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foxghost · 3 years

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Joyful Reunion, Chapter 112

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 7)

Right there behind the stone statue at the top of the stairs is a wide platform, and behind the platform is a set of derelict buildings stacked out of bricks. It’s eerily quiet on top of the platform as it’s little frequented, and green creeper vines have climbed all the way up from the base of the foundations miles below. Nothing marks the years’ passing in the mountains, as though time itself is frozen here.

“Is this where you trained?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yes. This is White Tiger Hall,” Wu Du replies, climbing the steps with Duan Ling until they’re before the great hall. A plaque is barely hanging on high above them with three characters written in ancient seal script: White Tiger Hall.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. It may still be a bit cold in the mountains, but I think …”

“That’s quite alright,” Duan Ling replies, standing in front of the great hall, he stretches, facing the green hills beyond and their misty clouds. It reminds him of a line of poetry: my mind expands to take in this expanse of clouds; the sight of homecoming birds stretches the edge of my vision.2 From the moment they left Jiangzhou he’s enjoyed the first true days of leaving all his worries behind. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone coming to kill him, and neither does he have to worry about saying anything by accident that can get him killed. They can sleep soundly and let themselves relax.

He turns back to glance at Wu Du. Wu Du is inside the great hall, sweeping the stone paths clean. When he finds a bird’s nest on a chair, he picks up the nest and wipes down the chair before putting it back.

“Eh?” Duan Ling spies a small animal dodging behind a pillar and walks quickly over. It’s a squirrel. When it hears footsteps it stops, turns around, and hesitatingly stares at Duan Ling.

“Animals in the mountains aren’t afraid of people,” Wu Du explains.

“Are there other people here?”

“No. Even back then it was just me, my master, his wife, and Shijie.”

Recalling the Xunchun who lost her life in Shangjing, Duan Ling lets out a sigh.

Once Wu Du finishes cleaning he adds, “Duan Ling, come. Let’s go meet the White Tiger.”

Duan Ling walks to the centre of the main hall, and looks up at a white tiger carved out of white marble enshrined in the altar. Its eyes are sunken as if gems used to be set in them, but they’re long lost, presumably stolen by thieves. A mottled, dilapidated mural of “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”3 has been painted on the wall behind it, with seven Weiqi pieces carved out of marble inlaid into the mural.4

“I’m the seventeenth generation disciple, successor of the lineage of poison,” Wu Du says to the white tiger statue, “current leader of the White Tiger Hall, Wu Du. I’m here today with the crown prince of the central plains.”

Duan Ling cannot help but be awestruck, and his back straightens at Wu Du’s words. Wu Du stands tall in front of the statue, holding the index and middle fingers of his left hand to the back of his right hand to bow as a part of a special ritual on his pilgrimage to the White Tiger. "Lord White Tiger, please bless …

“What’re you called again?” Wu Du pauses to ask Duan Ling.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du speechlessly. Wu Du stares silently back.

“What kind of a sect leader are you?” Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to tell him.

Wu Du whines, “That day you shocked me right out of my head, so how was I supposed to remember anything? Say it already.”

“Li Ruo, here to pay my respects,” Duan Ling takes one step forward. He knows that the White Tiger constellation is the god of soldiers and warfare, in control of everything that has to do with slaughter. He bows. “I pray for Great Chen to triumph in every battle, to be victorious in every war.”

Wu Du cracks a grin, and turns to the statue. “I pray you’ll bless and protect the crown prince of Great Chen, Li Ruo, and to allow him a smooth return to the imperial court.”

They each finish talking to the White Tiger, and afterwards, they look up together in silence, staring at the statue with its missing eyes. A draft brushes them by, pouring from the back of the main hall and rushing out the entrance, setting the fringes of their robes fluttering — as if a fierce tiger has just crossed the forest, setting all the leaves in the trees rustling.

“Where did its eyes go?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“No idea. It’s never had them as far as I can remember, so they must have been dug out long ago. Its eyes can’t see, but it can hear just fine.”

Duan Ling thinks, sounds like that’s true. Perhaps the breeze was its instruction.

Duan Ling has never had so much free time in his life before. That very afternoon, Wu Du takes the stairs down the mountain again to move the bedding and food from their boat to their lodgings. Duan Ling offers to help, but Wu Du just tells him to rest. As soon as he puts the stuff down on the platform he’s off again to the boat for more.

White Tiger Hall has a rear courtyard with a set of houses sectioned into east and west wings, while the main house was the place where Wu Du’s master and his wife used to live. Duan Ling spots an alchemy furnace, still filled with solidified cinnabar and some medicaments, a mixture of something now pitch black. The west wing is Xunchun’s room. Duan Ling opens the door and peers inside to find it filled with cobwebs and dust, devoid of anything else. The east wing is Wu Du’s room. It has one bed, two wooden shelves filled with old things, piled high with worn-eaten ancient tomes.

“What a pity,” Duan Ling says, “you had this many rare hand-copied books, but they got so damaged. Aren’t you worried that the knowledge will be lost?”

Wu Du has drawn water from a creek behind the main hall, and he’s cleaning the house with his sleeves rolled up. "Everyone’s gone. Whether the martial arts knowledge is passed on or lost, there’s no one left to care about that anymore.”

“What’s in here?”

“The elixirs master refined ages ago. He’d always wanted to live forever, follow the Dao and become an immortal. He used to be just fine, but after eating too much of that stuff he couldn’t even fight anymore. When the capital was under attack he took his wife with him and got off the mountain to reinforce the troops, and he should have been able to escape unscathed, but whatever blasted elixir he took stopped his qi from flowing when he needed it, and the Khitans shot him to death.”

“Where’s he buried? Should we go visit his grave?”

“The cenotaph is back there. After the capital was taken by Khitans, Shijie had someone bring back his clothes. We’ll go if we have time. There’s no hurry.”

Together, Duan Ling and Wu Du clean up the room. Wu Du says, “I don’t need any of that stuff. Just toss it all out.”

“No no, they’re too valuable.”

“I’m keeping it all in my head, you know. Don’t flip through them now, they’re dusty. If you do that you’ll sneeze.”

Duan Ling sneezes dramatically more than a dozen times before he manages to reorganise Wu Du’s books, putting them away nicely on the shelves. He plans to make a copy of everything when he has time, and that way it’ll help keep White Tiger Hall’s knowledge intact.

It’s getting closer to dusk. Wu Du has half finished cleaning the place. He gets a fire started then, and begins making dinner for Duan Ling.

Watching Wu Du busying himself, Duan Ling feels as though he’s back to being a little kid again. He recalls those words once said to him: there will always be people who disregard all else to be good to you, no matter who you are. If I’m not the crown prince of Southern Chen, would Wu Du still have brought me here?

Duan Ling ponders this, and comes to the conclusion that Wu Du probably would.

Spotting an antique, worn-out case under the shelves in the room, Duan Ling bends down to open the lock. Once it’s opened, he discovers that it’s filled with wooden puppets of horses and people, carved with a small knife. They must have been toys carved by Wu Du for himself when he was all alone as a little kid. Underneath the toys is a red cloth sack, and Duan Ling’s about to open it when Wu Du notices and says, “Um … Don’t touch that!”

Thinking that it’s some deadly poison, Duan Ling quickly puts it back, but Wu Du is hurrying into the room, a crimson blush in his cheeks as he puts the cloth sack back in the lowest level of the case.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” Wu Du looks a bit embarrassed, which only serves to make Duan Ling even more curious and to keep pestering him. Self-conscious, Wu Du leaves for the kitchen to get more water so he can start steaming the fish, but Duan Ling follows him around the whole time until he gives up under the badgering. “It’s a baby wrap.”

Duan Ling pauses for a moment before he breaks out in side-splitting laughter. Wu Du sounds a bit irritated. “Don’t laugh!”

A thought occurs to Duan Ling and he thinks he understands. “You wore it when you were little?”

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, “when the master’s wife found me, that cloth was the only thing on my person.”

“Was there a birth certificate? Your parents’ names?”

“No idea. Even if there was one, my master would have burned it.” Wu Du says without minding him, “Assassins can’t have mom and dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t know when your birthday is?”

“Well let’s just treat … the day she found me as my birthday.”

Duan Ling only comes to that realisation then. “Which day is it?”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything, and Duan Ling seems about to press him, so Wu Du can but tell him, “I’ll tell you when it comes up.”

Duan Ling stretches out his pinkie, and so Wu Du gives it a little shake with his own. “Go wait for dinner, but don’t run off. Maybe no one is going to kill you here but getting lost in the mountains is no joke.”

Wu Du limits Duan Ling’s roaming range to the area between the stone steps and plank walkways, extending all the way to the platform, and he can wander through the buildings of White Tiger Hall as well, but he can’t go to the mountains behind the halls. Duan Ling walks to the edge of the platform to view the clouds, where they flow like an ocean in the mountains; the mist has risen, and in the mountains it’s as quiet as the land of the immortals.

The racket and prosperity of Jiangzhou, the strife between people — all of it can be left behind for now. They all feel like nothing more than a dream Duan Ling had during an afternoon nap.

If he can stay here for the rest of his life, maybe no one will ever be able to find them?

If he stays here for the rest of his life, maybe he won’t ever have to worry about anything else anymore.

An idea occurs to Duan Ling as he stares out at the cloud sea. If he’s able to accomplish all his goals and retire in comfort someday, this will be his final and only resting place. After experiencing so much, there’s nothing happier than to live the rest of his life in peace, with someone by his side … as he thinks this he turns to look back inside White Tiger Hall. Wu Du just happens to be banging some metal together to make a clanging noise, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

“Scram! I’ll hit you!”

As Duan Ling heads inside, he sees Wu Du scaring off a monkey that’s come out of nowhere. The monkey wants to come closer and beg him for some food, but it doesn’t dare get too close. It stares at Wu Du with wide puppy eyes, then it turns them on Duan Ling. Duan Ling can’t help but laugh soundly, tossing it a bit of dry rations. The monkey immediately grabs it and runs off.

“There’s another one over there.” Duan Ling looks around and finds the big monkey rushing to give another, smaller monkey the food after it successfully begged for some.

“If you want food, eke out a living for yourself.” Wu Du jokes around. “If you want to be lord and master of the household, you’ve got to support your family.” Then Wu Du pushes against the great doors with his shoulder to close them.

During the evening, a solitary lamp swings back and forth in the mountain breeze, and beneath it the two of them have rice with plates of side dishes, along with the live fish they bought on the river. There’s even a couple of cups of wine to go with it.

After they finish drinking, Wu Du says to Duan Ling, “I’m going to take you somewhere. Let’s go.”

It happens to be a full moon tonight. Wu Du takes Duan Ling towards the mountains behind the halls, and they turn a corner through a narrow path, coming to the other side of the mountain where the sky seems to open up; the desolate wilderness of the mountains makes the moon look even brighter, and silvery light fills their vision.

Lit by moonlight, throughout the mountains, this is the only place planted full of peach trees; out in the mortal world peach blossom season has reached its end, but in the mountain temples they’re in full bloom. Amidst the mountain ranges the peach blossoms bloom in brilliant clusters, and the mountain breeze takes millions of petals off their branches to flutter beneath a bright moon.

“What do you think?” Wu Du asks with a smile.

Duan Ling is nearly unable to get any words out at all; he stares in a daze at the scenery before him.

“Only for about ten days every year,” Wu Du says, “do you get a view like this.”

“It’s too beautiful.”

Wu Du comes over to him, and they sit down on a rock together. He takes out his flute, and holds it to his lips. Music rings out, and in that instant, Joyful Reunion once more drags Duan Ling’s mind back into the faraway past.

When the song ends, Duan Ling and Wu Du quietly meet each other’s eyes.

Wu Du’s lips move imperceptibly, his breathing growing slightly urgent, and wearing nothing but an unlined robe and short pants, he’s sitting quite close to Duan Ling on the rock. Moonlight spills onto their snow white underclothes, and Duan Ling can vaguely make out the rugged and beautiful lines of Wu Du’s body.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says suddenly, “I … have something I want to say to you.”

Without knowing the reason for it at all, Duan Ling is starting to feel tense as well. “Wha—what?”

Wu Du looks down at him. They’re both quiet for at least several breaths, but then Wu Du is turning away to look towards the mountain streams, then up at the bright moon above, seemingly on edge.

“What did you want to say?” Duan Ling reaches out, his hand folding over the back of Wu Du’s hand, but Wu Du has turned his hand over to hold onto his.

“Do you …” Wu Du turns the thought over and over in his head before he appears to make up his mind and asks, “Do you like it here?”

Duan Ling smiles, and it’s like a million peach flowers blooming beneath the moonlight, how brilliant their blossoms.

“Earlier today I was just thinking,” Duan Ling tugs on Wu Du’s hand, “maybe someday I’ll just live here in the White Tiger Hall and never go back to the earthly world.”

“Oh no no,” Wu Du says immediately, “now that won’t do. I … you …”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling thinks about his duty, and that’s bound to be a heavy subject. He jests, “It’s just a thought.”

“No, that’s not …” Wu Du collects himself and says, “What I was thinking is that … aside from this place, I also want to take you … other places. And if you want … you can … take your time to pick, pick the place you love the most … anywhere is fine. The edge of the oceans, the ends of the earth, as long as you want to be there, I’ll be at your side.”

Duan Ling stares at him in startled silence.

“I … What I’m thinking is …” Wu Du doesn’t dare look at Duan Ling, and he can only stare off anywhere else, his handsome face turning crimson to his collarbones; even the skin under his tattoo is glowing red like he’s been drinking. His grip on Duan Ling’s hand grows tighter subconsciously and he stammers through his speech.

“Afterwards, I’ll also take you … to all those places you want to see. I’ll take you to Diannan, take you to … see the ocean. You … Shan’er, that day … when you called me ‘milord’, I know maybe you were just joking, but I’ve taken you here because I wanted to ask you … if you’re willing to … for the rest of our lives …”

By now Wu Du has already calmed down. The words have already left his mouth so he’s not going to be nervy anymore.

“In front of other people, you and I will be as we always were.” Wu Du doesn’t know where his courage is coming from, but he’s staring into Duan Ling’s eyes as he says solemnly to him, "Even if you’ve returned to the imperial court, I don’t need you to make me anything official. As long as you still think of me as you do in your heart today, I will find you the Zhenshanhe and guard you for the rest of your life, until the day I die.

“I know that in the future you’ll become the emperor. But I really … really … really want to be … with you …”

As he says this he’s getting nervous again. “I think … if you’re willing, I’ll definitely treat you well. Whenever we’re alone and there’s no one else around, I’ll … treat you … treat you as I would treat … my wife, and you’ll … yield to me as you would …”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, and Wu Du realises now that he’s still squeezing on Duan Ling’s hand and hurriedly lets it go. He reaches into a pocket in his robe and takes out a string of beads.

Wu Du unfolded his fingers, holding the beads in front of Duan Ling, and he moves his hand forward a little, as though he’s a mere humble human being presenting a tribute he made with all his heart, in a gesture more reverent than making an offering to the gods of their world.

The tribute is a bracelet strung with rosary peas.

Duan Ling’s cheeks turn scarlet in an instant as he comes to realise what Wu Du has left unsaid — to his surprise, Wu Du is wooing him. Even before this Duan Ling has had a vague feeling that this is the case, and the present moment is reminding him of that evening as the sun was setting, and Wu Du had taken his hand and told him all those things in the maple forest.

In a flash, the Duan estate’s dark woodshed, the snowstorm oppressive above the frozen Yellow River, those unfamiliar and gloomy days in Shangjing, a war that shook the earth beneath him, a night of panicked escape that feels like it happened yesterday, that harsh winter in Luoyang, his father’s death … in his mind these memories all shatter one by one.

They were each alone in the world as children, and now they’re beneath a sky filled with fluttering peach petals, silently facing each other.

In place of those memories are all those dreams once promised to him in that endless river of time, all those colourful, dazzling hopes, with the life he wants to lead.

Duan Ling seems able to see himself, and he’s able to see Wu Du as well — the Wu Du who grew up orphaned and alone is finally all grown up, and has made his way to him.

Wu Du’s hands have once solemnly taken hold of the sword that represents the last of the central plains martial artists; they have also blocked the sword that came at him with a force great enough to shatter the firmament itself outside Tongguan. But now they’re somehow overtaken by a slight but uncontrollable trembling.

“I …” Duan Ling takes a deep breath as he tries his best to restrain the excitement rushing about in his heart, but he notices that he’s unable to say anything at all. When he raises his eyes to meet Wu Du’s though, it seems Wu Du has come to a different conclusion. Noting that Duan Ling hasn’t taken the bracelet from him, his expression grows sad, and forcing a smile tinged with agony, he nods as though he already knew this would be the answer.

But to his surprise, instead of taking Wu Du’s bracelet, Duan Ling has thrown his arms around Wu Du’s neck, and closing his eyes, he leans in and presses his lips to Wu Du’s.

A mountain breeze blows by, sending a rustling through the leaves; flower petals scatter to fly through the air.

Wu Du’s eyes widen, and his entire body freezes as though he’s been struck by lightning. Not daring to move an inch, he holds the pose with their lips touching. When he comes to himself in the next moment, he stares at Duan Ling, his heart beating madly in his chest.

The two of them pull apart and Duan Ling takes Wu Du’s bracelet from him. He grips it between his fingers, breathing rapidly, wanting to say something but has no idea where to begin. They’re both red in the face, blood rushing through their ears, but Duan Ling is wearing a small, shy smile on his face.

And yet in the next moment, without a word at all, Wu Du gets up and runs into the forest of peach trees.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls him, but Wu Du isn’t stopping at all. In two shakes he’s run so far not even a shadow of him can be seen anymore.

Duan Ling stares into the dark speechlessly, no idea what’s happening, but when he chases over he finds Wu Du turning somersaults under a tree, following them with a sweeping kick and several punches, whipping up the leaves and flower petals so they flutter like a cloud around him.

Duan Ling laughs, and Wu Du suddenly turns around. When he realises that Duan Ling’s spotted him, he dodges behind a tree trunk.

Duan Ling puts on the bracelet. Meanwhile, Wu Du has closed his eyes with his back against a peach tree, revealing that slightly roguish yet captivating smile.

Duan Ling has no idea what he should say. It seems as though everything has changed through this one evening, and the scenery before him has taken on a special meaning. I actually kissed him earlier! Where did I find the courage to do that? Wu Du’s lips were scorching hot and soft, not at all the way he’d imagined them to be, and he’s still thinking about the sensation he had in the very instant he kissed him.

Wu Du turns his head to peer from behind the tree, and finds Duan Ling sitting on the rock, stock still, with his back to him, facing the mountain range and valleys beneath the moon.

Flute music begins again, but this time it’s an elated, cheerful melody. Duan Ling turns to look; Wu Du is standing beneath a tree, playing another tune that sounds like a folk song. A smile spreads over Duan Ling’s face.

“What song is that?”

When Wu Du finishes playing it, he puts the flute away and answers him with a smile, “Little Water Clock. I only ever heard the master’s wife play it once, so. I don’t even remember if that’s exactly how it goes.”5

Wu Du returns to his seat by Duan Ling’s side, and they look at each other, smiling without words.

Then, Wu Du turns a fraction, and reaches out to wrap his arm around Duan Ling’s waist. He puts his other hand over Duan Ling’s cheek, and with a slightest tilt of his head, he seals Duan Ling’s lips with a kiss.

Duan Ling touches Wu Du’s face; the bracelet is wrapped around that wrist.

This kiss lingers on and on, as though long suppressed emotions have finally breached the surface, and in the blink of an eye their feelings have transformed into a raging flood, thoroughly drowning them both.

Wu Du doesn’t want to let go of Duan Ling even for a moment; he has his arms wrapped around Duan Ling’s waist, and almost pressing him against the rock, licks into his mouth. Duan Ling feels his cheeks growing ever hotter under this assault, and as time drips by he’s more sure that Wu Du is growing more impertinent in his plunder.

Duan Ling really is getting way too nervous, and he can’t help but struggle. As he does, Wu Du loosens his hold on him and swallows, staring into his eyes as though he has also realised that he’s gone a bit overboard. He lets go of him at once and asks uneasily, “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. He’s not sure why, but the scene he spied in the Bouquet Pavilion is surfacing in his mind again and it really is too exciting. However, he can’t seem to accept something like that just yet.

“Let’s … head back.” Duan Ling thinks that if they’re going to kiss then they’d better kiss indoors — at least they’ll have a roof over their heads.

Wu Du has come to his senses as well and says, “It’s windy, you better not catch a cold. Let’s go.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du slot their fingers together, and holding hands they stroll leisurely through the mountain paths back to the house.

“Mi … lord.” Duan Ling suddenly remembers what he called him, and smiles at the thought.

Wu Du is finding that funny as well, and the corner of his mouth is turning up before he knows it. His gaze goes from Duan Ling to the path before them, a narrow path passing through a boundless cloud sea, shimmery with moonlight, cutting through towering mountains.

As they go to sleep at night, Duan Ling can’t help reaching out to touch Wu Du’s chest, and they’re wrapped in each other’s embrace again; Wu Du leans in and kiss him cautiously, their bodies rubbing against each other through two thin layers of cloth, both of them growing scorchingly hot. It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever done anything like this, and it just happens to be spring when brand new desires are starting to bloom, while Wu Du has been studying the martial arts for years, and with no avenue of release for his longing, his breath burns him, wishing he could hold on to Duan Ling and simply have his way with him.

They kiss and kiss again; Wu Du’s hand slides under Duan Ling’s waistband, but when it goes over the curve of his hip and reaches his ass, Duan Ling starts to gasp urgently, and Wu Du swallows.

“Do I have to … to … do that?” Without warning, Duan Ling suddenly feels a bit scared.

Sobering, Wu Du thinks about this for a moment. “It’ll hurt you a lot, so not right now. Let’s do that some other time.”

Duan Ling nods and relaxes somewhat. He holds onto Wu Du, studying his features. Wu Du gives him another kiss and whispers, “I can’t bear to hurt you.”

And so Duan Ling smiles again. They’re pressed up against each other, with that hard thing between their legs rubbing together through the thin cloth of their pants. Even if it’s behind a sheet of fabric Duan Ling can still feel how big and hard Wu Du is — so much bigger than his own. Duan Ling just thinks it feels so good to rub against him like this, and he’s getting wet down there as he does so.

