval station on December 7, 1941, forcing America’s hand into World War II. It may have felt a little solemn for a prelude to what was going to be a rather interesting day ahead.

Because after this rather solemn tribute, it was doubling back on the H1 freeway through Honolulu eastward towards “the Blue Hole” otherwise known as Hanamua Bay State Underwater Park, particularly popular with snorkellers and SCUBA divers because of the rather lush coral reefs to be had offshore as well as the legendary dropoff. Following some awfully impressive snorkelling there, Peter felt it worthwhile to try another interesting dive spot off Makapu’u Point on the southeast fringe of the island of O’ahu, reachable by way of a dive pontoon Peter and Mildew were able to hire over in Waimānalo Beach by way of the local dive shop, itself right on the main highway ... and with some help of some crew from said dive shop, Peter and Mildew were able to coax the Splits into SCUBA gear for a SCUBA lesson which turned out being exceptionally memorable. As in memorable for the flatulence discharged underwater, especially considering the inexperience that Our Bhoys had with SCUBA while trying to stay focused on the view underwater.

“At any rate,” Peter was quick to explain, “such gas passing as you had underwater is not exactly your fault, to begin with. Divers are bound to pass a lot of gas underwater anyway ... Shall we try again, hoping not to get too focused on the likely breaking of wind?” You can guess how that dive turned out, especially when you had unlikely dive instructors and coaches like Peter Potamus and Mildew Wolf “on the spot” in Hawai’i and pointing out some rather beautiful bits of reef, with monk seals and dolphins joining in on the swim ... followed by the magnum opus of any dive with Peter known as the Underwater Hippo Hug on the ocean bottom (which, for some reason, Bingo couldn’t help but feel all the more wonderful about).

*************

“Boys,” Peter Potamus was quick to explain after wrapping up the dive session, “I’ve decided to lay on a surprise for all of you this evening!” (This as the sun was starting to go down, which, considering the latitudes at which Hawai’i is situated, is bound to be rather sudden, not to mention a rather roundabout drive along O’ahu’s eastern shore.)

It was just past the Valley of the Temples, south of Kahalu’u, that Peter explained what was about to go down for the Splits: Nothing less than a night in a hula hut which Peter knew about, on a remote side road which mainstream maps chose not to include, complete with the old-school luau of roasted spit pig and other typically Hawai’ian delicacies as included Japanese noodles and Korean kimchi guaranteed to go all night. Not to mention keeping alive the old, eroticised style of hula which was driven underground thanks to missionary and trader influence because of perceived “sinful” associations.

Admittedly, the Splits took some time to get acquainted with that rather starchy Hawai’an appetiser poi, which Drooper was quick to compare with eating a mix of flour, water and library paste as if having to explain to Snorky that he shouldn’t use his trunk to consume poi wasn’t awful enough ... and to imagine a rather impressive mix of spit-roasted pork, hula in the “natural” style and a view looking out upon a moonlit Kāne’ohe Bay with the tide coming in coming together for a night as worthy of remembrance as the diving earlier in the day!

(Oh, and did I mention their being invited to sleep with the girls of that noble establishment, to be followed practically at sunrise by some uniquely Hawai’ian skinny dipping--including some unlikely pre-dawn time underwater?)

Look, then, for more interesting escapades with The Banana Splits in Hawai’i next week in this space!

@warnerarchive @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbrosentertainment @moonrock1973 @the-banana-splits-ask-blog @wherearethememesonmyplate @hanna-barbera-blog @themineralyoucrave @joey-gatorman @straights-world @screamingtoosoftly @hanna-barberians @cottoncandy-wannabe @the-banana-splits-blog @jg376

#fanfic friday #hanna barbera #the banana splits #duke kahanamoku #waikiki beach #unlikely encounters #mildew wolf #peter potamus #diving lessons #discover diving #hanamua bay #makapuu point #kanehoe bay #one night in a hula hut #hula hut #hannabarberaforever

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vitiatasxinficit · 5 years ago

Text

Come Home Part One

@hi-its-teamfreewill @whattheciel

There is a fear that Sebastian harbors. It resides deep down, in the dark corners of his soul nestled up with the demon that prowls within, the thing capable of the worst.

A fear born from accomplishing that which they had fought and cried and bled to do. To bring Vittoria home. It was now, a matter of waiting. It could be any second. Any day now, and he’d hear her voice and while that filled him with something akin to joy, eagerness, a restlessness that made him anxious, it came burdened with a fear.

It was brought to bear as Sebastian moved quietly about the Estate. He was headed for the apple tree outside. He couldn’t find his angel and as habits would predict, he should be outside at the apple tree. Waiting for him.

As he passed by the large windows, he stopped for a glance. One of the many things he enjoyed doing. Stopping to watch the angel just...be.

Except he wasn’t there.

His eyebrows furrowed, disgruntled and now somewhat concerned. He changed course and scoured the entire estate. Why didn’t he look, however, in the one place he saved for last.

He approached her room with caution. He had not entered since the day that he laid her body there. Blue eyes seemingly forever closed and he had fell at the feet of her lifeless body and broke in a way that he had never done before.

Sure enough, there he found him. He was busy tidying up. He’d brought in fresh flowers and opened up the curtains and when he did enter, Castiel looked up, surprisingly startled.

Sebastian’s mind is clever, but it can also play tricks on him. It was sharp, and knew every detail, especially when focused on Castiel. He knows that surprise. Labels it immediately. This was not a space he often occupied even when she was alive. They would disappear into the room with her secrets and spells and potions and stories of a world Castiel didn’t know.

Was he ever banned from entering? No. But he’d knew to respect them. He’d been the last to join their little family and he wouldn’t dare impose himself on their happiness.

Perhaps that is why Castiel was startled to see him there. Perhaps he didn’t belong.

Still, auburn eyes look over the room with curiosity before landing on Cas.

“You’ve been quiet all day, I had wondered what you were doing.”

“I’m ready for her to come home.”

His look of pleasant happiness at the idea of her returning sparked the thought. Then his look of distress.

“What if she doesn’t remember anything? What if she doesn’t remember us...me? What if it isn’t the same Sebastian I’m--”

“Worrying for no reason.”

He blew out an even breath, eyebrows raised. “She’s coming home. Perhaps you should brace yourself so she doesn’t crack one of your ribs in a hug.”

He almost pout should’ve eased him but it did not. Because for certain their reunion would be glorious. These two had defied the odds before. They’d died for one another, stuck together so that they’ve survived and made a home together.

Nothing can trump such a relationship.

Not even Sebastian.

The fear took root at that.

A fear that upon her return, what had become of himself and Cas would fall aside for Castiel being reunited with her. He could almost see it. How they would fall back into their routine. Their love had nothing on their history.

He excused himself on the premise that he too, needed to begin preparations for her return home. That delighted Cas, who promised to join him as soon as he was done.

That night had been long and full of doubt. And he wrestled with those thoughts alone in bed. Only because he chose not to occupy the day bed Cas insisted on sleeping in, in case she turned up during the night.

Two months passed.

In early March, on a windy warm day, Sebastian was tucking roses into a vase to place on the large dining table when a voice brought him out of his revere and thoughts.

“You always had an eye for such things. I once thought that was silly but I can not tell you how much I missed it.”

Laying eyes on her, in all her glory, was a flooring thing. The vase rocked as he released it, threatening to tip over and fall to the floor but settling itself, her laugh rang through the room as she found herself swallowed up in a hug.

“I didn’t know you were such the hugger Sebastian. You’ve changed.”

“Well it’s not every day you have to lose someone, now is it?” he grumbled, breathing her in.

“I know. I’m sorry. Sebastian?”

He’d grit his teeth and closed his eyes against the way his chest caved, saved from being called out for being on the brink of perhaps almost maybe tears, by the noise Castiel made when he entered the room.

“Sebastian the crystal in her room is missing and she needs that to get--”

He released her in time for sure. The way they collided, years worth of happiness and fears and love and need seemed to blossom in the way they wrapped around one another. Tears came to her eyes, both of them as they collided to the floor. Their laughter mixed with sobs filled the air and despite the warm smile on his face as he quietly exited the room, Sebastian left with only one thought.

His worst nightmare would surely enough be reality.

The morning after saw a bit of normalcy return. He began the morning with the idea of breakfast, sleeves rolled up, arms deep in pancake batter when he sensed more than saw Castiel sleepily wander in. He looked like he wrestled with a tiger and was just waking from a coma and it saw Sebastian smile, a quirk of his lips at the messy haired angel who padded his way over, peering at the beginnings of a delicious breakfast.

He forgot, temporarily about the second set of footsteps as he trapped Castiel against the counter and leaned in. A normal morning for them was Castiel talking about the new flowers outside, or wanting to drag Sebastian to some new place he’d discovered on the estate grounds while Sebastian either tried to finish making breakfast, or his lips along his skin in reverent sweet kisses.

This morning, Castiel in pure awkward nature attempted to squirm and shy away but Sebastian would have none of it. Cute how he was still shy around the demon, as it were. Sebastian captured his lips a kiss that was pure hunger and love and need. He stripped off the gloves, content to let his work wait until he heard her clear her throat and pulled back to look behind him.

Vittoria looked like she couldn’t smirk any wider as she watched them, far more put together than Castiel.

“Oh don’t stop on my account. I mean I heard but I wanted to see for myself--”

Castiel wriggled away from him and he let him go.

“I’m going to take Vittoria to the waterfall, do you want to come?”

His lips remained sealed for a moment longer before he replied smoothly, “Go ahead. By the time you return, I’ll have finished breakfast. You two will work up quite the appetite.”

Castiel didn’t seem at all content with the idea of Sebastian remaining behind but with a soft nudge toward the door from the demon himself, they retreated to their rooms and then waved goodbye as they headed out the door.

Months rolled by in the same fashion. Saw that the Knight of Hell withdrawing completely almost. It led to arguments between the two, which would lead to Castiel stealing away to Vittoria’s room to not be seen for hours or even once, days.

He’d rather push him away than say goodbye.

Sebastian was leaving. He didn’t want to say it, goodbye. Those words would hurt him. Before the incident, before Vittoria’s death they had once meant nothing to him. He felt nothing. But now, Hell forgive him, he felt everything. So perhaps it was time to return. Vittoria was back, the job was done.

The afternoon had seen to a nasty fight in the household. One that shook Vittoria in a way she hadn’t felt since she had died. Her boys were so angry and it was distressing. She couldn’t figure out what was happening. How was it that now, after her resurrection, was her home falling apart.

“It wasn’t like you helped!”

“You wouldn’t let me! You were too scared but I’m just as badass as you!”

“Yeah right, tripping over your own feet is scary? You’re a pile of feathers, just go back home or did you not fit in there either?”

“Well, go back Hell, cause I don’t want you here.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, and Vittoria, content to allow her boys to fight this one out, was on her feet in seconds.

“Now wait, don’t we think we need to talk this out--”

Sebastian’s face seemed to fall, smooth out like glass and Vittoria’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “No! Sebastian wait a second, hold on you two stop it right now! Sebastian turn them back ON!”

Castiel’s chest hurt. It ached. Words fell from the same lips that used to always promise love and protection and acceptance and now they spewed poison and ....it just fucking hurt.

“Yeah run away but turning your stupid humanity off. At least I had the balls to live when she died but you run every chance you get! So run now!”

It was like the air was hot passing in and out of lungs so rapidly, full of anger and a pain that was slicing through him hot and burning away at rational thought.

Vittoria watched as Sebastian reached over onto the counter to retrieve his gloves and slowly slid them on.

“I shall.”

The look, Vittoria had seen it before. It was the old Sebastian. Aurburn eyes glittered. In a flutter of black feathers and ashes, he was gone.

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sanderssides-incorrectquotes · 5 years ago

Text

AUP; Chapter 2: Sufficiently Satisfactory

It's been a long, long wait, but it's finally here!

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Virgil's a typical teenager this chapter, sulking about what's gone wrong in the past 2 hours; Food mentions, since this is basically lunch time chapter

Pairings: Platonic Moceit, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic Anxceit, Platonic Prinxiety, Platonic/Best Friends Analogical

Prologue || Previous (Chapter 1)

~~~~~♡~~~~~

Turns out he couldn't work with this.

Roman had left to help the teacher move benches they had used in gym class, so their conversation was cut short, and Virgil didn't have the guts to try and talk to him again in homeroom.

By the time lunch rolled around, Virgil placed some binders (meaning folders. Though he wished he had actual binding binders) and books in his locker, taking only what he needed for the afternoon; french, math, homeroom. Or, in its simplest form, everything would be taken with him except his science work and music media.

Heaving a sigh, he locked up his locker once more and headed to the lunchroom.

He had heard over the announcements that morning that there was a student nerds’ book club meeting - not what the announcements said, mind you - so he was certain Logan wouldn't spend lunch with him. That wasn't nice, but it was understandable.

Thinking this day couldn't get much worse - the world wouldn't throw that at him today, right? - Virgil carelessly walked through the middle of the lunchroom, as opposed to most times where he’d travel around the edge.

Managing to get to a table, Virgil sat down and took out his lunch and phone. He just looked through Tumblr as he ate leftover pasta that had been warmed up this morning then packed in a thermos for the trip in his bag. This helped to ease the negative feelings he had.

While he slowly used up the lunch hour, he heard a quiet but sweet sounding voice. "Excuse me, but can we sit here?"

He looked up to find a person he regularly saw outside on the front steps in the morning; they were easily recognisable, even with Virgil's tendency to forget appearances. There was also another person, with green-blue body paint covering the left side of their face in a snake scale pattern. "Go ahead and do what you wanna do, no one's stopping you.” Once again, he was reminded that he was born as a female and he despised it.

"Thanks." The one that was usually seen on the front steps smiled and pushed up his glasses, even if there was no need to. "I'm Patton, by the way. And this is my friend, Ethan!" Ethan promptly gave a small wave as they sat down, pausing his attempts to open his containered lunch.

“Need some help with that?” Virgil mumbled in a question after a quick minute of watching Ethan struggle to break the seal, and Patton looking sympathetically at the other as he unbagged and ate his sandwich. Virgil looked to the doors of the lunchroom, hoping Logan would come through; False hope, sadly.

“Sure,” Ethan responded, handing the container to Virgil who opened it as he would always open his own; applying a fair bit of pressure then twisting. It was normal, he’d assume. He slid it across the table, back to Ethan who was admittedly surprised, seeing as the container didn’t fight Virgil whatsoever.

“What do you have against me, stainless steel cylinder?” Ethan glared at the container, before scoffing at both Patton’s giggle and the silence he received, yet was unable to hold back the smile that formed on his face. It was at that moment Virgil felt out of place.

"Oh! Where are my manners," Patton suddenly shouted, though not quite loud enough to draw too much attention. "What's your name?"

"Violet," Virgil mumbled. He wasn't ready to come out to random people he met at school. Then he remembered something. "Just call me Vi," He gave a slight smile, realizing that this was a pretty good idea, if he does say so himself.

"Alright, nice to meet you Vi," Ethan smiled, taking a drink from his water bottle while Patton gave an enthusiastic nod.

Virgil smiled back, then looked to the doors again, seeing Logan near the front, looking around. Virgil looked back to Ethan and Patton. "Sorry, but I'll see you around."

With a cheerful exit of Patton waving him away in a loud "Alright, goodbye!" after Ethan's crisp and classy sounding "See you around." Virgil walked across the cafeteria, purposefully walking around Logan in the hopes to surprise him.

Too bad his plans were foiled. Logan turned around when Virgil was at a meter's length away.

"Darn it," Virgil pouted, crossing his arms.

"Apologies, did I interrupt another one of your schemes?" Logan amusedly smiled at his best friend, placing his hands on his hips with a cock of his head.

"Indeed," Virgil laughed, forgetting about the rest of the cafeteria's inhabitants. "Did that meeting of yours end early?"

"Rather the opposite. It didn't end at all, seeing as it didn't even start." Logan disappointedly sighed. "Hardly anyone showed, just about three students, me included. They chose to wait two weeks until the next meeting, deciding that it was too early in the year for future joiners to be interested."

Virgil understood that, seeing as everyone was still getting situated with being at school. "That must be disappointing."

"I mean-" Logan fiddled with his bracelet- "I really should've expected a student started lunch group outside isn't going to reasonably have any joiners in the first week of school -- especially since it's a reading group."

"Again, that's disappointing." Virgil repeated, startling as one of the lunch supervisors shouted for them to either take a seat or go outside.

"It really is," Logan mumbled to Virgil, the both of them heading outside. "I was hoping it'd be successful, like my dad's book group."

"That sucks." Virgil wasn't sure how to react anymore, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn't exactly the best at conversing. But then a smile lit up his features. "Say, how about you ask your parents if you can come to my house for a couple hours? We didn't really get to a solid conclusion earlier, so why not?"

Logan, too, harbored a smile now, nodding. "That'd be pleasant."

Maybe Virgil could work with this after all.

~~~~~♡~~~~~

Next Chapter

AUP Taglist: @heathers-dorkness-0923 @notalwaysthebadguy

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tinyslyme · 5 years ago

Text

Selkie Logan

AKA the Selkie!Logan Coat Holder!Roman Logince I’ve been waiting to write for some reason~

Selkie Logan, Hispanic Roman (Mexican), Human AU, Remus is studying sea urchins and Roman is a good bro and came with him, mentioned Dukeceit. Lots of swearing, ~999 words not including this.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Roman rubbed his hands together, huffing and watching his breaths turn into white clouds before dissipating into the air. “Fuckin’ hate Maine” He mutters, tucking his hands into his armpits. The young man really didn’t want to be here, but he was there by choice so theoretically he was free to leave whenever he wanted. But he always chose to stay, for the sake of his twin brother. Remus had been enamored with sea creatures his entire life (especially octopi) and as soon as he graduated school, he decided to join a research group that dedicated themselves to observing sea urchins. Weird, and random, but true.

Roman, being the good brother he is, packed his bags and offered to go with him. He himself was a natural born actor, and Maine- although not as well known as New York or California for acting -was as good a place as any to get his career up and running. Of course, Roman hadn’t exactly counted on Maine being so fucking freezing that his dick had retracted into himself.

Remus seemed to love it, unfortunately, and would not leave until his experiment was over. Roman could deal with that, he had recently struck a good opportunity at a community theater to act the leading male character in a play. It was a famous musical around this town, apparently, depicting the tragic love between a human man (Roman) and a.... Selkie(?) named Sersea.

The idea of a Selkie was honestly intriguing, but Roman knew they were just an old folk tale. One, Selkies were Irish and therefore had no business being so popular in Maine of all places; Two, Roman loved fantasy but just the thought of being forced to stay with someone because they held captive your one option to return home was abusive, and that was a no-go in Roman’s books. So, yeah, Roman didn’t exactly choose to believe in Selkies. Unicorns? Yeah. Faeries? There were some good ones out there. Finfolk? Trolls? Witches? Magic? Destiny? All of it was something Roman believed in. But not Selkies. Never

“Why am I even out here” Roman groans, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head tightly,” This is Dee’s job, not mine! Stupid fuckin’ biologist, fucking my brother but can’t even do his own job-” Roman cuts himself off as a movement catches his eye in the rocks, a large brown mass speckled with black and grey shifting ever so slightly.

Roman, holding his breath, slowly walks towards the mass, his feet sinking into the pebbles of the beach shore. He peeks around a boulder, seeing the tail of.. “A harbor seal?” He raises an eyebrow, making his way around the entire boulder,” Didn’t expect to see one here so far North in the fall...” he mutters, biting his lip. Maybe it was hurt? That would explain why it hadn’t run away yet.

Creeping closer, Roman saw that the seal tail seemed to be more of a jacket than an actual skin. “I thought seal hunting was illegal here” He frowns, picking up the jacket. It looked to fit someone smaller than him, slighter in build. It seemed to be made to fit like a sleeping bag with a hood, more than a jacket.

Suddenly, Roman hears a gasp, and he turns around to see short man with oil-black hair. A naked short man with oil-black hair. “Er.. hello” Roman coughs, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He had seen plenty of naked guys, yeah, but this guy was a stranger. It was a wonder Roman wasn’t cherry red at the moment. The man stared at him with wide eyes- dark eyes, probably blue, so dark the iris all but meshed with the pupil.

The man was pale, and skinny, but had a few smatterings of freckles across his body, and his lips- oh his thin, pink lips -were moving in a way that gave him the appearance of speaking even though he made no noise- wait, he was speaking! “I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Roman sputters, licking his lips. “Coat... you appear to have my coat” The man says evenly, his voice layered with an Irish brogue. His eyes betrayed the fear he felt.

“Your coat?” Roman repeats, before remembering the oily seal skin he held in his hands,” This.. this is yours?” “Yes-” “What the hell!?” Roman sputters,” That’s horrible! What did this poor seal do to deserve to be turned into your-your fashion statement!?” he hisses, making the man recoil as if he had been struck.

“I do not believe you are understanding what I am saying-” “What am I not understanding? You killed a seal for this!” Roman exclaims,” I’m like pretty sure that’s illegal here!” “I... I am glad you sympathize so much with the seals but-” “No. I’m taking you in to the marine life building. They can deal with you there” Roman growls, grabbing his hand. His skin was cool, and sleek. Like it had been wet.

“Let me speak, you stupid human!” The man snaps, jerking his hand back. Roman stares at him with wide eyes, anger slowly ebbing into confusion,” Human?-” “You have my coat! My coat! No one elses! I did not... kill for that coat! I was born with it” The man continues, tone taking on horror at the last few statements.

“But... what?” Roman blinks, frown deepening,” How...” “Are you dumb?” The man deadpans, hands twitching towards the coat. “No!” Roman says defensively, visibly bristling,” Why on God’s green earth would you-” “I’m a Selkie” The man sighs,” You have my coat” “... Bhahahaha!” Roman breaks into laughter, holding up the seal skin,” You- you expect me to believe you’re a Selkie? Oh that’s hilarious! Probably funnier than when my brother forgot how to say ‘toaster’!”

“Selkies aren’t real” Roman chuckles, grinning widely. “We are” The man says simply,” You have my coat. Traditionally... you’d take me as your husband now”

“...”

“....”

“I’d do what now”

#roman sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #thomassanderssides #Logic sanders #creativity sanders #logince #selkie fic

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ofravensandgenesis · 5 years ago

Note

For John, maybe?: “You’re holding back.”

