#track two diplomacy

[memoriesofthingspast]

flo & [in] the machine; & heaven 2.

“words {…} never so useful ‘til i was screaming out a language that i never knew existed before [this v moment: now now now…& with u. what now?].

[ceremonials; 2010]

[gnomewithalaptop]

Y'know, it's so funny to me when people make out like Tim Drake would keep files on how to take down his friends when Tim has explicitly said he disagrees with Batman on this:

[Young Justice (1998) #36]

Like, yes, during his Red Robin tenure he does make a Hit List full of contingency plans for known heroes. But if you go and read that, you'll notice that, while the Justice League and Damian may be on there, Tim's own friends are decidedly absent:

[Red Robin (2009) #14]

In fact, a lot of these heroes are people that have either (a) attacked Tim specifically, (b) have a track record that includes turning evil/getting mind controlled, or (c) are on the JLA (meaning Batman probably already had those files compiled and Tim just stole them).

So yeah: Tim's not down with contingency-planning for his friends. You know which one of the YJ crew DID agree with Batman though? My favorite blorbina Anita Fite, aka Empress:

[Young Justice (1998) #36]

But yeah, this contrast is honestly fascinating to me. Because while both Anita and Tim have been shown to be incredibly loyal individuals, this exchange really highlights the fact that, between the two of them, Anita is far more likely to engage in this kind of pragmatism when she thinks it's necessary to get the job done

The whole Our Worlds at War arc actually does a really good job of illustrating how both of them react to betrayal from within. It's not just the Batman Files conflict either -- I'm thinking specifically about the hallucination-based torture Granny Goodness put them through, which showed them their worst fears. Most of the team ended up having to watch their loved ones die, but what's super interesting to me is that we really only see Anita and Tim hallucinate that their loved ones blame them for their deaths:

[Young Justice (1998) #37]

Like. It's not the same as a teammate turning evil at all. But it does give us a good idea of how they'd both react when faced with a friend or teammate doing harmful things, albeit on a smaller scale. Because where Tim kind of just accepts Superboy yelling at him and moves straight into bargaining for Kon's life, Anita actually flips the script, gets angry, and defends herself against her father:

[Young Justice (1998) #37]

(she actually gets so righteously pissed off that she manages to break out of the VR simulation Granny Goodness had her trapped in, but that's another point)

But yeah, it's super interesting, because by this point, both Anita and Tim have been set up to be very similar characters. They both can be a little bit obsessive, they both have some issues with boundaries and stalking (Tim with Nightwing and Batman, Anita with Cissie), and of the team, they're both portrayed as the "normal" members (Anita does technically have mind control powers but she barely ever uses them, and in a fight, she's basically just a very good, human-level fighter)

But at the end of the day, though Batman forces Robin to put on a cool front of objectivity, Tim (at least in his pre-grief-spiral era) ultimately wants to see the best in his team. When the people he cares about screw up, he wants to give them second chances. And when that trust gets broken, his first instinct is to try to use diplomacy, or, failing that, simply remove himself from the situation (as we see at the end of the Our Worlds at War arc when he quits the team)

Anita, on the other hand, while still incredibly loyal, does not hand out that loyalty unconditionally. We see this when she tries to keep her identity secret from the YJ squad, we see it when she gets pissed in Granny Goodness's hallucination when her father blames her for her mother's death, and we see it when she later blames Secret for her perceived role in Anita's father's death

Anita also happens to sit right smack dab in the middle of the YJ morality scale; while she's generally pretty chill and willing to abide by typical superhero codes of ethics (unlike Slobo and Secret), she's also been shown to bend those rules when she believes it's necessary (as seen here when she tortures and threatens to kill a man for trying to hurt Cissie). Ultimately, what this means is, between Tim and Anita, it's honestly Anita who'd probably be the most willing to put her personal qualms aside, buckle down, and go against her loved ones if it was the only reasonable option

Anyway. This is a really long-winded way of saying I think Gun Batman's biggest nemesis should be Empress

[pseudowho]

Raising You

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When the reader is de-aged by an unusual Curse, Nanami Kento is forced to raise her, and grieve the absence of his fiancée at the same time.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The girls (twins, affectionately nicknamed the 'Nanaminis' by Satoru) played with a painted wooden truck and other cars around your feet, hampering the already limited view you had with your bump, big and still growing. Trying to cook dinner, you were flustered with sweaty strands of hair in your eyes, overstimulated by the noise from the cars, the casual bickering of the girls, your aching back, the steam from dinner, and--

"Girls, I'm home!"

You were nearly taken out by two frantic little girls tangling through your legs to run to the front door-- "Daddy! I've got two cars but she's got three and that's not fair" -- and you smiled to hear Kento, low and reassuring, tackling toy diplomacy with your daughters.

Kento walked into the kitchen and living room, loosening his tie, still having his ears talked off by his daughters. He stepped over cars, before scooting them to the side so you wouldn't slip, and hugged you warmly from behind, peppering loving kisses along your sweaty cheeks and neck.

"Daddy, rough play!" One of your daughters cried, and the other shouted her approval, both descending on Kento with screams and tiny punches. Kento dropped to one knee, dramatically groaning, feigning a fatal wound and pretending, with his head stooped, to have been beaten.

Your daughters paused their assault, and approached Kento slowly, "...daddy?" Kento stood and roared, taking one daughter under each arm and they squeaked with terror and delight, being tossed onto the sofa. Kento rolled over the back of the sofa to them, nobly defending himself in battle.

Pausing for breath while you watched affectionately, Kento hung one daughter behind his shoulders by the ankles, jumping lightly up and down while she squealed, and the other daughter held onto his ankle, yelling.

"They're just like you at this age, you know," Kento pondered, pretending to choke slam a child onto the sofa as she laughed, completely uninjured and thrilled. You wrinkled your nose into your tea.

"You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that...cradle snatcher."

Kento scoffed at you, gravely offended, continuing to defend himself against his daughters, "Behave. You know it wasn't like that."

You smirked, memories flooding back to you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Seven years previously...

"So what you're saying is...she went on a practice mission with Inumaki and Gojo, and now-- she's--" Nanami Kento gaped, reeling.

"...a child, yes." Shoko took a long drag of her cigarette. Behind her, in the treatment room, came the happy squeals of children playing. Kento delicately reached towards Shoko, clearing his throat. Quietly seething, and without breaking eye contact with her, he squeezed the embers at the tip of her cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, snuffing it.

"There are children around, Shoko," he hissed, darkly sarcastic. Shoko swallowed, but smiled fondly at Kento.

"It seems the Curse preferred to hunt children," Shoko purred, "obviously easier to catch, I suppose. Gojo dispatched it, but not before it had already de-aged those two in there." Shoko flipped through a pair of charts, "They're both in good health. I imagine this will wear off within a couple of days. But in the meantime...congratulations. You have to be a daddy until then."

Kento lifted the screen covering the small window in the door to the treatment room. There you were, roughly five years old, bouncing a blown-up rubber medical glove between yourself, Inumaki, and an amused-looking Satoru. Kento was filled with dread; what if you didn't come back? What if his fiancée was...gone?

Satoru beckoned Kento in. Taking a deep breath, Kento stepped into the room. You and Inumaki stopped in your tracks, round-eyed and stunned as this man, enormous and cross-looking, stepped over the threshold. You and Inumaki both shuffled closer to Satoru, who laughingly reassured the children.

"Now kids, I know Nanamin looks scary, but he's not. At all. I promise," Satoru urged, mouthing furiously at Kento; smile, damn you! Kento caught himself, dulling his own Cursed-energy, and kneeling down to the floor. He smiled at you, crinkled eyes warm and honeyed. You gave him a nervous smile back.

"We should introduce ourselves," Kento spoke softly, "I'm Nanami Kento, and I'm your-- I'm..." Kento swallowed thickly, trying not to cry, "I'm your mum and dad's friend. They've had to go away for a few days, and asked me to look after you." You stared at Kento, uncertain, tearing up.

"So, I was wondering," continued Kento, "could you help me do my shopping today? We need to make a list. You see, I don't know what treats you like, and I'm not sure what to make for dinn--"

"Eggs," you chirped, "I like eggs. Can we have eggs with dinner?" Kento smiled, heart melting, delighted by you but missing you desperately at the same time.

"Eggs. We can do eggs. And maybe we can bake something tasty to eat after?" You were warming to Kento now, your eyes sparkling, becoming more animated. You were dressed in just an adult t-shirt, all that Satoru could find in his locker, and Kento realised that he suddenly needed...everything. He had nothing child friendly in his house.

"Nanamin?" You asked him, tugging on the front of his shirt, "I've got an important question." Kento raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

You continued, "When we do baking, can I lick the bowl?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The old women in the supermarket were full of delighted whispers for this tall, handsome man doing the shopping with his cute daughter. Kento overheard them all, trying not to blush, as you chattered to him, stood in the trolley. Nobara had taken her mission seriously, and you were now very much appropriately dressed, albeit in very designer clothes, Nobara having taken full advantage of Kento's generous card limit.

You had, in your hand, a pen and some paper, and had written a shaky-lettered shopping list. You pointed down aisles, directing Kento.

"Eggs!" You commanded, a little dictator, "Flour! Sugar! Chocolate! Sweets!"

"Those last two definitely aren't on the list, young lady, nice try."

You huffed, dramatic and pouting, giving Kento the side-eye. Kento raised his eyebrows at you, gently chastising. Continuing round the shop, Kento had left you in charge of the barcode reader. Twice, he had needed to wrestle it off you and put items back on the shelves-- adult incontinence pads, a large bottle of bleach-- and once, he had had to stop you from trying to scan an old man, hastily apologising to the man and putting you back in the trolley.

He had allowed you to push the trolley, full of regret as he knelt, rebuilding a mountain of cans of beans-- "I'm sorry Nanamin, it was an accident, I'm sorry," you had sniffled, wiping your snotty nose on your sleeve before Kento could get to you with a handkerchief. The shop assistant supervised Kento's efforts with a tapping foot.

You had disappeared for five minutes, and Kento couldn't find you, panicking so badly for a moment that he considered knocking all of the shelves over to make it easier to spot you. Kento gave a description of you to several women, charmed by this flustered father, when you reappeared with a toy; "Nanamin, can I have this?" and Kento knelt, one hand on his chest and the other on your shoulder as his panic fizzled away.

At the tills, you packed the bags haphazardly as Kento hurriedly tried to correct the bags and be polite to the cashier and pay for the shopping and keep you from disappearing again and--

Back in the car with a sigh, Kento sat, head hitting the head rest hard, flicks of sweaty hair looping forwards over his brow. Frazzled, he let out a slow breath, until your little voice piped up in the back.

"Nanamin. You didn't do my seatbelt. The police will get you in trouble."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"So you tap the egg here-- not there-- here-- GENTLY, gently...ahhh." Kento slapped a dishcloth to his cabinet doors as egg dripped sadly down them. You looked to him for answers, hands covered in crushed shell and raw egg. Lifting you to the sink under one arm, he washed your hands off under the tap. Putting you down, he washed his hands.

"-- then the eggy goes in there--"

"Yes, the eggy goes-- NOT THE SHELL--"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Make sure you eat the broccoli too."

"No. Don't like it."

"It's tasty. And it's good for you. Eat up."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Kento sighed, a deep, weary sigh. Rubbing his fingers against his temples and counting to ten, he looked back to you with a smile.

"I'll give you some chocolate if you eat it."

Kento had never seen broccoli disappear so quickly.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"IT'S IN MY EYES, IT'S IN MY EYES--"

"Calm down, it's not in your eyes, I'm washing it out--" Kento tried to hold you, naked and wet and thoroughly uncontrollable, still, as he poured water over your head. You stamped, spitting water away dramatically, and Kento considered he may as well have just got in the bath with you, his shirt now drenched.

"Come on," Kento huffed, trying to sound upbeat but feeling absolutely exhausted, "let's get you out and brush your teeth--"

"--I don't want to brush my teeth--"

"Well you've got to brush your teeth--"

You ran, streaking away out of the bathroom as Kento stumbled, reaching for you and missing, then chasing you down with a towel and a toothbrush.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You padded to Kento, damp and pyjama'd as he stripped his wet clothes off and got dressed into his own pyjamas. Your teeth now brushed, and your hair neat and tidy, you looked mollified, a new book under your arm.

"Can you read?" You asked Kento suspiciously.

"I-- of course I can read."

"Good," you stated, chin out, "we can do my bedtime story then."

You plodded away to the spare room, while Kento placed both hands over his face and screamed into the void for a few moments.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Was the bear hungry? Or did he just want to be friends?"

Kento pondered, closing the book thoughtfully, "I think...he just wanted to be friends. He was lonely in his cave."

"Or hungry."

"Or hungry," Kento agreed, "but if he were that hungry, he'd have run faster, don't you think?" He asked, tickling under your chin as you squirmed and kicked, giggling.

You rolled over to face Kento, your little hand on his cheek. He rolled over to face you, taking in your little nose, round cheeks...all you, but so far away from the you that he was in love with, and so unable to share that burden with you, that he felt his nose sting with tears again.

"Nanamin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ah, "I do. We're going to get married soon."

"Ooooh!" You squeaked, your hands coming up to cup your own cheeks, before your little face dropped. Kento peered at you, one eye open.

"But where is she?"

"She's...away working at the minute. But she'll be home soon. I hope."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The next morning, the sunlight glinted in past the curtains, the room warm and comfortable. Kento slept the sleep of an exhausted parent, never quite enough to catch up. You were draped uncomfortably over him, head in his armpit and legs stretched out across his tummy.

Kento woke, a warm feeling spreading over him as he reached out a sleepy hand, patting you on the head. This was a really warm feeling, a bit wet--

"Nanamin. I've had an accident."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The days had ticked by, and you seemed a little bigger every day, growing up at an accelerated rate. Kento settled into this bizarre, unwilling parenthood, wondering where this left you as a couple once this was all over. Fear twisted like thorns in the pit of his stomach, wondering if the romantic love you'd shared would be sullied by this paternal love he had been forced to convert to.

Kento met often with Satoru, now inadvertently raising a tiny Inumaki, talking-shop together as unlikely new fathers. Aside from Satoru having to occasionally put out fires caused by Inumaki's Cursed-speech, the playdates were soft, sweet even; babyccinos-- "marshmallows please, Nanamin!"-- in little cafés, pushing-- "higher, Nanamin, higher!" -- on swings, teaching-- "like this? Or this?"-- you both how to control your Cursed-techniques.

It was only at night, when you were asleep, and Kento was decompressing from the eternal labour of mealtimes, laundry, and emotional regulation, that Kento allowed himself to cry. Your little voice called out in the dark. Kento wiped his eyes, fixing a reassuring smile on his face, as he went to resettle you-- "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The days turned to weeks. The curse was wearing off, but slowly. By Shoko's estimation, you were about thirteen years old now. You had been raised by the motley crew of Jujutsu High-- being taken to theme parks by Yuuji and Nobara, running through the woods with Maki, helping Shoko organise her medical equipment-- around Kento's work days. He went to work now with new trepidation, having you to consider if he was injured, or killed, and overtime was a thing of the past. Kento's tie only ever came off when he walked through the door to your warm welcome.

