#Gates' death being more of an unfortunate circumstance than something blame need be placed for

[starbuck]

That's why I'm here. You didn't want me with the men. You're worried I'll challenge Flint. 

— Well, the thought crossed my mind.

#black sails #john silver #billy bones #HELLO it's the gifset from yesterday at last! #i wasn't planning to gif this but that's because i had forgotten about the WINK #like. are we going to acknowledge that Silver full-on WINKS as he says 'the same kind of perspective is what's called for now'?? #this part makes me CRAZY #because Billy did Not originally defend Flint on the basis of 'the bigger picture' #and Silver KNOWS it! #or at least has a pretty good idea of it - hence the Wink #i'm not saying that Silver's saying 'if you think about it all of this is your fault so you'd be a hypocrite to challenge Flint now' #but that's exactly what i'm saying he's saying #and although Billy DOES legitimately see the bigger picture now - i still think he internalizes this mindset to a certain point #well. not this exactly but more like i think he's overly hopeful that Flint's leadership will save them all #because if Flint is the key to the crew's safety - then there's no reason he should feel guilty for having defended him #Gates' death being more of an unfortunate circumstance than something blame need be placed for #so you can see why in s3 once Billy decides well SHIT maybe Flint actually IS a danger to everyone - he immediately has a problem #and seeing to Flint's death becomes his Righteous Duty and Obligation to the crew #it's not just a revenge thing - it's a means of absolution #and it all starts right here #with that goddamn wink...

[queenmuzz]

Three Sparda’s and a Baby....  Part II

I’m sorry if you were expecting a cute fluffy story about three grown men attempting to take care of a baby....

Devils Never...

Ao3 link here.

Devils never feel pain.   Well, not in this way,  they can feel the pain of flesh burning, tearing, ripping, but not the deep cutting pain in his chest, scouring through his nerves like acid, through his shoulder and down his arm, ending at his ring finger…. Or did the pain originate from his finger, and then into his chest?  Because on that finger was a slender gold band, a ring connecting him something he valued above nearly everything. Sparda freezes at the sensation. It’s a warning, but of what?

The answer may lay in what he holds in his other hand, dangling, choking, and yet still cackling.   He’s heard rumours of hell gates opening up bearing a familiar three pronged symbol, and demons bearing the same sigil.  And now, after weeks of searching, he’s finally gotten the culprit in his grasp. But why is there pain?

The three headed demon is down to one functioning head, the left snake one has been decapitated, the right lion one has had his jaw shattered, leaving the central goat one practically giggling in the Dark Slayer’s face.

“Heheheh” it wheezes before it coughs up black ichor, “It seems the Master’s plan has come to fruition, and I” another cough “am honoured to have played my part in your destruction” “Enough with your riddles!” Sparda barks, “Where is he!”

“Your betrayal was enough to keep Him contained, but thanks to your laxness, His servants have found out your greatest weakness.”  Its eyes close in pleasure, “I will die knowing that you will lose everything….” it lets a final neighing shriek of delight, before Sparda dispatches the wretch.  

Devils never value anything other than their own lives. In the Underworld, each demon looks out for what is most important, themselves.  Even when they submit to another demon, it is in order to preserve their own safety, or to gain an advantage against another.  

But Sparda knows exactly what this abomination is speaking of, and as the fetid corpse dissolves into ash, he realizes he’s walked into a trap.  He’s been led on a wild goose chase (humanity has always found charming turn of phrases, he’s realized), and unfortunately, he’s not going to be the one to pay the price.  He needs to get home as fast as possible. But he’s been led so far, that even by flying at supersonic speeds will take him a few hours. If only he had Yamato….but alas, he had given it to his eldest on his eighth birthday, as well as Rebellion to his brother (and of course, they had begged to take it to show-and-tell the next day, much to their mothers exasperation.)  So as he reforms into his true state, and unfurls his wings, all he can do is pray to any Divinity that is willing to listen, to keep what he treasures most safe…  

The burning pain continues until he’s around halfway the way home, and then the pain abruptly stops, replaced by ice cold.  This doesn’t make Sparda feel any better.

*****

Devils never panic.  When faced with unexpected circumstances, they automatically react in set patterns, analyzing their opponents and situations, and how to maximize it to  their own advantage. No emotion is used, it is all instincts.

He arrives, in the middle of a destructive thunderstorm, to a home that is ablaze, despite the rain.  Winds howl and thunder roars, but it’s not enough to drown out his screams of rage. There are a few remaining demons scuttling about, and he slaughters them with the finesse of two millennia of skill. But what of his wife, his children?

