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scarredwithcruelintentions · 27 days

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chapter 1: this is a gift

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,700

Over the course of his unnaturally long life, Astarion had experienced many things. However, he couldn’t recall ever having had the displeasure of acting with such altruistic compassion before now. It was almost as if Cazador himself had thought up an entertaining new way to torture him, forcing him to don a mask of tight-lipped humility to maintain his facade of belonging.

One thing was made abundantly clear from the start of this journey: Astarion did not belong among this group of would-be heroes. His first taste of freedom in two hundred years, consistently squandered by the incessantly self-sacrificing actions of his traveling companions. He found himself in a constant state of exasperation these days, an eye-roll or a scoff away from striking out on his own, for better or worse.

No matter how uncomfortable a role it was to play, far be it from him to turn down the objective safety in numbers that his companions provided him with, however unwittingly. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to playing uncomfortable roles for the sake of his survival. Were they ever to find out just what it was they were traveling with, they’d surely turn him out in an instant, if not stake him outright. Neither being vulnerable to recapture by Cazador nor the finality of death quite tickled Astarion’s fancy, so he kept his head down and the worst of his sarcastic quips to himself in hopes that he would remain relatively safe from prying eyes - or more accurately, prying thoughts.

And it worked - for the most part. The gith and the cleric were too busy quarreling amongst each other to pay him any heed, and the warlock was all too consumed by his loathing of his contracted owner. The wizard, while clearly educated and well-read, didn’t seem to have a perceptive bone in his body if the way he carried on was anything to go off of. Astarion could swear that listening to him speak was the closest he’d come to truly sleeping since he’d been turned. The tiefling woman, bless her infernal engine, had heart and brawn to spare, but had been less than fortunate in the intelligence department.

You, however, were far harder to read, and therefore far harder to trust. Not to say that he trusted his other companions, but he could at least trust that they remained steadfastly oblivious as to his true nature. He was never sure with you, occasionally catching a glimmer of something deeper in the warmth of your gaze when you exchanged pleasantries, or looking up from his book to find you staring at him from across the campfire, your pleasant voice lilting the harmonic accompaniment to the lyre in your arms. Your eyes held far too much keen interest for him to be comfortable, so he kept an especially safe distance from you.

At least, he tried to.

As the days wore on and the fights became more grueling, he found himself growing weary and bone-tired beyond what his typical nightly hunt could satiate. He felt sluggish and weak; stringing together rational and coherent thought had become burdensome. He could scarcely breathe in the company of his companions without feeling overwhelmed by the sheer might of his bloodlust. Luckily, he’d mostly learned to ignore his bottomless hunger over the span of his enslavement, and whatever wasn’t held in the firm grip of his self-control was allayed by the fear of Cazador’s retribution.

The longer he spent away from Cazador, though, the more that fear shrunk alongside his waning self-control. The fact that he’d left his most recent kill, mangled and exsanguinated, in the middle of the path for his traveling party to stumble across was testament to his current lack of presence. Under different circumstances, its discovery could have been his death sentence. As it were, he only had to listen to the shocked and horrified exclamations of his companions, none of them the wiser that the beast in question capable of such a grisly and disturbing kill resided in their camp. For his part, Astarion remained steadfastly silent, watchful gaze leveled on the back of your head and fingers twitching toward his dagger.

After a quiet “hmm” and a shrug, you stood from the corpse of the boar and brushed your hands off.

“Nothing to be done for it now. Best be on our way,” you said gravely. Astarion’s fingers stopped their twitching, and he released a silent breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

Later that night, as his companions sang and danced and made merry around the campfire, Astarion began to hatch a plan. An ill advised plan, mind, and not one that he was proud to have conjured up, but he was so hungry and could no longer ignore the mouth watering smell of the sentient life around him. All that was left was to pick his target and wait for the right opportunity to strike.