Shoko kept thrice-weekly checks on your growth and progression, reassuring Kento constantly that you were on your way back to yourself. You both did and didn't retain memories of the previous days and weeks. Some days you treated Kento as if you didn't even know him, a stranger to you, wondering where your parents were. Some days, you seemed to recall events from days (years?) previously where Kento had cooked something special for dinner, or bought you a new outfit. Some days, you seemed haunted by memories that were yours, but not, too big for a child of your age to handle-- losing friends in battle, fighting Curses and Curse-users, failing tests and exams-- and Kento reassured you through your screams and cries in the night.

Raising you had been a confusing, tender whirlwind. Now that you approached your teens, you would see fit to argue with Kento over the barest of insults or inconveniences, pushing boundaries and being hurtful without true intent or realisation of its effects. Kento stayed outwardly calm throughout, an unshakeable presence in the turmoil of your bizarre second childhood.

When Satoru had suggested you come to live in the Jujutsu High dorms and attend classes, as you would have done at this age the first time, Kento found himself bitterly protective.

"No missions, Gojo," he threatened to Satoru one day on a park bench, you and Inumaki swinging and chatting idly in the play area that you both suddenly seemed much too big for.

Uncharacteristically serious, Satoru agreed immediately, "I wouldn't do that to her, Kento, you know that. The way I see it, these two," he gestured to you both, sipping his coffee, "are...recovering from injuries, I guess. But Inumaki's nearly caught up to where he should be...she's got a bit further to go. Shoko can watch her more at Jujutsu High. She can have peers. And maybe you need a bit more separation as she gets closer to your version of her."

And so, you went to Jujutsu High. Kento dropped you off like a concerned father, carrying your suitcases to your room, helping you unpack and put up shelves. His heart clenched with fear, waving you off, and you acted as if it was nothing, making it so much worse for him. He loitered by your room, in case you called him back...but you didn't.

At home again, Kento folded and packed away little clothes, smoothing them over with his big warm hands, musing how you really had only been tiny, what felt like yesterday. He gave you some distance, but gave Shoko none, her phone pinging at all hours, asking for updates, asking her to check on you.

Within a few days, Inumaki fell asleep. When he didn't wake after 24 hours, he was carried to the treatment room. Kento hung around the corridors of Jujutsu High when he heard, hungry for news of Inumaki's condition, deeply concerned about how you would be at the same stage. Shoko was cool and collected, certain that Inumaki would wake up his own self again. Kento worried he wouldn't wake up at all.

Shoko, as always, was right. Inumaki woke as if from a long dream, after two days. Kento visited him, bringing gifts of manga and sweets, while Inumaki recounted his odd half-memories of having been raised by Satoru, alongside his true memories of his first childhood.

Fighting the urge to go and see you, knowing that you were traversing your teenage years again in a way that was too intense for him to offer help with, Kento swallowed down his guilt, his longing to see you, and left. He passed your room reluctantly, his gut wrenching as if caught on your door handle, and remaining there, stretching, pulling, as he walked away from it.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Another week passed. Shoko was sure your long sleep was close. She recounted tales of you to Kento, seeming excited that her old friend was nearly back to the her that Shoko knew. Kento's voice seemed tight and reluctant as Shoko suggested he come and see you. He declined, feeling awkward about seeing you in almost the form that he knew you.

Passing through the ground of Jujutsu High, ready to drop off a report to Yaga, Kento rounded a corner and bumped into a young woman, reaching out to grab her wrist before she fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorr-- Nanamin!" Kento stuttered, flustered, resisting pulling an eighteen year old you into his arms. Before he could step back, you threw yourself into his arms with a happy squeak, hanging on around his neck, flush against him and clinging for dear life.

"Oh Nanamin, it's been so long," you breathed, flushed and excited. You gripped his hand, somewhere between a little girl and the you he was still madly in love with, "come on, let's go and get coffee! My treat." You pulled Kento's hand, bright eyes full of delight.

"As if I'd let you pay," Kento grumbled, straightening his suit and tie with one strict hand, his other still clasped by you. Reluctantly, trying not to blush, Kento took you for coffee. He was done-for within thirty minutes, reminded of exactly why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He restrained himself easily, remaining kind and fatherly, but...distant, in a way you found confusing.

You looked at him through new eyes, wondering how you had ever seen him as a father-figure as a child, lost in thought as to how he still looked so young. His huge, warm hands, the way he was built, so much of a man beneath the confines of his suit, and you felt something stir in you that you never had before, an alluring obsession, a delicious agony of needing to know him differently. Kento's stoic distance was magnetic.

When he drove you back to Jujutsu High, you were full of blushes, unable to take your eyes off his hands smoothly turning the wheel, the sharp cut of his nose and jaw in profile, the stretch of his tan trousers against his thick thighs.

Kento had bricked a stone wall around his affections rapidly. You remained, to him, a little girl under his guardianship. You were the girl he had fallen in love with, but not the woman he was in love with now. His mathematical mind found separating the two of you easy. Grown men did not fall in love with little girls.

As he walked you back to your room, he asked you if there was anything you needed. He pulled you in for a gentle squeeze. He kissed you on the forehead. He bid you to call him for anything. He waited until you were safely home before he left. You were besotted. Completely smitten.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Kento sat in the staff room, legs crossed, reading his newspaper. The door clicked open, and he heard a satisfied "ah!" as you slipped in, locking the door behind you.

Kento looked over his glasses at you, eyebrows raised in questioning. You smiled at him, demure, curious, before idling over to him. As you sat beside him, Kento felt a strike of dread through him like ice, and he tensed, frowning at you.

You made light conversation with Kento, thigh to thigh on the sofa, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You spoke about the news, his insight so mature and informed, and you hung onto every word, desperate to be closer and you leaned against him, pretending to read the newspaper with him. He remained sincere, measured, neither pushing you away nor pulling you closer.

Kento turned to you, your face centimetres from his now, and you leaned in eagerly, his lips brushing against yours as your fingers grazed his jaw--

"No." Kento grabbed your hand, turning from you and pushing you gently away by the shoulders.

You froze, stunned. Cold embarrassment crept through you as if you'd been kicked in the stomach by Kento's immediate, categorical rejection. Kento folded his newspaper, standing and putting distance between the two of you. His back was to you, one hand clasped over his face and mouth as he sighed. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? You couldn't tell.

Hot tears of rage and mortification rushed down your cheeks, your vision blurry. Your hands twisted together in your lap. You heard Kento clear his throat lightly, and looked up to see him knelt in front of you, his face smooth and unreadable. He gently pressed a neatly folded handkerchief into your hand, and clasped his hand firmly around yours to close it.

"I'm sorry you feel this way about me, and I'm flattered. But I don't feel this way about you, and you shouldn't trust any man my age who pursues a girl your age."

Anger coursed through you as you stared furiously at him, still crying; "I'm not a girl," you snapped, standing and tossing his handkerchief to his feet. Kento sighed, collecting his handkerchief, rising from the floor beside you.

"I thought we had something-- I thought we were--" you stammered, your throat thick and constricted with humiliation. Kento nodded, understanding.

"You are special to me, and always will be," he assured you, the unspoken words remaining apparent as he shattered the pretences of any romance between you. You seethed with embarrassment.

"Like this fiancée of yours?" You shot, cruelly, with intention to wound, "You told me about her years ago. Where's she, all of a sudden? Did you shove her away, too?"

Kento's stern face gazed down at you, impassive, unreadable, and he spoke to you with measured coolness, "I appreciate you're upset. I don't believe my fiancée has any further place in this discussio--"

"Well I doubt she's coming back!" You spat, furious tears still threatening to overspill, "And I'm not interested in you either. Stay away from me."

You rushed from the room without looking back. The door slammed, a sudden waft of air ruffling the pages of Kento's newspaper. Speechless and devastated by how he had failed you, Kento sank onto the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his fingers sinking  into his neat hair.

Kento sat like this until the sun went down, oranges and reds glowing like embers against his suit as the day died away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento threw himself into work immediately. Working overtime for any distraction, his days were long, and whiskey soothed him to sleep as it had before he had fallen in love with you. Another week passed, a blur of Curses and liquor. He sprayed your perfume onto your pillow. He had kept your pyjamas, unwashed, sleeping with his nose in them and terrified as the smell of you slowly faded away. He still cooked for two, just in case you were to come home, fearing you never would.

It was late, when Kento received the phone call. He was already three large drinks deep.

"Hello?" His voice blurred with exhaustion and drink.

"Nanami. She's...asleep. Has been for nearly two days now. Why haven't you answered your phone?" Shoko chastised. Kento swirled the glass in his hand, the smooth amber roiling in the glass like a little whirlpool. Kento couldn't answer, his throat constricting with unspoken fear- because what if she never wakes up? What if she does wake up, and doesn't know me? What if she does wake up, and doesn't love me?

Kento swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to talk, words failing him. He heard Shoko sigh.

"Just...come. And bring her some clothes."

A click and a dial tone as Shoko hung up. Kento's hand shook as he laid down his glass, and dialled for a taxi.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Inumaki is exactly as he was before this Curse," Shoko pressed, walking with Kento to the treatment room, "and she will be too. I mean it." Kento looked tired, dishevelled, grieving. His tie hung loose, his shirt partly unbuttoned, smelling of whiskey and unwashed from his day's work. Shoko walked him into the treatment room, and pressed him down by the shoulders into the chair beside your bed.

Kento laid eyes on you, drinking you in, hope trickling into him as he studied you, looking exactly like you had when you had left for work that day, just a month ago but feeling like so much longer. With a trembling hand he reached out for yours, examining your hand in his own. He stayed this way until you woke up.

"...Kento?" You woke from your strange, long dream to your fiancé, bedraggled and teary-eyed, and smelling like a dirty bar, looking at you like you were a gift made just for him. Kento's shoulders heaved with sobs, the dam breaking as he gripped your hand in his and pressed it to his eyes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You curled on the sofa with Kento, warm and familiar, as he finished recounting the events of the previous month. Stroking his hair the whole time, with his head in your lap, you felt like this was therapeutic for him, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes drifted closed, reaching a hand up to keep your lips against his forehead for a little longer.

Pulling himself up, Kento grunted as he felt something hard press into his back. Reaching past the sofa cushions, he pulled out a painted wooden truck. You laughed, embarrassed and charmed.

"Did you actually keep everything?" You asked, touched. Kento hummed to himself, rolling the truck's wheels, his trauma still bearing faintly whimsical overtones.

"I did. I just...couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"Well, that's good. It will probably come in handy, one day."

"Really? Why--...oh. Oh," Kento bent over you, blushing and delighted, leaning into your love and promises for the future that he had missed so much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento sat up, swinging his legs deftly out of his daughters' bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed to a pair of soft snores. He made his way to the living room, passing a dresser covered in photo frames. His eyes paused on an image of one sunny day seven years ago, a smile crinkling his eyes as he passed by on his way to you.

He hadn't yet explained to his daughters, who this other girl was who looked just like them, feeding the ducks with their daddy, one fine summer's day.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

[rayshippouuchiha]

For the Oyabun!Ichigo AU:

After Kisuke manages to unseal Ichigo, the first thing he does is tuck his body away in Kisuke’s lab for safe keeping, and return to Seireitei because two of his men have passed since he took over his little but ever growing band of yakuza - one from a car accident, one from a wasting illness that didn’t react to any treatment - and Ichigo will be damned if he doesn’t take care of his people in death as he does in life. 

It takes a few days to track them both down in the outer districts of Rukongai, but enough of his senses had remained after the sealing that he knows what each and every one of his people feels like. And while they haven’t always done good things, they are good men, and every one of them has done their best to protect Karakura to their dying. 

And he knows what he needs to do.

Ichigo, showing up to Seireitei: hey

Seireitei, unaware that Ichigo had been unsealed or unalived: AAHAHAhaahahhahaHHHAHAH

Ichigo: stop screaming it’s just me

Seireitei, immediately shutting up because they’re still programmed to listen to his orders: ….

Ichigo, holding up both of his ben by their collars like misbehaving kittens: these two are mine but you can borrow them

Ichigo, to his men: listen, they kind of suck but they said they’re trying. if you see anything hinky, come get me immediately

Ichigo’s Men: we’re….dead?

Ichigo: does that look like it’s stopped me?”

And over the years the Gotei Thirteen get used to Ichigo popping up with newly deceased souls and directing them to what he feels is the appropriate Divisions. Most of them go to Kenpachi in the 11th - “He’s strong as shit, but they’re all kind of idiots and they’re bored. See if you can do something about that. Stand your ground and you’ll be fine.” - a surprising amount are directed to Unohana and the 4th - “She’s a great teacher, but the key is respect. She’ll pull out your spine to prove a point and then put it back in to make a point. You’re just a soul now; you’ll survive it and it will suck.”

Several key people are given to the 7th. Komamura is in charge of diplomacy between Seireitei and Rukongai. Ichigo has seen what the outer districts are like and he has plans. It won’t hurt to have some of the men he trusts ready and waiting for the changes he’s going to make. 

Every Captain, Lieutenant, and all of their underlings hold their collective breath the one and only time Ichigo drags - literally - one of his men to the 6th Division.

Ichigo: what’s up byakuya, rukia says we’re still on for dinner next week also i brought you this

Ichigo: *holds up his man like he’s a white boy showing off a fish he caught*

Ichigo: this is akio he is the best fucking accountant i have ever met in my life my accounts have never been cleaner he’s fucking bomb at taxes you should let him do your paperwork

Byakuya, knowing full well that Ichigo is just Like That: Rukia has mentioned the plum sake Urahara keeps on hand. Bring a bottle or two. You can leave that there. I’ll take care of it. 

Ichigo, dropping his man: cool thanks see you next week

Yes god. Once you're one of Ichigo's people you're HIS and not even death changes that. Plus, being so close to Ichigo for so long, even before Kisuke fixes him up, is absolutely going to activate and build up spiritual power in his minions.

[david-talks-sw]

Let's briefly talk about this scene.

It starts with Anakin lamenting how the Clone War corrupted the Jedi and the principles of the Republic.

Now, Padmé thinks she and Anakin are talking about the same thing: this war is corrupting the Jedi and the principles of the Republic and Palpatine doesn't seem to want to put an end to it, instead increasingly amassing power.

She asks Anakin to get Palpatine to cease the fighting and let diplomacy resume. And Anakin. Gets. Triggered.

Why?

Well, firstly... it's because they weren't talking about the same thing.

1. What Anakin really means when talking about "the principles of the Republic".

While Anakin may say that he's concerned for the corruption of the Jedi Code and the principles of the Republic... he isn't really.

Anakin has a track record of saying he supports abstract principles and concepts, then complaining when standing by that hurts him.

Like when he'll preach that wartime forces him to make hard choices, duty over emotion...

... but then gets mad when someone else makes the hard choice in doing their duty, and it hits close to home.

