#reache sfor!!

[yeahspider]

let the light in

Ve’s note - soft fic about chan going back home to australia . this is so fluffy and warm . he is just so lovely and writing about him makes me happy(im drunk as usual so this is sparsely proofread my bad) no warnings sfw !! enjoy <3

the sun was setting as you were finishing up your closing tasks at your parent's record store. picking up a record from the bin you blew gently on it, watching as dust flew off and into the air. this place could use a good dusting you thought to yourself. the clock hit five signifying the end of your shift. at 5:01 the bell above the door chimed alerting you that someone entered.

“we’re closed sorry” you quickly said without looking at who entered. you were tired and ready to eat. you went to grab your purse and head out but stopped seeing the person standing in the doorway. it felt like your heart jumped out of your chest when you made eye contact with Chris.

“I know I'm sorry I was just hoping you’d make an exception for an old friend,” he said with a shy smile. a smile that made your heart swell even if it's been years since you’ve seen it in person. the setting sun illuminated his body. hair in its naturally curly state, teeth on full display. he looked like the young boy who you once loved. the same boy who chased his dream but broke your heart in the process. you could never blame him though. it’s not like you ever confessed. too scared of rejection and unwilling to hold him back from his potential.

“of course, I always have time for you its been so long,” you say to him as you usher him to a chair. your mind still catching up to the fact that he was actually in front of you. tentatively you reached out and brushed his hand, discreetly checking to see if he was real. this was a moment you’ve only dreamed of. chris was still all smiles as you sat across from him.

“i’m sorry i never came to see you sooner. i always meant to but i just chickened out everytime.” he admitted with a blush rising to his cheeks . you wanted to cup his face to feel the blood rush under his skin..

“Why would you chicken out am I that scary,” you say jokingly.

“well i used to have a massive crush on you that i never really got over and i didn’t want it to be weird between us. didn’t want to ruin the familiarity.” he said as a blush ran up his neck. familiarity ? what does that even mean ? and what did he mean he had feeling sfor you? that your pining wasnt singular, but shared. your mind races as seconds drag on after his confession. you cant seem to find the words to decribe what you feel right now. are you relieved? scared? happy? nothing feels quite right.

"I'm sorry i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. let's just forget about it. how have you been?" Chris said trying to save the moment. You could see the embarrassment tinted on his ears.

"wait- you didnt make me uncomfortable i was just shocked. i ..." you hesiated to admit you felt the same way. but he waited for you . your chris . ever so patient. ever so understanding.

"i've had a crush pn you for years." you finally admit. feeling a weight lift off your chest, the pressure in your ears lessening. "ever since you first picked me up from that party years ago. youve always been there for me, even when you were thousands of miles away you checked up on me. so the feelings only grew overtime."

"Are you serious? You've had feelings for me this whole time? I thought you just viewed me as some foolishly ambitious boy. I never thought you would want someone like me." he says, with a look between sadness and relief on his face. you guys have been dancing around each other for years. two idiots in love.

"you were never a fool to me channie. I believed in you wholeheartedly and still do. i always knew you would make your dreams happen."

"let me take you out somewhere. we should reconnenct i want to relearn everything about you, if youll let me." chris said. nothing but smiles and dimples.

of course you agreed. you let him learn everything as long as you could do the same

[ofspark]

@gangleadiing because why tf not.

          Footfalls CEASE, militant air nigh suffocating in its STEELED exudation. Lithe digits are CONCEALED per confinement to the front pockets of DARKENED denim. Only the SLIGHTEST of glances is spared to he o’er shoulder, RISEN brow apparent in turn of ROSEATE crown. A serendipitous hue BETRAYING of hardened persona with its SOFT sheen. A clear of throat is INTENDED to gain full attentiveness of the youth, words to BLOOM in lieu.                   “ You coming along, or not? ”

[ilikefandom]

A Cup of Tea

Request: Helllooo, I was the one who asked for part two :’) :’). I think tea time with Judge inside his Manor, and then he confessed his feelings. I’M SORRY IM NOT REALLY GOOD AT THIS

Requested by: @snapeswhorecrux

Synopsis: Tea Time at Turpin’s

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem Reader

Genre: Romance/fluff

Warning: some 18+ themes (Nothing explicit or detailed)

Edward Turpin was a smart man. Handing down rulings to the worst of criminals and keeping his cool when others hurt him. What he did not understand was (Y/n) (Y/l/n). 

She was the pretty daughter of (Y/f/n) (Y/l/n) and he couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to her.

Ever since he had found out, one winter’s day, of the book club that she and his sweet Johanna had started, he couldn’t keep her out of his mind.

As he strode down the street to his home on a bright, sunny, summer afternoon, he spotted the young woman in question perched on the bench outside of his home. She was wearing light blue today, complete with a white bonnet that hid her face from all but Johanna. 

He caught her sweet smell again as he passed her. The lavender was stronger, but perhaps that was because the flower was in full bloom. He peaked up at Johanna as he passed her friend and made his way inside.

As he entered his home and pulled one of the many books off of the shelf, mumbling to himself as he made to sit down in the chair next to the fireplace. Setting the book on the side table he gazed toward the kitchen as an idea spilled into his mind.

“Johanna, it’s almost tea time, why don’t you invite your,” he paused for a moment, “friend inside.”

He heard a squeal from upstairs and chuckled as Johanna relaid the information to (Y/n). He began to walk to the kitchen to prepare the tea himself, but then thought better of it and made his way back to the chair. Picking up the book and watching as Johanna sprinted past him and opened the door. 

(Y/n) stepped into his home and removed her hat allowing Edward to see her hair. He wanted to touch it. She looked around and smiled before nodding at Turpin and making her way to the kitchen with Johanna.

“You know Mr. Turpin can make the tea. Rules of hospitality.” He heard Johanna comment.

The tinkling of (Y/n)’s laugh echoed out of the hallway. “I can do it, he’s been at work all day. He’s probably tired.”

Edward smirked. He picked up his book and opened it to a random page. It was a section about concubines in the palace of King Henry VIII. He smirked and settled down to read. He had finished the page and was about to turn it when the whistle of the kettle brought him out of his stupor. He stood and placed the book back on the shelf where it belonged.

A few moments later (Y/n) entered the room, Johanna close behind her, and set the newly polished, silver tea tray onto the tea table. (Y/n) poured the tea gracefully. Making all the right movements and adding just the right amount to Turpin’s cup.

Edward maneuvered his hand to take the sugar, brushing it upon (Y/n)’sfor a few moments. He smiled to himself as he brought the tea to his lips and drank. It was perfect. He couldn’t do better himself.

(Y/n) looked the slightest bit embarrassed at the interaction, but she smiled at Turpin as she sank into one of the other armchairs, leaving Johanna the couch to herself.

He remained quiet as Johanna set down her cup and looked up at (Y/n). “How is the season going?”

“As well as it can without a partner.” (Y/n) smiled. “I have attended many events and met many nice young ladies.”

Johanna whined. “(Y/n) there has to be a young man that you are interested in.”

The other girl shook her head slightly and took a dainty sip from her tea cup. “The  next event is in a few days.” She said looking deep into the tea in her cup.

Johanna squealed and shifted a little in her seat. “What is it?” She asked, almost shaking from excitement for her friend.

“The Masquerade.” (Y/n) replied. “Father pooled together some money to get me a dress in this year’s fashion for the dance. I told him it was too much and I could wear last year or the year after last instead. But he insisted.”

Johanna beamed at the girl across from her and Edward felt for a moment that he was excluded from the conversation. He thought about attending the court tomorrow when (Y/n) caught his ear again.

“I hope with the new clothes and a mask I can spend the rest of the season with somebody. Maybe marry somebody important.” 

A light went off in Turpin’s head as he smirked into his tea. And as the duo that resided in his house bid the young woman adieu, the gears turned in Edward’s mind.

That night, Turpin opened his closet to reveal his ball attire. He slipped it on and found the brown mask, deciding that it was too ugly to warrant this year’s season he found a smaller one hanging in the back. It was shinier and bronzed. He slipped it on his face and turned to look into the mirror.

He looked younger with the mask on, stronger in fact. He knew that, when the time came, he would ask Miss. (Y/n) to dance and assume the role that she needed. And she would be happy, wouldn’t she, being with him.

He smiled into the mirror and disrobed back to his everyday clothes. Making his way back downstairs, knowing Johanna had since gone to her room he opened the book he had been reading once more.

Holding it close he traced the image of a concubine entering the palace. The young woman changed, almost instantaneously. She shifted into (Y/n) gazing up at Edward from the pages of his book. He smiled and closed the book once more. 

He didn’t know what that woman had done to him. His heart ablaze with love and lust and his mind flush with disgusting images, hoping she felt the same about him.

Author’s note: I hope you all enjoy this!! I’m getting close to 100 followers and I wnat to do somthing special when I do reach that milestone. If any of you have suggestion please either dm me or put in an ask/request.

[firefly124-writing]

Crumblin’ Down

Title: Crumblin’ Down Fandom: Supernatural Pairing/Characters: Dean/Cas Rating/Warnings: T, spoilers through SPN 15x07 Summary: Dean’s feeling nostalgic. Cas is mystified. Sam is oblivious. A/N: Written for the AdventDrabbles community on Dreamwidth to the prompt gingerbread house .Title courtesy of John Mellencamp’s song by the same name. Huge thanks to @shikaros-blog for alpha- and beta-reading and helping me get unstuck!