Wu Du’s breathing trembles, feeling so good he shivers all over, and soon enough he decides to simply turn them so that Duan Ling is beneath him, so that his weight is pressed down on Duan Ling as he kisses his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth.

After embracing each other for a while, they both somehow feel calmer, and neither of them say anything at all, just stare into each other’s eyes. Wu Du still can’t help smiling. “It’s like I’m dreaming.”

They’ve been kissing each other over and over yet Duan Ling isn’t prepared to do this or that … but he feels somewhat curious about it after all. “Does it really hurt a lot? Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. Zheng Yan was the one who said that … yeah.”

“He’s tried it?”

Wu Du isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He reaches into Duan Ling’s shirt, touching him until it tickles. Duan Ling’s hands are behind Wu Du’s neck though, so he has no way of fighting back, and all he can do is beg for mercy repeatedly until Wu Du lets up. “He’s a ne’er do well who has a tendency to paw at pretty young men. I’ve been told that if you’re not careful it can hurt a lot. I don’t want you to develop a fear of it. When we get home I’ll get some … uh … at any rate I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Duan Ling understands now, and comes to think that is perhaps true. But he thinks that’s fine too — Wu Du’s tall figure pressing down against him gives him an overwhelming feeling of safety.

“I’ll take you home too, in the future,” Duan Ling whispers, his eyes roaming over Wu Du’s handsome features.

“You’ll go back some day.”

Wu Du thought Duan Ling was talking about the palace, but what Duan Ling meant was Xunyang. He’ll go there with Duan Ling at some point also. It’s springtime in Xunyang right now; the flowers must have already bloomed.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

From Du Fu’s poem, 望嶽 / “Mountain Gazing”. ↩︎

You can see the painting here. ↩︎

Also known as Go. ↩︎

The original here actually says Little Water Clock · Golden Hairpin, but the first part is the melody, while the second part is the lyrics. Golden Hairpin is a poem about love. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things #probably shouldn't read this chapter in public

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cookie-run-kingdom-story · 3 years

Text

Sands of Yogurca

(screenshots from Chateaw!)

Chapter 1

Pirate Cookie: WHAAAT!? Me ship ain’t some passenger- Alchemist Cooki: I just need to cross the ocean to learn about the origin of alchemy! Pirate Cookie: Krrgh… Why should I help ye? Deckhand Crabby: Cap’n Pirate Cookie! Are… are we setting sail? Deckhand Crabby: *whisper* (Cap’n… are we going on a Treasure hunt?) Deckhand Crabby: *whisper* (I heard rumor that there’s a vast land of Treasures across the sea!) Pirate Cookie: AHEM! I’ve changed me mind! Hop on board, lass! Deckhand Crabby: Yo ho! Away we go! Alchemist Cookie: (What were they whispering about…?)

Pirate Cookie: Curses, a blizzard at sea!? Batten down the hatches and lower the sails! Alchemist Cookie: This isn’t possible! We’re sailing towards the desert! Pirate Cookie: This be no desert squall, lass! Deckhand Crabby: Cap’n! Port ho! Pirate Cookie: KHAHA! We’re saved! Hard to starboard!

Alchemist Cookie: This is it! The magnificent city of Yogurca! Pirate Cookie: …!? It really BE a desert! Alchemist Cookie: I just know that I’ll find what I want here! Pirate Cookie: What is it that ye want? (I dare ye to say Treasures, lass...) Alchemist Cookie:I’m looking for a tome that contains the origins and truth of alchemy! Pirate Cookie: Hm… Ye don’t say? Pirate Cookie: Well then, off ye go! We have… business to attend to! Deckhand Crabby: See ya! Alchemist Cookie: Erm… Sure.

Chapter 2

Shopkeeper: Welcome! Only the finest goods! Find everything you want, right here! Alchemist Cookie: Any tomes about the origins of alchemy? Shopkeeper: We have a fine collection of books right over here! Alchemist Cookie: *tsk* I’ve already read all of these... Shopkeeper: You… You’ve read everything!? But these are all the books on alchemy that we have... Shopkeeper: Ah-ha! Why don’t you pay a visit to the city’s grandest collector? Alchemist Cookie: A… collector? Shopkeeper: They’ve collected the greatest of treasures from far and wide, even tomes on alchemy! Alchemist Cookie: Thanks for the tip! Though I get the feeling this won’t be easy…

Yogurt Cream Cookie: An ancient tome on alchemy! Of course I do! Alchemist Cookie: I need that tome. Why don’t you sell it to me? Yogurt Cream Cookie: Straight to chase*, haha! Very well, but I can’t just part ways with a valuable part of my collection.

*actual text

Alchemist Cookie: I knew this wasn’t going to be easy… Alright. What’s the catch? Yogurt Cream Cookie: Something’s been on my mind lately. And you’re just the person for the job! Yogurt Cream Cookie: You agree, right? Right? Lilac Cookie: ... Yogurt Cream Cookie: Of course! I thought so, too! Alchemist Cookie: (No one replied though...) Yogurt Cream Cookie: There’s a fierce blizzard in the middle of the desert. Amazing, isn’t it!? Yogurt Cream Cookie: There must be a Treasure in the middle of that blizzard! Yogurt Cream Cookie: Find and bring me that Treasure, and I’ll give you the tome! Alchemist Cookie: An equivalent exchange? Ok.

Chapter 3

Alchemist Cookie: What’s the point of giving a quest if you’re just going to follow!? Yogurt Cream Cookie: No one has navigated a snowy desert! I wanted to see it for myself! Yogurt Cream Cookie: Besides, my bodyguard will help if there’s danger! (Only help ME, of course.) Lilac Cookie: ... Alchemist Cookie: (Silence again?) Yogurt Cream Cookie: It really is quite cold! No wonder no one comes here. Alchemist Cookie: Do you even know what this Treasure even looks like? Yogurt Cream Cookie: Nope! Alchemist Cookie: Great… just great. Alchemist Cookie: Hm… That reminds me. Have you heard about snow monsters that wander during a blizzard?

Yogurt Cream Cookie: AAGGHH! What… WHAT’S HAPPENING!? Alchemist Cookie: Oh look. A snow monster... Yogurt Cream Cookie: Don’t just stand there, do something! Lilac Cookie: ... Yogurt Cream Cookie: No! Wait, WAIT! What if you miss!? Lilac Cookie: ... Yogurt Cream Cookie: GAH! I didn’t mean stop trying at all! Yogurt Cream Cookie: W...wait! Where is it taking me!? Alchemist Cookie: Hm… Wonder where they’re heading. Alchemist Cookie: I guess I should follow. Otherwise I won’t get my tome.

Chapter 4

Yogurt Cream Cookie: LET… ME… GO! Huh? What’s that? Thundersnow Yeti: …? Alchemist Cookie: Fascinating! It’s Thundersnow Yeti! Yogurt Cream Cookie: Huh? This scruffy furball caused the blizzard? Tsk… How disappointing. Alchemist Cookie: Disappointing!? Thundersnow Yeti is a well-known legend! Alchemist Cookie: Why is it here in the desert though? We oughta take it back where it belongs. Thundersnow Yeti: !!! Yogurt Cream Cookie: A legend? I usually don’t collect living things, but I’ll make an exception this time. Thundersnow Yeti: *shakes head* Yogurt Cream Cookie: Hm? Why’s it hiding from me? Alchemist Cookie: You hurt its feelings. Yogurt Cream Cookie: Why? What’d I do…? Lilac Cookie: ... Alchemist Cookie: Look! It’s not snowing anymore! The way back to the city shouldn’t be too difficult now.

Yogurt Cream Cookie: Wait, wait! We agreed to a proper trade! The Treasure for the tome! Alchemist Cookie: Thundersnow Yeti isn’t something you can just trade… Looks like I’ll have to look for alchemy’s truth elsewhere. Yogurt Cream Cookie: Elsewhere? You mean there are other places that might have Treasures? Pirate Cookie: Ahoy! Find that book, lass? ATCHOO! Why’s there so much snow here!?

Yogurt Cream Cookie: A… ghost? Alchemist Cookie: Good timing, Pirate Cookie! We need to take Thundersnow Yeti back home. Take us on your ship! Pirate Cookie: Aye, this place be scary. Here… There be monsters! Deckhand Crabby: Cap’n, you really should keep a weather eye out for dangers… I barely survived... Pirate Cookie: Aharr! Danger was abound! But we didn’t ‘ave to walk the plank today, matey! KHAHA! Yogurt Cream Cookie: But… ghosts are dead, aren’t they? Pirate Cookie: Avast! Who are ye? A new friend of yours, lass? Alchemist Cookie: Not really… This Cookie is- Yogurt Cream Cookie: Hang on, I want to go too! And maybe add this ship to my collection... Pirate Cookie: Me ship ain’t for sale, landlubber! The ship be part of my very soul! Yogurt Cream Cookie: Then how about hiring it as a passenger ferry? Can I trade Treasures for a ride? Pirate Cookie: Right this way, your honor. I shall accommodate every request. Alchemist Cookie: *sigh*

#pirate cookie #yogurt cream cookie #lilac cookie #alchemist cookie #cookie run #cr dialogue

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kendochick-moor · 3 years

Text

April 2011 - Naruto - SasuSakuIta - “Coals”

Pairing: SasuSaku, ItaSakuWords: 8,000Tags: Non-Mass AU, covet, secret pining, shotgun weddings, jealousy

AN: I think this is missing breaks between the paragraphs/scenes... Eh, I’ll add ‘em in if I copy this over to AO3 later.

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

Feeling a familiar presence at his side, Sasuke tore his eyes away from the scene that had been the focus of his attention for the past… Surprised he couldn’t remember, or realize, how long he’d been distracted, the Uchiha mentally shook himself. It wouldn’t do to be so preoccupied while they were still officially on their mission.

He turned to look at the kunoichi who stood to his right.

“Everything ok?” Sakura asked him, re-stocking her bag with the supplies she’d just purchased.

“Hn,” he nodded once, hoisting his pack. With Naruto grounded to the village waiting for Hinata’s big day, they were due to meet Sai and Kakashi by nightfall to compare reconnaissance notes. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

With a final check of their gear, they set off for the gates.

Curious about her partner’s delayed reaction, Sakura looked back at what Sasuke had been staring at when she’d approached. It looked like a regular playground—full of laughing children, senior citizens who’d stopped to rest on the benches, and a few young women with babies bouncing in their laps, or others with their bellies rounded in anticipation of little ones to come. It was a normal, everyday occurrence in nearly any village, and she wondered what had caught his attention so completely.

As they sped through the trees, Sasuke was even quieter than usual, still lost in thought by whatever had caught his eye earlier that day.

Sakura said nothing, keeping pace with him as they leapt from branch to branch.

“Did something happen?” Kakashi listened to the quiet, dispassionate voice that questioned Sakura at camp that night.

“I’m not sure,” he heard her reply to Sai as they prepared their supper.

From his place high up on a tree branch, his trusty orange tome resting on his face, the Copy-Nin glanced down at the pair from the corner of his eye. Sasuke had left to survey the perimeter, which had left the others time to settle in for the night.

So, apparently he wasn’t the only one to notice the faint change in their other team mate. Interesting.

“He’s probably just thinking about the Clan once more. They’ve been hassling him about something again, but he isn’t telling us what this time. Maybe Naruto will be able to pry it out of him when we get back.”

“If he is a liability, we should talk to him.”

“He’s not a liability,” she retorted quickly, staring into the fire. “He’s… got something on his mind, that’s all.”

Sai watched her a moment longer, considering.

“Does he need more privacy to relieve the pressure in his small pen--.”

Kakashi cringed as Sai went flying across the clearing into a tree, just as Sasuke broke through the treeline a few feet away. Sai slumped over with a faint groan, but this didn’t faze the Uchiha in the slightest.

He looked down at his equally dark-haired colleague, an eyebrow raised. “What did you do this time?”

“I suggested you needed to release some tension by mastur--.”

A wickedly aimed rock ricocheted off Sai’s temple, knocking him unconscious.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Sasuke turned to look at Sakura, her chest heaving with anger.

“I’ve already eaten. I’ll take first watch,” she growled, and stalked away into the forest.

“What happened?” he asked, looking up at Kakashi.

“I think she just defended your honour.”

Why did these things have to happen to her?

She glanced down at the arm stretched across her middle. The very well-defined, elegant, male arm.

At her back she felt the arm planes of a firm chest pressing close to her, the soft, quiet breaths warm against the back of her neck.

She wanted to sigh – and wiggle out of his grasp – but he was having none of it.

And it didn’t help that she could feel Sasuke glaring at them from across the low-burning fire.

“You can remove him,” he said tightly.

She sighed. “He doesn’t do it often, only when he feels the team is threatened by something.” Sai’s cuddling had become a close-kept secret within Team Seven; it didn’t appear to be something he consciously realized he did. It seemed to be something he’d grown into, a way he subconsciously reassured himself of his bonds. He wasn’t intrusive about it, at least, unlike some members of her team. In the past, both Sasuke and Kakashi had managed to pull her up onto them before in their sleep, her head sweetly tucked away on their shoulders by morning, their arms loosely held around her waist. As for Naruto… he got grabby. Hence why, when they were forced to camp outdoors overnight for missions, she often slept with one of the others between herself and her blond team mate.

Her comment made Sasuke pause, activating his Sharingan as he looked around the camp and wondering if he had missed something on his last patrol. “There’s no one out there. Nothing is threatening us.”

Her face pinching with fatigue, Sakura debated.

“He is worried about you,” she admitted after a few seconds of silence.

“That’s ridiculous. No one needs to worry about me.”

Right, she thought sarcastically, and with a shrug she tried to settle back in to sleep. Sai’s arm curled around her a bit snugger, and she adjusted her arm over his.

Luckily, she’d gotten used to her boys cuddling her at night, when they were sleeping outdoors.

As they walked home at the end of the mission – plenty of time to relax, they’d finished ahead of schedule, assured Kakashi – Sakura found their team-lead walking in pace with her, while Sasuke and Sai brought up the rear. Finding this odd, she glanced back at the dark-haired pair, wondering if something was up; Sasuke normally took the lead. It looked as if they were having a private conversation, but one so low she couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s a nice day for a walk, isn’t it?”

Sakura’s eyebrow quirked at her former sensei’s comment. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about; I was merely remarking on the weather.”

“Uh huh, and that’s why we’re taking point today?”

“Why not?”

She stared at him, considering.

“You’re distracting me from watching them on purpose, aren’t you? What are they talking about?”

“The lovely weather,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling in their familiar crease.

As if, she muttered to herself internally.

Later that night, it didn’t escape her notice that Sai slept further away from her, out of reach.

The following week, on a mission to Suna, Sakura noticed Sasuke looking distracted again. Naruto hadn’t known what had been bothering ‘The Teme’ earlier, but whatever it was had returned full force. It seemed any time they were in the village for more than a day or so, something crept into his mind and he became more emotionally distant from them. It was frustrating, and she was beginning to wonder if she should ask him outright, regardless of the confrontation she knew it would stir. By the time they’d left Konoha, she had resolved that confrontation or not, the rest of the team deserved to know what had caused him to lose focus. He obviously wasn’t dealing with it, whatever it was.

It was a smaller team for the mission this time, only herself, Sasuke, and Sai, dispatched to deliver some classified scrolls to the Kazekage, and return with the answers. So far, the trek had been quick and efficient, if tiring. Sasuke and Sai still had a competitive streak when paired together, and things tended to escalate when they weren’t balanced out by constant interruptions from Kakashi or Naruto when they tried to prove something to each other.

Anticipating the usual pissing-contest Sakura was simply glad she’d packed extra soldier pills. And ear plugs, for when they started bickering about inane things, which was whenever one felt the need to try and be superior to the other. (Really, they were arguing about their penises? Again? Didn’t it ever get old?....) Thankfully, after a long, heart-warming talk she’d had with her boys—which had involved graphic discussions of just how thoroughly she could disrupt their internal reproductive functions with her chakra, with her eyes closed, if they did not STFU and GBTW—they had buckled their belts again and stopped trying to physically prove to each other who had the best junk on the team.

(And really, who cared?)

(Ok, she may have, but that didn’t mean it was appropriate to discuss en route to diplomatic treaty discussions!)

Just a few more hours to go, and they’d be safely within Suna’s walls…

Sasuke burst through the gates, completely ignoring the security detail stationed there, and headed straight for the hospital.

“Go tell the Kazekage we’ve arrived, and explain what happened. When you’re done, meet us in the ER,” he ordered Sai. The other man nodded immediately and set off in a flash for Gaara’s office.

Shifting a bleeding Sakura more comfortably on his back, Sasuke leapt to the rooftops and sped to the medical facility, the warm wetness that trailed from Sakura’s trembling form seeping through both their clothes to his spine.

Too much blood, she was losing too much blood, he thought to himself.

And it was his fault.

Breathing harshly, he put the thoughts out of his mind—he had to focus on his team mate for now.

Like he should have been doing, before.

She woke two days later, a boy on either side of her hospital bed holding onto her hands.

They were slumped over on the sheets, obviously having fallen asleep in the chairs they’d pulled to her bedside. She gave them each a squeeze, thanking them for being there, before sleep overcame her again and she drifted off again.

Hearing her breathing even out once more, Sai opened his eyes and observed his female team mate critically. Her colour had improved, and according to the doctors, her wounds should heal fairly quickly once her chakra was replenished. She would be ok. Hints of the emotion he recognized distantly as relief floated through him, and he was glad for them.

But he wasn’t as worried about her as he was about the guilt-ridden Uchiha across from him, who hadn’t left Sakura’s side since the attack. Sai understood that he may not be familiar with all feelings, or all emotions, but he could recognize the signs of stress and pain that tightened the Uchiha’s mouth and brow, the normally proud, now downcast, eyes. The slump to his powerful shoulders.

Sai understood that Sasuke and Sakura would need to talk, and decided it best if he left it to them privately.

Leaving a short note to let them know he’d returned to their room at the Kazekage’s guest residence, Sai took his leave, and hoped for the best.

“We lost your pack on the way here, sorry, so we don’t have a spare change of clothes for you yet. Kankuro said the retrieval team should have it by this afternoon. What you wore here was ruined.”

“Oh…”

Sakura looked down from Sasuke to her hands as they fidgeted on the thin bed sheets.

“You can borrow mine, to leave in.”

Brightening at his offer, she smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” she took the clothes and slowly made her way to the washroom to change, shooing him away when he offered to help her walk.

Awkwardly he waited outside the door—right outside the door, in case she needed him.

“Sakura,” he began again, his throat tightening. “I want… I… I’m sorry. You were hurt because I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

Inside the bathroom, Sakura stilled, her heart beat beginning a slow hammering within her chest.

“What distracted you?” she asked lightly.

He looked out the window of the room, over the village of Sand.

The anxiety, fear and anger that had become so familiar churned in his stomach again. It shouldn’t become a burden to her while she was recuperating; he didn’t want her worrying any further. Sasuke knew it was bothering his team, but he couldn’t bring himself to share this with them. Not when it affected another on the team, and it hadn’t even been brought to that person’s attention yet. It shouldn’t be for him to tell.

But he owed Sakura some kind of explanation.

“Clan business. It has to do with Itachi.”

Behind the bathroom door, Sakura gingerly pulled on the too-long trousers and tied them loosely around her tender waist. “You’re worried about him? Is your Clan meddling in his business again?”

“Yes.”

Knowing how Sasuke idolized and adored his older brother—to the point of being ridiculously protective of him when it came to their Clan—Sakura thought she understood a little better what Sasuke was so conflicted about.

“He’s a grown man, Sasuke. He’s… what,” she counted in her head, “about 25? 26 now? And you’ve always said he was intelligent. I think that whatever your Clan has up their sleeves, he’ll be able to counter it. He always has before, right?”

She carefully slid the high-collared black Uchiha-crested shirt over her head, and felt it settle lightly on her. Definitely part of Sasuke’s summer clothes, she noted of the more delicate, quality fabric. The shirt was loose, too, but she decided against tying a belt or tie around her middle to secure it, as it would only irritate her still-healing wounds at the moment.

She was grateful for the clothes at that moment, and for the nurse who had come to help her bathe earlier that morning. (It had taken some coddling and conniving to get Sasuke to leave the room at the time, entrusting her into the hands of the matronly medic, but he’d eventually complied. According to Sai, Sasuke had stood guard right outside the door to her hospital room the entire time, glaring at anyone who’d come too close.) Clean, dry, in fresh clothes, and the stirrings of her chakra thrumming in her body again, Sakura took a deep, calming breath, and walked back into her room.

Sasuke had been standing so close to her door she nearly walked straight into him.

“You’re ok?”

“Of course—all I did was change,” she explained, starting to get irritated by how suspiciously he ran his eyes over her, checking for anything out of place. Shaking her head, she moved past him to slip on her ninja sandals from the bed, missing how his eyes were trained on the Uchiha fan now emblazoned across her back. Sasuke found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, or deny how well it suited her.

He nodded at her comment, though, and looked her over one more time before turning away and walking towards the door. “Then we’ll head straight to the Kazekage’s guest residence. Sai is waiting for us there.”

“Sasuke?”

“Hn?”

Sakura approached him slowly, and stepped in front of him, preventing him from going any further.

She leaned towards him, standing on her toes to reach higher to whisper in his ear. Unconsciously he reached for her elbow to steady her, bending down to make it easier for her.

Her lips ghosted across the shell of his ear and he stifled his brief shiver.

“This isn’t over. When we get back to Konoha, you will tell me everything that is going on, or so help me, you will never father children. If Kakashi or Naruto had been here, they would have ripped you a new one. Now I’m a patient woman,” she said softly, dangerously, “but whatever is distracting you has impaired you. From here on out, until you can fully explain yourself and your actions, Sai is the team-lead on this mission. Is that understood?”

It was a quiet, tense walk back to their temporary residence thereafter.

“I didn’t know Itachi kept an apartment outside the clan compound.”

Shutting the door quietly behind them, Sasuke turned to flick the lights on, filling the room with a soft glow. “Outside of him and me, you’re the only person who knows. He left on a mission yesterday, so he won’t be back for a few days.”

She nodded, setting her bag down beside her on the simple couch he motioned her to. Her green eyes surveyed the simple, elegant room. “I’ve never heard of an Uchiha living off-site.”

As Sasuke went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, he nodded at her observation. “It is against Clan rules. Itachi likes his privacy, though. And even he’s admitted to me that he doesn’t know any other S-class nin who still live with their parents,” he chuckled under his breath.