A/N: Characters/Verse-Setting: John Seed and Deputy Declan Rook, set in the Walk Away AU, in the Between Silence And Quiet verse. Minor mentions of Mary May Fairgrave and Deputy Joey Hudson.Summary: John tries to orchestrate a chance meeting to talk to that strange Deputy who chose to walk away. You’re holding back and John as a prompt from Chyrstis! :D Thank you for the prompt Chyrstis!! :D ♥Content includes: Cult content, John being John, manipulation, mild violence, etc.Ao3 link here, to avoid tumblr disaster formatting on mobile.————————————

“You’re holding back, Deputy.” John observed, his steps slow and methodical as he circled around from behind the other man where he stood.Not even a twitch. Not a look, a breath, or a word.Just silence. Silence broken by the pitiful little groans of pain from the crumpled heaps of booze-soaked trouble-makers surrounding the Deputy’s feet. Not even a broken bone among them, pff. Weak, as Jacob would so aptly call them. Foolish too, as John would term it. Too eager to vent their spleen and their wrath on any easy target—easy to target because it wasn’t mentally challenging to pick out who wasn’t a regular alcoholic here at the Spread Eagle, that was. The thought almost had John smirking. Almost. Had the drunken sops actually gotten to the point of swinging, well…it would’ve benefited the Project for John to take a punch for the team if only to be able to start the chain of actions to staple a battery charge on the lot. Then it was just a matter of slowly picking them apart until they were handing over the keys and deeds to their houses and lands to get out of the growing mountain of scandal and misfortune that would follow them from that point onward. Too foolish to step out of the noose they’d made, and too foolish to realize they’d woven the rope and tied it themselves—like shooting fish in a barrel.That was if he took a punch. They didn’t need trash like this in the Project, and their lands weren’t anything important. These souls were small fry, unworthy and uninteresting. Poor fighters, too. John had already known he could take them—and break them—in a fight.They hadn’t known that though. They’d assumed because he was some “fancy shmancy ass lawyer,” that he didn’t know how to raise a fist and fight. That he didn’t know pain.Oh, but did he know pain in far more intimate and detailed ways that they didn’t—and he could show it to them,—but no. They weren’t worthy of that revelation, that understanding of the power of YES.But Deputy Rook?Deputy Declan Rook.Deputy XiuYing Declan Rook.That was a soul who could understand. The silence surrounding him was too heavy with knowing, with something, with promise, to go unremarked on.The Deputy had kept his silence in the church too, then, on that fateful night.He’d listened to Joseph, strangely enough.Or. Joseph said the Deputy had.John disagreed. Jacob disagreed.There had been something in the Deputy’s face…that had been so very far away.The feeling of a soul that is disassociated from its surroundings and the going-ons of the moment.They all knew that feeling well.Joseph had dismissed it.But John? John couldn’t let well enough alone.That was why he was here now, slinking about the Spread Eagle on a Saturday night. He’d had good intel from his people about town that the Deputy had made an appearance at the bar, god forsaken well of poison that it was.That meant dealing with Mary May Fairgrave, however. As much fun as it was to rile her up, that was unfortunately an animosity he’d have to take a rain check on for another time. A crisp twenty dollar bill was enough to buy a few minutes of tolerance from her, when accompanied with a smile and a promise from John that he wasn’t here to cause trouble, simply to check on an acquaintance of his, and then he’d be out of her hair. That was a lie…but a good enough one that no one would hold him to it without looking unreasonable and biased. Not that being unreasonable and biased was unusual in this particular venue, sadly, but that was a well known, common effect of alcohol. One the two of them were both aware of. Mary May had scoffed, warned him not to linger longer than he had to, but had pocketed the cash. They’d done this before—and she knew well enough that he wasn’t interested in being served a beer for his money. All the more She’d consider that a victory, a few worthless dollars taken from Eden’s Gate and in her pocket instead. Typical greedHis on-going issues with Mary May not withstanding…John had not come in under the paper-thin guise of intending to drink. No, he’d had a much more reasonable excuse of seeking out another potential member-to-be, who had not officially joined the Project yet. All the man had to do was play a part: drinking away his woes, his depression, his awareness in its entirety—a common enough ailment with a common enough response: poison them into submission until they thanked you for it, paid for it as a privilege. No one would question it.And no one would question John coming in to apparently try to reel the so-called “vulnerable” man in, hook, line, and sinker. All the sinners saw was the fact that the man had money, land, wealth. That was all they saw. That was all they assumed John saw too. Assumed that was what he was after, trying to “coax” the man further into joining the Project At Eden’s Gate. That of course had been more than enough to stir the ire of some of the locals. And with an off-duty Deputy on the scene? John had harbored no doubts it would lead to an opportunity to talk. Talk to this Deputy who had walked away…instead of breaking the first seal. Instead of heralding the Collapse.Joseph had been expecting the Collapse. Had been expecting the sinners to try to take him, the way that barking Marshal had.But the Deputy had refused.How interesting. Even more interesting was how swift the Deputy’s response had been, interposing himself between John and the rabble-rousers as quickly and naturally as falling rain. John had found himself staring at the back of the other man’s head, black hair trimmed close and neat, his silhouette a stark-edged shadow of a man imposing and broad shouldered, wrapped in a thin, grey cotton tee and denim blue jeans. It’d made him seem so strangely ordinary, like he was blending in when he should have been standing out, should have registered as a threat. Because he was a threat, no doubt about that.The drunkards had completely missed it. Unsurprising, the buffoons. They’d been startled, and then predictably mad, redirecting their anger to the obstacle that stood in the way of them indulging in their sins.It’d been the first time John had heard the Deputy speak.“Stand down.” Two words, quiet enough to be missed if the bar had been noisy at the time.Quiet…but not meek. Not weak. It was the quiet of knowing. Knowing just what one’s own self was capable of. The lack of fear that came with power…and clarity.The Deputy had found some revelation of his own at some point then, John was certain.The sinners obviously had not stood down, and had, predictably, taken the first swing at Deputy Rook, as John had expected of them, based on what he’d known of their character.He had not expected Deputy Rook to put all three men down with such quick and clean efficiency. No wounding or serious injury, just enough force to subdue, just enough pain to quiet.Beautiful. That had been a beautiful display of skill. Of violence, so pinpoint and precise, it’d been almost gentle. The Deputy had been moving so smoothly and gracefully, he’d almost seemed to slow down, moving just fast enough to anticipate the men flailing around him like they were extras in a slapstick comedy.It’d been too easy. Too smooth. Too pretty.The Deputy wasn’t even challenged by this.He was holding back.That interested John immensely.The Deputy’s head turned, just enough to catch John in his peripheral vision as John circled to one side. The moment was long, before the tension was snipped as easily as the Fates cutting a thread, and the Deputy looked away towards where Mary May was moving towards them with a scowl half a mile long. The Deputy pointed to the phone, and Mary May stopped, her glower fading somewhat as understanding trickled in. She gave a sharp nod, unhappy about all this not because of the brawl, but because it involved John Seed as all present company could tell from the dirty look she shot him before she turned to call the Sheriff’s Department.“Deputy.”The Deputy didn’t look at John, only barely moving his head again to draw John back into the periphery of his gaze, never looking at him directly, head canting a tiny bit to one side as if listening, as if to say go ahead, I’m listening.

There was a faint trace of wariness in the Deputy’s expression.He still wouldn’t look at John.That rankled most of all, and piqued John’s curiosity in equal measures.Why? Why was the Deputy acting like this? What reason did he have for these little eccentricities? Eccentricities that heretofore, had never been remarked upon? The odd stretches of silence in place of words, the select self-expression through subdued gestures and looks alone…the choices made, both then and now.John had to try something. “Declan.”That got the Deputy’s attention, enough for that pair of dark brown eyes almost darkened to black in how the light fell.John smiled, a little victory well worth the cost of this trip into a den of inequity. Nothing substantial, yet. But a foot in the door was all he needed.“Thank you for your services, Deputy, though if I might ask…why did you step in so quickly? Nothing had happened yet, and it is your night off, isn’t it?”The Deputy looked at John for a long, long, long moment…before tilting his head another inch to one side.It was vaguely infuriating in that the Deputy was clearly communicating something but John wasn’t familiar enough with the man to know what. An emotional state of being, and some form of sentiment, yes, not an indication regarding their surroundings or to draw John’s attention to some other event starting up around them.Why was he so quiet? The word from the grapevine had given no previous indication he’d been anything but an ordinary man in the day to day portraiture of his character according to John’s sources.John could hear the crunch and crackle of dirt under car tires outside—back up likely. What a short window of time that had been, the other Deputy must have been nearby when the call went out to dispatch then.He had time for one more question then. “Why didn’t you simply walk away? Just sent out a call and let your colleague pick up the job.”John already knew, it was why he’d staged this entire self-contained mess. Deputy Declan Rook was a man of duty, that much Nancy had been sure of.What he was asking, really asking, was why Deputy Declan had walked away, through the allusion of word choice buried in a seemingly innocent question.He could tell that the Deputy got it. That the other man understood, just by the minute shift in his expression as he looked at John.But still the Deputy said nothing.“Rook, you alright? Mary May called up and said you’d been in a bar fight,” Deputy Hudson said, the sound of her footsteps filling the silence in place of any answer Deputy Rook might have given.“Or rather ended one, from the looks of things,” She concluded, eying the pile of groaning men upon the floor.The Deputy’s attention was on Hudson now, shaking his head and giving her a little reassuring smile, as if to say no injuries, I’m fine, as are they, just a little banged up.How disappointing, and how strange.But the little furrow of Hudson’s brow in addition to the slight frown upon her face when she looked at Deputy Rook was more promising.

This was relatively new behavior to her as well then, not just Deputy Rook choosing to be oddly silent in the moment. She didn’t understand why the Deputy was behaving so oddly either.She most certainly was not happy upon laying eyes on John himself though. He plastered on yet another smile, knowing exactly how this conversation was going to go down, her taking a statement, and the whole matter dwindling down as to yet another weekend dust-up to write up and add to the paperwork at the Sheriff’s Department.But Deputy Rook was hiding something. Holding back, as he had in the fight earlier. Holding back even as he was now with Deputy Hudson as they sorted out the aftermath of the fight.It left John with more questions than he’d started. But he had gotten a few new answers among it all.How interesting.

#Far Cry 5 #FC5 #Walk Away AU #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #Deputy Declan Rook #John Seed #one-shot #prompt writing #prompt response #thank you for the ask!! :D ♥#chyrstis #tumblr mobile app may eat all the spacing and paragraph structure #RIP mobile

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tact-and-impulse · 6 years ago

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At Arm’s Length Chapter 12

*cries* I’m so happy I can finally post this. I’ve set back my self-imposed deadline so many times, including earlier times today, because I realized I screwed up my own timeline. But here it is. Also on AO3, I’m waiting until whatever weirdness on FF.net is over before posting there.

Chapter 12: A Boy Named Kotaro

“Damn it!” Koshijiro swore and he could only watch as the teapot’s lid fell into his bowl of chazuke. The piece of ceramic sank, nestling in the slightly browned grains. He hastily set the teapot down, and some of the hot liquid spilled over, missing his hand but pooling on the table. He’d have to clean it up later; breakfast had taken him too long to prepare, and now, he was rushing. It had been a while, but the chief had renewed his habit of scheduling extensive meetings on short notice.

He paused. He inhaled, then exhaled. “Well…these are minor setbacks.” After retrieving the lid with his chopsticks, he started to eat. The table suddenly seemed vast and empty, without the extra bowls and cups, and of course, the other people who had lived here until very recently. It was so quiet, it was unsettling. At this time of day, their voices would have filled the air.

And it’s only the first day without them. With a last sigh, he finished the remainder of his chazuke before heading for the station.

For the most part, the meeting was terribly mundane. It was mentioned that Assistant Chief Inspector Fujita would be absent for the next month, “on assignment”. While he was gone, his duties would be divided among the rest of them. Except for Koshijiro.

“He had a specific list for you.” The chief said and removed a sealed envelope from his desk. “Oh, I’ll open it for you. Here.”

With a flick of his wrist, Koshijiro snapped the paper straight. His eyes met rows of carefully written numbers, a kind of cipher masking the details of his tasks. Somehow, he expected as much from Fujita. “Were there any instructions?”

“No, none at all.”

“…I see.”

Once they were dismissed, he immediately made for Fujita’s desk. The surface had been wiped clean, and the drawers were bereft of any loose papers. The only remaining items were an inkwell and a dozen books, arranged by date of publication. Koshijiro examined the spines and covers for anything within. His search yielded nothing, not even a folded page corner.

Koshijiro took a step back, glancing between the numbers and the books. Considering publisher, author, and genre, none of the books had anything in common except their mode of print. Perhaps, that was his clue: this was a book cipher. And so, he set upon the tedious task of comparing the numbers to pages, lines, and characters. The first three books didn’t make complete sentences, and the fifth led to a string of infinitive verbs. The eighth seemed to be the most promising, until the message devolved into complete nonsense. When he opened the twelfth, the clock ironically signaled that it was noon.

And thank goodness for that. I need to clear my head.

“I’ll be back later.” He muttered. The other officers nodded without looking up. Evidently, Fujita had given them an equal amount of trouble.

Lunch was spent at the Akabeko. As soon as Koshijiro entered the restaurant, Tae cheerfully steered him to a corner table. “There’s nothing from Sae yet, but it hasn’t been that long. I’m sure Kaoru and Yahiko are doing well.”

“Still, I’m looking forward to their letter.” He wondered if they had adjusted to staying in an unfamiliar city. Were they eating well? Did they have enough money?

“It’s natural to feel that way, and they must be concerned about you too. So, Kamiya-san, you should keep up your strength.” She smiled, and Koshijiro nodded.

“Then, agedashi tofu, if you have it.”

“Of course. Could you also get him some tea, Tsubame?”

The girl was clearing a nearby table, and she jumped at the mention of her name. “Yes, right away!” A short while later, she carried a tray over. However, after pouring the tea, she did not immediately leave. “Um…Kamiya-san?”

“Yes?”

“You said that they’ll write from Kyoto? So, Yahiko-chan,” She vigorously shook her head. “I mean, Yahiko-kun! Is it alright to send something to him?”

“Of course. You can write to him as well.”

“Oh.” She flushed red, as if the thought had never occurred to her. “That’s right. I’ll think of something.”

“Please, don’t feel rushed.”

“And you can ask me, if you need help composing.” Tae added, as she set Koshijiro’s ordered dish on the table. “I’ll also write to my sister. We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head, and they left him alone to eat.

The tofu was delicious and the tea was pleasantly hot. As he breathed in the fragrance, he considered the cipher. Whatever information Fujita was passing on to him, it was highly confidential.

There has to be a simpler way. Fujita would want this information to be relayed, so he couldn’t have used an extremely convoluted code. What if the books have nothing to do with this? Then, the answer lies in the paper itself. The paper was standard issue in the office and so was the ink. He stopped in the middle of drinking his tea. The desk was perfectly clean, without any ink spots or an ink blotter. I’ll examine the inkwell, but if it’s dry, he didn’t write the list in the office. He wrote it elsewhere.

He took his time in finishing the meal and paying Tae. At a leisurely pace, he returned to the office. Indeed, the inkwell was completely dry, like it was new. So, the page itself had been the clue, to a completely different place. And he had already been given the address.

***

The house was situated in a quiet neighborhood. The sun was on its way down, a golden glow illuminating the traditional roofs and clean roads. Koshijiro knocked on the door, and he heard light footsteps, before someone answered. “Yes?”

“This is Officer Kamiya, from the Metropolitan Tokyo Police. I was directed to your home by Assistant Inspector Fujita.”

Momentarily, the door opened to reveal a petite woman, with clear eyes and her hair in a tight bun. “Yes, he said that he’d send someone from work. Thank you for dealing with my husband.” Her smile was knowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, come in.”

“Thank you.” Koshijiro removed his shoes and entered. The interior was sparse, and it was apparent that the residents had not lived here for very long. Fujita’s wife walked into an adjacent room, so he made to follow her.

The hairs on his arm stood on end. He stopped, just as the barrel of a pistol thrust towards his chest, not quite reaching him but enough to force him backwards. Fujita’s wife held the other end, her grip steady and gaze unwavering. “Officer Kamiya, you said? Forgive my forwardness, but to me, you are a stranger. I need to know if you were truly sent by Assistant Inspector Fujita and not an interceptor of his message.”

Slowly, Koshijiro held up his hand, to show that he would not attack. “That’s understandable. Feel free to interrogate me. I have nothing to hide.”

“First question. Where is the assistant inspector now?”

“Presumably, on his way to Kyoto. I haven’t heard from him since he visited the Kamiya dojo.”

Her lips pressed together. “Second question. Until very recently, who was he working with?”

“The late Minister Okubo.”

“Last question. Where am I from?”

He was taken aback. Fujita had never mentioned his family before, and he was about to reply that he didn’t know. However, that would be an answer anyone could give. Her intention dawned on him: he needed an answer that would prove he was capable of Fujita’s standards. Her Tokyo accent was very good, but now that he had listened to her more, the cadence of her voice was reminiscent of Takani’s. “Aizu.”

The pistol lowered a fraction. “My husband is very discerning. I can see why he chose to trust you. But, I will keep this with me.” She moved the firearm to her side, and he released a breath.

“That’s perfectly alright. There is honor in protecting yourself and your family.”

A slight nod indicated her agreement. “I’m Saito Tokio.”

“Kamiya Koshijiro.”

“Are you the father of Kamiya Kaoru?”

“Do you know her?” He asked, surprised.

“Not personally. I’ve heard that she was the master of her dojo. For a woman, that is a great accomplishment. We honor the memory of a group of onna bugeisha in Aizu, so I remembered her name.”

Pride filled him from head to toe. “Unfortunately, she’s in Kyoto. I hope the two of you can meet sometime.” Making sure his movements were obvious, he withdrew the folded page from his wallet. “Now, the reason I’m here is because of this cipher encoding my assignment. I have been unable to solve it.”

Tokio took it and after a brief scan, she said. “I have seen these numbers before, I’ll bring out the document. Please don’t leave this room.”

After five minutes, Tokio returned with a large folded sheet, which she opened on an adjacent table. The map of Tokyo was familiar, except for the numbers on the grid’s margins. On both axes, the numbers were in random order. She placed the cipher above it. “Would you like any assistance?”

“Yes, I would greatly appreciate it.”

The horizontal axis was indicated, then the vertical, to reveal a specific point. The first was a training site for soldiers. The subsequent numbers traced a path to the harbor. Then, a separate point started at a warehouse of cannons, and the same pattern ensued. The overall picture was that of troop movement; the last line was at the Imperial Palace. Tokio had excused herself, leaving him to consider the map’s message.

This appears to be a plan for mobilization. I can only think of one scenario-

“Ah!”

Koshijiro turned to see a little boy, not even two years old, grasping the side of the doorway. He waddled forward, each breath more of a puff. As he shoved a thumb into his grinning mouth, Koshijiro spotted the edges of two bottom teeth.

“Forgive the intrusion, Kamiya-san.” Tokio sighed and lifted the toddler. “Tsutomu has not learned how to knock yet. His father is not much better. Barging in everywhere…”

“It’s not a problem.” He smiled. In fact, the presence of Fujita’s family reinforced his train of thought.

Himura was sent to Kyoto to eliminate Shishio, yet what if he fails? What would be Shishio’s ultimate goal? In order to seek revenge on the entire Meiji government, that would culminate in a direct attack on the capital. If his army arrived by sea, this is a contingency plan.

Furthermore, Koshijiro would essentially be acting commanding officer. His assignment had the utmost priority: to protect the citizens of Tokyo. Now, it made sense that Fujita had gone to such lengths to encode the plan.

And it was now Koshijiro’s duty to protect it.

He studied the map, committing the information to memory. Meanwhile, Tokio spooned a watery rice gruel into her son’s mouth. “Kamiya-san, whenever you’ve finished, there are onigiri behind you.”

He glanced backwards to see a small tray of neatly made riceballs. “Oh, thank you. I won’t intrude for much longer. After you and your son have finished dinner, would it be possible to start a fire?”

“A fire? Ah, I understand. The night air’s quite cold, isn’t it?” This time, her smile was thin. “Then, let’s keep the fire going for a long time.”

Of the three of them, Tsutomu was the most excited about the bonfire. He stared, transfixed, as Tokio tossed a lit match onto the kindling and the flames bloomed. Koshijiro threw in Fujita’s list and the map. The edges browned, darker and darker, until disintegrating into ash. In a thin, pungent plume, the smoke drifted away from them.

He ate half of the onigiri, watching the fire to ensure all the papers burned. The toddler’s attention span proved to be short, and he fell asleep in his mother’s lap, his tiny feet dangling. Tokio subtly rocked him, softly murmuring. Koshijiro caught a few words.

“…pray that you’re alright.”

While his feelings toward Fujita hadn’t really improved, he also hoped that the assistant chief inspector would safely return.

***

After a week, there was still no news from Kyoto. Koshijiro had tried to distract himself with chores. He tested the viability of the contingency plan, ensuring that the roads were less traveled and the military equipment was in top shape. He kept his promise to Kaoru and Yahiko, sending a box with their uniforms and weaponry. Messages from Tae and Tsubame were also sent with the package. He paid for a higher-quality lock on the gate and an extra set of new keys for Takani, who offered to help out while he was at work. He chopped enough wood for the week and bought groceries. One task was the most daunting, so he had waited until his nervous energy had reached a peak. Without any pressing matters at work, today was certainly the day.

Koshijiro strolled into the shed.

This was last cleaned about…nine years ago. Nine years’ worth of stored items. Well, I’ll organize and clear out as much as I can.

The central space had been cleared out, from Himura’s stint in the building. Most of the boxes were pushed against the wall, but the layer of dust was thinner than expected. Himura must have cleaned up. As Koshijiro looked closer, a subtle order emerged. The leftover practice naginata were aligned with his old police weapons. The shelves were filled, yet the heaviest dishes and pottery rested on the sturdiest boards. He would have to thank Himura, when he returned.

The first three hours were spent on moving everything he could into the yard. The largest chests and shelves remained, but most of the floor was available for a good scrubbing. That occupied him until noon, and after lunch, a bento box courtesy of Tae, he began to sort. The oldest container held a collection of landscape paintings. Many of the locations were common: workers in a field or a grassy slope overlooking a stream. He supposed his father wanted to capture a simple scene for practice. The following two were definitely familiar. One was a section of Chiba’s marketplace at dawn, the stalls lining the dirt road and faded rouge rubbed into the sun. The second was drawn from a point surrounded by tall grass. The stalks were not in great detail, for the greatest attention had been granted to the modest house and an accompanying maple tree. A short stretch of gravel led to the front door; a dark tiled roof crowned the mud walls. The pictures stirred a visceral reaction. Swallowing, he set both aside and sifted through the rest, but they seemed to be the rough drafts.

The next box took some effort to pry it open. More paintings were inside, and Koshijiro withdrew them, to determine whether they could be sold. Landscape, landscape, another landscape. But the last one was a portrait. The subject was a young woman dressed in a blue kimono, holding a broom. The scene had caught her sweeping a courtyard, though it wasn’t an elegant moment. Her posture was straight, her arms held close to her body, in an efficient manner. The sharpness of her gaze made it seem she was looking directly at the viewer.