He braves the flames and rushes inside, screaming his wife’s name, his sons’ names, but the crackling fire obscures even his sight… surely they must be safe, surely they must have escaped…

And there he sees her, surrounded by runes of protection, keeping the flames at bay.  Red and black and gold cloth, cascading like a fountain… except she’s not moving. He rushes forward, to find her collapsed, her eyes open in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream.  Her long slender neck, something he used to find beautiful about her, where he placed the perfect amulet of silver and gold and ruby, is at an unnatural angle. Even so, he turns back into his human form, and places two trembling fingers on her jugular, hoping for some movement… There. Is. Nothing.

Devils never value their mates. To a demon, a mate is just a necessary inconvenience to reproduce.  Thus, they choose their mates based on who is the strongest, (but not too strong, one does not want to submit to a mate, but not too weak, for the progeny will inherit that weakness).  And after the deed is done, both go their separate ways, although sometimes, a last battle, often to the death, happens.

Sparda cradles his beloved wife in his arms, rocking her lifeless body back and forth.  She was the light in his life, a beautiful sunbeam that scattered the clouds of his soul.  Her voice, clear and sweet, could lull even the insomniac Dark Slayer into a deep slumber.

And now, she was gone, never to smile at him, nor to comb her long fingers through his hair, nor to kiss his nose, nor even to tell him how much she loved him.  It was all his fault. He had sworn on the day of his marriage to love and protect her, and he had failed. He’d become too confident, too relaxed, and she had paid the price…

All he could do now was  avenge her death. Perhaps it was in Mundus’s plans, but Sparda knew what he must do; rip open the barrier  between the worlds and take his revenge against the so called ‘God-Emperor’. He’d either cast him down, or die in the attempt.  His demon blood demanded it.

But there was still a matter that stopped him from going on a rampage….his sons.  He looked around, terrified he’d find their bodies, but all he could see were the shades of corpses of lower level demons.  Each smelled of magic, or gunpowder, signifying that however she had died, she had made it as hard as possible for her enemies.  But one corpse, located at the doorway didn’t have the smell of either...it smelled of the blade of Rebellion. That could only mean that little Dante had been here, hopefully attempting an escape  And as Sparda attempted to follow the trail, he could only hope that his youngest son had escaped.

Devils never feel terror.   They can inflict terror on humans, and in some circumstances, they can feel dread in the presence of particularly strong demons, (Sparda has caused that to infinite numbers of lesser demons)  But fear, or terror? No, a demon cannot feel it.

Sparda runs through the driving rain, torn between screaming for his sons, and keeping silent, afraid that it will lure them out, easy pickings for the demons.  He’s terrified that they’ve already been killed, or worse, captured. He knows the lengths Mundus has gone to subjugate anyone who has defied him (the Nobodies were once somebodies, before Mundus performed his tortures on them), and what better way to punish his former second in command, if he could not take him himself?

Lightning illuminates the muddy path, showing the corpses of yet more demons, these ones fresher, and not cut by Rebellion.  These ones were cut cleaner, if still a bit amateurish….obvious work of Yamato. He stills, straining to hear over the wind, rain, and thunder, and his ears pick up three sounds.

First, Dante’s terrified voice, “How much farther to the safe house?”

Secondly, Vergil’s, hissed “Shhhhh, you idiot!  They’ll hear us!”

And thirdly, to Sparda’s horror, the soft sound of what seemed to be blades being sharpened.  He takes his true form, striking from the shadows to find the Death Scissor at the base of a tree, skulking for what had to be the twins.  It doesn’t even have a chance to fight back, as he dispatches it with one swift slice. All it could do was shriek in protest as it dissipates into mist, its mask all that remains, before it is crushed under his heel.  He faces the tree (an old oak that he planted nearly a century and a half ago, when he first built the now burnt out manor), and in the flash of lightning, he sees his boys, both soaked to the bone, flattening their distinctive hairstyles to the point that they’re no longer distinguishable.  Although, Sparda can tell it’s Vergil, simply because he attempts to wield Yamato confidently.

“S-stay back!” his eldest says to him, obviously terrified.  Dante, equally petrified, clutches his brother’s shoulder. It breaks the Demon’s heart...his sons, while aware of their father’s identity, have only seen his true form rarely.  So he retakes his human manifestation, and calls to them.

Dad!

Father!

Both sons run towards him, and he holds them close.  They are both safe and unharmed, praise be, and he picks them up, to take them to the safe house, a place that will, be a sanctuary, if only temporarily.

“What about mother?” Vergil questions, and for once, the proud and eloquent Sparda is left speechless.  How to tell his sons that their beloved mother will never sing to them, never kiss them goodnight, never tell them how much she loves them?

“Vergil…” Dante says, and their father knows that the younger boy was there when his mother fell, perhaps in order to save him.  Does Dante feel guilty? He should not… It is his father who is to blame.