There's this line Matthew Stover wrote in the ROTS novelization, which I think is very relevant:

“I think," Obi-Wan said carefully, "that abstractions like peace don't mean much to him. He's loyal to people, not to principles. And he expects loyalty in return. He will stop at nothing to save me, for example, because he thinks I would do the same for him.”

Anakin isn't about abstractions like "peace", "duty" or "democracy". He'll say he is, because he knows he should be, in theory... but, in practice, he's more loyal to people than to principles.

And right now, he's very loyal to Palpatine. Arguably more than anyone else. No matter how blatantly he acts like a dictator, Anakin stays on his side.

So whenever he uses the words "Senate" and "Republic", what he means is "Palpatine". To him, they're one and the same.

He loves Palpatine very much but the two other people he loves, Padmé and Obi-Wan, are both telling him Palpatine's bad news.

Which brings us to the second reason he gets triggered...

2. He's under an enormous amount of stress.

He's barely had any sleep since his nightmare about Padmé and is now scared at the prospect of losing her like he lost his mother.

He's been on an emotional roller-coaster with the Council, first being put on the Council, but not as a Master, then being given a mission but it's a mission to spy on a mentor and father figure. Now he's not even sure the Jedi trust him and he's not even sure they should, after his outburst.

Also Padmé herself is asking him to tell Palpatine to stop, criticizing the Chancellor just like the Jedi do.

It's understandable that he's on edge. That said... a huge chunk of this stress isn't Padmé or the Council's fault. It has been manufactured by Palpatine.

He appointed Anakin to be his representative on the Council specifically because he knew it would put Anakin under pressure... pressure he can exploit for his own gain.

That's what Palpatine does. He orchestrates pressure then swoops in, in the guise of a savior.

With the Republic, he does this by engineering a war then bringing about order (to the chaos he caused) as an Emperor.

With Anakin, he does this by engineering conflict between him and his family - Padmé, Obi-Wan, the Jedi - then presenting himself before Anakin as the solution to all his problems.

From that point on, he enables the Republic and Anakin to give in to the worse parts of themselves and implode.

The former goes from being a democracy to a dictatorship, the latter goes from being a sweet kid to a bad man.

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do platonic yandere monkiefam and bull demonfam with a younger sibling/child that is blind but can sense vibrations, like toph from Atla

Monkiefam with a blind Y/N

Out of all three of them, MK struggles the most with your blindness. He means well, he really does! You didn’t grow up with the ability to sense vibrations and interpret them- you had to learn. And sometimes he thinks back to the days before you did, comforting you in his arms after a nasty spill brought on by a rearranged environment. He thinks back to getting into fistfights with bullies and pranksters, how he would see red each time someone would snatch things away from you or knock you over- and he remembers the feeling of teaching them to keep their hands off of you.

“I’m not trying to baby you,” MK loudly insists as you struggle in his grip. “But you need to take this with you if you’re going so far out!”

The two of you continue to struggle against one another as your older brother tries in vain to pin a tracking device to your backpack, notably holding back so he doesn’t hurt you. “C’mon, please?! Just let me put it on already!” MK lessens the force he’s exerting on you, deciding to try and barter instead. “You don’t even have to keep it on! Just for today, Y/N!”

Predictably, his attempts at diplomacy fail and you’re left to wrestle even more fervently in his grip, trying your absolute hardest to writhe free.

And then something slips under your shirt- a fluffy, prehensile tail that writhes against your ribs and leaves you in a giggling fit, MK free to stuff the tracker somewhere deep inside your bag. “Monkey King! Knock it off,” you wail out, fighting against his playful assault. “Stop!”

“Nope! Hate to be a joykill, bud- but I agree with MK. You’re taking the tracker if you wanna head out to that new cafe. Honestly, I don’t see why you wanna go at all when I could just whip something up with my-“

“I am not eating hair! Now get your tail off me!”

It’s incredibly frustrating, the way they treat you. It’s not quite to the point that you’d say they’re infantilizing you with their actions, but it can come very close.

MK’s babying is mostly tolerable, given that it comes from a lifetime of watching over you before you learned to sense vibrations and find your way around. He was there for you at your absolute lowest, and he’s not gonna forget all the people that messed with you because you looked like an easy target. Still, as you grow older his actions feel less ‘protective’ and more ‘stifling’.

Sun Wukong is far, far more irritating. You’re just too easy to scoop up! He can sneak up behind you on his cloud and sweep you into his arms and keep you there for hours on end as you struggle and kick, futilely trying to escape his furry grip. No vibrations can travel through the misty mounds of his nimbus mount, leaving you well and truly helpless in his arms.

The Great Sage’s intention isn’t to make you feel weak or vulnerable, but he certainly won’t raise a fuss as you squirm into his lap so you can at least feel the vibrations that race through his body with each breath he takes- it’s something, at least. Wukong twists around a little to accommodate your body, letting your head rest again this chest, listening to his thrumming heartbeat. The outline of his body flashes in your eyes, something to ground and settle you.

“Dad’s gotcha, bud/hun… I’ve gotcha…”

As for your other ‘dad’, Macaque mostly watches you from afar when you’re with Wukong and MK. He prefers to step in when he has the chance to have you all to himself, springing umbral portals underneath your feet, the shadowy pit dropping you from the ceiling and into his arms with a smug: “Hey kiddo-going somewhere?”

And before you can yell at him for springing this nonsense with you again, you pause, because… hey, why not use a chance when you’ve got it?

“Dad,” you start, forcing the awkward word off your tongue. Already, the sable simian perks up, his ego stroked at your acknowledgement of the role he wishes to take. “I’m heading to a café. You want me to bring you something back?”

Macaque traces a clawed finger across the bottom of your face, curving up in a semi-circle motion: cheek to chin to cheek. His way of telling you: ‘I’m smiling’. Softly, his palm comes to cup your cheek.

“I’ll take you there myself, kiddo.”

It’s not that he’s a better person than MK or Sun Wukong. In fact, he’s a lot worse. He was a vindictive, egotistical villain not too long ago. You think of the Dragon Palace of the East Sea, smashed to pieces, it’s residents displaced and it’s people injured. Men. Women. Children. Each of them, innocent. Mere collateral damage to the simian.

He’s displayed no remorse or regret for his actions. The only thing he’s felt shame for is his long-ago submissiveness to his sworn brothers.

He’s not a good person. Not in the slightest.

But he’ll try to be one. If only for your sake.

Bullfam with a blind Y/N

It’s easy to feel out of place here. Your parents and brother are demon warriors, powerful celestials, prideful members of their esteemed and feared clan. Your vibration technique is nothing short of impressive, if not outright groundbreaking, but it hardly holds to the level your kin can reach.

It doesn’t help that you are rarely given the opportunity to prove your worth, no matter how you strive and fight for those precious chances.

Instead, you’re often relegated to support and menial chores, your family finding worth in your services by putting you to task with (safe) time-consuming labor. And you… kind of enjoy it? Because instead of “Don’t touch the laundry machine, you don’t know what you’re doing”, it’s “Y/N, clear the table and bring us the grimoire we unearthed last month,” Princess Iron Fan says, brushing some hair behind your ears and clipping it into place.

You shouldn’t be so happy about such a mild thing, shouldn’t be happy to be commanded and directed. But it’s proof that they don’t see you as entirely helpless, and allow you to contribute in some way, even if it’s small.

There’s a degree of normalcy in it, something you crave. To be treated like a regular member of the family, responsibilities and all.

Unlike the Monkiefam, Y/N doesn’t have much freedom before they learn their vibration technique. The Bullfam keeps you on a much shorter leash, often locking you in your room during fights or training, refusing to let you potentially wander into harm’s way. MK would carry you across the street to keep you safe while still giving you a chance to explore the city with him, Red Son would lock you in your room and serve you exclusively blended meals to keep you from making a mess and spilling things on yourself.

Secretly, he misses making those drinks for you. It was a very strange and unwanted; if surprisingly heartfelt, way of caring for you.

After all, they got used to the ways they took care of you. Learning to utilize the vibration technique teaches you how to be independent, but also shakes up the dynamics you have with your family. No more being gently bundled around the fortress on the Demon Bull King’s hands, for example. He used to scoop you into his palms and let you sit there, safely nestled into plush purple fur. His steps grow more cautious now that you absolutely insist on walking on your own (and your father does want to make you happy, so he begrudgingly allows you to wander the walls alone) the taurine warlord doing his best to keep from crushing you underfoot.

Not that they’re suddenly going to stop being obsessed with your safety and welfare. You are still under strict orders and schedules, and they don’t go easy on you for breaking them.

And if you ever do step out of line?

Red Son has an incredibly devious method of punishment for you- snow boots.

Sounds like a joke, right? It sounds funny, almost. Your parents don’t seem to mind all too much, and Red certainly derives are least a little bit of amusement from the scenario.

It’s not funny to you, though.

The matter of getting punished for exerting basic control over your life aside- they’re taking away your crutch. Without a thought of how helpless and vulnerable you feel as result, how terrified you are to be plunged into darkness again, how bad it hurts to remember the days you spent crying as child, scared and alone when you got lost, no way to find the path home.

He’ll feel bad for doing this to you, eventually. He always does, no matter how many times he swears that this will be the time he’ll “Make you wear them for a full hour, and it will be raised to two if you complain, Y/N!”

You’re wrapped in a blanket and drinking tea with him by the time a half-hour has passed.

He loves you, after all. Even if he thinks of you as a blithering little idiot sometimes- you’re still his cherished little sibling.

[marlynnofmany]

Faceoff

Ever get cognitive whiplash going from one group of aliens to another? You’d think I’d be used to the variety since I’ve spent so much time bopping around the galaxy, but some things just catch you by surprise.

It was a simple difference. I’d been talking with my smallest crewmates while we walked into the space station, trying not to loom over anybody or step on a tentacle in close quarters. The hallway between our corner of the docks and the central concourse was a narrow one. Then Coals realized he’d left something on the ship, and Paint volunteered to go back with him to help find it, and Mimi took a side corridor off to the public bathrooms, with a comment about checking how the local mechanics handled sanitization fields.

It’s possible that he even meant that. As long as he didn’t steal any parts for our ship, I was more than happy to let the octopus alien’s bathroom time be his own business.

I was thinking that, still slouching a bit after waving goodbye to Paint, when I turned a corner and was suddenly the smallest person around.

Hulking shapes in scales and space suits filled my vision, clustered near the entrance with no way to see past, much less wriggle by. I hadn’t heard the voices over the chatter of the crowd that had to be out there somewhere, and the ambient music. (Something with drums. Much better than the leg-singing screeches from the last station we visited. At any rate, it was loud.)

I stopped in my tracks and straightened up, glad I hadn’t slammed into the broad back in front of me. The spacesuited individual wasn’t even looking, and neither were the other two next to him. (Her? No idea.) I couldn’t see the faces from where I was standing, just the burly, hunched shoulders, and the short reptilian tail. Smashers, that was the name for these guys. I’d never been on the receiving end of their disapproval, and I wasn’t about to start.

The raised voices got louder. I peeked past a giant elbow to see that some scaly members of this huddle seemed to be facing off with the Smashers.

Uh oh. The scaly guys were Armorlites. While most races that I’d met were likely to take the threat of a good smashing and back away, Armorlites never backed away from anything, even (especially) if it was a good idea. Not that I would speak ill of any intelligent race’s common sense, mind you. It’s just that after a few run-ins with these frat house dinosaurs, I had something of an opinion about their skills in diplomacy.

Picture a T-rex with good arms and bad self-preservation sense, baring his teeth at someone roughly his own height, who’s wearing a space suit and speaking in the deepest of voices that makes the very air vibrate. I’d honestly thought it was part of the music, an instrument I didn’t recognize.

But no. It was threats.

“You think you can just claim a table here without paying your respects?”

The Armorlite in front waggled his claws. “We can claim anything we want. You should be respecting me!”

“You’ve got to earn respect, blunt-fang.”

Those were definitely fighting words, and I was concerned. I hopped in place, trying to peek around the meat slab blockade to see if the station had any kind of security forces nearby. No luck. And with the music thumping away, I couldn’t tell what reactions the people on the other side were having to this confrontation.

Just as I turned to rush back down the corridor, the group broke out into sudden movement, all of them lunging and dodging. I watched over my shoulder for a couple of steps, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Were the Smashers aiming to head-butt the Armorlites with their face shields? Those things weren’t rated for combat. Unless they were. Or —

Unless they were dancing instead.

I stopped dead as the laughter registered in my brain. The two groups were having an honest-to-goodness dance-off next to the food court, and that had been the plan from the start.

“You’ve gotten slow, with footwork like that! I thought this would be a challenge!”

“I’ll show you a challenge! Stand back with your short tail, and let a real expert show you how it’s done!”

“Oh, a real expert? Did you bring one with you?”

The trash talk and deep-voiced chuckles blended with the music while the crowd of giants stomped and jumped and spun. They moved away from the entrance a bit so they’d have room to properly cut a rug, and I caught glimpses of many staring faces at a safe distance. Not a single security officer was among them. Several recording devices were, though.

I edged back in their direction, cautious of flying elbows, and sidled along close to the wall. A cluster of Frillians moved aside to let me escape, busy as they were with filming the dance battle and also laughing about it. They were on the tall side for their own species, but downright spindly compared to the dancers.

Once past, I took a deep breath. I’d reached the food court. Nice to see that it was populated by a range of species, all of whom were going about their day as if this kind of nonsense happened all the time here.

I stood tall and set out to find some human food. There was bound to be someplace that carried Earth cuisine — likely mixed together in bizarre combinations that no Earthling would have done on purpose, but little surprises are a way of life out here.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[rhaegonapologist]

rhaegon ch 1

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aegon loved his big sister.

An AU where Rhaenyra leaves shortly after the hunt to travel Westeros on Syrax. Her visits, now and then, are the brightest spots in Aegon's life.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aegon loved his big sister.

She was scared to leave them alone together. Rhaenyra's eyes would thin into slits whenever they settled on Aegon, much like Syrax's right before she unhinged her jaw to rain fire. She didn't even try to hide her contempt. He was just a baby, yet it did not seem to matter. He was a boy, and that was enough.

The hunt was disastrous. Rhaenyra came back all bloodied, but before the king could scold her she rushed straight to Alicent and Aegon. Alicent did not want to hand him over to her, not with her tracks of dried blood and matted locks, iron stinking the air. Aegon would cry, she was sure of it. But her boy looked up with wide eyes and raised his little fists towards Rhaenyra.

"Let me hold him," she said urgently. "I need to see."

She held him awkwardly, and Alicent had to help her shift the boy onto her hip. Rhaenyra closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his hair, inhaled deeply. He smelled just like Baelon, she thought. She could cry.

Aegon giggled and played with her hair. Rhaenyra caught one pudgy little wrist and squeezed. She turned her back to shield Aegon from her father's view and cupped his cheek. Just the two of them. He was made just for her. She lowered her finger to the rabbit heart pulse on his neck and pressed her nail in.

The boy stopped and looked up at her but did not cry. She kept pressing harder, wondering if she could break skin. Alicent saw and felt her heart drop. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not here. She lurched towards them but before she could push Rhaenyra's hand away, Aegon's laugh bubbled up. He turned his head downwards and kissed Rhaenyra's wrist.