“Ah.” He felt the beginning of a wry smile, remembering that same expression and how he had dreaded the sure consequences that were to follow. “I must have done something to make you look like that, Okaa-san.”

***

The dog was drooling. It was a sandy-colored mutt, its tongue lolling out as drops of saliva glistened and dropped onto the dirt. Rib bones jutted out, as the dog crouched and pawed at the cover of a long-abandoned well. The tongue ran over two rows of yellow teeth, before it barked in anticipation.

To his young ears, the sound frightened him and he ran. He stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and fell face first into the ground. He didn’t look back, picking himself up and hurrying away as fast as he could. He really hadn’t wandered away, only around the corner, and he spotted her immediately. She carried a bundle of small daikon in one arm, and she was arguing with a merchant, whose face he didn’t care to remember.

“I’ve heard that you increased the selling price. We had an agreement. Everyone can barely feed themselves and it’s already autumn, so be reasonable. Lives are at stake.”

“I need to feed myself. If you can’t understand that, then take your business elsewhere.”

Her voice had turned sharp and angry. “Then, I intend to do so. Return all of my blankets.”

“Take them yourself.” The shopkeeper flapped his hand at the building behind him.

She adjusted the daikon under her arm. “You bast…Kotaro, there you are!” Okaa-san had seen him from the corner of her eye, and he flung himself around her leg. Her warm, callused fingers cupped the back of his head. She gave an exasperated sigh. “You have dirt all over you, did you fall?” He nodded, and then shook his head again when she asked if he was hurt.

“Is that your son?” The merchant demanded. “Well, aren’t you acting high and mighty, when you have a child to care for? You should be concerned about fattening him up.”

Okaa-san didn’t answer, only brushing him off. “Let’s go home.” She spoke over her shoulder to the horrible man. “And I’ll return for the blankets at the end of the day. With my son’s father.” Then, in a mutter only Kotaro could hear, she added. “Even though I hate bringing him into this…”

It wasn’t until they had left town that he asked. “Why?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t want Otou-san to talk to that man?”

“Oh,” She blew out a breath. “It’s a little complicated. Do you remember I was sewing at night? I was stitching cloth together to make blankets. It’s going to be very cold, and I wanted to keep my friends warm. But there are some people I can’t send them to, so I asked that man to sell a few blankets at a low price. He broke his promise though. If no one can afford the blankets, they’ll freeze as well as starve.”

“Famine.” He knew that word very well. It was as old as he was, five years, yet nobody liked it. It was the reason why people kept talking about food and money and hunger. The crops are bad again, the baby’s sick, there won’t be enough, we won’t survive this, don’t you know that? All because of the famine.

Okaa-san made her worried face, her eyebrows meeting and mouth tightening. “Yes. That’s right. Anyway, I don’t like to involve your father, because it seems like I depend on him.”

“Is that bad?”

Her answer was something he didn’t understand for many years. “It’s supposed to be normal, which could be worse. But remember this: I do love your father, and I love you.”

Kotaro’s answer was immediate, natural. “I love you too!”

Okaa-san smiled wide, and he felt a happy burst of warmth.

Home was at the outskirts of town. It was an older building, the floorboards worn and the roof leaking water droplets whenever it rained. Otou-san wasn’t wealthy, but it couldn’t be helped. Of the Kamiya clan, their family line had only inherited the name and its reputation. However, he said he liked being close to nature, it offered “peace of mind and inspiration”.

As for Kotaro, he never ventured further than the yard. He liked being home, with just the three of them. He spent his days playing and tagging along with Okaa-san while she ran errands. In the afternoons, he fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of the loom and Okaa-san’s soft humming. When Okaa-san sang, it was even better. Everyone was quiet when she did, and they always said she had a beautiful voice. No matter how tired he claimed he was, Otou-san would sit still and watch her.

She sang a little, while she was cutting the daikon. The words were low, under her breath, but the melody was soothing. It was something she made up, and Kotaro clung to the notes as he nodded off.

The next thing he knew, he awoke to a darkening sky overhead. As Kotaro rubbed his eyes, he was jostled and he let out a noise of complaint. He was in a cart, which they didn’t own. The unfamiliar surroundings gave no cause for panic, for the two people driving the cart were instantly recognizable. Otou-san looked over his shoulder. His face, scruffy because he hadn’t shaved in a week, broke into a grin. “Ah, Miyo, he’s awake. Did you have a good nap?”

Kotaro yawned, nodded. He threw off the shawl covering him and crawled to the front of the cart.

“Mind the blankets, Kotaro.” Okaa-san chided. They were bundled all around him, in patchwork colors. Red, brown, blue, green. Later, he would learn that they were composed of any spare pieces of cloth, gathered by his parents’ efforts.

They stopped at a poor farmer’s house, and the owner must have heard their approach. He stepped towards them and called for a woman, his wife, to join him. As she opened the door, two older children peered out. Okaa-san jumped off, grabbed three blankets, and walked towards the people. Kotaro watched, as she talked with the family and they bowed their heads.

“So…” Otou-san cleared his throat and awkwardly patted Kotaro’s back. “Your mother said you weren’t hurt when you fell. That’s good. But you shouldn’t have wandered off. In the future, stay close, alright?”

“Yes.”

“Did anything else happen?”

“Okaa-san says she loves us.”

“Really?! She never says that to me.” His voice sounded hurt and he shook his head, but he was smiling.

He still was, when Okaa-san returned. She sharply asked. “What are you laughing about?”

“You, of course. You’re very funny.” He helped her into the cart. He was still in a good mood on the way home, even whistling. Okaa-san’s expression was perplexed at first, before it gradually softened. Watching them, Kotaro was content.

The year gave way to another, and they did survive the famine. There was more food on the table, and like the grass, he grew taller to Okaa-san’s satisfaction. However, his most vivid memory was of his father, frowning over letters. Although he knew all of his kana, Kotaro couldn’t understand any of the kanji, to his frustration.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the character for ‘cousin’.” Otou-san patiently said.

“And that one?”

“That is ‘successor’.”

“What’s a successor?”

“Kotaro!” Okaa-san beckoned him over. “Please get the washcloths from the laundry line.”

He didn’t move right away, stubbornly waiting for an answer. Otou-san sighed. “Go on, help your mother. It’s too early for you to worry about these things anyway.”

It may have been too early to worry, but it would have affected him nonetheless. Perhaps, that was why Okaa-san clarified the situation, as she showed him how to neatly fold the squares of fabric.

“Your father’s cousin is very ill. If he doesn’t recover, his job will be taken by someone else. Usually, that would be his son, but his son became a physician instead. The next closest relative ran away with a lover. So, your father could have a new job.”

“Is that it?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together. “There are other letters. From your siblings.”

The concept of siblings was entirely foreign to him. “I don’t know them.”

“You don’t. Kunitake is living with his teacher, where the famine wasn’t as bad. But now that’s ended, he wants to live with your father again. And Otsuna,” This time, she swallowed hard. “Otsuna’s husband is dead, so she demands to be returned to your father.” Her hands trembled. She was scared. His mother, who hadn’t even flinched when a snake crawled into the kitchen, was scared.

Kotaro went to her and patted her leg in an attempt at reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

She didn’t respond, and in the years to come, he wished he had caught her expression in that moment.

His father’s cousin died not long after. Another month of letters followed, before it was confirmed that Otou-san would return to the city of Chiba and fulfill his new duties. He was home less often, preparing for the transition. Okaa-san silently packed his sketches and their clothing. Kotaro was completely unhappy about the move. He sulked and whined, but of course, that changed nothing.

He didn’t want to leave this house. Despite the leaky roof tiles and cracked floorboards, he liked the coziness. He liked racing around the yard, imagining he could fly when the wind blew. He liked writing kana, while Okaa-san ran her fingers through the threads on her loom. He liked sleeping in one futon between his parents. This was reinforced one night, when he woke feeling cold. He righted himself and spotted their shadows past the thin rice paper door.

“It’s been five years, people change. They were still children when you last saw them, and since they’ve been away,” Otou-san spoke in a low voice, “They’ve seen more of the world. It’s likely they’re more mature.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“No, I don’t. But it will be alright. I’ll do whatever I can, to provide for you and Kotaro.” He hesitantly reached for her.

Okaa-san jerked away, holding her hand close to her breast. “No. No. I won’t let you sweet-talk me into thinking that it’ll be fine. Not again.” She was breathing fast. “Leave me alone.” She stood and rapidly walked off. Instead of chasing after her, Otou-san lowered his head in resignation.

The scene made Kotaro ill at ease. When his father reentered the room, he pretended to be asleep.

The next morning, Okaa-san continued cleaning the house, as if nothing had happened. Kotaro didn’t want to ask about the argument–or he didn’t want to know. He occupied himself by holding a branch, throwing a leg over it, and galloping around the yard. “Will we have a yard like this?”

“Most likely.”

“But will it be better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Probably not.” He decided aloud. “Unless there’s anyone I can play with.”

“Kotaro! Come here.”

He stopped mid-step and trudged over to her. He was apprehensive, expecting Okaa-san to scold him, or worse, spank him. But she didn’t do either. Instead, she looked like she was going to cry. When she spoke, her voice was uneven.

“Listen very carefully. The other children you’ll meet, they won’t be commoners and in fact, they’ll look down on commoners. They’ll look down on you, because of me. So, I want you to make a promise. If you hear any insult about your heritage, instead of thinking of me, you must think of your father.”

“Why?” He blurted.

“I can’t give you a life like your father can. You don’t realize how fortunate you are, and how it comes at the price of a reputation. More than anything, I want you to live well, but you need to be...like that tree.” She pointed to one of the trees, a maple fully adorned in green. “Standing tall. Bending if you must, but never breaking. And when change comes, change with it. Now, repeat what I said.”

“All of it?!”

“Yes.” Her eyes flashed, and his mouth pulled downwards. But he obeyed, memorizing her three rules. Once he could say them without prompting, Okaa-san caressed his hair. “Good boy. You’re so smart, you know? My Kotaro.” She beamed and lifted him, spun him around. As the world blurred before his eyes, he laughed with pure joy.

***

Koshijiro gingerly placed the painting of his mother in its own box. He would have to find a frame and arrange it next to Kyoko’s on the altar. Maybe, there was one buried amidst the rest of the mess.

But he’d search later. His entire body was weary and aching from labor. With the box tucked under his arm, he headed for the house. The sunshine was now aggressive, the air stifling. His skin instantly cooled once a roof was over his head again.

Koshijiro set the box on the altar, next to Kyoko’s picture. It was only fitting, since they never had the chance to meet in life. And when Kaoru was home, he would show her as well. He could imagine her smiling at the face of the grandmother she had never known, eagerly showing it to everyone else. Takani would remark on the unusual realism, Sagara noting a resemblance to “Jou-chan”. Yahiko would be curiously looking on. And Himura…where would his gaze be drawn?

Well, that was enough of such a delusion. He was lonely and tired, and his mind was crafting something better than his current situation. Nothing but time could bring them home anyway.

He blew out a sigh, leaned against the wall. Before he succumbed to an impromptu nap, his last thoughts were of his youth in that new house, and of tumultuous days.

***

The loom was not going with them. It was suitable for a village home, but not at all proper for where they were going. That was the explanation Okaa-san gave, and maybe, there was some truth in it.

On a day in early summer, two men each drove a cart up to their door. The men bowed to his father, who shifted uncomfortably. They had been the dead cousin’s retainers, and now, they served Otou-san. The futons were moved, then the largest storage containers. Kotaro was utterly disinterested in the transfer of their things, preferring to gaze at the horses from a distance. Otou-san left with the first cart, and Okaa-san settled him into the second. She arranged the items around him, before removing the bag that held her clothing and speaking to the retainer. Kotaro watched her, waiting for her to join him. He wondered if she would sing as they traveled.

She walked towards him, but didn’t pull herself into the cart. Her hair looked brown in the intense light of the setting sun. As she smoothed his front, her fingers trembled. However, her voice was calm when she delivered the blow.

“I’m not going with you.”

“What?”

“Your father has good intentions, but he’s often torn between his heart and mind. If I stay with you, there will be a day when he has to choose whom to protect, between the two of us. He must always, always pick you. So I can’t go, please understand.” She wiped her eyes, and tears rolled off her hand.

He didn’t, but his mother was going to cry and he didn’t want her to. “I understand.”

“Good boy.” She gasped, and then, she pulled him into a tight embrace. “I love you so much. Even when you think I hate you, I’ll always love you. Listen to your father, and never, ever be alone with either Otsuna or Kunitake. You’ll be just fine. I love you.”

She released him, and the cart began to move. Her figure was upright, his mother was unbreakable. Kotaro sat still, until he could no longer see her. He would not cry. He would not cry. Half an hour must have passed. The trees were unfamiliar, the road suddenly narrower. The sky darkened.

He hiccupped.

He cried.

The cart was close to the new house, and the nervous retainer picked up speed. Otou-san was at the gate, and he immediately ran to them. “Kotaro? Where’s your mother?”

Kotaro only kept crying and shook his head. Otou-san paled.

“She really went through with it.”

The next thing Kotaro knew, he was in a strange woman’s arms. Otou-san had taken one of the horses, and he snapped the reins, riding to the horizon. Before Kotaro was carried inside, he spotted the retainer’s very confused expression.

The strange woman set him down at a very large table, a gray lock of her hair falling loose. She was impassive to his whimpering and while her frame was stockier than his mother’s, her movements were equally efficient. She plucked the bones from a grilled fish, tossed the flesh with vegetables and rice, and slid the bowl in front of Kotaro. As an afterthought, she replaced the chopsticks with a spoon.

The hunger induced by travel and tears won over his stubbornness. He ate, bite by bite. The cook didn’t speak to him or touch him; once he started to eat, she nodded and proceeded to cook for everyone else. Other than the two retainers, there was an older samurai who was Otou-san’s direct assistant. The only women in the house were the maid and the gray-haired cook, who was deaf. She read lips, so the others tapped her shoulder when they needed something.

At such a moment, Kotaro took his chance. He scampered off, blindly, until he found a door. The alarmed voices behind him spurred him on, and he burst through. Night had just fallen, and a cold breeze hit him in the face. One of the retainers gripped his collar, chiding his mischievousness. After that, he was “put to bed”, or rather, locked in what was his own room.

Moving was a horrible, horrible thing. He wanted to go home, to Okaa-san and her loom and the yard with the maple tree. And he knew he couldn’t.

He slept in fits. Once, he thought someone entered the room, knelt beside him, and touched his cheek. Otou-san, he sluggishly registered. But in the morning, he woke up alone.

Living as a samurai’s son was a new experience. The courtyard was so clean, there wasn’t anything to play with, and he couldn’t touch the koi fish in the pond. The retainers greeted him but didn’t talk to him otherwise. The maid and cook were always busy, and so was his father. Every day, he was deposited at a building called a ‘school’, where a man talked on and on over a stack of books. Kotaro was suddenly thrust into pages of etiquette, transcribing lines with a splintered brush. There were four other boys, but they had their own lessons and ignored him. Occasionally, when he caught them looking at him, they turned away. After a month, he decided the new experience was boring.

He said as much, when Otou-san had a spare moment and asked how he was faring. Otou-san’s smile was strange and tight. “Then, how about this? I’ll take you fishing.”

Kotaro was so eager to get out, he didn’t think twice before vigorously nodding. They took a sole horse, and he sat in front, squeezing his eyes shut against the wind. He heard the river first, the loud sounds of moving water. When he was set down, the ground underneath was spongy yet firm.

Otou-san had brought two fishing rods; he demonstrated how to cast the line and reel in the hook. It was simple enough, but as Kotaro sat and waited for a fish to bite, he realized…

“This is boring too!”

“And that’s why you need to be patient.” Otou-san cheerfully said, as he leaned back. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Calm, deep breaths. The fish can sense if you’re fidgety. In, and out. Yes, that’s good. Keep doing that, and soon, you’ll have a catch.”

Kotaro pouted but obeyed. He did have to listen to Otou-san. While he continued to breathe at that deliberate rate, he slowly became aware of other things. A dragonfly, zipping along the reeds. The incessant rattle of cicadas and the whoosh of the horse’s tail. The heat of the sun on his head and shoulders, momentarily eased by the passing shadow of a bird. He also felt a sensation like floating yet within his own body. Then, there was a tug between his hands.

He jumped, jerking the fishing rod out of the water. Unfortunately, the hook was empty.

“That’s too bad.” Otou-san sympathized. “Do you want to try again?”

“…I don’t know.” Sleepiness pulled at him again, and Kotaro scrambled into his father’s lap. Otou-san froze at first, and then, he patted Kotaro’s hair.

“Yes, er, sleep if you need to. I should have remembered that you’re still young…”

Three fish ended up in their basket. Kotaro was jostled awake with each addition, but he shrugged off the disturbances with a grunt and adjustment in position. Following the last, he was lifted onto the horse again and they returned. The retainers bustled around them, leading the horse away and accepting their catch. Slightly drowsy, Kotaro didn’t protest when Otou-san took his hand and walked them to the empty yard. Otou-san glanced around. He knelt to Kotaro’s eye level, speaking in a hushed voice.

“I was waiting until you were comfortable living here, but I didn’t expect how often I’d be gone. While we’re alone…I should tell you now.” Otou-san closed his eyes, remembering. “‘Kotaro, I hope that you are minding yourself and those around you. You may not enjoy school, but it is necessary and you must endure it. I know you can. Remember what I told you. I love you.’” He opened his eyes again. “That was a message from your mother.”

“You talked to her?” Kotaro grabbed his sleeve. “Okaa-san?”

“Only once.”

“But you did. Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why? Why not? I want to know!”

Otou-san lifted his head to the clouds. After what seemed like an eon, he said. “I swore to her. You’ll understand when you are older.”

Understand? He didn’t understand anything. It was all beyond him. He hated being too young, he hated being told that he was too young.

“Then, I’ll show you! When I’m an adult, I’ll be nothing like you!”

“Kotaro-”

He never heard the rest, for he pivoted and sprinted to his room, slamming the door so hard it shook.

A small part of him hoped that Otou-san would follow him, apologize, and give in, explaining it all. But his father never did, and in his heart, the seeds of resentment began to sprout.

***

Otsuna and Kunitake were the children of his father’s first wife. Their father was a distant Kamiya cousin, who had died after Kunitake was born. They were adopted by Otou-san, when his marriage to their mother was arranged. Then, their mother passed away, and Otou-san cared for them like they were his own. But love had an ugly side to it, and Kotaro learned of it quickly.

Otsuna’s arrival was unannounced and at an hour when Otou-san was away from the house. Outwardly, she looked delicate and unassuming. Her hands were small and fair, and her eyes were demurely downcast. As she walked up the gravel path to the entrance, she smiled at the retainers, softly greeting them. Kotaro stayed just shy of the door. This was the person Okaa-san was so afraid of.

“Has my brother arrived yet?” She asked. “I would like to speak to him.”

One of the retainers made the mistake of introducing Kotaro, bringing him forward. Kotaro tried not to budge, but the man was much stronger. “Yes, he’s right here. Kotaro, greet your elder sister.”

He bowed his head. “Hello.”

There was no response, and he glanced upwards. Otsuna was still smiling, but the expression was fixed on. She tilted her head. “I had meant Kunitake, but yes, now I remember. There was this one.” Then, she walked past without acknowledging him.

The tension in the air was stifling, and one by one, everyone found excuses to leave. Kotaro escaped to his room. As much as he hated sleeping alone, he now had a reason to return to it. After Otou-san told him Okaa-san’s message, he had written it on a sheet of paper so he wouldn’t forget. On the other side, he had written the words Okaa-san drilled into his memory. Hidden in a small wooden box, the paper was his tie to his mother, when he didn’t know what to do.

Never, ever be alone with either Otsuna or Kunitake.

It was easier in the day, while he was at school. The hours were long but he did like sums, which were straightforward. Inevitably, he would have to return home. That was when the trouble began. Otsuna’s whereabouts varied at any time. Sometimes, she’d be visiting acquaintances and thankfully, unavailable. However, she never greeted him, and in turn, it was a tossup whether she’d appear or not.

Kotaro made the mistake of assuming the latter, when he returned to a quiet house at the end of the week. He felt like he could breathe and he headed for the courtyard, to visit the fattening koi fish. Although he couldn’t touch them, he had settled for watching them swim in lazy circles. He traced a path along the outer walls, focused on reaching the stone-lined pond. Engrossed as he was, he did not notice the shadowed figure on the porch until fingernails painfully tightened on his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Otsuna towered over him. Her dark eyes were frightening, as if she was looking through him and not at him.

“Um…nothing?”

“Kotaro.” His name sounded brittle in her mouth. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are my older sister.”

“You will address me as ‘Ane-ue’. Did your mother not teach you proper respect? Oh, of course not. A coarse peasant like her would have never.”

“Okaa-san is not-”

“Okaa-san?” She repeated, but her voice was high and strange. When she laughed, his stomach turned. “She really did raise you as a commoner!” She grabbed his face, and he squirmed. Her voice adopted a hard edge. “And you look just like her. Are you really Keiichiro’s son?” Just as abruptly, she released him, her nails giving a last twist into his skin.

Tears swam across his vision. His cheeks hurt.

“What’s this? Are you going to cry?”

The high, strange, mocking tone chilled him. As he ran into the house, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He was so scared. And he felt alone. Sniffling and teary, he managed to stumble into his room. The door felt solid, protective. A barrier against sharp fingernails and cold eyes and intense pressure on his face. Well…he was alone but safe. And that made it alright.

Exhausted, he curled into a ball and fell asleep. When he woke, it was to a knock. He remained still, heart wildly beating. He couldn’t find his voice.

The door opened a crack, and the cook peered inside. Silently, she entered with her arm held close to her body, and behind her, a lantern illuminated the floor. He must have missed dinner. The cook knelt beside him and withdrew a rectangle, wrapped in bamboo leaf. Otou-san and the retainers often received these, and Kotaro knew it contained two large onigiri. He gingerly accepted the food, peeling the leaves away as the cook stared him down to ensure he ate.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said. He devoured one riceball and started on the second, before inquiring. “Is Otou-san home?” It wasn’t that he fully trusted his father, but Otou-san was the only one who could talk to Otsuna.

She shook her head. From the snatches of the retainers’ conversation, Kotaro had heard that Otou-san was on a manhunt.

“Oh.” As he continued to eat, the cook glanced over at his writing desk. A scroll of paper was open, from when he was transcribing sentences in kana. She lifted the paper and pointed to two separate characters. I. Chi. Then, again. It clicked in Kotaro’s mind. “Oichi-san?”

A glimmer of satisfaction came to her eyes and she nodded.

“I’ll remember.” He promised. He finished the remainder of his riceball and Oichi folded the bamboo leaves. “Can I always eat in my room?”

The disapproval on her face was easy to read.

“Sometimes?”