AO3 Link or

Now that he knew his mother had never baked, Dean wondered if they’d had these kinds of gingerbread house kits when he was a kid.  He definitely remembered helping her “glue” gumdrops onto one.  Why that had translated into picking one up to make at home was beyond him.

You’d think that, what with it being a kit and all, it’d just glue together nice and easy.  Half the icing seemed determined to end up just dripping down the side, though, and he was pretty sure one of the walls was going to collapse if he looked at it wrong. And people did this with little kids?

“What is the goal of this activity?”

“Jesus, Cas!”  Dean scrambled to catch the candies he’d knocked over before they could roll off the table and onto the floor.  “Warn a guy, why don’t you?”

Cas looked completely unimpressed by Dean’s outburst, but still appeared curious about the gingerbread house.

“It’s just a stupid tradition,” Dean muttered.  “’Sfor little kids.  Dunno why I bothered.”

“When was the last time you engaged in this tradition?” Cas had his forehead scrunched up like he was trying to solve some big mystery.

“I dunno,” Dean said.  “When I was three, maybe?”

He did know, though.  His mom and dad had been explaining that Mom had a baby in her belly that was going to be Dean’s little brother or sister.  Somehow, that had gotten all mixed up with the candy house, and he thought the baby was going to live in there, so he’d cried when they broke it apart to eat.

Cas seemed to realize that, per usual, Dean was full of shit, but he didn’t call him on it.

“From the last Christmas you had with your mother,” Cas said instead.  He didn’t add that this was going to be the first Christmas since losing her again.  He didn’t have to.

“Yeah, well.”  Dean made another attempt at getting the chimney to stay put.  For a second, it looked like it might, and he leaned back to look at his handiwork.  Just as he could feel a grin trying to break through, one of the four sides of the chimney slowly started to slide down the roof until it caught on a piece of chocolate. Dean just shook his head.

“Is the goal to create a perfect structure?” Cas asked.  “Or is it sufficient to assemble as much sugar in one location as possible and then eat it?”

Dean frowned at the ramshackle creation.  “I guess eventually the point is to eat it.”

Cas reached over and broke off a corner of the roof and popped it into his mouth.

“So, what kind of molecules does it taste like?” Dean asked.

“Sugar.”  Cas licked a bit of icing from his thumb.  “I believe Gabriel would have enjoyed this immensely.”

Shit, that brought up a whole bunch of stuff Dean had never thought to ask.

“Is there anything that you angels like to do for Christmas?” Dean asked. Was there anything Cas was missing? Could they even try to do whatever it was here?  “I mean, Gabriel was even kind of involved with it, right?”

“He was.”  Cas gave a small smile.  “To answer your question, however, no.  Angels do not particularly celebrate the anniversary of the Nativity.  And if we did, it would fall during your spring.”

“Huh.”  In comparison to some of the shit they’d learned in the last year, that was barely enough to raise an eyebrow.  Dean imagined there’d be some folks that would get pretty worked up over it, though.

Cas was still right there, barely an arm’s length away.  Dean felt as though he couldn’t look away from him. There was something he should say, though he wasn’t sure what.  They might not be good, yet, but it felt like some of the not-good was starting to crumble away.  Just when he thought he might have found the words, a door slammed.

“It sounds as though Sam and Eileen have returned,” Cas said.

“Right.”  Dean looked down at his creation again.  It was leaning over to the right now like it was going to just topple over.  “Maybe I’ll just break this up like cookies and they can help eat them.”

“I believe they would probably enjoy that.”

They both reached for the house at the same time, and Cas’ hand brushed against Dean’s on its way to remove another part of the roof.  Dean shuddered and was about to change course to break off the other half.  Before he could talk himself out of it, though, he turned and pressed a kiss to Cas’ lips.

It was quick.  It was amazing.  And now Cas was staring like Dean had just sprouted antlers or something.  Maybe he had, because he sure felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“Dean, what…?” Cas started.

“Hey guys, you’re back,” Sam said as he came into the kitchen.  He looked like he’d just taken a shower. How had he had time for that?  “What’cha making?”

Dean took a step back. 

“Gingerbread, huh?  Cool. Hey, Eileen.”  Sam turned and signed something to her where she was standing in the doorway.  She signed something back.  “Nah, come on and have some.  Then you can teach me the sign for gingerbread so I don’t have to fingerspell it all the time.”

“Is that something that really comes up all the time?” she asked.  She did come in and grab a piece of the chimney though.

Cas hadn’t moved and was still staring at Dean.  After all these years, Dean would have thought he could read the son of a bitch, but no.  He had no idea what was going on in Cas’ head. 

One thing he was sure of.  They were going to have to deal with this later.

[robertsmith5373-blog]

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[nomand-berserka]

A little openly honest abridged intro in to me and dealing with my head and my black dog.

I am the newly appointed Team Leader for West Yorkshire with the guys at Veterans Hike. @veteranshike

Ive found a love for hiking over the past few months, since this crazy lockdown here in the UK.

I have struggled a lot over the years since leaving the Army, still dont feel like I fit into the bracket called Civvie. I know that may sound a little cliche. But it is exactly what it is.

I joined the forces straight from school. There was nothing for me where I lived, and with a long proud military history in my family, I felt it's what I'd always wanted and knew in my early to mid teens, that I'd join up.

I felt I did pretty well, considering pretty much everyone I knew, thought that I wouldnt even make it past selection. Well I pissed on their parade let me tell ya.

I'm not going to go into the ins and out of my career. But the tours I did, were SFOR (peacekeeping) Bosnia 98 and Op Agricola Kosovo 99.

Now with that, I've seen some pretty fkd up stuff at the ages of 18 and 19.. But you crack on and get the job the done. Get back home and continue as normal.

Now upon leaving the Army, I felt very lost. Ended up going from job to job, due to not being able to fit in with or liking the people I worked with. Often getting pushed out because of having a different mindset... This turned into a serious dislike for people in general. There was no bond, no brotherhood, everyone out for themselves and didnt care who they fkd over to get what they wanted.

This became the time I started with the heavy drinking and the stupid violence, infact the drink and the violence became the reason I lost my family and almost ended up 6 feet under.

The violence continued, as I just hated everyone... for lots of different reasons. This then led to me serving time on a couple of occasions. But it still continued after being locked up... I didnt see it as a problem, as I just thought "I wont take peoples shit", and I'll show anyone who tries to give me shit. That it will lead to getting hurt. Jump forward to being left for dead with 2 stab wounds... Yes it got that bad. Maybe I was asking for my way out?

Jump forward a year or so of living a dark time.

Its then i got into martial arts (Muay Thai under the tutilage of master Ronnie Green 5 time world champion), a friend of mine didnt want to see me locked up again. Or with more perforations than a "Tetley Tea bag". This became my drive again, I'd found something I could focus on and put myself, my whole self into again.

First session in, I was hooked. Had my first full contact fight at just over 6 months and had plenty thereafter, still have the copy of my official invite to the 2013 world championships. This was my crowing glory moment... This is where I'd found the focus to not be that drunked violent ass hat. My fitness went through the roof and I felt good again for the first time in years

Injury got me though, put me right back to not being able to train. Even ended my career, I tried to train again, but way too soon. Causing myself more problems. Taking even longer to get back to 100%

My anger started to creep back, the bad food the drinking... and yes the violence. then jump again forward to going back to prison for a very violent episode in 2015. Where 2 people got badly hurt. I pleaded guilty. I tried to reach out for help before the day in court. But it was too little too late...

However, in prison this time in 2016 I asked for help. Where can i get it, and who can help me the most.. There was a small eager group called Care after Combat, they concentrate on helping Veterans, who are sent to prison. During and after release. (I'll go into them at a later date).

I've kept my nose clean since then, was officially Dignosed with PTSD in 2017, so done a few local therapy courses Anger Management, CBT but still no actual PTSD help as of yet. Combat Stress, I think may have forgotten about me hahaha.

But the thought of prison!!!! id rather not go back ever again. Plus I'm getting on now, and not a 25 year old dick head. Eith a chip on his shoulder about civvies anymore.

Jump forward again, to present Covid 19 times.

I'm a joiner now put myself through College 12 years ago. The outdoors have always agreed with me. But after a work accident last year in August I had 14 weeks sat at home gaining weight. Bordem drinking and eating shit and the head started to go again. But thankfully got back to work early December.

In March 2020 and we get Furloughed. For however long it may take.

So I gave myself THE talking to. Stay off the booze (well not completely hehe). Keep yourself busy. Find a focus in something, anything. Just dont he that dickhead again.

So here I am, I spend at least 3 days a week walking the Pennines and the moors between my beloved Yorkshire and the dark soggy lands of Lancahire. Its literally 20 minutes from my door to where I park the motor. My head still goes south, but more into the low mood and hating myself for allowing what I'd done in the past. I've had depression for years, but it was always over shadowed by my stupidity. So when it does that, i hit my local park and do 10 laps (8 miles) of that. Or just get my pack ready and hit the trails. Often doing around 15-20 miles.

Now I've started with a small Daystack and have started adding weight, carring 15kg. plus 3 litre camelback, food stuff and inclement weather gear. Its north of England the weather does what it wants. "If tha dunt lyk weather, jus bloody wait 20 minutes It'l change". hahaha.