She let go immediately, shocked.

He kicked his feet, playful, almost as if daring her to do it again.

Rhaenyra thrusted him back into his mother's arms. She had to leave. She had to get out of here. King Viserys called for her, ready to spout some sentimental drivel about family but she was out of earshot now. It didn't matter anymore.

Alicent gripped Aegon ever tighter to herself. Her thumb worried over the half-moon Rhaenyra left on her son's red, red neck. Her father caught her eye over Visery's shoulder and the nod he sent her seemed to seal her fate and everyone else's. She felt her stomach drop.

-

Rhaenyra had to leave. That day sealed it. There was no place for her in King's Landing. The offers her suitors brought her seemed more like compensation for her loss in title rather than anything real that could further her claim for the throne. A pathetic farce. She was heir, was this what she was reduced to?

"If I am to rule, I have to see the realm I rule over myself," she said to her father. It wasn't a request. Not when they were at the Dragonpit, with Syrax fully saddled and ready to be mounted.

King Viserys knew this day would come. He was heartbroken, but relieved, for this war between him and his daughter would soon come to an end. He couldn't handle the pressure from his councilors anymore, nor bear another venomous argument with her. At least this way it could be covered as diplomacy and she'd be out of his hair. At least this way there was a chance she'd still answer his letters.

"Go, my only daughter. Do what you must. I give you my blessing," he said. And for the first time since Aemma died, she ran to him with a hug. Of course he cried. They both did.

--

On the other side of the Red Keep, Alicent bounced Aegon on her knee. The boy was strangely sullen today. Rhaenyra had came by last night to say goodbye, had smiled like she used to when Alicent cried for her to stay, and reassured her that this was for the best. Rhaenyra had looked at her and harkened back to the days when they were girls and talked of adventure. Her words dripped with warmth and nostalgia, childhood promises fulfilled, but Alicent couldn't help notice that by moonlight her teeth almost looked sharp. She thought of that day with Aegon, and gods forgive her she hoped something tragic would befall Rhaenyra on her travels so she wouldn't have to think about any of this anymore.

Suddenly a figure blotted through the skyline.

Aegon started to wail.

ch 2

[veronicaphoenix]

the unmaking of a warrior | part eight

Pairing: Ronin!Noah x Princess!Reader Series masterpost here ✨ Word count: 6.4k Tags & trigger warnings: forbidden romance, angst, implied anxiety and panic, descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of death, mentions of gods, mentions of sex, implied sexual scenarios that are not described in detail, cliffhanger.

Additional useful info: - Kami: japanese word for a deity, divinity, or spirit. - Omamori: good luck charm meaning to protect.

THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR 

PART VIII

Noah’s arms immediately seized me by the waist, pulling me back as I fought against him, trying to reach my father. 

“Let me go,” I hissed.

Noah’s hold was strong and firm. I knew it was futile to fight against him. Nevertheless, I couldn’t contain the urge of throwing myself at my father as I saw him approaching so nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t encouraged Noah to kill himself in front of hundreds of people merely three days ago just because he was in love with his daughter.  

“No. You will not solve anything like this,” Noah whispered, keeping his arms locked tightly around me, securing me against his chest as I fought against his restraints. 

His comment just ignited my anger. Noah had just threatened a man with his katana and had liver-shot him until he was on the ground, struggling with his own breath. And now he had the audacity to say that throwing myself at my father wouldn’t solve anything. 

“Daughter,” my father spoke. 

He stopped in his tracks a few yards away from us, his armor shining under the afternoon sun. The Samurai standing at his sides remained frozen but attentive to any move around them. Noah had been one of them seventy-two hours ago. Now he was standing on the other side of the line, where Rei, Maura, and many other residents of the community stood, watching at the scenario threatening to turn into a battle at any time. 

“I see your intentions remain the same,” my father started to say. “By the way he is restraining you, I would say you have turned into more of a savage in a matter of days.” 

I was done being embarrassed at his words, at my mother’s, at Ren’s. I would throw myself like a lioness at anyone that threatened Noah or my future with him. 

“However, I am not here to discuss your behavior,” he continued as Noah tried to disentangle my fingers from his katana. He muttered a forced ‘let go’ against my ear, and I finally relented, my breathing ragged as I remained in his lock. 

Everyone must have thought I looked like a feral cat at that moment, but I couldn’t care less. I hated that my father still chose to talk with such diplomacy, especially with me. I could see now that I was not his daughter anymore. I was just something that had belonged to him, and he was here because, one way or another, he believed that he could take it back and make Noah pay for the mistake of taking me away—as if he had taken me by force.

I had no agency whatsoever in front of my father, or Ren, for that matter. No matter how much I told them Noah hadn’t forced me to do anything just like I hadn’t forced him to do it, either. I didn’t think I would be able to restrain myself if Ren appeared at my father’s side in the next few minutes. I would find the first bow laying nearby and shot him straight through the heart, if he had any. 

“I am here to address the matter at hand,” the Shogun said, his eyes on Noah. “You have eluded me for far too long, Ronin,” he didn’t mean the three days we had spent on the run. He meant all those years Noah found a way to meet his daughter in the dark and make sinful things to her, “but now that we stand here, we must put an end to this situation.”

Noah’s arms fell slowly to my side, taking the katana from my grasp. I felt the heat emanating from his body, but at the loss of his touch, I felt my blood go cold. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. Noah deserved to be laid on a bed, be cherished, loved, let to rest, enjoy a slow day as he pleased. But my father was not ready to give him that. He would never be; that I knew. And the news of him having something to say to Noah, —say, not fight— frightened me. What could he have to say to Noah at this point? What would there be in words that could change how things were?

“You defied me, dishonored me,” he began, each of his words deliberately punctured “dishonored your own family’s name, and worst of all, you tainted my daughter’s name and her body,” it cost him something to say those last words out loud, in front of all that people. He avoided looking at me, but I guessed that the reason why he exposed that was just to throw more shame over me. He actually didn’t care about what Noah had done to my body. What angered him was that I preferred Noah to a life of luxuries and obedience. 

I expected for him to continue, to throw something worse at me and Noah, but his silence was taken as an open door for Noah, who spoke with a calm and confidence that astonished the audience. 

“I am aware of what my actions have caused. I am aware that I should not be here,” he should be dead, “but I am. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you and your family, but my love for your daughter is honest. My loyalty belongs to her now, and always will. I do not regret any of my choices.”

My father didn’t expect Noah to overtly express his feelings and exude such confidence. I saw a muscle in his jaw ticking. 

“That is precisely why I have come to you. I have a proposal,” he announced, raising his voice a higher note. 

All my senses went on high alert. I was still fuming, my heart drumming in my chest, my skin prickling. 

“Here,” he opened his arms, “in this sacred place where you’ve been welcomed and where kami watch over, my authority wanes, but beyond these sanctified borders, my power remains the same. I am the Shogun, and I decide the fate of those like you, who have transgressed written laws. Once you step beyond this place, my warriors shall be poised to reclaim what is rightfully mine. Fear not, Ronin, for you have wielded your blade with unmatched prowess in my service and might perish with admirable skills. However, for her...” his eyes fell on me, “it is a different tale. No matter how much you try to protect her, every time she dares venture beyond these walls, her very existence will be in danger. I perceive the trepidation etched upon your face and the square of your shoulders now, as you envision the dreadful prospect of cradling my daughter’s lifeless form in your arms, the consequence of a momentary slip in your focus.” 

A solemn hush lingered in the air, pregnant with the weight of my father’s threats.

“Reality is grim, indeed,” he continued, his chin raised. “But here is the proposition I came to offer: my life, offered in exchange for yours—and hers,” he declared, his expression resolute, indicating his daughter, me, with a regal gesture. “I extend this challenge to you, Ronin. A duel between the two. A duel to death. Should I defeat you, my daughter will be reclaimed into my kingdom as the princess she is meant to be. Yet, if you emerge victorious, I will allow you and my daughter to live your lives in peace, free from my rule.” 

My retort burst forth unbidden, fueled by the flames of indignation raging within me, incensed by his audacious display of authority and his presumption that he could dictate the course of our fate. He dared to threaten Noah once more, to imperil his own daughter. 

Shame on him. 

“Your proposition holds no sway in this sacred place,” I countered, raising my voice, which caused birds to startle in a nearby tree and fly away. “You cannot desecrate this sanctuary with a conflict that only you want to be a part of,” I declared vehemently, my voice a tempered blade cutting through the air.

“You are right, my daughter. It holds no sway unless he accepts the duel.” 

“He won’t,” I replied fiercely. 

But then, my world fell apart when Noah said, “I accept your challenge.”

A string of murmurs and gasps filled the air.

I turned to him with wide eyes, my heart threatening to escape my chest, my blood turning cold.

“Very well. Let it be done, then,” my father replied.

“No, you can’t do that!” I screamed, taking one step forward to emphasize my words, ignoring the hand from Noah that tried to grasp my wrist. “He can’t do that!” I shouted again, looking at Rei and Maura, expecting them to say that this was not allowed in this place, that it couldn’t happen.

I didn’t like the look of sadness and pity in their eyes.  

“If Noah agrees to the challenge, we can do no more than letting them do.”

“That’s not…” My heart started spinning. “No,” I muttered looking at Noah, my eyes starting to fill with tears at the prospect of what this meant. A life-or-death challenge. Either him or my father. “You can’t do that! You can’t!” I screamed at my father, and when I tried to lunge back at him, two of his Samurai raised their katanas in a cross shape to keep me from reaching him. Noah also managed to grab me by my wrist and pulled me back to him. 

 “Today, at dawn,” my father announced, louder, “we shall meet on the training grounds. May the best warrior prevail.”

With that, he retreated. 

I turned around to face Noah, time seeming to stand still, my throat dry.

“What did you do?” I didn’t recognize my own voice. My entire being was at the mercy of shock and fear. “Noah, what did you just do?”

Around us, the crowd dispersed. If anyone mumbled words of encouragement or sympathy, they didn’t reach my ears, as all my attention was on Noah and the way he looked at me with his beautiful brown eyes; a look that said there had been no other choice. 

But that wasn’t true.

There had been choices. He just hadn’t considered them. He hadn’t considered me, and he had closed a deal that ended with his death or my father’s.

The pounding of my own heart blocked my ears and made me feel dizzy, the scents in the air only intensifying my disorientation.

“It’s the only solution,” Noah said. 

Before I said anything again, I started shaking my head, my eyes watery. I swallowed hard.

“Now it is,” I managed to say, my voice constricted by the lump in my throat. 

If Noah didn’t consider the consequences of his public decision the moment he closed the deal with my father, he did now when he saw my expression. 

Looking around one last time, when we were practically alone in the square and people’s voices were once again filling the space but from a distance, Noah took me by the elbow and directed us both to a more secluded and private place, behind some small houses that seemed uninhabited but neatly tended by the community. 

“I know this scares you, but it’s the only way we can be together and free. Otherwise, your father is always going to be there, just waiting for—”

“You know that?” I asked, cutting him off. “Do you know how scared I am of what you just did? Do you really know, Noah? Because if you do, why did you do it?!” I couldn’t contain my emotions, my heart breaking at the thought of the fate that awaited me when night fell. 

“Don’t cry,” he demanded, but I pushed his hand away from my cheek as soon as he made a move to wipe away my tears. I saw a rush of pain cross his features, but I had no right to succumb to such emotion because he was the cause of such. 

“What else am I supposed to do when the man I love has just given himself to death?”

“That’s not what I’ve done,” he tried to appease me. 

“No, it isn’t. You have made a deal with my father, the Shogun, in which only one of you  will get to see the sun rise tomorrow. If it isn’t you who perishes tonight, it will be my father at your hands. What were you thinking of? You know I would choose you above all things, but I don’t want my father’s death. I don’t want his death at your hands!”

Noah spoke my name softly, his hands again reaching out to touch my skin. I recoiled, my back meeting the wooden wall of the house. 

Noah took a breath of air, his chest swelling as his eyes scanned my expression and as he struggled between what to say and what to do. I knew that expression all too well. It was one that said he was aware of the damage he was causing, but that nothing and no one would change his mind. It was the expression of the martyred and at the same time, the implacable Samurai. 

“He is your father,” he began, “but he was also my teacher. His determination is uncompromising. I know how persistent and ruthless he can be, especially with his enemies.”

And at that moment, Noah was his number one enemy. The one who had stolen the most valuable thing he had: his daughter. 

The hope that had filled me in the preceding twenty-four hours now lay shattered on the ground, fragmenting with each fleeting second. It forced me to confront the unsettling notion that perhaps Noah and I had no future together. Or worse, yet: that our love, so pure and bright, was transient because it may never bear fruit in the form of a family and the adventure of growing old and grey together. 

“He won’t let you win,” I said. Though my tone was soft and low, my desperation echoed in the stillness around us.

Noah’s response was stoic. “You’re underestimating me. I’m the best warrior he’s had since my father perished on the battlefield.”

“Being pretentious won’t help you win, Noah.”

“I’m not being pretentious, or confident. I’m being earnest and practical.”

“My father has thirty years more practice with the sword than you,” I allied, being earnest and practical. “He is the Shogun. He can play dirty, and he will, because he considers your honor lost, so he won’t mind playing without honor against you.”

Noah sensed the pain and fear in me, which consumed me with each passing second. I was so close to accepting an impending tragic future that this time I let him touch me. 

His fingers caressed my chin.

“Baby…”

“Nothing can ensure your victory,” I whispered, “and even if you do win, it will be at the cost of my father’s death at your hands,” my throat dried up as I spoke those words again. 

How had we ended up there? Hadn’t I been able to think about the consequences of running away with Noah from my father’s estate? Was it my place to blame Noah for making that decision when, perhaps, I’d been the one to make a mistake when I ran away with my warrior? 

“There had to be another way to do things. Perhaps between the two of us, we would have found it. I could have talked to my father at another time, under different circumstances, make him understand...” I said, the words escaping quickly from my mouth. I knew well that nothing would have served to convince my father. For his daughter to have fled with one of his soldiers was probably the most dishonorable thing that could happen to the family’s name. But even aware that my chances with my father would have been minimal, I couldn’t conceive the fact that Noah had made such an impulsive decision without even considering me. “But now there’s no turning back,” I said, looking up at him. “You’ve made a life or death deal with my father in which I wasn’t even allowed to say anything about it. In a few hours,” I continued, “it will be my father’s lifeless body lying on those grounds—or yours,” I pointed to the earth with a trembling finger. “I may not agree with my father’s plans for me, with the life that was written for me without allowing me to choose, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him dead. And I certainly don’t want to see you die. How could you accept his challenge without thinking about the consequences? Without considering me? You didn’t even allow me to say a word, Noah! Do you realize what you’ve done?! How you’ve behaved?! Like them; like my father, like my mother. Like Ren.” My voice rose to a fever pitch, resonating in the quietness around us and startling the nearby deer. Noah’s expression fell, realization dawning in his eyes as my words pierced through his resolve. 

“I wouldn’t have accepted if I wasn’t confident in my abilities.”