Vaguely familiar with Itachi’s quiet, if occasionally noir, sense of humour, and knowing he would say something of that nature, Sakura laughed with him. “I’ll have you know I firmly believe Mikoto would cheerfully shave a pound off anyone who threatened her babies in their own home.”

“That she would,” he agreed, smiling. “And we love our family, but…”

Sensing what he couldn’t say, she nodded. “But it is nice to be independent. Even just a little bit.”

“Yes.”

Quiet settled between them, expectant and full.

He’d brought her here for a reason; it was time to stop stalling, Sakura realized.

“What happened, Sasuke? The mission to Suna. Your being only half-there the past few months.”

Determined now, she turned on the couch to look through the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sasuke for any reaction.

The kettle whistled, and without a word, he poured the water over the tea leaves he’d spooned into the pot, before setting it down again, turning off the stove.

“I told you before, the Clan are acting up. It’s just causing a bit of grief for Itachi and I,” he said patiently, carrying over the tea so it could steep on the coffee table. He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch she was sitting on.

“A ‘bit of grief’ wouldn’t have distracted you to the point of nearly getting killed. Ever. You know how I know that? Because I know you & Itachi would have had some fool-proof way of getting around whatever they cooked up, and the two of you would have shared that devious Uchiha glint in your eyes and smirk on your faces you always do when you circumvent your own Elders,” she pointed out. And she had a very valid point. “Sasuke, I saved your ass. And it nearly cost me my life. Cut the bullshit. You owe me at the very least an honest explanation. We’ve been worried about you for months now. Not days, not the occasional passing glance, but months. What gives this time?”

Knowing it would only lead to an explosion, Sasuke didn’t point out that he hadn’t asked her to risk her life for him. And in truth, he was too grateful to her for it to dare saying it. There were some things Team Seven members didn’t say to each other, and that was definitely one of them.

So he let out a long sigh and considered everything that had happened in the past several months, all that had come to light, and all that would soon (far too soon, in his opinion) be put into action.

“The Uchiha are dying.”

Sakura’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting his.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t heard of any of this, and I’m one of Konoha’s top medics, after the Hokage herself, and--.”

There was that damnable smirk, if a slightly less confident one. “Of course you wouldn’t have… The Uchihas are tended to by their own medic-nin.”

He was right.

Sakura’s mouth gaped as she tried to form words, tried to understand what he was saying. Because there was more to what he was saying, she was sure of it.

“You’re perfectly healthy, though, Sasuke,” she tried to retort.

“Currently, yes… But there are a few degenerative diseases within the Uchiha genes which could manifest anytime after my 25th birthday. And they would manifest in my children, should I have any, and most certainly if I married someone my parents would choose for me, as it would be someone from within the clan.”

She stared at him. She had never heard of the Uchiha Clan as being anything short of… well, damn near invincible, in some things. To hear that there was in reality a weakness that ran rampant throughout the Clan…

No wonder he had been so distracted recently.

“But how can no one know?” she insisted, thinking over the prestige and history of the founding Clan.

“How many Uchiha do you see serving beyond the age of 35 or so, Sakura? Shinobi don’t tend to make it past 40 anyway, which has helped keep this under wraps. But even the police officers take desk jobs once they start to feel it.”

Everything he said was making horrible sense to her, and her throat caught. She swallowed hard.

“But—but there’s no guarantee you’ll have it. Itachi is fine,” she continued.

And that was when Sasuke looked down at his hands, where his fingers had twisted together.

And Sakura realized the error of her words.

Sasuke reached to pour a cup of tea out for each of them, but left his on the tray. Raising an arm, he slid off his forehead protector and placed it on the table, rubbing at his temples with his calloused hand.

“They keep trying to get Itachi and I to marry so we’ll produce an heir or two, but they are currently divided into two factions: those who want us to keep the Uchiha line ‘pure’ by marrying within the Clan—thus weakening us further by condensing the strain of the disease; and those who want us to marry someone from outside the Clan, to bring in fresh blood to see if it helps dilute the disease out of the gene pool.” He scoffed, his laugh dry and brittle. “They’ve even spoken about taking in civilians, who would have no chakra pathways at all for it to feed on, to see if that would root it out.”

It was related to chakra pathways?...

Oh, realized Sakura, her hand coming up to her mouth. The Sharingan. Without chakra, it would….

Something niggled at the back of her mind then, and a vision of the playground full of children popped up in her memory.

“Is that why you started noticing the families and children? Because they kept bringing it up with regards to your & Itachi’s future?”

His breathing paused; she’d noticed? How much had she…

“I wondered why you started looking at the playgrounds… I could never figure it out.”

Sasuke swallowed, both relieved and disappointed at her comments.

“Have they made a decision?”

At that, Sasuke’s shoulders sagged.

“They want one of us to wed someone outside the Clan; they want the other to wed someone from within.”

“Have… have you agreed to this?”

“I have until the end of the month to give my reply. And supporting documentation for my rebuttal, if I decide to decline their generous offer of potential bride.”

Internally, Sakura winced. Ok, he was legitimately bitter, and she couldn’t fault him for that in the least.

No wonder he’s been so out of it, she thought as she finally reached for the tea he’d poured for her earlier.

“No offence, but I’m kind of glad the Harunos are a bit more laid-back about things like marriage, compared to the Uchihas. We haven’t had a fully arranged marriage in almost 50 years.”

Sasuke tensed.

As focused on him as she was, Sakura noticed his sudden stillness out of the corner of her eye. “Sasuke?”

He stared at the wall, then back to his hands again, and Sakura felt her heart clench. “Sasuke, what are you not telling me?”

It wasn’t for him to tell, he repeated to himself, but a part of him raged that she was still in the dark as much as she was.

It wasn’t his to tell, but she had to know.

“The Clan has approached several civilian and shinobi clans, prominent within Konoha.”

He saw the patience wearing thin in her face, her mouth tightening to a line as she waited for him to continue.

“The Harunos are on the list.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“You are… they approached your family with a proposal.”

“I think that there’s some miscommunication in there somewhere, Sasuke. We don’t do arranged marriages. And my family know I have no intention of giving up my career as a kunoichi or medic—which would be the case if I were to marry into a shinobi Clan.”

“They already accepted, Sakura.”

“And I just said, that’s impossible--.”

“Look, I don’t know why they haven’t told you yet, but I am not wrong, and this isn’t impossible—far from it, and it makes sense that they’d approach your family for you specifically--.”

“No.”

“Yes, and it is because you’re a medic they pursued you and your family, I think.”

“No. No.”

Raising his eyes to hers now, and running a hand through his disheveled, midnight hair, Sasuke glared at her. “Sakura!”

She choked on air, anxiety crawling up inside her, overwhelming her usual fiery temper. Because she knew her temper wouldn’t serve her in that moment. She had to be lucid, and think. What the Uchiha clan wanted, the Uchiha clan got. Even her mentor, the Hokage herself, would be hard-pressed to get the Clan to back down. Especially if hers had already consented.

“I’m not interested in getting married right now. I don’t want this.”

He chuckled darkly. “No offence meant, at all,” he said, slumping back, his head resting against the back of the couch, “but we don’t either.”

“So what’s happening?”

Sighing, he shrugged. “Itachi is trying to get them to re-think things; to negociate on both our behalfs. But he said before he left he didn’t think he’d be able to get both of us out of our ‘marriages’.”

Sakura set her cup down on the table, and inched closer, laying a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder. His own covered hers a moment later, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I think… I think he is going to try and ask them to only make him get married; to leave me a bit more time with the excuse that I would be better off making the decision myself, when I was ready.”

“Oh, Sasuke...” What else could she say?

But Sasuke looked torn and tortured, the guilt on his face aging him. She finally noticed the stress lines that had started pulling at his cheeks, increasing the resemblance between himself and his older brother. It was heartbreaking.

“Sakura, I’m so sorry. We’re trying. We really are, but…”

Opening his eyes once more, he turned his head to look at her, and reached out to pull her closer, settling her against his side as he embraced her.

Sakura wrapped her hands around him, too, emotions whirling inside her at all he’d shared that night.

With her head tucked neatly under his chin, Sasuke felt his protective instincts roused. Not for the first time he wished circumstances were different.

“I don’t know all the latest details, because Itachi has been handling them… but he promised that if he can’t get his ‘arrangements’ changed, he promised that he would do his best… for you.”

The world tipped sideways for Sakura for a moment.

“They want… Itachi and I… ?”

Sasuke swallowed, his throat going dry; from deep within welled a terrible, unsupported anger he struggled to contain.

Frustration warred with his self-control.

“The Clan wish you and Itachi to wed, as soon as possible.”

Through the block in his throat, Sasuke forced himself to speak again, when the woman in his arms didn’t react. She was too shocked.

“May I be the first to congratulate you, Haruno Sakura, on your felicitous engagement to my brother.”

True to Sasuke’s prediction, when Itachi returned home after his mission, the Uchiha and Haruno main houses met together to finalize the arrangements of their marriage.

Sasuke was on a solo mission and missed the official signings.

Sakura’s heart broke a bit when she looked up expecting to find him alongside his brother, and realized he was not there.

When their parents left them alone in the common room to ‘get acquainted’ with each other, Sakura and Itachi had looked at each other awkwardly.

Then her eyes had watered with frustration, and Itachi had stepped forward to take her in his arms.

“You have my sincerest apologies, Sakura, for being dragged into our Clan’s politics.”

“It’s just… I can’t even fight it! I’m not used to feeling so useless.”

“I sympathise. Greatly,” he added, a touch of self-deprecating humour tinting his words.

At his admission, she couldn’t help it. She laughed a little, too.

“Here we are, two of the best shinobi in Konoha,” she began, only to feel Itachi’s rumbling laugh through her elegant kimono. “And we’re being dragged around by our parents,” he finished for her.

“This sucks.”

Tucking her closer against him, and resting his chin atop her head, Itachi was quiet a moment. She tilted her head to look up at him. “Itachi?”

His dark, dark eyes were focused in the distance, and his arms tightened slightly around her, surprising her next with his words. “It is… perhaps more endurable than I’d expected.”

Swallowing to try and wet her suddenly dry throat, Sakura felt heat creep up the back of her neck to her cheeks.

She must be misunderstanding him. Unbidden, a sudden vision of Sasuke holding her in a similar embrace, on Itachi’s own couch the week prior, flooded her mind. That night they’d remained together on the warm couch, arms wrapped around each other in support, covered with a blanket Sasuke had pulled from his brother’s bed. (That she had folded and replaced the very next morning.)

Now that she had the elder Uchiha heir’s arms around her, she couldn’t help but wonder if Itachi was a cuddler like his younger brother.

“You’re selling your apartment?”

“Yes. I’m going to move ‘closer’ to the Clan, into Itachi’s place, and pay him rent. He said I didn’t need to worry about it, but I figure it’s only fair. It is still ‘his’ place, but the Clan don’t need to know that.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed on his female team mate as they shopped for groceries. His mother had sent him out on errands and he’d met Sakura in the market, out for her own—and apparently, for Itachi’s, too—groceries. His stomach lurched in realization that she and his brother would be… living together.

Unsupervised.

Not that Itachi would be there very often, likely, especially with his away missions and Sakura living there now, but still…

Walking alongside him, she spoke in quiet tones, in case anyone may be listening in on them. Since the announcement of her engagement, Sakura had found herself under public scrutiny in every way imaginable, and did not appreciate the loss of her privacy. The Uchiha Clan itself had had to issue orders to the local press to remain at a respectful distance from her and not to interrupt her personal affairs, for fear of finding themselves locked up overnight, their personal recording effects destroyed courtesy of the fine upstanding members of the Konoha police force.

At first, it had been a protective measure, ensuring Sakura’s safety.

After several unfortunate incidents involving ‘self defence’ and ‘he had it coming’, the security detail was placed on the reporters and gossips who took to following Sakura around, to protect them from her violent retaliation.

“Are you getting along ok with him?”

“It’s… awkward at times, I find, but mostly because we’re friends. We’ve known each other almost as long as I’ve known you—it is hard to see each other in a different way just because we’re told to. Itachi is trying very hard to make me feel welcome, to open up to me, I think. In fact, just the other night…”

The young man at her side remained outwardly impassive, but felt the simmering anger bubble inside him at her words, and couldn’t figure out why. To his amazement he realized it wasn’t directed at her, but surprisingly at his brother.

“… and we even talked about the age difference between the two of you, and how we don’t know if we want such a big gap between our own kids…”

Sasuke’s attention whipped back to Sakura at her words.

“Children? You’ve… spoken about children already?”

“Well, it was more poking fun of the ultimate machinations of the clans, and talking about what growing up was like in our own families, but yes, a little bit…” Adjusting the bags in her arms, she looked up at his face to find him pale.

“Sasuke, are you ok?” she asked worriedly, stepping in front of him and taking his arm, stopping him.

He looked down at her hand a moment.

And felt a sickening shift within himself.

He shook off her hand, and concern.

“Fine,” he replied. Then he lifted his own bags of groceries, using them as an excuse. He had to get away from her. As fast as he could. “But I do need to get these home. I’ll see you at training, Sakura.”

“Oh. Ok…”

When she turned away from him (because he would never turn his back on the future wife of the Uchiha heir in public), he felt suckerpunched when the large Uchiha fan on the back of her shirt—his shirt, the one he’d leant her ages ago, in Suna—stared back at him, mockingly.

That night he dragged Naruto out for a good old fashioned taijutsu match.

It lasted 7 hours.

*******************************************

He lost control of himself.

It was only once, and luckily it was fairly private—the only other people who noticed were Team Seven. He wasn’t even sure they realized what it meant.

But it happened.

As he was sparring with Sai, for a second his brother’s features superimposed themselves overtop of Sai’s—and he felt his Sharingan morph, the electricity crackle in his veins to collect in his palm, and as he hissed his brother’s name venomously he reached back to cock his arm and unleash its payload in fury upon—

Kakashi flew across the field and knocked him to the ground, the chidori sputtering out in his palm.

“Kakashi, Sasuke, is everything ok!”

Sakura raced over, her hands already glowing green. It was an instinctive response within her when they sparred, he’d noticed. She would drop everything she was doing to help them.

“Hn,” he replied tiredly, feeling the burning hatred receding from his blood, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

Kakashi watched him thoughtfully a moment before allowing him up, and calling them back from practice. It was time for a break anyway, he said.

Those days, Sasuke felt like there were no breaks, though.

Sure enough, as Itachi had predicted, Sasuke was given a reprieve and allowed several more years in which to choose a bride. (Or, “live the wild, irresponsible youth he so desired,” teased Itachi, Sakura laughing with them when they met together at Itachi-now-Sakura’s-and-Itachi’s apartment.)

Funnily enough, the news of his own marriage-plan’s annulment didn’t fill him with relief; though any time there was a new piece of gossip about his brother’s and Sakura’s he felt the urge to rip out someone’s spine through their throat.

Or take a long solo mission.

Itachi was bending over backwards for Sakura, Sasuke noticed on one of his own ever-more-rare stints home. He’d seen the way his brother had finagled the Clan into allowing Sakura to remain a kunoichi and medic, by having her take on a small role as a Clan medic. Somehow, and Sasuke was sure he’d never learn all the details, he’d also arranged for he and Sakura to stay in their apartment while they were ‘working’, and to return to the Clan compound on weekends and for special family or ceremonial events. It would mark a transition in how the Clan operated, but Sakura was thrilled to be accorded even this small privacy.

Itachi had smiled brilliantly at her; even Sasuke had been amazed at how happy he had looked in that single moment, when Sakura had thanked him from the bottom of her heart.

Sasuke, meanwhile, spent more time in the field than he did his own village. His mother joked she barely recognized him. His father accused him of avoiding his Clan duties.

Sakura said she missed him.

Itachi asked him to be his best man, and let him know that he and Sakura had agreed to do their best to come up with an heir as soon as they could, in order to buy him more time.

“And freedom, Sasuke. Do what you really want. For yourself,” advised his brother with a generous smile. He smiled often, now that he stayed in ‘their’ apartment with Sakura.

The next time Sasuke left on a mission, he didn’t return for several months.

He missed the wedding.

He was recovering in a hospital in a nation he couldn’t even name, had completely lost track of time with his delirium after the mission went bad.

Sakura and Itachi had offered to postpone it, once they heard of his condition, but…

In a way, they weren’t left with much choice.

When Sasuke returned, he collapsed on his brother’s—and now, sister’s—doorstep.

He was unconscious by the time the feminine footsteps rushed to open the door, but he vaguely remembered hearing her gasp in surprise, Sasuke!, and drag him inside.

It didn’t settle in at that moment why she dragged him instead of lifting him with her usual freakish strength, but it should have.

When he awoke, it was to find himself laid out on fresh sheets in the apartment’s guest room. He had been washed and cleaned, healed for the most part, though a few bandages were wrapped around his middle and his upper arms.

Still disoriented, he turned to the side to get his bearings only to find a pair of bright green eyes smiling at him.

“Hey,” she squeezed his hand before reaching to the side to get him a cup of water. He hadn’t realized she’d been holding his hand, but was relieved when he noticed her warmth. Good. No permanent nerve damage. “So, is this déjà-vu all over again?”

He smirked faintly, accepting the water and with a nod let her know he could hold it himself. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Better late than never.”

And then it was quiet as they simply looked at each other.

“So, welcome back. I’d ask you how the mission went, but I just used my entire day’s quota of chakra to fix you, so that kind of makes it a rhetorical question at this point.”

His brow furrowed at her comment, wondering if she was joking. “It was successful. And since when do medics have chakra quotas? It’s never been an issue before.”

Eyes widening, Sakura realized he didn’t know…

Cheeks pinking, she shifted away from the bed he lay upon and straightened in her seat. Then stood up and faced him a little sideways.

His own dark eyes widened and jaw went slack when she pulled her Uchiha-crested shirt closer to her slender frame, outlining the developing reason why.

“It’s been ‘an issue’ for about 4 or 5 months now,” she replied.

“But… but you’ve only been married for 2 or 3…”

And realization dawned as Sakura blushed and turned away with a flustered cough.

“You know, you could say ‘thanks’ to your brother when he gets home… he…. We thought this would be the best way to give you a shot at living your own life.”

Itachi’s words, his bright smile as he asked Sasuke to be his best man, to enjoy his freedom… he knew even then, thought Sasuke distantly. He knew he was going to be a father before I set foot outside the village.

He did it deliberately to stop me from taking her before the wedding, he realized next. Itachi had known about his feelings for Sakura.

That bastard.

“Sasuke?”

He glanced up at her, willing the icy anger and jealousy to fade from his eyes, and noticed she was watching him with concern. Her hand had reached out to his forehead, smoothing the hair away from his face, and finally giving in to his own heart’s desires—just like his brother had told him to—he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, letting himself enjoy the sensation of her fingers trailing through his bangs, down the side of his face to cup his cheek.

“You’ve had a rough time of things, haven’t you?” she whispered, gently maneuvering his head back down to the pillow, and adjusting his sheets. “Oh Sasuke, you don’t need to take so many solo missions. At least take the rest of the team. Ok? I’ll worry less. And I’m not supposed to be worrying right now. And if you think I won’t resort to making you feel guilty, you’ve got another thing coming. Selfish jerk,” she teased, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

Smiling to himself at her chastising, Sasuke reached up and held her hand with his, against his cheek, relishing in the warmth that spread through him at that point in contact.

“Would you stay?” he asked drowsily, the medication she must have given him earlier in his water kicking in.

“I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the day, now that you’re finally back here,” she assured him.

That wasn’t what he’d meant.

“Stay with me,” he tried again, his words slurring slightly.

“I’m always with you, Sasuke,” she said, more quietly this time. “Always.”

With her loving touch sending him off to sleep, for the first time in almost a year, he dreamed peacefully.

He remained at his brother’s—and sister’s, he reminded himself masochistically—home for the remainder of the week. Not that he needed the constant care, but more at their insistence because they hadn’t seen him in so long.

And Tsunade had ordered him on leave for at least 2 weeks, and possibly up to a month, if he didn’t start taking better care of himself.

He could have returned to the Clan house, but… he had missed them while he’d been away. And they were his family. There had been times he’d been on missions and had found himself wistfully looking through the windows of jewellery stores at engagement rings, imagining himself sweeping in and changing all their lives.

Seeing the pair of them together, though, made him realize how selfish that delusion had been.

He still craved being a part of their life, and having them in his.

He just wished the circumstances were different.

Why couldn’t he have been Sakura’s husband, and this their home while his older brother visited them? He could have made his brother jealous of his success, having his own home away from the Clan, kissing his own beautiful wife whenever he wanted, watching her grow rounder each day with their child.

Making love to her every morning and night, filling her with himself, living their lives together.

Sasuke glanced at the window a moment, as if suddenly interested in what was outside. He’d developed a habit of doing this, he’d noticed, when his imagination started to get away from him. It helped calm him.

Except on those rare moments he caught the reflection of his brother kissing his wife on the neck from behind, his hands slipping around her waist to rest atop her belly, rubbing it proudly.

Sasuke was sure that more than once, he’d seen his brother meet his eyes in the window’s reflection, and seen smug satisfaction there, a territorial smirk that was directed at Sasuke, warning him away from what was his.

It hit Sasuke as he lay in the guest room one night, unable to sleep, that Itachi may have orchestrated the entire situation from the beginning; before he even knew Sasuke held feelings for Sakura.

Sakura had been right, before, when she’d mentioned that she’d known Itachi almost as long as she’d known Sasuke.

And Itachi had been the one negociating with the Clan about the marriages. He’d been there to arrange who would marry within the Clan, and who would draw from the ‘untainted’ gene pool of non-Uchiha Konoha citizens.

He had been perfectly positioned, with his own private apartment, to seduce Sakura away from prying eyes, and out from under even Sasuke’s (and Team Seven’s) watchful gaze.

He had planned it all, Sasuke realized.

And for a moment, Sasuke was quietly terrified of his brother’s cunning, and wondered why he had allowed his younger brother—so obviously in love with Itachi’s own wife—to stay under their own roof.

Unless it was to realize this, he thought to himself.

But still his thoughts eventually turned to Sakura, as they always did before he went to sleep, and he wondered for the millionth time what it would have been like to plan a wedding together with her; to eat breakfast with her every single day (he’d discovered he enjoyed that privilege, this week); to go to sleep with her curled up beside him each night, and wake with her in his arms each morning.