As he pretended to eat his bowl of stew that the wizard had prepared, he sorted through the list of his companions in his mind, weighing his options. Both the gith and the warlock were sure to kill him if they caught him in the act, so they were immediately discarded. The tiefling would melt his face right off if he got too close to her, which made her an impractical option. Something about the wizard smelled off, so naturally he was struck from the list. That left the cleric… and you.

Just as he was preparing to puzzle out the best option between the two, you waltzed past him with your gentle instrumental and sultry lilt, and he made the mistake of inhaling. His mouth practically watered at the smell of you: jasmine blossoms and orange peel and heady musk. Without any further thought, he had his vict- target.

He shook his head warily, attempting to clear his disquieted thoughts like so many cobwebs from his mind, just as you turned to send a soft smile his direction.

His insides twisted with the sharp discomfort of shame and he smiled back, taking care to keep from baring his fangs. He couldn’t tell if the vise grip of unease was of his own or his master’s making, but it was almost strong enough to make him reconsider. Almost. Then, his hunger returned to him full-force and all at once, and his resolve was strengthened. Once everyone else had reached the land of dreams, Astarion would have his first true taste of freedom: ‘the blood of a thinking creature’. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion volunteered to take first watch, so, mercifully, he was the only one awake. If he were capable of nervous sweats, the back and underarms of his shirt would be soaked through, his palms clammy and the curls at his forehead damp. One would think that being abducted by mindflayers would make the prospect of drinking his companions’ blood pale in comparison, but he found himself more terrified now than those handful of nights ago when he’d been snatched up and imprisoned on the Nautiloid. Perhaps it was the fear of Cazador’s wrath, when he inevitably found out Astarion wilfully disobeyed his cardinal order; perhaps it was the fear of losing control and hurting you, and then paying the price with his life.

Whatever the case, Astarion made a concerted effort to steel himself before proceeding with his plan. He crept from his post, silent as the grave with the practiced ease of a night stalker and crossed the camp to your tent, its flaps open to dispel some of the muggy summer air trapped within. The closer he got to his prize, to you, the further his wits were flung from him until he knelt at your side, salivating at the thrum of the pulse in your neck. He licked his lips and leaned in, intoxicated by the smell of you, fangs poised to puncture your carotid artery -

“You could ask, you know,” he felt more than heard you say. “It’s impolite to touch people without first gaining their consent.”

Astarion reeled back as if he’d been struck, a muffled curse escaping him as he hastily tried to retreat.

“Move any further and I’ll scream. I’d fancy a guess that you don’t want the whole camp to find you unwelcome in my tent, so I suggest you quit squirming away and explain yourself,” you grumbled, and though your voice painted a perfect picture of disenchantment, Astarion could see the way your body had drawn taut with adrenaline; you were prepared to fight your way out of this if necessary.

“No, no! It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he pleaded, voice just shy of frantic and hands held aloft in placation. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.”

The shame returned to him at a near dizzying magnitude, his last words falling flat in defeat on a final exhale, sure to be his last.

You sat up, body still tense and prepared to strike if the need arose, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. To his surprise and immense relief, you only questioned him further.

“How long since you last killed someone? Days? Hours?”

Though your voice held the edge of cold steel, it could not conceal the glint of curiosity in your gaze. Despite his better judgment, Astarion decided to tell you the truth, hoping to appeal to the bleeding heart of your empathy.

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food,” he sneered, then schooled his expression back into something non-threatening after remembering that he did not want to make his predicament worse.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

“Ah, so that was your dinner we found so carelessly discarded this morning,” you bit back.

He weighed his next words carefully after examining your body language, still finding you tense but sensing no fear.

To Hells with it, he thought.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please,” he begged, eyes wide and round with desperation.

He watched in relative discomfiture as the tension drained from your posture, expression morphing to regard him with no small amount of pity as your tadpoles connected and you were granted a fleeting glimpse into his centuries of abuse and torment. It took all of his courage to not shut you out; he felt painfully flayed open and on display with what little you were able to glean from the brief brush of your minds.

To your credit, you didn’t ask about what you’d seen.