She inhaled and rolled her gaze away. But she hadn’t shaken her head, so it wasn’t a definite refusal.

“Um, one more thing? Do you know where Okaa-san is?”

This time, her expression changed and he was unable to identify it. Later, he would know it as ‘pity’. She stood, shaking her head, and departed. Her shadow took the lantern with her, and the dark evening enveloped him.

Kunitake arrived two weeks later. Otsuna eagerly embraced him and repeatedly said he was “skin and bones”. He looked average to Kotaro, in every respect. He was about twelve years old, and he narrowed his eyes at Kotaro. “Huh.” Giving a careless shrug, he walked away without further acknowledgement. For Kotaro, it wasn’t much better than Otsuna’s first impression, but he was now aware of what could lurk behind that initial indifference.

That evening, Otou-san was at dinner. It was the first in many nights, and Kotaro knew he couldn’t hide. Otsuna had arranged the seating, so she and Kunitake were directly to Otou-san’s left and right. Kotaro was sent to the end of the table, his cushion full of uneven lumps. The food was good, but Kotaro felt sorry for Oichi. After the first dish, Otsuna left the table and practically shouted at the cook, to give another serving to Kunitake, who had suffered so much because of the famine. They all heard, and Otou-san excused himself too. Kotaro watched as he headed to the kitchen. His quieter voice was inaudible, but Otsuna’s shouting receded in his presence.

And now, Kotaro was alone with Kunitake. The older boy was still eating, seeming bored. His gaze slid to Kotaro. “Those were my clothes.”

“Oh.” He glanced down at the blue cloth. “I didn’t know.”

“Aren’t they too rough?” For Kotaro, they were softer than the clothes he used to have, but he didn’t respond. The moment passed, and Kunitake continued. “I could give you better ones.”

That sudden kindness was surprising. “Really?”

“If you pay me enough.” He crunched a few pickles. “Huh, these are good. Otsuna was right to ask for more. What’s that look on your face for?”

“Pay you…money?”

“I’m not picky. I just want to make a trade. Giving things for free is how people grow weak. Oh, and it has to be something I want. I won’t settle for anything else.”

Kotaro had already decided this was too much trouble. He shook his head. “I don’t want to trade.”

“Why not? You get something you want and I get something I want.”

“But I like these clothes.”

Kunitake narrowed his eyes. “Huh. That’s why peasants never get anywhere in life. And they start so young…”

Otsuna returned, miffed but holding her chin high. She set a plate in front of Kunitake. “I did it for you, so be grateful.”

“Yes, thank you, Ane-ue.” Kunitake drawled.

A shadow cast over the table, as soft, heavier footsteps sounded. “Kotaro? I know we haven’t spoken today. How are you faring?”

For the first time during the meal, he looked up at Otou-san and was startled. His father had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheekbones were sharper. The manhunt must have been hard for him. Just as those words came to mind, the resentment did as well. Kotaro glanced away. “Fine.”

“Have you been making friends?”

“…Not really.”

Kunitake interrupted. “Friends are alright, as long as you don’t make them carelessly.”

Otou-san slowly said. “Yes, it’s important to get along with other people and forge good connections. But it is just as important to recognize that finding companionship is natural.”

“Of course,” Otsuna murmured. “Appropriate companionship is acceptable, if you mind the consequences.”

“That’s enough!” Otou-san raised his voice, and a stunned silence descended upon the room. “Otsuna and Kunitake, as long as you live under this roof, you will respect your brother.”

“Yes, Chichi-ue.”

“Yes.”

Despite their bowed heads, Otou-san was unhappy. “I know five years has been a long time, and this is a new residence. But didn’t those five years teach you about the world? You must find people to rely on, and one day, Kotaro will be someone you can rely on. If you behave as elder siblings should.” He exhaled. “Now, let’s finish our dinner in peace.”

Otou-san meant to reach their hearts, but it was five years too late. For Otsuna and Kunitake, there was already no space for Kotaro.

And that was why he found refuge in kenjutsu.

***

Kunitake had lessons at a dojo, owned by a Kamiya in-law. Kotaro expected he would follow suit and dreaded the experience. One morning, the maid gave him a worn uniform, and he dragged his feet in preparing. Then, he stayed out of sight, peering around the house’s corner and watching the hitching of the horses to the cart. He ducked when Otsuna saw Kunitake off. Maybe, if he kept hiding, they would leave without him-

“Ah, there you are, Kotaro.” Otou-san placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Utterly dejected, he trudged to the cart. There was a pleased glint in Kunitake’s gaze, as he caught the old uniform. Otou-san joined the driver at the front, and they began to move.

The building was mostly concealed by pine trees, the sign bearing bold calligraphy. Kunitake headed towards the gate, offering a nonchalant goodbye. However, as Kotaro was about to follow, Otou-san stopped him. “No, we’ll keep moving.” With a flick of the reins, the horses continued.

Kotaro blinked. “I’m not learning kenjutsu?”

“You will, although you won’t be learning here. Instead, you’ll receive lessons from my teacher. If he’ll have you, I think you’ll be a better student than I was.”

The cart traveled on, and they arrived at a small dojo on the outskirts of town. A vegetable patch lined one side and dead leaves were strewn about, although the front steps were clean. Otou-san entered familiarly, calling out. “Sensei!” As Kotaro would later learn, Sensei’s real name was Iida Toyoharu. He was a slight old man, with a long white beard and thick eyebrows. But he stood upright and moved gracefully across the floorboards.

“This is my son, Kotaro.”

“Kotaro…” Sensei scrutinized him with deep-set eyes. “Hm, you did mention him. How old is he?”

“This year, he will be seven.”

“Good, good.” He sniffed. They proceeded to talk about Otou-san’s work and people Kotaro had never heard of before. Kotaro took the opportunity to examine the dojo. Small boards were nailed to the walls, but when he touched one, his finger came away covered in dust. The ink was chipping too; if Kotaro squinted, he could see empty gaps within the kanji.

Otou-san eventually said. “I would like for Kotaro to learn kenjutsu. Sensei, I humbly ask you to teach him.”

Instantly, Sensei’s hand whacked the side of Otou-san’s head. “Doesn’t anything get through your thick skull?! I’m retired! Retired!”

“Well, you’re still fit, so I assumed-”

“Bah!” His lip curled. “You think I can live forever?”

“And Kotaro would be a good successor. He’d carry on your message, in life and in kenjutsu. I’ll leave him with you for today, so you don’t have to take my word.”

“No, I won’t.” Sensei pivoted, beckoning Kotaro with a flapping hand. “Come here, come here. Hm…” He surveyed Kotaro’s face, encouraged him to turn around once. “Hm. Alert and obedient, very good. The shyness will take cracking, but that’s easy to do. Now, I haven’t agreed! Since you came all this way, I’ll evaluate him.”

“Thank you, Sensei!” Otou-san beamed. “Kotaro, I’ll return in the afternoon. Behave, and listen to Sensei.”

“…yes.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.” Otou-san quickly ruffled Kotaro’s hair, before striding out. As soon as he was gone, Kotaro smoothed the strands back into place.

Sensei cleared his throat. “Dusty, isn’t it?”

Kotaro nodded.

“Good, you’re honest! It should be cleaned, hm? Let’s start.”

Wet rags and brooms in hand, they cleaned the dojo. Kotaro expected to be bored, but surprisingly, Sensei liked to talk. “What have you been learning? Kanji?”

“Yes, I can write a few sentences.”

“Excellent. You must have worked hard.”

“I want to do more.”

Sensei’s laugh was crackly. “That ambition wasn’t inherited from your father. What else?”

“Math. Paintings, sometimes.” He didn’t quite understand why though. “And the four classes.”

“The four classes.” Sensei repeated. “I suppose they taught you how important and illustrious samurai are.”

Kotaro didn’t respond. He squeezed his rag over a bucket, filling it with more dirty water.

“Isn’t it true your mother was a commoner?”

“Yes.”

“Bah! So you understand that it’s all nonsense! They would teach you that the world is proper and harmonious, but it’s far from it in reality. There is no peace.” Sensei waggled his finger. “The rich remain rich and drunk on power. The shogun grows fatter, while the people suffer. My son was killed in broad daylight, and it’s only thanks to your father’s kindness that my daughter can make a living.”

“Your daughter?”

“Oichi. She cooks for your household.”

“I do know her. She kept me away from…trouble, so she’s nice.”

For a while, Sensei was quiet. At length, he said. “Well, I expect you in the morning. Tell your father you’ll start lessons tomorrow, at the hour of the dragon. And don’t be late! Punctuality is the first step to proper discipline.”

He wasn’t late. Otou-san was too pleased Sensei had accepted and ensured they beat the sun to the dojo. Once he was alone with Sensei, he was given a shinai. Kotaro looked over it with trepidation, until Sensei snapped his fingers to catch his attention. Sensei would demonstrate, Kotaro would mirror, and any mistakes would be corrected before completing the task on his own. They started with the movements, shuffling forwards and back. Then, the grip and posture. By noon, Kotaro was practicing swings and forward thrusts.

“Very good!” Sensei approved, giving a little sniff. “Now, one more time!”

The smell of wax and incense. The feel of bamboo in his hands. The strain and sweat and success when he understood a motion, in mind and body.

This…this was where he belonged.

***

The seasons changed. With the new year, he turned seven. Unfortunately, he also fell ill with a cold. While he sweated under a thick blanket in his room, he overheard an argument outside the sliding door.

“That boy won’t be going anywhere. But we must celebrate at the shrine, or we will invite evil spirits.” Otsuna sounded extremely serious.

Otou-san responded. “I’ve said it before, the two of you can go on your own. You’re certainly old enough. I’ll stay with Kotaro.”

“You spent last year with him, and the year before, and the year before that. It’s our turn.” That was Kunitake.

Kotaro pulled the blanket over his head and closed his ears. Fine, if they wanted Otou-san that much, they could have him! It wasn’t as if he asked to get sick. He twisted in his futon, wishing the feeling of shame away.

When his bedroom door opened, he peeked to see Oichi. She moved the blanket a little, to place a warm cloth on his forehead.

“I don’t want it.” He protested.

Oichi pointed to his stomach.

“I’m not hungry either. I hate not celebrating.”

Her eyebrows lifted and she mimicked throwing something. He had taken his meals in bed, missing out on the bean throwing. When he didn’t react at her intention, she straightened and beckoned him to follow her. As he shuffled in her wake to the kitchen, he could tell that the house was empty. Of course, his father had given in. Whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn’t disappointment.

Oichi gave him seven beans and opened the sliding door a hand’s width. Cold winter air seeped through. She crossed her arms, grimacing. Be quick about it, her posture was saying.

“Thank you.” He said. He vaguely remembered doing this the previous year, and flung the beans outside. They didn’t fly far, skipping off the porch to land in the snow. “Demons out, luck in.” It wasn’t nearly as satisfying now. He turned to Oichi. “What about yours?”

She wryly shook her head, and extending her arm, she grabbed the door’s edge. Back to bed.

He spared a last look at the pits in the snow. “Next time, I’ll give you some of mine, so you can throw them.”

At that, Oichi smiled.

Kotaro succumbed to a dreamless rest. When he woke again, night was approaching. He blinked. Otou-san was in his room, holding a lantern and bent over his desk. Upon Kotaro’s quiet rustling, he noticed and drew closer. “How are you feeling?”

Kotaro shrugged, as Otou-san pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Well, you’re not as warm. Now, I have something to share with you.” He held up a piece of paper. “The shrine’s priest recognized me, he used to work in our old village when you were a baby, and he said he was told to give this to me. But really, it’s meant for you. Here.”

Kotaro gingerly took it. As it unfolded, he started to read.

Kotaro,

I pray that you’re behaving and listening to your father. I pray that you’re healthy and content. Have you learned many things? Have you grown taller? These are my thoughts, so know that you are always on my mind.

By the time you receive this, I will be long gone. I’m sewing and doing good work, so there’s no need to worry about me. I only wanted to express this to you, that I miss you.

There was no signature. But he could hear his mother’s voice.

He gripped the paper, suddenly dizzy with excitement. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since…I assume she sent this through other people, to get it to this priest.” Otou-san hesitated. “Can you hold onto it? Keep it safe?”

“I will.” He stared at Okaa-san’s handwriting, transfixed again. “I can keep it in a box.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Because Kotaro was still weak, Otou-san rummaged around for a plain wooden box and after sliding the paper inside, he left it on a shelf. With a last touch on Kotaro’s shoulder, he said. “Sleep well.”

And with another longing glance at the box, Kotaro did so, smiling.

***

Under the heat of the afternoon sun, they had been walking in silence for some time. At last, Sensei said. “What have you learned today?”

Kotaro struggled for the right words. “…Dojo breaking is pressuring.”

“That’s a fair assessment but not the best one.”

Over the past three years, they had traveled to the dojos of Sensei’s former students. Today was no different. However, it was the first time Kotaro was witness to a challenge. While he had been learning from the pleasant older students, a group of men had burst in, demanding for the opportunity to fight. The glinting metal of their swords forced Kotaro to the sidelines, unable to look away. The intruders lost, yet the victory was slim and more than a few of the kind students were injured. Kotaro helped in dressing their bloody wounds and though he washed his hands, his fingertips were cold. Sensei had scowled the entire hour.

“Dojo breaking is asking for trouble!” Sensei exclaimed. “Disrupting the peace!” That was a favorite phrase of his.

“It was dangerous.” Kotaro agreed. “Is that why I don’t carry a real sword?” Most ten-year-olds already did, having discarded wood and bamboo. But Kotaro still hadn’t touched steel.

“To learn the sword, real blades should not be used.”

“But you said one never stops learning.”

“And that’s true! As long as you’re in a dojo, a place of education and discipline, you must not harm another person seeking that same knowledge. Those hooligans who barged in, they claimed to be seeking honor, but there is no honor in a false superiority. Of course, the sword is necessary in this world! But you must handle it with responsibility.” Sensei added.

“I understand.”

He did like it though. He had to work hard, especially with Sensei constantly at his heels, but it paid off in sparring matches. In the other dojos, he was taken seriously and praised for being mature. To the sword, social status, age, and class did not matter. Already, he was often assigned to guide the youngest boys. When the little ones turned and struck in unison, he felt proud. He could have taught their sisters as well; some had jealously watched the start of lessons, only to be steered away by their mothers.

Well, when he opened his own dojo, he’d make sure it was open to everyone. That wasn’t the only reason he wanted to grow up quickly. Once he became an adult, he would try to see his mother again.

Okaa-san had sent a letter each year. Her messages were consistent, wishing the best for him and wondering how he had grown. He scoured them for details. She shared that she was in a different domain, although it was not far. While she continued to sew for a living, she was learning about herbs. She lived alone. The information was extremely scant, but after living with his siblings, he had realized why she couldn’t stay. The box of letters was wedged under his desk, not readily noticeable. Occasionally, while he was studying, he would touch it for comfort. It would only be five years before he had his genpuku, like Kunitake.

His older brother was rarely home, for he was accompanying Otou-san on patrol. Although Kunitake remained single-minded on gaining advantage, he had become cleverer about it. He knew how to talk, and mysteriously, officials liked his thick flattery.

Kotaro was still deep in thought when he arrived home. He trudged past the gate, absently greeting Oichi who was drawing water from the well, and walked down the hallway.

“Kotaro. Kotaro!”

He was startled. Otsuna was calling for him, his name still strange in her voice after four years. There was a smile plastered on her face, not reaching her cold eyes. She was sitting at the table with three unfamiliar women.

“Come here, and greet my friends.”

He didn’t move. His heart was pounding, his fingers colder.

The women brushed off the awkwardness. “Oh, don’t bother him.”

“He must be shy.” Their conversation continued, and Kotaro took that chance to slip out.

However, when his sister was furious, hiding was ineffective. Once the guests departed, Otsuna entered his bedroom. Before he could protest, she hissed. “You embarrassed me in front of those women! Did you know who they were? The daughters of a metsuke. Kunitake is being considered as one of his assistants, so if you’ve ruined his chances, you will have to deal with me.” Her expression nasty, she spun on her heel and glided away. Her fingernails had pierced the rice paper on his door. He carefully counted his breaths, the way Otou-san taught him. Then, he went to find new paper.

Other than meditation, Otou-san and Kotaro were very different. Kotaro respected Otou-san’s devotion to the arts, but he couldn’t really understand what Otou-san was saying. Otou-san practically lit up when he found a new subject or a beautiful piece for sale, eagerly talking to Kotaro about the finer aspects. Kotaro would nod along, agreeing. He may have learned a thing or two, but he could never retain much more.

It was probably better this way. If he was any closer to Otou-san, he could have suffered more than face grabs and threats.

He retrieved the new paper and was about to return to his room, when Kunitake nonchalantly emerged.

“What are you doing?” Kotaro blurted.

“Nothing.” A sly smile, and then, he strode away. As soon as he turned the corner, Kotaro threw open the door to find nothing out of place. But now, he was nervous and he made the mistake of moving his precious box. On his cluttered shelf, he arranged scrolls and inkstones to camouflage it.

The following day, he only had morning lessons. He planned to finish some reading in his room, and he scanned the shelf. The books were there, but the box was not. It was gone. His gut clenched.

When he stumbled into the hallway, he did see the box, but it was clasped in the hands of Kunitake. His elder brother smirked. “Looking for something?”

Energy surged through him, from head to toe. These were infinitely precious, the affirmations of Okaa-san’s love.

He was not going to lose them.

Kunitake rattled the box. “What’s this? A letter? Do you have a sweetheart?”

“Give it back!”

“What will you give me for it?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what you want! But you can’t have this!”

“Well, it’s too late for that. I’m holding it, aren’t I?”

With that, Kotaro decided. He’d had enough. And with a loud cry, he kicked his older brother in the groin. Kunitake immediately crumpled, howling. Kotaro grabbed the box and bolted. He nearly collided with Otsuna, who had just turned the corner. Her gaze locked on the scene, then on Kotaro.

“What did you do? What did you do?!” With a scream, her outstretched fingers lunged for his face.

But unlike three years ago, Kotaro was stronger and faster. He could tell where she was aiming. He dodged and thrust his shoulder against her ribcage, pushing her aside. The footsteps of the retainers were approaching, and Kotaro fearfully glanced behind him. Kunitake, thrashing about and wailing as he clutched the area between his legs. Otsuna, arm braced against the wall, her mouth round in shock at his defiance. He had done this.

So, he ran. He ran past the gate, down the street, randomly taking different paths. His legs burned and he couldn’t draw enough breath, but he kept running. Dust flew into his eyes and he futilely wiped at the tears.

At last, he heard the river. He slowed to a walk, to a stagger, before kneeling in the spongy ground. He remained there, unmoving and listless. He had lost his temper and fought back against his siblings. There was no going back from this, not at all. And he dreaded the retribution. His mind played horrible scenarios, revolving around biting pain, shrill voices, and the gleam of the retainers’ katanas.

Otou-san found him shivering and hugging the box. Neither of them spoke, while Otou-san quietly dismounted his horse to crouch beside him. The moving water made sounds, but to Kotaro, they were muffled.

“Those are your mother’s letters?”

Kotaro’s teeth chattered. “Yes.”

“I see. I think it’s best if we don’t leave them at home. Can you find a good hiding place?”

“The dojo?”

“The dojo would be fine, if Sensei will agree to it. Shall we go see him?”

“I don’t want to go with you.”

“…I was worried when you ran off like that. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You don’t care. You leave me alone with them.” Kotaro abruptly stood.

“I only want you to get along.”

“We’re never going to get along. I’m ten and I know that.”

At this point, the retainers arrived with the cart. Although they were relieved, Otou-san instructed them to take Kotaro to Sensei’s dojo. “If you leave now, you’ll be back by nightfall. I’ll talk to Otsuna and Kunitake. Please keep Kotaro safe.”

If Sensei was surprised to see Kotaro again, he didn’t show it. When Kotaro wordlessly offered the box to him, he glanced inside and understood. “Hm, I had a feeling this would happen. You’re welcome any time, if you need to be reassured.”

Kotaro nodded, his head low.

The next morning, they had a peaceful breakfast. No raised voices, no fast movements. Everyone was on their best behavior. On the surface, it seemed nothing had happened, although Kotaro didn’t want to even look at his siblings. He was afraid of what he would see, if he did.

He didn’t have long to agonize over it. Shortly after, Otsuna’s marriage was arranged. She handled it with more grace than expected, although she was probably happy Kunitake was now that metsuke’s assistant. The house bustled with preparations, yet amidst the tailoring and packing, Otsuna spoke once to Kotaro. She was sitting on the porch, drinking tea, and her sudden outburst stopped him as he was trying to move past her. “I know those letters were from your mother.”

“Huh?” His instinct was that Otou-san had said something. Anger flared inside him. In addition, he had been running errands for a bit of change. The coins were hidden at Sensei’s, for safekeeping, but his goal was to travel to the surrounding domains and look for Okaa-san. If Otsuna knew that as well, his hard work was about to crumble.

“Or, supposedly they are.” Otsuna continued. “Personally, I think they were forged by Chichi-ue, out of pity.”

Kotaro held his tongue. The handwriting was markedly different, and if Otou-san wanted to pity him, he could have spun a better story about Okaa-san, instead of providing vague details. But it seemed Otsuna had never seen the letters and that was a small comfort. “Ane-ue, you’re free to think what you want.”

She scoffed. “That impudence! You’ve inherited it. That sharp tongue needed lashing, she was so disrespectful to Chichi-ue!”

“I’m not listening to what you say about my mother. You hate her.”

The response was immediate. “I hate your mother because she bewitched Chichi-ue. While my mother was dying, he was away from her bedside, to be with that bitch. Meanwhile, Kunitake and I suffered…and then, she had to get pregnant! With a son, so she could improve her standing. Your mother’s plan of seducing Chichi-ue was cowardly and devious.” Otsuna clearly thought that his mother was wicked to the core.

“I don’t believe you.” He bluntly said. “And it doesn’t matter! I don’t care.” And the words felt true. “Whatever happened is between them. It’s not my fault I was born.”

“And it’s because you were born, that Kunitake’s position was endangered. Well, his future is secure, so now I have nothing to worry about.” She shrugged. A shrug, after all this pain she had inflicted. It may have been for someone else’s sake, but that didn’t make any of it right.

Without saying any more, he kept walking. In that moment, he only felt glad she was leaving.

The wedding reception was held at the groom’s household, and because he had business ties to the Kamiya clan, Kotaro was introduced to relatives he never met before. He managed to memorize the different family lines in his mind, but it was a lot to take in a short period of time. When he had a free moment to spare, he searched for a quiet place in the courtyard. However, someone was already there.

A figure in a dark kimono was crouched close to the ground. She was about nineteen years old, her hair pulled into a plain bun. Upon the crackling of leaves under his shoes, the woman tensed, keeping her body positioned away. “Ah, you’re Otsuna’s brother.”