And he wondered what in all the shinobi nations he was going to do about any of it.

If he could do anything at all.

“Would you calm down?” Sakura cried in exasperation.

Sasuke peeked around the corner of the couch, over his shoulder, wondering at what she could possibly be talking about—or who she was talking to. He hadn’t said anything.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, not you!” she laughed, waving at him before walking over with a cup of ice water. “I was having a glass of water, and I think it was so cold it woke the baby. He’s been kicking up a storm since I started drinking. Here, watch.”

And she shamelessly pulled up the front of her shirt to sit above the amazing bump that protected and housed his nephew. Fascinated, his eyes were glued to the pale skin that suddenly shifted and moved a bit as she took another long swallow of ice water. “Did you see it?” she asked, excited.

“Yes.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her rounded tummy as she stood in front of him. Tentatively he reached up—glanced up for her permission, which she smiled and nodded—before touching the pads of his fingertips to the smooth firmness. And felt it jump under his touch. “He’s got quite a kick,” he said, and couldn’t help the sliver of pride that leaked into his voice.

“I’ll say he does,” she muttered under her breath, “In a few more months he’ll be at my ribs!”

“Is it painful?”

She shook her head. “Kind of… reassuring, actually. If he’s being annoying, I know he’ll be strong.”

He smirked, and brought his other hand up and gently cupped the bump in his large, elegant hands, gently rubbing at the firm skin as it twitched a bit under his palms.

“That’s calming him down, I think he likes it,” she advised. He could hear the smile in her voice.

They stayed like that for some time. Sasuke was unable to tear himself away from her, and Sakura just happy he was finally… not… moping. There had been something off about him since the announcement of the engagement, and this was the first time she’d seen him relax in over a year.

Funny how babies did that to people, she thought to herself.

It was as she was thinking her own thoughts that she missed the softening in his gaze, and the way he leaned forward.

But when she felt the soft, tender kiss he placed on her skin, she fell back to attention. Hard.

His hands were sliding from her belly to her waist, gently caressing up her sides.

“Sas…”

His thumbs stroked the distended skin, and his eyes were closed as his mouth trailed kisses upwards, nosing aside her shirt as he reached the underside of her--.

“Sa-Sasuke,--.”

“What is going on?”

Itachi’s commanding voice shattered the intimate moment, and Sasuke felt his blood run cold.

Still in his hands, he felt Sakura shudder; though whether from his own ministrations or in fear of her husband, he wasn’t certain.

“Sorry, we got caught up in the baby,” said Sakura, smiling apologetically.

Sasuke said nothing for a moment, but when his brother turned his full attention on him, he made a token effort at maintaining the peace Sakura was trying to invoke.

“Hn.”

The End

#my writing #my fanfic #itasakusaku #coals #uchisaku

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Light beam

‘Dad, hypothetically… what would you have done if Mum was Sirius’ sister?’

Lily notices it first, Harry pines and James cheers.

(AKA the Jily Lives AU discussing Hinny, for @sweeethinny and @isidar-mithrim)

Read on AO3 or all below the cut:

__________________________

It’s getting late when James apparates at the Burrow, feeling tired. He had spent all week immersed in old tomes across Europe’s oldest libraries, reading lost scrolls of magic theory - Dumbledore asked him to study heavy curse breaks, for whatever reason -, while Lily was away in the strangest Order mission he’d ever heard of: tracking down their old Potions teacher, so Old Slughorn could return to Hogwarts that year. He doesn’t know why this is important, but then again Dumbledore has been more mysterious than usual lately.

James can’t care about it now; all he wants is to go back to their house, to Lily and Harry, and enjoy some part of Harry’s summer holiday with them.

Especially after everything that had happened in June.

But ever since Voldemort had been out in the open again, the number of Order missions had increased. James can’t complain - as long as the Order is doing their job, as long as he is in the field doing what needs to be done, Harry doesn’t need to be involved, and they can pretend there is no prophecy hanging around Harry’s shoulder, carrying the weight of the world with it.

Harry had been quiet and thoughtful since returning from school, and James hopes these last days at the Burrow had helped ease some of his worries; or, at least, that his humour had been better than last summer.

Molly greets him with a warm smile (after making sure they pass each other’s secret code because these are dark times) and points him to her orchard.

‘They’ve been playing Quidditch all day’, she explains amused, offering him a tea in her kitchen. ‘All week, actually. If I would let them, I don’t think they would even return for dining’.

‘Ron would’, James says teasingly, and Molly laughs, agreeing. ‘So… I take everything is fine?’

‘Harry’s been nice, James’, she assures him. ‘He’s been eating all right and talking and… recovering, I guess. But, yes, he seems fine. Like -’

‘A normal teenager?’

She nods.

‘Your son is a good boy’, Molly says fondly, looking outside the window even though they can’t see them out there. ‘You and Lily raised a fine young man. He deserves some peace’.

James sighs.

‘It’s all I wish for him’.

‘You can let him come here all summer if you want’, she adds. ‘We’ve given the highest security protection there is, and here I can keep an eye on him too while you and Lily are out. Harry will enjoy being with Ron and Hermione’. Molly pauses briefly. ‘And with Ginny’.

‘I will talk to Lily’, James says. ‘But I don’t want to bother you or Arthur -’

‘You won’t’, Molly affirms. ‘In fact, don’t you want to stay for dinner?’

‘Lily will be finally home tonight, Molly, but I will accept on another occasion. I will just collect Harry now’.

She smiles. ‘Just follow the sound’, she says, indicating the pathway leaving her kitchen door.

James nods in goodbye and he leaves the illuminated kitchen. The sun is setting, so the pathway is dark, but ahead he can see someone has lighted a blue bonfire; as promised, he hears them even before he sees them.

‘We aren’t really hurting them’, he hears Ron saying, his voice sounding both exasperated and fond, and James knows he is speaking with Hermione.

‘Still, there has to be a better way of keeping gnomes away’.

‘We can always make Crookshanks chase them away. He seems to enjoy it’.

‘He wants to eat them -’

‘Well, it’s that or throwing them away, so -’

James gets closer, stopping just right before the bonfire can illuminate him, enjoying the view. Harry, Ron and Hermione are around the fire, sitting on logs, and while Ron and Hermione are locked in one of their heated discussions - about gnomes, he supposes, but it never took much to get them started -, Harry is quiet, his back for them actually, evidently not being a part of their discussion. For a moment, James thinks this is a bad sign - that Harry is in one of his reflective moods - until he notices Harry is not really brooding.

He is looking up at the sky, where the dark shadow of Ginny flying can be seen cut across the sunset sky. Ginny is making some nice movements - training loops and mid-turn stops - that James will have to remember to praise her later, but right now his eyes are fixed on Harry’s face.

Harry looks… serene? It is not the right word, but James thinks he has never seen that expression on Harry before. He looks simultaneously at ease and amused and fascinated; he looks like his mind is miles away, but still, his eyes don’t miss any move Ginny makes as if he could watch her flying for hours.

And he is smiling like… again, James can’t put his finger on it, can’t name that smile, but he knows he has already seen it before, and not on Harry’s face. Not even on his own - for all the similarities between him and Harry, it is not a smile James has seen in the mirror before. Where then?

It looks so familiar...

Harry suddenly raises, and when James follows the direction of his look, he sees Ginny is making a sudden dive, straight towards the ground. Harry looks ready to bolt towards her, but Ginny straightens her broom and lands smoothly, with an infectious grin on her lips. She had been laughing during her dive.

‘Wronski Feint?’, he hears Harry asking teasingly, as he approaches her. ‘What do you think you are, a Seeker?’

‘Well’, Ginny seems deep in thought, considering his question, but James can hear the same tease in her voice. ‘Last time I checked, yes, I was one’.

‘What happened to only playing Seeker while I was out?’

‘Maybe I enjoyed doing nothing all match. Guess I will see you on tryouts’.

‘Good luck with that’, Harry smirks. ‘I’ll let you know the captain favours me’.

‘Aren’t you the captain?’, Ginny asks, giving him a sly smile. ‘Merlin, they make anyone captain these days’.

‘Watch out’, he warns her, his voice dropping amusement. ‘Or the captain won’t call you’.

‘And lose the Quidditch Cup because he dare to forgo his best Chaser? He wouldn’t’.

‘He wouldn’t’, Harry agrees warmly. ‘As long as such Chaser stays in the Chaser position’.

Ginny laughs.

‘That’s all this Chaser wants’, she assures him, her voice as playful as his. ‘Just try to play all games for once, ok? No visits to the Hospital Wing or getting banished again’.

‘It wouldn’t be a normal year for me if nothing happened’, Harry notes, shrugging.

Ginny sighs.

‘Guess I will keep training that Wronski Feint then. Someone has to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor’.

‘With all the guidance of your captain, it should be easy’, he says, once more grinning happily, all negativity gone. ‘Of course, your Feint needs more improvement -’

‘Improvement?’, she scoffs, and James notes that all her indignation is softened by the fact Ginny is still smiling. ‘That movement would make any decent Seeker fall for it -’

‘I wouldn’t fall’.

‘I said decent Seekers, Potter’.

‘Oh, you are so on, Weasley’, Harry challenges, his eyes shining. ‘Let out the Golden Snitch, we will see who falls for who -’

‘Mr. Potter!’, there is a high shriek and James turns around just as Harry and Ginny look at him, finally noticing him at the edge of the meadow they are. Hermione is up on her feet, her eyes going from James to the bonfire and James has a pretty good idea of who cast the magical fire. ‘We were just -’

‘I am glad Molly lighted the fire for you’, he says dismissively, winking at Hermione, giving her a perfectly reasonable excuse for a bit of underage magic. ‘It is charmed to keep flies away, I hope’.

‘Dad!’, Harry cries, looking glad to see him. ‘You took long, I thought you’d stay in Germany forever’.

‘So dramatic, I wonder who you took that from’, James jokes. ‘Just arrived to take you home’.

‘Ah. Sure’.

That is not the reaction James hoped for. Harry always seemed happy returning home, his favourite place on Earth - but then again, James supposes, their house is so protected lately that Harry would be left alone there, unable to communicate with his friends by owl and most of the time alone, since James and Lily are working over the clock for the Order.

And there would be no Ron and Hermione there.

And no Ginny, he thinks, when he sees Harry glancing briefly in her direction, his shoulder slumped.

‘Molly offered for you to stay here during the day for the Summer’, he says, seeing a bright hope shining on Harry’s eyes at his words. ‘Why don’t I drop you here early and come to pick you in the evening?’

‘Weasley Daycare?’, Ginny pops in, grinning, and Harry turns to her with a mischievous smile already on his lips.

‘Someone needs to take care of you’, he says, and James thinks he isn’t really talking about Ron and Hermione. ‘Maybe even give flying lessons’.

‘I hope you don’t mind picking up pieces of your son, Mr. Potter’, Ginny says, winking at James. ‘He is going to be crushed tomorrow’.

Harry laughs, and it’s a sound so fresh and pure, that James laughs together.

They say their goodbyes and, as he and Harry are on the pathway to the apparition point, James keeps throwing glances in his direction.

That mysterious smile is once more on Harry’s lips, and James wishes he could remember where he has seen the same smile before.

He thinks of what he saw before between Harry and his friends - no, not all his friends. One in particular. Could it be…? James always thought they were a good match - certainly, their interactions in the past have shown all their potential -, and they seemed really friendly a few minutes ago, but he remembers how Harry was when he would talk about Cho Chang.

Nervous and red and sweating.

He looks the opposite of it now, really.

‘So, what was that?’, he asks, trying to understand his son. Harry blinks, surprised.

‘What?’

‘You and Ginny. You were… bantering’.

‘That was not banter’, Harry disagrees, laughing easily. ‘We were just talking’.

‘And teasing each other’.

Harry shrugs, unconcerned. James almost asks him directly what is really going on between them, but after a second he gives up. Maybe he is seeing things where there aren’t - Harry would tell him if there was something to tell.

But, still, that inexplicable smile keeps turning up afterwards, when they are dining and Harry is happily retelling his adventures from his days at the Burrow, talking about their Quidditch plays and throwing-gnomes contests and how he and Ginny were laughing about Bill and Fleur’s relationship and teasing Ron. James can’t help but notice Ginny’s name is mentioned most of the time.

Lily, who seems to as tired as James feels after a week away from home, is looking at Harry with an amused expression on her face as if she is watching for the first time a movie that will soon be her favourite.

‘Harry seems to have had a great time at the Burrow’, Lily says cryptically, as they are getting ready for bed. ‘I’m glad he will be there more’.

‘Yeah… did you notice something weird about him?’

‘Weird?’, she laughs to herself. ‘Different, maybe, but not weird’.

James looks at the smirk on her face.

‘You know what’s going on with him’, he accuses.

‘I was surprised you didn’t catch… But then again you didn’t notice the first time too’.

‘Lily - all this suspense is killing me. Harry is smiling like that all night and I can��t put my finger where I’ve seen it before -’

‘Come on, James, you know our son and me better than anyone. You really have no idea what is happening?’

He shakes his head, and she laughs again before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

‘Do you know how everyone says Harry looks just like you?’

‘Except for your eyes’.

‘And his smile’, she adds. ‘Harry’s got your lips, maybe, but his smile is all mine’.

‘So?’

‘So this Harry’s new smile is not new at all. If you weren’t so certain I wasn’t going to ever fancy you back, you would see that I beamed like that for you for a whole year before we went out together for the first time’.

‘Oh’.

‘Dorcas and Lene used to tease me all the time for being so oblivious to you - and they were right, it took me a long time of admiring you and pining after you to realize I fancied you a lot’.

‘Oh, so that means -’

‘That means Harry is still as oblivious as I was, so don’t interfere, James’, Lily adds, looking knowingly at him.

‘But -’

‘No prying. Let him find out in his own time. When he comes to talk to you, then you can gush all over like you want’.

‘That could take months!’, James complains, moping.

‘Don’t take that away from him’, she asks, laying down by his side. ‘Let him be a normal boy falling in love for the first time. It worked out for us, didn’t it?’

James sighs.

‘Well, Harry is much better than I was. Hopefully, it won’t take long’.

_____________________________

Harry doesn’t say anything for the rest of the Summer, even though, now James is looking at the signs, he sees it is really obvious how Harry’s eyes seem to shine brighter when Ginny is around, how he always looks for her the first time he enters in a room and how he seems to request her presence in everything he is in.

Lily says he can’t fault Harry for being clueless, reminding him that James had once been surprised when Lily had actually accepted his invitation for going out with him (‘I changed all our patrol rounds so we could always be together, James, and I kept finding reasons to touch you, how much more oblivious can a girl be?’), but James doubts he took that long to notice Lily’s feelings for him. And it’s his own feelings Harry has to notice - how much time can that take?

Still, time passes by and Harry starts his Sixth Year at Hogwarts without any mention of his growing feelings. His letters don’t say anything different, and James is almost giving up on his son ever realizing he actually fancies Ginny when they return home for Christmas.

And, by Merlin, it is suddenly so clear that Harry is pining after her that he doesn’t know how other people don’t notice it too. Harry actually sighs - a heavy, deep-from-the-chest sigh - when Ginny makes a silly joke and dances around him, his eyes following her with unquestionable longing.

He remembers Harry telling him how we went with Luna for Slughorn’s party - just as friends - and his confession that girls seemed more interest in him than usual, and James thinks all those girls are losing their time. Harry’s heart clearly belongs to someone else already.

The only thing James doesn’t get it is why Harry is pining instead of doing something about it.

As much as amused as Lily seems to be by the situation, she still forbids James of saying anything before Harry does, so James forces himself to press his lips for most of the Christmas holiday, watching his son stealing glances at Ginny like she is the only Golden Snitch he couldn’t ever catch.

Then, finally, Harry knows his father knows. It’s because of something silly, really: they are all together on Christmas morning at the Burrow, when Ginny says brightly:

‘Harry! You’ve got a maggot in your hair’, and then, as she picks it up, Harry reddens slightly and shivers at the same time. It’s rather adorable, James thinks, and he can’t help but smirk as his eyes meet Harry’s, which only makes his son flush even more, caught is his body admission that he is attracted to Ginny Weasley.

Fortunately for Harry - or not - there is a distraction in the shape of the Minister of Magic and the matter is dropped in all that happens and in the delight James feels as he watches Harry walking straight with Scrimgeour, refusing to accept being the poster boy for politics he doesn’t agree with.

Sometimes, more than others, James feels he and Lily did raise Harry very well. His heart bursts of pride for his son.

Harry is quiet when they return to their house for the night, accepting in silence the tea James offers him, and James thinks he must have a lot on his mind, with all the Minister proposed him and all Harry has been learning with Dumbledore - which the headmaster promised James and Lily it was important, even though he couldn’t share its contents with them…

‘Dad?’, Harry asks in a very soft voice. ‘Can I ask your opinion about something?’

James nods, thinking it’s strange for Harry to be so formal.

Harry glances around, to confirm they are alone in the Potter’s living room, before asking:

‘Just say it, hypothetically… what would you have done if Mum was Sirius’ sister?’

James blinks. There is a list of things Harry could ask him, a list of things that could worry him, but this…

He grins without being able to control it, and Harry sees it.

‘Oh, forget it’, he says, crossing his arms and looking very much like Lily when she is annoyed.

‘Sorry, Harry, I wasn’t -’, James fights back another smile, trying to look reassuringly at his son. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. With everything that is happening, it’s nice seeing you worry about something so normal’.

Harry frowns.

‘It is not normal’, he murmurs.

‘Fancying your best friend’s sister? It kind of is’.

He can see Harry’s face heating up again, but Harry doesn’t deny fancying Ginny.

‘It doesn’t feel normal’, Harry says, with a heavy sigh. ‘It feels like I am betraying Ron or something -’

‘Take from a guy who has actually been betrayed by a close friend, Harry, this is not betrayal’, James assures him. ‘Do you just want to mess her around?’

‘No!’, Harry seems appalled by the idea. ‘I actually like her, but…’, he bits his lips just as Lily does when she is nervous. ‘Ron caught Ginny and her boyfriend a while ago together, and… and he was so mad that I keep thinking - if Ginny was with me there instead, he would hate me too…’

‘Ginny is dating someone else?’, he asks, surprised. He had never heard Ginny mentioning anyone.

‘Yeah’, Harry looks dejected. ‘Dean. He is nice, I suppose, and he can draw so well… Sirius always told me girls like artistic boys’.

‘Well’, James tries to joke. ‘You are the Chosen One’.

‘Big deal’, Harry answers, clearly thinking he is misqualified as boyfriend material. ‘It is not like I have worked for it’.

‘You play Quidditch’.

‘He is in the team too’, Harry points out, gloomy. ‘You said you and Mum dated other people when you were younger?’

‘Yeah’.

‘How… how did you deal with it?’

James shrugs.

‘I don’t know if I can tell you exactly, Harry. It’s been so long ago that any jealousy I felt then doesn’t seem to matter anymore. I just remember hating it, of course, and wishing it would be me. But also -’

‘You wanted her to be happy too’, Harry finishes for him, with a sigh. James gives him a sympathetic look.

‘You can’t meddle with her relationship, Harry. If she really likes her boyfriend, then there is nothing you can do. And if not… these things crumble with time. Like you and Cho’.

‘That was not really a relationship’, Harry disagrees but he nods. ‘I guess I just have to wait then’.

‘And when it ends, that doesn’t really change your situation’, reminds James. ‘Ginny will still be Ron’s sister. What will you do then?’

Harry looks at the fireplace, without answering, and James can read easily his intern conflict.

‘You and Ron have been friends for a long time, Harry’, says James slowly. ‘I think that means he trusts you, including to be a good boyfriend to his only sister. But unless you talk to him first -’

Harry throws him an alarmed look.

‘Yeah, I think it’s a bad idea’, James notes, grinning. ‘Ginny would hex you if she knew you were asking for permission from any of her brothers’.

That makes Harry laugh.

‘She would’, he agrees, his voice full of tenderness as if he loves the fact that Ginny would really hex him without hesitation.

Oh, Merlin, Harry has really fallen.

‘Well, then, you are going to take a leap of faith on this. You know, for once do that thing where you act first think later for a good reason’.

‘It’s easier facing Voldemort’, Harry says, only half-playful.

‘I can’t really say, I’ve only done one of them’, points James in the same voice. ‘But I really think Sirius would have been happy for me if Lily was his sister’.

Harry nods in silence, lost in his thoughts, until finally, he smiles at James.

‘I will keep that in mind, Dad. Thanks’.

James waves dismissively. ‘No problem. Just promise to keep me updated, ok? Your mum and I have placed our bets’.

Harry blinks.

‘Mum knows?’

‘No offence, Harry, but I am surprised people don’t know. You’ve been pining all over Ginny since summer break’.

‘I wasn’t -’, their eyes meet and Harry blinks, unsure. ‘I was?’

James nods solemnly. Harry shakes his head.

‘At least tell me you bet in my favour’, he asks, and James laughs.

‘We wouldn’t dare bet against you’, he promises, and he doesn’t add that he feels Harry wasn’t really the only one whose feelings have grown up during summer.

But that is for Harry to discover eventually, with a little bit of luck.

___________________________________________

Harry is beaming.

It is not that James has never seen Harry happy before; he was a cheerful child, and even with things getting darker lately, there have been good cheery moments.

But Harry is positively beaming, his mother’s green eyes shining with bliss and a bit of amazement as if he can’t believe he gets to be this happy. There is something weirdly familiar about that smile, though, and James wonders where he has seen it before.

‘Hi, Dad!’, he begins, and his smile is so bright that James is surprised the whole room isn’t alighted by it.

‘Hello, son’, he says slowly, trying to understand what made Harry call him early in the Sunday morning in their two-way mirror.

As far as James knows, ever since the last time he talked with Harry - and it had been a tense conversation when Harry had confessed using an unknow dark spell on the Malfoy boy -, nothing could have happened to leave Harry in such high spirit. There was the final Quidditch match the day before, the one Harry hadn’t been allowed to play - maybe Gryffindor had won? That still wouldn’t explain his exceptional good mood or the early call, though…

‘We won’, Harry says, almost like if he is reading James’ mind. ‘Over three hundred points, just as we needed it. Ginny caught the Snitch’.

Harry smiles even more than it’s humanly possible as he mentions Ginny, and James has suddenly a vision of himself twenty years ago, entering hurriedly the men’s bathroom on the Three Broomsticks, throwing water over his face to confirm he wasn’t dreaming.