“Why didn't you tell me, Astarion?” you whispered.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” he scoffed, then sighed, “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

He held his breath again, daring to hope that you might actually be amenable to helping him.

“Hells. I do trust you, Astarion. Believe it or not, I do. Would have preferred you to just ask instead of having this uncomfortable confrontation in the wee hours, though,” you chuckled.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck, or perhaps it was your stupidity, and he waved a hand noncommittally in front of him.

“Does this mean…” he breathed, his nerves alight with something akin to elation.

“Yes, you may make a meal of me,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! Thank you, truly-” he began, abruptly cut off by the hand raised wordlessly to silence him.

“But you’d better not take a drop more than you need, or there won’t be a next time,” you finished with a resolute nod.

Astarion nearly balked at your words, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever gods would listen for leaving something so preciously stupid as you alone in his company.

“Of course, darling. Not one drop more, on my honor,” he said, placing a hand over his undead heart.

You snorted inelegantly, “Right, honor. As if you have any of that, Rogue. How do you want me?”

“You wound me, my sweet. More to the point, how don’t I want you?” he drawled, playing up the flirty charm in an attempt to ease the stiffness of anxiety that had once again overcome you.

However, it seemed to have opposite the desired effect, and he watched in disconcerted fascination as your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. You rhythmically unclenched and clenched your fists a few times before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Do you plan to bite me sometime before the sun rises or not? If you’ve changed your mind, I’d very much like to get some sleep before we have to spend another day meandering through this blasted forest, hunting down an impossible cure for our stowaways,” you huffed out.

“My apologies, do get comfortable,” Astarion mumbled as he scrambled to kneel at the edge of your bedroll once more. He brushed the wisps of your hair away from your neck, fingers trailing down the delicate column of your throat almost reverently. He wanted to savor this moment, this first.

“Will it hurt much?” he felt the rumble of your words through his fingertips.

“Not terribly, but it will be uncomfortable for a moment. I will try to be gentle,” he murmured back, steady gaze leveled with your apprehensive one.

“Get on with it, then,” you gritted out, turning your head to expose more of the tender flesh of your neck.

Astarion leaned in, once again overwhelmed by the smell of you in this close proximity, but no longer dogged by the feeling of malaise at what he was about to do. He gently dragged his fangs up the column of your throat, searching for your pulse point. He heard your quiet gasp and felt the slight shudder that ran through you, one of your hands flying up to nestle in the silvery curls at the nape of his neck and the other twisting in the furs of your bedroll. It was then that he struck.

The first splash of blood across his tongue was like the finest wine he’d ever tasted. He vaguely registered the sound of a groan, but whether it was yours or his, he wasn’t sure. Everything beyond your lifeblood spilling from the puncture wounds in your neck and his tongue lapping at it was hazy with his euphoria. He could taste the salty musk of your sweat coupled with the ferrous tang of your blood, the fleeting sweetness of your desire giving way to a deeper, more buttery contentment.

He quickly lost himself in the act of drinking from you, gulping down great mouthfuls of your blood like a man having stumbled across an oasis after spending too many long nights parched in the desert. He drank deeply and greedily, rational thought all but gone as he slaked his bloodlust.

Eventually, he registered the bitter taste of your fear and felt the fingers buried in his curls tighten and pull.

“Astarion,” you garbled in warning, “that’s enough.”

Reluctantly, and with no small amount of effort, he pulled back.

“That - that was amazing,” he mumbled in awe, tongue darting out to clean the blood from his lips and wiping up the droplets that spilled down his chin, only to lick his fingers.

“And strangely intimate,” you laughed breathily.

“Indeed. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy!” he breathed, voice full of wonderment.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked back, “So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

He stood and turned to exit, then thought better of it and paused at the mouth of your tent. He looked over his shoulder to find you seated upright, looking at him expectantly.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

He didn’t miss the way your face fell as he turned to continue out into the waiting darkness. This time, it was guilt that made his gut churn unpleasantly. As to why, though, he couldn’t say.