Doing this has given me more drive in my fitness and massively boosted my mental state. Plus the escape from the rat race bollox that we all have to live through. More and more people have started to notice my weight loss. Down from 20 stone to just over 17 stone. Now I'm as round as I am tall, but for a fat lad I've been told I'm pretty fit... Guess all those years in the Army, years of Muay Thai and Kempo Jiu Jitsu. It must have left some form of conditioning and muscle memory. So this again boosts me. I'm now picking up the weights at home and even got a bike... so this new found fitness is a fantastic feeling again... it's not just about keeping busy anymore, it's about showing people. Who I'd alienated during all these years, that I'm not the same guy, and they are wanting to come on hikes with me now

(Its also pushed me to train for the 3 peaks... but that's another story for another time)

It's also the biggest Therapy I can give myself, sometimes I go it alone and sometimes I have company. The outdoors is literally where I feel at my easiest and most peaceful... The benefits are there for everyone who knows me, to see. Its physically demanding, but it's so peaceful. If I bump into other people, there is always a nod a smile and a "morning/afternoon" exchanged. Not all people are nob heads haha!

I cant stress enough how good it feels to keep occupied physically and mentally, buy doing something I never thought I'd do...

It's become my passion... I'm looking into longer routes all the time, and now looking at some proper outdoors gear. Better rucksack even a tent. If being up the hills for a few hours or just a day, makes me feel things are better. Then surely a couple of days and nights will be even better...Right?

I want to thank anyone who takes the time to reads this, however you see it. Be it on insta, Tumbler or FB. So cheers guys and gals.

We all have hardships, we all need that help at some point. Go out and find what makes it all better, please guys. We all deserve to smile for what ever reason.

Who knows, we may even cross trails someday. You'll always get a smile and a nod from me.

Steve

The Nomad Beserka

[minidigidestined]

I seriously stan Shatter from T/ran/sfor/mers as a pred. I love both her and Dropkick all around but OH MY GOD they would make some awesome preds. I really love the idea of her just being a really sadistic, teasing pred who likes to have fun with her food, while Dropkick is just this big hungry brute that continually stuffs humans in his mouth all he can without even a word.

They’re quite the terrifying voracious duo, but Shatter is never one to go hunting herself--except for deceiving unsuspecting prey into thinking she’s their friend before they’re devoured. She’s the kind of pred that enjoys the mindgame side of things for sure. Dropkick is always eager to kill/eat humans, just reaching into buildings and grabbing handfuls or dumping them right into his mouth from a vehicle on the street--but of course he won’t do it until Shatter tells him to, and he’s always obediently grumbly to bring her chosen snack back to her when she requests it. 

[mmsunwoo-blog]

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( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) dont u ever get tired of being in detention??( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) im jk her reaction to the hex was priceless ㅋㅋㅋ( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) but for real tho when do u get out?( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) lets go to the pc bang( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i havent kicked ur ass in league today yet 

send √ for a long-winded confession text 

( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) yo( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) sung( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) my dude( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) my guy( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) guess what( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) nvm ill just tell u( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) so u know how i suck at divination right( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) and that ive been getting some tutoring lessons?( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) anyways i think theyre finally starting to pay off cause( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i actually made a prediction today( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) basically i looked at the leaves and said( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) sung is gonna buy me fried chicken tonight for dinner( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) and the prof said it was a good interpretation!

send ☠ for a misguided advice text

( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) maybe if u cast a sonorus charm( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) they wont hear u giggling in the bathroom next time( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) then u wont ever get detention again!

send ☢ for a desperate text

( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) lee haesung!!( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) where r u rn( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) pls pls pls can i copy ur arithmancy hw( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i completely forgot abt it ( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) prof said he would drop kick me if i missed another assignment ( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) ill buy u cookies from tht bakery tmrrw

send ☼ for a congratulatory text

( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) congrats bro!!( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i heard u finally upgraded ur phone( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) u can play fortnite at an acceptable speed!( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) should’ve told me tho( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) my dad wants more beta testers for the new model

send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent

( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) do u ever deleted !( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) idk feel like deleted !( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) im just third wheeling u guys? deleted !( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i know its stupid but deleted !( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) idk i just feel tht way sometimes deleted !( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) wyd( ✉ ↝ 우리 이쁜 해성이 💘💗💞 ) i dont feel like writing this dumb dada essay

[katieputnam18]

Thank you @nankushelrealtor smuch sfor sharing these stats! Posted @withregram • @nankushelrealtor According to the latest FreddieMac Quarterly Forecast, mortgage interest rates have fallen to historically low levels this spring and they’re projected to remain low. This means there’s a huge incentive for buyers who are ready to purchase. And homeowners looking for eager buyers can take advantage of this opportune time to sell as well. There’s a very positive outlook on interest rates going forward, as the projections from the FreddieMac report indicate continued lows into 2021: “Going forward, we forecast the 30-year fixed-rate mortgage to remain low, falling to a yearly average of 3.4% in 2020 and 3.2% in 2021.” With mortgage rates hovering at such compelling places, ongoing buyer interest is bound to keep driving the housing market forward. Rates reached another all-time low last week, so FreddieMac notes that homebuyers are in the buying mood. What does this mean for buyers? Competition is hot with so few homes available for purchase and low mortgage rates are helping to drive affordability as well. Getting pre-approved now will help you gain a competitive advantage. Working quickly and efficiently with a trusted real estate professional will help put you in a position to act fast when you’re ready to make your move. What does this mean for sellers? If you’re thinking of selling your house, know that the motivation for buyers to purchase right now is as high as ever with rates remaining so low. Selling now before other sellers come to market in your neighborhood this summer might put your house high on the list for many buyers. Whether you’re looking to buy or sell, there’s great motivation to be in the housing market, especially with mortgage rates hovering at this historic all-time low. DM me and we’ll chat about how to make sure you’re ready to make a move. #Mortgagerates #sellyourhouse #firsttimehomebuyer #opportunity #housingmarket #makememove #homegoals #housegoals #investmentproperty #downsizing #newlisting #homeforsale #renovated #starterhome #dreamhome #keepingcurrentmatters #realestate #realestateagent #coldwellbanker #NH #igersnh #coldwellbankeradvantage (at New Hampshire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CB0LDG1lqoG/?igshid=1rkzgq4vy5lru

[stiltonkitten]

*crouches protectively over dead bird and reache sfor the shrimp with one paw* My food.

@its-mangojelly

*crouches over a stinky mess of feathers and decomposing skin and growls* MY FOOD, NO STEAL

[sasusakufestival]

Samsara (Part 2/3)

Summary: Sakura’s words die in her throat as the man’s eyes shoot open, and the coldest red irises she has ever seen meet hers. She is hit by a wave of terrifying certainty about two things right then – that she knows these eyes better than any other and that, if he wanted to, this man could stop her heart with just a look. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 15 – Prompt: “The Biggest Gesture”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be squished by a Susanoo wielding demi god if you are found plagiarizing.

Warning: Spoilersfor pretty much everything up to Naruto Gaiden.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

AN: So, I decided I didn’t feel like waiting to post this. It’s unedited, but I will put up the edited part as soon as is humanly possible. Also, although I had originally planned for this to be a two-part fic, my plot bunnies decided to hit me with a bunch of other plot possibilities. So it’s probably gonna end up three parts. Therefore, if you want to read the continuation, you guys’ll just have to follow on my blog or something once SasuSakuFestival is over. I hope to post the next chapter within the week :P

__________________________________

“Indra.”

Sasuke repeats the name slowly, sounding out the syllables as if the word is completely foreign to him. There is a deceptive calm in his voice, as if he is putting every shred of his considerable concentration into not reacting to Sakura’s tale.

“It’s…it’s not exactly a common name, is it?” she murmurs tentatively, hanging on to that tiny shred of hope that’s taken root since she awoke in a terrified sweat.

“No.”

They regard each other in heavy silence. Neither knows quite what to make of this development.

“Do you…” she begins, then pauses, because the question is utterly ridiculous and there’s no possible way… And yet. “Do you remember any of it?”

She doesn’t know what exactly Sasuke saw or experienced when he interacted with the Sage of Six Paths, whether the transfer of his chakra also meant a transfer of memories. It’s not a time they speak of very often.

“No. Whatever I knew that day disappeared quickly,” Sasuke tells her quietly.

“Oh.” She wraps her arms around herself. “So why am I dreaming this then? If anyone should be dreaming about you – past-you – it should be you. Or Naruto even. Unless –” She peeks up at him. “Maybe it’s my past life?”

“Then why are you only experiencing it now, after everything we’ve seen?” he counters, the calm from earlier giving way to something sharp.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “It does kind of seem like something the Sage of Six Paths should have mentioned when we all met. But what else could it be? It’s like I’m her, Sasuke.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow in contemplation, jaw clenched and she swears she can hear him grinding his teeth. She reaches out – it’s instinctive to want to comfort him, even though she’s the one who woke upset – and places a soothing hand on his shoulder. The other automatically covers her still flat stomach.

Sasuke’s eyes follow the movement, and then snap back to her face.

“The dreams didn’t start until you found out you were pregnant,” he says in a low tone.

“It’s possible,” she allows.

“That’s the connection,” he muses, almost to himself, staring into the distance like he is seeing something she can’t. “He is the ancestor of the Uchiha…you’re carrying the next generation…it has to have something to do with that.”

“You really think so?” Sakura asks. The idea is unsettling.

“Do you have any other explanation?” he replies, almost harsh. The calm from earlier has begun to erode.

