#unsealed memories fic

[vulpisnocturna]

Hello darling ☺️ I have this question imagine if there is no Uchiha massacre and Reiko was raised among her parents and brother how her life would be and if her and itachi will still be together and is their chemistry will be the same or will be something different also what about izumi I know it's a bit long but I love your writing and I couldn't help imagine but having questions if Reiko was raised in a different way lots of love 💖

Hi lovely, thank you so much <3 It's such an interesting ask, I honestly think it could make a story, but I will try to list a few changes. And there's A LOT. So bear with me as I sort through my thoughts (and fail miserably).

Itachi and Reiko would go to the Academy together. Minato, as the Hokage, would push for the minimum graduation age to be ten years old, because children younger than that should not be sent to fight (this is a Third Hokage diss account and I do not care). Itachi gets to have a childhood, and even though he is too good for the Academy, he hangs out with Shisui after school and Izumi and Reiko at the Academy.

He sees Reiko quite often, because Mikoto and Kushina are best friends. He thinks she's very loud and enthusiastic, and he would like to be friends with her, but he's too shy to ask her and she's a bit too hotheaded. He's scared she'll tease him. She wonders why he's always staring at her with a blank expression and thinks he's a know-it-all nerd who thinks she's weak or stupid. She chooses him as her rival because why not, Uchiha and Uzumaki do be like that

She'd be a lot stronger. Minato and Kushina training her means she gets to hone her techniques early in life. Despite that, she's bored at the Academy and gets distracted easily, so the theory isn't her forte. She gets scolded often for being fidgety, not listening, forgetting her homework. Itachi offers to help her, but she's too stubborn to accept. Itachi, the poor soul, is hurt :(

They graduate together at ten and get put in the same team. She thinks he's a show off and regularly challenges him to fights (he wins, because he's Uchiha mf Itachi, but she puts up a good fight)

The village doesn't treat her and Naruto very nicely behind Minato’s back, due to their jinchuriki status (Minato and Kushina managed to survive the night of the Kyuubi attack and she sealed the Kyuubi with her fuinjutsu), and Itachi sees it and feels very strongly about the unfairness of it. He tries to talk to her about it, and Reiko is very surprised he would even notice

Itachi likes how protective she is of her little brother, it reminds him of himself. Naruto and Reiko have a great relationship, they're the village clowns basically, always pranking their parents and training together.

Their teammate ends up getting killed by Obito and Itachi awakens his sharingan

Itachi and Reiko tend to have a bumpy relationship, they are best friends but they bicker quite a lot. She's very competitive, but also they can just sit and talk for hours

Itachi joins the ANBU when he's fifteen, and they see each other less and less. Izumi also joins the ANBU, and they get together. When Izumi ends up dying on a mission when they're 18, Itachi awakens the Mangekyo. He's crushed and ends up spiralling into depression. He leaves the ANBU.

Reiko gets paired with him one day on a mission, and she sees how much different he's become. She tries to stay close to him, not wanting him to be alone or fall into hatred and depression

He's grateful for her presence, but he can't get himself to get closer to someone else, he's terrified of losing anyone else

But Reiko has a way of being stubborn and she keeps checking up on him, trying to lift his mood and be there for him

She starts to have feelings for him, but she keeps them to herself, scared of being rejected or that he might distance himself and then he'd end up falling back into his depression

In the end, Itachi can't help falling for her, and although he's terrified, he knows she's strong and he vows he will protect her with his life

That's all that comes to mind at the moment, don't hesitate to drop asks! :))

[girlgrouptrash101]

Yunjin (Lesserafim) - New York, New York

Request: "Glad to see that you’re back! May I request a fluffy yunjin fic where they explore New York together? It could be in yunjin’s home city or New York City!! Everything else is up to you, I’ll appreciate anything honestly ahhaha ty" Word Count: 1,531 Warnings: N/A A/N: a christmas fic after christmas? how dare i...

- C

It had been a long time since you had travelled outside of Korea, all thanks to work, those pesky bills that needed paying every month, and all those other fun responsibilities of daily life. Adulthood was simply keeping you so occupied that the thoughts of vacationing abroad had not crossed your mind in a very long time. With Christmas soon approaching, you were just looking forward to some downtime with your girlfriend, Yunjin, and perhaps a glass of wine or two.

Surely nothing could be better than that, right?

Or so you thought.

It was a cold evening outside, your breath lingering in front of you as you made your way to your apartment block. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you moved along the sidewalk, deep in concentration to avoid stepping on any slippery patches that would have you falling over. Once you finally made it inside the lobby doors, you made a beeline for the elevator that would quickly whisk you up to your apartment door and into the warm embrace of your beloved girlfriend, Yunjin.

The red-headed girl in question was waiting nervously in your apartment, side-eying the red envelope she had left sitting on the kitchen counter earlier. It was your guys’ second Christmas together, and the first where you both were able to get time off, and she wanted to make it special. However, knowing you were looking forward to a quiet Christmas at home, she was worried the gift wouldn’t go down well.

Yunjin’s thoughts were cut short when she heard your key in the door, her smile reaching her eyes as she saw you. She opened her arms wide for you to fall into, her arms rubbing up and down the back of your long winter coat as she tried her best to warm you up. After greeting each other and catching up on all the happenings of the day, Yunjin finally moved to hand you the red envelope. Before she let it go completely, she let all of her worries spill from her lips.

“Listen, baby, I don’t know if you’ll like the gift, and that’s totally okay! Just let me know and we can return everything, I just thought it would be a nice idea, but seriously if you don’t want to-“

“Jen.” You said shortly, cutting off her rambling. You didn’t need to say anymore as your eyes conveyed the rest of the ‘girl, I didn’t even open it yet’ message that you were relaying to her. With a smile playing on your lips, you carefully unsealed the envelope.

Your eyes widened as plane tickets fell out. Not just any plane tickets either, plane tickets to Yunjin’s hometown, New York. Before you could even thank her, your girlfriend began to mumble again.

“Again, baby, if you would prefer to just spend the holidays here-“

Anything else she had to say quickly escaped her mind as you kissed her. You were over the moon with the gift, excited to spend Christmas differently this year.

“Jen, darling, I love it. I am so excited, I already can’t wait to go!” You exclaimed, your arms looping around her neck as she held your waist tightly.

“Well that’s great news, considering our flight leaves tomorrow…” She replied, a sheepish look on her face as your eyes widened.

“Tomorrow! Jen I haven’t even done any laundry this week! Oh my god…”

And with that, you quickly ran to your room to get your things together, your girlfriend following behind you with a smile on her face, looking forward to all the memories you were soon to make together.

You found it hard to believe that just a day or two before you were finishing up the last of your work in your office before the holidays, and now you were here in New York with the love of your life. With a coffee in one hand and Yunjin’s hand in the other, you couldn’t imagine a better way to spend your Christmas.

You were especially relieved to see that Yunjin hadn’t forgotten anything about New York despite how long she’d been living in Korea. She brought you to all her favourite places in New York city on the first two days of your trip which had been amazing, (apart from the rats, of course). The restaurants, endless flashing lights, shopping, galleries, and everything had been truly amazing. You couldn’t help but feel like a princess as Yunjin took you everywhere and anywhere that she thought you’d like, and of course, every time she was right. How lucky you were to have a tour guide who knew you like the back of your hand, huh?

As Christmas eve rolled around, Yunjin decided to move away from New York city and towards her hometown, which was completely different to the hustle and bustle of busy city life. The calmness of the suburbs was something you felt grateful for.

After arriving at Yunjin’s family home and being introduced to her relatives, your girlfriend decided to take you out on an evening walk to show you around where she had grown up. Standing at the end of her driveway, you waited for her to finish tying her winter boots before walking down to you.

“Better wrap your scarf up love, it’s going to be a chilly one.” Yunjin said as she made her way towards you, already reaching for the ends of your scarf herself as she spoke. After wrapping the material around your face and neck and satisfied you’d be nice and toasty on your evening walk, she gave you a quick peck on your already reddening nose before interlacing your fingers and leading the way.

“So firstly, this, of course, is the street I grew up on.” She said matter-of-factly, a smile on her face as she looked at the rows of houses around her. “My best friend, Leah, used to live in that house over there. And scary neighbour Larry used to live in that green one over there!” She rambled, the memories of her childhood racing back to her as she retraced the steps along the familiar street that she used to walk everyday all those years ago.

“Scary neighbour huh? What made him scary?” You asked, the smile never leaving your face as Yunjin animatedly recounted stories from her joyful childhood.

“I’m sure as kids we found him much scarier than he was, but he was the kinda guy to keep any toys or stuff that accidentally landed in his yard. We never got anything back from him, no matter how nicely we asked! Pretty rude if you ask me.” She said playfully, squeezing your hand as she pulled you closer to her.

After a trip round the neighbourhood that brought you past the schools Yunjin attended, the park she used to play in with her friends, her favourite local store with the nice lady who used to give her free candy, and so much more, you finally recognised the street as the one where Yunjin’s house was. Knowing your walk was coming to an end soon, you stopped her with a tug on her hand, the soft hand that hadn’t left yours go for a second since the day she met you.

“Jen, I just wanted to say thank you for doing this. Like, showing me around, looking after me, even just bringing me here in the first place. Just, for everything. Thank you.” You said honestly, feeling a little shy as you looked down at your snow-covered boots.

“Y/N, you don’t ever have to thank me for anything. It should be the other way around you know. What would I do without you and the endless patience you have for me and my stories, eh? You know you can tell me to shut up if you need to.” She said jokingly. You laughed with her for a moment before speaking up again.

“No, Jen, honestly… like, I have never felt this way about anyone before. Being here, learning even more about you, I could never get tired of it. I want to know everything about you, love. I just want to be a part of all this, be a part of you and your life.” You said, looking her in the eyes. Yunjin was taken aback by your sincerity, it was a side of you that didn’t show often.

“Hearing that means so much, Y/N. I want to know everything about you too, and go everywhere with you, and experience life with you. I haven’t felt like this about anyone else either, you know? You really are my person.” She replied, that soft smile reaching her eyes again. If there was one thing that could always make you weak in the knees it was that damn smile. Not being able to hold back anymore, your hand finally left hers to cup her cheek, pulling her in for a soft kiss.

There was no one else who could make you feel the way she did.

In that moment, there was no one in the world that could have convinced you that Huh Yunjin wasn’t made to be your soulmate.

[rilakeila]

when he follows orders to kill you, kind of...

bits and pieces not the entire fic and it was a request | pairing tyler galpin x reader | word count 477 | author's note it's supposed to be cheesy bc the original request asked for a 90s addams family morticia and gomez vibe but i did not give the entire fic bc it's terrible 💀

— REMEMBERING that the master controls the hyde, he was going to do anything laurel demanded him to do. you were not sure if he was able to disobey and control his own. halting in your movement with the proximity, tyler eyed you, wrapping his hands around your shoulders, which is when you realized that through his eyes, that he was trying to tell you something. squeezing your shoulders, until laurel barked at him to hurry. with the force he had, he ripped wednesday off your shoulders, causing her to lay on the ground, and he dragged you to laurel. too shocked and confused to not know what to say, you were kneeled in front of laurel with tyler’s grip now on the collar of your jacket. 

“good job, baby. aww.. you believed that he actually loved you. he used you, just like i asked him to,” laurel placed her hand on tyler’s cheek in a motherly way. 

“are you that self-loathing for you to wait that long to initiate this plan?” you questioned her. 

“patience is key. it’s all worth it, the pleasure of winning after the waiting game feels so good especially when we get rid all of you outcasts,” she chained your hands together, taking you out of tyler’s grip and dragging you to the sarcophagus. it felt as if everything went by so fast, trying to get your hand off to prevent unlatching the blood lock, but you couldn’t. all was done. she snapped again to tyler after hooking your chains to the wall, “dinner time, tyler, honey. you can get rid of both of them now.”

“tyler, no, stop her, please,” you winced, unsealing the blood lock took much out of you. you could not do anything, energy levels at zero. you felt like your body was going limp as you sat against the wall. watching tyler sinisterly walking towards you, you knew this was it. there was no way that you were going to survive what was about to happen. the zero amount of emotion shown on your boyfriend’s face secured the deal that you were going to be dead in any moment. he was about to be the ugliest monster out here. kneeling in front of you and hands on either side of your head, his face inching closer to yours. he was going to transform. for the first time in your life, perhaps a couple of times, you were absolutely terrified, close to shitting yourself. face turning to the side, eyes closed shut, you did not want your last memory of him to be the ugly monster. until you felt the softest pair of lips placed onto your own. stunned yet the familiarity was rather comforting.

“you really think i was going to kill you, my love?” 

uncompleted work — pt. 1

[chubbydumplingbarnes]

GUYSSSSSSSSS

Im looking for this one fic i stumbled upon on tumblr but like it was a link to AO3. PLS NOTE I DONT SHIP GOJO X YUJI BUT IF U ATTACK ME FOR THIS POST YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. NO HATE WILL BE TOLERATED. If u dont ship them but hate on ppl who do , take yourself on a walk cos no one cares. These are fictional characters that we watch for entertainment theres no need to be sensitive.

Anyway it WAS a gojo x yuji fic but i didnt know at the time that it was AND IT WAS THE BEST PIECE OF LITERATURE I'VE EVER LAID MY EYES ON.

I will think abt this fic till the day i die , it has taken a piece of my soul and will forever have it.

It started off with Gojo being unsealed and like before he was sealed him and Yuji was in a secret relationship but when Gojo was unsealed he lost his memories about everything that happened like 2 years prior or like from the time he met Yuji Anyway Yuji runs up to him and hugs him and Gojo like freezes and is like "are you one of the students??" , and Yuji is like absolutely devastated.