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lumiink · 1 year

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found this hiding the the files since I couldn't post it when I drew it, but the chapter's been posted, so now I can!

#hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #fanfic fanart #au canon divergence #fanart #also got a wip i can't share yet :)

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zoyalaaai · 9 days

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#3 of random merlin prompts:

AU - canon divergence, where Kilgharrah lied about the prophecy intendeding Arthur‘s (& Morgana‘s) death to end the Pendragon line. The dragon alters the prophecy just enough for his own interests that Arthur can lead Albion into the new era before he‘s supposed to meet his death at Camlann.

The key part he switches is that it was Merlin all along who was supposed to rule beside Arthur, as his King Consort and openly as the powerful sorcerer he is. But when Arthur starts falling for Gwen, Kilgharrah sees his opportunity to simply switch one servant for another with dire consequences.

And Merlin being Merlin does everything it takes to see the fake prophecy come true, even if it will break his heart.

—

Added bonus: Arthur doesn’t listen to bullshit prophecies and marries Merlin anyway and lives.

#merthur prompt #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #king arthur #king consort merlin #merthur #merlin bbc #au canon divergence #au prompt #merlin prompt #kilgharrah being a manipulating menace

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amoratearte · 8 months

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Dragonstone AU, Laena and Rhaenyra with their girls, and a cheeky little boy

PS: check out the necklaces

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dakotaawolven · 4 months

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"love is deep as the road is long"

Elena has barely been in New York a single day when she discovers Elijah Mikaelson with no memory of who -or what- he is. So much for the so-called vacation Caroline had planned for her, because there's no way she can just leave him lost and alone in the city. Instead, she makes the decision to try and figure out what the hell happened to him.

#ao3 fanfic #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #elejah #the vampire diaries #the originals #au canon divergence

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lambourngb · 9 months

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prompt- we're born with white blood, which darkens with mortal sins.

established icemav - short ficlet

Ice hissed as his razor cut a little too close to his jawline, nipping a tiny bit of skin in its wake. He stared in the mirror, transfixed for a moment as the blood welled up, black as night, and then dripped onto the vanity countertop.

He remembered being a young officer, blood as white as milk, even after the Layton mission. Killing a MiG pilot to save his own life and that of his RIO apparently did not count as a crime.

However, after thirty years of serving at the beck and call of the Admiralty, once four stars were on his shoulder, it meant his blood was no longer pale and innocent but dark obsidian. That was where the real crimes laid; behind the broad desks and under the pen of troop deployments, signing off on regulations that only became fair after 2011. That was the price Ice paid for those years of being part of a machine that wanted to do good but couldn't be good while doing it.

"Hey babe, do you think you have time for lunch today," Mav called from the bedroom, shocking Ice out of his trance.

Quickly he grabbed a tissue, mopping up all evidence of his black blood and flushing it before his husband could see it. Mav's blood was the color of oatmeal, never darkening past his childhood of petty crimes. When they had fallen into bed together, Ice's blood still pumped through his veins pale and ice-white. Somehow through luck and deployments, he had managed to conceal his current state from his husband.

"I think so; I'll tell my aide to clear the space," Ice replied, holding a folded-up tissue against his cut as Mav came into the bathroom behind him.

Mav wrapped his arm around Ice's side, tucking into his warmth. His husband was already dressed for the day at the base, his uniform scratched deliciously at Ice's bare skin as he stood in front of the vanity in only a towel. "Did you cut yourself? Here, let me see-"

Ice leaned away from Mav's hand, dodging his attempts to pull away the tissue. The cut had probably clotted by now, but it was still too risky for Mav to see the dark stain from his wound. "I'm fine, and you're going to be late. I'm not running interference with Cyclone again."

"When did you run interference the first time?"

"Day one when you broke the hard deck and performed an illegal cobra maneuver," Ice reminded him sternly. They both winced in memory of that lecture during the training for the uranium mission. Thankfully it had all worked out, and everyone had returned home safe and sound. Still, regardless of success, Cyclone remained a stickler for being on time. "And, of course, you were correct in your teaching methods; I don't regret stepping in."