He had been really awake then, still with that lingering feeling of Lily Evans’ lips over his, and he realized that it all had been real - his date with Lily, her confession that she definitely fancied him and their first kiss - until James was left facing his own reflection in the mirror as if it belonged to someone else - someone that was happy beyond words, someone that couldn’t believe everything that had happened. He had been beaming then.

Just like Harry is now.

Harry’s pining smile may be Lily’s, but Harry’s in love smile is all James’.

‘Oh, Merlin, it happened’, he cries, resisting the urge to dance with the mirror in his hand. ‘Tell me everything!’

‘We are dating’, Harry admits, the satisfaction clear in his voice. ‘I did my thing’.

‘What is your thing? If it’s a weird teenage thing -’

‘That act first, think later thing’, Harry says, laughing. ‘I returned to the Common Room and we had won - Ginny had won for us - and she was running towards me and she looked so amazing and she had this blazing look -’

‘You snogged her in front of the entire Gryffindor House?’, James asks, and Harry nods, not looking remotely ashamed. ‘I am so proud of you’.

Harry lets out another happy giggle. It’s the most carefree laugh James has heard in a long time.

‘It wasn’t planned, it just… happened. And -’, Harry’s smile softens a little. ‘Ron was really happy for us’.

‘Of course he was’.

‘He did warn me to not, you know, break her heart or anything, but it’s fair’. Harry looks resolute. ‘I won’t. Break her heart, I mean’.

‘Good, because you are going to answer to me too if you hurt her’.

‘I think Ginny could handle herself’, Harry points out fondly, undisturbed by his father’s warning. ‘And I just want to make her as happy as I feel’. He pauses, as if to gather his thoughts, and when he talks again, it looks like Harry is talking to himself. ‘It’s been a long time since I felt like this… normal, I mean. People were talking about us last night at dinner, but I just couldn’t care less for once, you know? All I could think was that I was just so lucky that Ginny happened to fancy me back and that she agreed to date me… It is like I have this Patronus with me all the time now’.

James smiles.

‘I’m so happy for you two, Harry. You once asked me how I felt about your mother - well, it started like that’.

‘Dad, we’ve been dating for a day, take it easy’.

‘I will uphold planning the wedding’, James promises solemnly, making Harry blush and roll his eyes.

‘As if you don’t have everything sorted out already’, Harry scoffs, but his voice sounds more amused than anything. ‘Well, I have to go. I promised I would meet her for breakfast’.

‘Then go, don’t let your girlfriend waiting’.

‘Girlfriend’, Harry repeats, seeming to savor the word. ‘See you later, Dad -’

‘Actually, Harry, one thing before you go. Who made the first move?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You kissed her, or did she kiss you?’

Harry looks thoughtfully.

‘I think it was me, but since she was coming towards me... Does it make a difference?’

‘It does for us. That’s what your mum and I bet about’

Harry chuckles again.

‘Let me guess, you bet on Ginny’.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, son -’

‘That’s okay, I would bet on her too’, Harry assures. ‘I will discuss this later with her’.

‘Oh, “discuss”, is that how you say snogging nowadays?’

‘I said later, not that it’s all we would do’, Harry ponders, shameless. ‘Now I really gotta go. Don’t want to leave her waiting for me’.

‘Go on’, James says, watching the mirror flicker and show his own smiling face.

He is still grinning when he returns to the bed and kisses the top of Lily’s head as she rolls to hug him.

‘What was it?’, she asks lazily.

‘Oh, nothing unusual. Just our son finally kissing Ginny’.

‘What?’, Lily jumps, suddenly waken. ‘Tell me everything!’

#Eyes glistening #Jily lives #Hinny #Harry and Ginny #James Potter #Lily Potter #Jily supports Hinny #t: fanfiction

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megasoniczx · 3 years

Text

Hey, so, this was an idea I had. Fate/Grand Order is one of the few other gacha games I constantly play aside from FEH, and that ultimately led me to the idea of “What would a collaboration between the two games look like?”, and that’s what led to this, a full on Fate/Grand Order themed banner in Fire Emblem Heroes with SIX possible units they could add, including two legendary heroes and a mythic hero. Unlikely? Yes, this is incredibly unlikely in many ways. But the idea still seems fun, so let’s stretch our suspension of disbelief and have fun with this idea.

Now, I’m in no way a hardcore player, so the explinations of what exclusive skills these heroes have won’t be super in-depth. I’m just going to explain what kind of role I’d think they could play and give a general idea of what their skills would do.

So, let’s start with the poster child of Fate-

Artoria - King of Knights:

The Legendary King Arthur, Artoria Pendragon, who is in fact a woman in the Fate Series. As a Saber Class Servant, Artoria had to be the Sword Infantry of the banner, there was no other option. Her PRF Weapon would of course be Excalibur, the legendary sword of light. I imagine Artoria would be a fairy balanced across the board unit, only really excelling in her attack stat with her flaw being low speed.

Her Exclusive Skills:

Excalibur - Raises ATK/DEF by +4, would have Distant Counter built in.

Sword of Light - Exclusive Special Skill, has a charge of 4 and boosts her ATK damage by 75%

Avalon - PRF B Skill, Raises DEF by 25%, doubles to 50% when Special Skill is used for 2 turns

EMIYA - Nameless Hero:

A Nameless Heroic Spirit who formed a contract with The World, he has seen many battles, enduring pain to create weapons. As an Archer Class Servant, EMIYA would be a grey archer unit, excelling in his ATK with his personal bow with high SPD, but having low DEF/RES.

His Exclusive Skills:

Mystic Bow - Effective against flying units Raises ATK by +5, has Desperation 2 & Quick Riposte 3 built into it.

Caladbolg - Exclusive Special Skill, has a charge of 3 and boosts his ATK damage by 50%

Projection - Boosts ATK by 10% after every turn not spent in combat (only activates after player phase)

Cú Chulainn - Beast of Culann:

The original Lancer infamous for dying in the original Fate/Stay Night visual novel, Cú Chulainn is Irland’s child of light and famous for his absurd endurance. He excels in high ATK & SPD with moderate HP and RES, low DEF being his main weakness.

His single Exclusive Skill is:

Gáe Bolg: Raises ATK & SPD by 5, Accelerates Special trigger (cooldown count-1).

Gilgamesh - King of Heroes:

The first Heroic Spirit and King of Babylon, Gilgamesh is among the most powerful heroes in Fate, so no doubt he’d be powerful here. He excels effectively in every stat, save speed due to being an armor unit. He’s also an armor tome unit, something we don’t see a whole lot of.

His Exclusive Skills are:

Gate of Babylon - Raised ATK/SPD/DEF/RES by 5, has Close Counter built in, and is effective against Dragon/Beast units.

Enuma Elish - Exclusive Special Skill, has a charge of 5 and boosts his ATK damage by 150%.

Golden Rule: Raised ATK by 4, grants him Vantage 3, Desperation 2, & Quick Riposte 3.

Yes, I know, this man is broken as shit. What are you gonna do, throw F!Edelgard at me?

Mash Kyrielight - Chaldea’s Shield:

A Demi-Servant with the powers of Sir Galahad from Fate/Grand Order, Mash is best described as a complete fucking tank. As the sole member of the Shielder Class, Mash’s entire job is to soak up damage like a sponge and then beat the shit out of you.

Her Exclusive Skill is:

Lord Camelot - Raises ATK/DEF by +5 and has Obstruct 3 built into it.

Jeanne d’Arc - Saint of Orleans:

Our mythic hero for this banner is Jeanne d’Arc as a staff unit (do we even have a mythic staff?). She excels as an offensive healer, poor resistance being her only fault. Her Exclusive Skills are:

Flag of Orleans - Raises ATK by +5 and foes cannot counterattack. Has Close Counter & Time’s Pulse 3 built into it.

Luminosité Éternelle - Grants +5 DEF to unit and all allies within 3 tiles of unit. Saint’s Blessing (A Skill) - Boosts healing equal to that of unit’s attack

So, funny thing. I'm a dumbass who forgot to give Jeanne an actual recovery skill, so pretend she has one as well. What's funnier is that I gave her Distant Counter, remembered she couldn't inherit one, then remembered she's supposed to have CLOSE COUNTER!

I'm sorry Jeanne, you deserved better.

...

And that’s the general idea I had for this “FEH X FGO” banner. Maybe I’ll make another one of these, maybe I’ll spin it the other way around and design some Fire Emblem characters as Fate/Grand Order units.

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darkisrising · 3 years

Text

I’ll take you at your word, by DarkIsRising

This Dinluke may very well be the softest, fluffiest, most tooth decaying-ly sweet thing I’ve ever written. Read here or on ao3 if that’s more your thing. I’ll take you at your word Luke is a very attractive man.

Din hadn’t noticed at first, what with all that was going on when they’d met, or even at the second because holocomm blue is not the most flattering—or steady—light. By the third time, though, Din notices because he’s not as oblivious as certain beings the galaxy over seem to think him to be.

He notices how light Luke’s eyes are and how laughter seems to hang in their corners even when he’s at his most Jedi-serious. He notices that Luke’s hair is always perfectly laid down across his forehead and sometimes wonders what kind of Jedi magic must make it so, even as his fingers twitch to muss it all up. He notices that there are dimples that flare across his face when he’s in just the right mood. He notices there is a magnificent brightness that surrounds him even when there’s yet another power failure at his temple—”I thought I’d fixed that kriffing thing! Hold on, sorry, this is embarrassing”—and all Din can see of Luke is thanks to his helmet’s heightened sensors.

But by far the most attractive thing about Luke isn’t his face, which is beautiful, or his physique, which is impressive, or his voice, which could drive a celibate to distraction. No it’s how eager Luke is not just to teach, but also to learn.

When he asks if they might spar together, Din’s expecting a brutal display of skill and dominance. What he isn’t expecting is Luke asking Din to show him that move again—”Wait, is this how it goes? Or is your weight on the other foot?”— and wait patiently as Din corrects his posture, gifting Din a rattler-flash of a smile in return.

When he asks about Din’s covert—”Whatever you want to share with me. It’s also okay if you need to keep stuff secret.”—Din can tell there is more than puerile curiosity in his questions. There is a real thirst for understanding.

And when he starts to take an interest in Din’s language, asking: “And how do you say ‘tired’ in Mando’a?” on an evening that Din is so exhausted from his flight to Yavin that he answers “Haryc” automatically, it’s no surprise that Luke takes bending his tongue to the unfamiliar word as seriously as all the rest.

“Haryc,” Luke repeats, a tiny frown of concentration forming along his forehead as he repeats it three times more for good measure. “Alright, kid, it’s time for bed. Your father is haryc.”

“Buir,” Din offers and Luke smiles with a nod of thanks, repeating the new word to himself a couple times and then amending: “Your buir is haryc.”

A thrill runs down Din’s spine to hear Luke’s voice wrap around the sounds of Mando’a, though in the moment he attributes his reaction to fatigue.

The next time he hears Luke speak a bright, chipper “Oh, Grogu, look: your buir is awake!” as he’s working over a pan of frying eggs, a spatula in his gloved hand, Din gets that same thrill despite having had a full night of uninterrupted sleep, so he knows it wasn’t because he was haryc, it’s just what happens when Luke speaks Mando’a to him.

***

Luke isn’t just easy on the eyes, or the ears. He’s also magnificent in battle: lithe and dressed in black, lit by the glow of his green saber, flickering through the line of Imp droids as he slices his way to Din’s side.

“What do you think?” Luke asks, casting his black hood back when they’ve cleared enough Imps to take a brief rest and Din spares a quick glance over at him. Sweat dances down from Luke’s forehead and it’s the only sign that this grueling stand-off is taking any kind of a toll on him. “Not bad, right? I think all our sparing has paid off.”

“Mhi solus tome,” Din says without meaning to and Luke’s eyebrow quirks a question. “We are one when together,” Din translates and even though there comes the sound of metallic feet marching down the durasteel hall he can feel Luke’s attention hone in on Din’s words.

“Say it again,” he says and when Din does, Luke repeats the phrase.

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “I like that,” and with their next steadying, tandem breath they launch themselves at their enemy. They are an indivisible whole, and Din’s heart sings, reverberating as loudly in his chest as his beskar echoes through the air when it smashes in an Imp droid’s faceplate.

***

Luke also, Din is glad to see, has a noble heart.

“I hate to put you in this position,” Luke is babbling in the temple’s hangar as his droid whizzes by clicking loudly as he makes their ship flight-ready. “But Leia says the kids are holed up in some tundra wasteland and they haven’t been able to find them yet.”

“It’s fine,” Din says, a fond smile safely tucked away behind beskar. “Go.”

“I feel terrible. You entrusted me with your son and here I go running out on you two, again, for the third time this month—”

“Luke?” he cuts in and Luke’s mouth closes with a snap. “It doesn’t matter if you leave. Mhi solus dar'tome. We are one when parted.”

“Wait can you say that in Mando’a again—”

“Later.” Din huffs a laugh and pushes Luke toward his waiting ship. “Go!”

Luke is also persistent, so it isn’t much of a surprise when he jumps down from his X-Wing’s ladder with a triumphant grin. “Mhi solus dar'tome!” he calls to where Din is waiting with Grogu in his arms. “Did I say it right?”

Din inclines his head and Luke gives out a loud “Ha!” of glee.

“I commed Bo-Katan on the way back and made her teach me,” Luke says and Din mentally adds ‘fearless’ to his list of Luke’s virtues.

***

With Luke generosity is a given.

So it’s to Grogu, who is hoarding their latest shipment of eggs with a raised hand that brims with misused Jedi magic, that Din chastises by saying: Ad'ika! Mhi me'dinui an.”

“Yeah, Grogu,” he says between hiccupping laughs, clearly not nearly as annoyed as Din is. “Whatever he said.”

“We will share all,” Din mutters, wrestling the crate away just as Grogu slurps two more eggs down. “Mhi me'dinui an.”

And Luke, whose ear has gotten remarkably attuned to catching the cadence of Mando’a repeats back nearly flawlessly “Mhi me'dinui an.”

***

But above all of this, Luke is clever. Really, really clever, which is something that can get overlooked between his face and his laugh and his prowess with a lightsaber. He’s also so blindingly, heart-wrenchingly, stupefyingly brave that it shouldn’t be such a surprise when one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he takes Din’s leather-clad hands in his, stares into Din’s visor, and says, “So I don’t know if you mean it or not, but just in case: bal tome mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din blinks at his perfect pronunciation as well as the words he’s speaking.

“Yeah, so,” Luke says, a red flush rushing across his throat and taking over his cheeks. “I think you might have been getting married to me these past few months? And if it’s all a misunderstanding then we can just pretend this never happened—”

“Bal tome mhi ba'juri verde,” Din says, quicker than he’s maybe said anything in his life and now it’s Luke that’s left blinking.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, well, good. That’s really, really good.”

“Yeah,” Din agrees. “Yeah, it is.”

“Good. Yeah, good,” Luke is nodding, and because no other words come to Din—in either Basic or Mando’a— he reaches up to remove his helmet and catches Luke’s lips in a kiss. ~~~+~~~ Mandalorian marriage vows: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors

#dinluke #dinluke fic #darkisrising fic

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quirklessthot · 4 years

Text

kinktober: day 18 | lingerie [iida]

warnings: 18+, semi-public sex

word count: 1.8k

a/n me: i don’t really write for iida, i dunno his character just doesn’t really speak to me. also me: *not only writes for iida but makes his entry the longest i’ve written so far* 🤡

⤿ kinktober masterlist

Tenya Iida is a very busy man, as one would expect from a pro hero running his very own agency. Not that you’re not proud of your husband – there isn’t a happier spouse in the world than yourself. But it does get lonely when he has to stay at the agency office late almost every other night. You especially hate it when your time alone with him, scarce as it is, is interrupted by an important call or some villain attack. So, it’s no wonder that you begin to feel a little�� neglected. And it’s a problem that you’re determined to fix.

You hum happily to yourself as you step out of the shower, grinning widely at the special outfit you have laid out on your bed. This plan is foolproof, you think to yourself as you get dressed. If this doesn’t get Tenya to pay attention to you, nothing will. The finishing touches is a pair of heels and the long, tan trench coat that Tenya got you for Christmas last year.

With one last onceover in your full length mirror to make sure nothing is out of place you head out for the Ingenium Agency. You’re greeted by the bubbly receptionist with a smile when you walk through the large glass doors of the agency.

“I’m here to see my husband,” you explain.

She’s already picking up the phone on her desk. “I’ll give him a call and let him know.”

You put out a hand to stop her, tittering nervously when she gives you a concerned look. “No need! I-It won’t take long – a quick in and out.”

She regards you curiously for a moment before breaking out into a sunny smile. “Of course!”

You thank her and quickly make your way towards the elevators, heels clacking on the tiled floors with every step. Once the elevator doors close shut and you feel it begin to ascend, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Before you know it, the elevator comes to a stop, pinging to let you know you’ve reached the top floor, and slowly opens its doors.

Iida – thankfully - has almost the entire floor to himself, with just one other, smaller office closer to the elevator. The door is closed and you’re hoping that means they’re still vacant, Iida’s been meaning to hire a new personal assistant for the longest but never gets around to it. His own behemoth of an office sits all the way at the back of the building. You have to stop yourself from running towards the large polished wood door in your excitement.

Without knocking, you open the door to his office as silently as possible and poke your head inside. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be particularly busy. He’s sitting at his desk, large and imposing just like the man himself, nose buried in one of the many books that line the walls behind him. You’re hoping that your little surprise is more interesting than whatever that dusty old tome has in it.

Iida glances up at you for a second before going back to reading. It takes a few seconds for him to realize what he just saw, and he does a double take, looking at you with wide eyes and uttering your name in surprise.

“Is something the matter, my love?” he asks, moving to get up but sitting back down when you motion for him to stay where he is.

“Can’t I drop by to see how my husband’s doing?” you ask, closing and discreetly locking the door behind you. “Besides, I’ve got a present for you,” you add coyly once you’re standing directly in front of his desk.

“You do?” Iida looks you up and down, searching for a box or bag but all he sees is you, hands folded in front of you. “Where is it?”

You bite your lip to hold back your giddy smile and move your hands towards the belt of your trench coat. You slowly unbuckle it, pealing open your coat to reveal what you’re wearing underneath. You’re dressed in a stunning little number you know he’ll love – all delicate white lace and ribbons. The soft fabric hugs your body in a way that flatters your body so well even you couldn’t believe your eyes when you had put it on. Best of all, it’s a very recent purchase so it’s a set he has never seen before.

Your arousal has made the already thin material of your panties almost sheer and Iida can just about make out the puffy lips of your slick little cunt. His dick twitches to life in his slacks at the lewd sight.

You’re not sure what you expected from your husband once you showed up to his office in nothing but lingerie and heels but the stony, almost-glare he’s giving you is very last on the list. You begin to feel self-conscious when he doesn’t react, shrinking into yourself under his intense gaze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Just as you’re about to cover up, face burning with embarrassment, Iida stops you and beckons you closer, pushing out his chair. Unsure, you walk around the wide expense of his desk to stand directly in front of him, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of your coat.

Iida to face you, silently regarding with the same blank, controlled expression.

“Did anyone see you... like this?” he asks, adjusting his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. His voice is low and strained, and he hopes you don’t think it’s out of anger. Anger is the furthest emotion from his mind right now. It’s taking every ounce of self-control to not bend you over his desk and fuck you senseless.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think so.” You made sure that your coat was secured and fastened properly so that no one would catch even a glimpse of what’s underneath – you think you’d die of embarrassment if someone caught on to what you had planned.

He gives a short nod, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“Well,” Iida says, clearing his throat. “You said this was my gift, stop hiding and let me see you.”

Perking up instantly, you shrug the coat off, allowing it to fall into a heap on the floor. Iida shifts his legs apart and you immediately step between them. You see that he’s not as unaffected as he’s putting on. But before you can comment on the tent he’s pitching, Iida turns your around and sits you on his lap, pressing your ass right up against his straining cock.

He fiddles with the lacy strap of your bra, moving his hand down to cup and squeeze your breast, drawing a quiet whimper from your parted lips. His hand slips further down, across your tummy and down between your thighs, the other goes under your thigh to lift it up and spread you open even more. With a hum, he pets your soaked cunt, rolling your engorged clit over the material of your panties, saturated and sticky with your arousal. The cool air against your soaked flesh makes you shiver in Iida’s hold, pressing back against his broad chest. You moan, thighs closing around his hand, before he pries them open again, commanding you to keep them spread.

“What brought this on, my love?” Iida asks, bending his head to press kisses against your neck and jaw. He pulls your panties to the side, and dips two thick fingers into your wet heat all the way up to the third knuckle. You groan, back arching as you clench tight around the intrusion.

“Mm… I m-missed you,” you reply, just a hint of a pout in your voice. “You’re hardly home anymore.”

“So, all of this is… what? A ploy for my attention?” He continues to fuck you open with his fingers, wet squelch every time he bottoms out. “Have you been that needy?”

You don’t answer, too busy enjoying the feel of Iida’s fingers massaging your walls. You’re never able to reach as deep as he does with your own fingers.

Iida slides his fingers out and delivers a quick spank to your clit that has you keening. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes!” you gasp. “Yes, Tenya. Please!”

You whine when he pulls his wet fingers away to grip your other thigh.

“Help me out, sweetheart. I would, but my hands are full.” He gives your thighs a squeeze.

You reach underneath you and nearly pop the button off in your haste, tugging down the zipper and reaching inside to pull his cock out. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, thick enough that you almost can’t wrap your hand around it fully. You purr in satisfaction as you collect the glob of precum beading the tip and use it to slide your hand up and down his turgid length.

“Be a good girl and put it in,” Iida mutters in your ear, readjusting his grip on your thighs and lifting you up slightly.

You line up the head of his dick with your eager little cunt and as soon as you manage to fit the head in, Iida’s pushing his hips upwards while lowering you down, wasting no time to spear you on his cock.

You don’t know whether it’s the angle or the fact that he hasn’t fucked you properly in a while, but you’re so full you swear you can cum from this alone.He starts up a quick pace, fucking up into you with all the pent up frustration he’s been holding in. It seems you’re not the only one affected by his long absences.

“Harder,” you beg, voice high and reedy.

He is more than happy to oblige, each hard thrust paired with the loud smack of skin on skin contact. The blunt head of his dick kisses the tip of your cervix and you nearly black out.