“We have no time, we must move” he says, clutching both sons as he speeds through the forest, leaving the hellscape behind.

Devils never care for their offspring .  The males usually leave after mating, and the females almost always abandon their young as soon as possible.  If they perish? Then they were weak, and not worth worrying about. That is the way of the Underworld, the weak are winnowed and the strong are considered rivals.

Sparda sits in the cushioned chair in the small cabin, Vergil leans on his left side, Dante, his right.  Both have been changed out of their cold wet clothes, toweled off, and now, hours after midnight, they’ve both finally passed out, clutching their swords, as if they are teddy bears.  Their father remains awake, alert to any dangers. But, as the storm finally subsides, he senses no danger and allows himself to relax, and to think of the future. Obviously, it is too dangerous to stay here, they must flee.  But to where? Sparda has accumulated residences and properties over the centuries, in various states of repair (Fortuna sounds tempting, but he has always been uncomfortable about living in an area that reveres him as a god) He needs to find a place with a good school, yet large enough where he and his boys can live in comfortable anonymity.  His sons need new sets of clothing, footwear, books (for Vergil), and toys (for Dante). And Eva….

He needs to go back in the morning, no matter the danger, to retrieve what he can, and to give her an honest burial.  She deserves that at least. She’d deserved so, so much more, but he’s failed her. He will have to bring her sons with him, to keep them safe from danger.  They would never leave his protection ever again. He must keep her legacy safe, to honour her memory, to give himself a purpose.

Despite the rain finally stopping, he feels wetness on his cheeks.  A leak on the roof? Or maybe he had forgotten to dry off his own hair….

Because as everyone knows…

Devils never Cry.

#Devil May Cry #Three Spardas and a Babby #Sparda #dante #vergil #Here be Angst

[imitranslates]

Fukigen na Mononokean Ch. 71

Some interesting inquiries into Aoi and new information about a familiar face...

Please remember to check out the official English release when it comes out, preferably on Crunchyroll if you’re able to!

The newest chapter can be read on the official website by clicking the yellow button labeled 読む!

Fukigen na Mononokean Chapter 71 - Princess and Prince

Page 3

Princess: Cough...

Princess: Cough.

Page 4

Executive: Underworld Princess.

Executive: How are you feeling?

Princess: Cough...

Princess: ...Three officials... Thank you for coming to visit me so often, despite how busy you are.

Princess: Thanks to Koura, my fever has lowered and my body is feeling fine now.

Page 5

Legislator: I would like to ask if your condition has gotten better...

But it seems like you still haven't regained your full strength, Princess?

Princess: I haven't completely recovered...

Princess: Maintaining the Underworld's barrier is my duty, yet I've made everyone worry about me... How shameful...

Koura: Princess... The toxins in your body are to blame.

Koura: Until now, you've been tirelessly using your spiritual power without rest.

It's inevitable that you would grow fatigued.

Page 6

Koura: Besides...

Koura: If the body is exhausted, it doesn't matter how much medicine I give. Even things that can be easily treated won't be cured in those circumstances...

Koura: It was by reducing her activity that she was able to recuperate.

If she didn't use her spiritual power, she would be able to fully rest, but...

Legislator&Executive: ......

Justice: To accomplish that, the princess'd have to abdicate and step down from the throne.

Justice: That's why we need to select a new "Underworld Princess"...

Page 7

Justice: ...But is there a demon who can fill in for the Princess right now?

Justice: Now that Aoi is gone...

Koura: Indeed...

Executive: ......

Legislator: Hmmm...

Legislator: If the four of us could somehow combine our powers, maybe?

Justice: Are we gonna spend every day crowded together on that throne?

Executive: .......

(Koura: Oh my, that's a good idea.

But won't it be troublesome for everyone if all three of you are missing from your governmental positions?)

Princess: Aoi...

Page 8

Princess: Three officials...

Princess: Did Aoi truly get possessed by the parasitic shrub and die?

Officials: !?

Executive: ...Princess...

Page 9

Executive: Did you think Aoi survived after being possessed by the parasitic shrub?

Executive: Those who are taken over by the parasitic shrub's curse, even if their lives are extended through medicine, will eventually be infested and succumb to it...

Executive: You should be more aware than anyone how dreadful parasitic shrub is.

Princess: Of course... The parasitic shrub takes root in its host's body and encircles them, making them unable to move,

And drains their spiritual power until they die.

Page 10

Princess: Their remains become a nursery for its seeds to sprout and mature, and grow into a large tree.

When the time comes, its innumerable flowers begin to bloom.

Princess: The scent of the nectar in those flowers gives rise to the host insects that infect demons...

That's the reason why the infested remains must never remain in the Underworld...