"Have you ever?" Mav asked, his thumb trailing against the softness of Ice's waist before creeping closer to the tied towel. "Regretted stepping in?"

Ice looked at his husband in the mirror, knowing that the blood in his veins had darkened over time as he gathered favors and performed miracles to keep his wingman in the air and protected. "Never. You're worth it."

#icemav #ficlet #au canon divergence

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edenwolfie · 10 months

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Chapter 10 of ‘Til our compass stands still is up! Back to the Den we go!

Transcript of the images above beneath the read more!

’Til our compass stands still by edenwolfie

Summary: After getting lost in Ghost City, Xie Lian bargains away years of servitude to the Gambler’s Den to help a man in need. He dons the robes of a worker and hides his face and life behind an enchanted mask, protecting himself from the city’s denizens. Xie Lian finds an unexpected home in Ghost City before he ever sees the lord of it, the infamous Hua Cheng. When he finally does, something about himself seems to catch the attention of the Ghost King, slowly striking up an unusual friendship. Xie Lian must figure out how to navigate his burgeoning feelings, how to keep his identity to himself, and how to get over a ghost so clearly in love with someone else. Rating: Explicit Fandom: TGCF Relationship: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian (M/M) Characters: Xie Lian, Hua Cheng, Yin Yu (background), Original Characters Current Word Count: 167k [Chapters 10/11] Additional Tags: Ghost City, canon divergence, different first meeting (you know what I mean), slow burn, secret identity, identity porn, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, fluff, friendship, found family, first kiss, first time, original characters, canon-typical violence, discussion of suicide, PTSD, panic attacks, masturbation, book spoilers, hurt/comfort, semi-public sex.

#hualian #xie lian #hua cheng #tgcf #tgcf fanfic #hob #au canon divergence #wip #edenwolfie writes

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phantomstatistician · 5 months

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Fandom: Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury

Sample Size: 1,014 stories

Source: AO3

#the witch from mercury #mobile suit gundam #fluff #angst #not beta read #hurt/comfort #post canon #canon compliant #romance #au canon divergence #one shot #au modern #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician

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whereintheworldiskamalakhan · 3 months

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Sometimes a family is 1 kid, 1 mom, 2 dads, 1 pet Godzilla, and 0 communication skills.

#monarch legacy of monsters fanfic #monarch legacy of monsters #monarch legacy of monsters fanfiction #lee/keiko/bill #tragic polycule #monster hunting throuple #ot3 #monarch ot3 #au canon divergence #this fic has gone through Transformations with each episode lol #after I started writing it around 5/6 #this fic is 13k words #kinda proud of this one ngl

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cantheysurvive2001aspaceodyssey · 28 days

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Submitting my AU canon-divergent Commander Rourke from Atlantis the Lost Empire.

I have a fic series with him (I'm sorry, I couldn't decide which one best showed his character.) And I RP him here, so he has an info page.

I really hope people give him a chance, because he's very different from his canon counterpart.

If it means anything here, he was worthy to possess the power of Thor. His canon counterpart was not (Canon WAS, however, the lowest percentage of Yes votes, which is funny to me for some reason.)

He also beat his canon counterpart in a fight. Which is also funny to me.

*Photo edit done by me.

#commander rourke #au canon divergence #atlantis the lost empire #2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #space odyssey #polls #tumblr polls #poll time #fandom polls #submitted

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 27 days

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no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

A Baldur's Gate 3 Reader Insert Fic by scarredwithcruelintentions

(crossposted on AO3 here)

Rated: E

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Current W/C: 13,574

Summary:

The memory of clawing his way out of his own grave was among the worst he'd collected over his long life. He'd never imagined being turned would lead to nearly two hundred years of enslavement at the hands of a cruel master; but then again, he'd never even imagined being turned in the first place. All of his days as a spawn had blurred together, so much the same as they were in their infinite torment and shadow.