“You’re the most formidable warrior I’ve ever known. You are my warrior. But I won’t cling to that when your life is at stake. When your life depends on my father’s,” I put a hand to his chest. “As much as I admire the Samurai you are, I will never accept the oath that says you have to give your life for those you serve or love.”

“Listen to me,” Noah said, his tone tinged with sadness and frustration. “Your father will never be okay with you being with me. He will never accept that his daughter chose a ronin over the royal family. If I don’t do this, we can never hope to be together; to be free. How can I ensure your safety outside these walls? You heard him. He threatened you, his daughter. I will not take it.”

“I’m not some helpless maiden, Noah,” I countered fiercely, my spirit rising against his attempts to shield me. “I may be a princess, but I know how to wield a bow and an arrow, and you know damn well how skilled I am with a sword because you taught me. Do not treat me like I’m defenseless.”

“That’s not what I am doing,” Noah insisted, but his words fell short in the face of my mounting fury and pain. 

“Is it not?” I shot back, the sting of betrayal coloring my words. “Was it not when you made your decision in front of everyone, robbing me of any say? Was it not every time you spouted that Samurai bullshit about making your own choices while disregarding mine? It’s not just about you, Noah. It’s about you and me! And I refuse to accept a future where you’re not at my side!” My voice cracked as I pushed against his chest, feeling a rage against him that I had never ever felt before; not with him. Not with my warrior. 

With a trembling sigh and on the verge of giving up, I continued. “But I won’t accept any other future if you take my father’s life, either.” The bitterness in my tone softened, my tear-filled eyes boring into his beautiful brown ones. “How could I bear the touch of the hands that have taken my father’s life?” 

Silence stretched between us.

I made attempt to leave, but he seized my wrist, calling my name once more. 

“I need you to be there, at dawn.”

“Do not ask me to be a witness to either of your deaths.”

I wriggled myself out of his grasp. With a flash of pain and fury crossing my features, I walked away.  

I found myself wandering away and into and open expanse of field where a congregation of deer grazed serenely, bathed in the golden afternoon sun. With trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks, I approached them, drawn by the silent companionship they offered. I tried to feel a sense of calm as I reached out to stroke their fur. They nuzzled against me, and I let out a small teary laugh at their playfulness. 

As they searched for food in my hands and nuzzled me with their muzzles, I pondered the cruel twist of fate that now threatened to tear my world apart. Merely two weeks ago, I had lain on the mattress in my grandmother’s little house, with Noah adoring my body as he entered me over and over, promising to make up for all the nights we’d spent apart. That night felt so distant now. I had so much hope for us back then—even when I had no idea how to escape the tangled situation we were in. 

Now I wondered, was there ever truly a life of peace and freedom awaiting Noah and me, or were we destined to be torn apart, to fulfill the duties imposed by a world constricted by societal structures and rules? 

With each tear that fell, I whispered silent prayers to the heavens, pleading for a reprieve from the tragedy that was about to take place. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the meadow, I knew that my fate couldn’t be freed from the resolution of that dawn’s duel to death between my father and the man I loved. 

I went back to the house. 

I couldn’t bear the thought of being out there, enjoying such green scenery, hearing the birds chirp, and watching the deer stroll peacefully, knowing that come nightfall I would either have to deal with my father’s death or return with him to his residence, never to be in Noah’s arms again.  

As my steps brought me closer to what I had thought would be our home for years to come, tears threatened to spill over once more. 

I only allowed myself to cry when I found myself in the temporary comfort of that little house, where Noah and I had woken up in each other’s arms that morning, being interrupted by children’s laughter that one day could have been our own.

Aware that we had only just arrived and things were far from stable, I had allowed myself to believe that the fairy tale I had dreamed of living with Noah since I was a little girl would come true. I envisioned us living in an idyllic place, surrounded by a generous and kind community, doing what we were passionate about. I imagined what it would be like to live together without clinging desperately to the evening hours because Noah would no longer be there in the morning. I pictured us spending hours lying in bed, with Noah between my legs, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

Standing in the middle of the room, I looked around, taking in the details, and for a moment, I entertained the dreadful thought that all of this was, in fact, temporary, that it had been temporary from the moment we set foot in this place. Anger and sadness took hold of me. When my eyes fell on the bed where Noah and I had spent the night and then on the pile of clothes Rika and her husband, Kenzo, had offered us, I had the urge to tear it all to shreds, to set it on fire.

Instead, I angrily and carelessly tugged at the knots of the dress I was wearing, cursing how delicate Noah had been in tying them and the thoughts he had awakened in me, making me believe we might enjoy a few intimate hours in the coming days, succumbing to each other, my hands bound and my body at his mercy.

I dropped the dress at my feet and wrestled with the remaining clothes on a stool until I found a simple kimono in sweet, delicate colors. I locked myself in the washroom, letting a few more tears fall as I clung tightly to the sink.

I don’t know how long I stood there, Noah’s words replaying in my head, along with my father’s and the consequences of that duel. I thought about the possible outcomes and where they would leave me. Could I forgive Noah if he killed my father? Could I let the same hands, stained with my father’s blood, touch me?

Worse yet... Could I live without Noah?

A sob escaped, filling the silence. I put a hand to my mouth.

By the time I opened the bathroom door to return to the bedroom, my tears had dried. Instead, I wore my heart on my sleeve, and finding Noah in the room only increased my misery. Hanging from one of his arms were pieces of clothing I immediately recognized as a combat suit.

He paused at the sight of me, his expression marked by conflict that quickly turned resolute. He was experiencing a sense of ambivalence that I now understood. On one hand, I felt fear and sadness for the decision he had made, knowing its consequences. On the other hand, after meditating about it, he was right; as much as I despised his decision, it was necessary for our happiness and our future.

He picked up my dress from the floor and placed it carefully on top of a drawer, his actions ever so slow and delicate, as if he weren’t about to spill blood on a battlefield.

“If I could, I would hate you right now,” I said, my voice breaking as I reached the end of the sentence. “But I can’t. Because I only learned the meaning of love when I was with you, and that’s all I’ll ever feel for you.” 

Noah opened his mouth to say something, tilted his head to the side slightly as if my words had just cracked his heart a bit more. 

He extended his free arm towards me and I took his hand. 

I took slow thoughtful steps towards him until I was at arms reach and placed my free hand on his chest, right where his heart was caged by his ribs. 

“I can’t live without you. I understand why you accepted. I do. I understand,” I repeated in his arms, “but I can’t conceive the idea of losing you, of living without you. I feel like everything I’ve done so far—everything I’ve been waiting for, has been to be with you, to grow old with you, and I can’t think that it all could be snatched from my hands in a few hours.” 

His features hardened, but the tenderness in his eyes persisted. 

“I promised myself that I would fight for our freedom until the end of days—but especially yours. I can’t break that promise.” 

My fist clutched the fabric of his shirt. I was angry but I refused to cry again. I gazed at him with my lips pressed tightly together and my jaw firmly set. 

“Make another one,” I demanded. I had no more options. “Promise me that this won’t end as it’s supposed to; that no one will die tonight.” 

He kissed me, his large hands cradling my face, the combat suit dropping to the floor. His kiss was a promise—a vow that his love would defy the laws of this life and surpass the universe. But it didn’t carry the assurance that he would return to me after the combat, or that my father would return to his estate. 

“I love you,” he breathed against my lips. He was warm and strong. He was home.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye. Don’t say goodbye. I beg you.”

“I’m not saying goodbye. And even if I were, you and I will meet in the next life, and in the one after that if there is one.”

The sun was setting on one edge of the horizon, casting a golden hue over the training grounds where people gathered, hushing to each other. My father, the Shogun, stood with his katana unsheathed, its blade shimmering like liquid silver on one end of the grounds. Across from him, Noah stood with his own sword, the blade catching the last light of the setting sun.

Onlookers formed a perimeter around the grounds. They murmured, their voices blending with the rustle of the wind. Most whispers were expressions of sympathy for Noah—and for me. Nobody wanted bloodshed in that sacred place, in the sanctuary protected by gods and ancestors. Yet, the presence of my father’s army and Noah’s decision had left no other choice. 

I stood on the left side, flanked by Rika and Milla. Their pity and worry grew with each sideways glance they cast my way, but I couldn’t acknowledge them even if I tried; my focus was solely on Noah. 

Determined not to waste a moment with him, I had walked him by the hand to the training fields once he had changed, his hand exerting pressure on mine. When we arrived, he backed me into a corner, out of sight of the others, and rested his forehead against mine. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he whispered, “I shall return to your side, no matter what the heavens say. I belong to you—you’re the keeper of my heart.” He kissed my cheek quickly, not giving me a chance to respond. Then, he let go and stepped into the battleground.  

Since then, I had blocked out the presence of everyone around me. If I didn’t walk back to the house that night with my hand in Noah’s, then nothing here mattered; no one did. 

I had spent most of my life avoiding the spotlight. As the daughter of the Shogun, expectations had been thrust upon me; I was a princess, and I should act like one. From an early age, my every action was scrutinized and interpreted according to others’ desires. Standing in the training grounds that evening, it felt as though I could never escape that lie. It was suffocating; it felt like a noose tightening around my neck with each passing second. 

Had I been delusional to think that everything would be okay after Noah and I ran away?

Despite the weight of the murmurs and glances directed at me, most eyes were fixed on the two figures standing opposite each other. My father exuded a powerful aura of authority, not because of his prowess as a warrior but because of the position he was born into. Noah, however, stood there because he had earned his place through relentless training and dedication. The determination in his eyes masked his anger and ruthlessness, but it was palpable in his entire stance. His gaze never wavered from my father’s, and I could sense his thoughts racing with the dread of the Shogun taking me back to his estate and forcing me to marry Ren, turning me into the obedient wife I never wanted to be. 

My father’s Samurai stood impassively by his side, like silent sentinels, while on the other side, the members of the community who had so warmly welcomed Noah and me were visibly conflicted. I could hear some murmuring prayers, others discussing the inevitability of the conflict between Noah and me and my father, and a few, touched by the love that had sparked this strife, hoped for Noah’s victory. Rika and Milla stood close to me. When one of them touched my elbow in an attempt to comfort me, I flinched and pulled away.

I was so consumed by fear that I didn’t realize the combat had begun until the clash of steel shattered the night’s stillness. When my focus cleared, I saw my father moving with the precision of someone assured of his power. Noah’s fighting was different from the training sessions I had seen; he fought with a fierce passion, driven by the will to survive and our love. His movements were both fluid and desperate, parrying each attack with the same determination my father had relied on for years, trusting Noah with his life.

How ironic that his best swordsman was the one who could bring him down today.

A growing heaviness filled my chest, and I could barely bear to watch as each clash of their swords echoed through the air. Around us, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the collective breaths of the spectators and my own.

The outcome of this battle would shape not only my future but the destiny of all who witnessed this clash of love and duty. If Noah fell, my father’s power would increase, but if Noah prevailed, the family’s name and reputation would be forever tarnished. Not that it would matter, for my father would be dead at the hands of the Ronin he despised.

As the duel continued, Noah’s movements became a dance of lethal precision. His katana sliced through the air with a grace that belied the gravity of the conflict. Each strike was deliberate, each parry executed with a finesse honed through years of intense training. I watched in awe and fear as Noah deftly maneuvered around my father’s attacks. Despite his age and experience, my father struggled to match Noah’s agility and mastery of the blade. Noah’s strikes were swift and purposeful, aimed not so much at defeating him but at keeping him at bay. He was trying to hurt him, but not to kill him—while simultaneously fighting to survive.

In a sudden, fluid motion, Noah managed to land a cut on my father’s arm. The Shogun grunted in pain, his face tightening with a mix of fury and surprise. Yet, the battlefield was unforgiving. In a moment of distraction, Noah’s concentration wavered just enough for my father to seize the opportunity. With a lightning-quick maneuver, my father retaliated, landing a deep cut on Noah’s thigh. The blow drew blood, staining Noah’s clothing.

I held my breath, doubts gnawing at me. Despite Noah’s prowess and his love for me driving him forward, my father’s stature as the Shogun and his decades of experience cast a long shadow over my hopes. I had seen my father’s authority and martial skill throughout my life—his disciplined demeanor, his unwavering commitment to tradition. Noah might have been his finest soldier once, but now, my father’s hatred ran deep, fueled by Noah’s betrayal and the loss of honor as a samurai.

My doubts crystallized after what felt like an eternity of relentless combat, the clashing steel and strikes offering no respite to either of them. In a moment of fierce intensity, my father closed the distance with two swift steps. With a precise and brutal strike, his blade sliced deeply into Noah’s chest. The combat suit tore apart, unable to withstand the force of the blow, and blood welled from the wound. Noah’s anguished cry filled the air, echoing in my ears. Drops of blood splattered onto the ground, marking it with the gravity of the duel.

I watched in horror, frozen in place, as Noah staggered back from the impact. His hand instinctively went to his chest, fingers probing the deep gash where his lifeblood flowed freely. The pain etched across his face mirrored my own torment, and his eyes locked briefly with mine, conveying a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. Across from him, my father stood with a mix of pride and cold fury etched on his features.

A wave of fear and helplessness crashed over me. The sight of Noah wounded, his life slipping away in a crimson stream, was unbearable. Panic seized my chest, constricting my breath as tears welled in my eyes. I knew then that I couldn’t stay and witness the potential end of everything I held dear.

With trembling hands and a heart heavy with dread, I pushed past people. Their murmurs and gasps of shock faded into distant echoes as I fled the scene, unable to confront the reality of Noah’s mortality. Anxiety clawed at my throat, and tears blurred my vision as I stumbled away from the battleground, each step carrying me farther from the agony and despair threatening to consume me.

I didn’t realize I had gone from walking to running, my rapid strides taking me as far as possible from where Noah’s blood stained the ground. Panicked, I glanced around until I spotted the temple perched on the rocky hill overlooking the village.

The path to the temple was steep and winding, each step a battle against exhaustion and despair. My feet stumbled on the uneven stone steps, the pain in my chest matching the ache in my heart.

As I ascended, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the village. The first stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, while an eerie glow fell over the cobblestone streets.

The temple’s silhouette loomed against the fading light. Reaching the entrance, I could almost feel the walls whispering tales of generations past. I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, revealing a cool, musty interior scented with incense and the weight of history. Shafts of dwindling sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting fragmented patterns of color across the ancient stone floor. Flickering candles illuminated statues of gods and ancestors, their serene faces watching over me with timeless wisdom.

As soon as I crossed the threshold into the temple, I collapsed to my knees. My sobs blended with the resonant tones of singing bowls, as an elderly woman performed rituals nearby. The tranquility of the temple was disrupted by the torment in my heart. Tears flowed freely, unchecked and raw, as I silently pleaded with the spirits for guidance and strength. The echoes of ancient prayers seemed to fill the air, mingling with the soft murmur of my own desperate pleas.

I felt utterly lost, overwhelmed by the belief that I would never see Noah, the love of my life, again. The thought that my father might kill him on the battlefield was unbearable. Just as despair threatened to consume me, the elderly woman approached quietly. She knelt beside me with a gentle grace and placed a small Omamori in my hand, urging me to hold it. Slightly confused, I watched her through blurry vision.