Kotaro stiffly nodded. “Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m one of your cousins, Orin. I knew your sister when we were younger and I was told to sort the wedding gifts, although this one…” She showed him a tiny birdcage, entrapping a warbler. It cocked its brown head and fluttered its wings.

“Did you steal it?”

“No, it was listless, so I thought it needed air. I feel so sorry for it.” Orin said.

The beady eyes stared at Kotaro. “Then, let’s set it free.”

“Eh? I suppose that would be the obvious solution. But what should we do about the empty cage?”

“Hide it? It’s small. Too small, so we should save the bird. Let’s break the lock.” He began searching for a stone heavy enough to do the job.

Orin smiled. “I have a little son, he’s only a year old, but I hope he’ll be as kind as you.”

The praise embarrassed him. “Where’s your son?”

“For today, he’s with my mother. My husband’s in a different town, studying to become a doctor.”

He picked up a rock, weighing it between his hands. “Then, why aren’t you with him now?”

“That’s a good question. It’s because we made a promise to each other. If he can become the best doctor the world has seen, I will not be a burden to him. I want him to focus on his work, without having to worry about me. That’s how I can help him. When the promise is fulfilled, I’ll join him.”

Kotaro pondered over her words as he struck the rock against the lock. With a definitive blow, it broke.

“There we are!” Orin exclaimed. She pulled the door open, offering the blue sky to the bird. “Go on.”

It didn’t move immediately, the beady eyes perfectly still. It puffed up. One clawed foot touched the ground behind it. Then, with a loud series of flaps and a blur of brown feathers, it took off. Kotaro squinted against the sun, the glare nearly blocking out the bird’s silhouette, before the creature swooped and disappeared into the tree line.

“Goodbye.” He belatedly said.

“That was a good thing we did.” Orin declared. “I need to return, but it was a pleasure to meet you at last, Kotaro. Perhaps, one day, you can visit us.”

“I hope so.” He bowed his head and his cousin echoed what a well-behaved child he was.

The broken cage was deposited in a tangle of bushes. It was still there, cast in the growing shadows of dusk, when he climbed into the cart. Kunitake sat up front, yawning. It had been a long day, and it was time to return home. The newlyweds shared parting words with his father.

“I wish you well, Otsuna.” Otou-san said.

“Thank you, Chichi-ue.” She murmured. “Kunitake, I pray…that you will receive everything you deserve.” Her voice wobbled, and she turned her face into her sleeve. She did not say goodbye to Kotaro. He avoided her white-clad form too, as the cart moved away.

He never heard from her again. Kunitake received letters from her, but he never shared the contents. That was perfectly fine with Kotaro.

And so, time passed. Adulthood was approaching for Kotaro, and as such, he accompanied Otou-san during the day. He was given a map of the patrol routes and learned to traverse them on horseback. He felt self-conscious, visibly maneuvering through the crowds. Any glances in his direction were quickly diverted. It was terribly nerve-wracking; he greatly preferred using the three weapons.

Before his first day, Otou-san had demonstrated the techniques. The sodegarami, tsukubo, and sasumata were designed to capture without killing. Grabbing a sleeve, or tripping feet, or restraining a limb were appealing to Kotaro. He mirrored his father’s motions with each weapon, feeling more confident with each iteration.

Otou-san was impressed. “You look so comfortable, even without a blade. This is why I brought you to Sensei. I wanted you to understand that violence is not necessary in apprehending people.”

“Because it happens too often?”

“So you know?”

“I’ve heard stories.” Kotaro said. A recent one was of a man, mistaken for another who had committed fraud against a group of influential merchants. His indignance upon arrest was repaid with a severe beating and broken leg. It was later discovered he had an alibi, but there was no apology from the samurai. Verbally, at least. Kotaro recalled his brother pointing out their monthly budget was lower, for no apparent reason.

“Unsatisfying stories.” Otou-san shook his head. “Your teacher would have something to say about it...”

The unspoken remainder was ‘if he had the energy’. Sensei fell ill more frequently, and although his spirit hadn’t diminished, he was more pensive. “As expected of your youth, you’re outstripping me. However, I’ve noticed how good you are, as a teacher. Consider going to the Motomiya Shin dojo, in Takaoka Domain. They could use you and you’d learn a great deal in turn. Their methods are different, but they don’t use real swords.”

Kotaro seriously mulled it over. It was a new opportunity, and although he would have to leave town, he held no special feelings for his current residence. To him, home had always been that tile-roofed house with its mud walls and single maple tree. Right now, red leaves would have adorned the yard where he played without a care. “I’m interested. I’ll mention it to my father.”

“See that you do.”

If Otou-san was surprised, he hid it well. He only said. “If that’s what you’d like to pursue, I’ll support you.” A correspondence with Motomiya-sensei began, planning for a visit in the following summer.

During that winter of Kotaro’s fourteenth year, Kunitake was married to another samurai’s daughter. The wedding was small, and after the couple drank from their cups at the shrine, they departed for their new residence. Technically, it had once belonged to Kunitake’s biological father, and he was fulfilling his inheritance now. For the last time, Kotaro exchanged a few sentences with Kunitake, mostly platitudes.

“So, it will just be you and Chichi-ue.” Kunitake forcefully smiled. “I wonder if you’ll be lonely.”

“I believe we’ll be alright. I wish you good fortune, Ani-ue.” He mechanically said.

“Thank you.” Then, he moved on to speak with someone else. Kotaro wasn’t offended; it was better they weren’t around each other for too long.

But the conversation lingered in his thoughts, as it had reinforced an idea.

For the first time in nearly a decade, he was alone with his father. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore. He had changed, and not all of it was positive. His experience with Otsuna and Kunitake had hardened him. He was serious and quiet, because a word out of line would have brought their retaliation. He was meticulous, because he had to prove himself to his peers every day. He had to look over his shoulder all the time, and now, that burden had been lifted. Of course, he was relieved they were gone, but he was also apprehensive. He thought of the caged bird he had freed with Orin, how it hesitated before flying away. It must have asked the same question he was considering.

Now what?

He hadn’t decided, and soon, they were celebrating the beginning of another year. Kotaro underwent his coming-of-age ceremony. It wasn’t as grand as Kunitake’s, because he didn’t have any connections to higher-ranking men. However, the hearty congratulations of those he did know were enough. Otou-san’s friends and their household retainers were eager to fill his cup of sake, until Sensei protested. “Bah! Leave him be, all of you! He can barely breathe.”

Oichi had cooked foods he liked and smiled wider than he’d ever seen. When she first saw him in his new clothing, she firmly squeezed his shoulder and her eyes shone with affection. He nervously smiled in return. The expression became fixed, when his fellow kenjutsu practitioners visited. Throughout the day, there was a constant barrage of compliments and fond sentiments.

Embarrassed at the amount of attention, he was almost glad when Otou-san privately called him aside.

“I’m happy that you’ve reached this safely and in good health.” Were those tears in his eyes? “You’ve been waiting for it, for quite a long time. And…I can guess why. I’ve felt the same way, since that summer.” That day, when his mother’s upright figure disappeared into the horizon.

Kotaro swallowed. “I just want to know if Okaa-san’s well.” The message was a month early this time. Okaa-san had recognized he was about to enter adulthood, and he could easily recall her words.

In my head, there is only the little boy. I can still remember your little hands, although they must be carrying a sword by now. Are you well? Are you content? If I could, I would very much like to see what kind of young man you’ve become.

He had enough money to travel to the relatively near Sakura Domain. From her brief descriptions of her environment, he deduced she was living there. He had been counting the days after Kunitake’s wedding, and he planned to take a horse by the end of the week.

“I understand. But first, there is something I need to do for you.”

Kotaro followed him to his desk, where everything had been prepared. A clean sheet of paper, freshly ground ink. Otou-san lifted the brush; with the other hand, he held his sleeve. His writing was careful, elegant, self-assured. When he finished, he turned the paper towards Kotaro.

Three bold characters met his eyes.

“Koshijiro. Because you are my son, who was given a path in life and has surpassed it. I’m proud of you.”

He was supposed to be pleased, but he couldn’t muster any excitement. This made the change final. The boy named Kotaro was gone. Numbly, he murmured. “…Thank you.”

And Koshijiro bowed.

***

The postal worker slid the envelope across the counter. “There you are.”

Koshijiro exhaled. “It’s about time.” Only yesterday, he finished cleaning the shed, yet it seemed ages ago. The lingering soreness from the labor and the mental fatigue from work were forgotten as he took the letter. He held it close to his body, maintaining a tight grip the entire way home. Summer had lengthened the days, and dusk wouldn’t happen for some time. Nevertheless, he walked briskly, eager to read the long-awaited letter from Kyoto.

Takani was at the gate, and he called out to her. She turned her head. “Oh, Kamiya-san. I was just locking up, there’s a patient I have to see. I borrowed the kitchen.” She lifted the bundle in her hand, wrapped in a colorfully patterned cloth. “I’m taking my portion with me, but yours is on the counter.”

“Thank you. I’ll compensate you for the cost of the ingredients.”

“It’ll have to be later, I really need to hurry.” She glanced at the envelope, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “By then, I expect some news too.”

“Of course. Travel safely.”

“Naturally, I will. I’ll stop by tomorrow.” With a little wave, she was off.

The box on the counter was still warm, and he was grateful for the food. Afterwards, he took the small knife he used for opening letters and opened the sliding door, so the sunset would provide enough light to read by. He set a book onto the envelope, slipped the blade underneath the edge, and slowly tore away at the crease. It was terribly tedious, but his determination outweighed his annoyance. Within the envelope, there were two pieces of paper, in markedly different handwriting. The one with sloppier, larger kanji was definitely Yahiko’s. It was also shorter and he read it first.

Dear Kamiya-san,

Kaoru made me write this, even after she explained everything. Do I have to keep writ

The food is good here, but the flavors are blander. The futon’s not too bad. The Shirobeko’s really busy, but the people are nice enough. It’s just a little lonely because there’s no one here who’s my age. But I will endure it, because I am a swordsman.

I’ll have more to write about next time. I hope.

Yahiko

He stifled a laugh. Well, this was a good learning experience for Yahiko. Written communication was important for everyone in this age, and judging from the retracted sentence, it seemed the boy had been told as much. He set the paper aside and moved on to Kaoru’s.

Dear Otou-san,

How have you been? I hope you’re not too lonely. I’m sorry if this arrives later than expected, we’ve still been adjusting and I must have rewritten this one ten times. The next one will be quicker.

Sae-san is treating us well, and everyone at the Shirobeko is kind. They send their best wishes to the Akabeko. Here, Yahiko and I are usually given small tasks, like buying groceries or sweeping the dining area. We put up posters of Kenshin nearby, but the rain here destroyed them. It’s summer, so it’s expected, but it was frustrating. Instead, we’re trying a different tactic. The Shirobeko is well-established and has many business ties, including inns and other restaurants. Yahiko and I have been making rounds, asking permission to leave a poster with each building. If Kenshin stops at any of them, we’ll be told. As of writing this letter, no one has spotted him yet.

I haven’t given up. I’m sure we’ll see him soon.

Meanwhile, I cleared enough space in the back so Yahiko and I can practice. Just because we’re away from the dojo, that doesn’t mean he can slack off! I’m not worried though; he’s motivated to be stronger. Isn’t that such a change from a few months ago, when he didn’t want to learn Kamiya Kasshin? It really is rewarding.

Could you let Tae and Tsubame know that we’re alright? Megumi too, I suppose. And if we ever see Kenshin (or Sanosuke), we’ll send a telegram. It’ll be much faster that way.

I miss you. I look forward to your letter.

Your daughter,

Kaoru

Koshijiro smiled fondly. He read the letters again, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything, before heading inside.

#rurouni kenshin #fanfic #at arm's length

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fantroll-purgatory · 6 years ago

Text

FIRST: Alternia or Beforus or some type of AU?

Alternia

Name (preferably include how you came up with it and why):

Arimus Psyurb. Arimus is from maritimus the species name for polar bears and Psyurb is P—-B for polar bear/lead Pb and the –yurb for herb (pronunciation wise). The last name needs work maybe.

I feel like…the bear part tracks but I’m not sure I follow about the lead/herb part? I fffeel like the lead part is doable but I reserve judgement on the plants thing.

Age:

8 sweeps(17 human years)

Strife Specibus:

bat-kind. I was thinking claw, but a bat works because she’s a sylph of void and bats can be used to give people amnesia (just like a sylph of void can remove peoples memories). And the symbol kinda looks like a baseball diamond.

…is it important that it’s a baseball diamond because of the bad news bears? I would really like it if that’s the case.

Fetch Modus:

Tangram Modus

The cards are stored like normal until want to remove an item. When you go to remove an item, it spits out a tangram puzzle based on the item you want (ex. the item you want is an apple, the puzzle is shaped like an apple). When you solve the puzzle the item appears. It starts with 10 cards. I chose this modus because it relates back to the void aspect of her title.

Also tracks bc there’s a pretty well-known Bear Pattern to make with tangrams. If you want something to do with the lead theme, you can use an X-Ray Modus based off lead being used as radiation shielding, which would show the “skeleton” of an object on a captcha card for her to select.

Blood color:

#2F5EC6 Cerulean/Cobalt

Thaaaat looks just a little bright to me, so I’m gonna bump it down so it’s a little more in line with the ceruleanbloods we’ve seen.

Symbol and meaning:

Ursa minor, the little bear. This symbol contains the northern star polaris which I relate to polar bears being in the north.

Trolltag:

customAperture. She loves photography and the aperture is the hole that light travels through in a camera. She also creates a lot of crafts and loves to modify things she owns. Her symbol also kind of looks like an aperture on a camera.

I kinda feel like this one is a stretch. Photography doesn’t have much to do with lead or with polar bears or even with herbs. If I may suggest another hobby for her, how about painting, especially given that until recently lead was commonly used in paint for so long? Her new trolltag could be customAcrylics, because she mixes her own paint!

Quirk:

if a letter is useless or isn’t enunciated when spoken, it’s replaced with an apostrophe. Capitalization for the first letter of a new sentence after the initial sentence, certain full words for EMPHASIS. Fixes any grammar mistakes by using an asterisk + the misspelled word corrected. If I use an ’!’ or ’?’, I use it 4 times,

ex. “oh fuckin’ fuckity duck!!!!” “*fuck”

asterisks look like snowflakes and the 4 repetition comes from 4 legs and the love of the number 4.

Special Abilities (if any):

Heightened strength, but nothing too grandiose.

Lusus:

Polar Bear (bigger than normal). PBD (polar bear dad) he hunts for food most of the day and sleeps for the rest. He’s protective of me if I’m in danger, but lets me stay independent/do my own thing the rest of the time.

Since you’ve made Arimus a girl PBD will have to become PBM for reasons I still do not fully understand. Also I still prefer lusii that have something going for them besides “him big,” so maybe give her tiger stripes as a nod to the origin story of the “Ungnyeo,” which further cements her as a mother polar bear.

Hive:

A large cave in the middle of a tundra that’s far from most other trolls. It has rooms and other regular home things like lights and furniture, it’s just built in a large cave.

Personality:

lazy, sarcastic, and awkward. Optimistic, but harbors some cynicism. Extremely loyal when bond is formed. Helps even when she really isn’t needed. She falls into the background and goes unnoticed a lot. Introverted and needs time to herself to recharge. Gets irritated if she’s asked too many questions. Gets angry when people don’t trust her when she says that she knows what she’s doing.

I think this needs to be a little stronger, and I was drawn to the phrase “Helps even when she really isn’t needed.” This is a little bit of what goes into “mama bear” types, and you can possibly have this play out with Arimus in the form of constantly meddling in her friends’ affairs for the sake of making them “better” (sound a little Vriska? It should!) You can keep most of the bio you’ve written with the exception of fading into the background! She can even be an introvert with all these characteristics, who nonetheless chooses to push herself for the sake of what she sees as an indispensable service to her friends.

Interests:

She’s an amateur photographer. She loves botany, she has a herb garden right outside her hive (it grows well because of the sunlight where she is). Her love of botany stems from her love of chemicals and that her lusus catches enough meat and she wants to balance her diet.

I ssssstill don’t really see how herbs fit into all this. Like the Polar Bear ==> PB ==> Lead track is an easy one to follow, but the only way I can maybe make the herb part work is…peanut…butter? Peanuts are a legume and that’s a plant and herbs are also plants??? Furthermore, we have no reason to believe Alternian gardening works like Earth gardening, especially given trolls’ aversion to sunlight.

In addition to my earlier suggested painting, I can suggest a couple interests that line up both with the lead part and with her lusus! She could be a hunter who uses lead shot to hunt (and then needs to clean the corpse so her lusus can eat it). Lead is also used in modern day to weigh down diving belts, which she could use to dive along with her lusus (since polar bears primary hunt in the water).

Likes:

sleep, her herb garden, video games, puzzles, polar bears, her close friends, and puns.

I feel like video games is kind of generic here, especially since it seems like a lot of Alternia is into the hobby. What kind? Perhaps point and click, since it involves creating random stuff out of fusing it together.

Dislikes:

work, high pitched noises, being alone, and getting too hot (being sweaty).

Title:

(not sure what the rules on gt wings are)

Sylph of Void. She loves to help and fix problems. She’s often overlooked or ignored. She is an introvert and keeps a lot of secrets. A Sylph of Void would be one who both heals Void and heals through Void. They would be great at helping someone heal themselves by keeping secrets. Also, they would be able to heal through deception by telling someone what they want to hear.

Land:

Land of Luminescence and Fissures (LOLAF). I originally had the land of light and silence, but I felt it was too generic so I found words with a similar feel but a more specific meaning. The land is made of dark volcanic rock, and from a distance appears cracked and ready to shatter. From these cracks in the surface emanates a blinding blue UV-like light. The quest is still the same, which is that they can either seal the cracks for good, saving the consorts and trapping Nix in the planet’s core, or they can work to widen the cracks, face down the agonizing light, and confront the denizen themselves. (spoiler, they do both by working their way down and bargaining with their denizen to seal the cracks and warp back up).

OH I LOVE this

Dream Planet:

Prospit. I know most void players dream on derse, but I feel that her sylph side puts her on prospit.

I hope that covers everything, thanks in advance!

Yeah I like this character! I don’t know that you needed the herb part but between polar bears and lead I think you have a strong theme going!

My redesign here is very minimal since she’s pretty well-sprited, so any changes are just minor suggestions.

Hair - I gave her a colorful stripe because until recently lead was used in hair dye to better seal it in!

Eyes - we’ve got a guide that says all female trolls have eyelash definition, which still seems to hold true with the troll call, so I added some. I kept 4 to go with your quirk!

Mouth - Give my gorls TEEF!!!! Give them big teeth she’s a BEAR SHE DESERVES TEETH.

Shoes - White still isn’t very common among trolls so I changed the colors around a little and added and accent under the laces

#killerskies #ceruleanblood #arimus #psyurb #arimus psyurb #rhythmicrevenant #redesign #tr review #submission

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babygirl06301 · 7 years ago

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I wanna talk about That Scene™

in 13x03, and I’m gonna do it line by line, so are you with me? (using this video posted by @lostboycas for reference) It’s gonna be long.

TL;DR: Just read the emboldened bits

By the way, this post is gonna endorse the hell out of Destiel, so if you don’t ship it, please don’t tarnish this post with hatred. Live and let love, dudes.

I’m going through the whole shebang and sheboozle, so we’re starting with:

D: [giving a reason as to why he said he’d kill Jack] I told him the truth. See, you think you can use this freak, but I know how this ends, and it ends bad.

S: I didn’t.

D: What?

S: I didn’t end bad... when I was the “freak,” when I was drinking demon blood.

D: Come on, man, that’s totally different.

S: Was it? Because you could’ve put a bullet in me. Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but you didn’t. You saved me. So, help me save him.

So, this piece of the conversation kind of hurt me a little bit because I feel like Dean regressed back to the Dean he used to be, which is sad. Not that Dean’s old self was bad, it’s just that he’s grown so much since then. He’s a lot more accepting of monsters and demons and “freaks” if he can be convinced they’re not evil.

Now, of course, I understand why he’s harboring such hostile opinions toward Jack (and if I didn’t understand, I got it loud and clear with this episode), but it’s sort of disheartening that he’d use the work “freak” in front of Sam after everything they’ve been through.

However, I do appreciate that Sam stuck up for Jack here without hesitation. Especially since I’m sure he understands more than anybody else what Dean’s going through, whether you liken that to how Sam felt when he lost Jess and/or Sam just simply observing the connection that Cas and Dean have built over the years. I’m liking that Sam is connecting the most with Jack right now, despite S12 setting it up for Cas having that connection (which will come later, of course). I’m so glad that Sam has his own path/storyline again. I feel like it’s long overdue.

I’m gonna put the rest under the cut so I don’t spam you guys with a wall of post.

D: You deserved to be saved. He doesn’t.

S: Yes, he does, Dean. Of course he does.

So, I know we’re all talking about this scene/line mirroring this one:

(Shameless self-promo: this photo is from my side-blog, check it out here)

and a lot of people have been talking about this parallel. @chocolatedeathwarrior made a post about it that you can see here. I kind of want to talk about something in the same vain which is that Dean blames himself for Castiel’s death--not Jack.

I think the first place we see that this season is during this scene where the angel Dean is fighting tells him that Castiel is “all the way dead” because of him.

Knowing Dean, this was kind of what I expected to see as a reaction to Cas’s death. It’s still sad, though. I do think that he’s projecting his self-hatred onto Jack because he can’t handle his true thoughts, which are that he got Castiel killed. And as much as I wish he wouldn’t take it out on my little pumpkin, I can’t blame him. Losing somebody with whom you had that kind of connection with... Well, I’m just surprised he’s still standing. Long story short, that line of dialogue in 4x01 is most likely mirrored here because Dean didn’t think he deserved to be saved back then. And, in my head, he feels guilty that Cas saved him in the first place because then Cas wouldn’t be dead today. (i.e. “If I hadn’t broken the first seal in Hell, Cas could’ve left Earth the second he sprung me, and none of the rest would’ve happened) Just... Dean’s got demons, ya know?

Another thing I kind of want to focus on here is Sam’s response to Dean saying that Jack doesn’t deserve to be saved. To me, his response tells me he sees Jack as an innocent, and I’m assuming that’s the case because he saw himself as an innocent victim as well. But I find the differences between them even more compelling than their similarities. Sam was chosen, but Jack was born into his power. Sam was given power specifically to do evil, Jack’s powers are just assumed to be evil because of their volume and their origins. Sam embraced his powers (eventually), and Jack seems to be afraid of his powers. So, by and large, Jack seems to be even more of an innocent than Sam was. Which is why Dean needs to back the fuck up off my baby.

Moving on:

D: Look, I know you think that you can use him as some sort of an interdimensional can opener, and that’s fine. But don’t act like you care about him, because you only care about what he can do for you. So, if you want to pretend, that’s fine. But me? I can hardly look at the kid. ‘Cause when I do, all I see is everybody we’ve lost.

First of all, can we just take a look at Sam’s face here when Dean says that Sam just wants to use Jack for his own personal gain?

Like, why would you say that about his little moose? Mamma Moose is gonna fuck you up.

But, honestly, that face is both amazing (because you can tell Sam really does care about Jack) and sad (because Sam’s wondering if his big brother really thinks that he’s that selfish). I mean, of course Sam would like for Jack to bring Mary back, but I also believe he really does want to fulfill Kelly and Cas’s wishes for him. Not to mention, he can connect with Jack on a level he hasn’t been able to with anybody else.

Which brings up an interesting tangent that I’m going to go on now:

Why is it that Sam, of all people, is doing what Castiel would’ve wanted? Not that it’s out of character for Sam, but don’t you think that it’d be more in character for Dean to do so because of the bond he and Cas shared? No. Because Dean not only blames Jack and blames himself, but he blames Cas. He’s furious that Cas put himself in a situation that got him killed. He’s pissed at Cas for being dead. And I don’t think Dean knows what to do with that.

Back on track:

S: Mom chose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack.

D: And what about Cas?

S: What about Cas?

D: He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said “Paradise on Earth,” and Cas bought it. And you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now, you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

This is it. This is the moment everybody is talking about. Including me.

Okay, for one thing, he totally disregards Mary. “Fuck her, we’re talking about Cas. Keep up, Moose Man.” Like? Both of them were killed by Lucifer (he thinks), both of them chose to protect everything they were leaving behind, so? Maybe Dean reacted differently to Cas’s death because, oh, I don’t know, their bond isn’t familial? I mean, I’m just throwing that out there, but I dunno, maybe it could be a very fucking likely possibility?

Sidebar: I was discussing this with @tobythewise, and has Dean ever called Jack by name? Because I don’t think he has, and I imagine that’s in an effort to not humanize Jack in his mind. I assume he’d rather see Jack as a thing instead of as a person.

So, now, we’re gonna talk about a thing. A thing that the anti-Destiel fans may not enjoy. I’m gonna make a statement. And it’s gonna be pretty matter-of-fact. My conviction is pretty strong here. Are you prepared?

Literally, Dean has never reacted to a loved one’s death like this.

Look at the pain, the near panic in his eyes (and, no, that is not a Hercules reference).

Honestly, make a list. Make a list of the behaviors Dean exhibited immediately following each of these people’s deaths.

John (shuts it down, doesn’t talk about it until he’s dealt with most of it on his own, privately bashes in the Impala)

Sam (immediately takes action to bring him back to life after a very short, and still private, grieving period, essentially bypassing the opportunity to feel the loss of his brother)

Bobby (ignores the pain, denies the existence of Bobby’s spirit for a long period of time)

Ellen, Jo, and Ash (ignores the pain again, accepts their deaths as his fault as well as part of the job)

Kevin (same thing, blocks out the pain, privately trashes the bunker)

Charlie (same thing, puts up a wall, only briefly berates Sam for involving her in their dangerous lives)

Mom (assumes she’s dead, won’t talk about it, accepts the loss)

Crowley (accepts the loss again)

Castiel (prays to Chuck to bring him back, openly implies to a random angel that he wants to use Jack’s powers to get Cas back, publicly screams out his pain of losing Cas to Sam, knowing full well that Jack could potentially hear)

This isn’t to say that he isn’t trying to block out Cas’s death like he does with everybody else’s, but it isn’t fuckin’ workin’, is it, mate?

And, I know. Dean has blocked out the pain of Castiel’s deaths or disappearances before, but that was because: their relationship wasn’t as developed as it is now, they just came out of a falling out, or he didn’t fucking block it out, and instead, he had dreams and nightmares about losing Cas.

So, basically, the point I’m trying to make here is that Dean is having a blown out reaction to losing Castiel, and I think it’s because he never got to say the things he needed to say to him. Things like “Thank you for everything you’ve done to save me” or “You don’t have to prove yourself to me” or “We need you here more than you realize” or “I love you.” You know, just... whatever.

Of course, it isn’t to say that Dean cares about Cas more than anybody else, because we know that’s not true. Sammy is #1, always. But it is to say that A, Castiel’s bond with Dean is significantly different than a friendship, family, or frenemy bond. B, because of that, he doesn’t know how to cope with the loss and C, the matter of the unrequited feelings and unsaid words is taking its toll.

Phew, that was a lot. I’ve only got one more thing to discuss here: Jack.

J: [whispers] Castiel.

One thing I found kind of interesting/strange was Jack’s facial expression throughout this whole scene.

It’s very neutral, almost, right? I mean, it’s puzzled, sure, but given the context of the conversation between Sam and Dean, shouldn’t he be sad or mad or something? Seeing as how this dumpling is just like his dad, I get it . I mean, he’s new to the world, he doesn’t quite understand the “ebb and flow of human emotion” (Castiel, 2013), but he didn’t even react when Sam was defending him, which I found interesting.

I made a post about this, but I’ll say it again here that Jack seems to value Dean’s opinion more than he does Sam’s. Just like Cas did. Not that Sam’s opinion is worthless, but still, Jack seems to want Dean’s approval more than he wants Sam’s. Maybe that’s because negative words reach people quicker than positive words? Maybe because Sam readily gave his approval, Jack feels he needs to focus on getting Dean’s? Maybe Jack’s connection to Cas bonded him to Dean in the same way Cas was bonded to Dean? (like how Amara used their connection to reach Dean in S11 *idea courtesy of @tobythewise.*)

The latter answer is my favorite because it reminds me that Cas learned how to be human from Dean, and what’s Jack been doing since hittin’ this green earth?

Exactly. Anyway, I find it really cute that Jack is looking up to Dean, but I also find it really sad that Dean is shutting him down like he is, and I also find it sad that Dean is in so much pain that it’s literally shooting out of him and hitting everything in sight.

So, then we see Cas.

Here’s the thing: Jack needs Cas, yes. Jack could’ve subconsciously woken Castiel up because he wanted him back. But it’s pretty coincidental that Jack did so right after hearing Dean’s literal screams of pain for Cas. I hope Jack’s not thinking that bringing/having Cas back will make Dean accept him. I know that will probably be what happens, but I want Jack to bring Cas back just because he knows it’ll make Dean happy. Ya know? Hell, maybe both of those things are his motivation. Although, I don’t think he woke Cas up consciously. But! He did say earlier that using his powers were like breathing, so waking Cas up for Dean must of felt pretty natural to him, huh?

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. I love, love, love this season so far. I love the Dabb era. I love that Castiel is getting the screen time and love that he deserves. I love that Jack is one of the best characters to ever join the show (which is impressive after 13 seasons). I love that Sam is a little Mamma Moose. I love that Dean is finally grieving Cas. I love it all. After a particularity grueling hellatus, I’m looking forward to more. Let me know your thoughts!

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jae-bummer · 7 years ago

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Promises II (Hades!Jinyoung AU)

Request: Got7's Jinyoung + the Hades AU part 2 with prompt 8 💕💕 8) “Why am I so afraid to lose you when you aren’t even mine?”

Part 1 can be read HERE.

Convince me that you want to be here It’s not my trick that keeps you so near You chose me. You love me. This is real. No silly seeds sealed the deal. ... No need to say; I know why you go I won’t block your way, make a big show Just tell me you weren’t hungry that day. Just tell me I’m the reason you stay -Lee Ann Schaffer

“Really it’s your father’s fault,” Demeter sighed as she tucked your arm under hers. She patted your hand gently as you both walked slowly toward the now familiar beach that led it’s way to the underworld.

“It’s no one’s fault but my own, mother,” you sighed, taking a last look at the mortal world for the next six months. The trees and plants dotting the edge of the sand line were already beginning to turn brown and a crisp wind cut through the air.

“Oh no,” your mother clucked, shaking her head. “It was your father, and that bastard, Hades.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you sighed. You were already wary with this argument considering it had seemed to drag on for the past half of a year. “He is my husband after all.”

“Just because he’s your husband doesn’t mean he makes good decisions,” Demeter grumbled, pulling away from you, and crossing her arms.

“Mother,” you groaned. “Can you blame him? To be honest, I think I’m the only person outside of the underworld who had treated him with any sort of compassion. And he’s the only person who’s ever showed me such passionate attempts at lov-”

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you actually don’t mind disappearing into the land of the dead for months at a time!” she snapped, turning away from you. “Don’t you miss your poor mother? Your worried father?”

“You were literally just blaming my father less than two minutes ago,” you sighed. “We can’t change this arrangement, so I’m not going to make the worst of half of my life. You’re going to have to get used to the idea that I’m married to Jinyoung and-”

“You call him Jinyoung?!” your mother gasped. “What has he done to my little girl?”

“Nothing yet,” a familiarly cold voice sounded from behind you. “Are you ready, dear?”

You turned, surprised that Jinyoung had made the trip. His familiar, black umbrella shadowed him, protecting him from the sun’s bright rays. He was just as handsome as you had remembered, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted that you would be making the journey down with him.

“I should have known you were close,” Demeter hissed. “The wind carried the scent of rotting flesh through the air.”

“Now, now, momsey,” Jinyoung smirked. “No need for such harsh comments. I’m taking good care of your girl.”

“My girl, Hades,” Demeter spat. “My girl who needs her mother.”

“Let me carry this for you,” Jinyoung hummed, ignoring Demeter and taking your bag instead. “I’m happy to see you’ve brought things to stay this time.”

As his fingers graced yours, he leaned down, placing a light kiss on your temple. You shivered at his touch, momentarily pleased before realizing he had only done it to infuriate your mother. You let out a groan and winced as her expression grew darker.

“Six months,” Demeter muttered through barred teeth. “I will be here at exactly this time to retrieve me daughter.”

“You’re always welcome to visit before then,” Jinyoung smirked coyly. “My home always has room for family.”

“You are no family of mine,” Demeter whispered, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “Stay strong.”

“Right, gotta go,” you grumbled, shifting your weight. “See you, mom.”

“It’s been lovely as always, Demeter,” Jinyoung nodded, shifting the items in his hands so he had a free hand to place behind your back. He gently guided you down the beach and toward the next half of your year.

“You’ve been quiet the entire way here,” Jinyoung sighed, finally breaking the silence between the two of you as you arrived back to his mansion.

“I was taught that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all,” you muttered, shouldering open the front door.

“I’m guessing you learned that lesson from Zeus?” Jinyoung chuckled. “Because surely it wasn’t something passed down from your mother-”

“Stop! Okay?” you gasped, raising your hands into the air. “Can’t you just stop already?”

Jinyoung’s eyes grew wide as he watched you spin toward him, your arms flailing in exasperation. “Darling, I-”

“No!” you croaked. “Do you know how hard it is to be placed in between you two? Half of the year I’m busy trying to ignore your passive aggressive comments about my mother and during the other half I have to defend you to her! I’m still not even sure how I feel about you sometimes, Jinyoung!”

Jinyoung’s mouth hung open as he internalized your words. He shut it and opened it again as he attempted to gather his thoughts. “Is - is that right?”

“You don’t make this the easiest situation sometimes,” you groaned, turning away from him. An expression of hurt covered his face and you knew if you gazed at him for too long, your resolve would crumble. “Do you recall...when you first brought me to the underworld? Before the contract you agreed upon with my father? Do you remember how kind you were? You treated me with compassion and respect. I was your Queen ruling beside you. You considered my thoughts...always...but ever since you had tricked me that day...that day you knew I would be forced to remain in the underworld if I ate that pomegranate...you haven’t exactly been on my list of favorite people.”

“The last time you visited-” Jinyoung began.

“You mean the last time I was contractually obligated to visit,” you hissed.

Jinyoung took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment. “We had grown. We had come to terms...”

“We had agreed that both of us were too selfish to miserably continue,” you sighed. “But maybe I’m too head strong to forgive. Just when I think my husband is someone I can manage to love...he reminds me of the situation we’re in.”

Jinyoung nodded, his jaw tensed as he began to grind his teeth back and forth. “If you were given the choice,” he whispered. “Would you be here now?”

“If I were to be honest,” you nodded. “I don’t think I would.”

Jinyoung had gone numb. He was used to feeling cold and emotionless, but never this deeply affected. His heart, if it were to beat, had frozen. All of the emotions he had harbored for you stung like a venom he had injected within himself. As you spoke, he attempted to come to terms with the fact that there was no antidote for this type of love, and he would rather be hurt by you a million times over than ever have you return to the mortal world.

But wouldn’t that be what was best for you? Returning to a land in which he no longer belonged?

He supposed that wasn’t his decision to make.

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice raspy. You prepared yourself for a harsh comment, a statement of anger from him, declaring for you to leave his home and never return, but instead, what he said made your hair stand on end.

“I need you.”

You paced the large expanse of your room, the stone beneath your feet echoing with every footstep.

You were terribly confused and near grief stricken.

He loved you. He loved you terribly and with great need. He didn’t know how to function without the idea of you constantly lingering somewhere in the recesses of his mind. He had an obsession that he wasn’t yet ready to part with.

And that frightened you.

You had never been loved with such fervor when someone had such difficulty conveying it. You had never expected someone with as much power and intelligence as Jinyoung to fall love sick when you hadn’t done anything to entice him.

He had loved you from the beginning, so he had an advantage. You could only learn to love him.

But the situation made it so incredibly difficult.

You bit your lip as you paused, staring at the lock on the door. You knew Jinyoung. He could unlock your meager attempt at solitude with a flick of his hand.

But he didn’t.

He knew you needed time.

Just like he needed you.

You continued your pacing, your thoughts sprouting in almost every direction. You wanted to love him. You really did. You wanted to enjoy the time you were forced into a completely different realm because you had him to spend your time with.

But could your want be enough?

You shuffled back toward the door and clutched the sterling handle you had grown familiar with locking. You pushed it open and tilted your head to view any happenings in the hall. You were met by the quiet R&B music you were used to hearing radiate down the hallways of Jinyoung’s mansion and couldn’t help but smile. You followed the sound as you had many times before and found yourself standing in the doorway of his study.

Jinyoung took a shaky breath in as he leaned over his desk. His papers sat in neat piles around him, a reminder of how clean and uncomplicated he liked to keep his life.

Honestly, you were probably the first thing in some time that had made it become complicated.

Your eyes played across his curved frame. His clothing was a bit different than usual, looser than you had ever remembered. His hair was disheveled and he repeatedly attempted to push it back on his forehead, but to no avail. He cleared his throat as he began to flip through a few pages in a book opened before him and began to scribble in the margins.

“What are you reading?” you asked, keeping your voice low. You were unsure if you were disturbing him, and didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance than you had become.

“Nothing of great importance,” he sighed, not bothering to turn and look at you. His body relaxed as you spoke, melting into the furniture before him as he leaned. “How may I help you this evening?”

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you sighed, taking the few short steps into the room to bring you beside him. “I wanted to...well, I wanted to apologize. Not about what I said...but how I said it.”

Jinyoung straightened his stance into a standing position, glancing over his shoulder at you. “It’s understandable.”

“But not what I intended,” you hummed. “Jinyoung, I know I can’t break a contract of the Gods, but-”

“But I can,” he nodded, turning toward you. He took your hand into his and smiled sadly. “Y/N, if you don’t want to be here, I won’t be the one to force you. It will be painful, and I don’t think I will ever hurt more than I will in that moment...but you’re free to leave. I’ll talk to Zeus, I’ll talk with the Fates. But I won’t be the one to imprison you any longer.”

“What?” you breathed, your eyes growing wide.

“If you love someone, set them free, right?” he continued, smiling through his pain.

“And they’ll return if it was meant to be,” you whispered with a small nod. This was what you had needed. This is what you had needed all along to help you make your decision. “Jinyoung, I-”

“Why am I so afraid to lose you when you aren’t even mine?” he chuckled bitterly. “Why am I afraid at all? I’m Hades, for Zeus’s sake.”

You titled your head and narrowed your eyes. “When I’m not even yours?”

“Not truly,” he whispered. He lifted his hand, placing it gently on your face. “I stole you...and you aren’t mine until you truly want to be.”

He retracted his hand, letting it fall to his side with a sigh. He nodded to himself as he bit his lip, his eyes filling up with a foreign matter he could only identify as tears. “And until then...you are more than welcome to return home.”

Your heart fell to your toes as you listened to him, taking in his defeated stance and broken heart. You ached as you watched the scene. You knew what had to be done.

Taking a deep breath you reached forward and placed your hand on Jinyoung’s chest, nodding to yourself in order to gain confidence.

“I am home.”

Jinyoung’s face lifted with your words, his eyes shining with a new brightness you had yet to see in your time spent together.

“Well...at least for now,” you chuckled. You pushed yourself forward, entangling your arms around his back and burying your face into his neck for the first time. He remained frozen for a moment, his own hands hovering over your body before they finally closed the distance and encased you as you had secretly wanted. He nuzzled his face in your hair and let out a genuine laugh.

“So you’ll stay?” he asked, his smile heard in his words.

You grinned as well, leaning back to get a full view of his handsome face. “I will. And it won’t be for those stupid, six seeds anymore, Jinyoung...it’ll be for you. Just promise to lay off my mom, okay?”

He nodded, kissing your forehead lightly. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

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mishamoonberry · 7 years ago

Text

we are never (ever getting back together)

In which Sakura waited, got tired of waiting, and decided to never wait ever again.

also available on AO3 and FFN

Warning: can be seen as Sasuke bashing. Is not canon compliant, totally does not support sasusaku and is purely a fic made out of spite.

Sakura waits.

For Sasuke-kun, the love of her life, the person she has loved since she was a little girl. The person who left the village for years but came back, only to leave it again the first chance he got. He left without looking back, but with a promise. A promise that she wants to believe in, a promise she desperately wishes to believe with all of her heart.

'Until next time,' he said.

'Thank you,' he said.

He came back, around a month ago, although it was simply because Naruto was being too noisy and pushy, but he came back and she desperately wanted to believe that he didn't come back simply because he was annoyed at how Naruto couldn't shut up for the 'Team Seven get together' or something.

She blushes, then, remembering that during the time he was back in the village, she had been with him, even until later at night. It was awkward and Sasuke barely talked, but it happened regardless.

He left immediately the morning afterwards, but... It has to mean something, right? It has to. She doesn't think she can bear the revelation that perhaps it's nothing more than a simple night for the person she's loved with her entire heart.

She's given herself to him, her entire self, and it should've been enough. It should've been enough of an indication of how much she truly loves him, how much she's willing to give for him.

Her only fault-or perhaps it's their fault-is that she forgot to condition her body beforehand, and that Sasuke wasn't wearing any condom.

But... It's fine, right? It should be fine. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything... And she was happy when she found out.

Shocked, yes, but also happy. Because isn't this what Sasuke has wanted all along? To have a family, a clan for himself?

If Sasuke chose her to be the one who realize his goal, then it's fine.

It will be better if Sasuke comes home, however.

She has talked to the Hokage about her condition; her former sensei looking absolutely shell shocked when she told him the news. It's fine for her, because she trusts Kakashi, and even if he's told Sakura to keep it under warps for now, he helps her to send a message toward Sasuke.

Surely, surely, if word got out to him that she's having his children, he'll come back home?

Because isn't it what he wants all along? A family, a home to come back to?

Surely, at the notion that he has a family and a home to come to, he won't continue with his journey across the world to look for 'answers' that Sakura doesn't even know about?

Surely...

Sakura waits.

And Sasuke never comes back.

Not even an answer to the message Kakashi has sent him, not even when Kakashi sends the news for him, over and over, telling him to come back home, because she's pregnant, and isn't that his responsibility too, as the baby's father?

If he's as decent as she believes him to be, surely he comes back.

But Sasuke never comes back.

"You can't be serious, Forehead!" Ino tells her, fury painting her entire self. The head of the Interrogation Unit jabs her finger right on Sakura's Byakugou Seal, making Sakura wince. "You know yourself that the first few weeks of pregnancy is important, and even talented kunoichi has to take herself off of the active shinobi roster so she can focus on being healthy and not risk the baby!"

"I know, Ino-" Sakura says, but is quickly shut down by her blonde bestfriend, the only other person she has ever told about this.

"No, you don't know! You're the brightest girl I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, Sakura, but sometimes you're just too much of an idiot. Which part of your medic knowledge tells you it's okay for you to take a motherfucking journey out of Konoha to look for a man you don't even know the location of?! Even those hawks take so many times to track him, Sakura!"

She winces at the Yamanaka's shrill tone, knowing full well how crazy and dangerous her self imposed mission is. If it were any other pregnant women, she'll probably lecture them on how it's very dangerous and unworthy of their efforts.

But when it's her who experiences it-

When it's her-

"But it's his child," she lets out, her tone almost breaking. "It's his child and he's not here. He should be here, he should've been here."

"Oh, Forehead," Ino's expression softens ever so slightly, reaching forward to cup Sakura's cheeks with her palms. It dawns onto Sakura at that moment, on how scared and anxious she is, how she's brimming with near terror because-

Because-

Because he's not here.

And when he's not here, that means she's alone.

Alone in this.

"Why is he not here, Ino?" She whispers, then, nearly trembling. Her own hands reach out to cover Ino's hands around her cheeks, and she croaks out, "He said it himself, he wanted to revive his clan, and- and he did it with me and now I have his child and he's still not coming back."

"I don't know," her best friend says, shaking her head. "Maybe he just doesn't want to come back, Sakura."

"But it's his child!" She explodes, tears rolling down her cheeks, "This is his child, I'm like this because of him! He should've come back. He came back because Naruto wanted him to celebrate Team Seven's birthday or some shit, but he doesn't come back for this?! He wanted a child, he should've come back!"

"Dreams change, Sakura," Ino says, patiently. "Perhaps it's not what he wants anymore."

"Then why did he do that to me?" She demands, even when she knows Ino wouldn't have the answer, because Sasuke has always been aloof, mysterious yet sometimes kind, something she loves from him ever since they were little genin.

(But this- Forcing her to think about going on a journey to look for him because he won't come back when it's been told that she's pregnant...

Is it kind?

Has he really changed so much, after all?)

"You were careless," Ino says, "both of you. He probably thought you're in birth control. And it's not a good reason not to come back, I know," she adds as soon as Sakura opens her mouth. The pink haired woman clicked her teeth together, drawing in a deep breath to contain her emotions, "But it also probably explains why he wants nothing in this."

"But it's his child," she whispers, "he should've done something."

"He should," she nods, "but perhaps he doesn't want to."

Ino's hands fall from her cheeks, instead moving to grasp Sakura's trembling hands with her own. Sakura bites her bottom lip, then, her mind racing in what she can probably do, with her condition as it is right now. Ino was right, she can't and must not wander off from Konoha, a safe place, to the wilderness to search for Sasuke when she's pregnant, no matter how she wants to.

Anything can happen, even when she has a status as Tsunade's apprentice, and as a medic, as well as a mother, she can't possibly risk it.

"What am I supposed to do?" She says, head bowed. Ino looks at her clear in the eyes, empathetic and still determined.

"It's your child, Sakura," she says, "it's as much as your child as it is Sasuke-kun's. You're the mother. You get to decide what you're going to do with it."

Sakura touches her stomach, not yet showing but is clearly harboring a tiny life inside, furrowing her shoulders.

"Do you want to get rid of it?"

"What?" She looks up, then, aghast. A surge of protectiveness rises inside of her, her fists tightening at the thought of getting rid of her baby.

Her baby.

Ah.

That's right.

So focused on the prospect that it's his baby-Sasuke's baby-that perhaps it hasn't truly dawned on her yet that it is her baby as well.

Her child.

Does she want to get rid of her child? She can. She's a medic, a damn good one, she will be able to do it by herself. But does she want to?

Perhaps, if she ever only thinks of the baby as something to get Sasuke to her, she will.

But no, this is her baby. Her child. She wants this child, she realizes, she wants to see her baby born healthy and grow up strong and smart. She wants this, she thinks a bit hysterically, she wants this.

And if Sasuke doesn't want this, fine.

It's fine. Even if it hurts her to think that Sasuke doesn't want this.

It's fine.

She wants this, even if it's an accident. She wants this.

She looks at Ino straight in the eye, and says, "No."

Ino's smile is proud and triumphant.

Pregnancy is not as easy as some may say. Not only there can be health complications along the way, there's also the matter of eating healthy, resting and staying fit, and preparing for a lot of stuffs and checkups, as well as maintaining finance.

But all of that aside, she figures she has surpassed her biggest hurdle since she decided to stay in the village and does things her own way: telling the news.

Safe to say, Naruto wasn't happy. Not with her, no, but rather, with Sasuke. Naruto, who is already in an ongoing legal relationship with Hinata and is probably trying to have a child of his own, was furious. He was ranting, shouting-thankfully, in his house and not in the middle of the street-on Sasuke's stupidity.

"He's so stupid! What the hell, Sakura-chan? Why didn't you tell me this sooner? I could've find him and punt him smack dab to Konoha!" Naruto shouts, stabbing his chopsticks into the noodles, "Look, if he doesn't want the baby, fine," he spits out, before turning a bit confused, "though I dunno why because having a family is awesome, 'ttebayo, and he should be damn happy to get one, you know! Family is awesome! That teme, I'll drag him back right now! Just leave it to me, Sakura-chan!"

He looked ready to really run outside of Konoha and pounce Sasuke as soon as he can, but Kakashi was relentless in his denying Naruto's pleads, shooting down his requests as quick as lightning.

"If you're gone, not only you're leaving Hinata, but you will also leave Sakura behind. If you're that concerned, help Sakura get through this. Someone who doesn't want to return," and isn't that painful for her still, to realize that Sasuke doesn't want to return, "won't return even when you drag him back kicking and screaming. Better to just wait until he's ready," he says, a bit sardonically, "if he ever is."

Afterwards, it's simply a matter of telling everybody else. Her parents looked murderous, but they were very accepting of her decision and even gushed about possible names for her and offering to decorate her baby's nursery and all that. The rest of the Konoha 11 and Team Kakashi were no less hostile and disbelieving about it, but after a few rounds of snark and insults thrown at the absent father-if he even wants to become a father-mainly courtesy of Kiba the Family Man (he said it himself, Sakura has no part in that) they offered their own congratulations toward her and her baby, and promised to help her anyway they can.

She thought it would be hard, doing this alone.

But she's never actually alone. Ino visits her daily, sometimes commenting on whether she should probably try to have her own, not wanting to be 'outdone by Forehead' as if getting pregnant is a race.

("It's not," Ino says, "but I think I really do want one. Or two. Or three." Sakura laughs at her.)

Naruto visits her, too, although turns out Hinata does end up being pregnant and he has More Important Matter to handle. He looks very bright, always looking happy even when he probably has to cater over Hinata's well being. Well, it's not like he will complain, Sakura thinks with amusement, Naruto does like taking care of people sometimes. Especially his precious people.

Sai visits with Ino or Naruto sometimes, giving her doodles and always, always offers to paint the nursery.

Yamato-taichou already promised to give a crib made of that Wood Style of his, and he gives his tasty tea leaves a lot.

The rest of the Konoha 11 come by sometimes, too. Tsunade-shishou (who smacked her forehead with a newspaper before offering her congratulations and offer to teach the baby some gambling in the future), Shizune-san (who is more of a worrywart than her, apparently)-

And Kakashi.

She doesn't know how he does it, but he seems to always find at least some time within a few days to find her and just... be with her. Talking, though mostly just lending an ear when she spills her worries about the pregnancy, buying her some food at random but still leaving her the tab when she asks him out to go eat in a restaurant, giving random ideas for names (Babashi is her favorite. It's really funny, especially when Kakashi said the name is to continue his legacy with such a serious look on his face), asking about her health, reminding her to exercise and rest properly...

It's nice. This is nice.

It is safe to say that she's never been alone in this, and thus, when all is well and done, she isn't really surprised to find the hospital room she's in packed and full of people.

"Sakura-chan! I wanna hold the baby!" Naruto shouts, his hands already reaching toward her daughter before they get smacked away by Ino.

"No way, Naruto, as Sarada-chan's godmother I have all the right to hold her first!"

"Maa, don't you think I have the right, too? As Team Kakashi's captain and the Hokage."

"With all due respect, Hokage-sama," Ino says back sweetly, "I don't care." She ignores Kakashi's spluttering, and says, "Sakura, gimme the baby!"

Sakura laughs, bright and happy, because she has a daughter, a child to call her own, and she's never, ever, alone in this.

Sakura waited.

She waited, waited, and waited.

And then, she had enough.

She never waited anymore.

#naruto #haruno sakura #anti naruto ending #anti sasusaku #misha writes #this can be seen as pre kakasaku tbh but shhh #Fix-It of Sorts #Pregnant women do not engage in Look for My Hubby adventure #instead the hubby should engage in Time To Go Home adventure #also no giving birth in caves #isn't that just #so great

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fandomlife-giver · 8 years ago

Text

His Maid, Transmitting

Summary: Master. You must do your best not to look into the past. I know it's call is sweet and it's lure addicting. To avoid it is to avoid a part of yourself that you feel you are missing. But you are fragile, yet. And dipping even one toe into the pool of nostalgia would mean drowning. You must see that.

Next time on Black Maid: "His Maid, Transmitting" You see, I am simply one hell of a maid.

Pairings: Sebastian x Demon!Reader

@wintersdoll

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 3936

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“Ciel!”

Ciel’s eyes shot open and he found himself sitting in a chair placed in front of a bookcase of a massive library.

“You’re awake.”

He narrowed his eyes at the person who sat across from him. “I thought it was you. Angela Blanc.”

She smiled in amusement. “Did you enjoy the record of your past? Was it wrapped in soft velvet? Or perhaps sand paper on your ski-”

“Shut up! That man’s hand. It was his. My father’s hand.”

She only smiled, making him clench his teeth. “But why? Why did you kill my parents? What did you stand to gain?!”

“Killed? What a disturbing thing to say.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not the only one that harmed your parents. But you know that, don’t you?”

He stood up with wide eyes. “It was your maid. Y/N L/N. A surprise that she would kill her own master. Some devotion she’s shown.”

“Shut up! You don’t know anything-”

“No. It was you, wasn’t it? It was you who gave them their second death.”

Flashback…

He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. “This is an order: Kill this man!!”

Once you landed on the ground, you threw one of the shards of glass straight into the forehead of the priest.

She laughed. “You were rather brilliant. In the face of such a distorted past, you somehow managed to remain sane.” She stood up from her seat as Ciel glared at her.

“How could you?”

She turned to him. “You are truly an unclean human.” She spread her wings and flew over to stand in front of him. “But, underneath all those impurities, there’s a glow that would be such a shame to extinguish.” She leaned down and grabbed his chin to make him look at her. “Well, Ciel?” She folded her wings over them and smiled. “Shall I alter your unclean past for you? Will that help you find peace at last?”

His eyes widened, but then he pushed her away. “Nice try. The only reason I’m impure is because of you!”

She smirked. “Do you really want to know why I chose your parents to cleanse?”

He froze. She smiled with a hint of evil behind it. “Very well. Let me show you.” She placed her hand over his face and his eyes rolled back, then there was darkness.

…

Sounds of feet tapping against the floor echoed down the hall as Will lead you all down towards the library.

He was frowning. “An angel. She would indeed have the ability to tamper with the cinematic record.”

You looked at him. “You mean they can change the past?”

He scoffed. “I don’t think even a Reaper could manage that. But still, an angel can give a false sense of peace. Someone who has experienced great trauma great enough to break his soul may wish for all memory of it to be obliterated. However, it will haunt him forever. No matter what.”

…

Ciel looked around, realizing he was in the garden in front of the manor. “What is this?”

His eyes widened when he was grabbed by something and crushed into a hug. “There you are, silly! I told you I’d find you! Hehe!”

He groaned. “Elizabeth?”

“Congratulations, My Lady. You found him.”

He went still and spun around at the voice. “Y/N!”

You smiled at him. “Young master, you can’t go running off lik-” You were cut off by him surprising you with a hug.

“Y/N, I need you. Right now.”

You rubbed his head. “Young master, it’s all right. Your parents were worried you got yourself in trouble.”

“Parents?”

You smiled again. “Y/N! Have you found him?”

You looked behind you. “Yes, master. He’s right here.”

Ciel pulled away from you in frozen shock when Vincent, Rachel, and Madam Red walked up, side by side. Vincent sighed. “Ciel, what have we told you about running off?”

Rachel waved a hand. “It’s alright, dear. Y/N found him.”

Madam Red chuckled. “He’s just a child, let him have his fun.”

Vincent lightly shook his head as Madam Red led Lizzie away.

Ciel was still frozen. “I don’t understand…”

“You don’t see the problem?” He jumped when Angela appeared with a frown on her face. “Let me give you a further look.”

Everything faded in white, and was replaced by flames. He stood in the door way of his father’s study as the room was engulfed in flames. “It was all your maid. Y/N L/N. Don’t you see? This could’ve been prevented in the first place if she would’ve behaved like a good little pet.”

He put a hand over his mouth as his sight was locked on the corpses of his parents that were sewn together and he dropped to the floor.

He cried, he let out his emotions as he bawled into the floor.

“Ciel, it’s alright.”

He looked up and froze. The flames were gone, along with the study. There was a field, white flower petals blowing, and Vincent and Rachel stood across from him.

Vincent smiled. “You don’t need to mourn us anymore. You can abandon your grief.”

Rachel smiled as well. “That’s right. Ciel, we hate to see you suffering needlessly like this.”

He stood up and stared at them. “You’re lying. Liar! My mother and father were killed!”

Rachel still smiled. “We were. But in that moment, we saw a bright light. A tranquil, peaceful glow wrapped in love. In death, your father and I were able to become one in body and spirit.”

Vincent put an arm on Rachel. “Yes, that’s right. And now that we are truly joined, now, we can embrace your body as well. And join you to us completely, son.”

Ciel’s body relaxed. Vincent outstretched his arm. “Come, Ciel.”

Rachel did the same. “Our son.”

They spoke in unison. “We love you so much.”

Slowly, Ciel stepped forward. “I love you too.”

…

You and Sebastian slammed the doors open as you all ran inside. Your teeth clenched at the sight of Ciel, in the arms of the angel, with his cinematic record displayed over his body.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Master!”

Angela smiled. “His past is being re-written. Cleansed. Soon, he’ll be as pure as the driven snow.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Angela”

She looked up at you. “Hatred is painful. No-one wants to harbor it in their hearts. But you know all about that, don’t you, Y/N?”

Sebastian looked at you in surprise. “A couple centuries ago, it was you in his place. A true shame you became like this. You would’ve been so beautifully pure.”

You frowned. “As pure as an angel, you mean.”

She looked down at Ciel. “Ciel is no different.”

“Master!” Sebastian charged forward.

“Don’t be hasty.” He stopped and looked at Will as he adjusted his glasses. “You can’t stop her now. If you do, the child will become something less than human.” He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “And we don’t need a repeat of that.”

She smiled again. “Yes. Pure as the driven snow.”

You glared at her. “Ciel. My young master…being purified.”

“Y/N, I need you. Right now.”

Your eyes widened. Ciel…

Grell sighed as he locked arms with Will and Sebastian. “Oh, dear. This isn’t turning out very well. Do we have a plan?”

They didn’t notice when your body fell to the floor. Only when they heard the sound, did they turn around. “N/N?”

…

Slowly, Ciel continued his steps toward Rachel and Vincent. Vincent was grinning, with the devil beneath it. “Yes, just a little closer, son.”

“Master”

Ciel froze and Vincent’s eyes narrowed. Ciel looked behind him and his eyes widened when he saw you standing behind him. “Y-Y/N?”

You walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder as you knelt down to him. “Ciel, this isn’t real. They are not your parents. Your parents are dead. And if you stay in this prison any longer, I fear you may be as well.”

He was still. “They’re not here…”

“Don’t listen to her, Ciel.” He looked back to Vincent. “She betrayed me, Ciel. She let me die. You bare no grudge against her. Come, my son.”

You stood when he resumed walking towards them. Vincent smirked. “Let go of such emotions. Unnecessary. Unclean.”

He froze again.

“What’s wrong, son?”

His teeth clenched. “No, no. I can’t…”

Rachel looked at him in fear. “Ciel, what are you saying?”

“I don’t care what you want…it cannot change my hatred.”

Rachel gasped and knelt down to grasp his shoulders. “Please, think about what you’re saying. We’re your parents, you need to trust-”

“No…I don’t!” He pushed her off and looked back at you. “Y/N”

“Yes, young master?”

“I want to make a contract.”

You smirked. “Are you certain?”

“Yes! I want to make a contract now!”

You smiled to yourself. “Certainly” You pulled off your left glove and your right glove. “What is your wish?”

He balled his fists. “Aid me in achieving my goal. Protect and serve me, no matter what. Come every time I call your name and stay beside me. Until the day Sebastian collects my soul. In return, I give you access to every soul of my pawns that fall.”

You smiled. “I accept. Where would you like your mark?”

“In the same place, we don’t have time for every-”

He screamed when your hand went over his right eye. A seal was burned onto your other hand as it also burned into his eye. After a few seconds, you pulled away and he gasped as he covered his eye.

“Master, what are my orders?”

Vincent and Rachel were watching in horror. “Ciel, why? Why can’t you just let it go?”

“I can’t!” His fists stayed by his sides. “Since that day, my hate is all I’ve had. If I let it go, I will fade away with it. I can’t!”

He glared at them. “I will not loose my hatred!”

They screamed as a blinding light erupted and they disappeared. “Y/N. I order you: Get me out of here now!” He ordered right before he, too, disappeared in the light.

You smirked. “Yes, my Lord.”

…

Sebastian stared at you as he held you close. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

Grell gasped and they looked as Ciel hovered in the air, with Angela growling. “Look! He’s rewinding the cinematic record all on his own!”

His reels of tape flew back inside him, and he dropped. Sebastian looked at you as your eyes snapped open and you jumped up, catching him mid-air and landing on your feet.

“Master!” Sebastian ran up beside you as Ciel’s eyes opened and he looked at you.

“Y/N. Good catch.”

Sebastian stared down at him and smiled. “Always surprising. You are forever exceeding my expectations. You have a worthy soul. Indeed, truly worthy, master.”

Angela looked at you and Ciel in distaste as you set him down on the floor. “Such a horribly unclean heart. Depraved, stagnant, trapped in the dark. I should never have shown you pity. So here and now, I shall purify you.”

Sebastian flicked his wrist and several knives slid through his fingers. You did the same, and forks slid down yours. You smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

“A crime in the library is our jurisdiction.” Will adjusted his glasses. “Let us join the fight. Now come with me, Grell.” He walked forward and stood beside you as Grell grinned.

“Oh, my!” He snipped his scissors and jumped beside Sebastian, then squirmed in excitement. “Ooh! We shall march into battle together, then! How-”

“Excuse me. Pardon me, coming through!" You all watched Undertaker as he casually rolled a cart of books in front of you. He walked up to one of the book cases and tapped his chin. "Let’s see…number 8. Number 8.”

Ciel looked at him in disbelief. “Undertaker?”

He looked back and waved at the group of people. “Hi!”

Grell furrowed his eyebrows. “You? What are you doing he-Ow!” He rubbed his head and glared at Will, who frowned at him.

“Mind your manners, you idiot.” He looked to Undertaker in awe. “He’s a legend. he past judgement on Robin hood and sent Marie Antoinette to hell. The Grim Reaper who makes even crying children willingly give up their souls.”

You smiled. “Unnie, you didn’t tell me you would be here. I thought you don’t come here anymore.”

He chuckled. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. Besides, I had to return a few books I borrowed.”

Ciel looked at you. “You knew what he was?”

“Of course, master. I met him when he was still Ad-”

“A-ah!” He pointed a finger at you. “You don’t just give that information to anyone, now.”

Grell looked between you two. “No! Not fair! He doesn’t look anything like the chap in the sequence just now!”

Sequence?

He ran over and spun Undertaker around. “How can this creepy old man be a legendary Grim Reaper?” He lifted his bangs and went still, before dreamily falling on Undertaker’s chest. “Take me…”

A blinding white light lit up the room. Everyone looked up at the familiar large opening of light and Angela, who flew towards it, but looked down at you with a smirk. “You seem busy, Y/N. I suppose I’ll start my cleansing in the Abbey, then.”

Your teeth clenched. “Running away, coward?”

“You shall see. I’ll show you what happens in a world ruled by impurity. I doubt you’ll like it.” She disappeared in the light.

You sneered and flung your forks at her, but they just bounced off when the light closed up.

Your eyes widened as Ciel looked around at the bookcases of the library, that were now empty. “What was that?”

Will narrowed his eyes. “An angelic seal.”

Grell frantically ran to the door and tried to open it, but it didn’t. He jumped up and placed his feet against the door, but it didn’t help. He looked back. “It won’t open!”

Will sighed. “Oh dear. Unfortunately, it looks as if we’ve been locked in.”

The sound of something falling made everyone look down. Will walked over and picked up the book the fell open. “Interesting. It looks like the cinematic record of somebody in that abbey.”

He hummed as words were being written. “An angel of massacre is descending in an abbey near Preston.”

Ciel looked at him. “What? An angel of massacre?”

“Let me see that.” Undertaker walked over and Will handed it to him. He looked at the writing and smiled. “Ah, yes. I see it now.”

He looked down when Ciel grabbed his sleeve. “Stop her now.”

Sebastian smiled. “Ah, master. How charitable. I thought your intent was to put an end to this cult, once and for all.”

Ciel frowned at him. “I don’t want to help them. But I don’t want her to have her way. That’s all.”

Grell put a hand on his hip. “And what are we supposed to do? We can’t even find a way out of here.”

Will adjusted his glasses. “No, not true. We have a way. There is a tool that us managers have access.”

You looked at Undertaker, who began smiling.

“This tool is the death bookmark.”

Ciel rose an eyebrow. “A bookmark?”

Undertaker giggled and held up said bookmark. “And it’s pink, isn’t that lovely?” He placed it between the pages. “If we use this to hold the story, we can make some editorial changes. The woman in this story happens to be Matilda Simmons. It says here that she is purified in the abbey by the angel Angela.”

Ciel looked at it. “But the sentence just ends there.”

Undertaker chuckled and put his inked quill on the page. “Oh, yes. But I just added here that Sebastian Michaelis appears behind her suddenly.”

In the blink of an eye, Sebastian was gone, making Grell jump. “Oh! Oh, no! Bassy!”

Undertaker grinned. “Well, now that he’s gone, we can-”

You narrowed your eyes. “Unnie”

“Oh, alright.” He staring writing in it again. “And Y/N L/N also appears to aid the black butler.”

…

You appeared beside the nun Sebastian had…massaged. She looked up at you with wide eyes. “O-oh, it’s you!”

You sighed with a frown.

“You think a demon can compare with the purity of a winged angel?”

You looked forward and caught eye of Angela, her back to you as Sebastian kneeled in front of her.

“A creature like you is chained to the earth. Forever.”

She gasped when a fork flew by into the wall and clawed her arm. “Really? Is that so?” She spun around and glared at you as you marched forward and slid more forks down your fingers. “Then I suppose that means you are forever chained to the heavens.”

You stabbed the knives in her abdomen, but she grabbed a handful of your shirt and pushed you into the wall. The force ripped the top of your shirt open, showing some very impure skin. She glared. “You can’t challenge me, Abigail. You lost that fight long ago.”

She looked behind her and yelled when a pruner snapped around her throat and rose her up to the wall. Will reached into his pocket and pulled out another pruner. “Let’s get to work.” He threw it to the side, which Grell caught as he appeared beside him.

He held it close and jumped in joy. “Oh! A brand new death scythe!” It shot forward and impaled her palm of her hand, pinning her in place. “Yes!”

Will frowned. “You will wash and return that when this is over.”

He sighed. “Oh, so cruel.”

Sebastian grabbed you by your waist and brought you down on the floor. “Are you all right?”

You smirked. “All right? Why, I’m never better.” You walked forward. “This is turning to be quite fun.” You slid down more forks and gazed up at her vulnerable state in amusement. “Do you know what? I think we should have ourselves a game of darts. Don’t you agree, Sebastian?”

He watched with a smirk as you flung several forks at her, which stuck in her sides. You pouted. “Dear, I missed.”

Sebastian slid knives down and smiled up at her. “Allow me, my kitten. Now, whatever shall I aim for next?” He flung them, and they stuck in her forearm.

Grell waved his arm. “Pick me, I want to play!”

Will frowned and glared at Sebastian. “A demon, all right.”

Angela winced in pain, then she smirked down at you. “You believe this is over? I will not parish by your hand, you abomination!” Your eyes narrowed and you went to fling utensils at her again, but then, she screamed. The scream was deafening and it rang out as she began to glow brightly and her eyes filled with white.

She screamed again, louder, loud enough to make the pillars and the walls crack. The men and women in the church stood as the building shook.

Sebastian looked around. “What’s this? Does she mean to die along with us?”

Grell gulped as he looked up. “Um, people, look at the ceiling.” It was beginning to crumble and fall apart.

You sneered at her, then looked back at the people still standing. “You are all free to leave now. It may be the best option at the moment.”

The nun nodded. “Yes, yes okay.” In a moment, almost everyone was running out of the church. As the pillars fell apart, a piece of it fell and hit the coffin containing the priest’s body.