“Well, no, but we can’t just jump to conclusions,” she reasons. “Maybe it’s just…maybe every woman in your clan has dreams like this. Or…or maybe only women who are about to give birth to someone of Indra’s bloodline. Or –”

“Or maybe it’s because I’m Indra’s reincarnation that it’s happening,” Sasuke interrupts, running a hand across his face in agitation. His right eye flickers briefly between red and black. “Of course, we’ll never know for sure and there’s no one to ask because –”

“Sasuke, stop,” she cuts him off, taking hold of his hand. She squeezes it, trying to transmit some sense of calm, despite the fact that his obvious panic is frightening her. She has never seen him lose composure like this, and her immediate instinct is to put a stop to it. “It’s not something worth getting worked up about. These are dreams. Dreams that might not even be real, and are probably just my mind shoving together a bunch of information. You know, odd facts I know about you and me and maybe some of the plot from that horrible romance novel I was reading. If it helps, I’ll stop reading it.”

“Sakura –”

“Let’s not worry too much about unwanted commentary from dead people, okay?” She makes a face. “And that is a sentence I never though I would say.

The look Sasuke gives her now is equal parts awed and disbelieving.

“You are taking this remarkably well,” he says, sounding almost accusing.

Sakura tosses her hair. “I told you, didn’t I? The day we met the Sage of Six Paths? Nothing will ever surprise me again.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says stonily. “Are you sure you don’t know any sleeping draughts you could take? Just to stop the dreams until we know more.”

“Nothing that wouldn’t harm the baby,” she confides. “Relax, darling. I’m sure this is all just a big coincidence. We’re reading too much into it.”

“I’ll have to watch out for you better. Until there’s a way to protect you from this, I need to know everything you see.”

Sakura snorts at this. “Right, and what exactly are you going to do, pry my eyes open when you think I’m having a nightmare and use the…Sharingan…to…Ehhh!” She sees the subtle shift in his expression. “You’re actually th– no! No, no, no! You can’t do that!”

“I wasn’t going to. I was just…considering.”

“Well, considering me breaking your nose!”

“Using the Sharingan that way wouldn’t be possible anyhow.”

“Possible or impossible, that’s never going to happen! You promise me right now, or I’ll put you down so hard, losing an arm will look like a bee sting!”

Sasuke’s skin turns a shade paler, and he nods.

眠り

Sakura might have quelled at least some of Sasuke’s fears, but she isn’t as confident as she pretends. The idea that the fetus inside her is connected to as dark and tragic a past as Indra Ōtsutsuki is worrisome, but at the same time…

She has to admit she’s curious.

That doesn’t stop her being relieved when the dreams inexplicably stop bringing her to the strange beach. Her nightly visions become vague again, bursts of colour and emotion, occasionally faces that are familiar to her but inconsequential. She still experiences the frustrating moments of abuse, attacks from a faceless father and sister; her experiences paralyse her as she sleeps, and leave her irritated upon waking. But overall, there is such a vague and hurried quality to these that she suspects she is experiencing time passing.

This pattern continues long enough that it’s almost a shock when she falls asleep one night and finds herself once more in a completely lucid, detailed dream.

She is sitting uncomfortably at a table in a richly decorated room, and the dim memories Sakura can access suggest that her attendance here is rare, perhaps even only occasionally required. Sitting across from her are two people whose presence not only disheartens her – the small, curious part of her had been hoping to meet Indra again – but also fills her with overwhelming wariness.

 “There’s talk among the court of a newcomer,” Father says as the servants place their meals before them. “A man of great talent, said to be the son of a wise sage from the East. They say he can call lightning from the sky and breathe fire like the dragons of old.”

“It would be useful to have such a man beholden to you,” Older Sister remarks, sounding bored as she picks at her food.

“Yes, it is better to be on the side of a demon than in his path. Should the stories of this man be true, I intend to offer him alliance. I am told he is young and ambitious. Command of my armies should sway his loyalty. Or, perhaps, marriage.”

Older Sister scowls. “Marriage to a foreigner won’t grow the coffers of this land.”

“Maybe not, but talents he is said to be able to teach could,” Father says. “I am confident you’ll do your duty, daughter.” He then suddenly turns and barks, “What’s that look for, Shachi? Have you something to say?”

They are both looking at her now and she realises that she is Shachi.

Her lips part. “If…if…”

“If…if…if…” Older Sister mocks. Sakura inwardly snarls, knowing if she had control of her body right now, she would wipe the floor with the painted doll before her.

 “I-If Older Sister doesn’t wish to marry h-him, I w-would take on th-that duty, F-Father. If it would p-please you.”

He snorts. “Dishonour an important man with a concubine’s spawn instead of the heiress to the land? I intend to court an ally, not lend insult. Keep your ridiculous opinions to yourself. Don’t make me regret my generosity in allowing you to sit at my table.”

“As you wish, Father.” She bows.

“May the gods soon find me a man who can look past your whore of a mother’s legacy and take you off my hands,” he grumbles to himself.

Sakura – Shachi – looks down at her knees, shoulders sinking.

Older Sister sniggers. “Oh, don’t look so downcast. Besides, if the stories of this stranger is true, he attracts many followers. Maybe someone among the riffraff will take an interest in you.”

The two of them laugh, leaving Sakura – Shachi – clenching her fists.

夢

They are at the back of an izakaya, scouring dishes from a busy dinner rush; they don’t have any money tonight, and in exchange for a room they’re helping with hostess out. Sasuke washes, Sakura dries. There has been nothing but companionable silence until she breaks it.

“Can I…can I ask you something?”

“Hm.”

 “It’s about your brother,” she goes on, hesitant, because the topic is a difficult one, and usually provides some cue for him to make an escape. She’s hoping soapy hands make that a little harder this time.

From the tense set of his shoulders, she knows he’s already planning bolt, and she hurriedly continues.

“It’s about your relationship before – before all of it. You never talk about it, and you don’t have to now, I just…I never had an older brother or sister, so I don’t know myself. I was wondering…is it normal for an older sibling to hate the younger one?”

She winces, because it still came out awkwardly, and she bets he’s going to ignore it, because it’s not exactly what she was asking but –

“For a long time, I thought so,” Sasuke answers in a low voice. “But over time, I learned it’s the exception, not the rule.”

She exhales at this. “Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just thinking.”

“Sakura.”

She scowls, because he’s getting a lot better at reading her voice. Or maybe he always could, now he just chooses to react to it.

“It’s something I noticed in my dream –”

“You had another one?” he interrupts sharply, nearly dropping one of the bowls in his hand.

“Yes – and no, I haven’t seen him again, if that’s what you want to know. Don’t you think I’d tell you right away?”

“Hn.”

“Well, I would. I just…haven’t had to say anything lately because nothing happened. I don’t think he’s in the picture right now. But this – the person I am in my dreams – her name is Shachi, I think.” She peeks at him. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

Since their conversation about a possible past life or odd Uchiha-specific pregnancy quirk, she has found it easier to ask him these questions. After all, between the two of them, he’s the only one who has a definite link to whatever it is she’s dreaming.

He closes his eyes, frowning in concentration, then shakes his head. “I feel as if I’ve heard the name before, but it could be from anywhere.”

He’s right, they meet enough new people every day, perhaps it’s a name they’ve encountered in their travels.

“It’s just, her family – or, I guess the people who raised her – they treat her so badly. It’s as if she’s beneath them, and I don’t…I don’t understand how family can do that,” she exclaims, frustrated. “How can someone not protect their younger sibling? How can a parent not love their child? I can’t imagine a world where you look at our baby like he – or she – means nothing.”

“It would never happen.”

He says it so instantly and certainly that she feels a wave of pure joy wash over her, and she offers him a loving smile. “I know that. But in my dream –”

“You said yourself your mind might just be processing things,” Sasuke continues. “You’ve mentioned feeling weak, held back. It’s possible that you’re drawing on experiences you’ve actually lived and your brain is interpreting them in the simplest way.”

Sakura shoots him a suspicious look. “You’ve been reading my medical scrolls, haven’t you? The psychology ones?”

“They offer the most logical explanation to all this.”

She sighs. “Darling, you can’t search for clues based on the answer you want.”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what it could be. And all of this could simply be a quirk of your dreams.”

They work in silence for a spell.

“You don’t really think it is, do you?” she asks eventually.

A pause.

“No.”

“So, if it is something that happened, why do you think she’s treated so badly?”

“Back then, people saw children differently. A means to an end, a legacy.”

“And what’s our child?”

Sasuke holds her gaze, no trace of doubt there, and simply says, “Hope.”

眠り

For some reason, after this conversation, the tone of her dreams changes. Her awareness of being in a dream fades faster. Memories of an entire life crowd out her identity during waking hours, and so when the stranger arrives in their land, her first reaction – Shachi’s first reaction – is of surprise.

Even though she shouldn’t be. Because there aren’t many men who can control lightning, after all, and there is such a commanding air about him that the idea of him as the leader her father spoke of is not impossible.

The day he steps foot in her father’s court is grey and overcast, inauspicious in it’s normalcy, and yet her body – both in her dream and her present self – feels taut with awareness. He arrives quietly, with little pomp, into Father’s audience chamber. If he notices her sitting on the dais by her sister’s feet, he gives no indication, his every attention focussed on the lord of the land.

He says very little, and yet before the audience is over, everyone knows who he is: Lord Indra of the Eastern Lands, a master in the secret arts. He is well-spoken and a warrior by bearing and – based on Older Sister’s expression upon seeing him for the first time – an acceptable possible match.

He seeks followers, those he will impart with teachings, and who he intends to make stronger, asks only for the freedom to recruit whoever he wants.