Until, one day, they weren't.

He knew one thing for certain, though.

If he had to do it all over again, crawl from his grave and live another two centuries of endless night, he would without question.

For after the darkness, he would come to find the light. He would come to find you.

A/N: Hey everyone! I went into Baldur's Gate 3 completely blind, knowing nothing about any of the characters, story, or gameplay. And, of course, I was immediately drawn to Astarion with his striking beauty, heavy flirting and aloof cockiness. Totally let the horny rule my brain (because GODS DAMN he's hot) and pursued a romance with him. And then I learned more about his story as I progressed in the game, and I was completely disgusted with myself. See, I did to Astarion exactly what so many people have done to me: I looked at him as an object, as a pretty piece of arm candy that was happy to cater to my *ahem* more lascivious whims. My heart broke a little (okay, a lot) because I feel much the same way as him about being treated like a piece of meat, something to be consumed and discarded in one fell swoop. I recently started Cognitive Processing Therapy for my trauma, and because I really connected with his character and storyline, I was compelled to write an apology to him in the form of this fic. Equally, in turn, it acts as the love letter to myself in accepting and moving forward from my own traumas. As I'm sure you can tell by now, there is a lot of heavy and uncomfortable subject matter to come in this, and I don't blame anyone for needing to click away. The story is meant to be an exploration of relearning the full spectrum of human(oid) emotions, so it will be a bit of a rollercoaster. Big shoutout to my Skwid Sis for cheerleading and my best friend and partner in crime, Big Daddy E, for reading it out loud with me in character and helping me (try to) edit my unnecessarily verbose run-on sentences. I cherish you two more than words will ever come close to expressing, and just want to say thank you for being patient and understanding with me during this very painful and difficult process. And lastly, I want to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to share in my healing journey by giving this silly lil brainchild of mine a chance. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I've been enjoying writing it. :) Likes, comments and reblogs much appreciated! Will be updated weekly (unless, yk, I am particularly inspired to share)!

chapter 1: this is a gift

chapter 2: the hunted

chapter 3: a desperate revelation

chapter 4: a reflection in another's eyes

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

chapter 6: ruination and regret

chapter 7: sorrowful lash

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minim236 · 1 year

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Lancelot Du Lac

An alternative take on Lancelot's return to life.

Or I was bored and still mad about this episode, so I wrote a little something.

#bbc merlin fic #au canon divergence #lancelot du lac #gwen x arthur #arthur x guinevere #guinevere pendragon #arthur pendragon #merlin is a great friend #no one gets in the way of his otp!#bbc merlin #4.09 #merlin 4x09 #merlin and gwen

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zoyalaaai · 5 days

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#17 of random merlin prompts:

Canon Divergence where Arthur finds out that he won’t ever be able to have children of his own. It’s the same predicament that caused his father to turn to magic, the very one that ultimately caused his mothers death and started the reign of terror against magic.

Arthur knows he can’t repeat his father’s mistakes, so he vows never to have children, knowing he needs another way to secure an heir. But his heart breaks a little when he first starts courting Guinevere and she speaks of children and family and of dreams that he won’t ever be able to fulfill for her. He loves her too much to rob her of the life she deserves and ends the courtship amicably.

There isn’t anyone after her, not really, so he vows to give his all to Camelot, be the very best King his people deserve and one day find a successor worthy of the country he is rebuilding.

And of course, there is Merlin, always by his side. In the end, he is everything Arthur really needs.

#sad arthur pendragon prompt #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #au canon divergence #guinevere deserves nothing but the best #and maybe here that is a growing family instead of the solitude of a lonely queen #merthur in the end #because it’s always them #random merlin prompts #prompt nr.17

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dakotaawolven · 3 months

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Cursed Halos

What if Elena figured out that she was sired before anyone else, and went to Klaus for help, and he pointed her towards the cure? He left for New Orleans, but kept tabs on his precious doppelganger, until she seemingly fell off the map. Now he's discovered just what happened to her, and with Elijah at his side, the Mikaelson brothers go hunting. For Salvatores. And when they find out just why the ever-compassionate Elena Gilbert turned it off in the first place...no one will be safe from their wrath. Except, of course, Elena herself.