“T-Tenya, please.” You slide a hand between your legs, swirling your fingers messily around your sensitive little clit. “Please, please, please...!”

You feel the familiar heat building up in the pit of your stomach and you throw your head back, grinding your hips down even harder. You can’t believe you’re close already.

“Cum,” he orders, bouncing you on his dick until you cream all over him, ruining the expensive silk slacks of his suit. Not that it’s a concern for either of you at the moment.

Your body sags, and you lean heavily against Iida’s chest, completely spent but more than satisfied. You don’t even realize that Iida hasn’t cum yet, that he’s still hard inside your spasming little pussy.

You cry out when he starts up again seconds later, pussy too sensitive from your intense orgasm. Whining, you beg for him to slow down, give you a chance to rest and collect your senses but your pleas fall on deaf ears.

You wanted his attention so badly? Well, you’ve got it.

#iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #tenya x reader #bnha x reader #kinktober2020 #qt.kinktober2020

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thesim-tea · 2 years

Text

Tag Game for Historical Simblrs!

Tagge by the lovely @antiquatedplumbobs

1. What has been your favorite time period to play in or which one are you most excited for?

I'm still early on my legacy so for now I would say my favorite is still 1890, because is was a fresh start for me and my tumblr. I'm looking forward to 1920 (especially for fashion), and 1960/70! Cool music, cool style!

2. Do you have a favorite piece of historical cc? (CAS or BB)

I usually do not use cc in my builds, but I eventually will. For now I'm finding especially useful the typewriter from @madameriasims4 great creation! Edit: forgot to mention CAS: @twentiethcenturysims “Darling updo” is my favourite in the game. @happylifesims what can I say? Awesome dresses (cannot wait to use your creation during 1910 and 1920). @gilded-ghosts I’m in love with the dress from “The Stately set”... @vintagesimstress who is on hiatus for now, @linzlu etc...

3. Who is your favorite sim currently?

Currently my heir Luther. But I’ll always have a soft spot for his younger brother Lawrence Junior. I had a story for him as well, but I don't know if I'll ever find the time to do the screenshots. Maybe I'll do a short spin-off, dedicated to Lawrence. Who knows.

4. What is your favorite world?

Brindleton Bay for sure! Henford-on-Bagley is great too!

5. Are you more gameplay or story focused?

Mixture! I have two save files, one for the story and one for the game play. I play the game for a while, then I use the “screenshot” save file to recreate the story in a more realistic way.

6. Do you like to play with pets in your historical saves?

Never had pets for know, apart from the cattle. I’ve to add them... maybe in the future! I love animals in real life, in the sims not so much.

7. What's your biggest immersion breaking pet peeve with the game?

TOWNIES. I'm taking screenshots, perfect light, perfect poses but then... a weirdly dressed townie appears!

8. What's your favorite in-game historical item? (CAS or BB)

I feel like in sims 4 there is not historically accurate specific objects. Some decors are fine, like the "old fashioned camera sculpt", or the "antique tomes sculpt" and so on... there are some "timeless" forniture with a more vintage appearence both in Basegame and in other packs. I'm expecially enjoyng the Country Kitchen kit (great decors fot the kitchen) and Cottage Living pack.

9. What would you like to see as a new pack or asset to the game?

Generation would be great but I really would love to see more sports (tennis, soccer, basketball and so on...) and a REAL vacation pack, with resorts or even cruises! Also I love music, so why there is not an actual playable music career??? I loved the sims 3 music career, with all the concerts and stuff.

10. What pack do you think is invaluable as a historical simmer?

Considering worlds and "build and buy": Cats and Dogs, Get Together, Cottage Living, University. In terms of gameplay probably only Cottage Living!

11. Do you have a favorite mod to enhance historical gameplay?

I don’t, I try to use less mod as possibile. Should I add some?

12. What's your ideal family size for playing?

Probably four, I really like to top my sims careers and master their aspiration.

13. Do you use poses?

A lot! I’ve strated without them... but know...

14. Do you use any overrides in your game?

Not that I remember!

15. Do you, or did you, play off-the-grid during your game?

Yes, for the first generation I did. I may go back to off-the-grid during war time.

16. What lifespan do you play on?

Personalized lifespan, using MCC Comander.

17. What inspired you to start playing a historically?

Well... you know... I’ve a degree in History of Arts and Archeology, so dusty old stuff always fascinated me. Also, I’m a sucker for historical books!

Tagging (again) @sinclairesimblr @pixelnrd and @simblrangel @torrisimstories

#ask #historical simmers #ts4 historical #ask me anything #about me

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travlersjoy444 · 2 years

Text

Fleeting Austice (Over the Garden Wall x Fem!reader) Part 3

*******

Anemoia, book 2

*******

Wirt

There was a new presence in the woods today. I wasn’t sure how, but I felt…something. I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid….There isn’t a lot I know, nowadays. I know my name, though I’ve forgotten it before, I know I’m a poet, and I know that I have to carry this lantern. But I’m not sure how to fill in the blanks…I know that there's something wrong with my head, as I’m usually not….consciously there, but I’ll have brief moments like this one where I regain control of my mind…it’s like living in a dream, I guess, right? My mind floats off…and then I open my eyes somewhere else…..I don’t know, I don’t really dream.

But nonetheless, there was a new presence in the woods today, and for a second, faces flashed into my head. Voices, too. (Y/N), Greg. I don’t know how I know those names, but I know I need to find their owners. I had a funny feeling that my life was about to shift….the winds of change were in the air…I know that this distracts from my current goal. I had my plan all laid out….the woman in the woods promised that I’d be free once I found the tome…I was heading off course, following imaginary voices. But…I’d give anything to just remember. And the voices make me remember….something.

And so I found myself wandering through the snow, barren trees on the horizon, to search for..whoever they were.

Now, I know this is stupid. But a part of me dwells on the words that my captor once uttered…that someday I would be through with this…empty life.

*******

(Y/N)

I stared wide eyed at Greg. What the HECK is going on here…

“It’s too salty.” Sighed the black cat as we entered the house. It was tiny, Beatrice and I had to duck to get through the door. It was just as tiny on the inside, so Bea and I sat on our knees to avoid hitting our heads on the ceiling.

“You can try some, but it’s not very good…” the cat continued.

“I-it’s even saltier because o-of our te-ears!” Sobbed a little squirrel in a rocking chair.

“The…soup? You’re crying…because of soup.” Beatrice groaned.

“Yes.” Said the squirrel through tears.

“No.” said the cat, looking down.

“Yes, we are.”

“No, we’re crying about- we’re crying about Duck.” The cat sighed, stirring the soup.

“Oh, why’re you crying about a duck?” Asked Greg.

“Because Duck made the best soup…we miss Duck!” The squirrel moaned.

“Wait. Why should I care-” Beatrice started. I nudged her.

“Shh, I’m curious about this.” I whispered.

“You’re impossible.” She muttered.

“So, Duck left?” Greg prompted.

“Yes! We got into a fight- Duck wanted to stir our soup, but everyone knows that ducks can’t stir soup! Ducks add salt!” The cat shook it’s tiny fluffy head. “But now I wish we’d let poor ol’ Duck stir. A little soup spill ain’t nothin; like the mess we’re in now…I sure hope Duck is safe out there, with all the witches, wolves, and the Beast….and that pet of his….”

The Beast’s…pet?

Squirrel sighed. “An’ now we’re worried sick, wonder’n what happened to our dear o’l duck…she had a hard life, you know. Once someone threatened to use her in a diabolical ‘banana nut duck bread’, can you imagine?!”

“Oh, how terrible!” I said, nearly positive that it was Greg who threatened to turn her into banana nut duck bread….geez, that night in the cart feels so recent, but to everyone here it’s been…years.

How is that even possible?

How is any of this possible? I mean, I’ve seen weird stuff- from gnomes in the Pacific Northwest to horses that talk, but this just felt…surreal. And Beatrice thought we were dead- Wirt thinks we’re dead! Wirt has done…terrible things without even knowing it was all for nothing…

“So, Grim (Y/N), Beatrice, whattdaya say?”

“Huh?” I snapped out of my thoughts.

“We’re gonna find Duck!”

“No, no we’re not.” Beatrice sighed.

“How about…” I fought with myself. On the one hand, it’d be kind of us, and would make Greg happy…but on the other, I need to find Wirt. Maybe….hmm.

“Sure. Sounds good to me, lemme just talk to Bea real quick-” I tugged her aside.

“Seriously, (Y/N)?” She hissed.

“Yeah, we’re looking for Duck.” I decided. “And if we happen to come across Wirt on the way, well…fancy that!” I winked.

“You- ohhhh.” Beatrice realized what I meant- that we searched for Wirt we might happen to find Duck along the way.

“So, you’ll look for Duck?” The cat said hopefully.

“Sure we will! Now, uh, we’d best be off…”

“Oh, bless you, travelers, bless you. Why, we simply must give you something in return…” The cat searched around. “Perhaps you would like some pumpkin soup?”

“No, the soup is too salty!” The squirrel sobbed. “The poor travelers don’t deserve that!” “Oh, right you are…How about….”

“Do either of you play the clarinet?” I interrupted.

“Oh, that old thing?” The cat waved towards the black case by the fireplace. “Of course not, I don’t have the embouchure for clarinet. That was left here months ago by another traveler.”

“Can…can we have it?” I asked tentatively.

“Might as well, it doesn’t get any use here!”

“Thank you so much!” I grinned.

“Thank you! Safe travels!”

*******

“So Beatrice, (Y/N), where are we going first?”

I shrugged. “Huh, I don’t know, Greg.”

Beatrice sighed. “There's a village west of here, it’s the place where the rumors of the ‘other beast’ started. So that’s where we’re headed.”

“Cool, is that where Duck is?”

I nodded slowly. “...Yes, but…actually no. That’s to say, it’s possible?”

“Oh, that’s good.” Greg nodded. “We’re going to the village to find a duck and bring it back to it’s home! To the town, to the town! I’m following Bea and (Y/N) down, to the town, to the town! Hmmmm….what else…..” He pondered, trying to make a new song.

We walked for another few miles, and it was starting to get dark.

“Wait.” Beatrice paused. I stared out through the tree branches to an empty valley.

“Something isn’t right! The towns supposed to be here, but…” She trailed off as someone appeared from the shadows in the valley.

My heart dropped…I had a weird feeling about this,

“Children!” Called the figure.“You shouldn’t be here, night is approaching….It is approaching……”

I gestured for the others to wait a moment, and headed down into the valley towards the figure.

“Good sir, I’m afraid we’ve nowhere left to go! We’ve traveled all day in search of the town of Noman, but now that we’ve arrived, no one is here but you!”

He shook his head. Upon getting closer, I noticed most of his features were hidden by a hooded cloak. Great.

“You’ve made a grave mistake coming here,” sighed the figure, “But I suppose I’d rather It eat you than my son….”

My heart dropped. I heard twigs snap behind me…

“I’m sorry, what?” I switched to my intimidating voice, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread that washed over me. “Sir, I’m afraid sacrifices aren’t in the cards for tonight. Now, you will either give us shelter or directions, and I’d prefer the latter.”

“Or what?” The man’s laugh quickly turned to a feeble wheeze.

“Or I’ll dispose of you myself.”

The man paled.

I froze. I didn’t say that….

I slowly turned around. The beast.

I heard the man running away, and as soon as he was out of my line of sight, the figure crumpled to the ground. It’s big antlers retracted into its skull, and it seemed to get smaller….

I gasped.

I know this beast…

*******

Wirt

I woke up with my head pounding. Where am I?! I looked around the room. It was filled with natural light, pouring in from a big window with a….is that a juliette balcony? Huh, I’ve always liked those….but what is this place? I turn up in random places without realizing how I arrived all the time now, but…it’s never indoors.

The door swung open.

“Good afternoon, Beast.” I flinched at being called ‘Beast’....ugh.

“You seem to have something up with your head.” Nodded the person. He was old-ish, maybe sixty to seventy, and wore the sort of lab coat Victor Frankenstein wore. “Lucky you found me…” He added, looking me up and down as though measuring a picture for a frame.

“I-...I’m sorry. Who are you?” I said. The words felt weird on my tongue, and I remembered that I hadn’t spoken in months.

“Why, I’m Dr. Fernsby. I’m a neuroscientist, best around these parts, of course…there isn’t anyone else! Oh, and come to think of it, I suppose your family would like to see you? Yes, they did say they…”

Family….nah.

“Oh, well, I don’t think so.” I mumbled. “I don’t have a family, not really, Dr. Fernsby.”

“Then…who are the people who brought you in?”

“I don’t know…how did I get here, anyways?”

The door slammed open all of a sudden, and in the doorway stood a pretty girl with (H/L), (H/C) hair and an oddly familiar sweater.

Actually, it wasn’t just the sweater that was oddly familiar. I…I know that face, somehow. And that expression…

God, Wirt, what if you had died?!

A thought jumped into my head, replaying over and over. It was being said by that girl, with that exact expression. What the heck….

“Hi.” She said, stepping into the room. She pushed past Dr. Fernsby and sat on the bed.

“I’ve missed you, Wirt,” She added, smiling. Everything about her voice just sounds….right somehow. Like coming home after a long hard day, one that leaves you wanting to melt into your blankets…and her voice was like the cup of tea that kept you going through the night. I racked my brain trying to place it…

“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I can’t quite…remember you.”

She drew a sharp breath, looking heartbroken. But she quickly regained her composure, and looked back at me.

“Hmm, I suppose that does complicate things a bit.”

“I….I’m sorry.” I mumbled, wishing I didn’t have to disappoint her…the first person in ages who knew what I was, and felt affection for me all the same….I must have mattered to her, once, for her to have missed me…

She smiled and ruffled my hair, another action that felt effortlessly familiar.

“It’s not your fault, Kitty. We’ll just have to remind you.” Kitty….Grim? What?

She wrinkled her nose and studied me. “First order of business, get you new clothes. Forgive me, but these…are utterly filthy.”

*******

I looked in the mirror. Dr. Fernsby had supplied me with a white collared shirt and some slightly too big pants, and the girl gave me her sweater. She said she took it from me, but I don’t remember owning it….But then, that isn’t too surprising. She still hadn’t given me her name, claiming that I’d remember it in time. I hope I do, I’d really rather not disappoint her again.

“Well, Beast, now that the girl is done playing dress-up, it’s time for SCIENCE.” The doctor grinned.

“Uhm..wha- what?”

“Well, if we access your hippocampus, we can stimulate the electricity of moving neurons and bring back what you’ve forgotten, of course!”

“Yeah!” Said the girl, smiling. “And then we can go home!” She took my hand, eyes shining. I felt myself smile too, her enthusiasm was contagious. I liked her.

“No, lass, the Beast can’t go home!”

She faltered. “What?”

“He’s a beast! And you said that you’re from beyond the Unknown! He can’t leave. It’s too late for that by now!” The man laughed, not realizing the gravity of his statement.

My heart dropped. The girl tightened her grip on my hand.

“There has to be something we can do, sir. He’s still present back home…”

“What does that mean, young lady?” He frowned.

She hesitated. “I-I can’t quite explain. But….mmm. I just…I know there’s a way. There has to be.”

She obviously knew more than she was letting on. I was tempted to ask her, but I decided I’d have more luck without Dr. Fernsby there.

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you lot to handle. Now, let's go down to my lab….”

*******

Beatrice

I looked around the living room. This mansion just gave me…a weird feeling. There were shelves that were full of tools covered in a red substance that was almost definitely blood, and taxidermied creatures with glass eyes that seemed to follow me…ugh.

We had arrived at the dead of night, confused and tired. I was still trying to process it all…First Greg and I had been cornered by some hostile townsfolk, who were trying to sacrifice us to the monster terrorizing their village. Then (Y/N) had caught up to us with our missing friend in tow, and we just…booked it away from there, and ran until we wound up here.

And now Wirt was headed to the lab. The scientist guy said he’d fix him up, examine his….nero-whatevers. In the lab. Here.

It felt bizzare just saying that, but somehow, Wirt was here. In the same building as us.

After all this…everything….

(Y/N) had gone up a while ago to check on him… Speaking of which, (Y/N) hadn’t really said anything since we found him. I guess she’s just been…stunned. Greg seems aware that somethings up, but as per usual, is acting cheerful….ugh, what’s that?!

God, this room is creepy. I got up to go examine whatever it was that caught my eye on the shelf. It was probably nothing, but just in case…

Troubled Birds. It was a book that didn’t look….quite like a book. There was something…off about the dimensions and colors…I tried to pull it out of the shelf.

Instead, the entire shelf swung backwards.

I jumped back. There was a hallway behind the bookshelf.

“Oh, Beatrice, you found an adventure!” Greg said, and ran up to me.

Adventure. Sure.

“No. No adventures, not really…but….”

“Oh. Why not?”

I frowned, still uneasy. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“But what if there’s ghosts there? I still haven’t seen a ghost yet, Beatrice! We need to see a ghost!”

“No, we really don’t.”

“Pffft, of course we do!” Greg said. And then he turned and ran into the dark corridor.

Perfect, now I have to follow Greg into certain death. I sighed and stepped into the darkness.

The first thing I noticed about the hallway was the rooms. None of them had doors, and the insides each had a box of some sort in the center of every dark room. It was always the same, but I kept checking just in case.

I tried to catch up with Greg. I didn’t trust this place, and I wanted to keep him near me to get some peace of mind.

The next thing I noticed was the smell. It was old, and dusty smelling, but that wasn’t all. It was laced with a slight metallic scent….my heart dropped. Blood.

…..Were those footsteps behind me?

I bolted forward after Greg.

“Hey Beatrice, come look!” His voice echoed ahead of me, too far ahead of me. How was he so far?!

I sped up. My footsteps all felt too loud. Like it couldn’t be just me and Greg in the corridor, me and Greg and the dark rooms, the rooms that went on and on and on….

“I found something cool!”

He sounded so far away….

But at last, I reached him. He had led me to a room at the end of the hall. The scent, already strong, was now overpowering. I coughed and looked around.

I thought I was just hot from running, but the center of the room was a glowing furnace. It was dimly lit, and I could just barely make out silhouettes in the shadows. Greg was standing by a wall of buttons and levers, pointing at the figures.

This place felt wrong.

“See! Look!” Greg grinned. “Ghosts!”

“Those….those aren’t ghosts, Greg…” I whispered as I stared out at the sea of people. Automatons. A crude imitation of people. I stood there for what felt like forever, daring one to move. To give me a reason to run.

“Hmm, maybe we should turn on the lights, then we can see that they are ghosts!” Greg said, reaching for a lever.

A light flickered on, illuminating the room. In the light I could see the true size of the room and it- Wait. It was…tiny. There…were only about ten automatons. They were still creepy, but not quite so overwhelming. They were all circled around…something. I hesitantly stepped forward.

“Is it ghosts, Beatrice?”

“No.” I frowned, trying to figure out what was in the circle. The closer I got, the heavier the smell was…

“Oh, then is that dog a ghost?”

I stared at the corpse in the circle uneasily. It wasn’t the body that bothered me so much as the bolts and stitches that covered it…it was wrong somehow, unnatural…

“No, Greg, it’s not a ghost. We’re leaving now, okay? I’m done with this place. We’re gonna get Wirt and (Y/N) and leave.”

“But what about the ghosts?”

“The dog isn’t a ghost.”

“Huh, I guess the only ghost then is that!”

Greg pointed to something over my shoulder.

“Hello, children!” said a voice behind me. “Whatever are you doing down here?”

My blood ran cold.

Dr. Fernsby.

*******

(Y/N)

I studied the results of the tests the doctor had done on Wirt. He was asleep again, clinging to my- no, his sweater.

If everything went well, Wirt should remember a few things, and gradually remember even more. I flipped to the next page.

Apparently his vision of burning the mill down had been just that…a vision. He had described similar instances. The pattern was that everytime he got comfortable in a place, he would accidentally cause some great disaster. A pattern too consistent to be realistic. I had a funny feeling that it was the mind tricks of a certain beast…Ugh. I flipped through the findings…yeah, that fell right in line with the neurological patterns. Fernsby described it as a hallucination….speaking of which, Fernsby had vanished off to find some piece of equipment.

I yawned and leaned back on the headboard of the bed. It had been an eventful twenty four hours….I mean, let’s see what I can add to the list of near death experiences I’ve had so far. One, nearly froze to death on the way to Lorna’s. Two, almost got sacrificed to a crazy cult. Awesome. But on the other hand, I’d reunited with Beatrice, and found Wirt. It almost felt too easy, but I wasn’t complaining.

I wondered what had brought me back here. Was this just a dream? Would I wake up in the hospital, near Wirt’s unmoving body? Was I dying? Had my body just stopped working, sending me right back here? I don’t know. I’m tired of not knowing, but then, this is the Unknown. I can hardly find it in me to be scared of this place anymore. I’m so much more scared that I’ll wake up to the doctors unplugging the life support….

“(Y/N)!” Said a familiar voice.

“Hey Wirt!” I grinned, spinning around to see him. He had bolted upright, and was staring at me wide-eyed.

“You’re….you’re (Y/N)!” He smiled.

“Yeah! It- it worked! Perfect! N-now we just need to get home!” I laughed and grabbed his hand.

“So…we’re..friends?” He said, tilting his head a bit.

“Yes. And we’re not from around here, so we’re going back to Massachusetts. But there’s a problem-”

“(Y/N)! THERE’S A PROBLEM!” Screamed Beatrice, as she threw the door open. “Dr. Fernsby is a crazy evil mad scientist and we need to LEAVE!”

I jumped up. “Where’s Greg?!”

“Right here!” She coughed, as the kid stepped into the room.

“W-what the heck is going on?” Wirt stuttered.

“I have no clue!” I groaned.

“Children, what do you think you’re doing?!” Said the ‘mad scientist.’ Beatrice jumped in front of us, holding her stork shaped scissors like a weapon.

“Getting out of here.” She snarled.

“Well, I’m afraid that just won’t do.” He sneered. “You see, I need your Beast for my experiments.”

“Why?!” I snapped, trying to act as a human shield for Greg and Wirt.

“‘Why’?! So that he can get his memories back, of course!”

“Don’t pretend that you’re trying to help us!” said Beatrice.

“Why wouldn’t I be trying to help you?” He frowned. Huh…he looks legitimately puzzled.

“Well….explain that creepy…dead dog in your secret tunnels!” Bea snapped.

What the HECK.

He sighed. “Well, my dog died.”

“Of what?! The fact that you put screws in his neck?!”