Then Yuji spends like the rest of the fic like doing all the things that he used to do for Gojo.

Apparently before he was sealed and when they were together Yuji used to bake his favorite flavored peach cake ( i think ) and now in the present Gojo is like "How did you know???".

But then Gojo decided to be an asshole and kiss Utahime for a reason that i forgot and yuji sees that cos for some reason Gojo called him and told him to meet him at the bridge where he kissed her .

Then like Gojo spends most of his time sleeping and at the end of the fic it was revealed that he slept so much because he used to "dream" abt Yuji but in reality it was just him getting flashbacks frm before he was sealed and their relationship.

He was like "sleep is the only way i got to experience having you" or smth like that. And at the end he got his memories back and all that uk the usual.

But god the way it was written i know for a fact god spent extra time on the author cos theres no damn way.

The fic itself thou was really long and took me like an hour to read through my tears.

Anyway PLEASE HELP ME FIND IT IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT FOR AGES

Oh by the way in this fic i think Gojo was like 2 years older then Yuji so it isnt like a weird age gap type shit.

Ive tried looking in my search history but still nada🙁🙁

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: and sings the tune without the words, ch. 10

Relationship: Jiāng Yànlí & Jīn Zǐxuān, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Yànlí & Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Jiāng Fēngmián & Lán Qǐrén, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén & Niè Míngjué

Characters: Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan, Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Lán Qǐrén, Jiāng Fēngmián, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Wēn Ruòhán, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Yú Zǐyuān, Nie Mingjue

Additional Tags: Epistolary, Food, Music, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death

Summary: Nie Mingjue reports to Lan Xichen about the continued discussion conference.

Notes: See end.

Previous fic in the series: “the thing with feathers”

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

AO3 link

———————

Xichen,

Jiang Yanli has been a bit busy and said you would appreciate an update. To be direct, it’s a mess.

Apparently the Jiang sect has taken in two women who have bastard children by Jin-zongzhu, and he decided to petition that they be handed over to him like so much chattel. A-Die told him that coming to a sect and demanding their women be given to him wasn’t unexpected from him even if it was more brazen than his usual infidelity and that, as well as Jiang Wuxian’s health, led to the discussion conference being recessed for a few days.

Yu-furen has been a force to behold, and Yao-zongzhu has already departed with a broken nose. She’s fiercely protective of her children, and anyone who dares blame Jiang Wuxian for Wen Ruohan’s demise regrets it shortly. One would think he was her child by blood.

Wen Qing’s testimony about Wen Ruohan’s activities was rather damning. Apparently there’s some Yin Iron artifact tainted by resentful energy that led to a big war generations ago and it was split into pieces and locked away in multiple locations. One of those was near her village, and in unsealing it he awakened a goddess statue that killed her parents and damaged the spiritual consciousness of her didi. He expected her to treat the effects of his use of resentful energy and often implied he would harm Wen Ning, who’s younger than A-Sang!

She started to detail some of his terrible experiments, and Lan Qiren insisted the content was not appropriate for children, which apparently includes me, and we were made to leave. When she returns to the family area following each day, she looks worn enough to be an adult, and yet she is only our age.

The discussion conference has shifted away from whether Jiang Wuxian is responsible for Wen-zongzhu’s death, which seems to be a relief for the Jiangs. From what I’ve heard, the consensus seems to be that he caused his own death through dabbling with demonic cultivation and hubris. We hear a little through the servants, who report to Jiang Yanli what they can.

The last few days, A-Sang and I have been cloistered with the Jiangs and your brother during the day. When you wrote me about the bond Jiang Wuxian has with your brother, I found it hard to believe, but seeing them together I can see why you’re certain they were destined to meet. The boy is bright, if often confused by his loss of memory, and has a weird way of drawing people in, almost eerie but not in a threatening way. When he first met me, he asked where my mustache was and then passed out, and remembered none of it when he woke. I’m given to understand something similar happened when he met A-Die. It must be somewhat terrifying to not know what of your memory you can trust, but he seems to try to think positively, which I suppose is really his only viable option.

Jiang Wanyin reminds me of Wangji in his biting stage, but with words, with a temper like his mother, very protective of his siblings. He’s frustrated with not being allowed to attend the discussion conference, but it comes out of worry for his brother. I’d not heard Jiang Wuxian had a meimei, but the child takes after him in certain mannerisms and clearly adores him, so I suppose she just hadn’t been publicly known of when their parents went missing. It’s their business, and not mine to pry into.

Jiang Yanli has a way of calming Jiang Wanyin and keeping the days on a certain pace and trying to keep everyone from climbing the walls. Wen Ning sometimes cries for his jiejie and needs consoling and distraction, and she provides the latter while her siblings provide the former. Even Jiang Lian will tug him over to play with toys when he’s getting upset. A-Sang has found a friend in Jiang Wuxian, who also enjoys painting, and that keeps him at least somewhat distracted. He also enjoys listening in on the Jiangs practicing their instruments, to the extent that I half-expect him to want to learn himself.

She seems to have taken over some of her niang’s duties for the duration of the discussion conference, including organizing the servants and attending to household matters, but with the added burden of recent events it is quite a lot. She has the help of a woman named Meng Shi, whose son Meng Yao is also cloistered, as well as a young lady named Mo Yun and her infant son. They’re the ones Jin Guangshan demanded, and it’s pretty clear why, but they’re understandably nervous about his demands.

Wangji is quite well, but very distracted by Jiang Wuxian, who had a fever while he was unconscious. I’m no longer surprised by their betrothal, given their closeness. He seems content to let Jiang Wuxian yammer on about whatever he’s thinking about at any given time (seriously the boy never stops talking), and he’s actually listening because he’ll occasionally respond. I’ve never heard him speak so much as he does to Jiang Wuxian.

It is difficult not to be bored. The furor about Jiang Wuxian has died down, thankfully, and we’re just waiting for the conference to end. It’d be one thing if there were tournaments, but it’s definitely not the typical discussion conference. They’ve got the family area locked down with regular patrols by senior disciples, even, after the attempt on Jiang Wuxian.

Not that I expected it to be the typical discussion conference with what’s happened, but I also didn’t think I wouldn’t be allowed to attend—not that I want to hear about Wen Ruohan’s resentful energy experiments any further than I have, as what has been trickling in to Jiang Yanli has been unsettling and there is much the servants won’t tell us. It’s already bad enough that we’re not relaying any of it to the younger ones, and poor Wen Qing’s exhaustion is understandable if she’s been forced to watch much of it. I gather Wen-zongzhu felt it constituted medical training for her to be present, so no wonder she grabbed at the opportunity for her entire family to flee from the Wen sect.

As much as the discussion conference started with accusations against Jiang Wuxian, I’m of the opinion that, had Wen Ruohan lived, a war would have been inevitable; either he would have gone mad from wielding resentful energy, or he would have sought more power, or perhaps both. That he was killed basically attacking the boy should have made it clear he caused his own demise, but some among the gentry need an even clearer indication he is a villain somehow—I’ve made note personally of those who would excuse an attack on an ill child, as I don’t think they should be trusted, and I will share them if you wish, but not on paper. I think your uncle will be largely concerned with the disposition of whatever artifact Wen Ruohan was using, which I’m sure some in the Wen sect would like to keep, if it is to be found.

I don’t know if I’ll still be in Lotus Cove for you to reply, but I’m stuck here until the discussion conference ends. I wish you were here but also you’re better off not being here. At least Meng Yao is a decent conversationalist, and Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing (when she’s available) are also good to talk with about cultivation, for all that they’re focusing on healing. I just wish I could do some training, but I suppose I’ll have to settle for meditating with Baxia instead.

Hopefully the rest of the conference goes quickly. Maybe after I can convince A-Die to visit Gusu somehow.

Mingjue

—————

Mingjue,

I very much appreciate your letter, as I’ve been nearly frantic for news; were it up to me, I would indeed be there with you all and glad for it—it’s so difficult to be so far away from my didi during such a fraught time.

I have seen Yu-furen in action, so I am not surprised you admire her, and I find her admirable as well. I find Jiang-zongzhu similarly so, his approach to his children and sect different from the Lan. I don’t know if I told you, but we stayed for quite some time when Jiang Wuxian was first injured, and our time there was an experience I learned much from, something you might also discover.

I’m glad you’re with the Jiangs instead of at the conference directly, if I’m at all honest, since I heard there was at least one attempt on Jiang Wuxian’s life and I fully expect Wangji would throw himself between him and any threat, an assessment with which I’m certain you will agree. The news that Jiang Wuxian is less of a focus now that something worse has been revealed about Wen Ruohan is welcome, but I also wonder how the Wen delegations are handling the news, whether they are still defending their late sect leader.

Honestly, even if it was borne of Jiang Wuxian’s confusion, you would look very mature with a mustache; I know it bothers you that disciples sometimes see you as a child, and that could potentially help?

Jiang Wuxian hides much of his frustration with his memory, but he has a very positive personality and bounces back quickly. He has had several terrifying nightmares, both at Lotus Cove and the Cloud Recesses, and I know he has worried that some of what he dreams is from memory, that his memories hide something terrible, but from what others have said he has always been positive since he first came to Lotus Cove, and surely he wouldn’t have been if his memories so tormented him.

I didn’t know what to make of the Jiang family dynamic when I first arrived at Lotus Cove, but I think your assessment of Jiang Wanyin is accurate, and you have clearly seen Jiang Yanli’s fortitude and determination. I’m glad she has been gathering information from servants, but it’s disturbing that there are things Wen Qing is testifying about that they find too terrible to relate—Shufu and the Jiangs certainly have their hands full!

Jiang Lian has a similar disposition to Jiang Wuxian and absolutely adores him. I’m sure you’ve found that she’s inquisitive and curious about nearly everything. She wants to learn the dizi, konghou, guqin, and xiao—basically every instrument she’s seen played. I understand she’s inherited Jiang Yanli’s practice konghou, so perhaps she’ll start with that.

Musical cultivation might be a viable option for Huaisang, if he does become that interested. It may not be the Nie cultivation style, but at least he’d be cultivating? I know it bothers you that he doesn’t cultivate at all. Jiang Yanli did not have the health for traditional cultivation, but she’s decided she can still work on other forms, like musical and medical. It may be worth consideration. I’m glad to hear that your didi and Jiang Wuxian get along—you might find that Huaisang is influenced positively by him as well. If nothing else, it would be nice to see this generation grow stronger together by building good ties.

I only met Meng Shi and her son fleetingly, as the Jiangs took them in while we were there, along with Mo-guniang and her son, and both were taken from unpleasant situations and given new lives by the Jiangs. I’m glad you’re speaking with Meng Yao—apparently he was never given proper books on cultivation, only incorrect manuals his mother could find, so I know he likely appreciates your conversation very much. Hopefully Jin-zongzhu accepts the denial.

Wangji is more expressive than he has been since Muqin died, and it’s all thanks to Jiang Wuxian. He seems to just interact more with the world since they met again at Lotus Cove—Jiang Wuxian even helped him forge friendships with his peers. While cutsleeve marriages are unusual, in this case I believe their connection could easily blossom into romance, making their union that much stronger. I’m glad you see it too.

I have not had opportunity to meet Wen Qing or her brother, and I dread to think of the impact Wen Ruohan’s experiments with demonic cultivation had on them, particularly with the impact on young Wen Ning’s spiritual cognition. As an older sibling I’m certain she must have been terrified for her didi’s safety and well-being. Lotus Cove is a good place for her and her family to go, as the Jiangs are certain to treat them kindly. They’ve shown willingness to “take in strays” as others might say derisively, but I think rather it’s that when a Jiang decides you’re clan, that’s what you become.

I’m relieved that it’s boring for you, as cruel as it may be, because a lack of furor means safety. If the focus can remain on the apparent crimes of Wen Ruohan instead of Jiang Wuxian, I know it will also relieve Jiang Yanli and Wangji, and lead to less tension in general.

You are probably right regarding the potential for war in the future had Wen Ruohan lived. There is no shortage of historical examples of the way resentful energy taints the minds of demonic cultivators, and those who seek to gain power by resorting to that path tend toward megalomania anyway. Why else would anyone abandon the wide path after having cultivated to become as strong as Wen Ruohan? That our generation could have seen a war on that scale is sobering, and imagining Wangji ever having to experience such is sickening. I’m sure you feel similarly about Huaisang.

Hopefully that possibility has been averted, but you’re right that it depends on the disposition of the Yin artifact. I daresay keeping an eye on the situation isn’t unwarranted, including regarding the sect leaders who tried to excuse what was done to Jiang Wuxian. I know there’s a precept about gossip, but in this case I don’t believe it is such, given the possible ramifications to our siblings. Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing might like to be included, as they are also older siblings and more people paying attention is a good thing.

I’m certain the Jiangs will forward my letter to the Unclean Realm if you have departed. I think even if you don’t intend to become a healer, you may learn things from discussing cultivation with Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing that can be applied to other branches of cultivation. Even if there isn’t, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing knowledge for the sake of it.

I hope you get to come here. It would be very nice to see you.

Xichen

—————

So since Nie-zongzhu isn’t getting killed by Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue has no reason to hate the Wen clan specifically. And also has time to be a kid, to a certain extent. This means also that there can be an older sibling brigade. Pity the fool who hurts a didi.

I’ve started supplements for my osteoarthritis this week and it seems to be helping. Visiting friends and resting. Had a decent holiday, though overdid it a bit and my body let me know. Visiting friends and having a good time.

I’m okay. Just working on accepting that my job is to heal and rest and recover. I’m applying for disability because it’s been a year and I’m realizing it took time to get this bad and will take time to get better.

I wrote about 47k words of fanfiction in 2023, so I at least was able to do that. Hopefully 2024 will bring more energy and brainpower to write.

Glossary:

a-die = dad

didi = younger brother

furen = madam

jiejie = older sister

muqin = mother

shufu = uncle

zongzhu = sect leader

[michpat6]

He raises his glass to his face and sniffs, immediately wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue with a disgusted noise. "Blegh. I still don't know how you can stand this stuff."

In all honesty, she hates this brand. She hates scotch in general, much rather preferring the peach-flavored vodka Utahime got her hooked on three years ago or the strawberry soju Kento had given her for her birthday last month, but this is what had appeared on her doorstep the day she got her diploma from med school in the mail, with no sign of who sent it aside from the residuals of Curse Manipulation slowly fading from the unsealed cap, lingering on the mouth of the bottle where a glassful of liquor was already missing.

"It's more like it gets the job done fast," she tells him, finishing her glass and opening her hand for his. He pushes it over with a flick of his nail, the clink quiet enough to be almost gentle in the strength it betrays, and she continues, "I know you have places to be."

Places is Shinjuku, is the remains of a village forever infested by cursed spirits because of the soil's memory of the murders, is the alley where he asked for last words.

OR

December 24th, 2018.

OR OR

me?? writing jjk fic?? it’s more likely than you think. I thought way too hard about shoko and gojo’s dynamic

[voxofthevoid]

I would love to get a closer look at your thoughts about choso's characterization with #09. (That is the correct title, right?) The pieces you've given us of your viewpoint of him are very chewy.

It is! I'm delighted you remembered the name 💜 And it's great to know you find those bits chewy.

The thing with characterization is that I tend to figure it out via writing. My first JJK fic helped me nail Gojou, the second Yuuji, and prophetic self-destruction is how I dug into Chōsō. IIRC, I started writing this shortly after everyone regrouped after the Megumikuna incident to unseal Gojou. In addition to Chōsō's...everything regarding Yuuji, something that really caught my eye was the implication that Yuuji ate (or will eat) the remaining Death Paintings and that Chōsō was alright, even glad in a roundabout way, with it:

(Side note: That last panel, sweet jesus. Gege can't draw Chōsō looking at Yuuji with that expression and not expect me to go feral about it.)

Between these scenes and the ones at Shibuya, there's a lot to bite into. Chōsō exhibits an immense degree of devotion toward Yuuji, and brocon jokes aside, it isn't a healthy attitude. This isn't a complaint; no one in JJK is sane, and the ones who are don't seem very interesting. Chōsō seems to have made his brothers his raison d'etre; it's there from the first scenes with Esō and Kechizu, and it only becomes more obvious when you see how quickly and intensely he latches onto Yuuji. And fair enough! The guy spent 150 years as a sentient shrunken fetus. There are worse coping mechanisms. I also like that his attachment and adoration toward Yuuji don't manifest as over-protectiveness or possessiveness. Like I said above, it's devotion that characterizes Chōsō—but it's also somewhat one-sided.

Yuuji seems fond of Chōsō at the current point in canon, but there's still a clear imbalance there. Despite telling the others to think of Chōsō as his big brother, I don't think Yuuji has quite processed that himself. That also makes sense because he went from having no living family to a villainous mother and some very strange brothers, two of whom he killed, in the span of six fucking months (I'm assuming here that the near-death memory he has of Jin and Kaori is something he does remember now, as that scene and its aftermath heavily imply). Frankly, I don't think Yuuji's had time to sit down and think about half the shit that's happened to him during and after Shibuya. It might even be best for his sanity that he doesn't bother just yet. Point is, you get the sense that Yuuji values Chōsō as an ally and genuinely likes him as a person, but those feelings are nowhere near as intense as Chōsō's utter devotion. To quote myself from another ask I answered about chosoita, "that contrast of complete, immediate devotion and cautious, burgeoning affection makes me want to do unholy things to them both."

To situate all this in the context of prophetic self-destruction via some examples—

The narrative starts when Yuuji doesn't think Chōsō is his brother but knows that Chōsō believes it. When he initiates sex (as a sort of reciprocation for Chōsō letting Yuuji eat him), incest isn't even on his mind except as a "this might be weird to this guy" way. And when he later realizes they are blood relations, one of the first things he asks Chōsō is why he let Yuuji fuck him. This is the response:

“You…” Chōsō shrugs. “You asked.”

Later, once Gojou enters the picture, you have this exchange:

“Is that all it takes to get in your good books? Someone...caring about me?” “Gojou Satoru will never be in my good books,” Chōsō says, staring off into space with a dead-eyed expression that softens the next second as he refocuses on Yuuji.  “But I’m not a complicated person at all. I want my brothers happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know or trust that man, but I do trust you. And if he makes you happy, I want that for you.”

(Don't worry, this fic still has chosoita and goyuu both as the endgame; the relationships just have different developments and dynamics.)

...I might have gotten a little carried away, but it comes down to the appeal of Chōsō's and Yuuji's starkly different feelings for each other and the differing degrees of their respective attachment.

[mac-lilly]

JATP fic ideas that live rent-free in my head

A compilation post to keep track of all the jatp stories that I will never write ...

Stuff I've actually written

Juke:

Juke Kitchen

Alone Together

Strumming the Soul

Beautiful

Heartbeat

Willex:

Hotdog and Cold dog

Cross my heart and hope to die (again)

A night to remember:

Just one more night (Luke)

Tomorrow (Reggie)

Ghostwriter:

Snippet 1

Snippet 2

Snippet 3

Hamster!Luke

Doodle

Canon-Compliant (kinda)

The inevitabilities of (after)life

(Boys coming back to life but without memories - Juke)

After their performance at The Orpheum, the guys suddenly start seeing a magical light, and they figure it's time to cross over. Before they leave, however, Julie and Luke accidentally seal a magical pact with unfathomable consequences. (And they kiss.) And then the boys are gone.

However, a year later, just after coming to terms with the guys' departure, Julie's world is turned upside-down (again) when a very alive Luke suddenly reenters her life. And it's not just him -- Alex and Reggie are back too. But to Julie's horror and agony, all three have lost their memories. (And not just them. With the exception of Bobby, nobody remembers them.)

And so, Julie has to make a decision: Fight to unseal their memories or let them live their new-found lives without her?

It's an easy choice, really. Plus, she has to make her resurrected Phantoms stay alive. Because there's a series of uncanny and nearly fatal accidents that always involve her boys and, weirdly, Nick.

(There are 1.75 chapters of this on my PC.)

Ghost license

(inspired by the movie "Hui Buh" - no focus on romance)

The boys get tasked to obtain a ghost license for the Molina house. Otherwise, they have to leave the place and become wayward ghosts (and have to return to Caleb.) And thus, the Phantoms are forced to attend a school for ghosts -- exams included.

Random character stuff:

Julie's doodling

Luke's room

AUs

Songwriting Journal of Fate

(A Kimi no Na Wa AU - Juke)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Snippet 1

Snippet 2

Show me how to be whole again

An arranged marriage/enemies-to-reluctant-allies-to-friends-to-lovers Juke AU

Plot

BAM! I'm actually writing this one.

AO3 Link

Image Board

Sweet Home Alabama AU

Yet another enemies-to-friends-to-almost-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends&lovers Juke AU.

Teaser

First & Last Scene

"Life with Derek"-inspired AU

Teaser/Prologue

Rivers of London AU

Julie, a witch in training, and Luke, a ghost

Snippet 1

Snippet 2

Snippet 3

Phantom Thieves

(A Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne AU (without the religious stuff) - Juke)

Julie makes a deal with Caleb: She helps him collect/steal possessed artifacts, and in exchange, he'll grant her a chance to talk to her mom again.

At first, it goes pretty well. She steals the objects and hands them over to Caleb. But soon, she gets a rival. Another thief shows up, who is way too cheeky and attractive, and he starts snatching those items Julie is supposed to steal from under her nose. Julie is not amused by his attitude, and Caleb tells her that he probably wants to use these magical items for evil.

At the same time, Julie makes acquaintance with three guys who just transferred to her school, and she may or may not develop a crush on one of them. (And Julie can't help but see certain similarities between Luke and her new-found thievish rival ... but surely that's just a coincidence, right?)

Mind the Gap

(A Neverwhere AU - Willex & (minor) Juke)

Alex lives a pretty normal life. Sure, after he came out to his parents, he's become an outcast. But he's willing to put up with this shit anyway. (What are the alternatives?)

Then he encounters Willie, an extremely weird but also handsome guy who tells him that he is being hunted. Confused, Alex helps him hide. The next day, Willie is gone, and suddenly his life seems to vanish. His parents, his peers -- everyone seems to forget that he exists.

Determined to set things right, Alex sets out to find Willie, hoping that he (or the person he's running away from) has the power to give him his life back. He enters the World Below -- the place where all the people who've all fallen through the cracks stand. However, as he keeps gathering a group of unlikely and way too cheerful acquaintances who quickly become his friends (and more), he starts questioning his desire to return to the normal world.

[osunism]

Daughter of Disgrace

"Is there any place where Heaven's bastard daughters are welcome?"

Rating: Mature to Explicit [for future sexual content and graphic depictions of violence]. Pairing[s]: Satoru + Sundari || Nadja + Sukuna Warning[s]: Smut [obv], graphic depictions of violence, major character death[s], as well as some toxic relationship elements. Spoilers for the manga, so if you only watched the anime, turn back. Summary: In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo's sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi. Unfortunately, she has to contend with the stigma of being Sukuna's only living child.

🪧 Be Advised: [This is the sequel to Beast of No Nation. It's recommended that you read that fic first to get the context of this one].

𓃰 AO3 || OC Masterpost || Fic Masterpost

𓃰 Chapter One

     Sundari doesn’t understand her dreams, now.

     At first, she understood them for what they were: memories of her life before she was sealed, before her power and memories were locked away. Thinking of the stretch of time she spent without her powers nor the memory on how to use them, while wearing the cursed branding of her father’s lineage on her face gives her chills. What if the wrong person had recognized the markings? Curse users or sorcerers would have killed her easily without a thought and she would have died without ever knowing why.

     And yet it had been Gojo Satoru who found her when those first, shocking moments of unsealing saw her stumbling out of an underground warehouse rave brimming with a strength and power she had no clue how to control. And instead of killing her when he recognized her markings, Satoru had sought to protect her. He’d given her sanctuary in the safest place in the city, and he’d helped her through her assimilation back into herself. Eventually, her dreams took the shape of her subconscious reality, and so she lays here, now, after one such dream.

     She is seeing Satoru through her own eyes, but he’s refusing to look at her, instead his gaze is fixed elsewhere. A shadow falls over them both, chilling her blood.

     She wakes up.

     Sundari writes this off as a side-effect of her stress of losing Satoru so soon after realizing that she loves him. He’s trapped in one of the most awful cursed objects ever created, and worse yet, she could have saved him, but at the cost of every human within the station. And she had promised that she would never turn into her father. She would not sacrifice so much innocent life, even if it was to save him, the man she loves. The man whose power has kept the wolves snarling at the gates all this time.

     And now the void of his absence has thrown the world off-kilter. It’s thrown her world off-kilter.

     When she gets her hands on that fucking curse user with the stitches she’s going turn whatever is hiding in that skull into mincemeat. And then she is going to kiss Satoru and make him promise to never go off alone again. He’d promised to protect her, and he can’t very well do that trapped in an evil box, can he?

     Right.

     Sundari sighs, rubbing her face. It’s been a few days since what has been dubbed the Shibuya Incident, but Sundari has taken to calling it the Shibuya Shitshow because that’s what it was from start to finish. She’s not even sure she can count the exorcisms as a win since her father decided to barbecue the entire ward instead. God, she wants to kill him, but he’s currently trapped inside a teenage boy and Sundari would rather not kill him. He’s a sweet kid. Her dad’s a dick.

     Nadja has taken up leadership since receiving news from Shoko that Jujutsu Headquarters has declared them anathema. Well, not her, but Yuji’s execution suspension has been revoked, and an executioner has been dispatched to carry out the order. Nadja chuckled at that, which Yuji didn’t find amusing, but Sundari assured him that he was well protected. Nadja nor Sundari would let anyone harm him, and they were both sure Sukuna wouldn’t take to being killed so soon after tasting freedom either.

     All in all, they don’t expect much to come from that end.

     It’s all the other bullshit that makes Sundari balk.

     “Nadja Hikmat and Sundari Hikmat are declared enemies of jujutsu society for collusion and conspiring with Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, and unleashing the special grade curse Ryōmen Sukuna in Shibuya.”

     “Wait,” Sundari says. Shoko is on speakerphone. “How the fuck did we take the blame for Sukuna getting out? Somebody force-fed Yuji too many Fingers at once while he was on the verge of death and my asshole father decided to take his body for a joyride. How is that anybody’s fault but the fuckers who stole the Fingers that fed him in the first place?”

     To that, Shoko had no answer.

     “Look,” she said. “All I know is that you guys need to watch each other’s backs. Things are getting tense, and we still don’t have a tally on how many we lost in Shibuya. Get somewhere safe and lay low.”

     “Until when?” Nadja demanded. “Every day we delay our enemies move their pieces on the board. We must find them. What are your higher ups doing about that?”

     Shoko sighed. “Fuck if I know, Hikmat. Gojo getting sealed has got them spooked, though. I know they never saw eye to eye, but they always understood that Gojo was the first line of defense and in a lot of cases, the only line of defense. We simply don’t have the manpower to deal with the level of curses manifesting. And they’re only getting stronger now that…that thing wearing Geto’s face unleashed curses all over Tokyo.”

     Yuji sighs. “Yeah, we haven’t gone a single night without exorcizing curses. Even Sundari is getting tired.”

     Sundari frowns. “Says who? Is my dad pouring bullshit in your ear again?”

     Yuji rubs his head. “You really don’t want to know what your dad says about you, trust me.”

     Sundari snorts. “Please, whatever he’s saying I guarantee I’ve heard worse.”

     “Shut it,” Nadja snaps at them both. She returns to the phone. “Shoko, can you keep me posted if anything changes? We haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone else, and there’s no one else we can really trust.”

     No one else Gojo really trusted.

     “Have you tried Yuki? I know you guys got separated but she may have a lead on getting you guys to a safehouse.”

     Nadja sighs. “Yeah, I’ll try her. The signal’s been shit. Thanks for your help, Shoko.”

     The call ends and for a moment, Nadja looks at the assembled faces in their small band: Yuji, Megumi, Choso, and Sundari. She sighs.

     “I’m going to try and reach out to Yuki,” she said. “You all get ready; we may need to be on the move soon. We’re too expose here on the ground.”

     To that, no one argued. Sundari crossed her arms, distinctly aware of how she smelled like sweat and barbecue. Her father’s stupid furnace had the entire district smelling like a campfire. The space where the ward had once been still steaming from the heat days later. Sundari wears a bandanna around her face and a hoodie to hide her tattoos.

     Nadja does not question it, and she is glad for it because she does not feel like unpacking why her tattoos, which she thought were so cool before her awakening, suddenly make her feel the stinging heat of shame burning her blood whenever she catches a glimpse of them. Especially around Yuji. She finds herself pulling her sleeves down to hide the thick black bands of cursed ink on her wrists or letting her jet black curls fall around her face to better hide the branding on her brow. But there is no hiding her four eyes, and keeping the lower set closed is more strenuous.

     And so Sundari exists in a strange place where she is both her father’s daughter and her mother’s beloved treasure. And Yuji, young as he is, is already wise beyond his years. He understands Sundari’s conflict better than most. They speak about it one evening, after the thrum of adrenaline finally quiets and they share a meager meal of instant noodles and warm sodas pilfered from the abandoned vending machines.

     “You don’t have to hide them, you know,” Yuji says to her. When Sundari’s lower eyes shunt their gaze to him she sees him almost flinch. Doubtless her father’s face has assaulted his memories in the wake of all he did in Shibuya. Great.

     “I know,” she says quietly. “It’s just…I am hyper-aware of what people think when they see them. Even if one’s an ignorant pig farmer, these tattoos just scream bad news.”

     Yuji chuckles. “Yeah, can’t argue that. I mean, don’t tell anyone but I thought the tattoos were kind of cool.”

     Sundari’s brows go up. “Right?! I guess during his era they were really meant to be bad news, but they really are neat looking. I just wish there wasn’t the stigma of his reputation attached to them.”

     Yuji slurps his drink thoughtfully, blinking his big brown eyes and Sundari can’t fathom how one so young can bear the burden of playing zookeeper to her heinous father. She wants to ask him how he does it, but from the vacant look in his eyes most of the time she’s sure it’s equal parts sheer fucking will and equal parts simply not having enough of a clue.

     She hopes they aren’t underestimating the threat, then sighs. Once they rescue Gojo things will become clearer. At the very least they’ll be able to restore some semblance of order.

     “Does he give you a lot of grief?” Sundari asks. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

     “He did at first,” Yuji says, “and it was annoying, believe me. He doesn’t need sleep, so he spent a lot of time making sure I got very little. But I kind of learned to tune him out. He’s been awfully quiet since everything that happened in Shibuya.”

     Sundari frowns. Somehow Sukuna being quiet after adding to the disaster that was Shibuya is unsettling. It’s unsettling because she can surmise that he’s quiet because he’s thinking and if he’s thinking then he’s plotting. She almost wants to ask the boy to switch just so she can have a word with her father, but he made his intentions clear in Shibuya when he threatened to show her severed head to her mother. And she’ll not dare put Yuji in a position to lose control of his body again. Not when Sukuna is as powerful as she is in her current state. Perhaps more so. What he’d done in Shibuya had been an example of just how wide the gap of power there was between them should he come to full strength.

     And it feels like everyone is waiting for her to turn into him.

     She asks her mother about it later.

     “I’m the wrong person to ask about your potential with sorcery, Sundari,” Nadja said quietly from her perch on the ledge of an abandoned car park where they are afforded a protected view of the street. Sundari watches as her mother examines one of her knives idly, testing its sharpness, and taking a whetstone to the edge until it is sharpened to her liking. Sundari remembers this sound from her long-buried youth. The heat of the rainy season, the sound of a whetstone sliding along the length of a blade, and her dozing in another woman’s lap. Hands gently stroking her hair and scalp.

     “You’re the only person I can ask,” Sundari says. “Dad’s certainly not going to want to have a sit down given our last meeting.”

     Nadja pauses in her sharpening to fix Sundari with a look. Sundari shrugs. It’s true. Both know it.

     “Well, all I can say is that when it comes to power you inherited all of his,” Nadja says. “I don’t have access to magic like that, so I had your training handled by a friend.”

     “You mean your lover,” Sundari says. Nadja looks up sharply, and Sundari sees an old hurt there, as if the word hurts to admit, but friend doesn’t encompass what Vanhi meant to her. For a moment, Sundari regrets her thoughtless words. She forgets that her mother is ancient in most ways, but still a tad naive when it comes to love. Sundari wagers because that for a woman like her, she so seldom has an opportunity to indulge it.

     “My wife,” Nadja admits. “Vanhi and I were married. And we raised you together, alongside her clucking band of courtesans.”

     “Assassins…!” Sundari says, remembering. “They were also assassins…?” She sounds unsure. Nadja smiles.

     “The Vishkanya, yes,” she says, but there’s something sad about her smile and Sundari cannot fathom why. Perhaps because they’ve both outlived the women they once called family, however eclectic and raunchy.

     “So, when did I become the Godslayer?” Sundari asks quietly. For a moment she feels like a little girl with the way her mother regards her, and for a moment, her immortal mother looks a little older, as if time has finally remembered to caress her if only within the shadows of her eye.

     Nadja sighs. “When you exorcized that cursed spirit living in the mountain. The people thought you were a divine executioner.” She looks a little amused to say it. Sundari chews her lower lip, looks down at her hands.

     “Was he a sorcerer or a demon?” She asks. Nadja does not need her to elaborate.

     “Sometimes he was a bit of both,” Nadja says, then smiles when Sundari gives her a look that is halfway to disgust. She shrugs.

     “You asked,” she says and Sundari sighs. She can’t argue with her mother on that front. Instead, Nadja sits up a little straighter.

     “Look,” she sighs and Sundari met her gaze, feeling at once immature and too old for this. “If you’re afraid you’ll turn out like your father, I have news for you: you already have!” At Sundari’s wide eyes Nadja laughs.

     “You’re his actual daughter, Sundari. Of course you will have some of his traits. Four eyes, four arms, cursed tattoos, and enough cursed energy to destroy a continent if you were so inclined. You are your father’s daughter. But, you’re also your own person. Being a descendant doesn’t mean we must burden ourselves with the worst aspects of our forebears. Your father is a monster because he chooses to be one, and whatever stars aligned to put us in one another’s path was worth every moment.”

     “Because it brought you me, right?” Sundari asks acerbically. Nadja chuckles.

     “Well, not entirely, but that’s a large part of it,” Nadja shrugs. “Your father was also a very prodigious lover.”

     “I’m going to end this conversation right now.” Sundari begins walking away, her mother’s simmering laughter trailing after her. Of course she’d say something like that, but Sundari knows there will never be much more than that when it comes to her mother. She keeps enough secrets that Sundari is sure that the right name dropped in the right ear from Nadja’s lips can probably destroy at least three major nations.

     All Sundari wants to know is why she exists and what it all means, and Nadja has been reticent on committing to an answer. Her mother’s restriction binds all sorcerers into a pact, preventing them from speaking of their association with her. Because the blood relation, Sundari can seek answers from Sukuna, but she knows her father is less likely to tell her anything as he is likely to rip her throat out instead.

     She shudders. Maybe she doesn’t need an answer. She has to be content with not knowing, but the holes in her memory are gnawing at her. She struggles in the evenings to maintain the construction of her dreams, seeking to force those missing memories to the surface. But her efforts avail her nothing.

     That is until one night when she slips into her father’s innate domain.

     She manifests first in the water—or is it blood? Oh gods is it blood?—and surfaces, rising to her feet. She knows she is either dreaming or walking in a domain because her extra arms are out, as well as the mouth on her belly. She wears the traditional garments of her former station as one of the lesser divine spirits, and she looks up to see her father arrayed on a throne of skulls as if they are the cushioning support of pillows and feather-stuffed blankets. His expression is somewhere between arrogant dismissal and boredom. Sundari frowns.

     “What the hell is this?” She demands bluntly. “Why’d you bring me here?”

     Sukuna says nothing, merely observes Sundari, taking her in as if he is trying to make sure she is real. He’s wearing Yuji’s face, albeit he looks much older. Something about his eyes, the hard set of his jaw. Sundari sees herself reflected back in his face.

     “To talk, whelp,” Sukuna says at last, his voice a deep and primordial thing, like something from the bottom of an ancient well. It carries the unyielding weight of authority, the tone of one who is accustomed to being obeyed and doing as he pleases. It makes Sundari curl her lip.

     “Last time we ‘talked’ you tried to kill me,” she spits contemptuously. Sukuna awards her a thin and slippery smile, as if she has paid him a compliment.

     “And I will try again when next we meet, whelp,” he says as if it has been decreed long before either of them knew of the other. “I will not suffer to have that viper and her spawn at my back. Doubtless she is pouring all manner of poison in your ear.”

     Sundari crosses her lower set of arms. “Here to contest the accusations and allegations?”

     Sukuna chuckles. “Far from it. Anything she’s told you about me is true and has no doubt been watered down. What fascinates me is how she thought she could keep you a secret for as long as she did.”

     Sundari shrugs. “She may not be a sorcerer, but she knows a lot of things about sorcery. That’s why she’s going to kill you.”

     Sukuna’s composure slips momentarily, the bridge of his nose wrinkling like a tiger’s muzzle, bearing his fangs. Sundari tenses in response, but the moment passes, and Sukuna is composed once more.

     “She should probably give up on that, she was never very good at it,” he taunts and smirks when Sundari’s lip curls in disgust. Sukuna leans forward and before Sundari can blink he’s suddenly before her.

     “Tell me, whelp,” Sukuna says, prowling around her like a wolf. “Do you think your mother will suffer you to live when she cuts me down? You carry my curse.”

     That gives Sundari pause.

     “I’m still unclear on what your curse actually is,” she admits. “The tattoos are part of it. You must have done something truly heinous for them to mark you spiritually that anyone born from your seed has to inherit it.”

     Sukuna does not deign to confirm or deny her guess, but there’s some distance in his eyes, as if he is thinking or seeing a time outside of the present. The past most likely, there’s so much of it behind him. Sundari takes a deep breath and sighs.

     “Look, if you’re trying to convince me to turn on my mother because she’s going to kill you it’s not going to work.”

     Sukuna smirks. “Is it because of the Six Eyes?”

     Sundari feels a chill grip her spine, and she works to steady her breathing, works to keep her expression neutral, wrinkling her brow to project slight confusion.

     “What does my not wanting to side with my psychopathic murderer of a father have to do with him?” She asks, genuinely curious. The truth is it has everything to do with Satoru. He’s the reason she hasn’t killed anyone by accident, or sided with the wrong people, or been hunted like a monster by people who want to mount her head like a trophy. Or cut her open and study her.

     Satoru had been very detailed in the depravities that she would be subjected to if he couldn’t protect her.

     “You have feelings for him,” Sukuna says with absolute certainty, “and you want to impress him. A pathetic notion, no doubt inherited from your foolish mother.”

     “You have no idea how genetics work, do you?”

     “What?”

     “Nothing,” Sundari says, hiding a smile but the mouth on her belly is grinning. “Just…anyway. I’m not going to hear whatever stupid manipulative shit you’re going to say. You literally said you were going to kill me next time we meet. I’ll choose mom, thanks.”

     Sukuna snorts. “And when I am free, I will kill the Six Eyes in front of you. Perhaps I’ll eat his eyes. Do you think that will grant me some more power?” He laughs at his own sick humor.

     Sundari rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. And if you’re not going to say anything helpful or useful, I’ll see myself out.”

     She doesn’t wait for him to try and stop or answer her, pulling out of the domain to retreat into herself. It is only when she knows she is truly alone that she breathes and shudders and shivers in her own skin. The cloying evil of his cursed energy feels like a stain she can never wash clean, and she wonders if her own energy burns just as toxic. Is this what people feel when she enters a room?

     Sundari wakes up, fitful and sudden, biting her lip on a startled gasp.

     “Sundari?” It’s Choso. She looks to see him squatting beside her, concern on his face.

     “Oh hey, Choso,” she says, blinking all four of her eyes to reorient her vision. She’ll never get over the perspective. “What’s up? Are we in danger?”

     Choso hesitates. “No, but you were twitching in your sleep, and your cursed energy was flaring up. Are you alright?”

     Sundari bites her lip. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Just having some restless dreams is all. Thanks for checking on me.”

     Choso hesitates again, as if there is more he wants to say but cannot seem to find the appropriate words. Sundari is patient, waiting for him to speak. Choso’s eyes, which are bruised all around, seem sad.

     “I understand a little of your struggle,” Choso says at last. “I too have complicated and difficult parentage.”

     Sundari smiles, understanding. “Yeah, seems like we’ve both got a bone to pick with Noritoshi Kamo, or whatever the hell he’s calling himself these days. I’m sorry we both have sick fucks for fathers, Choso.”

     Choso looks surprised. Sundari is taking this remarkably well.

     “Despite our parentage, I think we are much more defined by the company we choose to keep. The family we make for ourselves.” He says. Sundari nods.

     “True,” she agrees. “You and Yuji seem to be getting on now that you’re not trying to kill each other.” There’s a teasing lilt in her voice but Choso still looks ashamed, color blooming in his cheeks.

     “I deeply regret my actions in Shibuya,” he says. “Had I known then what I know now, perhaps certain tragedies may have been prevented.” Sundari’s brow furrows in concern and she crosses her legs in front of her, resting her elbows on her knees and her expression pensive.

     “That may be so,” she says, and there’s a gravitas in her voice she’s startled to hear, as if she has done this before. “But we can’t change our pasts, and our futures haven’t been written yet. All we can worry about is the present. What are we doing right now to manifest the future we want to make happen?”

     Choso smiles, a determined glint in his eyes. “Right now? We find Kamo Noritoshi, and we end him. Then we free Gojo Satoru and begin the work of putting Sukuna down for good.”

     Sundari laughs. “Sounds real easy when you list it out like that. Come on, dawn’s approaching and I’m starving.”

     It doesn’t take but a few hours before they are set upon by sorcerers.

     Sundari is frowning at this sorcerer with the bad dye job, and she wants to eat him. She really needs to ask her father if wanting to devour other people is his curse because it’s the only thing she thinks of when she dislikes an opponent.

     Fuck.

     “Naoya Zenin,” Nadja says, stepping forward to block access to Yuji. “I take it you’re here to try your hand at the bounty?”

     The Bad Dye Job, now named, sneers at her with open hatred and disdain.

     “No cursed energy and you dare speak before you’re spoken to,” Naoya sneers. “You must be Nadja. There’s quite the price on your head. Though I can’t imagine why. You’re worthless. You’re not even a—”

     It’s only a blink but one of Nadja’s blades is suddenly at his throat and the woman is behind him, as intimate as a lover. The blade she holds to his throat is razor thin and twice as sharp. Sundari sees a trickle of blood trail down his throat from the contact. A twitch and Nadja can open his carotid and kill him. Sundari wonders if her mother’s weapons can kill sorcerers without the risk of them becoming vengeful spirits.

     Nadja is murmuring something in Naoya’s ear, and from his expression and the way the blood drains from his face, Sundari knows it can’t be anything good. She’s sure that after this frightening demoralization that her mother will then kill the sorcerer but then another cursed energy presence spills into the atmosphere. Sundari’s hair nearly stands on end as her eyes go wide. Choso and Yuji are paralyzed with surprise, and Nadja frowns. She can’t detect cursed energy, but she has the heightened senses that Toji had, and she can see and smell a new presence.

     “Well, well,” she murmurs, almost amused. Naoya is still paralyzed in her grip, because what her allies do not see is her other hand, fingers dug into his back, seeking the nerve endings beneath the muscle and bone. If she desires, she can dig deeper and crush his spine in her grip. She settles for holding him in stillness for now, even as a new sorcerer arrives on the scene. She recognizes him immediately.

     “Yuta?” She calls. The boy looks so much older, now, and Nadja realizes it’s been almost a year since she last saw him. Almost a year since Satoru showed up to ask her to come to Japan. And now she is here, about to tear out a sorcerer’s spine if he so much as breathes wrong.

     Yuta’s expression is grim, but that doesn’t surprise her. It’s why he’s here that worries her.

     “If you let me go,” Naoya says through the pain of gritted teeth but Nadja’s fingers don’t budge. Ironically this is a trick she learned from Toji, whose large hands were lethal in so many ways. Naoya huffs out a strained breath. “I’ll pay you triple your usual fee.”

     “You scared, Zenin?” Nadja’s simmering and sultry voice purrs in a heartless taunt. “You gonna piss and shit yourself when I tear out part of your nervous system?”

     That sends a chill down his compromised spine. Even with his technique he can’t hope to move faster than she can crush his spine. She’s so much like Toji it frightens him and enrages him. So many useless women, given gifts they didn’t deserve.

     Within Yuji, a dark and sinister presence stirs, and four eyes regard Nadja with interest. For a brief second, the cursed markings flicker on Yuji’s face, before vanishing.

     “Hikmat-sensei,” Yuta says, his voice full of conviction. “I’ll kindly ask that you release my companion. I am here on official business and would rather not lose anymore colleagues.”

     Nadja clucks her tongue but doesn’t move to let Naoya go. “So formal, Yuta. We have shared meals and a cookfire together, and I honed your combat prowess to the edge you threaten me with even now. If you want Yuji, you’ll have to contend with the challenges before you.” She nods her head toward Sundari and Choso, who stand at the ready. Yuta’s gaze narrows when he settles on Sundari, who stares back at him with the intent to hurt him, her four garnet eyes hard and cold.

     “So be it,” Yuta says, almost sadly.

     All hell breaks loose in that moment. Yuta moves like a deadly work of art, just as Nadja taught him. There is not a step wasted, even as his sword derails from its sheath, finding resistance as Sundari blocks it by catching the blade. The resultant pressure craters the asphalt beneath Sundari’s feet.

     “Yuji, run!” She cries, lower eyes flicking toward him. Choso pushes his brother out of harm’s way, already powering up his technique, viscous crimson swirling into a sphere between his hands. The blood markings on his face which look like ink most of the time, become wet as his protective fury powers his technique.

     It is futile, however. Nadja is immobilized keeping Naoya trapped, and Sundari is facing off against an opponent that rivals her in cursed energy and strength. Not only that, but Yuji’s path to escape is also cut off by the cursed apparition that accompanies Yuta. It’s clawed hands grasp Yuji and despite his immense strength and lightning reflexes, he is restrained.

     Yuta breaks his stalemate with Sundari by risking a hit, sliding inside her guard to swing at her, forcing her to fight with her other hand. She does not have her extra arms, and she is so focused on trying to slow down Yuta that she cannot summon them. One hand blocks his sword attack again, and she uses her technique to wither the cursed energy oozing from it, weakening its blows.

     But Yuta cannot and will not be deterred from his mission. He moves, and Nadja registers the movement with dawning horror. She won’t kill Zenin if she doesn’t have to, but Yuta may leave her no choice and it has never been her desire to ever have to face a former student this way.

     She settles for immobilizing Naoya instead, injuring his spine just enough to drop him and make him useless to his allies. If he can heal himself, it’ll burn out his cursed energy, but Nadja intends to finish this fight long before it can get to that point. She moves to intercept Yuta, reaching over her shoulder to draw her sword.

     Yuta leaps, eyes sharp and determined, grasping her wrist and forcing her to sheathe the sword, before swinging behind her, binding her arm behind her back. Nadja grunts but Yuta’s cursed energy bolsters his strength to match her, and he kicks hard. Nadja tumbles, keeping her gaze focused as she lets her body land as it will before reorienting herself. As she rejoins the fray, she is met with the sight of Yuta plunging his sword into Yuji’s chest.

     Blood trickles from Yuji’s mouth, eyes wide in shock.

     “Itadori! No!” Megumi cries, and there is an anguish in his voice that makes Nadja’s heart ache.

     Yuta guides Yuji down, as gentle as a lover, before withdrawing his blade. His face is somber, and his eyes are weary with the weight of what he’s just done. Nadja stops shorts, glancing from Yuta to Yuji’s lifeless body.

     “Yuta,” she whispers. “What the fuck have you done?”

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ Masterpost || Next Chapter ⤳

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title banner by me. Dividers and banners by @cafekitsune.

[spade-andthe-microwave]

Chapter Five: Toxins Pt. 2 Rating: M (mentions of gore, trauma, dissociation, death of major character, canon typical violence) Word Count: 1537 Master List Here

A/N: Please pay attention to the warnings. This is the last chapter that I have set up on my A03, meaning I am currently in the process of writing chapter six which shouldn't be as heavy as the last 2/3 chapters, but we'll see where my inspiration takes me. If you enjoy this fic, please reblog! Thanks a ton!

Faovi didn’t bother with the mission report when she got back to Kamino, leaving the work for a commander or someone else. All she did was march straight to the room. She unlocked the sliding door, stepping inside and letting it seal behind her, pressing her hand against the console next to her to lock the door. She stared at the empty room, chest heaving up and down as she just stood there, fists clenching and unclenching before she ultimately decided to unseal her helmet. As she set down the helmet on the table, she caught her own reflection in the dark visor, dead eyes staring back at her as the scene replayed in her memory, tormenting her with its wicked fangs and sharp claws. The image of Jango’s head rolling off of his shoulders, his body slumping to the ground, the lack of blood or noise besides the singing of his beskar armor pieces scraping against each other. She had been frozen, staring at the scene in complete horror. Did Jango even know she was there? Did Boba know? She’d been forced to scrub her armor clean before being deployed, being promised she could repaint her armor after she returned if she so wished. It had been to settle the nerves of the Jedi she would be fighting alongside with, allegedly. What a coward she was for listening to their lies. Piece by piece, Faovi removed her armor, setting it down neatly on the table before walking to the small fresher attached to the room, the distinct smell of Jango’s soap still stuck to the walls of the room, overwhelming to her senses. She attempted to avoid her own gaze as she washed her hands in the sink, the foamy soap cleaning only the physical sand, blood, and oil that coated her skin. She turned on the fan in the fresher before stripping herself of her flight suit, tossing it into the hamper to clean later before turning on the water in the shower, deciding against using the sonic setting with the intent of punishing herself with her own thoughts.

She stared at the sand as it washed down the drain, the steam rolling up and fogging the mirror as she stood there in silence, staring down at her feet before the water pushed her long black locks forward, covering her vision. Flashes of purple kept appearing in the corner of her vision, though there was no blinking light to make it as such. She grabbed the soap from its holder and washed through her hair first before painfully scrubbing her body, ignoring the red marks that sprouted on her skin from the combination of hard scrubbing and hot water. Once she had finished, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself before wiping away the fog on the mirror, hairbrush in hand. The young woman she saw in the mirror staring back at her was not a sight she could stomach. Bright sapphire eyes devoid of emotions as she couldn’t even bring herself to cry. She stared at the basket of hair supplies in the cabinet, things she had taken from some cadets dead set on dying their hair. She knew it would only temporarily delay them, but it was enough to cover her own ass if they did it anyways. She looked back in the mirror and parted her hair like she had always done, grabbing her small data-pad and unlocking it before pulling up manuals. Rules be damned, what were they going to do? Kill her? She grabbed the supply basket, digging through until she found sharpened scissors, raising them to her black locks she had always prided herself in keeping so healthy. She evened out her fingers before slicing along the guides she had given herself, the black locks falling around her barren feet until she was satisfied with its new length, barely scraping her shoulders. It would shorten once it dried, but this length felt acceptable. She stared at herself in the mirror again, the fan still humming up above. She hummed a soft tune to herself, a lullaby she often heard Jango singing to Boba when he grew restless.

Once her hair had dried, she set down the scissors, picking up the bottles of developer and lightener. She mixed them into a small bowl, the stench of the chemicals burning her nose as she mixed them together. She portioned out her hair once more, applying the bleach over her black locks before sealing on a hair cap, washing away the rest of the bleach in the sink. The smell of the chemicals was still burning in her nose, irritating her throat, but she did nothing besides slightly open the door and let the fan continue to run. She sat down on the floor, rolling the cut locks of hair between her fingers as she let the bleach settle, her throat hurting as she continued to hum that lullaby. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t quite remember the words, the chorus left a mystery for now. Once she could see her once black hair now a striking artificial yellow, she removed her hair cap and turned on the water once more, closing her eyes as she massaged the bleach from her hair and worked in something called toner to cancel out the notes of yellow and orange. She dug through the colors she had taken from the cadets, unable to decide until purple flashed in her vision once more. She picked up the bottle, turning it in her hands before pouring the dye from the bottle into a bowl, applying the toxic purple to her bleached hair, ignoring the stains it brought to the once pure white fake marble sink.

She sealed the plastic cap back on over her hair before walking back out to the common room of the living space, staring at her armor. She picked up each piece tenderly, bare hands leaving fingerprints on the bare metal. She pulled out her metal paint kit she had expertly hidden beneath the couch, staring at the colors left to her disposal. With a steady hand, she picked up black, followed by green, followed by gold, and finished by a maroon red. She shook each container before pulling out her brushes and dipping them into the paint with no care given to the mess she made. Each stroke was made as evenly as she could get it, starting with black first. Once each coat was finished, she would allow it to dry, her hands stained with the paint and the hair dye she had used. Her hands began to shake as the Fett signet flashed through her mind. She turned her armor over and took a deep breath before painting the symbol in gold on the inside of her armor where it would lay over her heart but would remain hidden from the rest of the world, not believing herself to have earned the right to wear the legacy of her father to the knowledge of the galaxy anymore. The maroon paint came next, a half-circle upon her helmet and the cheeks of it as well before it painted her pouches and buckle. Then came the green, intricate leaves and vines being painted both on her helmet and the upper half of her armor, a leaf on each pauldron. She set her armor to the side to dry, rising to her feet and returning to the fresher, tracking paint behind her as she dragged her feet along.

She removed the cap from her hair and washed it once more, harshly scrubbing away the stains on her skin until it turned red. She tossed a towel over her hair and rustled it as she began to dry it, the chemical smell still not leaving her nose, the stench overpowering the once comforting smell of Jango’s soap. She denied herself of that comfort, determining she was a dishonor and had lost her way with the loss of her father and the inability to find Boba to protect him. As her eyes raised back up to the mirror, she had erased the traces of that scared daughter, forcing her down further and further beneath walls. “Sergeant Nightshade. We need a mission report. Should I return in the morning?” the voice of a clone called through the door, snagging her attention as she thought for just a brief second Jango had returned. She shook her head and turned off the light in the fresher, slipping to the door and answering back through. “I will complete it now. Leave the data-pad at my door. Should my presence be needed any further, knock three times and leave it at the door. Understood?” She answered back, unable to recognize the tone in her voice as she spoke. “I understand. I will alert the others. Good night, Sergeant. You will be given your squadron tomorrow at 0500.” The clone responded before walking off, hanging the datapad next to the door. Nightshade sucked in a deep breath and opened the door, taking the data-pad into her hands and sitting back down at the table. Faovi, for now, was no more. Now was the time for war.

[vulpisnocturna]

Reiko Uzumaki Fanart

My first serious attempt at digital art ahaha. I tried 💀

Uzumaki Reiko - My Naruto OC from these fics:

[immasock]

Great! So MC has fucked up human biology and can eat Devildom and Celestial Realm food normally even if its actually inedible to humans and while they eat it they get physically and magically stronger as they develop, so in my

Conclusion and to add up, the more they eat fucked up food from hell and the more they stay there in their lifetime they can actually get into the brothers' level and might actually end up immortal, + scenes the fact that MC was this 🤏

close to potentially destroy all 3 realms without realizing it and fortunately Simeon brought the ring of light (brought to you by the former owner Lucifer) so meaning MC has more potential to unlock SO,

By eating more fucked up food and staying into a place where people ain't normal and getting into 'trouble' (by trouble I mean sometimes dealing with Diavolo's shit without help) is like in a isekai anime protag leveling up and doing quests, side quests and character quests to get stronger. HENCE pls make a fic or HCs for Barbs or Diavolo's realization behind MCs hidden potential and is slowly being unsealed. (BTW it also means that they've been observant to why they came to the conclusion, which is MCs performance in doing magic such as perform defense or offense magic (and was seen as advanced) and so on)

Tell me if you want more

*Devilish smile*

You my friend are a Genius. I might write a part two, or just separate head cannons for this idea cause I love it so much and have been thinking about it for the past few days

Diavolo and Barbatos realizing the potential of an MC with a fucked up digestive system

When MC was first chosen for the exchange program, the first thing Diavolo and the brothers thought about was what the human was going to eat. They weren’t too worried about Solomon because his stomach was used to food that could hardly be considered edible. But they weren’t so sure about MC. Most humans can’t consume the kinds of food that Solomon and other demons can

So you can imagine their shock when, on their first day, MC digs in to the Devildom food the brothers had cooked, like it was nothing. It kind of freaked out the brothers. I mean, surely MC was going to die from what they just consumed, or at the very least, get hurt. But no. MC just went along like everything was normal afterwards

This continued everyday. Eventually they got used to it and the shock wore off

As the year went on, Solomon started to notice how the presence of magic in the air kept gradually getting stronger and more prominent. He decided to go to Diavolo to ask if he had noticed this

And he had. Of course he had. At first he figured that it was Solomon but when he had asked MC over to the palace by themselves, it was still there. Diavolo very quickly asked Solomon to investigate

Solomon of course agreed to this fairly quickly. He was able to run a few discreet tests on you without you noticing. This being accomplished under the guise of needing help testing some spells out to see what they do

At the end of the week, Solomon brought forth his findings to Diavolo and Barbatos. You were most definitely the one producing that strong of a magic signature. And it was only getting stronger. Diavolo figured that it would become a problem at some point, but that they probably had some time

Which they did. It wasn’t for another several months that MCs increase in power started to become an issue. There had started to be reports from Barbatos that whole cities were losing power when MC sneezed. Or that entire lakes were suddenly drying out. Or, worse of all, that there had been several storms reported when MC got scared or angry

When Lucifer lost his memory and they found out that MCs magic was behind it, they knew that they needed to do something. They needed to do it quick. Diavolo called over Solomon and Simeon to discuss how the could handle MC

Any ideas that had been brought up were either potentially dangerous to their human or had a low probability of working. They were running out of time and they knew it

Suddenly Simeon had remembered Lucifer’s old ring. He knew exactly where it was and exactly how to get it. He would have to be sneaky so that Michael didn’t find out but Michael was a busy man so he was sure it wouldn’t be too hard

Luckily enough, he was able to obtain the ring pretty easily. Just in time as well. He got the ring to MC before their magic caused anymore damage

After MCs magic was contained, Solomon worked diligently to restore Lucifer’s memories and to figure out what to do with MC

[kaishinbigbang]

the flame, the sword

author: @thrushsong-kvaris artist: @blueamphibians beta: n/a rating: t warnings: non-graphic violence, blood, murder summary: Long ago, a priest received a vision of a great calamity. Buildings were reduced to rubble, and infernos raged, all caused by a single being: a blue-eyed, wild-haired kitsune whose once-white robes were stained with blood. A devout order of priests dedicated themselves from preventing this calamity from occurring, searching far and wide for the kitsune who would bring the infernos. After a years-long hunt, he calamity kitsune was found hidden in a forgotten shrine, and many of the priests lost their lives in the battle to seal him away. The names of these priests are no longer remembered, but the Order of the Lotus created a memorial to their sacrifice, and many people visit their monastery to pray that the Calamity Kitsune, Bringer of Infernos, will never be unsealed.

fic link || art link

[kathrynalicemc]

Valhalla - Prologue

A/N: I had an idea so here’s the prologue to my next fic series called Valhalla. The premise is that Dafne and her two sisters, all grown up and out of hogwarts, embark on a journey to rediscover and unseal the lost wizard city of Valhalla in Norway. I’m not sure if I’ll start it now or if I’ll post more chapters soon but I couldn’t help myself so here’s a little taste. I may end up postponing this until after I finish The Phoenix Resistance in May (go check it out in the meantime!)

Also, there’s a companion to this small chapter. I would highly recommend playing the song Valhalla Calling along while you read as it inspired the writing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The echoes of eternity,

Valhalla calling me”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It began with a crack of lightning, brilliant and blue, lighting up the darkness around her. A second later came the sharp crack of thunder in reply. It rumbled seemingly in every direction, slowly fading into the black void all around her.

Dafne inhaled, steadying her nerves and clenching her fists.

“Where am I?” The words echoed into nothing, small ripples of water radiating out from her boots.

Another flash of lightning. Then another. And another. Dafne instinctually shields her eyes from the light. The ground quakes beneath her feet and reverberates up her legs to her chest. There is one final crash of lightning and then silence. It stretches on for what seems like a lifetime and yet just a few heartbeats.

Uncovering her eyes and glancing up, Dafnes breath catches. Before her, growing up from the darkness below towers an inky black jagged mountainscape backlit by a faint white glow. A swift rapid of rushing water falls from the top and crashes down to the black ground, foaming and sending waves out that turn to gentle ripples by the time they reach Dafnes feet.

A low resonant horn breaks the silence from deep within the mountain itself. It almost seemed to call her as if her soul was remembering a memory from long ago.

The waterfall suddenly parted and a stampede of riders shot out, hooves thundering and kicking up a spray of water. Looking closely, Dafne noticed each rider had a shield upon their back. There were three different crests, one of them being the Arcano family crest she was familiar with. A second shield featured the Varangr crest, one she knew of but didn’t encounter often as they lived in solitude on Svalbard. The third was a complete mystery to her. Dafne of course knew about the tale of the three brothers splitting off into their own families but the third family had long since died out, their name and crest lost to time.

These must be the Valkyries her grandfather told stories about. The female members of the three families that had the Gift whose job was to guard and protect the ancient wizard city of Valhalla. Dafnes chest ached as she watched visions of her long since passed ancestors ride off to battle, wishing she could be among the shieldmaidens.

As the last rider vanished into the void, so too did the image of the mountain. All was quiet.

Suddenly the sky above her erupted into a dancing aurora borealis. Colors of blue and green blazed before her eyes, folding and swirling against the deep indigo sky. The silence was broken by the astonished laughter of Dafne, a sound that very rarely is heard by anyone.

Whirling around to catch every glimpse of it that she could, a sudden dark figure appears just a few feet away from her. She was tall and imposing, yet her face displayed wisdom and kindness. Her long strawberry blonde hair curled and went past her waist. In that moment, Dafne’s love and obsession for history paid off. She knew based on the tunic and furs that adorned her body that this woman was ancient. The woman smiled gently and behind her, three men with similar facial features faded into existence. It was clear that these were her sons.

From the sons, another line of ancestors appeared behind them. Then another. And another. The entire horizon before her stood endless generations of ancestors going back hundreds of years until they disappeared from view into the dark.

One after another they all started to speak. The words were familiar but lost on her at first. Slowly they began to get closer and closer to being recognizable. Eventually she could start to pick out some words she understood from within an avalanche of sound.

“Find us”

“Help us”

“Save us”

“Free us”

The woman in front of her leaned forward, her face inches from Dafne. She placed her hand upon Dafne’s shoulder and then spoke.

“Wake up”

[thegayfromrulid]

Yujikiri Fic Rec List! (2020 ver.)

Here are some Yujikiri fics I’ve read that deserve some love! Please feel free to reblog this and add your favorites! I obviously haven’t read EVERYTHING on AO3 (and I haven’t gone on FFN or Wordpress), so let’s pass around the love!

More Than Just A Fling?, Phantom Cramps, Broken Souls, A Ghoul’s Integrity by neoqueentitania

Never Forget by Starshipper3241

Of icy wings and warm hands, Read between the lines by BlackRoseMii

The Long Road by Ignicula

You, Alice sensei by Noisette (French)

Scent of Blue Roses and The Night Sky, Fever by Dia_XD_X3

Following the Rules, The Road to Centoria by Esselle

different, memories, warm grass, confession, a mountain minus one, of visions by Anonymous

Promised Journey by kiriash

Petits Cadeaux à Honey (Chapter 4), Billets de l’avant 2019 (Chapter 18) by HaruCarnage (French)

nostalgia sonatina, blood like lemonade, sea may rise, sky may fall, hazy shade of autumn by PersonalityTest

Night Sky Garden by Arillow

空白（Blank Space）by xLightningToki

First Transcendence, Unsealed Hearts by Oakentide

chocolate by cantaloupe

Yearning by BestHandwriting

Spread some more fic love! 

[witchfall]

old souls

summary: When the act of want feels like a risk, what happens when you get everything you asked for?

A Crystal Exarch x Warrior of Light fic Word count: 6431 Rating: M (implied sexual content)

Also on AO3. Technically a sequel to ‘hard is the heart that feels no fear’, though it can be enjoyed standalone.

Thank you to @vaniccio for betaing!!!

Copious Shadowbringers: 5.3 Reflections in Crystal spoilers within. You have been warned!

—

—

–

-

For a blistering moment, Izzie sees meteors flicker in his crystal body.

He’s not there anymore. She knows that. She grips the crystalline vial of blood memories so hard she fears it will crack. The sadness Alisaie spoke of when she saw the star showers -- loss that leaves yawning gaps, writhing and vile -- creeps up her throat. She remembers when she had her first vision from Hydaelyn on that trip to Ul'dah long ago; she feels more grounded in it, now. The pain is lived in. Understood.

The rains have ceased, but you are not here to see it.

The Scions join her at the seat of sacrifice. They stare at her, alarmed, as she strides past and says nothing. She will risk nothing sullying her hope; she will hold it like candle flame, close to her chest, until she is certain it will not go out.

---

Y’shtola lifts a single, elegant brow. “You still have to take the Exarch to Nabaath Arang?” 

“Yes.” Izzie tries not to snap. Y’shtola, of all of them, is most likely to examine Izzie down to the quick and question what she finds there.

“Showing him the realm, are you?”

Izzie crosses her arms. Rain in the Greatwood has unsettled the ancient greenery. Her nose twitches at the heavy scent of damp moss. “What of it?” 

Something changes in the air, then. Y’shtola pauses, recalculating, and Izzie’s tail stands on end from the tension. “It simply has...been awhile, since you have taken a flight of fancy like this.”

Izzie digs her toe into the mud. She huffs. For a bard, she’s extraordinarily bad when it comes to talking about herself. “It’s nice. To pretend.”

You are death.

“Pretend?”

“That I’m just a traveler, anymore.” 

Y’shtola gives her a small smile, but there’s something deeper there that spooks Izzie, like she’s looking at something private. “Is that not among your brightest qualities? Your penchant for adventure, vast and mundane?” She places a gentle hand on Izzie’s shoulder. “You are not so unknown.”

Izzie says nothing, even as Y’shtola shakes her lightly.

“I am not one to make prognostications I don’t fully believe in. You know this. I do, in fact, think this has more than a passing chance of working.”

Izzie nods. She refuses to cry.

“You could do worse." Y'shtola brushes an invisible piece of dirt off Izzie’s tunic, as if oblivious to the effect she had on her younger counterpart. "Though...were the two of you anyone else, I would call you both unspeakably obsessed..." 

Izzie's breath stutters as Y’shtola’s cloudy eyes sharpen upon her. She lets up for nothing. But before Izzie can struggle to defend herself, the woman gives a dazzling smile. 

“Do keep heart. My life and happiness depends on this working, too, you know."

Izzie glances pointedly to Runar, who is speaking with a woman by one of the Slitherbough gardens, and Y’shtola, perhaps sensing her intent through the aether, finally graces Izzie with silence.

---

The Scions’ crystals shimmer and everything clicks into its right place; Izzie feels settled for a bare moment, as if she had stepped onto a ferry in just the nick of time. Her beloved family rises one by one, greeting the new day, groaning as they stretch out waxy muscles. But as they each turn to appraise her, Izzie fidgets and fidgets.

They each gaze upon her expectantly. We will leave the rest to you, Y’shtola says, smiling with rare maternal kindness. It sends cold water down Izzie’s back. Urianger’s softness has never been a mystery to her, even in his most shadowed; his words are complex but their meaning is simple. It will work, he reminds her. The doors will unseal because G’raha’s blood is in her satchel. 

(How many years has she dreamed of saving his blood under her fingernails, of forcing those golden doors open with a furious pouring of her own essence?)

The realization scares her: they all know what she wants. And not a single person in the room dissuades her.  

Her stomach roils. Her blood feels electric. The hope of fulfillment alone may devour her. She runs and does not look back, not even when Tataru shouts. Not even when she feels Alisaie look after her strangely, like a confirmation that something is changed forever.

---

The ground shakes as those massive doors, the Dossal Gates, open. The stale air tastes split by lightning. She had just been standing before these same gates a few moments ago, but the difference between the worlds hollows her out. Unlike in the First, where the doors herald the hope of a city, these doors are dusty and hidden. Sealed purposefully against the various evils of mankind.

She grips the crystal tighter; perhaps it is his present soul that makes her own memories feel suddenly, painfully vibrant. His broad shoulders square as he seeks to leave her behind forever -- but then he turns just slightly, as if considering looking back, and his mouth moves as the doors close, the words lost forever to the sound of doors roaring shut. 

I love you. That’s what he said. She knows that now. The crystal is warm under her fingers, confirming it. It gives her the will to keep walking, up vaunted staircases that once stunned her with their beauty. Now they are just another obstacle. She barely registers the imperial stature of the architecture or the distant, yawning sounds of monsters that could still be lurking in its eternal spire. She follows a well-tread path to the Umbilicus and she knows it is right; the crystal near thrums with an affectionate, overbearing knowing.

So like him.

And then, after she throws one last door open with a breathless, heavy creak, her journey ends. She takes in a sharp breath. Dust stings her nose.

There he is.

He sleeps upon little more than a tiny dais with some red blankets thrown over it for bare comfort. His head lays upon what must be an old shirt of his balled up to serve as a pillow; his hands rest, open palmed, upon his chest. This cannot be what he thought an Allagan princeling would look like. She nearly laughs, lightheaded. 

Still...

Despite everything, his face is the picture of a lazy Mor Dhona afternoon. Even under the cold blue-gold light, his handsomeness is gutting. 

He is exactly as preserved in her memory, save his hair spreading loose like red vines across his makeshift bed. His youth, unburdened by a century of waiting, springs tears into her eyes. How many years does she bear on her back, despite the star merely going round twice? Will she look too different in his younger eyes? (This body is still older than her, she notes. But barely anymore. What a strange pair they make.)

She feels stupid, standing there staring with the crystal in her hands. She wonders if perhaps she should have brought Krile along. But, in theory, this should work the same as with the Scions, so before she can overthink it she places the crystal carefully, lovingly, beneath his palms. She jolts when she touches his skin— cold as the air in the tower — and for a moment she actually fears waking him, like she doesn’t want to upset his sleep. Even though that is exactly what she is doing.

What the fuck even is her life, a tiny part of her whispers.

The seconds drag on. Her tail twitches behind her in restless energy. Should she practice a speech or something? Should she talk to him to encourage his soul to accept itself? What words would even suffice? She spent two years wondering after him, yet it all feels short compared to this moment.

“I’m here,” she announces quietly and her hand lingers on his for just a moment. When he doesn’t respond, she sinks to the floor beside him, her back against his strangely warm dais-bed, her head between her knees. Words are no good. Whatever she says could easily be for naught.

She sings instead.

It’s a silly song the dragons taught her that does not translate well, but she liked the challenge of it in her mouth. It was once a courtship song, she was told. The meaning behind the deeply intricate symbols had been lost to time and the traversal of new stars. Now they just liked the ditty.

Care to forget the deep warm wells of another life?

The slow love of water beneath the sand?

Stupid questions I can't answer.

She hears the crackling sparkle of aether and pointedly does not look. She digs her eyes into her knees, seized with fear, and keeps singing, even though it’s muffled by her legs. Her torso is bent just enough that her voice feels weak, but she doesn’t adjust.

She will need to give him space. He will need time to come to terms with this world. She will not press him. She will not.

you're bold and bright, the sun star's last breath.

me?

at least the dark magic is mine

and I will keep it to myself this time.

Her song smothers the groaning sounds of his waking. She doesn’t notice him take a few silent moments to watch her, all curled up and heartbreakingly girlish again in her waiting. Her feet tap the floor. Her hands grip her ankles. Her ears twitch, and then…

She sees feet hit the floor in the corner of her eye and…

She shoots up to standing so fast that her vision tunnels for a moment. She doesn’t breathe. She could pass out standing there. She might well have, watching him as he watches her, his mouth popped slightly open…those red eyes...

She stumbles back a tiny step at the weight of seeing him. His breath catches. 

“I remember,” he says. His throat works to swallow. Her eyes hone in on it. “I remember everything.”

"Oh.” Breathe. Her heart is in her mouth. “That’s…”

Well, not entirely good, is it? Don’t think about it.

She scans him as clinically as she can manage. The Allagan technology did well by him, at least. His skin is clear and pale. His tattoos stand out like void bites. His lithe frame had retained its old musculature, though she imagines it must be disorienting regardless. His aether situation -- she would leave the specifics to Krile -- must be very confusing.

But then his eyes fill with tears.

She panics, and against her earlier desire for restraint, she closes the distance between them in a step. Her hands fly to his face (no crystal coming to claim him, simply the edge of an archon's tattoo...). She cups his jaw, resting her thumbs on his cheeks. The tears she can't catch fall into the webbing of her fingers.

"It's okay," she says softly. She squashes her own tears down, down, down. His face still feels too cool beneath her hands and she thinks for a moment about what it would be like to wrap him up in a scarf and keep him like a trophy. "The worst is over now."

He leans his mouth into her palm. When he speaks, his lips brush her heart lines and she fears she may combust. "You're real, aren't you?" he croaks out. Voice unused for years. "You aren't some strange ghost created out of the hope of two souls?" 

Her throat tightens. She forgets how to speak like someone kind. “Of course I’m real, you idiot. Of course I'm--”

He seizes her, then, in a crushing embrace, his arms as strong as the day they said goodbye. They snake around her waist. She is crushed between her leather armor and his stupid ugly tunic and the haleness of his body, and all she wants is to wink out of time and live in this moment. Still, a part of her resists. He has much to remember. Hundreds of years to consider.

He whispers into her ear. “My star. Izzie. My love.” Naming her, as if to anchor her to him. He pulls back only so their foreheads meet. She struggles to focus on the radiance of his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Am I--” She nearly growls at him in her flummoxed state. Tears slip down her cheeks, too, and it makes her angry and proud and happy and destroyed. “I should be asking you that!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her; but then, it is more likely he did and saw through her. He tucks her head under his chin and rocks her back and forth. He holds her tightly until her shoulders finally lose their tension and she gives a keening sob against his chest. His breath catches again. And then they collapse to the gold filigree floor, grappling with the sudden collision -- and end -- of too many painful years apart.

---

She feels a bit like a child bringing home a stray, even though that doesn’t make sense. Her Scions know him and he’d lived in Mor Dhona for a not insignificant amount of time. But nothing explains the bizarre embarrassment and desolation she feels when they arrive at the Rising Stones and everyone stares for a second. Don’t look, she wants to scream. Everything is fine and normal and not at all a miracle that shouldn’t have happened.

But then Krile marches forward and points a terrifying finger at G’raha. “Raha. Just because this all worked out well does not mean you are forgiven for being an idealistic fool. To bed. Now.”

Izzie grins so brightly her eyes water as G’raha’s ears flatten against his head. Her mother would like Krile very much; the resemblance strikes her fiercely in that moment. 

“Don’t let him leave your sight, Izzie,” she grumbles as they enter Dawn’s Respite. G’raha leans into Izzie as she half carries him, and she wonders if he’s dramatizing a little to stay close to her and hide from Krile. “I can’t believe how angry I still am with you after all these years. You ridiculous fool. You’re lucky your decision quite literally prevented a calamity…”

G’raha, to his credit, bows to her scolding. “You’re right, of course.”

Krile harrumphs. But Izzie doesn’t miss the soft, sidelong glance she gives the younger scholar before she near pushes him to bed.

--- 

Izzie brings G’raha everything Krile says he needs and more. She fetches food and blankets and washcloths. She holds weird aether scanning tools at just right angles. She cleans medical tools and sweeps floors and folds sheets when Krile runs out of things for her to do. At one point, she notices G’raha keeps brushing his bangs out of his eyes. She silently marches up to his bedside, fishes out a few pins from her pocket, and waves them in front of his face.

He reaches forward to take them. "Thank you--"

"Let me do it," she whispers, and before he can protest, her fingers brush against his crown, pinning his soft hair out of his beautiful eyes. He takes the faintest breath before he wraps a hand around her wrist, gentle and pleading.

"You haven't sat down."

She feels like she has hornets under her skin. "Lots to do."

He quirks a smile. “No there isn’t.”

She glances to where his fingers grip her. She glances around the spotless Respite. Her ears flatten. “...well. There was.”

So she sits in the chair Krile pointedly left beside him and collapses her body forward until her forehead lays on the mattress. She is tired. Not for the first time, she wishes she wasn’t like this. Wishes she didn’t feel driven to do until she can’t think anymore.

But then G’raha gently rubs her head between her ears and she decides she can just opt out of thinking, if she wants. She allows herself the affection; from the way his hands don’t leave her, he seems desperate to give it. She snaps out her own hand, letting it wander the mattress and muss away the sheets until she finds his thigh and she feels better, touching him back. He softly hums some old tune and she relaxes there in relative quiet for who knows how long.

In her warm drifting, she eventually realizes she dreads nightfall. She should let him sleep the recuperative sleep of a mortal man. She should not hover or oppress him into what she wants. But just as before, as in the old days and the new, he speaks as if he can read her like a book.

"If it isn't any trouble, my dear one," he starts, "would you be willing to stay with me tonight?"

She nods at once, relieved, and settles harder into her chair. He smiles, lopsided.

"You can have a bed, if you'd like."

"I want to be closer," she admits, and already her face burns, even though she has not lifted her hand from his thigh for hours, maybe. "So here is fine, I've slept in a chair before, a lot actually--"

He reaches up and tugs on one of the frazzled locks of hair framing her face, just like Before. Her lip quivers. "You can have a bed," he says, cutely commandeering in a way he never let himself be as Exarch, and he pats his mattress.

She blinks at him. In the next moment, she is peeling off her boots, avoiding his resplendent gaze as she does so. She pulls back his covers and slips in beside him, her legs sliding against his warm, bare skin as he tucks her in against his chest. She entwines their limbs and throws an arm over his waist. She digs her nose into his chest, smelling his clean skin; even now his scent reminds her of their old campfires. He rubs small circles into the back of her neck with his thumb.

Why had she been so afraid to ask for this?

"Finally," he sighs into her hair. "My dark and dastardly plans may commence."

He brushes his fingers on her exposed waist. She squeaks at his touch -- he was tickling her, the fiend -- and whaps him with her palm. He laughs. She feels at home.

---

G'raha awakens first. He blinks heavily at the weight lying against him and looks down, and only then does he accept he is not dreaming. 

Izzie snores against him, her mouth open. Her chin shines with drool. Her hair is a tangle of red knots under her sweaty neck, but her face is so relaxed that he thinks to keep her there, forever. His reverie only ends because Krile enters -- and she stops suddenly, seeing the pair.

He can only describe her expression as wistful. But she schools her face into more familiar, sly watchfulness when she notices his gaze upon her.

"You would ensnare the Warrior of Light," Krile says, as if exhausted of him already.

"I assure you," he says, quiet as a whisper, "that it was entirely the other way around."

Krile smirks. She oozes sarcasm as she sweeps over to them, but when her gaze shifts to Izzie’s still miraculously sleeping form, he remembers how badly he missed Krile’s softness, too. 

“Oh, Raha.” She lays the back of her hand on Izzie’s forehead, testing for fever (it was apparently that unusual for her to sleep like this), but her twinkling eyes land on him. “You haven’t changed at all.”

---

And then the strangest thing of all happens: The Scions of the Seventh Dawn have nothing to do. Nothing so pressing the world won’t wait a few days for them to catch up to it.

G’raha learns the limits of his new old body. He falls asleep on their picnic blanket and during a card game and even, to Izzie's sickening panic, once on the edge of a balcony wall where he had perched with a book. He devours whole meals so quickly she watches him in careful awe. He weaves spells and gets tired enough to faint; she has so far been able to catch him before he hits the ground, but she ponders letting him do so, once, if it teaches him a lesson.

Izzie enjoys playing witness. It’s like watching her favorite dreams depicted on stage for her amusement.

"I like your hair like that," she says in passing one day. His hand flutters up to the pins he had kept and his ears flick -- more expressive than she had ever seen, even in the old days. He smiles brightly.

"I'm glad," he says. "I like it too."

Tataru gifts him new clothes, and that is when it truly feels like the beginning of an era. He steps out of a side room to model them for the Scion family, smiling sheepishly, and Izzie stares for a moment too long. She feels Feo Ul's hand in this. The Fae King reached through time and space to design this outfit specifically to slap her in the face. My dear sapling will have to thank me in person later! She can nearly hear the words -- and indeed, Izzie would.

The design is a perfect blend of old and new. His sharp red half-robe is ridiculously him, honoring the Exarch and young scholar both. The gold accents shimmer under the light. He is adorned with so many necklaces she is struck with the desire to bring him another, as if in tribute. 

She steps close and adjusts his black scarf, letting her fingers drift down to the tassles and linger on the sumptuous fabric just over his collarbones, before she realizes what she is doing. 

G'raha's grin is blinding in the corner of her eye. 

"It wasn't even," she grumbles at him.

"And the rest of it?"

"It's a good look," Thancred says. His tone indicates more than just the clothes. Alphinaud poorly stifles a giggle.

Izzie turns back to glare at them, but they are all looking at her, like she is the twist in the tale they've been waiting for. Urianger smiles gently. Y'shtola raises a brow. I knew it to be so. Even Alisaie looks strangely triumphant, like she'd won a bet.

She blushes furiously and lets it slide.

Despite this -- despite the offer for him to join the Scions and the work he does to re-seal the tower and the fact he is never far from arm's reach, much less out of sight -- she still feels out of sorts. And then one day, as they sit together in the Rising Stones cafe picking over finger sandwiches, her mouth does the thing where it asks a stupid question before she realizes it's happening. 

She stares at him as he places a fifth sandwich in his mouth and she asks: "Are we together?"

He glances to her, alarmed, but his tone remains steady and teasing. "Did you teleport somewhere on accident? You look corporeal enough."

"No. I mean. Are we...are…" Well, no, now it feels really stupid. She turns away. She stuffs a whole sandwich in her mouth in one go, and he waits patiently the whole time. She says, once she swallows the food down: "Is this happening? For real this time?"

She isn't sure what she means. Physically? A proposal of marriage? All of it makes her feel like she just stuck her head in an oven.

His brows turn downward. "Why wouldn't it be, my love?"

Yes, this is very stupid indeed. His love is near impossible to avoid. But since he received his own room at the Stones, they function otherwise like they intend to live completely separate lives. Like colleagues.

Which they are. Which is fine.

It’s not.

"Can we...go on a trip? An adventure maybe? Or something? Alone. Just us two. Without...any of the other Scions…?”

She bites her lip and lays her head on the table and covers her scalp with her hands. She wants to die for some reason. 

He laughs, warm and true, and he leans in until his forehead rests on her temple. She still hides in shame, even as he whispers just for her to hear. "How many times do I have to tell you you're my guiding star? Before you believe me?"

Her face is so flushed she feels sweat break on her brow. "Maybe another time would help," she mutters into the table.

He laughs again and gently kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "I will wait for you to come to me, alright?" When she looks at him with wide eyes, stricken by a terror she struggles to name, he smiles at her. Love freely given. "You could never disappoint me. As ever, I follow in your light."

---

She takes him up on it that night.

She was never confident in these affairs. Their first time in the tower on the First she was seized by reckless abandon. He was already seeing everything. Why hide? Their time, she sensed, had been limited once again. The tower loomed over everything. A judge in cold absentia.

Now, if she knocks on this door in the Rising Stones, she will be stepping into forever. Her body shakes. She feels 19 again, afraid of how powerfully certain she is -- afraid of the pain she may invite into her life, if she loses him. But this time, she has already lost him twice. No god, if they exist, would be cruel or stupid enough to make an enemy of her this time.

She knocks. He opens the door. He stares, bewildered. 

"Hi," she says flatly.

A blinding smile lights his face. She has to look away a moment. Her heart thuds so strongly she is certain he can hear it. He stands there, staring.

"Move, would you?" Her voice feels harsh and unsteady. "Before the gossipmongers see."

He steps back. She steps in. And then, in one fluid movement, he pulls her against him and pushes the door closed behind her. Suddenly her back is pressed against the harsh wood and she is kissing him, melting into his muscled chest and his moan of satisfaction as her tongue darts into his mouth. She isn't sure who moved first. It doesn't matter now. They're together, against the literal forces of time and space. 

She pulls back just enough that their lips are only a hair apart. Heat thrums between them.

"I hope you know," she breathes, "that this time I mean to keep you."

He grins. The boy she had dreamed of. "This time I intend to be kept."

She laughs before he quiets her with his mouth against hers. 

For all its drama, the reconnection is quiet. He carries her to the bed. They undress each other slowly, limbs entangled, smiling into each other's skin, until they lay together naked beneath the blankets. He won't stop kissing her, pressing his lips against old injuries, her ears, her collarbones, her stomach. 

“So much to catch up on,” he says. “And I will know all of it, again.”

She takes a deep breath and shreds her last bit of armor. Do what you like with me. Mark me. Make it real. 

He holds her fast when she says this. He trembles, looming over her, within her. She wants to be disappeared by his shadow. She wants to be consumed.

His mouth and tongue slide down her neck. "You are everything.” His teeth graze the top of her shoulder. “I will answer your every prayer.” His hand slides over the bony curve of her hip. “For what I want...is to see you beloved.”

---

And yet.

She wakes curled into his side, his arm circled around her shoulders. She moves until she can hear his heart, beating and alive. 

The shadow of night sparks cruel questions: Will he be kept? Will he be fighting fate's designs upon his life? Can she survive another loss? Can she afford to try? They circle in her head until she takes a sharp breath. She utters his true name. "Raha…"

Perhaps he had already been awake. Immediately, he circles his arms around her in a protective vice. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice catches in her throat and G’raha pulls her up. He sits against the headboard and cradles her against him, bringing the blankets up to keep her warm. “I don’t know,” she says. She smothers her ear against his chest. Lets the sound of his lifeblood calm her. “I don’t know what happens next.”

He strokes her back. Her fingertips slip against his chest as she balls her hands into fists. And then he sucks in a breath. She tilts her head up at him.

"...I just want you to know where I stand," he says, and she gets the feeling he has practiced this speech. "I...I had seen the reports of your death in the future that now will never be. I saw...memorials to you in every camp. Every small group carried something of you. A picture. A carving. A song they thought you wrote…"

He sighs. She hears a century of pain in it.

"Your death in the abstract was untenable. You were everywhere. And...I knew, I knew when I woke that I would be confronted with your death, even in an ideal world. But it was...I felt so immeasurably stupid. To think that I would be able to survive it. I could barely tolerate giving up adventuring with you, much less..."

She stops him with a finger to his lips. No need to relive these hurts for her sake. "What's the short version, Raha?"

The use of his true name sends another contented shudder through his lungs. He takes her raised hand and pulls until he can press his lips against the inside of her wrist.

"I had a century to come to terms with what I want. And now I have her, despite my every expectation.” His tail curls around her hip. "You haven't had that time. I didn't want to press it. But I also know...sometimes you experience more pain doing nothing out of fear of what the something will bring."

She hears the silent mercy he is granting her. It’s okay to want. It’s okay to struggle with it. 

“And,” he adds, “you lose a shocking amount of time, thinking not of the present.”

He presses a kiss to the pulsing vein in her wrist. She taps his chest with her thumb.

"What did the pictures even look like?"

His other hand slides lazily down her back. "Not even the slightest bit like you."

"Not even a little?"

"It was you if you were at least a fulm taller and had much meaner brows. Maybe."

"Hmm…"

He squeezes the base of her tail and she jumps. His chuckling breath tickles her ear. "I much prefer this version."

---

G’raha taps the charcoal against the blank drawing parchment as he watches Izzie experience the consequences of her actions. 

On the path into Rowena’s Splendors below, the Warrior of Light and Darkness hummed, fully distracted by the contents of her bag while she walked -- leaving her utterly unprepared for Thancred to hold out his arm and nearly clothesline her. She stumbles with incredible drama. Her arms flap. Her feet dance to keep her aloft, and just barely do they succeed.

“Hey!” she shouts.

“Your bag,” Thancred insists.

“You-”

“Your bag.”

Izzie growls in frustration before shoving it at him with a leathery thunk.

Thancred makes a show of rifling through it. Some knives wrapped in burlap. The remnants of a cheesecloth. A few glamour prisms. G’raha knows Thancred wouldn’t find anything in there. He knows, also, that Thancred wouldn’t even be down there if it wasn’t for him. He tipped the man off because he knew Izzie would find it funny.

He rather enjoys Izzie’s little cons -- when they aren’t directed at him. 

Thancred hands back the satchel. “If I find any more of that Mord grub in our coldbox, I will confine you to quarters, warrior of two worlds or no.” Despite his words, his tone is largely...endeared. Relieved, and not just because her bag was empty.

Izzie grins at him. “Gaia didn’t send any with me this time.”

Thancred ignores her. “And you!” he shouts up at G’raha. “Stop enabling her!”

G’raha raises his hands to proclaim innocence, laughing, and he wipes off the charcoal lingering on his fingers. He turns his eyes toward the door to the balcony upon which he sits. His heart floats, knowing it’ll be mere moments before Izzie will be ambushing him.

The scions -- his fellow scions -- hadn’t missed the changes within her. She smiles more. She even plays music in the tavern sometimes, which always brings a full house. I’ll deal with the frustrating practical jokes if it means she’s doing alright, Thancred admitted to him over beer not so long ago.

He hears her before he sees her, but only because he seeks out her quiet footfalls. She jumps from the threshold of the door and makes it half-way; she twirl-steps the last half to dramatically throw her arm over his shoulders. She lands hard enough to thump the air out of him. The whole of her leans playfully into his side, her chest nearly against his own. “Ready to see Ma?”

He grins before her happy radiance, never one to resist her call to adventure -- not even when he fears what it will bring. Meeting her adoptive mother, for instance. He settles his arm around her lower back. “As ready as one can be.”

---

The Thanalan heat stifles him. Dust seeps into his clothes and sand flies into his eyes no matter which way he turns when the winds blow across the desert. Izzie's ma, Sheshena Shena, takes one look at G’raha’s pale, wind-chapped skin and insists he take tea with her on the covered porch.

"Izzie can set up the carriage herself," she declares. Izzie glances to him and nods encouragement, but she acquiesces at once to her Ma's will. Lady Shena, G'raha thinks, has a power all of Garlemald wishes it could wield.

But he knows that this gesture is not solely for his benefit. She allows him a few moments of polite, worthless conversation over an aromatic chai before her glassy eyes pin him in place.

"Not too many moons ago," Sheshena says, "I was going to ask her to quit."

G'raha lets that register for a moment. "Her work with the Scions?"

Sheshena inclines her head. "She wouldn't have. She can no less quit being the warrior of light than I can quit being her mother. But I thought...perhaps it would help her notice just how bad the misery weighed on her shoulders."

She purses her lips and turns away, toward Izzie. She lingers there a moment. 

"She would have just been angry with me." Her gaze slides back to him. "But I have watched my daughter carefully, G'raha Tia. And much of this started not long after you disappeared from her life."

He understands now. She is warning him. She is telling him the stories that wouldn't be in any tomes.

"...it wasn't all your fault," she allows. "Her time in Ishgard would have crushed her were it not for dear Edmont." He forgets she is on first name terms with Izzie's Ishgardian family -- that she is part of it, too. "And then her father died."

G'raha closes his eyes, punched in the gut. 

Her voice hollows. "It never quite stopped after that."

He realizes this is not just a tribunal for his crimes against her daughter, but a confessional. An unmooring of pain, old and new. 

"She stopped allowing herself things. Her silly songs ended. Her visits slowed. I knew she needed the space. But she was drifting into the middle of a lake with no paddle. She was letting it happen." Her silver eyes sharpen into knives. "And I sought to blame someone. And I decided it was you. You, who had broken her heart first. You, who had left her behind. You were...it was easier."

She sets down her tea cup with a shaky clink and turns away from him.

"She told me what happened on this...other world. How she found you again."

He stares down into his half-sipped tea. His fingers slip upon the stone table. He would take this punishment. It was small, in the scheme of things, and necessary.

"She told me, had it not happened...had you made a different choice, that she would be dead."

So would the whole world, he thinks to say, but on this he and Sheshena agreed: without her, none of it matters, anyway.

"That you survived years and years to set things right and make sure she didn't die."

He nods, though his neck feels stiff.

"So I wanted to apologize. And thank you."

His heart stutters. He looks up at her in shock.

"Come off it," she says, sly and perhaps embarrassed. "Look at her. Look at her." Her lip trembles. "She's humming again."

They both look out to her, softly brushing her chocobo. The 'bo chirps conversationally at her. She laughs and coos at her stalwart friend. And there, in her laughter…

Where the desert sun left him weak and wan, she is painted in one thousand colors of light. Her sea green eyes shine. Her skin reddens like a canyon at noon. The sun adores her as its own, and perhaps she is. 

This is the crystal of Azem. I think that it was meant for me. Can you believe it? Emet-selch, making this for me, once upon a time...

The Sun. The Shepherd of the Stars. When he touched the crystal, he felt a strange sort of awe.

He tastes cloves and the fruit of oasis when he thinks about her aether whipping around him. He thinks of life where there should be misery -- of how desire can twist but also carefully caress.

"Ma! Where'd you put Bonbon's sun hat?"

Sheshena answers, her voice no longer weighed down, and he realizes again why Izzie was so afraid at first. He would learn the realness of her again. He would see her pain and be there at her Da’s grave with her. He would make it impossible for her to forget that she is loved. 

Sheshena turns back to him and the light in her eyes shifts. 

"So." Sheshena regards him regally. "You're Allagan royalty, are you?" She raises a single brow to his flummoxed expression and sighs as she lifts her tea cup to her lips. "I suppose she could do worse."

The sun scalds bright pictures behind his eyelids as he laughs.