The old woman then set a Daruma doll beside me, on the floor, its one eye painted in. It was similar to the one my grandmother had given Noah for luck. I recognized the familiar symbol of perseverance and hope.

I closed my eyes, clutching the Omamori tightly. Holding the amulet close, I prayed with all my heart, my fragile thread of faith hoping that somehow, Noah would survive.

Taglist:

@girlfromrussia-universe | @kankuurohs | @somebodyels3 | @missduffsblog | @respectfulrebel

@badomensls | @darling-millicent-aubrey | @moreyoulove-moreyouknow

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates :)

If I forgot to tag someone, please drop a message! 🫣

[slyvester101]

After everything that happened with Crunchbite (the bastard) and Junior’s probably horrific and painful birth, I imagine Tucker is more than a little wary about letting strangers near him.

He gets this hollow feeling in his gut when he’s around people he doesn’t know, gets an itch in his skin if he’s touched by someone he doesn’t trust. His throat tightens and his heart squeezes and his hands shake. He’s not able to sleep well around strangers, has to keep his back to the wall or else he’s waking every five minutes to make sure no one’s snuck up behind him.

He spends his whole diplomacy curled up in a ball in the corner of his room with Junior tucked under his chin, keeps his distance from the soldiers stuck on his missions and keeps them away with sharp smiles and horrible flirting that would make anyone cringe away.

At the desert temple, when he’s all alone with nothing but hostiles banging on the door, Tucker laments in how much he misses touch, misses the freedom of being able to hug someone without fear of harm, of being able to know if a touch was friendly or manipulative. He misses Blood Gulch. He misses blue team. He misses his son.

Even after Sidewinder, Tucker still isn’t in the clear, isn’t allowed some respite with his team because the latest member is yet another Freelancer who was chasing to kill them not even less than twenty-four hours ago.

His skin is buzzing the whole time they’re being shown around their new base by Caboose, his heart not settling despite the action being long over, his brain screams as someone grabs his shoulder. He screams out loud too, it seems, because the hand is pulling back quickly and a soft apologetic voice is echoing through his head.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking touch me, asshole.” Tucker all but hissed before he stormed away, unwilling to let this new prick see the way his hands shake and the way his face has gone pale.

He hates it. He hates it. He hates how he can’t even stand close to the fucker without feeling ill, can’t help but track his every movement and every word for some kind of malice or cruel intent.

He finds none.

He’s kind to Caboose, politely nodding along to whatever he rants about and keeping him out of trouble with much kinder words that Church was probably physically incapable of speaking. He’s kind to Tucker even though he’s been nothing but a paranoid asshole the whole time they’ve been at Valhalla, never taking offense to the distance Tucker puts between them and respecting whatever lines Tucker draws.

It takes a long time for him to feel comfortable enough to let Washington touch him, not quite as long to start giving him shit like he would’ve with Church. Slowly and cautiously, they fall into a groove that’s uniquely theirs and Tucker feels like he can finally breathe in his own goddamn house.

His trust in Wash is cemented when Carolina comes into the picture and constantly steps in as a barrier between the two, Washington knowing that Carolina would try to scruff or yank Tucker around for his big mouth and that Tucker would probably rip her hand off if she tried. He’s the only reason the two aqua soldiers don’t kill each other. That fact becomes undoubtedly true when Wash choses Tucker over Carolina, pointing his gun at her as she threatens Tucker.

Caboose was always a steady presence to the chaos in his head, the gentle giant sometimes being the only reason Tucker didn’t fall apart at the seams while he cried his fears into his chest, but Wash is a different kind of support that Tucker didn’t know he needed, one he doesn’t think he’s ever had.

It doesn’t stop him from getting that itch in his skin when he’s surrounded by strangers, it doesn’t stop the sick feeling he gets when he wakes up from a nightmare, it doesn’t make everything better.

But Tucker thinks, kind of incredulously, that maybe he can finally be safe with these two by his side. Maybe, just maybe, he can really let his guard down and have someone else watch his back.

Maybe he can finally let someone in.

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic

by @zenkindoflove and @crazy-ache After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Summer Heat

by @zenkindoflove Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years. Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance.

playgirl

by @damedechance Under the anonymous screen name witch_hazel, Elain Archeron has been moderating the chatroom of rising OnlyFans creator, swiper-no-swiping (Lucien) for a little less than a year. When he comes to Velaris from out of town, they agree to meet up, and the unspoken attraction between them reaches a boiling point.

Separate My Body From My Soul

by @crazy-ache from the fic summary: When Lucien Vanserra is held captive by his father in the cruel depths of Autumn, there is only one force more powerful than politics that can save him—his mating bond with Elain Archeron. She must make the choice to save him, even if it means binding their souls forever.

Realizations, Finally

@trappedoutside124 (ao3) The meeting of the High Lords in Adriata means that Elain will be face-to-face with her mate for the first time in months. Despite herself, she can't help but wonder where he goes each evening when he leaves the castle with Vassa and Jurian. So, she decides to find out.

The Dance of Day

by @wyse-ink (ao3) It's not the first time Elain thinks she could get used to the perks of the Day Court, even if she can't get her mate out of her mind.

The Things that Go Bump in the Night

by @fieldofdaisiies At breakfast Elain and Lucien’s daughter has some questions about the things she heard the previous night, a little afraid her parents were fighting, and of course Nesta and Cassian are present, making it even more uncomfortable; this is inspired by a scene from bad moms 3

Our Hearts Still Beat the Same

by @zenkindoflove "She stood on the bridge for a few minutes, hoping that the rain might wash away the seething anger and bottomless anguish that crackled under her skin. More, more, more, repeated again and again to a steady beat. His heart beat." Elucien, Two-shot, Post-ACOSF. Part One is Cozy Tension. Part Two is all smut.

They Say I Did Something Bad

by @separatist-apologist Elain Archeron's fiance is a total stranger to her, though his family's reputation for cruelty and avarice is not. Dreading a lifetime with a cruel, cold man, Elain decides to have one last night of freedom. Attending an infamous masquerade ball, Elain meets a stranger who offers to show her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. It's just one night of debauchery. What could possibly go wrong?

Emissaries With Benefits

by @velidewritesWhen diplomacy fails, Prythian courtiers Elain and Lucien like to resort to a steamier kind of negotiation.

I Know Places We Won't Be Found

by @separatist-apologistapologist They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are two sides to the same coin, not that they'd ever know it. After nearly four years of ignoring each other, the mating bond between them, and their trauma, Lucien has had enough. While Lucien is ready for resolution, Elain is still trying to figure out who she is now that she's not human, and unravel her cauldron-blessed powers which seem to intensify with each passing year. When an accidental street fire prompts Elain to call Lucien for help, Lucien decides to take Elain from the Night Court entirely, effectively kidnapping her. Tucked away in the Spring Court, far from prying eyes, Elain will have to reconcile who she was as a human with who she is as a Fae, and decide if the man she's mated to is who she wants to spend the rest of her immortal life with.

I Like You

by @fieldofdaisiies Elain decides that she is ready to make a move towards Lucien. And yes, it is a bit sad.

All You Have Is Your Fire

by @clockwork_ashes (on ao3) 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop. Elain goes to the Autumn Court demanding an audience with the High Lord to save the mate she can barely stand to be in the same room with. She ends up having to stay much longer than she bargained for.

Tales of the Fox & the Fawn

by @lucienarcheron A series of short snippets to fill my Elucien heart <3

Heading Straight to You

by @lucienarcheron Inspired by a tumblr post I've also linked below: "I need elain to have her anthony bridgerton moment where lucien asks if she wants him to sever the bond and leave & she goes “do you think there’s a corner on this earth that you could travel to far enough to free me from this torment? you are the bane of my existence. and the object of all my desires." So I decided to give elucien their own bridgerton moment :) Enjoy!

This Time, I'm Ready

by @lucienarcheron Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

Throw Me To The Flames

by @separatist-apologist Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien. And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest. Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

The Last Of The Real Ones

by @separatist-apologist I'm here in search of your glory, there's been a million before me; that ultra kind of love you never walk away from. Elain Archeron finds fate to be cruel when her youngest sister, Feyre, cuts down a wolf one frozen, winter night and a beastly Faerie Lord named Tamlin demands retribution in the form of her life for the Fae lost. Elain is dragged into Prythian and eternal Spring where a mysterious blight has made magic more dangerous than ever. Navigating eternal Spring is made more difficult by Tamlin's infuriating emissary Lucien Vanserra and his sharp tongue. As the blight spins out of control, Elain will have to decide how far she's willing to go to keep her new home safe. ACoTaR re-write; just come inside.

Sounds of Summer

by @animezinglife Time seems to move more slowly in the Summer Court, and Lucien and Elain take in every second. A short scene of the two in Summer.

Never Not Mine

by @separatist-apologist Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate. That doesn't mean she has to like it...or that she has to make it easy for him.

[aconfusedkitten]

i'll race you to the graveyard - excerpt two

They finally manage to find the doctor an hour later, and when they do, March involuntarily stops in her tracks. Even though it’s only been a few hours since they last saw Ratio, he looks exhausted.

Dark circles under his eyes, hair mused, clothes wrinkled and out of place.

If March didn’t know better, she’d say that he must have got into a fight, except it’s barely been two hours, and he doesn’t look injured as much as he looks drained. With practically every word they say – and it doesn’t matter who says it, whether it’s Himeko’s diplomacy or Stelle’s brash commentary – the irritation in his eyes grows, as does his impatience.

“Did you really,” he says, sharply, “only just realize the Family’s manipulations? Even Aventurine was prepared for that, and he wasn’t even here a day.”

And-

Something about those words feel off.

Himeko just smiles, like Ratio’s words are as sharp as a blanket, instead of a knife. “We weren’t expecting to receive an invitation, Doctor Ratio,” she says, smooth as can be. “We only had a few hours to pull up our archives, and even then, there wasn’t much. As you know, the family is secretive.”

Ratio rolls his eyes. “The Family is about as trustworthy as the IPC,” he says, crossing his arms. “Trusting either party is bound to end badly, no matter the results one is trying to achieve.”

March puts her hands on her hips, sends him a glare. “You are a part of the IPC,” she reminds him, “Isn’t that a little bit hypocritical of you?”

“I am far from the first person to disapprove of the IPC’s methods while still being associated with them,” Ratio says. “In fact, I find it to be a rather common occurrence.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” March says, under her breath. Based on the look Welt gives her, and the gentle nudge from Stelle, she doesn’t exactly do a good job at keeping her voice low. But then she has a thought, one that’s pressing and suddenly important. “Is that the case with Aventurine?”

Ratio freezes. Goes stock still, as though she’d trapped him in six-phase ice, instead of merely asking a question. “I told you before,” he says, haltingly, “Aventurine isn’t my concern here. His past and motivations are none of my business.” His eyes narrow. “I suggest that you remember it isn’t yours, either.”

a follow up to this post here!

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - June 2nd, 1986 - Queen Story!

"A Kind Of Magic" album released in the UK

“The film needed their energy.”

Russell Mulcahy – Director Highlander

Queen's twelfth studio album was recorded between September 1985 and April 1986, at three different studios: Town House (London), Musicland (Munich) and Mountain Studios (Montreux).

🔸"We all have our own ideas of how song should be, because I mean a song can be done in so many different ways, depending on of who is doing it. But sometimes I just feel that it's not right and like in case of Roger's track, which is Magic, I mean, he did it in totally different way, which is quite good, but I just felt that it was another commercial streak, and I just realized that he was going away to LA, and I just got hold of it. I just changed the arrangement completely. And when he came back, I said, 'What do you think?', and he said 'Oh, I like it!'. It was a completely different song, but you know, it's something, sometimes you can see something else in other people's songs, and… You know, I don't mind them doing that to my songs as well, we all help each other in that way, but that takes a lot of time...

..The whole thing, I mean, of group policy is, first of all, that the group couldn't agree on the one single. Because it was to do with the film and also to do with the new Queen product. Because what's happened – I think for the first time in Queen's life – is that we actually made a film soundtrack, but we've also made a Queen album – so, we had to try to let people know that it's not just a soundtrack, because we've got other songs as well. So it's hard to depict, that it's not all one soundtrack, and it's not just Queen. We had to try to bring two projects together. And so, I mean, within the members of the band as well, we were fighting as to who liked which song. So we couldn't agree at all, and basically what happened in the end, we decided there should be two singles, released synchronously in different territories, and because the film is out in America first, we wanted to go with Princes, which goes with the film. But over here [Great Britain], we released Magic, because we thought that if we release Princes to go with the film, then nobody is gonna see the film here until about July, and they have to know what it means. So, sometimes you have to sort of get that diplomacy, and work out things. So, in America they've got Princes of the Universe, over here is Magic...

..To start off, it was a Queen project as such anyway, but we did only, like, five tracks to go in the film, and there's about nine tracks now... Is it nine? Yes, about nine tracks. So these additional tracks, which are not in the film – so it is a Queen, a new Queen album anyway"

- Freddie Mercury

Interview 1986

📸 Pic: 'A Kind Of Magic' album Inner Sleeve Image

[literaryavenger]

Captain America: Civil War - 2

Summary: After Peggy's funeral, Steve, Sam and you go to Bucharest to track down Bucky before the FBI kills him, or at least tries to.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Language. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: Here's part two of Civil War and the first look into a Bucky x Reader relationship! That's my goal, anyway. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

It’s been a sad few days for Steve, he’s been crying a lot after the news that Peggy died.

You and Sam offered to go with him to the funeral so now you’re both sitting in the first row as Steve and five other guys carry the coffin.

“And now, I would like to invite Sharon Carter to come up and say a few words.” the priest says and Steve’s old neighbor Agent 13, steps up to the podium.

Your eyes widen a little in shock and elbow Sam while looking at her, then Sam nudges Steve and nods to her.

“Margaret Carter was known to most as a founder of SHIELD… but I just knew her as Aunt Peggy.” Sharon starts the eulogy and you look at Steve who's just as surprised to see her. “She had a photograph in her office. Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid, that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to. Which is why I never told anyone we were related.”

She looks directly at Steve before continuing. “I asked her once how she managed to master diplomacy and espionage in a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either. And she said, compromise where you can. But where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move… it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye and say ‘No. You move.’.”

Her words hit you deep, and you’re sure they hit Steve deep, too.

Peggy was clearly a very smart woman, and the fact that she helped found SHIELD and was such a badass made her your inspiration when you were a trainee and ever since you became an agent. Sharon’s words just made you more and more sure that not signing the Accords is the right thing to do.

-

After the funeral Steve asks you and Sam for a moment alone, so you hug him before letting him have some peace, making your way to the hotel you’re all staying at with Sam.

You’re in the hotel bar when the news comes on with the bombing in Vienna. You and Sam exchange a worried glance and set out to find Steve right away.

You find him near the elevators with Sharon just as the elevator arrives.

“Thanks for walking me back.” Sharon says and as Steve answers “Sure” you get close to them.