“No, I did that after he died. To bring him back!”

“Wait, so like Frankenstein?” Wirt frowned.

“Oh, you’ve heard of him? Yes, he was quite successful with his cadavers, but he treated his creature so terribly! It only became a monster because of him, you know.”

“But…but then, what were all those dark rooms?” Beatrice spluttered.

“Robots! Obviously, I want them to have special rooms of their own, I wouldn't want them to feel neglected!”

“What about all those automatons surrounding the dog?” She frowned.

“It’s a charging station of course! Electricity can’t run forever, you know.”

Bea sighed. “Okay, you got me. That was it.”

Greg frowned. “So, there weren’t any ghosts?”

“No. Only my robot-guards, they make sure that no one steals my research. And of course, the ghosts of my wife and children who died long ago….”

“This is…creepy…” Wirt whispered to me.

“How….how’d they die?” I asked hesitantly.

His eyes darkened. “They trifled with the Beast. So you see why I must do this, don’t you, Beast?”

“What?” Wirt squeaked.

“Help (Y/N) and Miss Beatrice send you home so that you can never claim another innocent life! Why do you look so nervous?”

“Oh, okay. Thank goodness.” I nodded.

*******

“So, I pondered your question, (Y/N).” Said the doctor as we went downstairs, lagging behind the others. “Why can’t a beast go home? And I remembered something, something I heard a while back. Of the ‘Tome of the Unknown’....It holds every secret, every unwritten rule and loophole of this place. If there’s a way for you to bring your beast back to ‘New England’ as you called it, It’s in that book.”

“How can we get it?” I asked, heart pounding. We might be able to take him home! We might be able to go home!!

“Well, I believe there is a map for it in the Library of Hallow. Now, I could be wrong but…”

“...but it’s a chance. It’s more than we had before.” I smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, allow me to give you a map to the Library, and then you lot can be on your way.”

*******

And we were off, back into the snow. There was still a lot to figure out and a long path ahead of us, but at least now we knew our goal.

And we knew we had a chance.

*******

Author's note: Just an FYI, I'm taking a bit longer to update now that I'm onto book two. Because book two doesn't have the characters following the original OTGW storylines, I have to come up with scenarios all on my own, without the crutch of the source material. This takes more brainstorming and rough drafting, and takes longer to write. So if the fic goes over a week without an update, rest assured, it hasn't been abandoned. I just need a little more time. But uh, yeah. I hope the new plotlines aren't terrible!

#otgwxreader #otgw wirt #over the garden wall #wirt #wirt otgw #wirt x reader #over the garden wall x reader #otgw x reader

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biwenqing · 4 years

Note

Lwj getting married into the jiang sect is just a lot of him having to get used to his husband and brother in law acting like children. They WILL throw each other into the water at least once a day, no they often don't have a reason. Prank wars, lwj learnt to stay out of it when his robes turned hot pink an hour before an important meeting. Food wars to de stress. He hears various versions of I WILL BREAK YOUR FUCKING LEGS at least 7 times a day. Jiang yanli is his only saving grace.

I can't tell you how much I love all of this! I ran to open a document and um, this happened. The title of this could probably be "three times Sect Leader Jiang was (righteously) dunked in the waters off Lotus Pier". Also included some of our favorite Wens because I need them to be safe and happy :D

Lan Wangji had finished his morning meditation and was brewing some tea so it would be ready when his husband awoke. Wei Wuxian was sleeping deeply, the sounds of the river coming in their window like a lullaby. Lan Wangji found he enjoyed the sounds as much as Wei Wuxian seemed to, and was getting used to his new home. There were many lovely things about living on Lotus Pier.

There were a few things that Lan Wangji was... not so fond of, however. One of these let himself in with barely a knock on the door as Lan Wangji carefully added the tea leaves to the hot water.

Jiang Cheng barely glanced Lan Wangji's way, giving a grunt of maybe acknowledgment before going into the bedroom. He returned with Wei Wuxian tossed over his shoulder. Wei Wuxian was protesting loudly at such interruption to his sleep as Jiang Cheng left through the still open front door.

Lan Wangji would have been alarmed if this was the first occurrence of his husband being abducted. Now he just continued to make the tea and listened to the distant splash and swearing the followed. A second splash soon came and he thought he caught a shout of, "I'll break your legs for this!"

Lan Wangji had figured out several things since joining the Jiang family. The most important was that Wei Wuxian and his brother expressed their affection... differently than he was used to. Maybe it was the fact that they had all grown up a little too fast with the war. The fact was that Jiang Cheng, while a sect leader, was still a young man who wanted to goof off with his older brother. Wei Wuxian was more than happy to indulge him in this.

Wei Wuxian appeared, dripping wet but smiling as he shut the door. Lan Wangji had set the table for their breakfast in the time it took him to get out of the water. He went and dried off, returning with a smile still in place. He held one hand behind his back as he leaned down to kiss Lan Wangji's cheek.

"Good morning love. I have something for you," he murmured with another kiss, settling close to Lan Wangji's side.

"Good morning," Lan Wangji said back, feeling a smile tug on his lips. It grew as Wei Wuxian presented him with a beautiful lotus flower, a lovely light purple like a summer sunset. "It is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," Wei Wuxian said back, completely earnest as he always was in his complements and Lan Wangji felt his ears warm. Wei Wuxian reached out a hand to tuck his hair back, exposing an ear and kissing it before turning his focus to breakfast.

They ate in contented silence as if Jiang Cheng's interruption never happened.

[...]

When the Wen's joined Lotus Pier, things in this area didn't get better, nor did they get worse. Lan Wangji quite liked both Wen Qing and Wen Ning; they were pleasant, intelligent people and both clearly cared a great deal for Wei Wuxian. But what this did add was poor Wen Ning was often dragged into whatever current prank war Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were engaged in.

That day, Lan Wangji was settled in quiet study, accompanied by Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing. He had borrowed some books from the Cloud Recesses library the last time he had visited his brother. In addition to the texts he needed to continue his study of musical cultivation, he had brought back some tomes on politics (for Jiang Yanli) and medicine (for Wen Qing). Both women were ideal companions for study. They would sometimes engage in soft debate with each other on matters of sect politics and law, welcoming any input Lan Wangji might have, but not expecting it.

That was the current state of things when the high pitched laughing shriek of little Wen Yuan echoed their way before the boy burst through the door. He went straight for Lan Wangji, crawling onto his lap. Though the boy was wet and muddy, Lan Wangji wrapped his arms around him as Yuan buried his face into Lan Wangji's chest. The boy was giggling, so he wasn't in any type of true distress.

Wei Wuxian was the next one through the door and went to "hide" behind Lan Wangji, looking around his shoulder at the door. His husband as equally muddy. "Lan Zhan, you must protect us!"

Wen Ning appeared third, glancing awkwardly around before carefully taking off his shoes and going to sit beside (and slightly behind) his sister.

"What seems to be the matter?" Lan Wangji asked, raising a brow as he tried to look behind himself. He caught Jiang Yanli's eyes as she hid her laughter behind a sleeve.

"Well, Wen Ning and a-Yuan were helping me in my project to draw all the different kinds of frogs that live with the lotuses," Wei Wuxian explained.

"I catched three frogs!" Yuan reported, holding up three fingers.

"You did! You're so good at counting and frog catching." Wei Wuxian reached around Lan Wangji so he could ruffle Yuan's hair. The boy beamed, and Lan Wangji felt his heart squeeze in a way that was becoming more and more common when he was around both his husband and the little boy. "Anyway, Jiang Cheng showed up and he scared all the frogs away."

Speaking of Jiang Cheng, he was the final one to burst through the door. Jiang Yanli was laughing out right now, as Wen Qing sighed in annoyance. "If you scare my brother, I will end you," she said flatly before Jiang Cheng could come in any further.

"He's not so innocent in this!" Jiang Cheng protested, even as the flush on his face turned into more of a blush. Wei Wuxian stifled a laugh against Lan Wangji's shoulder.

"Excuse me, do I need to remind you of the time he saved your life?" Wen Qing asked, standing. Wen Ning stayed seated and peaked around her legs.

"I repaid that debt!"

"No, your siblings did." Wen Qing stepped forward. Not even bothering to slip on her shoes, she grabbed Jiang Cheng by the ear and dragged him out of the room.

The yelp and splash that came next weren't followed by the usual curses and threats. Or maybe it was, but Lan Wangji couldn't hear over the sound of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli's laugher. Wei Wuxian fell over in his mirth, and Yuan took that as a cue to leave the safety of Lan Wangji's lap to crawl all over Wei Wuxian.

"You both need a bath," Lan Wangji said, closing his books and rerolling scrolls. Standing, he scooped up Yuan and offered a hand to Wei Wuxian.��

His husband took it, springing to his feet and pressing a kiss to Lan Wangji's cheek. "Come on, a-Yuan! Bath time. Then we can have lunch!"

"Yay!" Yuan cheered, loud in Lan Wangji's ear. Much louder than would be permitted in the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji found he was glad that he didn't need to ask the little boy to quiet his joy.

[...]

The Lotus Pier was hosting a meeting between the sects and Lan Wangji found himself feeling almost jealous of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, who were to hide during the entirety of the event. This was certainly unfair of him to think because the reason that the Wen siblings had to hide was due to the great injustice inflicted upon their people. However, Lan Wangji couldn't help the petty thought.

Instead, he was on his way to change into his finest white robe. As he approached the rooms he shared with Wei Wuxian, he could hear the sounds of an argument from within. The front door was open, so Lan Wangji entered his home to find Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian in debate.

"I didn't mean to!" Jiang Cheng was protesting.

"You tell Lan Zhan that!" Wei Wuxian said back.

"Tell me what?" Lan Wangji said, using his most intimidating voice.

"I washed our robes!" Wei Wuxian said, turning with a smile. "Well, I tried to. Someone-" Wei Wuxian shoved Jiang Cheng's shoulder. "-tried to prank me."

"I didn't know Lan Wangji's clothes would be there!" Jiang Cheng said though he wouldn't look Lan Wangji in the eye, glaring instead at the floor.

Lan Wangji had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "What happened to my robes?"

Wei Wuxian vanished into the bedroom, to come out carrying two pairs of Lan Wangji's best robes. The robes that were supposed to be white as the snow in Gusu and were now as pink as a lotus bud. Lan Wangji took a moment to process this, then to mourn the fact that it was far too late to get a message to his brother and ask him to bring replacements.

Lan Wangji turned to Wei Wuxian and asked, "How long until the guests arrive?"

"We probably still have until afternoon," Wei Wuxian said, his expression turning from amused to curious.

"Good." Plenty of time to get ready still. Lan Wangji crossed the room and grabbed Jiang Cheng's arm. Jiang Cheng was already dressed in his elaborate robes and Lan Wangji didn't even try not to wrinkle them.

"Hey, wait!" Jiang Cheng said as Lan Wangji tugged the man out of his house. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet," Lan Wangji ordered, using the tone he used to when he caught other disciples breaking the rules. He marched them to a suitable location, Jiang Cheng still protesting, threatening him, and halfheartedly apologizing. Letting Jiang Cheng go, Lan Wangji gave him a cold look and then pushed.

The shock on Jiang Cheng's face when he realized a second too late what was happening was more than worth whatever trouble he might get in for pushing a sect leader into the water. As was Wei Wuxian's full-body laugh that had him leaning against Lan Wangji in order to stay standing.

#wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #wen qing #wen ning #lan yuan #i made a tag for this au now:#lwj on lotus pier #my fic #a talks #a answers #yunmeng-shuangjie #jiang sibs #wen sibs #wuxian's sibling collection #wen sibs and wei wuxian

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beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

no choir (7/7)

AO3 Link

Deep in the sprawling tangle of streets in Zadash, there sat a coffee shop. But this shop was unlike any other in the city—or in the world. Their menu hosted a standard fare upon first glance. They sold Americanos, café latte, mochas, various teas, flat whites, and an array of flavors. A long-standing sign in the front window boasted the best “Caramel Frappuccino in Wildemount” with an official-looking stamp in the corner.

But upon further inspection, tucked beneath the chalkboard with flavor add-ins, was what made this place truly unique. You could order an extra shot of charisma with your flat white, two pumps of focus to your iced latte, or even a sprinkle of luck to your hot chocolate.

Yasha, traveling under the mantle of Kord, had never seen anything quite like this. The sign above the door dubbed the shop Cobalt Coffee.

The barista behind the counter looked up at the quiet creak of the door permitting Yasha’s entry. He smiled politely at her and remained quiet as she scanned the menu with a curious eye. The shop boasted a handful of tables, two of which sat occupied at the moment, so Yasha took her time.

When she stepped up to order, the Drow behind the counter smiled a little more.

“I’ll take an Americano, please.”

The barista—who wore a nametag Yasha now saw said ‘Essek’—raised an eyebrow at her.

“Any add-ins?”

Yasha hesitated, mismatched eyes flicking to the inconspicuous board in the corner again.

“Some cream for calming, maybe?”

Essek nodded and turned away to start on her drink. Yasha deflated as she stepped back from the counter, cheeks hot with embarrassment. She felt foolish, ordering a drink to take the edge off in such a strange way. But from Essek’s reaction, it seemed stranger here to order a drink without a foolish sounding ingredient added in.

Kord had asked Yasha a few nights back to chase down a group of heretics that were wrecking havoc along the Glory Run Road. She was still tracking them down, but Yasha could tell she was getting close. The tavern owner she had spoken to just this morning recalled some faces she had described. He pointed her in the right direction and assured Yasha they had less than a day’s lead on her. Stopping at this shop, however, was a detour she decided upon for herself.

“One Americano with calming cream,” Essek called to Yasha quietly. She stepped up to grab her drink, taking a sip, almost on instinct. The rush of soothing sweetness that flooded her veins and unlocked the tension in her muscles was disorienting. Yasha didn’t know if it was actual magic or merely a placebo effect, but she indeed felt better.

“Thank you,” Yasha said, reaching for her coin purse.

Essek accepted her payment with a smile and waved as Yasha exited the shop.

Yasha found herself back in Zadash a little over a week later. Not for any reason, more on her way through after dealing with Kord’s heretics. She was content to get lost among the tangle of streets, the bustle of the crowd, and wound up staying for a few days.

Somehow, she found Cobalt Coffee again, even though she didn’t remember looking for it.

There was a different barista behind the counter today. The man was gangly and tired looking, his red hair tied back in a loose ponytail that fell over one shoulder as he read a book propped on the counter. As it was early afternoon, the café was empty. A speckled cat lay curled into a fluffy ball near the barista’s elbow, purring softly in the quiet.

He glanced up distractedly as Yasha approached the counter, his attention clearly locked on the tome.

“Ah, hello,” he muttered, accent thick. “How can I help you?”

For all the surety Yasha walked into this café with, she hesitated. She remembered Essek had seemed perplexed by her lack of requested add-ins last time, and Yasha didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. But it seemed ridiculous to ask for an add-in that she had no use for.

As she scanned the menu, Yasha’s gaze caught on something, an idea popping into her head.

“An iced latte with one pump of slumber, please,” Yasha said.

Her dreams from Kord were always confusing—symbolic and silent most of the time. The thunder could either be his rumbling tenor or merely thunder, and the frequency was extremely lacking. Perhaps with a little extra assistance, Yasha might have more luck with those dreams.

Her thoughts distracted her last time she was here, so Yasha hadn’t watched Essek actually make her coffee. This time, though, the barista (the handwriting had been messy, but she’s fairly certain it said ‘Caleb’) held her attention. Yasha tracked his movements as he went about making the coffee, movements precise and sure.

He poured her drink into a to-go mug and Yasha wondered where this magical add-in had come along during the brewing process. But then he took the mug and walked over to a row of syrup dispensers. He set the mug beneath one, made a complex series of hand motions that produced tiny, glowing arcane circles, and then added a pump of syrup to Yasha’s drink.

“Here you go,” Caleb muttered as he slid the coffee mug across the counter.

Perplexed, Yasha merely nodded her thanks and paid. Caleb turned to go back to his book and paused.

“Have you ever had this drink before?”

“Uhm…no?” Yasha said, hesitant.

“I would suggest waiting until you get wherever you are staying before drinking that, then. It is a fast-acting spell. The magic will hold in the coffee for a few hours, but once you drink it, the magic moves quickly.”

“Oh, thank you,” Yasha said. She gave him a half wave, unsure if they were at that level of customer-server relationship, before scurrying from the shop.

Her dreams did not end up summoning Kord because of the magic coffee, but it was one of the best sleeps Yasha had in a long time.

The third time Yasha came upon the coffee shop, she was looking for it. Kord had not contacted her in weeks, and she worried she had done something wrong. There had been no dreams, no storms, not even a passing grey cloud to reassure her. She wasn’t sure what the coffee shop might offer her, but perhaps it was the familiarity she sought.

Pushing into Cobalt Coffee, Yasha found yet another barista behind the counter. Her nametag bore big, blocky writing that dubbed the woman ‘Beau’. There were a few other customers mulling over their own orders at the scattered tables. As Yasha approached the counter, scanning the add-in menu, she wondered what she might manage today.

“What can I do for ya?” Beau asked, leaning on the counter and smirking up at Yasha.

“Could I get a flat white with a shot of luck, please?”

Yasha expected Beau to turn away and start making her drink—just like Essek and Caleb did. But she raised a sharp brow at Yasha and gave a quick huff of laughter.

“Nah, that’s not what you need. Hang tight.”

Baffled, Yasha watched Beau whirl away from the counter in one fluid motion to brew coffee. After a moment, she remembered to step away and to the side in case anyone walked in and needed the menu. But it was all on autopilot.

Neither of the other baristas challenged what she ordered, so Yasha didn’t know if she should say something. This was…unprecedented.

Beau was quick-footed and slight handed behind the bar, mixing and measuring and swirling with all the force of a storm. Yasha couldn’t help but to watch her, enthralled.

After a few moments, Beau came back to the counter and slid the coffee toward Yasha with a devilish grin.

“Flat white with what you need,” Beau said with a wink.

Before Yasha could respond, the door to the shop opened, grabbing Beau’s attention. The barista lit up and went back to the other side of the counter.

“Hey there, Fjord! The usual?”

“H-How much do I owe you?” Yasha remembered to say, somehow finding her voice through her flailing.

“It’s on the house!” Beau waved Yasha off, already working on this Fjord’s drink.

Yasha took her drink after hesitating for a moment, unsure what she was about to experience. Ducking from the store, she took a careful sip and felt a subsequent rush through her veins. Blinking against the surge of confidence that coiled through her limbs and rushed into her head, Yasha turned on a sharp heel and made her way toward Kord’s temple nearby.

She had a god to talk to.

Yasha stayed in Zadash for longer than she meant to. She told herself it was the lack of direction offered by the Storm Lord. She told Essek and Caleb she was on an extended visitation on behalf of her god. Beau never asked out loud, but her impossibly blue eyes did every time Yasha walked into Cobalt Coffee. But Beau also grinned more genuinely each time Yasha came in. She also never got Yasha’s order right.

They traded small talk that became progressively more. Snippets of history passed like a mug over the counter, snatches of truth stirred in with idle conversation. Deeper truths and darker coffee accompanied early morning visits in an otherwise empty shop. It was strange for Yasha to do this, especially after Zuala, and more so after she told Beau about Zuala. But she trusted Beau with these fragments as much as she trusted her to get her order wrong in the right way. It became easier as days passed.

Every time Yasha tried to order a drink with a magical add-in, Beau would shake her head and tell her she needed something else. Yasha had given up on the thought of protesting. The obvious confidence booster Beau gave her the first time ended with a vivid dream from Kord that same night, telling Yasha he had no current task for her. Then there was the latte with a shot of luck added in that ended with Yasha bumping into a vendor selling clothes almost identical to the ones Yasha misplaced the day before. The last drink had a spike of focus, lending Yasha the clarity she needed to perform a long, grueling ritual to the Storm Lord.

One day, Yasha lingered in the café. Beau was behind the counter and the tables were empty, the store quiet. Her drink must have had a sprinkle of bravery, or perhaps Yasha had grown comfortable enough with Beau to cast aside hesitation. Regardless, she found conversation easier than normal, her hesitations all but nonexistent.

“I’ve never seen you do magic over the drinks. How do you cast?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Beau said with a dismissive wave. “Haven’t got a lick in my bones.”

“Then…” Yasha trailed off, startled. Were all the drinks placebos? But they couldn’t be…Yasha knew what magic felt like.

“Caleb and Essek pre-enchant the ingredients before my shifts,” Beau explained, a smile curling up the corner of her mouth. “The magic holds longer in the ingredients than it does on people. All I have to do is add it to the drinks and voila.”

“Oh,” Yasha looked down at her café mocha.

“You thought my drinks were bullshit, didn’t you?” Yasha looked up at Beau, panicked, until she saw the teasing smirk.

“No.” Yasha rushed to defend herself anyway, her cheeks flaming. “I just…I don’t know.”

Beau laughed, loud and cheerful. Somehow, Yasha understood Beau wasn’t laughing at her expense.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Beau chuckled. “And I’m glad you trust me with your drinks. Most people tell me I’m an asshole or to fuck off.”

“I think you have magic,” Yasha said. Beau blinked at her, head tipping to the side a little. “You always seem to know just what I need.”

It was Beau’s turn to blush as she blinked wide-eyed at Yasha. She took a sip of her mocha, never taking her eyes off Beau from behind the rim of her mug. Beau swept a look over Yasha’s relaxed posture and tried for a casual stance.

“Maybe I’m misinterpreting or overstepping, but would you like to get dinner with me tonight? I know the guy who cooks at the tavern down the street. Best food you’ve ever tasted.”

Yasha smirked into her mug, attempting to hide her blush. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#cr #critical role #beauregard lionett #yasha #beauyashaweek2021 #beauyasha #writing #my writing

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libertyreads · 2 years

Text

April TBR--

The month of April is going to be just as chaotic as all of the other months this year have been. But I’m hoping to read nine books this month, somehow. About a third of them are shorter fiction and the rest are full length novels--or, you know, just straight up tomes. Let’s check out the books.

Comics--

1. Giant Days Volume 13 by John Allison-- I’m getting so close to finishing this comic series and I’m sad about it. But this is a series about a group of friends at university together in the U.K.

2. Lumberjanes Volume 13: Indoor Recess by Shannon Watters-- This comic series follows a group of girls from the Roanoke cabin at Miss Qiunzilla Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hard-Core Lady Types. They deal with all sorts of supernatural creatures and bond over handmade friendship bracelets.