“My methods are difficult,” he warns quietly, “and only those willing to lay down their lives in dedication will succeed. In exchange, I will instruct the soldiers in your armies as well.”

Father is beside himself – this is exactly what he wanted, after all – and the accord is soon settled. He celebrates by throwing a lavish banquet in Lord Indra’s honour, despite the obvious fact that the young man has no use for the gesture. He appears restless and impatient, as if he wishes to get started on his mission as soon as possible.

Sakura – Shachi? – watches him with wide eyes, thinking on the helpless man she nursed back to health, the one who could have killed her but didn’t. As frightened as she is by him, she can’t fight down her interest.

He notices her watching him and looks up, holding her gaze. Her entire body tenses, and she feels as if she’s looking into the eyes of a snake moments before it strikes. She can’t look away until he does, and once free, her entire body shivers. Her breath comes in sharp bursts and she wonders if, perhaps, he hasn’t used some of his strange power on her.

夢

“It sounds like genjutsu,” Sasuke as he sets up a wire-trap.

“I don’t think so,” Sakura muses, leaning against a nearby tree. “He wouldn’t need to use that on her. She’s too afraid. Too docile. You only use genjutsu on someone if you expect resistance.”

She and Sasuke exchange a tense look, both of them acknowledging a bitter shared memory.

Sasuke grunts and hops down from the tree.

“When we’re done here, we’re heading to that temple we passed. Maybe there will be someone there who can explain why you’re seeing this.”

“We might as well stop at a hospital too and have me speak to a bunch of therapists,” she deadpans. “I don’t think anyone is going to have answers on this one.”

Sasuke scowls. “So, your strategy is to wait and see?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t accept that.”

“Well, tough. While I’m incubating the tiny human, I make the rules. And as of right now, I’m not in any actual medical danger, and other than being annoying and sometimes confusing, what I see when I’m asleep isn’t affecting my health in any way.”

“Yet.”

This time it’s Sakura who scowls. “Need I remind you of your history of overreacting?”

Which Sasuke can’t exactly argue with, and so he settles on beleaguered silence while they set up the remainder of the traps.

She sighs to herself and wonders if there’s a point to keeping him updating about her dreams if he’s just going to get so upset about them. And she definitely doesn’t want to admit to him that the longer these dreams continue, and the more often she has them, the more she feels as if she’s living a completely different life.

“Sasuke…I know there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure about all of this, but…would it be so bad?” He stares at her, askance. “If this actually was my past life. It would just mean that I’ve care for you longer than be both thought.”

“You know it would mean more than that. You know that it’s a story that doesn’t end happily.”

“We don’t know if that’s completely true.”

“He broke everything he touched,” her husband says darkly. “He had everything, and just…” He cuts off, making a disgusted sound. “Because of him, my family… because of him I did the same. Might still do the same. What if this is a reminder, a warning, that I’m going to break this too?”

The question is so soft, so distressingly uncertain that for a moment Sakura doesn’t have an answer.

Sasuke very rarely shows any type of vulnerability, and to this day she is certain she is the only one alive who has ever seen that part of him. What makes this particular display so heartbreaking is that she knows he isn’t even asking it for his own sake, but for their child’s.

Tears fill her eyes, but she holds them back. Crying right now will do nothing to help him; she swore long ago that when he was struggling, she would support him. And if that means shrugging off her puzzling dreams, so be it.

“I never thought you were the superstitious type,” she says, trying to break the tensions with levity.

Sasuke scowls. “It’s hard not to be when your past life decides to haunt your wife’s dreams.”

She smiles. The fact that he sounds so waspish is a good sign.

“Come here,” she says, and without giving him opportunity to resist, she presses his hand above her womb. “Listen to me: you are not going to break this.” He opens his mouth, and she drowns him out. “No – listen. You are not going to break this. I don’t break easy, and you can summon a giant chakra monster to protect yourself. This child? Half you, half me. Definitely not breakable.”

He still doesn’t look entirely reassured, but the tense set to his shoulders fades somewhat.

眠り

Lord Indra becomes a guest in their kingdom, permitted to walk among the people and seek students. He accepts any who come to him, man or woman, and weeds out the weak. Many of them die – strangely enough, it’s usually the soldiers that Father sends who are unable to succeed – and yet still more continue to seek him out.

He is the only one who knows this strange, magical teaching. He calls it ninshu, yet when he says it there is a sneer in his voice, as the very name offends him.

She finds this odd, but Father doesn’t care. As he sees it, his kingdom will soon grow to rule over all the rest, if only he can convince Lord Indra to remain here instead of moving on. Older Sister preens and poses, trying to entice a smile from the sullen faced stranger, and taking it out on Shachi when he doesn’t.

No…I’m…Sakura?

That name seems so distant to her when she is here, when she is Shachi. Though she knows this is but a dream, she feels tethered to it as much as if it were real.

She watches Lord Indra from the sidelines. Although drawn to him, longing for him to acknowledge her again, or at least thank her for saving his life, she feels safer in the shadows. Sometimes, he is apparently alone, training or meditating by himself, and yet when she makes a move to approach him, she imagines she hears someone speaking to him. Whenever this happens, she hurries away. After all, their last encounter up-close is fresh in her mind, and as compelled as she is to seek him out, she is also afraid of him.

And so she keeps away, watching his training sessions from the protection of the forest.

Sometimes she is caught, receiving a reprimand or a beating from her father, but these days both are more an afterthought; Father only cares about her whereabouts when someone reminds him, and Older Sister, only if she notices her. For the most part, she is free to watch the stranger as she wishes.

Lord Indra teaches with brutal efficiency. He never raises his voice above a murmur, yet retains perfect control over his students. He can make a simple nod feel as if he has fallen to his knees in praise, and a derisive glare make a man want to fall on his sword to avoid dishonour.

Several do.

Only once he is satisfied with their ability to maintain discipline and control does he teach them the new abilities. Shachi watches as men learn to bend water in their hands, or call up mounds of earth like fangs from the ground. Some command the wind and others turn blades of grass into needles. With a flash of his red eyes he instructs them all, precise instructions, having them repeat them over and over, making motions with his hands as he does.

She mouths along his words, trying to capture the sound of his voice in her mind. When he speaks normally – not threatening her life as he did that day on the beach – his voice is pleasant, inviting. Despite the danger he represents, he makes her feel safe, and that is something she isn’t used to feeling.

From her place in the shadows, she makes the hand gestures as well, arranging her fingers until she can do it perfectly. Soon she does it without noticing, can allow herself to just listen to the sound of his voice as he instructs. One day, his words seem closer to her than usual, even though he is so far away, and she closes her eyes, imagines that he is watching her, not his students, is telling her –

You build up chakra, stop it once it collects between the mouth and the chest area. Once you have enough, you release it all at once.

She inhales deeply, focussing on the warmth in her chest, and then breathes out.

To her absolute shock and horror, flames spew from between her lips and incinerate the tree in front of her.

She stumbles backward in shock and fear, unable to believe what just happened. She takes a split second to look around, to see if anyone saw her, and then takes off at a run, pulling her cumbersome skirts to her knees and stumbling back through the forest.

In the distance, she hears people calling out, confused shouting, demands for water. Commotion as students try to put out the flames with buckets, or with their new chakra wielding talents, she isn’t sure, because she keeps on running –

Only to find her way blocked by Lord Indra.

His eyes blaze at her and she recoils, dropping to her knees and bowing her forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to – I didn’t even realise I was – please don’t tell me father, I – I’ll never do it again –”

“How long did it take you?” he interrupts.

She blinks at that, chancing a glance up at him. “M-my lord?”

“You have been watching for weeks but you have never attempted anything before,” he informs her, earnings a small squeak of surprise. “Today you tried. How long did it take you.”

“I-I… not long. I just… I listened to what you said, and I tried it.”

 “Hm.”

He gives her an inscrutable look, like he’s considering something he hadn’t before, and she bows her head again. “I didn’t meant to hurt anyone or cause trouble.”

She is aware of the sound of feet near her ear, and when she looks up he has begun to walk away, back to the training grounds. She isn’t sure if she imagines it or not when he mutter, “Next time don’t stand next to a tree.”

夢

“You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Sakura scowls at the gash in Sasuke’s leg, the product of a stray flail and misguided intentions. The villagers in this part of the country are so wary of strangers, they attacked before letting Sakura explain herself. Sasuke, of course, instinctively pushed her out of the way, but ended up with another limb nearly being severed.

“Forgot what?” he grumbles, observing as her fingers glow green over the skin there.

“That you don’t have to protect me,” she chides him. “Even if I didn’t have a basic capacity to dodge, a flail isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Maybe not, but as far as I know, your regenerative abilities don’t apply to the baby,” he reminds her. “You’re not as invincible as you’re used to being.”

Sakura blinks at this, surprise waylaying the retort on her lips.

He’s right.

For a minute, she did forget.

It’s all so new – the changes in her body, the adjustments she’s had to make. No more chakra suppressors, she can’t drink coffee anymore, she’s tired more often – it sometimes feel so disconnected to her. Some days she is completely aware of the new life within her, unable to stop thinking about it, and other days, when everything gets so busy and confusing – like today – she forgets. Even looking in the mirror is deceptive – she doesn’t look pregnant at all, even with her clothes off.

There is movement to the left, and she glances up as two young girls carry in buckets of water; she smiles at them gratefully, earning half-awed, half-shy expressions in return, and then they hurry off.