Will looked to Grell. “It is our turn as well. We will retreat, Grell Sutcliffe.” Grell didn’t spare any second and took off running out of the church. Will sighed as he walked after him. “Seriously. Never mind the overtime, I want a day off.”

You and Sebastian walked behind him, but you stopped to gaze up at the stain glass window of Jesus Christ, then at Angela and your eyes narrowed. “This is not over.” Sebastian grabbed you and you both ran out right before a large boulder fell.

Angela smirked. “Until next time, Abigail.”

…

You and Sebastian stood behind Ciel as he gazed at the ruins of the church and the dead bodies of the men and women in the rubble. “Is it over?”

You looked at the broken window of Jesus Christ. No. It’ll never be over.

Ciel turned and looked at you. “I’m sorry. Our contract is meaningless if it doesn’t last more than a day.”

You tilted your head. He looked to Sebastian. “A promise is a promise.”

Sebastian walked forward and stopped to gaze down at him. Ciel shut his eyes. Sebastian stared at him, then knelt down. Ciel flinched, then opened his eyes in surprise when Sebastian only fixed his tie and stood up with a smile.

Ciel clenched his teeth and grabbed him by his collar. “Why, Sebastian? Why aren’t you taking my soul?!” He stepped back when Sebastian only continued to smile. He walked over to you and shook his head in disbelief. “She has to be dead. She has to be! Or is it someone else?”

“I’m sorry, master.” You were frowning. “I’m afraid we’ll be serving you a little while longer.”

He looked down and stepped away from you. “Then…for now, let’s go.”

Sebastian eyed you curiously and walked over to you. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Your eyes stayed glued to the broken window. “You heard the young master.” You looked up at him. “Let’s go.”

…

Ciel sighed and looked up at the person across from him. “I would like to thank you, Undertaker. Because you were there, I was one step closer to achieving my goal.”

He grinned. Will looked over at him. “Out of curiosity, why were you in the library? I was under the impression you had retired from active service.”

He turned and looked at Grell, who was walking over with tea in a beaker glass for him. “Well, this fellow here reminded me of something.” Grell fluttered his lashes as Undertaker took the beaker of tea. “There was some cinematic records I neglected to return.”

Ciel frowned. “You must be kidding.”

He rose a finger. “Certainly not. In fact, now that you mention it, two of the books I checked out were for an Earl Phantomhive and his lady wife.”

Ciel looked at him in surprise. “Two of the cinematic records that have never been touched by avenging angels. Would you like to know what they said, my lord?”

You looked down at Ciel as he put his head down. “No. Now…” He reached over and picked up his top hat, then put it on. “Let’s go, Sebastian, Y/N.”

Sebastian bowed as you placed our hand over your stomach. “Yes, young master.” Ciel stood and you all walked out of the funeral parlor. You looked at everyone and bowed your head. Undertaker looked at you knowingly as you shut the door.

He grinned and put a finger to his lips. “That was interesting.”

…

Sebastian looked at Ciel as you all crossed the street. “Are you certain that was wise? I’m sorry, but if you read the books, you’d be certain who deserved your revenge.”

“It’s done.”

You smiled. “Feeling sentimental?”

“Not that.” He looked at the ground. It’s just…seeing them again, being near them once more…

He looked up. “You can only disgrace the dead so much.”

You kept your smile and glanced at your ring.

‘Yes, that’s my boy.’

#sebastian michaelis x reader #black butler x reader #black butler fanfiction

53 notes · View notes

jaeminlore · 8 years ago

Text

Enchanted // Moon Bin

the prompt: may I please request the mermaid/enchanted voice au with Moonbin of Astro?? (from this au) “I’m a mermaid/merman, and you’ve fallen in love with my voice. How do I break it to you that you don’t actually love me, you’re just enchanted?”

words: 3922

category: fluff + angst

author note: have you guys heard the new astro songs yet? the aroha song is so sweet! for this scenario i decided to make moonbin the mermaid rather than the reader, which i feel like was the best decision bc now i’m in love with this mermaid au. also, i might do a spin-off of this for eunwoo?? or a sequel for bin?? probably both?? anyway, pls enjoy merman bin~

- destinee

“Try to keep up!” Moonbin shouted to Eunwoo as the two of them swam towards the harbor.

“Bin,” Eunwoo had to swim faster just to keep up with his friend’s excited form. “Why do you always want to visit the harbor? What if the fishermen hear us?”

Moonbin paused his swimming, his fish tail curling defensively. “I’ve always liked visiting the humans.”

There was no way he was going to tell Eunwoo about his fascination with one of the fishermen’s daughters, who came to the harbor often to help her father. He had noticed you only a few months ago, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to always see you.

Eunwoo exhaled, causing little bubbles to rise to the surface of the ocean. “You know we shouldn’t be this close to humans. What if they hear us? They could drown themselves looking for us.”

“I know that. That’s why we don’t sing,” Moonbin reasoned.

He knew the risk that came with being a siren. One note heard by a human could make them crazy, causing them to search the ends of the earth until they found the voice. Most of the time, they drowned themselves without a care. The dangerous thought of finding the beautiful voice would be the only thing, and the last thing, on their mind. A voice to fall in love with instantly proved a tragic pitfall to many sailors.

Moonbin couldn’t help but feel a bit of resentment. If he could just talk to you, things might work out. Except, if he forgot, and even one word came out in sing-song, you were doomed. It was horrid dark magic that Moonbin was rationally afraid of.

Moonbin swam upwards until his head broke the surface. Eunwoo followed him. Together they watched the fishermen in silence.

Moonbin would never know that Eunwoo himself loved coming to the harbor. Eunwoo was very secretive about his personal reason for coming with Moonbin.

“Let’s go behind those rocks,” Eunwoo suggested.

Moonbin agreed, and the two swam leisurely towards a cluster of clay rocks and ridges.

Moonbin placed his arms on one of the lower rocks and lifted himself onto it. “Look! There’s a clear view of them here.”

“Really?” Eunwoo inquired. He, too, lifted himself onto the rock to stare at the humans.

“Yeah, watch!” Moonbin scooted over to make room for his friend.

His gaze drifted towards you, wearing shorts that portrayed your tanned legs. You were holding a box for your father, a shining smile on your face. Moonbin rested his chin on his hand and focused on your hair, wrapped in a wavy ponytail.

He wanted to know your name. He wanted to know what things made you smile. He wanted to know if you liked the same things he liked. Things like collecting shells, having swimming competitions, and laying out in the sun.

“Oh, I get it,” Eunwoo said, shoving Bin in the shoulder. “You like a human.”

“So?” Moonbin retorted defensively. “It’s not like I can meet her.”

“Right,” Eunwoo agreed. “We can’t put them in danger.”

“I know.”

“Good. I need to go now. See you later,” Eunwoo said.

“Alright, bye.”

As soon as Eunwoo left, Moonbin was left to watch you in peace. You weren’t doing much; just helping your father load boxes onto his boat. Still, Moonbin couldn’t help but feel somewhat attracted to you.

It is very dangerous to get lost in a moment, and yet that is where Moonbin was.

He folded his arms and rested his chin there, feeling the soft breeze play with his hair. His eyes were locked on your form, his mind made up stories in which the two of you could meet.

It is good to remember that sirens cannot always control their emotions. They are creatures who feel things very deeply, and a crush is no exception.

When a siren needs to let out their emotions, they do the obvious and sing.

So Moonbin began to hum a soft love song under his breath. Nothing loud, nothing alluring. Just a simple tune to let out his current feelings.

Perhaps it got louder, or you got closer, but Moonbin noticed the subtle incline of your head and stopped humming immediately.

Only it was too late. Moonbin could see the desire appear in your irises.

You placed the last box in your father’s hand and looked around the dock for the source of the humming you had heard.

Moonbin cursed under his breath and ducked down, watching you walk aimlessly around the dock.

The merman in front of you was beautiful. His long tail was a cobalt blue, with scales that reflected the sun. Water gently lapped against his tail.

His hair was a soft brown, tossled and slightly wet from the ocean water. He had big, sleepy eyes the color of chocolate.

He looked troubled. You squated down and crossed your arms over your knees. “Hello.”

His eyes shifted towards you, and you could see clear regret in them. “Hello,” he said reluctantly.

A stirring feeling appeared in your heart at his soft voice. It was like a big puppy had washed up on the beach and had graced you with his presence.

Was this love at first sight?

You certainly felt a strange desire for this boy like you’ve never felt before. A very strong urge to follow this boy to the ends of the earth appeared in your brain, and you didn’t feel up to disobeying.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Moonbin,” he said. “I am going to go, now.”

“Wait!” You reached out and grabbed his bare arm. He stopped, waiting for what you would say. “I want to go with you, Moonbin.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice was sad, although you couldn’t understand why.

“Of course I do,” you countered. “I want to see you again.”

Moonbin pressed his lips together. “Promise me you won’t follow me into the water, and I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I promise,” you agreed swiftly, showing him your pinkie finger.

After linking pinkies to seal the deal, Moonbin escaped to the water. You let him go, already anticipating the next day.

“I can’t believe I did that!” Moonbin said angrily. He swam back and forth in front of Eunwoo, who looked very nervous.

“What if the elders find out? They’ll punish you!”

“Who cares?” Moonbin cried. “The bigger problem is that I could kill her!”

Eunwoo tapped his finger against his chin, “Well she hasn’t followed you into the water yet. I suppose if you keep your promise and go see her, the curse might be quenched momentarily.”

“So I should keep entertaining her fake love for me?”

“I think it would keep her safe,” Eunwoo concluded.

You waited on the rocks, running your fingers through the salty ocean water. All morning and afternoon you had waited, hoping for just a glance of the merman.

If he didn’t come soon, you felt inclined to jump into the ocean and go find him yourself.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

Moonbin appeared and gave you a soft smile, pushing himself onto the rocks. You had worn your nicest shorts and shirt, along with a pretty seashell anklet your mother had given you.

“Hello, Moonbin,” you smiled at him.

A blush appeared on the merman’s face and he turned away, muttering a soft greeting in return.

“You never asked for my name,” You reminded him. “So I thought you should know that my name is Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeated. The name sounded nice coming out of his mouth.

“That’s me,” you laughed softly. Your eyes drifted to his tail, the dark blue blending in with the ocean water. “Hey, can I touch your scales?”

Moonbin looked surprised, but not the least bit offended. “Um, sure.”

You shuffled lower on the rock until you were sitting beside Moonbin’s tail. He turned over and leaned on his elbows, watching you. “Why?”

“They’re pretty,” you answered. Then you sent him a shy smile. “Blue is my favorite color.”

“Mine too,” Moonbin said, grinning as you lightly poked his tail. “It’s not going to hurt you, Y/n.”

There was your name again. It sounded so heavenly coming from his lips. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the fresh batch of butterflies that appeared in your stomach when he spoke.

Hesitantly, you ran your hand down the dark blue scales. A giggle escaped your mouth and you jerked your hand away. “It just feels like a dead fish.”

Moonbin scoffed. He flipped his tail away from you jokingly. “It is a lot nicer than a dead fish.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you teased him.

Moonbin’s heart fluttered for a moment. Why did you sound like a friend and not like a person under a siren’s spell?

It was hard for him not to fall for you when you seemed so sincere in your words. You seemed so real, so fond of him that he nearly felt inclined to believe that you weren’t under a spell.

His heart fell at the reality.

“I’m just teasing,” you told him, noticing the worry lines between his brows.

“I know,” he smiled reassuringly. “I was just…thinking.”

You chose to sit beside him, so that your arms brushed against each other occasionally. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Moonbin blinked and stared up at the sky. You shouldn’t be asking these questions. The siren spell should be solely a physical desire. No emotions save lust should appear in the victim’s heart.

“It’s complicated,” was all he said. How could he explain to her something he himself wasn’t even sure of?

Your hand found his, and Moonbin’s heart began beating erratically again. He hated this. His feelings weren’t supposed to be this strong. Not for you, a simple human.

Yet he found himself squeezing your hand back.

Eunwoo looked read out of a book in the underwater library, “It says here that if the human is very sensitive, romantic feelings may be added to the feeling of lust, or even replaced. Sensitive people are more affected by smaller gestures of love than lustful actions. That must explain her behavior.”

Moonbin buried his head in his arms. “It would be easier if I didn’t like her already,” he groaned.

What kind of friend was fate, anyway? Giving Moonbin the love of his life, but only under a curse.

“You know,” Eunwoo addressed his friend calmly, “There may be a potion we can give her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know this sea witch,” Eunwoo started. “She can get me a potion that will make the human forget. It will be like she never heard your voice in the first place.”

Moonbin gulped. The selfish part of him didn’t want this. The selfish part of him wanted to keep visiting her. “We should do it.”

“It’ll take about a week to brew, I suppose. You’ll have to keep the human from doing anything rash until then.”

“Okay,” Moonbin said. “I can do this.”

You and Moonbin lay side by side on the rock you two often met at.

“Do sea animals talk?” You asked him. His hand was once again in yours, and he found himself squeezing it every so often, just to make sure this was real.

Your inquisitive spirit and soft voice only made him fall harder for you.

“Not that I know of,” he laughed. “It’s just the merpeople that talk.”

“That’s too bad,” you pouted. “I wanted to talk to a dolphin.”

“I have a better idea,” Moonbin said. “Wait here.”

He pushed himself into the water, only to reappear a few second later with two dolphins behind him. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“Do I?” You hurriedly slipped out of your sandals and jumped into the water. “Hello,” you giggled as one of the dolphins nuzzled you.

“Just hold onto his fin lightly, and he’ll take you on a ride.”

You obeyed, bracing your body against the dolphin and grabbing the dorsal fin.

“This is so much fun!” You squealed as the dolphin pulled you around the surface of the ocean. “Is this what it’s like to be a mermaid?”

“Sort of.” Moonbin chuckled at your childlike excitement as he swam beside your dolphin. Eventually, the dolphin got tired and swam away, leaving you floundering in the water.

“Rude,” you huffed, trying to stay above the slow waves.

Moonbin smiled fondly and swam over, gathering you into his arms. “Hold on to me,” he said.

You oblidged, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his hips. “So basically, you can give me an underwater piggyback ride?”

“That’s a horrible idea,” Moonbin said, hosting you up so he had a better grip on you. His face was going hot at they way your body pressed against his. “Let’s go back to the rocks and dry off in the sun.”

You had a towel in your bag, so you laid that out and sat on it while Moonbin sat beside you, flipping his tail every so often.

“I’ve never seen a sunset before,” he mentioned.

You glanced at the the sun, halfway behind the surface of the ocean. The reflection against the water was made of pretty colors like oranges, pinks, and purples.

You could even see your little dolphin friends playing off in the distance. “What’s it like under there?”

Moonbin looked at you, “Well, it’s a lot like up here. The only differences are the tails,” he flipped his own to make a point. “And the gills,” he poked at the little slits behind his ear.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “So you’re an amphibian?”

“Gross!” Moonbin shoved you lightly, smiling. “I’m just a merman.”

“I want to be a mermaid,” you blurted. You wriggled your toes, “I would have a light blue tail and pretty white seashells in my hair.”

Moonbin cleared his throat to dismiss the thought from his head. It was frivolous to think of you as a mermaid. That was impossible. “You don’t get to choose your tail color, Silly.”

Your smile grew, “It’s just a dream, Moonbin. I can have whatever tail color I want.”

“I suppose,” Moonbin agreed, staring at you. “You’d be a beautiful mermaid, you know?”

Your eyes met his, catching the sincerity. “Yeah?”

Moonbin had no idea what possessed him to kiss you, but suddenly his lips were slowly moving against yours. One of his hands moved to cup your face, while the other one squeezed your hip lightly. As he deepened the kiss, you responded eagerly, so much that Moonbin forgot once again that you were under a spell.

When the two of you parted, Moonbin’s eyes averted to his lap.

“Are you shy?” You asked.

Moonbin tried not to look at you. Your cheeks were flushed and your lips were a tad swollen. Moonbin felt anyone would fall in love with you looking like that.

“I’m not,” he finally answered.

You nudged his tail with your toe, “Then, are you tired?”

“A bit,” He lied.

“Go get some rest.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll come see me tomorrow, right?” A worried tone overtook you tvoice. The urge to follow him into the ocean filled your mind once more.

“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning this time,” Moonbin said.

“Good.” You weren’t sure how long you could manage without him.

Moonbin watched you as you drew in your notebook. Your hair was down, covering half of your face from his view. As you drew, your lower lip stayed pinned under your teeth in concentration. The only time you moved was to pick up a different colored pencil. “Are you done yet?”

“No,” you said. “Do you know how hard it is to capture your eyes?”

“Show me!” Moonbin whined, lifting himself onto his hands to try and get a peek of your drawing.

“No!” You pressed the notebook to your chest and stuck your tongue out at him. “Be patient.”

Moonbin pouted and slumped down, decided to give up and rest his head on his folded arms instead. “Meanie.”

“That’s me,” you replied, not looking up from your work.

The merman poked your foot. “Y/n, are you done yet?”

“No.”

“Now?”

“No.”

“What about now?”

“No.”

“Now?”

“Yes!” You proudly held up your notebook for him to see. “Look how good I did.”

Moonbin choked back a laugh. You drew a stick figure torso on a scarcely detailed mermaid tail. Without waiting for his reply, you pointed to the figure’s face. “I think the eyes really sell it. I used a red-brown pencil instead of a yellow-brown one.”

Moonbin pushed you away from him, snorting in laughter. “Why are you like this?”

You shrugged, smirking, “I guess it’s just part of my charm.”

“Sure,” Moonbin agreed with an eye roll. The whole time, his heart was beating irregularly.

Moonbin sat on his bed, looking at the drawing you had drawn for him. His heart fluttered every time he glanced at the soggy paper.

“Bin? Are you in there?” Eunwoo asked from outside the door.

“Yeah, come in.” He tucked the paper under his bed, hiding it from his friend’s view.

“Bad news and good news.” Eunwoo said, closing the door behind him. “Which one do you want to hear first?”

“Good news, of course.”

“Okay,” Eunwoo sighed, “So the human will be freed from the spell sooner than we thought.”

“Oh,” That was the good news? “What’s the bad news?”

“Well, obviously you can’t see her again.”

“Right,” Moonbin said. Then, sounding resolved, he gave Eunwoo what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Well, the sooner the better, right?”

Eunwoo’s eyes spoke of pity, “Alright. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Great!” Moonbin forced out a smile. “Thanks, Eunwoo.”

“Y/n, did you wait here all day?”

The next day, you were sitting on the rocks, reading a book. Setting it aside, you smiled the merman. “I always wait for you. I only go home to sleep and change.”

“Do you eat?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Just a bit.”

“You need to eat,” he said earnestly.

Your heart fluttered at his words. “I had a sandwich today, don’t worry.”

His soft gaze enamored you more than you cared to admit. You felt as if you and this boy had created a bond in a week that could never be replaced. You hoped he would never leave you.

“What’s a sandwich?” he asked, breaking the silence. His eyebrows knotted together and he cocked his head to the side.

A giggle escaped your lips. “You don’t know what a sandwich is?”

“No.”

“Wait here,” you instructed. “I’ll be right back!”

Moonbin watched as you jumped up and ran in the opposite direction of him.

He chuckled to himself for awhile until he thought about having to give you the potion. The vial felt heavy hanging from his waist. For a selfish moment, he thought of breaking the vial and keeping it from you. He thought of just living this facade for the rest of his life.

That wouldn’t be fair to you.

An entire life was waiting for you, far far away from him and his cursed voice. He would have to give you the potion. It was the right thing to do.

“I’m back!” You yelled, running towards him with a bag in your hand.

You took out the contents: bread, jelly, peanut butter, and a knife. “Okay, this is how you make a sandwich. You take one piece of bread and spread the jelly over it. Then, take the opposite piece of bread and spread the peanut butter on it. Now all you do is press the two bread slices together and it’s ready to eat!” You held the sandwich out for him. “Try it.”

Moonbin, unafraid of much, took a large bite of the unfamiliar food. The flavors in his mouth weren’t recognized, but they also weren’t unwelcome. “This is good.”

“I know right? I live off of these things since I’m so busy with exams lately.”

“You go to school?”

“Yeah.” You pointed away from him, “Over in the city. I’m in my senior year.”

“Have you been this week?”

Your face scrunched up in thought, “I suppose not? I wonder why.”

Moonbin looked up at you. “Y/n, you can’t skip school.”

“I know…” a look of confusion came over your face and you looked at the merman. “I love school, only I seem to be only thinking of you lately. That’s strange.”

Moonbin shifted uncomfortably. “Y/n, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

Moonbin slapped his tail against the water gently, “I didn’t want any of this to happen, I promise.”

“What happened? Moonbin, did you do something?”

“I sang,” he answered, his voice wavering. “I didn’t mean to, I promise. But you heard me and now you’re under a spell where you think you love me.”

“I do love you,” you replied. You dipped you head down to kiss him but he stopped you, a hand on your shoulder.

“No, you don’t. You don’t even know me.” The words broke his heart to say. It took everything to keep the tears from overtaking him. “You’re just a fisherman’s daughter who fell under a spell.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you smiled, “You’re funny Moonbin.”

When Moonbin said nothing, your gaze shifted uncomfortably. “You’re being serious?”

He nodded.

“Moonbin…” you wiped your eyes as tears began to fall freely. “Moonbin, I love you. This isn’t a spell.”

“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” He took the vial off of his belt and held it out for you, “If you take this, the spell will be broken.”

You took the vial and sniffed. “I’m going to drink this and you’ll see that my love has nothing to do with your voice.”

A few tears fell from Moonbin’s eyes, “Y/n, I love you. I really do. Even before the spell. Then, getting to know you more these few days, I realized that you really are a wonderful person.”

His voice broke, “But you can’t be the wonderful person you’re meant to be if you stay on the rocks all day waiting for me.”

“I’m not!” You protested. Now you found yourself wiping away tears of frustration rather than tears of sadness. “I’m the same person I was before I met you!”

Moonbin looked down, unable to face you. “I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say.

“You will be,” you said tearfully. “When I drink this and nothing happens. You’ll see that I really love you.”

“Y/n…” Moonbin started, but you cut him off by taking a shot of the potion.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Moonbin slid back into the water and hid behind a few lower rocks, watching as the effects of the potion took place. “Goodbye, Y/n.”

You set the vial down and blinked a few times. Taking in your surroundings, a sense of confusion filled your mind.

What am I doing all the way out here? Why is there a half eaten sandwich beside me?

You threw the sandwich into the ocean and stood up, checking your phone. You gasped, “I should be studying. Dad is going to kill me!”

Without a second thought, you ran away from the rocks, your long hair drifting behind you.

You hadn’t even noticed the merman a few feet away, sinking into the water until his tears could no longer be distinguished from the salty ocean.

~the end~

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