“Steve.” you grab his attention.

“There’s something you gotta see.” Sam finishes.

We all go up to Sharon’s hotel room to turn on the news that’s all about the UN bombing in Vienna and how the culprit is believed to be James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier HYDRA asset and formerly known as Sergeant Barnes, Steve’s best friend.

They talk about the death of King T’Chaka and you look at Steve who seems as concerned as you are as you quietly say. “That’s not good.” And he agrees with a nod.

“I have to go to work.” Sharon says and you all know what has to be done.

-

Sam, Steve and you flew to Vienna with Sharon and now you and Sam are in a coffee shop waiting for Steve while he talks to Natasha.

“How can you eat at a time like this?!” you whisper shout to Sam, annoyed.

“What am I supposed to do, starve?” He answers and you roll your eyes but before you can say anything back, Steve steps next to him.

“She tell you to stay out of it?” you ask him, knowing Natasha pretty well.

“Might have a point.” Sam comments casually.

“He'd do it for me.” Steve says back.

“1945, maybe.” Sam says and you roll your eyes and try to be a little more sensitive than Sam.

“I just want to make sure we consider all our options.” you gently say, but Sam cuts in.

“Yeah, the people that shoot at you usually wind up shooting at us.” He says and can’t really fight him on that, he’s not wrong.

Sharon appears next to Steve and starts talking quietly without looking at any of us.

“Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter soldier goes to their gym. Most of it is noise. Except for this.” She slides Steve a file. “My boss expects a briefing, pretty much now, so that's all the head start you're gonna get.”

“Thank you.” Steve says as he takes the file.

“And you're gonna have to hurry. We have orders to shoot on sight.” she says and leaves as the three of you exchange a worried glance. Without wasting any time, you make your way out of the coffee shop and to the airport, destination: Bucharest.

-

You get to the right address and go separate ways. Sam gets to the roof of the building that Steve enters to look for Barnes and you go to the roof of the other building, where you have an eye on both Sam and, thanks to the scope on your rifle, you can see Steve even through the covered windows.

You see Steve enter the small apartment and look around, then he goes to the kitchen and picks up what looks like a notebook and opens it. Then you hear Sam’s voice through the comms.

“Heads up, Cap. German Special Forces approaching from the south.” You notice movement behind Steve as Sam talks.

“Understood.” Steve says as you see Barnes has entered the apartment.

“Steve, turn around.” You tell him through the comms and he slowly does.

“Do you know me?” You can hear Steve ask, but can’t hear Bucky’s response because he's talking too quietly.

“They've set the perimeter.” Sam says, but you’re still focused on Bucky inside the building.

“I know you're nervous. And you have plenty of reason to be.” You hear Steve say, “But you're lying.” You can see Bucky’s lips moving, but at this angle you can’t really read his lips.

“They're entering the building.” Sam says and you finally take your attention away from the apartment and look around the building as you hear Steve talk.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive.”

“Sam, they’re on the roof.” You say through the comms.

“She’s right, I'm compromised.” He says.

“This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck.” Steve says.

“5 seconds.” Sam says in your ear.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Steve keeps trying to get through to Bucky.

“3 seconds!” You say as you see them about to breach the apartment.

“Yes, you do!” Steve almost yells before you hear Sam yelling in your ear.

“Breach! Breach! Breach!” you see a grenade crash through the window. Bucky kicks it to Steve, and he smothers it with his shield.

You see Bucky shielding himself with the mattress against an attack from the window, then he blocks the door with a table as cops swing in on cables. Steve pulls the rug from under a policeman, sending him flying. Bucky slams another policeman into the wall.

“Buck, stop! You're gonna kill someone.” you hear Steve say before Bucky slams him down and punches a hole in the floor right next to his face.

You faintly hear him say, “I'm not gonna kill anyone.” Before he pulls something out the floor, throws it out the building and it lands near you.

You’re about to go see what’s in it but are distracted by Bucky and Steve hiding behind the shield together before Bucky shoves Steve into a cop and you have to stop yourself from laughing. 

Bucky holds up his metal hand and repels bullets, then slams a cop into some shelves. He picks up a large cement brick and slams it into a cop and you can see Steve fighting another cop on the balcony.

You see Bucky punch through the wall beside the door. He steps into the hallway and you lose sight of him, a second later Steve steps into the hallway and you lose him too.

“You have a visual, Sam?” You ask through the comms and he answers with a simple ‘No’.

You hear Steve say “Come on, man.” and hear his grunting as he fights.

After a minute you hear Steve say “Y/N, he’s coming your way.” and you frown.

“What do you mean he’s-” Before you can answer you can see Bucky jumping out a balcony and you let out a quiet “Holy shit.” that makes Steve groan and Sam snicker.

Bucky lands not too far away from you and, before he can get to his backpack, you put yourself in front of him so he can’t get to it.

“Hello, soldier.” you say in a teasing and vaguely flirting tone, but he simply looks at you for half a second before throwing a punch that you avoid and quickly say “Not a talker. Got it.” Before throwing a punch of your own that he easily stops, holding your arm as he sweeps your legs and in a second you’re on the ground.

Bucky picks up his backpack and runs, but a big man all dressed in black, a full face mask with pointed ears, slams into him and knocks him down. He extends his fingers and sharp claws pop out and he attacks Bucky with sweeping kicks and slashes.

Bucky fights back but is kicked into a wall, the figure swipes his claws and spins gracefully. Bucky narrowly avoids being slashed, holding up a metal bar to protect himself.

You get up and get closer to them to try and help Bucky. You kick the man off of him and protect Bucky by standing in front of him in a fighting stance.

“Bad kitty.” you tell him and can hear Steve and Sam simultaneously say “Seriously, Y/N?”

“Sam, southwest rooftop.” you hear Steve say as the cat man lunges at you. 

“Who the hell's the other guy?” Sam asks.

“About to find out.” Steve answers while you try your best to not get killed by the overgrown cat you’re fighting at the moment. The man manages to slam you into a wall and lunges at Bucky with his claws, but Bucky grabs his wrists.

You’re about to help but a soldier fires a machine gun from a chopper, the ammo bounces off the man’s armored suit who’s now on top of Bucky, but you’re forced to hide to avoid the bullets.

You hear Steve call for Sam’s help and Sam answers with a “Got him.” before he flies down and shoves the chopper off course, then swoops towards street level.

Bucky breaks free from his attacker, slings his bag on his back, runs and jumps down a level, and the other man slides down the wall using his claws for traction. Bucky lands at street level and the chase continues. Steve follows and lands rolling along the ground. 

You watch them from the edge of the roof and sigh. “Okay, I can’t do that.” You look up in search of Sam. “Sam, I need a ride.”

“I got you.” He says as he swoops down and picks you up, taking flight again to follow the others while you hang on to him for dear life.

Gunfire from the chopper tears up the sidewalk, Bucky jumps down through an opening, lands in an underpass and he runs through the traffic. Cat Suit and Steve drop down and chase after Bucky as a Special Forces Vehicle pursues all of them.

You see Steve leap onto the vehicle and splinter the windshield and, when the driver stops, Steve yanks him from the vehicle and kicks the windshield out, then drives off.

Bucky runs over the top of a speeding car, outpacing it and Cat Suit is a few cars behind, keeping pace with him. Then he leaps on the back of the 4x4 that Steve's driving and Steve swerves from side to side, trying to throw him off.

“Sam, I can't shake this guy.” He says into the comms.

“We’re right behind you.” Sam says as you fly behind him.

Several police cars join the chase and you see Steve side-swipe another car and drive on.

Bucky leaps over a barrier and Steve drives through it, then you can see Bucky grab the handlebar of an incoming motorcycle and spin the bike around in mid air, throwing the rider off as he gets on the bike himself, riding away and sending cars careering out of the way. 

Steve keeps on Bucky's tail with Cat Suit holding onto the back of his car. They all rocket through another underpass and Sam flies into the underpass. 

Cat Suit leaps off the front of Steve’s car onto Bucky's motorbike and Bucky flings him over his head and the bike leans down on its side. Bucky kicks his assailant away, straightens up and rides on.

Cat Suit catches a ride on one of Sam’s legs and Sam tries to kick him away. Bucky throws a sticky bomb and blows up the roof at the end of the underpass, bringing down tons of rubble. 

Sam tells you to hang on and you can feel his grip tighten on you as he stops and throws the Cat Suit man into the rubble. He throws Bucky off the motorcycle as Steve swerves the car through the rubble and leaps out, running as Bucky and the Cat roll on the ground.

When they stop the Cat is on Bucky right away but Steve jumps on him and pulls him off Bucky.

Steve stands up, facing the sleek and muscular overgrown black cat as the police arrive and surround you all, guns aimed. War Machine leaps down from above and raises both his suit hands, guns drawn.

“Stand down, now.” Rhodey says, aiming at Bucky and Steve who are standing side by side and at the Cat Suit Guy. Steve puts his shield on his back again as Rhodey continues. “Congratulations, Cap. You're a criminal.” 

Police move in and force Bucky to his knees. The Cat raises his hands as a cop moves Steve's arms behind his back and you and Sam are also handcuffed and brought closer to the others by two police men. The cat retracts his claws and pulls off his mask revealing his face and you’re all shocked to see it’s King T'Challa. 

“Your highness.” Rhodey says as Bucky's hauled flat on the ground and getting handcuffed.

-

You all get arrested, forced to change out of our suits and gears and taken to Berlin. Bucky is restrained inside a glass-walled pod surrounded by armed guards.

In an SUV sits T’Challa on front, then you, then Steve and last Sam. You’re quietly going through traffic until Sam very respectfully breaks the silence. “So, you like cats?”

“Sam.” Steve warns him while you snort in amusement, looking out the window to avoid what you’re sure will be a disappointed glare from Steve. 

“What?” Sam continues. “Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don't wanna know more?”

“Your suit…” Steve ignores Sam and addresses T’Challa. “Is it Vibranium?”

“The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle, passed from warrior to warrior.” T’Challa finally speaks up. “And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king.” Oh, no. “So, I ask you... as both warrior and king... how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

The silence that follows is deafening, as none of you know or want to give an answer to that, and you’re sure T’Challa doesn’t expect one.

“Sorry about King T’Chaka…” You say quietly after a moment.

“Don’t worry, miss Y/LN. He will be vindicated.” He answers back without missing a beat.

You look back at Steve and Sam and they both look as worried as you feel.

This is not going to end well, is it?

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham

[shadesofmauve]

It all fits: The asari as conservative capitalists

[Thanks to @swaps55, @comeoniwantacoolname, @shadoedseptmbr, and everyone else who contributed to this wild red-string-connecting ride. Don't know all the tumblr names]

The asari: galactic influencers known for elegance and diplomacy. The only full natural biotics, powerful, graceful, and attractive to everyone they meet. The species at the pinnacle of advanced biotic technology.

And holders of immense wealth, acquired over 1,000-year life spans spent playing capitalist chess with galactic society.

Yes, the asari are the most technologically advanced race in the galaxy, but they're not innovators. They're ahead because protheans masquerading as gods gave them hot civilization tips that equated to a millennia-long head-start. They're ahead of the rest, but they move slowly. Within a few centuries — well within the life-time of most asari living today — they'll lose that technological advantage. From asari board rooms to Thessian political think-tanks, this is seen as a looming disaster.

Thankfully for the asari, long life-spans also mean the opportunity to amass huge amounts of wealth. You don't need to be an innovator if you can hire the best minds in the galaxy and lock them under a brutal non-compete contract. Buy out the competition entirely if you can; if that won't work, steal their secrets. You know how the council prohibited genetic modification and AI research because of 'ethics' and 'galactic safety'? Those laws also just happened to effectively quash scientific study in two areas where the asari were already starting to lag behind.

Ever wonder why the volus,creators of the whole financial system, don't have a seat on the council!? Who would want to keep the people who understand financial systems away from power, if not the people who are successfully gaming that system?

The asari reputation as master negotiators is chalked up to experience, skill, and empathy, but the unspoken threat is their ability to stop any negotiation dead in it's tracks. They are the masters of stalling, stonewalling, and passive blockades. Other species might filibuster. An asari can walk away from the table and wait for you to die.

It may look like galactic civilization is a multi-species effort gracefully guided by wise elder asari. It's actually a bunch of shorter-lived species being held over a barrel by sexy blue Mitch McConnell.

Sure, their kids go out and dance at bars or get involved in mercenary groups. That's fine: other species tend to underestimate you when all they see is your trust-fund kids tearing it up on their decades-long spring break. And it's not that risky. Mamma can always buy junior's way into the best armor (or out of jail).

A vastly-longer life lends itself to even more unethical behavior, though. Y'know that super popular dating site? Did you know if you dig through the front companies it's asari-owned? Did you realize when you submitted your genetic profile to 'help find your perfect match using proprietary technology' you also signed away rights to your own genome? No, of course you didn't — the fine-print is forty-six pages long! Forty-six pages is nothing to an attorney with a thousand-year life span! And they REFUSE to share their matching algorithm. Why?! Because they're BREEDING US. They can choose the traits they want using your own genetic code, and only match you with mates likely to pass them on! It's not a service, it's eugenics via tindr. It doesn't matter if doing that via dating app is wildly inefficient; when you have 1,000 years inefficiency doesn't matter!

WAKE UP!!!!

[bleachification]

⸻ CHAPTER FIVE; ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

pairing: dazai x f!reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of depression

chapter list: this is CHAPTER FIVE of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the chapters below (in order) before this one or you will be very lost!!

prologue

one

two

three

four

word count: 3.5k

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

Back in your homeland, at the Imperial Palace, the largest constructed facilities are ones of sport and training. Sharpened swords and polished armour take the place of bookshelves on bedroom walls, and the practice of scripture is seldom found. Higher education, though no less important than warfare, is strictly limited to scriveners, court officials, and the professional erudites of your father’s choosing. In the face of current conflicts, most of your father’s people are far more absorbed in military affairs and bureaucracy than arithmetics, the sciences and the humanities.

Although, when it came to you, it was like a switch went off and all those sentiments were turned upside down. 

By a certain age, your tutelage switched from scholarly knowledge to that of etiquette and what he referred to as ‘womanly affairs’. Those usually consisted of things like sewing, music, and art classes. The only one you ever enjoyed was the horseback lessons. 

But thankfully, your father’s one track mind meant you were never discovered for—or suspected of—possessing further-education books and studying politics, diplomacy, and military tactics on the days general schooling lessons were cancelled. It is why you find yourself in the royal library, hours before you are due to meet Dazai for dinner. 

Hundreds, if not thousands, of marble shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling. Each one is stacked, end-to-end, with leather bound tomes and tea-stained manuscripts. There is a fireplace in the right corner, carved from blackened stone and crackling with warmth. Around it sits a pair of dark-green, thickly-cushioned armchairs, along with a matching sofa that is wide enough to fit at least four people. 

You walk further in and are greeted with four arched windows spanning the length and height of the space, each one clear as the summer sea. You squint, momentarily blinded by a sudden passing ray of sunlight. Birds are chirping underneath the morning sky, and branches of a looming willow tree sway in front of the left-most window. You take in the sprawling garden view; a labyrinthine maze of hedges take up the centre, and a large assortment of decorations speckle the grounds. Smaller fountains, rainbow flower beds, and iron-wrought benches are only a few of what you can see. 