#ao3 fanfic #elena gilbert #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #klena #elejah #the vampire diaries #the originals #au canon divergence #klejah

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toomanyplotbunnies-sendhelp · 3 months

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Naruto Fanfic - Canon Divergence AU (og!post here)

The late dog always barks at the closed door - Prologue (just a part of it, though)

In Konoha, Shiranui Genma is many things; a shinobi, a Tokubetsu-Jounin, an Elite Guard for the Lord Hokage, an assassination expert, a good friend, and, in Namiashi Raidou's own words, "a mother hen of a shinobi that can and will skin you alive with his senbon if that will keep you safe".

What Shiranui Genma is not, however, is a teacher... or, well, at least he wasn't until now.

Standing at attention in front of Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage of Konoha, Shiranui Genma blinks slowly a few times as if in disbelief.

"I beg your pardon, Lord Third, but could you please repeat what you just said?" he says, voice a bit hesitant.

The Hokage sighs, looking and feeling older than a few minutes ago when he called Genma into his office. "Yes, you heard that correctly Shiranui Genma" he states once again. "I want to entrust a Genin team to you."

Genma, still in disbelief, asks why. He wouldn't dream of going against the Hokage's orders - Genma is not that suicidal, regardless of what Raidou says - but, the senbon user couldn't wrap his head around him being given a Genin team of all things when he is still working as an guard for the Hokage.

'Am I being relieved from my guard duties?' is the most prominent worry for Genma at this moment. He doesn't want to leave his post as a guard. He, of course, loves the job he has. But, most importantly, he has a lifetime of regret he is trying to atone for while continuing his job as a guard. Shiranui Genma doesn't want to see another Hokage die and be unable to do anything about it again. The Forth Hokage, Namikaze Minato, was the one that selected Shiranui Genma as one of his personal guards, alongside Namiashi Raidou and Tatami Iwashi. And yet, when it was truly important for them to do their job properly and protect Minato, all three of them couldn't.

Genma knows that the other two carry just as much guilt as he does after that night when Namikaze Minato gave up his life to protect Konoha. They weren't capable of protecting Minato, so when Sarutobi took up the position of Hokage once more, the three decided to dedicate their lives to protecting the newly reinstated old Hokage, in a way that they were not able to do with Minato.

So now, to have the Hokage himself state that Genma is to have a Genin team feels like a dismissal from his job more than anything. And it hurts.

Sarutobi takes a drag from the ever-present pipe in his mouth, exhaling the smoke a moment later. When he starts speaking, his voice is solemn. "I got news that one of the Jounins that was supposed to take on a Genin team this year perished in a mission." Sarutobi's eyes look sadly towards Genma. "It was an ambush," he continues.

Genma takes a deep breath. Even if he may not have had any conversations with the late shinobi, he still feels sad. For the loss of a comrade on the battle field; for the loss of a promising individual, and, especially, for the loss of a member of Konoha. 'In this line of work, death is always just around the corner' Genma thinks bitterly, 'and yet, it is still unfair that the lives of others are snuffed out so easly and so unexpectedly'.

Despite the sadness and bitterness that cover Genma's thoughts, the only thing he can muster to utter in front of the explanation provided is a quiet "I see."

Sarutobi continues in the same somber tone. "He was supposed to take on Team 3 next week when the graduation ceremony happens. Right now, the vast majority of Jounin that are viable to take on a Genin team are out on field missions and won't be back until after the graduation ceremony. The rest of the Jounin already have chosen a team to take this year." Sarutobi takes another drag from his pipe, reaching for three files out of the million that have found residence on the desk. He faces Genma, eyes determined and serious. "You are the only Tokubetsu Jounin available for me to ask this of." Sarutobi then extends his hand holding the three files - most likely the files for the three brats that just finished Academy - towards him to take.