The villagers backed off when she sent a crushing blow to the ground, forcing them to retreat if they didn’t want to fall into the broken earth. Upon watching her lean down to heal him before he bled out, they finally realised that she was a healer and spent the rest of the evening apologising profusely. They even insisted on putting her and Sasuke up for as long as they wanted to stay, hence the small apartment where they are currently staying.

They even carried Sasuke back here on a litter so she could preserve her healing abilities. He nearly threw a fit at that (he still hates appearing weak in any way) but the people felt so terribly about it, Sakura insisted they go along with it.

Somewhat out of deference to this, she decides to relent a bit.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, checking the progression of closing skin. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

“Hm.”

“I’m just not used to hanging back. It’s been a while since I had to stay out of the direct line of danger.”

“I know.”

He finally relaxes, however, allowing his eyes to close and breath to even out. As if he didn’t expect her to take it easy until she said the words.

Ridiculous man…

She shakes her head, considering the calm picture he provides. It reminds her of those first few dreams she had, of healing Indra on that beach.

Sasuke’s former incarnation is starkly different than he is, she realises that now. He watched her – watched Shachi – with the distrustful gaze of someone who expected her to be incompetent or treacherous. Sasuke’s attention is intent, but in a different sense – watchful and wary for the sake of he health, not his.

As if being pregnant made her breakable.

She’s forgotten what it’s like to need to be protected. It makes her nightly sojourns in the life and mind of Shachi all the more confusing.

The other woman is such a stark contrast from her. Docile, obedient, hesitant – all of these are qualities she either never possessed or grew out of in her early childhood. Their very nature is utterly opposite.

In fact, even their ability to use chakra is completely different, judging from the way they learned to use it. Shachi’s first act was so powerful, charged enough to destroy an entire tree. Sakura remembers the first time she used ninjutsu, she had to try her hardest just to manage a passable substitution.

And that’s another thing. It’s not just their different temperaments. Why does Sakura have an affinity for water, when Shachi is clearly more suited to fire? Isn’t that the type of thing that should carry over?

“Not necessarily.”

Sakura jumps, realising suddenly that she has been musing out loud the hold time. Sasuke is frowning at her thoughtfully.

“The goal of reincarnation is to be reborn as a better self. Perhaps it means stronger, as well. Water is superior to fire.”

“Oh.”

“I take it you’re dreaming of him again then?” he asks, voice entirely too casual.

Sakura looks away, caught out. She’s been trying to avoid bringing it up because she knows it upsets him. “Only recently. Only last night, really. It’s a little confusing, so I didn’t say anything until I could get my thoughts in order.”

“I’m not going anywhere for the next little while,” he reminds her, nodding to his leg. It’s completely healed by now, and she shoots him an amused look. He raises an eyebrow, as if challenging her to call him on it. “Tell me what you dreamed.”

“As long as you don’t get upset every time I talk about Indra.”

His jaw clenches but he nods. “Fine.”

眠り

Eventually Father grows tired of Lord Indra skirting the issue. He wants to ensure everlasting loyalty, wants someone who will train and preside over his army in perpetuity.

In front of the whole court, he offers a permanent, eternal bond between them.

“My daughter, Shibasuri,” he declares proudly, gesturing to Older Sister. “She will make a fine wife, and through her, your children will be the heirs of my land.”

Every other man in the court seethes at this, because Lord Indra may be strong, but he is a foreigner. And more than a few covet Older Sister for themselves.

But the solemn stranger shows no interest in either offering.

“I have no interest in possessing this land,” he says quietly, his words easily audible in the stunned silence. “And I have no need of a woman who revels in her looks and is ignorant to the world. A creature whose body is starved to uselessness in pursuit of fashion, who will never be fatted with child.”

Older Sister makes a noise born of incandescent fury, and Father turns scarlet in anger.

“You dare – !”

But Lord Indra has turned away from both, and instead his gaze falls upon the crowd.

Upon her as she stand with her guardians.

“I will take this one instead,” he declares imperiously. “On that condition I will remain here.”

She gasps, because this makes no sense. He has never, ever given any indication of seeing her, let alone –

“Shachi?” Father inquires, confusion dampening his anger. “Why would you��? She is of lower status, not of any importance – ”

“I will hear her answer,” Indra interrupts. “And if she has no wish for wedlock, I will take my leave with any disciple that will follow.”

There’s a stunned silence then, a dangerous note of expectation in this, and then the whispering begins. Already the members of the court are wagging their tongues, expressing surprise and glee at this turn of events. They imagine blackmail, a play for power from a younger daughter, a secret love –

It is none of these things. From her weeks observing him, she knows that Lord Indra has his own mind, his own plans that he follows. If he prefers her over her beautiful older sister, there is a reason, and not one as basic and superfluous as caring for her.

Older Sister glowers at her, as if Shachi has indeed done something to organise all of this, and Father frowns at her with a look in his eye that promises a lifetime of broken bones if she doesn’t accept.

He needn’t bother, because she knew the instant that Lord Indra spoke, what her answer was going to be.

Even so, it feels as if she is signing the death warrant of her fate when she whispers, “I accept.”

夢

Sakura stretches a hand over her head, making a high-pitched, purring noise at the back of her throat, and then relaxes once more, head pillowed on Sasuke’s blanket-clad inner thigh. They lie head-to-foot, naked and sated, the smell of sex still lingering in the air.

Sasuke is on his side, his face pressed against one side of her abdomen, his hand curved around the other. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is pulled into a not-quite-smile of tranquility. It’s far too early for any kind of kicking to be felt – for anything to be heard – but it doesn’t seem to matter to Sasuke. Sakura’s own smile is gentle as she reaches forward, brushing his hair back from his face. He cracks his right eye open and there’s that brief look – soft, content and happy – and then he closes it again.

It’s a look that’s reserved only for her and, she knows, their future child, and which encompasses everything. Even though he rarely says it – only when she has him reduced to panting, overwhelmed gasps as she did minutes earlier – she feels the unquestionable love he has for her. Seeing it fills her with warmth from the inside, because it’s something she never truly believed she would experience.

It makes her feel guilty for asking him, once, if the only reason he wanted to be with her was to repopulate his clan. Sasuke was, by then, a changed man.

Such a difference from the man in her dreams.

She wonders about him. His temperament, his motives, his relationship with Shachi…

“Why do you think he chose her?”

“Hm?” Sasuke’s voice is low and rough from sleep.

“Indra,” Sakura clarifies dimly, gazing up at the wooden ceiling. “He washes up in this strange land, tries to kill her, disappears, then comes back. And her father offers him practically the world, anything a guy back then would want, and he throws it back in his face over Shachi. A girl he barely even spoke a hundred words to.” She shakes her head in confusion. “That’s something a person does for the one they love, but I don’t…do you think he was even capable of it at that point?”

“Capable of?”

“Love.”

Sasuke is silent for a long moment, leaving her wondering if he intends to answer the question. Then he says, “I don’t think it was possible in the way you understand it.”

“Meaning?”

“After being betrayed – or rather, after deciding he had been betrayed – by Hagoromo and Ashura, he would have been more guarded than ever. He wouldn’t have been capable of feeling for her what…” He trails off here, his voice becoming more quiet, more furtive, “For what I feel for you.”

She doesn’t acknowledge the admission beyond a soft smile – he gets defensive and grumpy if she makes a big deal out of moments like this.

Instead, she returns to the topic. “So why choose her?”

“She did help him. He may have seen it as repaying a debt.”

“But he also said she reminded him of being weak. And she was weak. Wouldn’t the likelier choice have been the older sister? The one with status?”

“A man like him would chose a bride more suited to his purposes. You told me she had the ability to use chakra – which she learned just by observing his teachings,” Sasuke points out. “To members of my clan, Shachi would be the more sought-after candidate.”

Sakura considers this, and then nods. “That make sense.”

“I don’t believe it was the whole reason though.”

She shoots him a confused look.

“He might have seen her as a parallel of himself,” Sasuke continues, thoughtful. “A child mistreated by family. In his view, he was betrayed by his; this girl, she’s the scapegoat of her own kin – and for an utterly underserved reason, based on what you’ve told me.”

“But in that case, wouldn’t it make more sense to kill her family? Why agree to a marriage with her? An actual link to these people?”

“I have no doubt he had some kind of long-term motive. However…I suspect it may have been different than anything he actively planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s entirely possible, she provided him with something he didn’t even realise he was missing,” Sasuke tells her, staring off into the distance. “As far gone as he was, he needed something to ground him. When Indra first awakened his abilities, he was strong because he was protecting someone precious. His brother. And he remained strong, even as he became more drawn to the darkness, because he always thought he had the support of his father and brother. When that was gone – when Hagoromo named Ashura as his successor – for the first time in his life, he was truly alone. When you have as much power as he did, and as much hatred, you need something to justify your actions – some goal that makes everything else you do worthwhile.”

She knows now that he is speaking of himself, and not Indra. Of how his love for his brother drove him to commit horrible acts.

“Then he meets this girl, and she’s obviously drawn to him, and she helps him,” Sakura suggests. “And he keeps seeing her, and he knows she’s in a bad situation, so he starts to feel what it’s like to have someone trust in him again.”

It sounds far too plausible, and Sakura shivers. She doesn’t like the idea of Indra using Shachi’s misfortune for himself, but at the same time, she knows that the other woman – this shrinking violet – would see it as an opportunity to escape. In a way, the two are saving each other, even if they don’t know it.