You look around a bit more, noting the study tables anchored to the floor and the winding staircase that leads to the open-plan second floor. The library is well-kept, as shown by the pots holding blooming flowers along the window sills, but the dust lining the shelves indicates that no one has used the archives in a long time. You wonder why—it is the first and only comforting place that you have found in the cold, lonely palace. 

You make your way down the stacks before a section catches your eye.

A Comprehensive Guide on Abilities and a Meta Analysis on their Structural Archetypes; 

The Scholar’s Circle’s Codex on Yokohama’s Political Affairs;

North vs. South: A Dynastic Tale of Continental History. 

You grab all three and almost lose your balance from the weight of each text. More and more books are added to the pile in your arms until you can no longer see straight ahead. 

With a huff, you drop the mountain of pending research onto an oak-stained study table and quickly get to work. 

Hours pass, the concept of time long faded as you lose yourself in the world of preternatural powers, warring states, and the cluttered institutions that make up the Kingdom in its most present form. 

The striking differences between Yokohama and the Northern Empire are more vast than you had ever imagined. It's a stark contrast—governance, industry, arts, religion and everything else you've come across so far. Not a single commonality to be found.

“How has…? But wouldn’t the roots originate from the dark ages? Let’s see…” you mumble, talking to no one in particular. 

“Have you found a specially interesting read?” A particular person asks. 

You fall out of your seat in surprise. 

“General!” You squeak, reeling from his sudden appearance. 

The mild-mannered Fukuzawa gives you a gentle smile and moves to help you up. He hooks two large arms under your own and lifts you back onto your chair. The scene reminds you of a mother cat picking its kitten up by the scruff of its neck.

You drop your head onto the table in embarrassment, refusing to make eye contact until, hopefully, a meteor comes falling onto earth and crushes you to death. 

“Good morning, General,” you mutter. 

“Hmm.”

You peek up at him with one eye. “What?”

“It is five in the evening,” he replies, bemused. 

“What?!” You bolt up, shame long forgotten. 

It takes you a second to realize how orange the library is, cast in the hues from the setting sun. 

You drag a hand over your face, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes. “Shit, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Fukuzawa raises a brow. 

“What? You’ve never heard a noble cuss before?” 

He taps his chin. “I can’t say I have. You truly are a breath of fresh air, Your Highness.”

You grin. “As are you, General. And please…”

He listens, head tilting in curiosity. 

“It is [name]. We are friends, are we not?” Your false sincerity coats your words like a second skin.  

The sun dips far below the horizon, robbing the world of its light. You take in the storm clouds in the distance, absentmindedly wondering if the Empire would experience the same downpour later in the night. 

Fukuzawa ponders your question for a moment longer before answering. “We are, but I am also your subordinate, so I am afraid I must decline.”

“And if it is an order?”

Fukuzawa’s eyes sparkle. “Then I am under aristocratic obligation to comply.”

In a tone laced with authority and bemusement, you proclaim: “I, acting Monarch of Yokohama, hereby order General Yukichi Fukuzawa to act beyond propriety and address me by given name only. No titles, no fancy designations. Just [name].” 

“As long as you are willing to grant me that same honor, [name].”

You grin. “See? Isn’t that so much better, Yukichi?”

The General only laughs and turns to take a seat across from you. The armour he dons makes a clanging noise as he settles himself. Patches of dirt litter the surface of the metal while other areas sport minor indents—likely from the force of a blade's flat or hilt. 

“Did that hurt?” You nod towards the largest dip in the steel. 

He looks down at his left side, around the area between his upper ribs. “Couldn’t even feel it.”

“Of course not,” you wave, returning your attention back to the pages. 

“I see you are interested in…” Fukuzawa leans over the table, peering at the emboldened titles of each tome. “Yokohama politics, history, and culture?”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say,” you muse. “And a bright mind is far mightier than those stumbling blind in the darkness of their own ignorance.”

“I do wish more members of the court shared that sentiment. It would certainly make my migraines less frequent.” 

You faintly recall the term from a book you finished earlier. “The… inner court?”

“The very same. A parliamentary round table of aristocrats and representatives, headed by the Four Noble Houses.”

“The Four Noble Houses? You mean…” You cringe, an unpleasant memory resurfacing. 

Fukuzawa’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Ah, yes. I recall a certain purple-faced duke drenched in the colours of His Majesty’s most favoured cabernet sauvignon.”

You smile sheepishly. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Formally? Yes.”

You groan and drop your head in your hands.

Fukuzawa lays a palm on your shoulder and gives you a gentle pat. 

“But reasonably? Absolutely not. He deserved ten times worse than what he got.”

“Someone needed to stand up to him,” you point out. 

“Sadly, there are not many people who can.”

You sigh at that and go back to your research. The moment you set your eyes back on the book, the pages in front of you begin to blur and mesh into a whirlpool of ink. 

“Maybe it is time for a break…” you murmur. 

Fukuzawa leans forward and studies your fatigued expression. 

“What have you learned so far?”

You snort. “You mean other than our sordid history? The decades of hatred and conflict brewing between our countries?”

“Ah, yes. Besides that fun little facet of our politics.”

You run through the miles of information you had just absorbed, each little bit coming together piece by piece to paint a very clear picture of the modern world—one where mystic abilities, gods of old, and monsters coexist in disharmony. 

‘Abilities’ as you have come to know them, are practically non-existent among the lower caste in the Northern Empire. The only ones who wield them are of noble blood, aside from the rare few commoners—unfortunate individuals who would be executed for merely holding power outside of their status. Even then, barely anyone manifests one. In recent years, the only ability-user you know of is Chuuya.  

In Yokohama, these powers are respected, admired, and much more plentiful. In your textual observations, it is noted that the military and governing leaders are chosen for their abilities. 

“Hm… what is yours?”

 You are curious. What sort of fate-bending, death-defying power could this seasoned warrior have?

“Mine?”

“Your ability. You must have one, being the head of such an elite corps.”

“My ability…” he pauses. 

You raised a teasing brow. “What? You’re not going to tell me?”

“Just considering the risks of doing so. You have proven yourself to be both smart and deceitful. A deadly combination.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” You place a hand on your chest in mock offence, scoffing in indignation. 

Fukuzawa laughs—that familiar smooth rumble that you have come to find placating. “Would I be wise to?”

“Of course not.” You wave a dismissive hand. “But you should tell me anyway because I am curious and stubborn and will likely find out on my own regardless.”

The general’s gaze is filled with a kind of warmth that is unknown to you, only interrupted by a flicker of a melancholy that twists his expression momentarily." It happens so fast you almost mistake it for a trick of the light.

“You remind me so much of her…” He mumbles under his breath so softly you pass it off as a whisper of the wind. “Very well. I will tell you.”

The sun has all but disappeared from the horizon, the shimmering moon slipping in its place. The dark, glittering night falls onto Fukuzawa’s features beautifully, making  him seem a little more weathered and a little less mundane as he explains his decidedly non-mundane powers. 

“It allows me to control my soldiers’ own abilities. I am able to manipulate their capabilities, help navigate their potential, and expand the boundaries of what they can do. That is my ability,” he explains. 

You mull over Fukuzawa’s words, a bit surprised at the nature of it all. The powerfully built military veteran looks at you like he knows what you are thinking—knows that you are confused on why someone with his battle prowess has such a passive skill. 

“You forget, Your Highness, that before I am a warrior, I am first and foremost a leader. Without my men, I am nothing, and without me, many of those men would not have survived until now,” he states. He says it like a fact, and perhaps in some ways, it is. It makes more sense the longer you think on it, his ability is almost perfectly suited to his position. You wonder what yours would be if you manifested one. What about Dazai? Would his ability reflect bloodthirst and coldness? Or would it be the opposite of what you know him as?

You make a mental note to come back to that question later, and direct your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“[Name],” you correct.

Fukuzawa blinks. “Sorry?”

“You called me ‘Your Highness’ just now.”

“I apologize. Force of habit,” he drops his head in a slight bow and the moonlight streaming through the open windows reflects off his gray hair, transforming it into a silver mane. 

Fukuzawa apologizes to you a lot, like a father fumbling for words in front of his newborn, careful not to be anything but kind. If anything, you find it endearing. As well as a little… disappointing. 

“General.”

Fukuzawa’s smile drops at your change in tone. The worry in his eyes is clear. “Is something wrong?”

You give him a small smile, a tad tense. “No. Not really. Though, I would like to ask you something. Would you humour me?”

“Of course. I will answer anything within reason,” he reassures. 

You rest your cheek against your palm, curiosity and wariness burning bright. 

“Why are you so kind to me? I know how this country views the Empire—views me. I am not blind to the scornful glances nor hidden insults thrown around. I am numb to them. But you… Kunikida… that peculiar doctor as well, you are all much too cordial with a sworn enemy. Is it pity? Some misplaced sense of duty? Or perhaps it is all fake and you are all laughing behind my back as we speak.”

Silence spreads through the empty library, the only noises are the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle swishes of the willow branch behind you. The only thing you hear is your pulse thrumming against your skull.

If Fukuzawa is taken aback by your bluntness, he does not show it. Despite only knowing you for this short period of time, he is probably already used to your brusque manner of speech. He folds his hands in front of him and leans backward, taking some time to come up with a suitable answer. You can practically see the gears turning in that head of his. 

A few moments pass before he finally speaks in a serious, yet gentle, voice.

“Do you think yourself undeserving of our respect?”

You shake your head and answer: “Not at all. I am only surprised you would willingly impart it to me.”

“I cannot speak on Sir Kunikida or Dr. Yosano’s behalf—although, I imagine they share the same thoughts—but I am kind to you because it is common sense. I am kind to you because I am honoured to serve under your reign,” Fukuzawa assures. His expression softens. “I am truly sorry about the harassment you have had to endure. I will do my best to keep them in check, but if it happens again, do not be afraid to use your status. You are their ruler. Do not let them forget it.”

A lump forms in your throat and you force yourself to swallow it down. The support eases your heart, but the anxiety does not fully disappear, nor does the cold tingle of resentment in your chest. They probably never will. For now, you will accept his words, but with caution, as you are still very much in enemy territory. You will need to lead with your mind to survive, not your heart.  

And Fukuzawa? The gentle general is merely a stepping stone, not a friend. 

“I… am grateful. Tha—”

“General Fukuzawa!” In a very familiar fashion, the doors to the library burst open to reveal a man, effectively cutting you off. 

Kunikida stands beneath the frame, face alarmingly red and breaths coming out in short, laboured puffs. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Fukuzawa grimacing. 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?.” The minister spits out each word with barely contained anger—more accusation than actual question. 

“Chief Minister.” Fukuzawa bows and slowly inches himself towards the door, closer and closer to the fuming blonde. “I see you are… upset.”

Kunikida’s eye twitches. “Upset? Upset?!” His voice hits an impressive octave and you briefly wonder if he’s ever considered a career in opera. He certainly has the knack for it. 

“I—” 

“The outdoor arena is on fire.”

The general clears his throat. 

“Right. I did tell them not to try out those new techniques without me around, though His Majesty’s soldiers were never ones to adhere to the rules.”

“A black hole opened up in the ceiling and swallowed three stable boys. They were… fully nude when they fell out an hour later.”

Fukuzawa blinks. 

“That’s… new.”

“You have five seconds,” Kunikida says flatly. 

���Well. Duty calls. I shall have to put out some fires… er… literally.” Fukuzawa makes his way to the open doors and is about to leave when he adds: “Have a wonderful  night, [name].”

“Good luck,” you laugh. 

He gives you a small wave before disappearing down the hall. 

You turn your attention to Kunikida who is now slightly less red, though still glowing a nice shade of pink. 

“Good evening, Chief Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask. 

“I am here to bring you to dinner service. Perhaps you have forgotten? You seem to be engrossed in our literary offerings,” he answers plainly. 

Kunikida stays standing, but has walked further into the room, hands clasped behind him as he studies the books you chose with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I enjoy reading. Is that such a crime?”

“I am only surprised you were able to find this place. After His Majesty banned entry, most just ignore it as they pass by.”

You cock your head to the right. “I was curious about that. Why? It is a beautiful library—a sunlit treasure trove of knowledge. I would imagine most people would be clawing at the doors for just a glance, yet it is as barren and untravelled as the deserts in the West,” you muse.

 Your curiosity is only a mild interest until Kunikida’s gaze sharply turns away from yours, blatantly avoiding your poking and prodding. His averted eyes cause what little inquisitiveness you had just felt to balloon into a wave of eager investigation. 

“Kunikida.”

He adjusts his glasses and nervously glances at his timepiece. “We are going to be late if—”

“Kunikida.”

He sighs, relenting. 

“If nobody uses this place, why is it so well kept? There are no dirt patches or cobwebs, but the dust between pages suggests that no one has opened them for many years. ”

“If I were to make an educated guess…” Kunikida stops for a moment to think. “I would wager that His Majesty misses what it used to be, and is only trying to preserve the last of that magic. Though the memories here are much too vivid and much too painful for him to come back to.”

What it used to be… 

A flicker of something… a fleeting feeling… No. A memory. At the very back of your mind—

“But I do not think he will continue to do so.”

It vanishes, and you fall back to reality, grasping at nothing and nowhere. 

You shake yourself out of your daze, a bit peeved at the interruption, but curious all the same. 

“Do what? Preserve this place? You believe he will let it just… crumble to ruins?”

Kunikida takes a seat and folds his gloved hands together. The lines on his forehead appear as he tenses, preparing his next words with careful precision. He works his jaw, tension releasing and forming with each movement, as if he is warring internally, fighting to either let the words out or keep it in. 

You hope he chooses the former. The more information, the better. 

His expression settles and a stern look replaces his calm visage. Whatever he has to say must be serious.

You catch yourself tapping the side of your thigh anxiously under the table and clamp your fingers down on your leg… hard. Your father did always say that a royal must be poised and perfect, and he made it extremely clear that such emotions were to be erased and forgotten. 

And if they weren’t… 

A chill runs down your spine at the memories.

“I am well aware that you are, and pardon my candor, untrustworthy.”

You almost snort. Not the first time you’ve heard that and it certainly won’t be the last.

Kunikida continues. “But I believe it is only right to tell you as His Majesty’s spouse. King Dazai is… he is…” Kunikida pauses as he fumbles for the right word. 

A clock ticks. Kunikida settles on a phrase. 

“Unwell. A disease of the mind and heart that has stolen his will. He is here only to serve a purpose and that purpose is not to live out the rest of his life. He exists, but for years now he has not been… here. Almost as if one wrong move and the line His Majesty balances upon disappears and takes him with it.”

Time slows. The air thickens. Are you breathing?

“Slowly but surely, he is fading away,” Kunikida pauses and swallows as he tries to work out his next words. 

“Some days I believe he is better. Most days I do not allow myself to indulge in such a lie.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @letsliveagaintoday @bejeweledgirl @nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf