#and my resentment spilled to the both of you. and my spite and rage killed us all. and im sorry i dragged you all under.

[tokyoteddywolf]

...I'm not as sad as I probably should be.

It hurts, its understandable, but it's resignation too.

I won't cry over it.

I'll just accept what I'm dealt and move on.

That's all I can do.

#vent in tags #it was always going to happen. the degredation was always there and it just crumbled silently away. #losing friends always sucks. it sucks more when you know its both of your faults. #lost a couple of good friends today. not dead but we just couldnt deal with each other anymore. #i cannot forgive or forget and maybe thats just part of why it had to happen. i tried to forgive but i couldnt. #it was always in the back of my mind you know? that i hated it. i hated it so much. i couldnt hate you- but i just couldnt let go either. #and maybe that suppressed spite and rage made it all worse. and maybe i was never going to let go. and maybe i still felt so so alone. #and maybe you did what was best for you but it hurt me so badly that my brain scarred deeply and we couldnt recover. #it was always going to crumble and break. we couldnt handle it. we just held on in desperation until we all broke. #and my resentment spilled to the both of you. and my spite and rage killed us all. and im sorry i dragged you all under. #maybe one day we'll be better people. older. wiser. stronger. #but ive always always always felt so alone in the aftermath and it just didnt help. so i cant forgive it. not yet. maybe not ever. #i love you but you hurt me. you hurt me so so so badly. and maybe i hurt you just as badly back in retaliation without thinking. #we tore each other apart and the sorry's we said were paper bandaids. it was inevitable. it was a doomed narrative and we the players. #i am sorry. i am so sorry. i will grieve you and miss you but i will not reach out to you anymore. ill leave you alone. #just promise me you'll look after each other the way you always have. #at least in that i know you're loved still.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The former God of Magic resents The Mother for sticking him on Earth, and plans on causing as much havoc as he can to punish Her;

Version 2, Dark!Merlin

INTRO

(Version 1, Good!Merlin)

TW: A lot of emotional manipulation, a little violence, a lot of angst.

~

“You’re late.”

The woman’s well practiced blank mask falls into a scowl as she stares at Merlin with mistrust:

“Well, perhaps I was putting off coming to see you, no matter how necessary it is.”

The gang can see the bob of Merlin’s head as he lets out a low chuckle, and they have to stop themselves from recoiling; they’d never heard a noise like that from their young friend before, it sounded almost... cruel.

He lifts a hand to cover his heart as he says in faux offense:

“You wound me, sister. You didn’t want to see your favourite sibling?”

Everyone frowns in confusion, Merlin doesn’t have... siblings. That’s not even mentioning the fact that this woman barely seems human.

The woman doesn’t hide her slight disgust, taking a step back from Merlin and letting out a harsh breath:

“I came here to tell you that you need to hurry up. Time is running out.”

Merlin chuckles again, turning to the side and taking a few short paces, his hands held leisurely behind his back. The amusement on his face is disturbing, and Arthur gulps, not noticing the way Mordred is growing paler and paler by the second. Merlin doesn’t turn to look at the woman as he speaks, and his smirk stretches wider:

“But I’m having so much fun, Ava!”

The woman, Ava, huffs again, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. If the gang weren’t so semi-sure that Merlin wasn’t dangerous, they’d think she looked scared:

“Mother sent you here to complete a task. Get it done, and you can come home. Isn’t that what you want? To come home?”

Merlin’s smirk falls, and the snarl that the gang briefly see on his face before he whips around to face Ava takes their breath away. They barely notice the thunder, snapping in the distance in time with Merlin’s anger:

“Mother’s the one keeping me here in the first place. She could accept me back any time.”

Ava takes another step back, and Merlin tilts his head ever so slightly at the movement, but waits for her to speak:

“As punishment for your cruelty. She isn’t happy, you’re making a mess of things.”

Merlin chuckles again, tilting his head even further, and his words have an immediate chilling effect on the group hiding in the bushes:

“Well, if she insists on sending the God of Chaos to fix a problem, perhaps she should expect a little mess. Plus, I’m having more fun here than I’ve had in centuries. These humans... so gullible.-”

Ava shakes her head mournfully, but before she can say anything, Merlin continues, now pacing calmly around the clearing, waving his hands and grinning in his excitement:

“-I mean, they’re just so... easy. To play with, to manipulate. You know they all trust me? They all come running to naïve, innocent, loving little Merlin, spilling all their secrets as they go. Did you know, the drunkard is the son of a noble? “Fuck nobility” my arse, he is nobility.-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw and looks to the floor, ignoring the stares of Arthur and Leon, but before anything can be muttered, Merlin continues, listing their greatest secrets off on his fingers:

“-The gentle giant is terrified that someone’s going to find out that his preferences lie with men, which is ridiculous considering the way he stares at the aforementioned drunkard when he thinks no one but little old me is watching. The blacksmith, even years on, is terrified that his whore sister will never forgive him for... something or other, I wasn’t really paying attention. Camelot’s first, The King’s most trusted, has a debilitating fear of heights, and oh if it isn’t just hilarious to watch when he has to patrol the city walls. And then, there’s the-”

Ava rolls her mournful eyes and interrupts him:

“Your point, Em?”

Merlin laughs, fully and from the belly, but the sound doesn’t bring the gang joy like it normally does:

“My point, is that I’ve got these idiots wrapped around my finger. Mortals: the universe’s most fun toy. I haven’t even gotten to half of them yet. There’s the noble one, who thinks he holds my trust, the Druid boy, whose only redeeming feature is that he’s destined to kill the King Prat one day; believe me, if it weren’t for that I’d have killed the annoying little twerp years ago. Then there’s the King Prat’s magical sister, who is full of such terror. I play with her dreams some nights, force visions of pyres and hatred and destruction to play over and over in her mind. It’s rather amusing, watching her thrash and sweat and whimper in her sleep.-”

Arthur’s head had whipped around to Morgana when Merlin had mentioned her, but the tears streaming down her face and the way her hand was clamped tightly over her mouth stripped his anger from him. Which left him with no distraction, no way to ignore the simple fact of what was happening right now. Merlin was... not what they thought. He was powerful, he was using them. He was playing with them like puppets and pulling their strings this way and that, watching as they could do nothing but follow. Arthur didn’t know what to think, and he definitely didn’t notice the tears on his own cheeks.

Mordred was pale to the point of looking like he was about to faint and Lancelot had a deep frown on his face, tears in his eyes but not quite falling, not yet. This was... a misunderstanding. He... he knows Merlin, this is a trick, or a trap, he’ll explain later and everything will be just fine. He just has to... to trust him. Everything will be fine.

Gwaine keeps his gaze on the floor. A small part of him was feeling a little prideful that Percival liked him back, but the rest of him... had no room for anything but grief. He had suspected that Merlin had magic, but this was something else, this was... a whole new person. Did he ever really know Merlin? Did any of them? 

Elyan and Gwen sat pressed together tightly, though Gwen had one hand on Morgana’s shaking back, and her other was reaching around Elyan, gripping Leon’s shoulder tightly. Leon was just staring blankly at the scene in front of him, though anyone that knew him well enough would be able to see the tight clench of his jaw and the anger (and grief) in his eyes.

Ava interrupted Merlin’s gleeful ranting, the tears in her eyes a little more prominent as she took on a slightly more desperate tone:

“Please, Em, just... stop. They’re important, they have destinies, you can not destroy them or push them too far; this is cruel, even for you. This... you never used to be like this.”

Merlin turns around, facing away from his sister and giving the hidden group full view of his rage-filled face. His voice is quiet and clipped and angry as he asks:

“Oh?”

Another roll of thunder echoes through the clearing, closer this time, and fat droplets of rain fall harshly from the sky, mixing with the tears on everyone’s face. Ava sighs, tears overflowing as she gulps before answering, her voice shaking slightly as she takes a step towards Merlin:

“You’re meant to be the God of Magic, not Chaos. You were so... beautiful, balanced. You saw wonder in everything, every little spark of magic and every single prayer put a smile on your face. You loved humanity even more than Mother did. Now look at you, you’re tormenting them, torturing them. This isn’t you, Em, please. Help them, and things can go back to the way they were, help them and you can come home.”

The anger on Merlin’s face had only grown as she spoke, and each individual hidden in the bushes had to make a concerted effort to stop themselves from bolting. None of them had felt terror like it, and the fact that it was Merlin they were all so scared of... well, it didn’t help.

Lightening streaks across the sky and wind howls violently through the forest, calming only when Merlin shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, straightening his back and smirking slightly before he replies, still not turning around to face his sister:

“You’re right. I loved humanity, I was desperate to see them succeed. And then they butchered me. I gave them this universe to frolic in, and in return they call me a monster, a beast, they call me evil, they make nightmares out of me. I still listen to every little prayer, and do you know what I hear? I hear my people, my wonderful little creations, my creatures of magic, begging for mercy, begging for the pain to stop. The humanity I so used to love turned on them, began to burn them, out of spite and fear and hatred. I will not show them any more grace than they have showed me, I will give them exactly what they deserve, and that blonde idiot is at the top of my list of people who have to fucking pay. I won’t destroy him entirely, because ultimately I want my creatures to stop suffering, but I will break him. I will rip him apart piece by piece for what he has done to me.-”

The absolute fury in Merlin’s words, the hatred, translates to thunder in the sky and agony in Arthur’s chest. The King can barely breathe, muffling the sobs tearing from his mouth with both hands, both terrified of being discovered, and desperate to... to let Merlin punish him for the pain he has caused.

Leon settles a shaking hand on his shoulder, but Arthur doesn’t look his way, his blurry gaze focused on Merlin, now finally turning back to his sister:

“-You know, I’m this close to getting that big blonde idiot to fall in love with me. How pathetic is that?? All it took was a few touches here, a few lingering stares there, saving his life occasionally. The man is so pathetically starved for attention I imagine he’d fall for anyone who showed him the barest amount of affection. That is how I will break him.-”

The only thing stopping Arthur from sobbing aloud is Leon collapsing behind him, pulling the young King back into his chest and wrapping a tight arm around his torso, one hand clamped over his mouth as he mutters desperate reassurances into his ear. Morgana pulls Gwen close in a similar way when the servant’s cries grow harsher, her brother burying his face in her shoulder.

Lancelot barely notices Gwaine gripping his arm hard enough to leave bruises for weeks, or Percival pushing his forehead into Lance’s shoulder blade. All he can do is sit and stare at the ground, his breathing slow but shaky, tears streaming silently down his face as he rethinks everything he’s ever known.

Mordred sits on his own, rocking back and forth rhythmically as he tightens the clutch he has around his knees. Tears drip from his young cheeks, poisoning the ground beneath him as he struggles to consider his faith. His faith in magic, in Emrys, who was meant to be balanced and beautiful and giving. Emrys, who he now knew was twisted and angry and desperate for revenge.

All of their hearts are splitting, cracking down the middle.

“-It won’t be physical pain, no, that’ll be down to the Druid boy. He doesn’t want to kill Arthur now, but he will, one day, when I give him one final push. He’ll fall so far into the darkness there’ll be nothing of him left to save, and when he plunges his sword into The Pendragon’s chest, I’ll sit back and watch with a smile on my face, and Arthur will realise that the man he loves, the man who claimed to love him in return, hated him all along. Tricked him. I will watch the life drain from his eyes, and he will spend his last few moments on this world in every kind of agony imaginable, lost in the knowledge that I wanted him to suffer, that he is being punished for his sins.”

Ava shakes her head, silver tears dripping from her emerald eyes as she stares at the floor:

“Are Sir Mordred and the Lady Morgana not your creatures? Do you not wish to save at least them?”

Merlin chuckles darkly:

“I had faith in them once, but they made their decisions. They sided with a Pendragon over me. Mother may be fond of her precious Once and Future King, but to be fair, she’s fond of anything with a pulse, and I, for one, can not wait until she’s not quite so fond of him anymore.”

Ava gulps, taking a desperate step towards her amused brother, but before she can say anything, before she can make one last plea for mercy on humanity’s behalf, Merlin tilts his head, smirking dangerously:

“Do you think they’re scared?”

She halts in her tracks, blinking in confusion, and Merlin’s smile grows into a chuckle as he gestures behind him:

“The King and all his little friends, hidden in the bushes. Do you think they’re scared?” 

The gang barely have time to look up in shock before their bodies are moving, out of their control. They stand rigidly and walk single-file out from their hiding place, coming to stand in a line at the side of the clearing. Merlin hasn’t even looked at them, but his hand floats in the air, a sickly looking yellow mist swirling around his fingers as he tilts his head at his sister, staring in horror at The King, the knights, the Lady, and the servant.

Merlin drops his hand and they all fall to their knees, not even bothering to be brave as they sob. The angry God finally turns, and the serene smile on his face is chilling as he walks towards them, coming to stand in front of Lance and Mordred first. The two of them are the calmest, though calm in the way that they don’t really look... present. They stare blankly ahead, breathing shallow and tears still falling as Merlin crouches in front of them, gripping a chin in each hand and shaking their heads roughly. His voice comes out a whisper, the frown on his face looking more disappointed than anything:

“So much faith, so much trust. It’s a little pitiful, if I’m being honest.”

They don’t react to his words and he smirks before letting them go and standing, moving on to Elyan and Gwen, gripping the knight’s shoulder and saying with mocking sympathy in his voice:

“You were right, by the way,-”

He glances at a fully sobbing Gwen with disgust:

“-she’ll never forgive you, but she’ll never tell you that. You’ll just spend the rest of your life wondering why your relationship was never the same.”

Next, he shuffles over to Gwaine, not even bothering to see the siblings’ reactions as he passes Leon and Percival with a look of disinterest on his face. He leans down in front of the knight, running a soft hand through his hair, waiting for the man to relax slightly before gripping his hair harshly and yanking back, so he has to look up at him. Merlin gives him a blindingly cruel smile:

“You're grateful that Percival is just as in love with you as you are with him, but don’t think yourself too lucky. You’re a hypocrite and a drunk, and my dear old Percy has too much self respect to put himself through that. I’d go for a good tumble in the hay and give up while you’re ahead.”

Once again, he moves back, his sister having to look away in her grief, her empathy drowning her. The God comes to stand in front of Morgana, who is desperately trying to look brave but failing miserably:

“And you. You’re meant to be The Darkness, but I couldn’t very well have you outdo me, could I? Try your hardest, I’ll still be the end of you, and I wait with baited breath for the day you fall, and the day soon after that, when I get to kill you.”

She break down in tears again at that, horrified with the idea that she might one day be on the same end of morality and cruelty as this monster in front of her.

Merlin smirks before rolling his eyes and finally coming to stand in front of Arthur. The King calms his breathing just enough to look up at a smirking Merlin, his voice cracking and barely-there as he mutters:

“Please... Merlin, please...”

The smirk drops from Merlin’s face as he brings his hand up, the sickly yellow mist back again. Arthur rises from the floor, hands clutching at his throat as the air is drawn from his lungs. Merlin steps closer to his with a snarl, his free hand gripping Arthur’s chin like a vice, though his voice eerily calm as he murmurs:

“You. You and Uther were so desperate for a scape-goat, for a villain, for a monster. And you picked magic, you picked me. So stop being so fucking pathetic, I’m just playing the part you gave me to perfection. You picked the premise, I’m writing the ending.”

Ava finally speaks up, her voice loud, despite the waver:

“Brother please, this is... this is beyond cruelty, please just stop.”

Arthur is dropped, and The King can barely find it in himself to choke for air as Merlin turns back to his sister, the amused smirk back on his face:

“Why? None of them are going to remember in the morning anyway. I’ve had my fun, this has been cathartic, but I can’t have them ruining my plans. So run along now sister, tell Mother that her precious task is being completed, I’m just taking the scenic route.” 

She shakes her head in defeat, staring at the floor. She lifts her head, opening her mouth to make one last attempt, but she closes it, realising that there’s nothing she could possibly say to persuade him to suddenly have mercy, mercy that no one had ever shown him. She gulps, letting out a deep breath before shaking her head again and turning around, walking back into the trees, the way she came.

The God looks back to his puppets, shivering in time with their knotted strings, smirking once more before he clicks his fingers and everything goes dark.

~

Arthur wakes the next morning feeling oddly refreshed and surprisingly unannoyed at his idiot manservant’s lateness. He rolls his eyes at the bright sunshine glaring through his curtains, the sun certainly a lot higher in the sky than it should be at the time The King wakes, but oh well. Merlin has been chipper lately, and the warmth that Arthur feels in his chest at the younger man’s happiness makes him more likely to forgive him his tardiness.

As if thinking of him had summoned him (wishful thinking on Arthur’s part), Merlin bursts through the doors, not bothering to knock as per usual, a breakfast-laden tray in his arms and a cheeky grin on his face. Arthur rolls his eyes again, chucking a pillow at Merlin half-heartedly as he grumbles, also half-heartedly:

“You’re late.”

Merlin chuckles, setting the tray down on the table before jogging endearingly over to Arthur’s bedside, grabbing his hand and pulling him to stand upright:

“Something tells me you don’t mind all that much, Your Pratness.”

Arthur huffs, but only to stop himself from smiling, and resolutely ignores the way Merlin’s hand is still in his. The servant squeezes his palm softly, and Arthur gulps, pulling away and walking towards his meal, hoping the food would squash the butterflies in his stomach.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, smiling to himself softly at a whole range of things: the good night’s rest he’d had, the bright sunshine, Merlin’s good mood, the sensation of Merlin’s hand in his own, Merlin’s dazzling smile, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin...

Merlin stares at his back as he goes, noting with a dangerously satisfied smirk the red blush of his ears.

The scenic route indeed.

~

THE END!!

Oops I made myself sad. Sorry to say but I hope this makes you sad too.

This was SUPER fun to write and I’m so glad I decided to do two versions😅

Link to the Good!Merlin version (much MUCH fluffier, I promise) at the top!!

#merthur #merthur angst #angst no comfort #good morgana #good mordred #bbc merlin #dark merlin #im so sorry #i made myself sad #but also cackle evilly #sir mordred #mordred #bbc mordred #sir leon #leon #sir gwaine #gwaine #sir percival #percival #sir elyan #elyan #lancelot #sir lancelot #gwen #guinevere #evil merlin #arthur #king arthur #arthur pendragon #bamf merlin

[yandere-mha]

Ooh okay, so when you (obviously) start to wilt and withdraw and die on the inside after you’ve been snagged, which yanderes are the “aw this one’s broken, time to get rid of it” type, who are the “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” type, and who are the “oh thank god I’m here, they would have had to go through this alone otherwise” type?

Okay *breaks knuckles* so this is gonna get a little complicated because I feel like a lot of them would be multiple at the same time or none of them at all and here’s my reasons why:

TW: ABUSE, SELF-HARM, THREATS OF SUICIDE, VIOLENCE, TORTURE MENTION, SPOUSAL MURDER, SMUT, DUBIOUS CONSENT, NON-CON.

MAJOR BNHA MANGA SPOILERS.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Dabi: He would be the “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” type on the inside and feel immense self-hatred, blaming Endeavor for creating him, but he would also be super insulted and angry at you on the outside. He’d take this as a personal insult, thinking he’s so unlovable and that you hate him so much that you completely withdraw from him out of spite. Not even you can love him. What the fuck does he have to do to have anyone give a shit about him? Tbh, he’d probably have sex with you featuring very dubious consent, not only because he’s looking to hurt, embarrass, and disgust you with his scarred body, but he’s so desperate for you to see the good things he can do for you if you just come back to him please just come back. 

Hawks: 100% the “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” type, but he would think of this as a necessary sacrifice to keep you safe. While he would curse himself and wish he were dead for making such a lovely and chipper sunflower lose the twinkle in their eyes, he prioritizes your safety over your happiness. He would rather have you be one of the walking dead than have to worry about losing the only person he truly cares about. Still, he would mourn your metaphorical death by clinging to your limp body and sobbing into your chest, pleading for you to just say something he’s so alone.

Shigaraki: Similar to Dabi in the way that he’d say “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” on the inside, but he’d get really pissed at you on the outside. Though unlike Dabi, he takes this more in a way that you’re protesting and being a spoiled little brat. He’ll convince himself that you’re just faking it and you’re not actually depressed, but you’re giving him the cold shoulder because you’re mad that you asked him permission to go outside and he said no. How ungrateful. He may even threaten you but it’s less in anger and more in a desperate attempt to have you react to something because you acting like this scares the ever-loving shit out of him.

Tamaki and Twice: I think y’all already know that they’re both “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” types. They’ll scream and sob and say that they’re sorry and to just please come back to them again they’ll do anything. They’ll even take out a butcher’s knife and hold it to their wrists in front of you telling you that they’ll kill themselves if it will make you feel better. If that doesn’t work they’d ask if you want to slit their throats yourself.

Fatgum: Mostly a “oh thank god I’m here, they would have had to go through this alone otherwise” type at the beginning, but as you start to neglect your wifely (gender neutral) duties he’ll quickly get bored of you unless you’re pregnant and become the “aw this one’s broken, time to get rid of it” type. He’d tell himself how much of a good husband he is for helping his wife or husband through this super random bout of depression. He thinks maybe if you eat a little more, get more cuddles, or get a pet, you’ll go right back to being normal. If you take too long to do so and he’s not getting what he wanted out of you, he’ll get frustrated with you which may end with him accidently killing you. Whether that does happen or not, there are other fish in the sea he supposes. Who wouldn’t want to be with such a great guy like him? There’s obviously still a lot of lingering resentment with him though since his next victim isn’t even allowed to speak your name in this house. He always compares the new victim to you in his head and snaps at them because they’ll never live up to you.

Stain and Aizawa: Again, “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” types. This would greatly upset the both of them and they’re aware that this is their fault, but they just can’t let you go. While they both would be really quiet about their guilt and not really acknowledge the elephant in the room, they would stare at you all the time completely still for hours on end just to see if you’d show any signs of life. They’d silently come up behind you and wrap their arms around your torso in a non-verbal plea to not leave them alone.

Overhaul: Imma be real with you, chief - he wouldn’t care and he might not even notice. He doesn’t care about you or your happiness because he sees you as a non-person. Would you care about the feelings of the chair you’re sitting on? That’s how he would feel on the subject. 

Miruko: An “oh fuck oh no what do I do what do I do?!?” type, but she’d act like she’s the “aw this one’s broken, time to get rid of it” type to scare you. Though her sadism makes it seem like she only sees you as her toy to torment, and you are, she does legitimately love you and she wants you to love her back. Deep down, she’d know she went too far and that this is her own fault for not being able to have some self restraint, but her logic would be that she needs to scare you out of your depression and act like the monster you think she is. She’d tell you that if she doesn’t hear you scream, she’ll throw you away and get someone who screams louder, amping up the torture all the way to ten just to get you to say something.

Geten: This is when he can get... scary. He’s extremely devoted to you and the most distinct quality about yandere Geten is how differently he treats you from other people and how weak in the knees you make him... boy has an explosive temper though. He will shriek at you to stop this little game of yours because it’s not fucking funny, angry tears spilling out of his eyes. He has abandonment issues and this, in his opinion, is your own cruel way to abandon him and he will absolutely blame you for this out of a blind rage. He’ll grab your body and shake you violently, unintentionally giving you frost-bite on top of depression. This is probably the thing he will blame himself for though as he holds your trembling body in the tub of luke-warm water while he continues to shriek.

#yandere #female yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere imagines #yandere bnha #yandere x reader #yandere dabi #yandere au #dabi #toya todoroki #touya todoroki #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha spoilers #Anonymous

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 4

This is it. The big one.

This is the all-devouring AU that has now eaten nearly half of my Whumptober fill ideas. It’s a scenario I’ve carried in my brain for years, and when I initially looked through the prompt list this year and decided to write for it, my brain said ‘Hey, look at that Escape prompt. You could write something for that one AU that would fit that. And this one could work as a follow-up!’ and I said yeah, sure, why not. And I listed those ideas as ‘Escape!AU’, because that was the one that sparked the idea and I figured there’d only be one or two others. 

By now, the AU has absorbed close to a dozen other prompts. They’re wildly out of order, of course, because I’m writing them in order of the prompts and not how those moments happen in the story. With every additional prompt I write out, there is the chance that it will mutate before my eyes and become part of the Escape!AU with little to no input or control from myself. I feel like I invited the muse for this story into my head without realizing that it’s not a fluffy hamster, IT’S A BLOODY TRIBBLE. 

That being said, I should probably have at least kinda seen it coming, because it’s a fix-it for the ending of CoS. That’s a topic that I... feel passionately about, to put it mildly. This is that other AU I mentioned yesterday, where Gerald still has extra-special Hunter powers and the Patriarch did not manage to take the fae away from everyone; please just go with it, and I’ll actually address how that happened at some point. Although the Gerald-not-actually-being-mortal isn’t really relevant in this bit, because he’s so drained from everything that’s happened that it doesn’t do anything to resolve the situation. 

That’s what we have Damien for. 

Opening two lines, in italics, are quoted directly from Crown of Shadows to help set where the scene splits from canon. 

Day 4 - Theme Chosen: “Do you trust me?”

Damien hesitated, then looked at Gerald. The Hunter nodded ever so slightly. “He's right, Damien.” His voice was quiet but strained. “There's nothing more you can do here.”

“Gerald-”

The Hunter was already shaking his head. Damien felt his throat constrict, as if the force of his own panic and despair was physically crushing it. He knew what the next word from Gerald's mouth was going to be, knew that the adept was going to send him away, that this was how it was all going to end; blood and bitterness and revenge, all that potential for redemption wrenched away at the last second, wasted...

Do you trust me?

He'd never initiated contact through the link before – the few times they'd spoken through it, Gerald had been the one to open the connection, Damien only responding to the Hunter's questing reach. It wasn't as hard as he might have thought, though; only a matter of reaching for that ever-present sense of connection that throbbed quietly between them, touching that indefinable thread that bound them and spilling his thoughts into it, the question carried forward in a rush by the tide of fear and desperation that was sweeping through him. Damien saw the Hunter twitch slightly, grey eyes widening in surprise at the message, or at the strength of the emotions that accompanied it – but the response came immediately nonetheless, no hesitation on the other man's part.

Yes.

Damien looked back at Andrys, the young man's green eyes blazing with restless fury as he waited for the Knight to step aside, and let his whole demeanour shift. He dropped his hands from where they'd been held, conciliatory, in front of him; he let his shoulders shift up and back, his stance transforming from defensive to confident, even cocky, as he hardened his expression into a look of stern determination. He saw shock and uncertainty ripple through Andrys at just the change in his body language, and he went for the opening with ruthless speed, forcing even his voice to come out steady and unaffected.

“Fine. Since you're not buying the concerned ally angle... let me put this a little more plainly. You're ruining my plan, boy.”

“What?”

The shocked exclamation had come, in the same tone, from both Gerald and Andrys in nearly the same breath. Damien forced the tiny urge to laugh hysterically into the furthest recesses of his mind, glaring at Andrys with all the disdain he could muster.

“You know what he is, and in case it escaped your notice, I'm a priest,” he bit out, gesturing dismissively at Gerald where the adept stood half-shielded behind him, lean frame now rigid with disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of him. “You think I actually wanted to have to work with a monster to save the world? That I seriously planned to just let him walk away when all this was said and done?”

Already, there was a flash of dawning understanding in Andrys's eyes; the young man looked from Damien to Gerald and back, the blind aggression on his face giving way to realization as he put the pieces together.

“You set him up...”

“I swore, back on the day I first found out that he was the Hunter, that I'd kill him with my own two hands,” Damien growled, and felt the fae around him shimmer with the force of the truth behind those words, so obvious that surely even Andrys could see it. With his adept's Sight, Gerald certainly could – and had, judging by the sudden alarm that flickered over his face. “I've been biding my time for vulking years, fighting this damn war, putting up with his power slithering through my head – I've endured nightmares and murders and horrors beyond your comprehension, and now you're just going to waltz in and finish him off, just when I've finally got the upper hand? No. No, I don't think so.”

He could feel real trepidation bleeding through the link now, knew that he had forced just enough true resentment into his words to off-balance Gerald – and Andrys must have been able to see it in the adept's face as well, because the young man suddenly laughed, a malicious little chuckle half choked by his own heightened emotions.

“Well, that's certainly a twist,” he said, eyes gleaming as he lowered the springbolt in his hands ever so slightly, the angle of the bolt canting down just enough that it was no longer aimed at Damien's chest but more at hip height. “And, from the looks of it, one that you weren't expecting.” Those words, dripping with spite, were aimed at Gerald, who actually flinched again in response. Andrys's gaze swung back to Damien, a dark, sick hunger that reminded the former Knight all too much of Calesta stirring behind his eyes. “So, you're the priest... Jaxom told me about you. Said you'd lost your way, fallen further than even he expected.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “This makes more sense, though. You needed this bastard too much to kill him then, but of course you're angry. What was the plan? Bring him back here and walk right into the heart of the crusade, so you'd have backup?”

“Of course.” Damien forced a mirroring smirk onto his own features, and though it felt heinously wrong on his face, Andrys didn't seem to notice anything amiss with it. “I'm not an idiot – I want payback, but I know he's still powerful. I wasn't going to provoke that showdown unless I knew I had some kind of safety net.”

Andrys nodded, his eyes glittering; Damien could all but see the pieces aligning in his mind, the world finally taking a shape that meshed sensibly with the young man's own personal mania.

“I see,” he said finally, the springbolt lowering a little more – the weapon was heavy, his arms had to be tiring by now. “It was my family that he slaughtered, you know... but I understand what you're saying, as well. You had to travel with him, endure him, for the entire fight against Calesta – that can't have been easy. I won't deny you have a claim on his head, but I think you must see my point of view as well...”

Damien barely heard his words. His eyes were on the springbolt, watching the nose dip further and further – until, as Andrys rambled on about the weight of their differing claims and his own suffering in having to work with Calesta to put an end to the Hunter, the trajectory of the bolt fell so far that it was aimed at the very ground.

Now!

Damien shoved the word through the link at the same time that he moved, lunging forward with every ounce of speed his tense muscles could offer. He left his reservations behind him, the conflict that had raged through him for so long suddenly silenced, irrelevant; as it had that night in Morgot when Hesseth's tidal Working had hit them, his innate drive to defend those he cared for subsumed everything else, every other voice in his head drowning under the overwhelming instinct to protect.

Andrys was wearing too much armour to try any more delicate method of incapacitating him, so Damien fell back on the basics; closing the distance between them with that desperate lunge, he brought his arm back and punched Andrys in the jaw with all the force he could muster. Even in his exhausted state, his speed and strength were forces to be reckoned with. Andrys had tried to react to Damien's sudden attack, jerking the springbolt back up and getting off a single shot, but Gerald had taken Damien's cue to throw himself to the side out of Andrys's line of attack; the bolt fired at a useless angle, flying low across the room to bury itself in the far wall near the floor. Then, Damien's blow connected.

Damien wasn't just well-trained in combat; as a Healer, he knew exactly how to do the most damage to the human body when he needed to. The gorget of the armour was protecting Andrys's throat too well for a jab to connect, but the sideways force of a blow could be an effective method of knocking an opponent out as well, if the attacker had aimed correctly. Damien had thrown the punch from as much of a sideways angle as he could manage, his fist coming in from the side with terrifying force; as it connected, Andrys's head snapped hard to the side, and the young man crumpled to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, knocked instantly unconscious by the force of his own brain being slammed against the inside of his skull.

The crash of his armoured form hitting the floor was followed by utter silence, broken only by Damien's own heavy breathing. He stared down at the young man, heart pounding with delayed adrenaline, feeling a wave of numbness slowly wash through him and replace the panic that had driven him to action.

God, forgive me... is this what I've become? Is this what You wanted when you brought us together, or have I truly lost myself so badly?

“Damien?”

The soft utterance of his name snapped Damien out of his trance, and he turned, shaking off the fog. Gerald had closed the distance between them in his moment of distraction and was now standing only a couple feet away, staring at Damien as if he'd never seen the Knight before, grey eyes wide. He didn't say anything else aloud, but he didn't need to; the link between them was saturated with emotion. Shock, wonder, gratitude, a fading echo of wariness...

And something else. Something so strong, so deeply felt, that it took Damien's breath away all over again. A sense of devotion, almost akin to his own fierce faith in God yet so much more personal, flooding through the link between their souls. A dizzying awareness that a line had been crossed, and a promise made: not with words, but with actions, unable to be taken back or misinterpreted. Gerald was wholly aware of what Damien had just declared, by stepping between himself and his descendant, by striking out at Andrys in defence of the Hunter – and he was returning the sentiment tenfold.

There would be time to put it all into words later. Damien took a deep breath, finally feeling the ground firm beneath his feet once more, his world steadying from where it had tilted on its axis in the moment he thought that Gerald was going to die.

“Time to grab what we came for and get the Hell out of here,” he said, mouth dry. “I'd say we're pretty definitively out of time.”

As Gerald nodded and turned to find the books they'd risked so much for, Damien moved to help, marveling at the way the link remained open and resonating between them, emotions flowing freely back and forth – and wondering what it meant for the state of his immortal soul that none of those emotions, from either end of the link, was anything like regret.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #Do You Trust Me? #coldfire trilogy #fic #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #the neocount writes

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Prologue

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 2178 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo Note: I'm taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won't leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song "Hearts Without Chains."

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law can't help but resent Monkey D. Luffy for offering a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law meandered down the street, the docked Polar Tang and the setting sun at his back and his hands stuffed in his pockets, to meet Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin for dinner. The island they’d docked at to refuel and restock wasn’t a major port by any means, but it had enough of a commercial district that the four teens had been able to find the food and supplies that they needed.

They had split up into pairs to tackle their supply lists, with Law and Bepo tackling food and medical supplies while Shachi and Penguin had stayed in the small port to secure fuel and have a mechanic give the Tang a once-over. Once the necessities had been procured and dropped off at the ship, the four went their separate ways for a few hours of shore leave before planning to meet for dinner.

Law, for his part, had spent most of his time in the local bookstore, browsing for new medical texts to add to his growing collection as he continued his education as ship’s doctor. After making a few purchases, he’d ended up staying on the Tang, reading one of his new books until it was time to meet the other three.

Since leaving Swallow Island a year earlier—officially the Heart Pirates, complete with Jolly Roger and everything—Law had been unable to shake the feeling of eyes between his shoulder blades whenever the Tang surfaced or docked. Though Doflamingo had been named a Warlord and had recently taken over the throne of a kingdom in the New World while Law’s crew remained in the North Blue, he knew his old boss had eyes everywhere. When they weren’t submerged, he couldn’t help looking to the sky or over his shoulder for a telltale flash of pink. The other three knew some of the history there—they’d witnessed enough of his nightmares that he’d eventually filled in some of the gaps—but they could never fully understand Law’s anxiousness at surfacing when sailing underwater provided the safest passage.

Law shook his head, his shoulders slumping further as he walked. The source of his nightmares was four years buried in the snow and halfway across the world. His friends were constantly trying to get him to lighten up and drop his paranoia—and Law supposed they had a point, not that he’d admit that to them. Though those three years on Swallow Island had provided a measure of stability Law hadn’t felt since before Lami had collapsed at the festival, he hadn’t been able to shake the restlessness under his skin, the feeling of unfinished business that haunted him, so had jumped at the chance to set sail.

Once he reached the town, Law headed right for the inn they'd decided to meet at, having noted its location earlier when he’d gone to the bookstore. He opened the door and stepped inside, looking around to see if any of the other three had arrived yet. He froze, immediately sensing that something was off. There were diners at about half the tables, but it took Law a moment to realize that none of them were eating or drinking. In fact, none of them were talking or moving at all. A heavy silence weighed the room down.

Swallowing, Law scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo at a table in the center of the room—odd, as they usually opted for corner tables to avoid notice. And they were all sitting on the same side of the table, facing the door.

Facing Law.

Alarm bells rang in Law’s head as he noticed Shachi’s and Penguin’s pale features and wide eyes as they met Law’s gaze. Bepo’s hackles were up. None of them had moved as Law entered. Law opened his mouth, but words died ashy on his tongue as the figure sitting across from them rose to his impossibly tall height and turned, pink feather coat swishing with the movement.

No…

Doflamingo grinned. “Law,” he crooned, throwing his arms out wide. “It’s so good to see you, my boy.”

Law was frozen to the spot, terror warring with rage as his heart pounded in his chest. His throat constricted. He couldn’t be here. He was supposed to be in Dressrosa in the New World, not at a small-town inn on a no-name island in the North Blue.

Law wasn’t ready to face him yet.

“What, no greeting for your boss after all this time?” Doflamingo lifted a finger, and strings wrapped around Law’s arms and chest, pulling him forward into the arms of his nightmare. Law stiffened as Doflamingo’s arms surrounded him.

After an agonizingly long moment, Doflamingo let Law go and stepped back, hands still on Law’s shoulders as he looked the teen up and down, drinking him in. Law fought the urge to fidget.

“It does my heart good to see you alive and healthy, Law.” A large hand cupped his chin and turned his face so Doflamingo could examine him. “No spots. You truly cured yourself of the incurable.”

Law swallowed as the hand dropped from his face. “W-why are you here?” he finally managed, hating the shakiness to his voice.

Doflamingo looked surprised at the question. “For you, of course.” He gestured back towards Law’s friends. “I was just getting acquainted with the rest of your crew. Come, sit.”

Law was given no choice in the matter, as the strings around his upper body pulled him to the free chair adjacent to both Doflamingo and the other three. Law awkwardly sat, and the strings fell away once he’d settled himself. Law blinked in surprise. A show of good faith?

He glanced at Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo and saw the naked fear in their eyes. The man in front of them was a Warlord and far more powerful than any of them. It was one thing to hear Law talk about Doflamingo; it was another entirely to face the man in person. He nodded minutely to them before turning his attention back to Doflamingo.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, pleased that his voice had steadied. He tried not to think about the other people in the room who would overhear the entire conversation since they were being prevented from speaking. He could only concentrate on the danger directly in front of him.

Doflamingo waved a hand toward the bar before leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground for any news of the Ope Ope no Mi since you disappeared, Law. Imagine my surprise when, about a year ago, rumors started spreading about a young pirate in the North Blue using that very Fruit.”

That was exactly what Law had been worried about. He’d just hoped Doflamingo’s new status as Warlord and king would keep him too busy to come back to the North Blue.

The bartender came forward jerkily, clearly controlled by strings, with a decanter of wine. She poured a glass for Doflamingo and set the bottle down on the table before retreating. The clang of the glass on the wooden table echoed through the eerily quiet dining room.

“I confess, it was difficult getting eyes on that intriguing ship of yours,” Doflamingo went on, unconcerned with—or, more likely, enjoying—the room’s mood, “but I have my ways.”

“And you came personally?”

“Of course.” Doflamingo leaned forward, his large frame encroaching on Law’s space without even trying. He picked up the glass and took a long draught of wine before speaking once more. “After four years, don’t you think it’s time to come home, Law? It’s time to take your rightful place back with the Family.”

Law wanted to snarl that he knew how Doflamingo treated his family, that he knew what the man really wanted him for, that he’d never return to the Family after Minion Island—but the presence of his friends stayed his tongue. Doflamingo didn’t know that Law had heard his exchange with Cora-san that night, and something told Law it should stay that way, so he kept his features neutral.

“Why now?”

Doflamingo’s grin turned sharp. “I need the best at my side to rule. It was no idle promise to train you to become my second-in-command. The Heart seat waits for you, Law.”

Law’s breath hitched at the reference to the seat Cora-san had held. The seat that was empty because Doflamingo had killed Cora-san for saving Law. The seat that Cora-san tried to protect Law from taking, though Law hadn’t realized exactly what Cora-san was protecting him from until it was too late. If Law went back to the Family now, Cora-san’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.

Doflamingo was eyeing Law, and Law realized he’d clenched his hands into fists. He dropped them into his lap, and when he opened his hands, they revealed bloody, crescent-shaped wounds on his palms.

“And,” Law asked slowly, “if I were to say no?”

The atmosphere at the table, already tense, curdled at Law’s words. It was as though the temperature had suddenly dropped as Doflamingo replied, “That would be… unwise.” The man’s grip on his wine glass tightened dangerously.

Law clenched his jaw but said nothing, eyes boring a hole into the table in front of him. He could feel his friends practically vibrating in their anxiety next to him.

“Why,” the low voice continued, “would you refuse to return to your Family, Law?”

“Maybe there’s a reason I never came back,” Law ground out.

Law jumped in spite of himself at the sound of shattering glass. He whipped his gaze over to see wine spilled over Doflamingo’s hand and glass shards scattered across the table and floor.

“My brother,” Doflamingo growled, flicking wine from his fingers. “It seems I was right to worry that he poisoned your mind.”

“Cora-san saved me,” Law hissed, long-held rage uncurling in his chest and refusing to be suppressed when faced with its target. “I am alive today because of him.”

“He was a traitor, and he took you from where you belong,” Doflamingo retorted coldly as the bartender returned with rags and a broom and dustpan. She was shaking as she cleaned up the spilled wine around the tense gathering at the center of the captive room. Once the mess was cleaned up, Doflamingo dismissed her with a wave of his hand, never once looking at her.

“It’s time to come home, Law.”

His frigid tone brooked no argument, but Law had never been particularly good at taking orders. He opened his mouth, but Doflamingo cut him off with a lifted finger and three gasps. Law’s gaze flew to his friends, and his eyes widened. Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo each had a single string looped around his neck.

Fuck. Law knew that string could kill his friends before he could form a Room to protect them. Doflamingo would follow through with his threat, too. Law had seen it happen many times in his time with the Family.

“I told you, defying me would be unwise, Law.”

“They have nothing to do with this.”

“You were the one to bring them into this,” Doflamingo countered. “When you made them part of your crew.”

Law’s mind spun, running through one scenario after another but not coming up with one that didn’t end with his friends dead or him reclaimed by the Family—or both. After several tense moments, Law’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“If I return with you, they will be unharmed?”

“Law, n—” Penguin’s objection was cut off by the tightening of the string, drawing blood. He grimaced, and Law shook his head. The danger his friends were in now was entirely Law’s fault. If going back to the Family could save them, then he’d do what he had to.

“If you do as you are told, they will be unharmed,” Doflamingo agreed.

Law took a breath, eyes shutting briefly as the fight went out of him. “Fine.”

“What’s that?” Now the bastard was just gloating.

“I’ll come,” Law gritted out. “Now let them go.”

The strings fell away from Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo’s throats, and they let out relieved breaths. The tightness in Law’s chest loosened the tiniest bit at the sight, though mostly he just felt hollow as what he’d agreed to started to sink in.

“Excellent. We leave for Dressrosa in the morning.” Doflamingo’s lips twitched. “I have an eternal pose for Dressrosa you four can use.”

Law jerked his gaze back to Doflamingo. “What? No. That wasn’t the agreement. I agreed to come back to the Family, so let them go.”

“The agreement,” Doflamingo corrected, “was that as long as you do what you’re told, Law, your friends will be unharmed.”

Law’s stomach sank as he realized the trap he’d walked into in his emotional state. He’d just damned Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo along with himself.

“Consider their lives collateral for your good behavior.” He turned to the other three, who were watching the exchange in shock. “Welcome to the Donquixote Pirates.”

Next Chapter

#Caitlin's fic #I know I have another WIP #but my brain demanded this be written #I actually have a good idea where this one is going #unlike the other one #Trafalgar Law #Donquixote Doflamingo #Heart Pirates #One Piece #one piece fanfiction

[warwaged-archive]

Katarina + heartbreak

Send me something to drabble about

The first man to break her heart never does it to her face.

It is no tale of romance, of love found and lost. Heartbreak first comes to her in the shape of a blade, crimson blood dripping through her fingertips from a wound that leaves scar much deeper than the obvious mark of failure etched upon her face. Katarina had been scarred before, a thousand times and more; those were marks of devotion, however, of dedication to shaping herself into something deadly and violent and strong and perfect. This one is different; this is shame and humiliation and the explicit message in words he never bothers to say.

You are no daughter of mine.

Not even worth his time, that he would take her life himself; all the General offers her is spite and a death sentence, a nameless assassin he had raised from the city slums to wound her pride, and it hurts unlike anything she had experienced. Katarina had bled before, by accident and on purpose; had felt the blood within her veins burn with poison that would have killed her had she taken the wrong dose. She was no stranger to broken bones and bruised skin; there was no building strength in a golden cage, and she had always been determined to be strong. Yet training endurance and crafting resistance of body and mind did awful little to prepare her heart, inconvenient thing that it had always been, determined to feel too much, too strongly. Emotions had led her astray in her mission, emotions devastated her as she faced the consequences of it; emotions threatened to ruin her, then, daggers clashing against the nameless assassin’s blades with vicious rage (willed forward by each sharp edge of a shattering heart).

Was a daughter worth so little in face of a name?

Was she nothing but a disposable weapon, to be thrown away upon first test and failure?

Her chest rises and falls with quick breath, anger overwhelming. There is no planning, no careful analysis of opponent, but she needs it not; what she needs is the violence in itself, each motion a product of a lifetime of training, each strike delivered with more strength than needed (it would tire her faster, but Katarina did not care; had she not been made to kill? Then kill she would, in bloodiest, most gruesome possible way, so there would be naught left of the nobody her father sent to end her life). 

Her heart aches at that, screaming betrayal; and though instinct moves her as blade nearly guts the other where he stands, Katarina grows careless. She allows herself to get lost in what comes naturally -- the fight, lashing out as she is; the deadly dance of blades matched evenly by one equal to her in skill. In battle, some sort of soothing; it does not numb her to it but dulls violent outpour of emotion, enough so that when carelessness could have cost her life, she knows to acknowledge it is a deliberate withdraw on her would-be killer’s part.

There is silence between them, then, cut only by her quick breath; and though anger subdues, Katarina does not allow it to go away entirely. It is better than giving in to pain; and controlled, it allows her to clear head enough to decide what to do next.

“I failed my mission.” A statement, not a question; she has realized her mistake well before she had noticed the presence of the other assassin. Fingertip still upon her cheek, tracing the end of the wound he had given her; but green eyes do not move away from him, even though he had been first to sheathe blades. “I intend to make it right. I will kill my original target and pay for my mistake. You can stand in my way and die or let me do what I ought to have done already.”

Even as she speaks, chaotic feelings are kept just beneath the skin; he could have killed her. He had the chance, and chose not to. The other assassin did not seem older than she was; and by choosing not to kill her now, he had failed as she had. 

She does not know what to make of that, though it seems not an act of pity. Mercy from a stranger, a nobody, a nameless assassin who sees her choice to atone as worthy enough he would submit himself to judgement for allowing her to leave; if her heart is in pieces, she feels the pieces shatter to dust. Mercy from a stranger, but not from one who had taught her everything, blood of her blood, mentor, father. 

Perhaps it is what leads her to stay her own blades, rather than killing her would-be killer. Perhaps it is what drives her to ask for his name instead. “Before I go, I would have the name of the one he sent for me.”

“I have no name to offer you. My name never mattered.”

“It does now.” Why she was uncertain herself; but Katarina’s tone made it clear she would have an answer, something to call the blade her father had sent. The truth of it did not matter; there was nothing to be gained from that knowledge she could not have taken through violence then and there. It is important for her to know all the same; the nameless nobody had matched her in strength and skill, she who carried the name of one of Noxus’ old houses. They are worlds apart and not at all, children of the same land, mentored by same teacher.

It stings to know the other will not face punishment as she had, favor lost and name disgraced and life threatened, but Katarina knows it to be the truth. 

This was never about her mission, or the Noxian lives she had caused to be lost. This was about a name, and one man’s pride, and though her chest still aches, there is bitter resignation at that. She had failed, yes, because he had failed in teaching her, sharpening her edges to best serve him when she should have been spilling blood not for the man, but for the nation. 

“It matters to me.” She repeats when silence falls upon them once more, and finds it to be the truth. It matters not to the General who had brought them both then and there, to be as they were; of that she has no doubt either. 

But she is not her father, and this is the moment when she chooses to never be. 

“They called me Talon.”

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

The ruin inside is plainly mirrored in exterior by the time she walks towards her father once more.

Katarina needed not make it messy, true, but she wanted to. She could have slipped into the Demacian’s camp undetected, slit his throat in silence, returned clean and freed of the burden of a mission unaccomplished. Could have, but did not. Instead she allowed them to see her, slaughtering her way to her target; and when she reached him at last, his death had been neither quick nor painless, drenching her in blood as head was severed from body.

Katarina needed not make it messy, true, but she wanted to. She could have brought simpler proof of her kill, kneeling before her father and pleading forgiveness in face of her attempt to atone. Could have, but did not. Instead she walks in with righteous fury, confident even when torn apart, and throws the severed head at his feet, gaze sustaining his, even as eyes so alike her own offer her only disdain.

“I would have taken your head instead,” Something flickers in his eyes (perhaps wrongfully assuming this to be threat, announcement of what she would do next?), but she does not flinch. Violence solved everything; and blood had soothed her heartbreak enough it had since turned to deserved resent. Father had not been wholly wrong, however; she had, in expecting their ties to matter more than their mission. “but failure must have consequences.”

“And I have failed.” Sour enough to say it that the bitter taste stays upon her mouth, worsened by each subtle sign of a reaction he displays (barely there at all, but his is a familiar face, and too long she had hungered to see it show pride, learning each shift in order to avoid blatant disregard he now offers). But swell of disdainful pride does naught to smother her own, evenly matched; she is not her father, but blood is thick, and spite only makes her more spiteful. “Not you, but Noxus.”

One of her earliest memories is of being taught not to cry. You do not display your emotions for all to see, or they will know to use them against you. You do not show fear, and you do not show pain; if you are hurt, you endure it with strength and dignity. The assassin is the blade; you wound, and you do not weep. There had been nothing of comforting in his stern tone as he spoke, looming over her in a stance others may have taken to mean General instead of Father (they had always been the same to her). Her tears had dried as soon as she was able to force them back, nevertheless; she did not wish to disappoint him. She promised herself to be strong, and brave, and never cry again.

The memory seemed irrelevant, in spite of coming to her then, father and daughter staring down at one another in deathly silence. If he expects her to request forgiveness, Katarina never does; she merely slips into the shadows once more to take her leave, no permission requested. 

Had her mistake not been enough, she had actively burned that bridge now. There would be no amends, now or ever; there would be nothing but constant reminder of scorn and failure, attempt after attempt to spite her --- to wound, not because he refused to show weakness but because he could, and whichever ties she had been foolish enough to presume, she had never been more than a tool in his vast arsenal.

Rain that pours outside washes away some of the blood; it barely hurts at all as water runs down the wound above her eye. Katarina does not seek shelter from it, in spite of blurred vision and stinging eyes; if she lies well enough to herself, she can almost believe it is just the rain.

#aen-consilium #The first thing that comes to my mind when people ask about characters and heartbreak nearly never is in a romantic sense #and with katarina I tried to think of something but honestly she just never experienced it bc she just never gets romantically involved #with anyone aksndfkajsndf #anyways do you ever think about how this happened after her /first/ mission which presumes she was pretty young #when her father c: decided c: she had to die c: because she didn't kill the target she had been told to kill c: c: c: c: #I'm not really happy with this but daksnfkajsdfn #here you have it #ty lully <3 #* general: answered / DARK WINGS DARK WORDS. #* muse: katarina du couteau / THE SINISTER BLADE. #* in character: katarina du couteau / A TAPESTRY OF SCARS. #* verse 001: katarina du couteau / EVERY WAKING MOMENT SPENT IN HONING HERSELF INTO THE ULTIMATE WEAPON.

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Shin x Reader Drabble

An alternative take on Shin’s Lost Eden Manservant ending. I’ve tried to write it so that it should make some sense even if you’re unfamiliar with Shin’s LE route but I think it’s probably more effective if you’ve read it. Warning for blood, gore, general dark themes and obviously spoilers for Shin’s LE route.

Blood. There was so much blood. The once pristine golden floor of the Vibora’s grand hall was now covered in dark red stains. And then there were the bodies.

You were aware you should feel something as you stared at the lifeless hunks of flesh littering the floor: horror, sadness, fear, something. But instead you only felt a strange sense of detachment, like the events that had played out before you were nothing more than a fiction, entirely separate from your reality.

One body in particular caught your eye, a young man, his glassy green eyes staring at you helplessly, blood splattered on his chin. Somewhere in your mind, you could see the moment Shin had slit his throat and the man’s expression of horror as he’d realized death was upon him.

Even though the violence had stopped, you could still hear the sound of steel on flesh loud in your ears. You weren’t sure it would ever fade. 

Only Shin was left standing, his ragged breathing echoing off the walls. You couldn’t remember exactly when you’d sunk to the floor, Carla’s body barely a meter away from you.

So little time had passed since everything had started to go so horribly wrong but the events leading up to it felt like something from a lifetime ago.

Knowing his end was near, Carla had sought an alliance with the Vibora. Naturally Shin hadn’t taken it well, especially not with the revelation that his father might actually be the prince of the Wolf clan, making him nothing more than the result of an illicit affair. The expression on his face when he’d told you had broken your heart. You knew being a proud founder meant everything to him and it crushed you to see his very foundation crumbling apart.

When you and Shin had gone to the Vibora’s castle and seen Carla on his deathbed, you’d both realized you couldn’t tell him the truth, that it would be kinder to allow him to believe Shin would be able to restore the founder bloodline after he was gone.

And it seemed that would be that, as Shin, albeit begrudgingly, prepared to sign a treaty with the Vibora while Carla rested. At least, that was until the founder king himself appeared at the signing, a knife in his hand. 

You knew then that he’d discovered the truth somehow, and now he had come to kill Shin for attempting to deceive him.

Shin had known too and he’d struggled. You hadn’t been able to see exactly what had happened but you’d heard the sound of the knife piercing flesh and Carla’s spluttering cough as he’d choked on his own blood. 

Once it had become clear he was dead, Shin had laughed, a broken, awful sound that would haunt you forever. The man you loved believed he’d just killed the last member of the race he adored so much and it broke him.

You’d tried to approach him, to touch him, to do anything to ease the pain but he’d shouted at you to keep away. And then the carnage had started.

Now, in that stained grand hall, only the two of you out of the original party remained alive, the Vibora all dead at your feet.

Approaching footsteps echoed against the cold floor, accompanied by a slow clap and you glanced up to see Kino strolling towards Shin, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Ah, it seems like you’ve made quite the mess Tsukinami Shin. A surprising display of strength for someone who isn’t a founder.” Kino’s voice was full of cruel amusement and you felt something icy start to creep through your veins.

“So you were the one who told my brother, I thought so.” Shin’s voice was flat, a complete contrast to the angry cries he’d yelled as he’d driven a blade through the Vibora guards. 

Kino’s smile was answer enough and you couldn’t hear his reply over the roar of your own blood in your ears.

Kino had told Carla, likely knowing the outcome would be something like this. And now Shin… You knew him well, you knew this would destroy him, the happy future you’d imagined the two of you might have together. Rage, bitter and hateful, filled you as you looked at Kino’s remorseless dark red eyes, the same color as the blood on the floor. 

He’d done this. Shin might have wielded the blade, but it was Kino’s actions that had led to the slaughter you’d just witnessed. Perhaps if it were that alone, you wouldn’t feel so much resentment towards him. But he had hurt Shin in such an irrevocable way, and that was something you couldn’t forgive.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the light from a chandelier glinting off of one of the swords abandoned by the Vibora. So much blood had been spilled already, what was a little more?

***

Shin’s hand felt sticky as his fingers clenched around the handle of that cursed knife, the blood coating them starting to dry. He wasn’t sure who the red fluid coating his skin had belonged to, only that he didn’t really care. He’d lost that right the second the blade had pierced Carla’s skin. His brother, the only person who could have revived the first bloods, dead by his own hand. The hand of a filthy bastard.

He’d killed the Vibora more on instinct than anything else. Violence had always been the outlet for his rage, even when it was actually directed at himself.

And now he was left looking at Kino’s smug expression. It made him want to vomit.

“So, what do you plan to do now that you’ve finished off the founder race for good? Do you still think you deserve to live happily with the girl who should have belonged to your brother, hm? Although I suppose I shouldn’t call him that now that your true heritage has come to light.” A lifetime ago Shin would have punched Kino for those words alone, but now they struck a chord. The rage he felt was dimming, giving way to a depthless chasm of despair. Which was exactly what he deserved.

“No, I don’t but… it’s got nothing to do with you.” Shin tightened his grip on the knife. He could do this, use this final kernel of anger to finish the foul vampire off. After that… Well, it didn’t really matter. Whatever sense of purpose he’d had, had crumpled to the floor with his brother.

“Haha, that’s right. Live out the rest of your days alone in misery, after all it’s what you-“ Kino cut off with a wet choking sound as a shining silver blade pierced straight through the side of his neck. The sword was pulled forwards, its sharp edge carving clean through the front of the vampire’s neck. 

Kino’s eyes bulged as he collapsed to the ground and Shin turned to look at you, standing with the blood-coated blade in your hand. He’d almost forgotten you were in the room, so lost in his inner-turmoil that he hadn’t sensed your approach. Apparently, neither had Kino.

You looked at the vampire’s body, your eyes devoid of mercy as the weapon arched down, stabbing him through the heart.

“You can keep your fucking mouth shut!” Your voice was so cold, Shin almost didn’t recognize it. He’d never seen you like this before and he stood frozen as you brought the sword down again and again.

When Kino’s torso was nothing more than a mess of blood and flesh, you finally dropped the weapon, the metallic clink of it colliding with the floor reverberating through the room. Your gaze met his and although it was brimming with fondness, there was an edge of madness to it. 

“You-“ he started but you cut him off.

“I’m sorry, I know you would have liked to kill him yourself but I just couldn’t listen to him any longer. I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. Are you injured?” You took a step towards him, lifting your hands as though to take hold of his face. 

Shin stepped back, he couldn’t be with you, not after everything he’d done, everything he was. “You… Go back to the vampires!” 

“No.” The hardness in your voice surprised him, you would never normally dare to use that tone with him.

“Hey, who do you think you’re… Just go, leave!” Shin turned to depart. He was going to go back to Banmaden, even if, as the castle of the founders, he didn’t really deserve to be there. It was the only place he could think of to go.

“I said no, Shin. Don’t let Kino’s words get to you, of course we can still be together. You still want me right?”

Shin ignored you in spite of the steel in your voice. He couldn’t do this; he just wanted to be alone, to be left so that his sins could rot away at his insides.

“Shin, stop!” The command in your voice was something he hadn’t heard before and it almost made him stop. Almost.

Your hurried footsteps told him you were intending to run after him. He should just teleport away from you and be done with it, but his magic felt like a dead thing in his veins. Now that everyone, including Kino, was dead, he felt the energy draining from his limbs. It was effort enough just to focus on putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of the exit.

Just as you reached him, he finally turned, grabbing your outstretched wrist in one hand, hard enough to hurt.

“Do you want me to kill you too? Is that it?” He snapped, beyond hope that you wouldn’t notice how hard his hand was shaking as he gripped your arm. Shin didn’t know how he was expecting you to react. Maybe to flinch away in fear or cry from the pressure he was exerting on your bones. But instead you just looked at him, your expression eerily calm.

“Is that what you want? To kill me?” You asked, speech steady in spite of the question. Shin’s grip on your wrist faltered.

“No,” he said, so quietly it was essentially a whisper, as he lowered his gaze to the floor. “Just go, please.” His pride was too ruined for him to feel any sense of shame at the desperation in his own voice.

Gently, you removed your wrist from his hold and he let you, waiting for your footsteps to sound through the hall as you walked away from him. Instead he felt something warm on his cheeks as you turned his face towards you, so that he had no choice but to look you in the eyes. 

“Shin, I love you, nothing can change that. Please don’t shut me out, we can work something out together, I’m sure of it.” Your voice held so much hope and he hated it.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” He held out his hand, still clutching the knife that had ended the life of the first blood king. “I killed my brother, the last founder. You were supposed to restore the bloodline, with him, but I interfered and now he’s dead. The first bloods are all dead and I killed them!” Shin felt something wet roll down the side of his face and he became vaguely aware that he might be crying.

You looked at him with such sympathy in your eyes and it made him want to plunge the knife into his gut. Maybe it would be better just to end it, he should live with the guilt and pain but he’d only ever been weak in the end hadn’t he? A stronger man would have had the courage to die at his brother’s hands, but he hadn’t.

“Hey, since you care so much then-” Shin removed one of your hands from his face and pressed the handle of the knife into your palm “-kill me. Hah, you’re the last woman with founder blood, so I guess it’s fitting for you to be the one to do it.”

A pained expression flashed across your features. “I don’t-”

“Don’t say you can’t,” Shin interrupted as he closed your fingers around the cold metal and brought your hand up so that the blade was right over his heart. “Not after what you just did to Kino. I never thought you’d be capable of something like that but now I know you are.”

You looked at him pleadingly, silently begging him to allow you to lower your arm and toss the knife away but he held firm. And then the vulnerability in your expression vanished, a coldness seeping into your features. It was the same face you’d made when you killed the raven haired vampire. Shin waited for the feeling of the knife piercing his chest but it never came.

“Do you really think that’s enough?” Your tone almost reminded Shin of his brother and it was an effort not to flinch at it. “You think your death will make up for what you’ve done? No, it won’t. You’re right, I am the last woman with founder blood so-” your hand went from tenderly cradling his cheek to clutching his chin with such force that, if he were mortal, he was sure it would hurt “-shouldn’t I get to be the one to deliver judgment.” You pushed the knife so that it pressed uncomfortably against him, but not enough to draw any blood.

“This is what’s going to happen, both of us are going back to Banmaden and there, I’ll make your life far worse than it would have been if you were alone, as you seem to think that’s what you deserve. And if you think I can’t be cruel, you’ll find out just how wrong you are.”

As he looked into your eyes, Shin knew that this wasn’t some kind of joke or bluff. You were deadly serious and it sent something tingling up his spine. He could still try to run and leave you for your own good, but there was something to your words. Maybe you would be able to enact the revenge his brother should have delivered. The determination in your expression certainly showed that you wouldn’t abandon this idea easily and the energy to fight had left him. 

Maybe you would kill him in the end and then he’d face all of the members of a race he’d defiled simply by existing. Until then, what more did he have to lose?

***

Letting out a soft hum, you allowed your gaze to wander over Shin’s form, illuminated by candlelight, the only source of illumination in Banmaden’s dungeons. 

You trailed the leather of your riding crop over his pale exposed skin. He was entirely naked and his wrists were restrained by cuffs that not even he could break through. Not that he tried anyway, he never did.

Quite how much time had passed since that fateful day at the Vibora’s castle, you weren’t sure. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall into this rhythm and by now it was as familiar as an old friend.

You’d spend the first part of your day thinking of something to do, some punishment that you’d then spend the rest of the day bestowing. It wasn’t really a punishment though, no, you just let Shin think that’s what you were doing or else he would have left in you in that blood-stained hall. The pain was more to give him something to focus on that wasn’t his own guilt, to stop him from wallowing too much in his own misery. You chose to think of it as a kindness.

After a bit of experimenting, you’d found there were several potions in the storage rooms in Banmaden that made the task a bit easier. Some slowed Shin’s healing, while others made his skin so sensitive that just the barest touch could be painful.

You brought the riding crop down over Shin’s hip, and he let out a sound that was almost a whimper as it collided with his skin, already red from your previous strikes. You’d never realized he could make these sorts of noises, and you loved them.

Some voice in the back of your mind told you that this was wrong, cruel even, but you ignored it. Every day that voice got a little quieter and you knew it was only a matter of time before it would fade altogether. 

In the moment, this had seemed like your only option, the only way you could convince Shin to let you stay with him and maybe help him recover somewhere down the line. But now, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy it, at least a little bit. Having power over someone was a heady feeling, and when it was someone as strong as Shin, it was devastatingly wonderful.

“Since when did I tell you to stay quiet Shin?” You brought the crop down again and he actually cried out

He needs this, you told yourself, he needs me. And you would do absolutely anything for him, no matter how much blood stained the both of you. As long as you could stay with him, it would be enough.

***

#Oh wow this ended up being way longer than intended #Anyway thanks for reading I know this one's a bit different but I hope you enjoyed it! #own post #my writing #drabble #reader insert #Tsukinami Shin #I think the reader possibly falls under the yandere category in this one

[scarletraven1001]

Retribution: 2

[Book 1] [Chapter 2]

Summary: A cherished friend that she had long thought to be dead comes back into Bulma's life. However, he is determined to show her that her cherished memories are now truly nothing more than mementos, and for all intents and purposes, the boy she had known years ago might as well have truly perished. 

A Vegebul Mafia AU Fic, for the @vegebulocracy Big Bang Challenge, 2018

Story Rating: E

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Angst

All Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Also on Ao3.

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Notes: Hello! Here is Chapter 2. Thanks once again to @blacksheep1105 for the incredible beta work! As for everyone, I hope you like this!

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Chapter 2

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma was shaking.

Her hands ceased their useless struggles against her binds as everything within her leapt in elated disbelief at what she realized she had found.

Vegeta… her dear Vegeta, was alive.

“I- I… I can’t believe it,” she stuttered, lips quivering amidst the flow of tears down her cheeks. “Vegeta… it’s you, isn’t it?”

He looked the same and yet so different, and the changes notwithstanding, Bulma could not possibly have been mistaken.

The boyish bangs were gone, leaving a sharp, severe widow’s peak that led up into the familiar tempered flames of his dark hair.

His face – though essentially the same – had lost its round, cherubic aura, and had gained defined, patrician angles. His dark, narrow eyes were intense, accentuated by his thick brows that slashed down sharply, contrasting with plump lips that were currently twisted in thinly-veiled contempt.

He tensed, looking away from her while she continued to stare, helplessly swept away by her rioting emotions.

“I knew it. Even in the dark… before I saw you. Something in me told me that I knew who you were,” she rambled on, her elation blinding her to the turmoil of the man before her. “My friend, my best friend!”

His eyes simply glared in response, and at that, Bulma’s brows furrowed in confusion.

Why did he seem so… different?

Closed-off… So aloof, angry…

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, unconsciously moving forward, wanting to touch him… make sure that he was real. “You were dead! We buried you… I cried for months-”

“They buried the body of a homeless child. It was not me in the casket,” he finally responded.

Bulma smiled, her heart thumping in excitement once again. “This is great! My father... He took over the Saiyan Mansion, you know. You can live there again, it’s in great shape because Dad took care of that place-”

“Of course he did,” Vegeta suddenly cut her off with a hiss, taking her aback.

Bulma frowned deeply. “What do you mean? Vegeta…”

“Stop speaking to me with such familiarity,” he growled, and Bulma’s jaw snapped shut with a click.

“But… why? I do know you. Vegeta-”

“And stop saying my name that way,” he said, face now twisted in enough fury to make her recoil away from him. “You may have known me as a child, but believe me, woman, I am not the same friend from before. The child you knew might as well have truly been dead.”

Her jaw fell slack in shock.

“Why… why are you doing this?” she asked. “What are you even saying? I… I don’t understand…”

Bulma leaned forward slightly, trying to look at his face, to see into the eyes of the beloved friend that she had cherished so much her whole life.

“Please? Tell me…” she tried again. “You’re alive, and I am so happy that you are, but-”

“But what?” he asked, and Bulma sat straight up when he finally turned to her again.

She was utterly shocked at the amount of rage, the hatred, that she saw burning in his eyes.

“But what, woman?” he asked again. “But why, how, am I alive? Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She sat unmoving, in denial over the resentment that she could feel from his every word.

He had pulled himself up, and he loomed over her, his wide shoulders intimidating her, his fists shaking as if he was trying his hardest to keep from lashing out at her.

“I almost did end up dead. But I lived. I survived. And it is no thanks to you, the Briefs,” he said, his tone dripping with malice.

Bulma’s lower lip quivered as true terror began to make its way into her heart.

“You’re… you’re scaring me,” she whispered.

“And you are right to be afraid, because I am here now, I am back,” he answered, “to claim what should have always been mine.”

Bulma was stunned. She could not understand his anger, his resentment, and she definitely was astounded by how it all seemed to be directed at her and her father.

“Why are you saying these things to me? Why did you need to abduct me?” she asked, desperately trying to understand his motives. She refused to believe that her friend had become so…

Malicious…

Desperate to get through to him, she leaned forward, eyes begging. “Do you need help? I know lawyers who can help you with your estate. You don’t need to force me to help, Vegeta. I will do anything to help you.”

“Tch,” he scoffed. “You think I need your help? No, I need the information that your father is withholding from me. What I want, what I need, is vengeance, for what he had done to my family.”

She tensed.

There it was again… that very vital piece of information that her father had kept secret at the expense of her own life.

He had left her to die, all to keep the Syndicate’s secrets…

In the face of the realization of her father’s carelessness and Vegeta’s clear hatred of her, Bulma felt despair begin to swallow her whole, feeling sick to her stomach as she began to truly understand that something was very, very wrong.

The information… was it linked to Vegeta’s parents?

What was Vegeta talking about?

“Your family? Then why are you going after my father?” she asked, trying to piece together all the half-truths hat she had dealt with for the past hour. “Dad tried to help you... He tried to get to you, and to your brothers, but he was too late. He was so devastated when he found out that your parents had been killed-”

“Shut up!” he yelled, turning to fully face her, one hand in a tight fist as the other shook convulsively around his grip on the gun.

She backed away, eyes trained on the weapon.

Would he actually hurt her? Kill her?

The hopeful part of Bulma, the one that held on to the memory of the innocent boy who had once played under the sun with her, fiercely believed that he would not.

Yet, the rational part of her, the one currently looking at the furious man sitting mere inches from her, holding a gun with the safety clicked off, knew that he just may be capable of anything that he will need to do just to get the information he needed.

Her attention was pulled away from the gun when he started speaking again, but it was not just his guttural voice that arrested her notice, but also the words that spilled angrily from his lips.

“It was your father who plotted our downfall,” he said, and Bulma shuddered in denial, even while a part of her suspected that Vegeta may be right.

“But no matter,” he went on. “Trunks Briefs may hold the secret to finding him, but we will get our answers, one way or another. We, the Saiyans, will rise again.”

Bulma was confused. “What do you mean, finding him? Who are you looking for?”

Vegeta turned away, training his eyes on the road while his gun lowered, pointing to the ground.

She finally started putting the pieces together. “The third. You were asking my father about the third. Is that what you are looking for? A person? The third person? Third to whom?”

He ignored her as Bulma felt the car come to a very sudden stop, and, without a seatbelt, she was hurled forward into the back of the driver’s seat.

At least, she would have if not for Vegeta’s arm, still holding the gun, blocking her way and saving her from painfully hurtling face-first.

“Oof!”she exclaimed, leaning heavily over his thick arm, clothed in the expensive dark cloth of his suit. She looked down at the limb, a steady barrier keeping her from getting injured, and a miniscule part of her rejoiced in the fact that he had still looked out for her, in spite of his apparent hatred for her and her father.

Her Vegeta, her dear friend from the most innocent part of her youth, was still in there…

Firmly buried beneath the apparently sadistic man who was keeping her hostage.

She swore that she was going to do everything in her power to find her Vegeta once again.

With a small sigh, she sat up, and she was just about to ask him where they were when the door beside Vegeta opened.

She looked up, and her jaw fell slack.

A tall man wearing a bright orange jacket, with cheerful eyes belying a stern frown, looked into the car at her and Vegeta. He had thick, unruly hair that stuck out in all directions, and an unmistakable tiny birthmark on the lower right side of his chin.

It all made so much sense.

After all, if Vegeta was there, alive, somehow…

“You’re… Little Karot? Ka- Kakarot?” She stuttered.

…It made complete sense, that his brother would be, as well.

The man looked at her coolly, and Bulma almost smiled as she saw in him the small boy who had used to run around her own home, playing with rocks and sticks while she and Vegeta had reclined on the grassy lawn.

He looked almost exactly the same, and her heart was bursting with happiness at finding both brothers alive…

Kakarot barely managed a nod before he turned to Vegeta, his thin lips in a tight line.

“Big Brother,” he began, confirming Bulma’s suspicions.

It truly was Kakarot.

“The other camp has been compromised. We will set up here, instead,” he continued.

Vegeta turned to her then, pointing the gun at her as her side of the door opened, revealing the thin, dark-haired man who had trained a weapon at her as they called her father earlier.

He grabbed her roughly, dragging her out of the vehicle. Before she was able to open her mouth to scream, his hand quickly slapped a thick piece of duct tape over her lips, keeping her silent as he quickly and painfully held her arm, pulling her along with him towards a simple two-storey house.

They were surrounded by thick foliage and tall trees, and Bulma realized in distress that she was out of the city, without the faintest idea of where on earth they could possibly have taken her.

She struggled futilely against his powerful grip, wondering at how his thin frame hid such strength within his hands.

“Lapiz,” Vegeta called, and she paused as the dark-haired man with icy blue eyes turned to regard her old friend.

“Yes, Prince?” he asked, his voice a strange monotone that seemed out of place from his severe features.

“Be a little gentler with her. She will not be good as leverage if we were to damage her,” Vegeta said as he briskly walked past them, heading into the house after Kakarot.

Bulma’s heart pounded at his words, while her eyes followed Vegeta until he was inside the house and out of her sight, and hope blossomed within her chest once again.

Perhaps, there truly was a way to get to him, still.

She barely noticed when the man – Lapiz, he had been called – muttered under his breath as he began to pull her into the house once again.

As soon as she was inside, her eyes cast around, assessing the structure, trying to find any flaws that she could exploit should she be able to try to escape.

It truly was just a typical house, with a stairwell off to one side and a kitchen and dining room in the other, with what looked like a wooden picnic table and chairs in a large back yard. There was a rather spacious living room, with a large couch and two wide armchairs that stood around a small wooden center table.

It was strange, how cozy the place looked. It looked as if it had been regularly occupied, the furniture and electronics looking well-worn but intact.

She was tugged upstairs, and before she knew it, she found herself pushed into a small, brightly-lit bedroom. Lapiz released her hands, but before she could move to try to hit him or force her way past him, he shoved her away from him as he backed away, loudly shutting the door in her face.

Stunned, she catches herself before she trips over her feet, feeling about her face to pull off the thick tape, cringing in pain as the adhesive pulled harshly at her skin.

“Let me out!” Bulma cried as soon as she removed the tape, and she pounded on the door, gritting her teeth in rage. “You can’t just keep me here!”

“Yes we can,” Lapiz replied coolly. “And if I were you, I would pipe down and relax. If you keep making noise, I assure you that I can find ways to make this very uncomfortable for you.

She stood, pounding madly at the door for what seemed like hours, her voice growing hoarse as she screamed, going from threatening them all with law suits to begging to be let out.

However, she had begun to tire, and before she truly wanted to give in, her exhausted body made her decision for her, leading her to slump frustratedly against the door.

“Argh!” she yelled, her hands slamming angrily against the wooden door one more time before she turned to look around the room.

It was, just like the rest of the house, deceptively comfortable. However, Bulma immediately noticed that in place of blinds, the windows were barred with closely-welded, thick metal grates, covering heavily-tinted glass. She would hazard a guess, that the windows were bullet-proof.

She moved forward to sit glumly on the edge of the bed in the center of the room, feeling twenty years older than she had been just that morning. With a loud sigh, she leaned down, placing her face in her hands as she mulled about her situation, a part of her still unable to believe what had just happened.

Worry ate at her as she finally accepted the fact that she had truly just been abducted, held hostage for information that her father likely would not give, and her kidnappers were headed by her dearest childhood friend whom she had long believed to be dead.

She was dejected and utterly exhausted, and with a groan, she glumly leaned back against the mattress, looking up at the ceiling, still trying to make sense of all that had happened.

Her eyes felt heavy, her fears about her situation keeping her from rest, even while she felt her mind begin to jumble with the mental fog that was quickly taking over her. Her awareness was dwindling, but how could she possibly fall asleep when she was in a strange house, unsure even of whether or not she would still see the light of the next day?

She fought back bitterly against her body, but soon enough, she found herself laying on the bed, her eyes drooping closed, and against her own will, her consciousness gave way to the darkness of slumber.

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Vegeta found it strange, that she had stopped yelling.

He had been convinced that Bulma would have been screaming herself hoarse, all night, and it was rather unusual for a hostage to be so… docile.

Curious, he walked up the stairs, finding Lapiz dutifully leaning against the door, standing guard.

“How is she?” he asked, and Lapiz smirked, a small quirk of his thin lips that raised Vegeta’s hackles. “I swear to God if he says something stupid, I will-”

“She’s asleep,” he answered.

Vegeta blinked. “Asleep?”

Lapiz nodded. “Rather fitfully, too. Would you like to go on guard duty now?”

Vegeta nodded once, and Lapiz walked off, not even glancing back as he opened the door slowly, carefully peering into the room where they had dumped Bulma.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered half-amusedly as he saw that the woman really was asleep, lying on her side diagonally across the small bed, hands curled together beside her head like a small child.

Like the child that he had last seen her as, before that day.

Banishing the infuriatingly sentimental thought, Vegeta stepped closer, watching her chest move gently with her breaths, her thick lashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks. Her blue hair had been pulled out of her earlier ponytail, and now her long tresses sprawled wildly about her head, like the waves of an ocean fanning over the shore.

He found himself sitting beside her, silently observing her, wondering how on earth she had managed to fall asleep at a time like this.

A powerful impulse to touch her seized him, and he watched helplessly as his hand lifted to rest softly on her head, his fingers tangling whimsically amongst the strands of her mussed-up hair.

He marveled at how the strands flowed like water between his fingers, at how they curled around his wrist, and he was so fixated on the contrast of the blue against his caramel skin that he failed to notice as she began to stir.

Bulma turned, and seemingly suddenly, the widest, deepest blue eyes he had ever known were staring questioningly at him while he sat dumbly at the edge of her bed, beside her.

He pulled away, determinedly staring at the wall, schooling his features into a stern frown even while he felt his ears burn painfully from his embarrassment at being caught.

“Vegeta,” he heard her speak, and against his better judgment, he cast his eyes back towards her, taking in her bleary eyes and the pinkened part of her cheek that had rested against the pillow.

He merely grunted.

He felt her shift so she was sitting up beside him, and in spite of the small distance between them, it was as if he could feel her heat, follow the beating of her heart.

“Hey,” she called cautiously. “Can we… can we talk?”

He smirked. “And are you not talking, already?”

He felt her small hand slap playfully at his arm, and he stared at her with wide eyes, unable to believe her brazen, unguarded action.

She was his hostage, and she still had the audacity to act so familiarly with him.

Does she truly still hold some confidence in him? A misguided sort of trust or kinship?

“You know what I mean,” she said pulling him from his thoughts. “This… you have to know, dad has nothing to do with the crimes against your father. You know my dad, Vegeta-”

He stiffened, immediately sobering.

“Stop,” he said, his voice hard, angry. “You know nothing. You have absolutely no idea-”

“Vegeta, please!” she cried. “I… I remember that day. I remember it so well. I was with my father when he received the call about your family.”

He clenched his fists. How could that be?

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he hissed.

“I’m not lying! I swear to you,” she said, moving closer to him, a hand hovering over his, as if she wanted to touch him, but was hesitant, afraid.

He turned to her, brows low, teeth bared. “You cannot possibly-”

“I was in the car while my father was at the plaza.”

This stopped him cold.

He did not know that she had been in the plaza when he – when he –

“Dad was yelling at me to stay put, and I screamed when I heard the – the gunshots,” she murmured, and Vegeta watched as she turned pale, memories of her fear on that fateful day filling her face with clear dread.

She gulped. “I tried to go after him when he ran off, but it was so… so chaotic, and I froze, and suddenly, dad was there, and he shouted at me for leaving the car. He dragged me back into the car, and his phone rang, and… and then he was screaming at someone for letting Aunt Gine die.”

The sound of that name, a name that he had not heard spoken aloud in decades, sent a furious shudder to course through Vegeta, and he stood, fists tightly clenched as his teeth ground angrily.

“Do not speak that name,” he growled. “None of you Briefs can ever speak that name-”  

“I loved her too! Like she was my own mother! She-”

“She was my mother!” he finally yelled, and Bulma recoiled as the sound of his voice echoed harshly within the small room.

“Vegeta-”

“She was slaughtered,” Vegeta said, choking on the final word as he remembered the fate that had befallen the gentle woman. “And my father was killed when he tried to avenge her.”

The edges of his eyes burned with furious tears that he refused to let fall, would never again let fall.

He moved from the bed, pacing angrily around the room, his eyes determinedly watching his feet as he tried, tried so hard, not to look back at her, lest the sight of Bulma’s watery eyes tear his resolve from him.

He had to remember… Had to remind himself…

Bulma was the enemy.

“And after that, they stole them…” he continued. “They stole Kakarot… And Raditz.”

He heard Bulma gasp, and he knew that she finally understood…

What it was he was looking for…

What it was that he was so desperate to find…

“They… they separated you three?” she asked, tone shocked, teary. “Vegeta, I am so sorry-”

“You mock me with your sympathy,” he snarled. “Your father and his people stole my brothers, and it took me years to find Kakarot. Now, nothing will stop me from finding the third child, our youngest brother, Raditz.”

He looked up, wanting to look into her eyes as he laid his anger out bare.

“You do remember, do you not? What it was that they said about the Saiyans,” he seethed. “We three, together, will dictate the fate of the Syndicate. It is our destiny. And no one, not you, nor your father, can keep me and my brothers from fulfilling that fate.”

Bulma leaps to her feet, her hands held out to him, as if reaching for him, but before her hands could touch him, he moved, grabbing her wrists, pushing so her hands clenched near her chest, away from him.

“Vegeta, you have to believe me,” she said, her voice broken, full of the weight of unshed tears. “My father would never hurt your mother. He was not responsible for this! Set me free and I will prove it to you!”

He laughed. “You think me so ignorant? No. You shall stay here until we have the answers we need. Your father holds the key to finding Raditz and he will lead us to him, whether he wants to or not.”

“Please,” she begged again. “Don’t do this. You… this isn’t like you. I will help you, Vegeta. But you need to let me go. You are a good person and-”

“Do not,” he shouted, shaking her slightly, “presume to know who I am. I have changed. What your father and the rest of those men have done to me has hardened me.”

“I-”

“You do not know me,” he hissed, “just as much as I no longer know you.”

With those words, he pushed her away, forcing himself to ignore the pained little yelp she made when she stumbled, knocking her knees on the wooden bed posts while she fell back against the mattress.

He turned to go, and as he held the doorknob to let himself out, he heard her speak.

“I am still the same, Vegeta,” she said, the force behind her words surprising him, making him glance back.

“Tch,” he spat. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I am,” she insisted. “I am still Bulma. Your friend, your friend who loves you. And as your friend, I am telling you that my father knows nothing. If he knew anything, he would have told you before you had taken me away.”

He turned away again, a sneer crossing his lips before he left her with his parting words.

“Stop fooling yourself. You are a smart woman. We both know that he knew something. However, it appears as if keeping the secret is more important than keeping you safe,” he said as he turned away with a sneer, his eyes on the wooden grains of the door. “If he could forsake his own daughter, think about how easy it would have been for him to forsake me.”

He stepped out, locking the door from the outside as he heard her call out to him again, her voice raw from her hurt and denial.

Summoning all of the hatred and pain from the past years of his life, he steeled himself, and walked away.  

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

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#vegebulocracy #vbo #vbo big bang #vbo big bang 2018 #vegebul #vegebul fanfic #vegebul fanfiction #vegebul au #vegebul au fanfiction #mafia au #vegeta's sacrifice #bulla #dragon ball #dragon ball au #romance #action #angst #eventual smut #enemies to lovers #retribution db fic series #retribution book 1 #scarletraven fanfiction

[stickballl]

Sunshine After Moonlight pt 7

read on ao3

The obnoxious, loud voices of the Foxes pierced into his relative peace.  With the quiet ambience of Abby moving around the house, Jean’d almost convinced himself he wasn’t trapped in a hellhole by a ghost of his past.  He rolled over to press his good ear into the pillow.  It worked well enough, muffling the majority of the noise.  He closed his eyes and tried to drift off into sleep.

He was successful for about ten minutes before a soft knock sounded at his door.  For a second, he debated just not answering and pretending to be asleep, but they knocked again, louder and more impatient.  Jean groaned and sat up, calling to let whoever it was in.

Abby poked her head in with a nervous smile.  “How are you feeling?” she asked in lieu of a hello. Jean just glared at her.  She asked every day and his answer never changed. His answer would never change unless there was some serious divine intervention.  “Someone is here to see you.”

Fear stuttered Jean’s heart.  Abby pushed the door open and a guarded Kevin walked into the room.  Jean gripped the sheets at his side and struggled to control his breath.  Anger brewed in his stomach, boiling until it threatened to spill out in all the vile things he’d wanted to say the past year.  Half of the time, he’d despised Kevin, but he couldn’t help the bit of him that blamed himself for not being enough.  He’d been forced to get used to Riko belittling him and making him feel small; it hadn’t taken long for Jean to learn his place.  But after so much time with Kevin, with so many feelings passed between them, he’d never thought he’d be so utterly destroyed by the person he loved.

Months of unexpressed feelings rose with bile in his throat, blaming him, condemning him.  Even after each promise Kevin made to Jean about their future, their shared freedom, he’d still ran away with his tail between his legs just because he’d gotten one punishment.  Kevin had watched what happened to Jean every day and still walked away.

And now he had the audacity to look sorry.

“Get out,” Jean ordered.

“Jean, I-”

“No.  I have nothing to say to you.  Get out,” Jean growled.  Kevin bit his immediate retort back, instead balling his hands at his sides.  There was a new calmness in his posture, one created by time away from the Nest, from Riko constantly breathing down his neck. It was one built on freedom, a dream he’d repeatedly promised Jean year after year, but failed spectacularly to deliver.  There wasn’t a single thing Kevin could say to fix the broken parts of whatever relationship they’d had.  He’d given up on Jean the day he left the Nest.

“Then you’ll just have to listen to me,” Kevin said in a rare bout of courage.  Jean laughed loudly, spite and cynicism laced together in the hoarse sound that filled the room.  Kevin took a step back, startled by the sharp outburst.

“You lost the right to say anything to me the day you left me behind without a second thought.  You knew what he was going to do, you’d seen it, but you could only think of yourself.  Just do us both a favor and let me go back before I make it worse,” Jean said. Kevin had been away for a year, but it’d take lifetimes to forget what they’d seen, what Jean had been forced to endure.  The Moriyama’s wouldn’t be lenient, especially after the stint Renee played to get him out.  He’d most likely be walking into his own funeral when he returned to the Nest.

“You’re not going back,” Kevin warned, voice more chaotic than Jean had heard in years.

“Oh, if only it were that easy, Kev.  We can’t all be like you and waltz away from all of our problems,” Jean drawled.  He let his head hit the wall behind him, already exhausted from Kevin’s presence.

“I had to leave, Jean.”

“Bullshit, and you know it.”

“You saw what my hand looked like.  It’s a miracle I’m still able to play,” Kevin argued, a hint of anger coloring his voice.  Jean couldn’t bother to muster up a single care about Kevin’s one serious injury he’d sustained after almost a decade and a half with Riko.

“Boohoo, he broke your hand,” he mocked, his words seeping with a failed attempt at hiding his resentment.  If a broken hand had been all he was forced to play with, Jean would’ve been ecstatic.  “In three weeks, Josten endured ten times what you did without a single complaint. You’re weak and you always have been. A psychotic asshole hovering around you every second of the day doesn’t change that.”

Kevin stayed silent for a long time, unconsciously rubbing the scars running along the back of his left hand.  Jean could remember all too well how it felt to have those hands touching him, running along the marred skin of Jean’s torso.  It brought a sour taste in his mouth, pressed him farther into the hard wall at his back.  He wanted to cut away those memories with a knife, force himself to forget anything having to do with Kevin Day.

“I’m not the only one Riko handicapped,” Kevin said, voice almost too low to hear.  Jean’s blood turned to ice, his hands knotted in the fabric of the sheets.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied through clenched teeth. It brought a semblance of a smug smile onto Kevin’s face and Jean wanted nothing more than to slap it off.  Kevin walked farther into the room, encroaching on Jean’s space and sat next to his feet on the bed.  Jean physically restrained himself from kicking Kevin.

“Abby told me,” he said, tapping his finger against his left ear. Adrenaline surged through Jean as rage spiked in his stomach.  He launched himself off of the bed, burying his hands in the material of Kevin’s sweater. The throbbing in his head was muffled by the sound of blood roaring in his ears.  Kevin stayed still, refusing to fight, a hint of sympathy in his eyes, enraging Jean further.  Jean pressed his forearms against Kevin’s chest, keeping him in place as much as holding himself on his feet.  His knee felt hot and pulsed with his heartbeat.

“Shut up,” Jean growled, but his voice was too soft to pose any threat.  Kevin hovered his hands over Jean’s shoulders and Jean immediately recognized his offer of help.  He shook his head sharply, pressing him harder into the wall.

“If you admit you’re deaf in that ear now, they’ll release you of your contract,” Kevin insisted.

“I’m not like you, Kevin.  They won’t just let me go.  If I’m of no use to them, they’ll kill me,” he said.  Sweat began dripping down his forehead, feeling like ice water against his burning skin.  The arm draped across Kevin’s chest was more for Jean to keep his balance.  His vision was fuzzing in and out, forcing his gaze to drop to the solid black of Kevin’s shirt to keep the nausea at bay.  A voice shouted in the back of his head for him to listen to his body, but he shut it up, instead focusing on the fury searing his ribs into dust.  “I wasn’t adopted.  I was sold. I’m a loose end they’ll happily cut away if it preserves their legacy.  I’m nothing.”

“Jean,” Kevin breathed.  Regret and a tinge of tenderness wound together and drove straight through Jean’s ribs.  It was reminiscent of a time when Jean saw his home in Kevin, saw safety, refuge, a sanctuary.  When Riko held his attachment to Kevin over him, dragging knife after knife down his skin, laughing when Jean begged for reprieve.  Panic rose and crashed over him, drowning him in painful memories and the reminder that he would never actually be free, despite what Kevin was trying to tell him.  Riko owned him.  There was nothing simpler in Jean’s life, nothing more constant.  “I-”

“Don’t.”  He shoved himself back, stumbling onto the bed with a huff.  He struggled to catch his breath, hands braced on his knees.  Kevin stayed completely still, but his gaze was piercing at Jean’s back.  He wanted to scream for him to get out and leave him alone, his presence only increasing the memories, but his voice failed him.

He felt a hand gripping his shoulder and before he could think to react, Jean’s fist was flying, connecting with Kevin’s jaw.  He couldn’t help the weight of guilt that settled in his stomach like a ten-pound dumbbell, or the fear that encroached on his entire being.  His body went rigid the second after Kevin stumbled away from him, bringing both his hands into his lap and his gaze to the floor, locking him into place.  He waited, dreading the coming lecture.

“Stay here until you’re released from Evermore.  We won’t let anyone in without your permission,” Kevin urged.  Jean’s eyes whipped to Kevin, wide and bewildered.  He tried to cover up his astonishment with a scoff, but it was weak even to his own ears.

“Assuring, given that I’ve told you to leave repeatedly,” he mumbled.  Kevin ignored him, choosing to kneel in front of him, enough distance between them that he could easily back away if Jean swung again.  Like he’d have the strength to.

“After, it’s up to you.  I’m sure we could pull some strings here,” Kevin paused, sensing the tension building in Jean’s shoulders, “or we could find some other team to take you. You don’t have to go back.”

All of the fight had left Jean’s body, replaced with the effort to steady his heartrate and slow his breathing.  His body pulsed with pain, enough that Kevin’s form in front of him was still blurring.  He’d tried and failed twice already to go back, being caught before he even reached the front door.  He looked at Kevin, the honesty in his eyes twisting his gut into knots.  Something he was extremely hesitant to name trust swelled in his chest before he ultimately nodded.

“You have until I’m healed to convinced me to stay,” Jean relented.  Kevin almost collapsed with the relief, a wide smile spreading across his face.  A smile Jean would rather die than admit that he missed.  Kevin rocked back on his heels and stood, laughter rumbling in his chest. Irritation spiked through Jean’s torso, angry that he’d given Kevin yet another thing he wanted.  He glared up, effectively stopping any celebration Kevin was having.  “And Day, I doubt you’ll succeed.”

#aftg #Jean Moreau #kevin day #tfc #sunshine after moonlight #the boys have some feelings #message me with all your thoughts!!

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [18/20]

Cover & Disclaimer:

Chapter Summary: “The path to peace is never smooth. Sometimes what is necessary doesn’t always keep our hands clean.”

Chapter Beta: None beyond my own two eyes and at the moment. Since I’m finishing the fic this week, I’d say all edits will be forthcoming within the next few weeks as my beta has time to look through everything. 

AN: It’s a bit of a time-skip chapter, but to be honest, the big dramatic confrontation was last chapter. This is sort of the mandatory dark moment, gearing up to the climax of the story chapter…

Sasuke spends a day confined to his bed as Rin does her best to heal the injuries he sustained in his fight with Sakura. She doesn’t speak to him, instead exuding a judgemental, angry silence that says volumes; Obito has no such qualms.

His older cousin rages at him without end, insulting and castigating and threatening him with violence.

Sasuke tunes it all out, lost in his own thoughts.

His fury has calmed somewhat, enough to offer him a shred of perspective. He can admit to himself that the accusations he made to Sakura were wild and likely unfounded—from the logistical standpoint, malicious deception is not in her nature— but her refusal to stand beside him hurt more than he would like.

It was the final clue that their ill-fated affair could not continue.

He doesn’t regret the confrontation; it was necessary. He can’t afford to see her as his lover any longer, not if he is to succeed in his endeavours.

Because Danzō, for all his spite and vitriol, was right.

Both can’t exist at the same time.

As soon as he has the strength to dismiss Rin and her healings, Sasuke calls together a session of all the remaining vassal clans and Uchiha allies, the infantry and camp-followers. Standing above everybody else and imparting his will is not the station he was prepared for as a child, but he commits himself to it now.

He is quiet as everyone takes their place before him, the air crackling with unease; there’s barely any talking, and even that peters out as he stands before them and begins to speak.

“We have all been fools, allowing this war to continue as long as it has,” he tells coolly. “Misguided notions of seamless harmony. Rivalries across the lines which become friendships but never translate to change. It has dragged this conflict out over the generations.” He waits for this to sink in and then continues. “We have become complacent in this battle, and because of that we have lost much. This will end.” He searches out his cousin’s face in the crowd and adds quietly, “The path to peace is never smooth. Sometimes what is necessary doesn’t always keep our hands clean.”

Obito’s scarred face morphs into an expression of incredulity.

“To end this war, there will be no rest or respite. No mercy. No quarter for traitors,” Sasuke continues. “Our purpose must be to not only bring about the end of the bloodshed, but to replace the system with one that will prevent it from happening again. Even if we must fight to the last man. We will bring this land under one authority, and we will do so as one unit. Now is now a time for division or dissent. Inabi.”

He addresses his other cousin, who has been sharing significant glances with his cronies in the corner, and indicates that he come forward. Frowning at the address, Inabi complies, stepping to the front of the assembly.

“From the beginning, you have been a staunch enemy of the Senju,” Sasuke tells him. “You have fought against them with the same ferocity of our ancestors, and they would no doubt be proud.” Inabi smirks at this, eyes gleaming at the acknowledgement. “This is the world you have fought for—the goal of the utter destruction of the Senju and the Uzumaki. There is no one as determined in the pursuit of this as you.”

“Not one,” Inabi agrees, earning scattered cheers of appreciation from his associates.

“That determination was such that you sought out Danzō after Shisui was killed,” Sasuke goes on, watching his cousin’s face carefully. “And instead of killing him for the murder of your kinsmen and the theft of his eyes, you instead told him how to infiltrate the peace talks.”

There is a ripple of shock amongst the crowd, and Inabi’s smirk freezes on his face.

It’s a suspicion he’s been harbouring since Danzō mentioned traitors among his people, if only because no one expressed as much dismay at the idea of peace as Inabi and his ilk.

“In doing so, you not only betrayed your clan, but put your leader into a situation that resulted in his death.”

Inabi looks around in surprise, panicked, noting the looks of dawning realisation and anger on people’s faces; even some among his own group look scandalised and disgusted, most likely because of his complicity in allowing the thief of a Sharingan to walk free.

“You are about to die,” Sasuke informs him. “You may as well choose how you do it. Denying the truth or running like a coward would be expected, but for once in your godsforsaken life be honest.”

Inabi’s eyes snap to his wife, Yumi, who is watching the proceedings with a cold expression, and he nods.

“Itachi was weak,” he snaps. “He’s not like you and I, Sasuke. He didn’t know what needed to be done.”

“You’re right,” Sasuke agrees. “He didn’t.”

Without warning, he summons a blade of chakra to his hand and shoves it through Inabi’s heart.

His cousin chokes in surprise, blood spraying from his lips and hitting Sasuke’s face. “You…you…!”

His face slackens and he falls to the ground; in the crowd, Yumi emits a noise like she has been punched, but Sasuke ignores her.

“No quarter to traitors,” he repeats, and disperses the electricity as he considers the people watching the spectacle in shock. “Know that this is the fate awaiting anyone whom I discover colluding with the enemy.” His eyes rest on Obito and Rin, and then moves across to Hinata, who stands by her clansmen looking stricken. “Make yourselves ready. The next time we march into battle, it will not be border skirmishes and single-combat. We will lay siege until there is one clear victor.”

And he turns and goes back to his tent.

戦国時代

Of course, things are rarely that simple.

The Senju forces are not as keen on fighting unto their end, and appear to pursue a strategy of retreat. Soon Sasuke forces overrun the traditional territories of the Senju, laying claim to them and hunting the enemy across the vast land beyond their usual borders. But the enemy’s skills in survival are strong.

Periodically, the Uzumaki or Senju will send an envoy attempting to establish peace talks; Sasuke orders them all beheaded and sent back.

Soon, there is no more talk of peace.

The next weeks inch by, turning into months, and Sasuke allows himself to exist only in moments defined by rage, grief and war. He pushes the men onward, through the rainy and wet winter without break. Respite gives the enemy a chance to regroup, and that is unacceptable. The forces of the Uchiha are ordered to burn settlements and villages, anywhere that might supply the enemy with materials of shelter.

There is dissent – Obito and Rin are vocal objectors, despite their continued presence by his side, and even the Hyūga are wary despite honouring their alliance with him. Others who doubt remain silent; Itachi’s death and memory continues to be a motivator, and even those who do not agree with Sasuke’s methods wish to shed blood in recompense.

Some more than others.

During the course of the winter campaign, Sasuke is forced to deal with a badly executed assassination attempt from Inabi’s Yumi, as well as the men who were still loyal to him. In this area Obito is willing to put aside his resentment of Sasuke long enough to help quash it. It was he who advocated destroying Inabi and his followers long before the peace, and Sasuke wonders how the story might have been different if Itachi had allowed it.

Spilling the blood of his own causes him to lose some support among the older generation, to whom blood means everything, but most take it as a warning against mutiny. 

Sasuke never encounters Sakura or Naruto or even Kakashi directly again in the field.

The latter two appear to avoid him for their own reasons—obviously influence by sentiment. Kakashi won’t want to face his best friend in battle, and perhaps Naruto still holds on to enough of that deluded notion that he and Sasuke are friends. As for Sakura…

Once, during a battle that Sasuke surveys from the sidelines, acting the general instead of the foot soldier, he sees her in the distance. While Naruto’s clones form a defensive line to impede Sasuke’s offensive forces, she coordinates an evacuation and retreat. Despite the grey winter and the heavy, cumbersome cloak around her body, she is radiant – hair longer, face glowing and full. Somehow, where the war has made him gaunt and tired, it has caused her to thrive. She looks in his direction, as though she can sense his eyes upon her, but at this distance he doubts she can see him. Still, before she turns away, he doesn’t miss the anguished look on her face.

It’s the last time he sees her, because in the months afterward she is conspicuously absent from the battlefield. Other medics flit through the trenches, but she is nowhere to be found.

A churlish part of him wonders what could possibly keep her from the field, keep her from helping others. She has always cared more for the plight of the unfortunate than her own safety, and if she is so affected by the end if their affair so as to avoid battle, she isn’t the woman he thought she was.

He tells himself he is unbothered by this.

Sasuke grieves and fights endlessly, sometimes taking on entire enemy units on his own. These are groups sent specifically to distract him while the main Senju army flees, and every individual there knows that when his eyes gleam with the Mangekyō that they are not long for the world.

A vicious monotony in his life emerges.

There comes the day when his eyes begin to fail—when blood drips down his cheeks and the world around him blurs painfully. It becomes difficult to ignore the dizziness and weakness when he tries to use his dōjutsu. Rin treats it as best she can, but he knows that without Sakura’s forbidden technique he will not be long for the world.

This doesn’t bother him as it might have once.

戦国時代

Everything changes the day that Hinata disappears.

The alarm is raised in the Hyūga compound one morning, and Sasuke’s presence is demanded. It’s clearly serious if they presume that much, and upon arrival he hears the words “kidnapping” and “treachery” bandied about.

Hiashi clamours for blood, his fury and fear over his daughter’s well-being causing him to lash out at Neji for allowing her to be taken. Sasuke’s comrade cringes on the ground, the mark in his forehead burning into his brain at the command of his clan leader. Hiashi is only stopped from killing the young man when Sasuke intervenes.

“This will not return your daughter,” he tells him blandly. “I have sent a search party.”

“And why are you not leading it?” the leader of the Hyūga demands. “She is your betrothed—though you obviously have lost interest in such things with your military pursuits. You might at least pretend to honour that alliance.”

“Your daughter has shown herself to be a capable warrior,” Sasuke replies. “She has mastered the teachings of your people, even without your attention, and has never been receptive to this betrothal. That you believe someone might have kidnapped her without suffering for the trouble implies you are not only blind, but a fool.”

Hiashi narrows his eyes. “What are you suggesting, boy?”

“He’s saying she left of her own free will,” Hanabi Hyūga says quietly. “And when he said he sent a search party…”

“He meant an assassination detail,” Neji realises darkly, getting gingerly to his feet.

“The punishment for her will be the same as any other traitor,” Sasuke tells them, turning to head back to his own camp. “Be grateful I do not judge your clan on her actions. At least you still have one heir to your main house. The favourite, as I recall…”

Though he cannot sense another’s chakra, he hears the swish of movement through the air, and throws up the ribcage of his Susanoo around him. Inclining his head, he sees Hiashi glowering at him, the veins in his eyes bulging furiously. His hand is broken against the vibrant barrier.

“I won’t judge you on that, either,” Sasuke informs him. “Take the time you need to grieve if you require it. But I expect your forces to be ready at dawn tomorrow when we move out.”

“Uchiha…what the hell are you doing?” Neji asks him quietly as he passes him. “This is not how things are done.”

“Because tradition has always brought happiness?” Sasuke challenges, eyeing Neji’s marked forehead with a frown of disgust.

“If you keep going as you are, it won’t just be assassinations you’ll have to worry about,” the other man warns him. “You’ll have your entire army turn on you.”

Sasuke shrugs and continues walking away.

If that’s what it takes to end this.

戦国時代

A week later, one of the general’s bursts into his tent while he discusses strategy with an ever-reluctant Obito.

“The Hyūga!” the man cries, appearing panicked at the idea of giving Sasuke bad news. “They’re all gone—every sentry within view of their compound has been neutralised.”

Sasuke doesn’t allow his face to betray his feelings on the matter.

“Double the guard shifts and send a unit to follow them. Deserters won’t be tolerated.”

“But my lord—”

“Do it,” Sasuke insists. “And send an envoy to Oto. Without the Hyūga, we will need more men. They can provide that for us.”

“Sasuke, what the hell?” Obito demands. “You know how Itachi felt about Orochimaru. And even without that, trying to pursue the Hyūga as deserters? Even you’re not so foolish as to think that would work?”

Sasuke ignores him and glares at the general. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

The man almost squeaks, and vanishes from the tent.

Obito shakes his head at him.

“You’ve really lost your mind, haven’t you?”

“You would recognise it,” Sasuke responds, and returns his focus to his plans.

In the coming months, he finds new allies to replace those has lost.

With the help of Yakushi Kabuto, a treaty is negotiated with Oto, which furnishes Sasuke with a mighty mercenary force. For the most part they are little more than canon fodder – whenever the fleeing Senju are forced to fight, Naruto appears in droves of fiery clones and decimates them.

Without Neji, he lacks the little social interaction he had before, but he finds a replacement in an unlikely individual—the youngest Hozuki swordsmaster.

Unlike other vassals who fear him or pretend to respect him despite dislike, Suigetsu doesn’t bother with any of this. He follows Sasuke for the opportunity to improve his skills in battle and the possibility of renown. He also has a blunt way of speaking to him that Sasuke appreciates, especially in the face of so many who quiver in fear or disdain.  

At the end of winter, Sasuke begins to cough up blood.

戦国時代

Within weeks of the Hyūga defection, the news is reported of the Hiashi approaching the Senju and declaring a truce. Although they have no power to sue for peace for the overall conflict, not without the Uchiha, they will remain neutral until a final peace can be brokered. It’s a half-hearted attempt to not violate their oaths of alliance any further than they already have.

The Hyūga are the first, but not the last.

Over the course of the year, more and more of Sasuke’s vassals and allies abandon him. Some he catches before the act, and makes grisly examples of them, but more defectors succeed than fail. Soon, all that remain by his side are a handful of fighting men. Jūgo, a giant from Oto with a deadly temper, and Suigetsu, who insists he has nowhere better to be. Then, of course, there are Obito and Rin.

Sasuke knows they are simply there out of duty to Kakashi, but there is a small, barely there shred of himself that relies on their presence in his life.

戦国時代

In early summer, intel reaches them of a massive army of Senju and their allies uniting to fight against Sasuke. Half-blind at this point and beginning to suffer from the same mysterious illness as his brother was in the end, Sasuke makes a decision.

“You have fulfilled your obligation to Kakashi well,” he tells his cousin and his wife one evening. “You said you were here to ensure no one would kill me, regardless of your personal feelings. And there is on one left that I have to worry about. Take your daughter and go.”

Rin bites her lip, torn between the instinct to protect her child and unwillingness to leave someone to face death alone. Obito, on the other hand, considers him with an undecipherable look.

“I didn’t realise what the hell you were doing for the longest time,” he tells him gruffly. “It’s a risky move, little cousin. Your brother would hate it.” The tiniest of smirks appears on his ruined face. “But he would have been proud, I think.”

“We’ll never know for sure.”

Rin seems confused by this interchange, but Obito shakes his head.

“I’ll explain it all one day,” he tells her softly, and motions for her to leave the tent.

“Obito,” Sasuke says just as he reaches for the flap of the tent. His cousin turns back. “It’s of utter importance that you understand. This is not a gift or a mercy on my part. Once you walk away, you cannot return. We will be enemies. And you leave the Uchiha name with you.”

Obito offers him a hard smile. “I can think of worse fates, little cousin.”

戦国時代

Suigetsu and Jūgo refuse to leave him, insisting there’s nowhere else they ought to be, and it’s for this reason alone he allows them to accompany him to the spot that he has chosen to make his last stand.

There is a valley in the heart of the country where the Senju and Uchiha have fought for so long, one spoken of in his family’s scrolls and legends. At its edge, a towering waterfall overlooks land that has been touched by their war for generations; inside there is a cave-shrine known only to a select few.

The shrine behind the falls holds a special significance to him, though he doesn’t speak of it to his last two followers. Instead, he orders them to wait for him at the base of the falls, murmuring that he will fetch them at dawn.

He doubts they believe him, but they leave him to his devices anyhow.

Sasuke scales the cliff, racing up the incline with something akin to the wild abandonment and enjoyment he once felt, enjoying the feel of the wind and spray on his face. At the top of the falls he pauses, looking out on the dark horizon where a vast army of Senju and Uzumaki gather with the allies and vassals that once belonged to him. Warriors and civilians unite together, carrying torches and weapons, all united for one purpose: to destroy him.

Once, he would have been flattered at the notion of an entire army being required to take him down.

Now, he simply smirks in dark amusement, and turns his back upon them. He disappears into the shrine, intending to await his fate in quiet reflection. Incense and the smell of damp earth surround them, bringing with them a sense of finality and calm.

It’s apropos.

He senses Naruto long before he materialises behind him, chakra burning with brightness and warmth.

“Sasuke,” the leader of the Uzumaki says. “Enough. This has to end today.”

“It will,” he replies.

“I’m bringing you back,” Naruto informs him. “I made Sakura a promise, and I will keep it.”

“Promises mean nothing now. It is too late.”

“It’s never too late!”

“Do you know what this place is, Naruto?” Sasuke asks, choosing not to argue with the other man.

Naruto looks around. “Uh…a creepy shrine under a waterfall?”

“This is where the remains of Hagoromo were brought,” Sasuke intones. “Rikudo Sennin. The father of all ninjutsu. The father of Asura and Indra.” Naruto startles, gazing upon the shrine as if with new eyes. “The valley below is where our ancestors fought. Where Madara killed Hashirama, where Mito bound a demon to herself and tore Madara to pieces. This is where our birthright was formed.” He turns to face the other man. “It is fitting that it should be ended here was well.”

“It can end without a fight,” Naruto says, a hint of pleading in his voice. “We can make our peace without fighting. It makes more sense than anything else, you have to see that!”

Sasuke remembers a moonlit conversation far too long ago, and smirks.

“Humans tend to do things that make no sense,” he says, more to himself than Naruto. He unsheathes his sword. “Not that that will be a concern to one of us. Either you die today, or I do. Whoever it is, it is up to the other to ensure it is meaningful.”

“None of this is meaningful!”

“You still don’t understand,” Sasuke says, and summons his Susanoo to throw Naruto through the wall of the cave.

He shoves him through layers and layers of rock and stone, until they break through into the valley. There is a glowing flare of chakra and then Naruto hovers before him, pupils burning orange and form flickering as if on fire.

They each know the other’s moves by rote, after a lifetime of fighting one another. Even with their strongest moves, they are evenly matched—a violet leviathan and a giant nine-tailed fox, battling across the hills and valleys of this land drenched in the blood of their ancestors and countrymen. In the distance, the allied armies watch the battle, ready at any point to throw themselves into the fray should Naruto give the signal.

They are both powerhouses, pushing the limits of their chakra reserves through ninjutsu, genjutsu and taijutsu. When they can no longer draw on this, they balance above the giant waterfalls, their swords drawn and relying on the most basic method of combat.

Their battle feels like it lasts for days, but can’t be more than two or three hours; their blood and sweat soaks the rocks beneath their feet, battle cries making their throats raw.

And then comes the point when something within Sasuke simply gives out. It feels like a tangible snap, as if some unnameable organ has exploded or given out, and he falls to his feet before Naruto.

The blond boy pauses, sword raised, temporarily unable to understand what has just happened. Sasuke is quicker on the uptake—he knows the limits of his body, and the fact that his vision has just given out tells him that he’s shattered those.

He smirks, unseeing. “It seems I’ve lost this fight.”

Naruto pants in reply.

Sasuke straightens up and holds out his arms in invitation. “Strike the final blow.”

“Sasuke—no!”

“If you let me live, you jeopardise the peace and cooperation you desire,” Sasuke tells him, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the idiot’s voice. “I know nothing but warfare and bloodshed.”

“You stupid idiot!” Naruto snarls, lashing out and punching Sasuke in the jaw. His head whips to one side, but he doesn’t react otherwise. “You had a brother, so you knew what it was like to have a family—that’s more than I ever had! You had Obito and Kakashi and Shisui! And you had Neji, who’s a stuck-up dick, but respects you even now! Even that guy with the teeth cares about you! And you had me, because I’ve always been your friend whether you like it or not. All I’ve ever wanted was for that friendship to exist without us constantly trying to kill each other. And…” He trails off for a moment here, inhaling deeply. “And even if you had none of that, it wouldn’t matter, because you had the love of an amazing woman, who would forgive you in a heartbeat if you just abandoned your pride! And you have a…” He hesitates here, like he’s struggling with a word or concept, and finally decides on it. “You have a family, Sasuke. And you didn’t need to fight a war to keep that.”

Sasuke’s eyes burn at this, but he clenches his fists and snorts. “As usual…you see nothing. This was never about me.”

“Bullshit!”

“Danzō was right,” Sasuke tells him. “There can be no peace as long as both the Senju and the Uchiha walk the earth.”

“I don’t get you!” Naruto shouts, furious. “You’re supposed to be a genius, so why can’t you figure out that us fighting will not solve anything?! Half of the decision’s you’ve made this past year, I though were coming from someone else! It’s like you’re trying to get killed—”

His voice cuts off with an audible click, and Sasuke knows that the other man finally understands.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Naruto whispers after a beat; there’s a sound of metal brushing against cloth, like a sword being lowered to one side. “That’s what you’ve been trying to do since that day in your camp.”

“People cannot be trusted to create peace on their own,” Sasuke tells him in a low voice. “They cannot be led to it. They have to want it. They have to fight for it. They need an enemy to unite against. Peace does not unite people. Only the fear and threat of something worse.” He inclines his head in the direction of the people he can no longer see. “They are all here, united behind you. Not the Senju or the Uchiha. A dead last loser of an Uzumaki.” He smirks. “With my death, they’ll look to you for leadership, because you will be the vanquisher of the enemy. And this land will fall under one authority—yours.”

“I—you—that’s...!” Naruto stammers, and the growls. “I will not go down in history as the damned hero who killed you!”

“You have no choice. You must become the one who saves them, as I have accepted becoming the enemy who unites them. Both roles require sacrifice. And I have less to lose than you do.”

“Less to—you idiot! Even if I was capable of killing my friend, Sakura would never forgive me. After everything, she still loves you, and you have a—"

“If you do not kill me, all of this will be for nothing!” Sasuke snarls. “All this suffering, all the death and bloodshed and betrayal—they have to see the old order done away with. Otherwise any peace you contrive will be doomed to fail from the outset. Some things are worth the sacrifice.”

He remembers Itachi throwing himself in front of Sakura.

Naruto is quiet, and Sasuke can sense him stewing angrily in front of him. He imagines him glancing out into the valley where countless men and women watch their battle with baited breath, knowing that victory for either side will irrevocably change the future.

“If I don’t kill you, you’re going to kill yourself, aren’t you?” he asks in a flat tone; Sasuke narrows his own in reply. Naruto snorts. “You manipulative bastard. Even when you’re doing something selfless, you’re still an arrogant prick.”

“And you will always be a halfwit.”

“You should have found a way to speak to Sakura before this. If you knew…you wouldn’t do this…”

“You understand why I have to do this,” Sasuke counters. Then, in a softer voice, he says, “When you see her…tell her it had to be this way. Now she can live in that world she dreamed of.”

Sasuke doesn’t see the blow that will kill him, only feels it rip through him like a razor and his body fly through the air like a ragdoll.

As Naruto’s chakra passes through him, he imagines he can hear a voice—ancient and reedy.

My sons…finally you both understand…sacrifice born of love…

Pain encompasses him, gathering in his chest where Naruto strikes the blow and radiating outward, as if the other man’s chakra is shredding his veins from the inside. His lungs seize and he can no longer breath, but instead of the instinctual, primal panic and need to struggle against impending death, Sasuke relaxes into it.

He smiles up at the sky he can’t see. As the vision fades, he imagines soft hair tickling his cheeks and her damned green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to the blackness, or thinks he does. He doesn’t think he’s actually capable of speech any longer. “For everything…up until now.”

His eyes drift shut.

You damned well better be…idiot…

つづく

I know. Sakura was not very present in this chapter. But I think you all know the reason she was conspicuously absent...

And the way I see it, Naruto and Sasuke got their big celebrity death match in the anime. I don’t feel the need to rehash it blow-by-blow here. Also, it was really hard keeping Sasuke detached and vague because he had a big-damn-plan. Uchihas and their martyrdom *sigh*. It’s a good thing we all know how good Team 7 are at following rules, huh? Or else you guys might be doing something silly like panicking right about now…

In any case, I hope you guys liked it 😊

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a ko-fi button at the top of the page, or you can find my tip jar here.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

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#naruto fanfiction #sasusaku #au #warring states period #kuriquinn #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #angst #drama #plot #itachi's spirit lives on