Genma nearly scoffs. 'Liar' a small part of him hisses in his head. 'I just saw Anko today in the village, complaining, of all things, about not having any missions for the next two weeks and that she will die of boredom to Ibiki Morino of all people'. But on a second note, giving Anko a team of children will not be ideal if you don't want to deal with whatever physical, material or mental repercussions the equation of Anko and three fresh out of the Academy children can create. Having Anko in I&T is already driving people - more specifically, Morino Ibiki - up the walls. Genma can finally see why he was chosen instead of Anko now.

Eyeing the files with a little apprehension, Genma takes then and scans them over for the names of the (un)lucky children that he might become the (un)lucky teacher of.

Kawamura Chizuru - civilian born.

Higashi Kyoka - coming from a small Shinobi family.

Nomura Akira - his father is a Shinobi, but his mother is a civilian.

Genma sighs. "What about my post as a guard?" he asks, awaiting the dreaded response.

Sarutobi seems to see through him with his wise and soulful eyes however. Like he is fully aware of the insecurity and anger that is swirling in his heart. "You may not be able to complete your guard duties during your time as a teacher" Sarutobi states, confirming Genma's fears, "However, you will still be given missions to complete outside of those with the children."

Sarutobi's lips curl a bit upwards as he finishes the sentence. "Make no mistake, Shiranui Genma" he speaks, kind eyes looking directly at the senbon user "I am not relieving you of your duty as a guard. Think of this as a much deserved vacation. I can tell that the guard duty has taken the most toll on you, compared to the others."

'There is that voice again, huh?' Genma muses. 'A strong voice, filled with kindness but so firm that you just instinctively know that Lord Third is not going to change his mind any time soon.'

Genma takes one more look at the three files in his hand and then at the smiling Lord Third in front of him. With his free hand, Genma reaches out for a senbon from his back pocket and puts it into his mouth and smirks.

"I am not obligated to pass them, am I, Hokage-sama?" he asks, keeping the senbon between his teeth so that it wouldn't fall.

Sarutobi's eyes gain a sparkle of mirth and misceaviousness at Genma's, admitedly rethoric, inquiry. He shook his head watching the senbon user's smirk widening just a tad.

'So basically, either a two week vacation or several years vacation for me, depending if they pass or not, huh?' the senbon user thinks to himself.

Genma can't help but be a little bit curious about these kids. What can they do? What will they do? How will they react to the world they decided to enter and to the path of the Shinobi? Who will remain and who will decide this isn't for them?

But, most importantly, will they manage to impress Genma enough for him to choose to remain as their Jounin Teacher? Or will they fail the test he will put forth?

"Well then" Genma starts, "far be it for me to disobey your words, Lord Third. I will take them." Sarutobi breathes a small sigh of relief at Genma's acceptance. "However, I will not make any promises about this team passing my test."

The old leader nod. "I do not expect anything less from you, Genma. The Graduation Ceremony is in a week. Be prepared" he continues. "You are now dismissed."

Genma acknowledges the dismissal with a soft "Yes, sir" before leaving the old Hokage alone in his office.

With this situation out of the way, Sarutobi starts working on his seemingly never ending paperwork that accumulates on his desk each and every day. But even as he diligently works, the old leader of Konoha cannot shake the feeling that he may have been mistaken and that Anko would have the better choice to give a Genin team to.

"I am getting too old for this," he laments rather pathetically to the piles of paperwork on his desk and to the AMBU guards that surround his office.

What is done, is done. Sarutobi can only hope and pray that he didn’t make a mistake. The gods know he has made too many at his old age.

And this is all I have for now on this particular fic. So, any opinions? Let me know.

See you guys tomorrow,

- TooManyPlotBunnies-Send Help

#naruto #naruto fic #fic wip #fic writing #writing fanfic #au canon divergence #genma shiranui #hiruzen sarutobi #genma is gonna raise hellions #hiruzen is too old for this shit

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