Novella/Short Story--

1. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Louis Carroll-- This is a Children’s Classic that is on my 40 Books Before 40 list so I’ve got to read it. One day Alice sees a white rabbit take a watch out of its waistcoat and decides to follow it. Insanity ensues.

Novels--

1. Starry-Eyed Love by Helena Hunting (NetGalley)-- This is book #2 in a companion romance series about three sisters who run a hotel in Colorado and find love. Book 1 was friends to lovers and book 2 seems to be about two people who must work together and who can’t cross that line in their professional relationship

2. The Change by Kirsten Miller (NetGalley)-- This one was pitched to me as Big Little Lies meets The Witches of Eastwick. The Goodreads calls this a “knife-sharp feminist revenge fantasy” which is about three women who seem to develop powers thanks to a midlife crisis of some sort. As we found out with The Count of Monte Cristo, I love a good revenge story.

3. My Favorite Half-Night Stand by Christina Lauren (Kindle)-- I’m starting to get into this writing duo’s backlist. This one was cheap on Kindle a couple of weeks ago so I picked it up. I always read their books really quickly so I might slot this one in between the two tomes on my TBR for the month. But this one has a little You’ve Got Mail vibes plus friends to lovers.

4. Hench by Natalie Zina Walschots-- How we got here--with this book being put onto my TBR-- is actually pretty funny. I saw that one of my favorite booktubers just did NOT enjoy this book, but everything she disliked about it was something I would enjoy so...add to cart. I’ll give you a section of the GoodReads synopsis: “Anna does boring things for terrible people because even criminals need office help and she needs a job. Working for a monster lurking beneath the surface of the world isn’t glamorous. But is it really worse than working for an oil conglomerate or an insurance company? In this economy?” So. Much. Yes.

5. House of Sky and Breath by Sarah J. Maas-- A continuation of a series, HoSaB is where I hope the story really starts to take off. There was a ton that happened in the first book, but I feel like this next one will give us an expansion on the world. This is an Adult Epic Fantasy series that features all of the supernatural creatures we know and love.

6. Cibola Burn by James S.A. Corey-- Book #4 in the Expanse series by a writing duo. I don’t even know where to start with this one. So far I’ve read three novels and four novellas centered around this vast, vast universe. Mostly, we follow the crew of the Rocinante as the universe around them expands and chaos ensues. (Was that vague enough? I think that was vague enough.)

Overall, I’m really excited about the books on my list. Maybe not the Alice in Wonderland, but it’s short. We’ll get through it. I’ve got a mixture of sci-fi, fantasy, romance, comics, and even a classic on this TBR. Not bad.

#April tbr #monthly tbr #to be read #to be read pile #tbr pile #bookish #booklr #bookstagram #bookblr #books #flat lay #house of sky and breath #Cibola burn #Alice's adventures in wonderland #hench #giant days #lumberjanes

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ambersock · 3 years

Text

On the Edge of Forever

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lucifer (Cassifer)

Summary: Sam has a plan to deal with the Darkness. Dean is definitely not going to like it.

Word Count: 4095

Warnings: Angst, Minor Sam Whump, Swearing, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues

A/N: Takes place in Season 11, after 11.10 The Devil in the Details. More notes at the end.

Now: Dean

Baby’s tires squeal in protest as Dean uses up a month of tread taking yet another turn too fast, her back-end fishtailing with only intermittent traction keeping her from spinning out. He’ll apologize to her later. Dean slams the accelerator down as he exits the curve and hits 90 on a straight section of the backwoods road on the outskirts of a town probably called Where The Fuck Are We We’re Lost. He starts to recognize landmarks from the last time he was here almost three years ago; he’s close. Not close enough.

He hurtles towards his destination, praying to who the hell knows what (because, really, there’s nothing out there that gives a shit, is there?), that he makes it in time to stop his idiot brother from doing an idiotic thing. Because he idiotically let his brother go to talk to fucking Lucifer, and of course Lucifer got inside his head. And here he is again, wracking his brain to figure out what the hell he can possibly say to convince Sam to abandon his insane plan.

Five days ago: Sam

Ever since the train wreck that was supposed to be a “safe” visit to the Cage to ask for Lucifer’s help against the Darkness, Sam has been replaying the Lucifer-guided tour of his worst fuck ups over and over on an endless loop, hoping that repetition and whiskey will numb him just a little more each time. For the hundredth time Sam curses his hubris, thinking he would even register on God’s radar, let alone that He would answer his prayers and send him visions. For the hundredth time he curses himself for being so naïve that he never suspected that the visions were just a lure from Lucifer to reel him in, break him down, and use him as a ride out of the Cage. And he hates himself for how close he had come to caving in. More than once.

On his third shot of whiskey and his umpteenth rerun through his trail of regrets, it hits Sam: within the chain of events of disaster begetting calamity begetting catastrophe, there is one moment in time where it could have easily all fallen apart. One small delay, one broken link, would cause a cascade failure and drastically alter everything that came after. He can’t help fantasizing, over and over, about all of the different little things could have happened that would have changed the entire outcome. If only.

On his fourth shot of whiskey, Sam remembers the sigil that allowed Henry Winchester to travel through time, and he huffs out a laugh.

On his fifth shot of whiskey, Sam staggers to the archive room and starts pulling books.

******

Sam continues to stare at the passages describing the Enochian time travel spell. The task he’s set himself is a flame that has both sustained him and consumed him for days on end. There’s a tree’s worth of paper covered in notes scattered across every horizontal surface, held down by mostly empty coffee mugs distributed randomly around the cramped space. His eyes are dry and red, an eyestrain headache thrums in the back of his skull, and his back is aching from being hunched over musty tomes for hours at a time attempting to deconstruct and reverse engineer the spell, to adapt it to his specific purpose. He’s not sure when he slept last, and Dean has started to give him those sideways I-know-something’s-eating-you looks which means he’s got limited time before Dean drags him out of the bunker “for his own good”. Sam forces himself to clear his mind of everything except the patterns of Enochian writing in front of him. He’s close, he thinks he’s found the right figures, he just needs to understand how to combine them with the original blood sigil. As Dean would say, he’s on the one-yard line and it’s time to push through it.

Hours later something finally clicks like a circuit closing in his brain, and suddenly the pattern of the lesser symbols within the larger whole makes sense to Sam. The solution is simple and elegant, and it’s so obvious to him now that he can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. He adds the figures to a drawing of the original blood sigil and he knows, just knows, that this is going to work. He allows himself to luxuriate in the endorphin rush that accompanies success, the feeling that he’s about to score a win. For the first time since he threw himself into the Cage, he feels like he’s finally doing something right.

The only problem now is finding the right way to tell Dean. He’s going to need some time and distance, a head-start to get out in front of Dean’s inevitable knee-jerk reaction, because Dean is definitely not going to like this. Even if it was his idea.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

It was a stroke of luck, really, that Lucifer landed Castiel as a vessel instead of Sam as he had originally intended. Dean might have caught on to Lucifer-wearing-Sam, but it was just too easy to pass himself off as the besotted pet angel when Dean had caught him tearing through the records. A contrite little “I’m sorry Dean” coupled with a soulful look and Dean was sold. It is surprisingly so much easier to masquerade as someone else topside than it ever was in the Cage. He never could fully convince Sam that it was Dean who was carving out his organs.

Fun aside, there is now a possible monkey wrench in Lucifer’s carefully laid and, so far successful, bid for freedom. He stares at the disarray of notes decorated with Enochian symbols strewn all over the small bunker storage room by his erstwhile vessel, and can’t dismiss the growing possibility that everything is about to unravel.

“Oh Sammy-boy, what are you up to?”

His vessel has been mucking around with a time-travel sigil, and it seems like he’s pretty far along. Logically, Sam would be looking to prevent the release of the Darkness, which also certainly means undoing the events leading to the damage to the Cage that allowed Lucifer to escape. There are two lessons he files away for later: one, never speak Enochian in front of a chew toy; two, sending Sam Winchester on a guilt trip tends only results in a manic attempt on his part to fix things, which is exactly how Lucifer ended up back in the Cage the second time. He takes a moment to appreciate the irony of how tormenting Sam with his past regrets might now colossally backfire on him. He questions whether it was really worth it just to see Sam squirm like that once again, but then he can’t keep a smile of contentment from spreading across his face.

Yes, yes it was. Definitely worth it.

So now to the problem at hand: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel has other important, and definitely more amusing, things he needs to attend to, such as feeding Crowley his own intestines. But this potential threat to his plans is not something he can abide. He mulls over the merits of just disintegrating Sam—not very satisfying, but efficient—when he feels a tickle from a small, dark corner of his consciousness. He sighs in irritation.

“What do you want, Castiel?”

I believe I can help.

“Yeah, not really buying that.”

Give me five minutes, and I promise that Sam will no longer be of concern.

Lucifer is loath to cede control, but at the same time his curiosity is piqued. He can always return to Plan Disintegrate later. Or maybe he’ll think of something more entertaining while he’s waiting.

“Five minutes.”

Castiel takes out his phone and picks Dean out of his contacts. As Dean picks up, Castiel reaches for the page holding the altered blood sigil.

“Dean… I’m afraid your brother is planning to do something very foolish…”

Earlier: Dean

“You’re going to what?”

“I’m going to fix this. Fix the Darkness. I figured out a way to take Abaddon off the board in the past. No Abaddon, no Mark of Cain. No Mark, the Darkness stays locked up. Kevin lives. Charlie lives. It’s a no-brainer.”

Dean is standing in the room where Sam had been doing his clandestine research, now devoid of the notes that Castiel had described. After 17 frantic, unanswered calls to Sam, who had gone missing all night, Sam has finally called back and Dean knows that something’s seriously off. He sounds eerily upbeat, which immediately sets off Dean’s alarm bells given how shaken and preoccupied he had been after coming back from the near-disastrous visit to the virtual Cage. Whatever Sam’s planning, Dean is pretty sure he’s not going to like it, and Sam’s not exactly forthcoming with details. Either Dean needs to get Sam to spill, or he at least needs to get a trace on his phone and figure out where he is.

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to screw with time? Mothra Effect, or whatever? And if you go back and meet yourself, won’t the universe, like, explode or something?”

“Butterfly Effect. And I’m not going back, I’m sending something back. Seriously, Dean, do you really think I can possibly screw up the time line any worse than The End of Everything?”

Dean doesn’t have a good response to that, so he switches the topic to keep Sam talking. “So how, exactly, are you gonna take Abaddon out without the Mark and the First Blade? You planning to send her one of your documentary podcasts and bore her to death?”

There’s a huff of exasperation on the other end and Dean swears he can hear Sam roll his eyes. “Hilarious. Look, I’ve found another way.”

“Then tell me where you are and I’ll come help.”

Silence.

Then, “Don’t worry Dean, I’ve got this. It’s an easy spell. You should keep researching the Darkness in case this doesn’t work.”

Sam being evasive confirms that Dean has good reason to be suspicious about this plan, but the trace is still going and Dean plays for more time.

“Don’t worry? Might as well tell me not to breathe. Let me guess: you’re sending a bomb back to blow Abaddon to fucking bits so we can’t sew her head back on.”

“…Huh. Interesting idea, but there’s too much risk that I’d end up blowing up one of us. Anyway, it’s a blood spell. Whatever goes back has to be infused with DNA so that it can latch onto the same DNA. I’m just sending some cloth back. Like I said, it’s simple.”

Dean gives in to his growing irritation at Sam’s caginess and decides to go for the direct assault.

“Sam. What aren’t you telling me?” Dean already has his suspicions of what Sam isn’t telling him; there’s only one way he can think of that takes Abaddon out of play and saves Kevin. He’s hoping he’s wrong. He’s also dying to know how time travelling cloth comes into this.

“Don’t get mad.”

“Sam.”

“Look, just promise you’ll hear me out, okay?”

“SAM.”

Dean can hear Sam take a breath, like he’s getting ready to plunge into deep water. “…I’m going to make sure I finish the third Trial.”

There it is. Damn it.

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE.”

Click.

Sam disconnects before the trace finishes, but Dean doesn’t need the trace to know where to find him. He hauls ass to the garage where the Impala is waiting.

Now: Dean

Dean stands on the brake and Baby skids to a halt next to the car Sam had appropriated, sitting in front of the old, decrepit church. It’s exactly as he remembered it last, like it’s been frozen in time waiting for their return. Overgrown bushes still cling to the rotting siding, and stained glass still litters the ground from the blown-out side window. The only thing missing is the shower of angelic fireballs cascading toward the earth with Sam dying by his side, an image that perversely reminds him of watching fireworks in a field with next to his little brother.

The last time they were here, Sam was half out of his mind with fever and remorse, and Dean’s desperate I’m-Your-Big-Brother-You-Have-To-Do-What-I-Say tone had actually, thankfully, gotten through to him and Sam had backed down. He can’t believe that he has to talk Sam down from the same fucking ledge again, only it’s worse this time because Sam is laser focused on his mission to fix the problem. This time, emotional pleas and yelling and demanding aren’t going to work. This time, so help him, the only way Dean will be able to talk Sam out of this will be to throw logic at him.

Dean launches himself out of the Impala and bursts through the doors of the church to see Sam sitting, chin in hand, in the chair that once held a nearly human King of Hell. A crimson stain is spreading on a strip of cloth that he’s holding to his arm, and there is a bowl of already-mixed spell ingredients on the floor in front of him. Sam has clearly been waiting for Dean.

“Well, that was quick.”

Dean, bent over huffing, heart still pounding from breakneck drive here, is seriously tempted to punch Sam.

Before Dean can take a deep enough breath to start in on forcefully explaining to Sam how idiotic this is, Sam launches into his sales pitch. “Look Dean, I know what you’re going to say, but just listen. I’m not throwing my life away on some impulsive, reckless act. I need you to understand that, that’s why I waited for you. I’ve had days to think this through. This endless cycle of crossing lines we’ve got no business crossing, of throwing away the world to save each other, this is where it all started, and I can stop it before it starts.”

“Damn it Sam, are you even capable of coming up with a plan where you don’t die? Closing up Hell wasn’t worth your life then, and it’s not worth it now—”

“Isn’t it though? I mean, my insides were going to be deep fried whether or not I finished it. You were right when you said you shouldn’t have pulled me back. Look at everything that came after—Kevin, you becoming a demon, and—and the things that I had to do to get you back, to remove the Mark… getting Charlie killed… and how many people died when the Darkness infected that town? I mean, how can you tell me that saving all of them isn’t worth it?”

Dean feels a knot growing in his stomach because he knows damned well that it wasn’t Lucifer who got into Sam’s head. It was the Mark that told Sam that he should have been on the pyre instead of Charlie. It was the Mark that told Sam he should have died finishing the Trials. It was the Mark that told Sam that he was evil. It had said all of this to Sam for his crime of saving Dean from an eternity of suffering.

But it was Dean who never apologized, never tried to set things right.

They have both said and done abhorrent things to each other while under the control of some entity or force, and there has always been an unspoken understanding between them that they don’t take it personally. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, Dean usually gets mad, leaving Sam to trail after him afterwards apologizing profusely. But Sam always brushes these incidents aside and moves on without a word. Hell, the first thing Sam had done after the hammer episode was to go out and get Dean a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and three different pies.

But this… this has really gotten to Sam. He didn’t just dismiss it like he did when they were under the influence of the Siren. He buried it instead and let it set down roots and infest every corner of his brain. And when Sam gets like this—like after he set Lucifer free, like after he found out what he had done while he was soulless—he just can’t let it go until he does something to atone for it. This is ironically what Dean both most admires and most infuriates him about his little brother: his unwavering determination to make things right and his absolute faith in their ability to do so. More than once he has carried Dean along in his wake by sheer willpower when all Dean wanted to do is crawl into a bottle. But these crusades never end well for Sam, and the one thing that Dean will never be able to protect Sam from is himself.

Sam crosses over to the oversized wooden double doors at the entrance, already adorned with the augmented blood sigil. He winds the cloth through both handles and ties it securely as blood continues to ooze from the cut on his forearm. Dean gets what Sam is doing now. He’s using the spell to send the blood-infused cloth back in time, homing in on his own blood in the past, to hold the doors shut back then. Dean had barely gotten to Sam in time to stop him from curing Crowley, and if it had taken him just a few more seconds to push through the door it would have been over. Will have been over.

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil on the door starts to glow dimly, and the reality that This Is Happening hits Dean like cold water in the face. He had every intention of trying to talk Sam out of this with a reasonable, adult discussion, because he knows damned well that Sam doesn’t respond to orders being yelled at him. It all flies out the window at that moment and he’s barking at Sam like a drill sergeant, because if he doesn’t, he’d be breaking down instead. He grabs Sam’s arm and spins him around.

“What the hell, Sam? You know that nothing I said while I had that thing on my arm counts. You can’t seriously believe that I meant any of—”

Sam cuts him off, his gaze intense, his voice fervent. “It’s true, Dean, what you said. Mark or not, it’s the truth. I chose to cross those lines; I chose to let the Darkness out. You told me not to, and I did it anyway. So this is me stepping up and taking responsibility. If I’ve got a chance to undo all of this, I have to take it. And right now, it’s the only play we’ve got.”

Angry words propelled by desperation shoot out of Dean before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you said about your visions of the Cage, and how did that work out for you?”

Sam visibly flinches and pulls away from Dean as his expression hardens. “Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil blazes.

This is not at all what Dean intended. He came here to talk Sam back from the edge, and instead he’s pushing him toward it. Dean swallows his anger and it tastes like acid going down, and all that remains is panic.

“Sam, just stop. I don’t care what came out of my mouth when I had the Mark, it’s all bullshit. Sam, you don’t need to do this—”

“Yeah, Dean, I really do. I wasn’t strong enough to make the right choice then, but I can do it now.”

Dean flounders for whatever magic words he needs to get through to Sam and comes up empty. He does the only thing he can think of to shock some sense into him or, preferably, to knock him cold so that he shuts the fuck up and can’t finish the spell. Dean’s fist connects with Sam’s jaw, propelling him backwards. Sam goes down, sprawling on the floor, but he’s not out. He sits up, hand to jaw, and Dean expects to see shock or anger on Sam's face, but all he sees is compassion. And Dean knows that he’s lost.

“Sammy, don’t—"

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

A blinding light envelops the cloth holding the doors shut.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

Castiel ends the call after warning Dean about Sam’s intentions. He takes a marker to one of the added symbols and alters it slightly. He freezes as Lucifer gets back in the driver’s seat.

Lucifer asks suspiciously, “And what exactly are you doing with this, Castiel?”

I’m just disrupting the sigil. The change I made will prevent the spell from accounting for the current position of the Earth relative to its position within the—

“Summarize, Poindexter.”

With the change I’ve made, whatever object Sam is sending back will end up in space. Sam will think that his alteration failed, and he won’t interfere with your plans. You would know if I was lying.

“So… I’m trying to understand this. You’re helping me by sabotaging Sam’s work… why, exactly?”

To eliminate your motivation to kill my friend.

Lucifer considers Castiel’s response. “Huh. We’ll see.”

I can still expel you.

“Now Castiel, we both know that’s an empty threat.”

Castiel is silent for a moment. Then:

It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world—

“Alright, alright. Just kidding. Grow a sense of humor.”

Now: Dean

The cloth binding the door handles is gone, but as far as Dean can tell, nothing else has changed. Sam is still on the floor, a stunned expression on his face that would be comical under any other circumstances, and all Dean can think is thank fucking God, and he starts to wonder if maybe there isn’t something out there intervening on his behalf after all.

“I don’t… it should have… it didn’t work.” Sam looks around in dazed confusion for a moment before pushing himself to his knees, and he looks up at Dean, eyes filled with defeat. Dean can’t stop the memory from superimposing itself in his mind of Sam kneeling in front of him, resigned in his acceptance of Dean’s judgment of him, waiting for the scythe to swing.

“I’m sorry...” Sam apologizes for not being dead.

Dean thinks he’s going to be sick.

He drops to Sam’s level and doesn’t know whether to shake him or maybe hit him again. He pulls Sam to himself instead and holds onto him like he’s going to blink out of existence if he lets go. Sam doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t respond.

Dean knows that there is something that Sam needs to hear, something he should have said weeks ago. Dean hasn’t been able to tell him, because it’s selfish and the good guys aren’t supposed to be selfish. The good guys are supposed to put the rest of the world first, and happily throw themselves into oblivion for “the greater good”. He keeps his grip on Sam because he doesn’t want to see Sam’s reaction to what he’s about to say; he’s not sure what Sam will think of him afterwards.

“What you said… after you risked the world for me, when you said that you’d do it again in a second…”

Sam tenses in his arms, and Dean takes a breath.

“Sammy, that wasn’t evil. That was the best fucking moment of my life.”

The statement hangs there for a few heartbeats. Then Sam relaxes, lets his chin drop to Dean’s shoulder, and tentatively folds his arms around him. Dean feels him starting to shake.

“I wanted to—I couldn’t save them.” Sam’s words fall out of him between hitched breaths.

“I know Sammy.”

“It should have been me up there instead of—”

“Don’t.”

All of the mourning that Dean hadn’t allowed Sam to express as they watched Charlie’s body burn, all of the grief that Sam has held bottled up ever since pours out of him then, and Sam clings to Dean like a drowning man to a life preserver. He doesn’t know how long they stay there. His knees are aching and his legs are falling asleep but he doesn’t care because Sam is still here and he’s alive. He waits until the tremors slow and finally stop, then slowly pulls back.

“Hey, you don’t get to put this all on yourself. I’m the one who took the Mark without reading the warning label. We’re in this together. We’ll figure this out, both of us.”

Sam just nods numbly.

“Now let’s get out of here before we hit menopause.”

Sam rewards Dean with an expelled almost-laugh and a flicker of an almost-smile, and Dean chooses to count that as a win.

~~~~~~~~~~

More Notes:

I have this nagging need to address all of the drama from 10.23 Brother's Keeper that the writers just decided to drop on the floor.

The title is named after the ST:TOS The City on the Edge of Forever. The theme of the story, at least from the original script, is that it is possible to love someone so much that you would throw away your whole universe for them. I can't help but notice the parallel to SPN.

This is exactly what Dean wants from Sam throughout seasons 8 and 9, and when Sam does it in season 10, Dean calls him evil for it. Sam just can't fucking win.

#spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #cassifer

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