“Hm.” Sasuke nods here. “She is someone who will be utterly loyal to him – both because of who she is as a person, and because as a wife, it is her duty to be subservient to his will.”

Sakura lifts her head and shoots him a sardonic smirk. “Oh, so I have to be subservient to you now?”

“…I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”

“Damn right,” she nods, falling back, and then squeaks indignantly when he tweaks her left nipple in retribution. She slaps his hand away and then jabs a finger in his general direction. “Don’t start something if you don’t intend to follow through.”

Sasuke snorts. “Who said I didn’t intend to follow through?”

眠り

The wedding approaches, and for the first time in her entire life, Shachi finds herself treated according to her station.

She is bathed in scented waters and anointed with rich oils, adorned in silks and jewels, and fed the finest foods that her servants tease will ensure she bears healthy children.

Older Sister lingers resentfully in the background, while father busies himself with the preparations. Whatever he felt for her in the past, whatever he feels for her now, his greed for the power Lord Indra can provide has increased tenfold since seeing what the young man can do. He pretends like he has never resented her, calls her his “beloved child” and introduces her to visiting dignitaries.

The wedding is meant to be lavish, a way of showcasing Father’s current wealth, and offer hint of what it might become. In this, he is able to stand up to Lord Indra’s more frugal nature. For his part, the prospective bridegroom is nowhere to be found and makes no effort to involve himself in the affair; he continues to train in the courtyards up until the day of the ceremony.

That morning, she is woken at dawn and bathed. Her handmaidens draw long black ribbons of henna across her forehead and face, crisscrossing around her neck and again above her breasts, winding down her arms and legs as if she has been encircled by a snake. Her hair is braided with freshly picked cherry blossoms, and golden rings are fitted around her wrists, neck, fingers and even one through her nose. It all feels heavy and cumbersome but she knows better than to complain. The bridal gown is of red silk, the only garment she has ever worn that was not one of her sister’s castoffs, and the final touch is a purple, rhombus-shaped jewel set in the centre of her forehead.

Father walks her down the aisle at a quick pace, as if worried that the longer he takes, the sooner his future son-in-law may change his mind. Older Sister holds her veil for her, and as she goes to sit at her place, sneers quietly, “Do not think your life will be without hardship.”

Lord Indra stands at the front of the assembled guests, bored and irritated, and he doesn’t even acknowledge her when she is beside him. The high priest begins the ceremony, raising the sacred marriage cup before them, his words washing over her.

Shachi’s mind is strangely blank at this, either from disbelief or fear for the future, and Sakura feels more present in the moment than she has in months. The marriage ritual is very different from any she has ever seen, from her own wedding to Sasuke, and while she is uneasy about the circumstances, she can’t help being fascinated.

The priest places a smooth, obsidian rock – taken from the sacred river of their land – and wishes them an enduring and lasting union. He pours wine and honey as well, wishing fertility and health, and then takes their hands, lightly pricking their palms over the rim of the cup, to signify the mingling of their blood now and in the future. Then, he passes it first to Lord Indra, who will be master of the union.

Her bridegroom takes a tip – barely wets his lips – and passes it back. His expression never changes, and he still doesn’t look at her.

Then the cup is in front of her face, the priest reminds her of her duties as wife now. She begins to lift the cup to her lips as well –

Lord Indra chokes suddenly, and doubles over.

There is stunned silence all around, the high priest stares in wide-eyed horror, and there are gasps from the other guest.

“My lord?” she whispers, reaching for him. “Are you…?”

His eyes snap toward her, flickering red and black and she gasps. But it isn’t the Sharingan that have her shocked. Instead, she rapidly takes in the sight of his features – pupils dilated, mouth slackening, a bluish tint around his lips.

“Poison!” she cries, because she can’t do anything else here. “He’s been poisoned!” Her head whips around, looking for someone who might help. “Fetch a healer!”

Father appears shell-shocked, slow to realise what is happening, and Older Sister –

She stands to one side, smirking and with a look in her eyes that is all-too-knowing.

“You…” Sakura – Shachi? – realises. “Why would you – ?”

Indra begins to convulse, and the answer never comes. Instead, she falls to her knees, trying to hold his flailing arms as he convulses. Shachi is terrified, that fear returning her to full control, pushing Sakura’s awareness down again, but she refuses to allow this.

You can stay out of this right now, or he’s going to die!

She focusses her attention – sees the cup dropped by the priest, liquid spilling out. The sacred rock as rolled a few inches away as well, leaving a strange, chalky residue.

So that’s what it was. Poison in the marriage cup.  Indra wasn’t the only intended victim.

Her mind flips through a mental catalogue of poisons, all while calculating the amount of time it will take before he dies. Given how fast he reacted, the chalky nature, the blue veins on the mouth

“Ainu,” she determines. It’s a relative of aconite, albeit much more potent. There isn’t much out there that can save him, and in the limited time she has, she doubt’s she’ll be able to find –

Then she freezes, remembering herself.

No way. No way could it be that much of a coincidence.

Her hands fly to her hair, tugging out the delicate blossoms there. Cherry blossoms have some healing properties, but aren’t used very often in antidotes –

Except in cases of ainu poisoning.

She doesn’t pause to dwell on the improbability of it all. Instead, she begins to crush up the petals – in her fingers at first, then an idea occurs to her and she puts them in her mouth, chewing them into a pulp and leaning forward to press her lips against his. As she pushes the petal paste into his mouth, she wills her chakra into him as well, calling up every bit of her concentration to do so. She visualises her energy moving into him, chasing the poison through his veins and overtaking it.

She doesn’t find out if she succeeds or not, because that’s when she suddenly loses her control. All of her concentration, all of her focus in helping him, recoils like an elastic band. She is once more, no more than a passenger, and Indra gives one last violent tremor, and then goes still.

Someone emits of a moan of grief.

It takes a stunned second for Sakura to realise the sound came from her. To understand that her dream self is weeping, throwing herself over Indra’s chest. This man, who she saved, who in demanding her hand offered her a future away from the abuses of her blood kin, and now he has left her before there was even a chance.

Tears streaming from her eyes, she looks up as Father demands of Older Sister, “What were you thinking? You’ve ruined it all!”

“I have done nothing but save you from a charlatan,” she replies airily. “He had no interest in becoming your right hand, Father, he would have taken his students and left you with ease. And if he truly intended to honour your wishes, he would have accepted the bride you offered, not that.” She tosses her hair. “Now, we have men who have sworn oaths of loyalty to you, who know of his teachings, and they won’t tempted to disappear with their wandering master.”

Father’s expression becomes thoughtful at this, and he nods slowly.

“Besides,” Older Sister goes on, a cruel set to her mouth. “He gave me insult, in public, and that is something that cannot be abided. How dare – ”

But her words are quickly and brutally cut short.

A bolt of lightning rips through the ceremonial hall, through her shoulder and out her heart, leaving a bloodied and black hole in its place. Shachi screams in horror, staring at the shocked expression on Older Sisters face as her body crumples to the ground. Father’s bellow of surprise turns to terror, and she understands why, because Indra is alive.

He shrugs her off and stands, moving like the lightening that just passed through her sister’s body, and grabbing Father by the throat.

“Those who break oaths are scum. Those who betray their own blood are worse than scum,” he growls. “And that cup was meant for her as much as it was for me.” It’s the only warning he gives before twisting his fingers, snapping the man’s neck. “A man who makes a move against me makes a proclamation that he is my enemy. And I will not allow my enemies to live and take a second opportunity to weaken men.”

Eyes still blazing red fire, he turns to the stunned guests.

“Your lord is dead. Either rise up and avenge him, or flee. One of those choices will lead to a swift death, so choice wisely.”

As he takes a few steps down the procession toward the door, there is a flurry of movement. Guests and members of the court scatter, tripping over each other in their finery. She is left on her knees, gaping at his back, unsure what just happened.

Then, as he did before, he turn to face her once more.

“You have saved my life twice,” he tells her coolly. “And so I will offer you a choice. An opportunity. Save yourself. Forget this farce of a ceremony and ties you agreed to for their sake. Leave this place and seek a happier future, with a man who will offer you the respect and fondness you desire. Or –” his eyes darken back to black here, “come with.”

Her mouth parts in surprise at this.

“If you do, know that from this moment, you will be completely mine. And I am not a patient man. I am neither gentle nor kind, and your life will be one of duty. You will bring forth children to whom I can pass on my legacy. So long as you are loyal and obedient, I can make you a goddess by my side, but if you falter I will make their deaths look enviable.”

Terror and confusion make it hard to understand what he is saying to her. For several seconds, she can only stare from his intent face down to the corpses of her father and sister, turning over his words in her head.

And then it makes sense.

He is giving her a choice.

She has never, in her entire life, known what it is to make a decision that is not based on the will or needs of another. For the first time, she is free. She gets to decide what her destiny will be.

The gesture brings tears to her eyes, because she knows he is not a man who operates in choice. There is his will and death, but here he is, offering her the chance to leave that behind. And with the same certainty that he could stand against any of her father’s vassals who would challenge him, she knows he would let her walk away to a better life if she chose.

She wonders, as she takes his hand, if he realises how terrifyingly easy it is to make her decision.

__________________________________

つづく

To be continued in another prompt :)

I hope you enjoyed the story! As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!

クリ

[jetts-world]

I am an after thought

Why am I never anyones top priority. Unless I am being manipulated by an asshole. I am no ones first concern. No one ever wanta to check in with me. I always have to reach out to them. I hate feeling so alone. No one would care if they never heard from me again. Why am I so alone. Even when I have all these "supports" What good are they if the are bending backward sfor everyone else. I am sick and tired kf giving my effort for those who don't return the favor.

Eveeyone wants to know my opinion but no one ever asks

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How Bosnian Weapons Sold to Saudi Arabia End up at Syria-Based Terrorists’ Hands

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The documents, some lying amid smashed guns and shrapnel, provided the most intriguing paper trail yet discovered of just who is producing the weapons that have armed the Assad regime’s most ferocious Islamist opponents

In the basement of a bombed-out al-Qaeda arms storage building in eastern Aleppo last year, I found a weapons log book from a mortar factory in Bosnia – with the handwritten name of one of their senior officials, Ifet Krnjic, on each page. It was dispatched from the Balkans with a cargo of 500 120mm mortars in January 2016. But now, in the forested heart of central Bosnia, I have found Mr Krnjic, who says his company sent the arms to Saudi Arabia.

Sitting on the lawn of his home south of the weapons-manufacturing town of Novi Travnik, he brings his finger down onto the first page of the log book which I showed him. “This is my signature! Yes, that’s me!” Krnjic exclaims loudly. “It’s a warranty for the 120mm mortar launcher – this is Nato standard. It [the shipment] went to Saudi Arabia. It was part of a supply of 500 mortars. I remember the Saudi shipment well. They [the Saudis] came to our factory to inspect the weapons at the beginning of 2016.”

This is astonishing. Not only does Krnjic, the 64-year old newly retired weapons control director of the BNT-TMiH factory at Novi Travnik, acknowledge his signature – but he says he recalls the visits of Saudi officials and military personnel to inspect the mortars before their shipment to Riyadh, and insists all such sales were strictly in accordance with the legal end-user certificates which his company obtained from all customers, stating that the weapons were to be used only by the armed forces of the nations which purchased them.

Five-hundred mortars is a massive shipment of weapons – most European armies don’t have that many in their individual inventories – and some of them at least appear to have ended up in the hands of Bashar al-Assad’s Islamist Nusrah Front/al-Qaeda enemies in northern Syria within six months of their dispatch from Bosnia 1,200 miles away. Because the mortars left Bosnia on 15 January 2016 under a BNT-TMiH factory guarantee for 24 months – numbered 779 and with a weapons series number of 3677 – the documents now in The Independent’s possession must have reached Aleppo by late July of 2016, when Syrian government troops totally surrounded the enclave held by armed factions including Nusrah, Isis and other Islamist groups condemned as “terrorists” by the United States.

When The Independent asked the Saudi authorities to respond to the documents in its possession and their discovery in eastern Aleppo, the Saudi embassy in London replied that the Kingdom did not give “practical or other support to any terrorist organisation [including Nusrah and Isis] in Syria or any other country” and described the allegations raised by The Independentas “vague and unfounded”. It said Saudi Arabia had been a “leading voice within the international community in support of a diplomatic solution to the conflict in Syria, while at the same time working with our neighbours and allies to counter the growth of forces of extremism”. It made no comment on the weapon log book and arms control coupons, photographs of which The Independent had asked it to examine. 

However, it is clear that Saudi Arabia’s strict Wahabi faith has inspired Nusrah, Isis and other violent Islamist groups in Syria. Saudi Arabia has often been accused of arming the rebels in Syria, and religious publications from Riyadh have been found in towns formerly held by the Islamist groups. Besides, Saudi Arabia has demanded the overthrow of Bashar al-Assad and his government in Damascus.

In the last stages of the 2016 siege of Aleppo, Syrian and Russian forces were condemned in the west for the daily bombing of civilian areas of eastern Aleppo, and video footage provided constant images of dead and wounded men, women and children. During this period, however, the city’s Islamist defenders – most of whom later departed under a promise of safe passage for jihadi-held areas of Idlib province – fired barrages of mortar shells at government-held western Aleppo.

In the weeks that followed the mid-December surrender of the fighters in eastern Aleppo, the square miles of wreckage remained sown with mines and booby-traps. There were whole districts still cordoned off when I entered three former military barracks of the Islamist groups in February 2017, rubble sometimes blocking my path; stones, bricks, sheet metal and bomb fragments strewn across the roads and inside still standing, though badly damaged, buildings. Inside one of these, lying half-concealed amid iron fragments and field dressings, I found piles of discarded documents containing firing instructions for machine guns and mortars, all of them in English.

They also included weapons shipment papers and arms instruction booklets from Bosnia and Serbia, the pages still damp from winter rains and some stained by footprints. I stuffed as many as I could in the satchel I always carry in wars, later finding – in another building – a Bulgarian weapons shipment paper for artillery shells. In a deep basement of a third building in the Ansari district, with the words Jaish al-Mujaheddin (Army of the Holy Fighters) crudely painted but still visible on the front, its upper floors clearly bombed by Syrian or Russian jets, lay dozens of empty boxes for anti-armour weapons, all marked with their maker’s name – the Hughes Aircraft Company, of California. The boxes were labelled “Guided Missile Surface Attack” with stock numbers starting with the computer code “1410-01-300-0254”.

These papers, some of them lying amid smashed guns and pieces of shrapnel, provide the most intriguing paper trail yet discovered of just who is producing the weapons that have armed the Assad regime’s most ferocious Islamist opponents – and how they apparently reach the fighters of Syria via countries ‘friendly’ to the west. While claiming that he would have to “search” for documents on the end-user of the 2016 mortar shipment, Adis Ikanovic, the managing director of the Novi Travnik factory, acknowledged to me in his head office that most of his company’s exports went to “Saudi Arabia, probably”. An email reminder to Ikanovic six days after our meeting, for copies of the 2016 end-user certificate papers for the mortar shipment, elicited no reply.

Milojko Brzakovic, managing director of the Zastava arms factory in Serbia, looks through the arms manuals I found in Aleppo – including a 20-page instruction document for the powerful Coyote MO2 machine gun which his company manufactures – and says “there is not a single country in the Middle East which did not buy weapons from Zastava in the past 15 years”. He agrees that the documents I presented to him, which included a 52-page manual for his company’s 7.62mm M84 machine gun, which I also found in the Aleppo ruins beneath a bombed apartment bloc which had ‘Nusrah’ painted in Arabic on its wall, were published by Zastava in Serbia, and that Saudi Arabia and the Emirates were among his customers.

Ifet Krnjic’s account of the mortar shipment from BNT-TMiH in Bosnia is both precise and detailed. “When the Saudis came to our factory to inspect at the beginning of 2016, there was a Saudi ‘minister’… and some Saudi officers who also came to inspect the weapons before receiving them. The officers wore civilian clothes. The minister was in a robe. All our production after the [Bosnian] war is under the control of the Americans and Nato who are always coming here… and they know each and every piece of our weapons which go outside our factory.” 

Krnjic, who lives in the tiny village of Potok Krnjic, Bosnian hamlets sometimes carry the names of extended families, south of Novi Travnik, describes how he recognised Nato officers visiting the plant, one of them “a Canadian officer, a black guy whose name is Stephen”. Ikanovic, the BNT-TMiH boss, confirms that all weapons shipments, including those to Saudi Arabia, were checked by the European Union Force Althea (EUFOR), the successor to Nato’s SFOR, and set up under the 1995 Dayton accords which ended the Bosnian war. Ikanovic says an Austrian general visits his factory for inspections, identified to me by other employees as Austrian two star Major General Martin Dorfer, the EUFOR commander. Krnjic says weapons from the plant are exported by Tuzla airport or through Sarajevo.

The Saudis, Krnjic tells me, “were never complaining because we have had a very good reputation for a long time, not only for our weapons but for who can give the shortest delivery date… I know I should not say all of this, but Nato and the EU have given us the green light to do this. Ours is the only mortar that can shoot from asphalt. Each mortar has a base plate, but other base plates [from other countries’ mortars] break – they can only be used on soft ground. With ours, the mortars can also be carried in sacks – they are three shells, one barrel, you shoot at a building and then you disappear. Only Chinese mortars are better than ours – I saw them in Iraq.”

Documents found in bombed Nusrah militia basements in eastern Aleppo It transpires that although Krnjic has never visited Syria, he was employed in a weapons factory built by BNT-TMiH in Iraq in 1986, during the eight year Iran-Iraq war. “I was working inside the factory in Iraq – I wasn’t waging a war there” he says. “The factory there was more modern than ours [in Novi Travnik] – we were in Fallujah and Ramadi. By that time, we were already doing rocket launchers for Saddam, 260mm with a range of 500km. I saw Saddam three times.”

But Novi Travnik’s fortunes declined when the Bosnian war began in 1992, its once 10,000-strong workforce today reduced to fewer than 900. Much of the factory compound is now overgrown with rusted steel walls around some of its machine shops. Krnjic, a member of Bosnia’s Social Democratic Party and a veteran of the country’s civil war, retired from the company some months before Ikanovic was appointed managing director.

 “I cannot export anything without a licence with the approval of five different ministers here in Bosnia, and it [the contract] is overlooked by Nato,” Ikanovic said. “We can only sell to countries which are on Nato’s ‘white list’.” Like Krnjic, and Brzakovic in Serbia, he says that his arms company must receive an internationally recognised end-user certificate for any arms export – but agrees that exporters had neither an obligation nor any way of preventing the further shipment of its weapons to third parties once they had arrived at their initial destination.

  – Islam Times