Princess: ...Therefore,

Princess: When they were infected by the parasitic shrub...

Princess: They accepted their fate, and, before they could endanger anyone in Underworld,

Entered the dense forests in order to find a place to die.

Page 11

Princess: Cough...

Princess: Cough!

Princess: ...Executive...

Princess: I must have asked something ridiculous, huh...

Princess: They can't possibility still be alive after being possessed by the parasitic shrub.

Princess: My unwillingness to give up must seem embarrassing.

Koura: Princess...

Page 12

Legislator: Well...

Legislator: We can't exactly confirm whether or not they're "dead," right?

Executive: You...

Executive: Do you have any proof of that?

Legislator: What about you? How can you be sure before seeing Aoi's remains?

Page 13

Executive: ......

Legislator: Right?

Justice: (Even like this, there's tension crackling in the air...)

Princess: Legislator...

Princess: I'm happy that you'd express those sentiments to comfort me, but there's no need for it.

Princess: Please forget about my foolish question from before. I'm still coming to terms Aoi's death even now.

Legislator: So that's how you feel...

The princess truly believes that Aoi died...

Page 14

Legislator: Then, Princess...

Legislator: Why don't we bet on whether Aoi is alive or dead?

Princess: ......

Princess: Bet...?

(Justice: Hm?)

(Executive: Ha?)

(Koura: Oh my...)

Legislator: By the way, I also think it was too late for Aoi, the same as the princess and the rest of you.

So I can't bet against you, but...

Legislator: I know of exactly one person who would bet that Aoi is still alive.

Page 15

Legislator: It might be a mild comfort, but if you don't mind...

Why not take him up on that wager?

Page 16

Ashiya: I'm dead...

Abeno: I hate the damn cold...

Ashiya: This end of term test was hopeless for me...

Ashiya: Were the questions always that hard?!

Abeno: It's been snowing since this morning...

Abeno: The second it becomes December, it starts getting really cold...

Ashiya: What will I do if I can't pass this grade...

Abeno: (Ah?!) I said it's cold!!

Ashiya: How is it being cold my fault?!

Ashiya: I was just defeated by the worst test ever!

If you're not nice to me, I'm going to cry!?

(Zenko: That voice...)

Abeno: Quit your fidgeting! And your damn sniveling!

Ashiya: Fidget! Snivel!

Page 17

Zenko: Stop fighting!

(Ashiya: Zenko!?)

(Zenko: The exam was pretty hard.)

(Ashiya: Yeah...)

Zenko: Are you guys working today?

Abeno: We have one request for a demon exorcism.

Zenko: It's rough in the snow, so be careful of where you're walking.

Ashiya: Yeah... We'll get going...

Zenko: Ah.

Zenko: Wait a second.

Zenko: I want you to confirm something for me.

Page 18

Zenko: Is it okay for a demon to take cold medicine meant for a human?

(Ashiya: Medicine.)

Zenko: Last night, Yahiko started coughing a lot. It seems like he caught a cold.

Abeno: Yahiko...

With a cold?

Abeno: Any other symptoms?

Zenko: Not much aside from the coughing...

This morning when he wanted to visit Okina-sama to play and kicked up a fuss, he seemed energetic...

Zenko: Today you should make sure to stay obediently at home.

Do you hear me?

(Yahiko: Ehhh!? No!! I want to make snowmen with Okina!)

(Zenko: No way.)

Page 19

Abeno: Unfortunately, I can’t say that there wouldn't be a problem with giving demons medicine from the Mundane world.

But I'll examine Yahiko's condition, so I can get him some medicine from the Underworld.

Zenko: Thanks, you saved me.

Zenko: (That said,) When are you going to come by? (Today?)

Ashiya: How about we head right over to check on Yahiko after we finish today's job?

Abeno: ......

Ashiya: ......?

Ashiya: Abeno-san?

Abeno: Changes of plans.

Abeno: Let's visit Yahiko first.

Ashiya: Eh...?

Page 20

Ashiya: (The visit's first...?) Is it okay to put off the exorcism job?!

If the client has to wait for us under these snowy skies, they might get a cold, too!

Abeno: I'll ask the Mononokean to head the meeting place so that they can wait inside.

Abeno: Besides, we can make it just in time if we hurry with visiting Yahiko.

Ashiya: ......

Ashiya: I guess that's true, but...

Zenko: I have to clean before I leave, so you two can head to the temple before me if you're in a hurry.

Abeno: Then, we'll do that.

Ashiya: (It's pretty rare for Abeno to postpone his work...)

[If we're just checking on him, we could do it afterward...]

(Ashiya: We'll go over first.)

(Zenko: Yeah.)

Page 21

Ashiya: Yahiko!

Page 22

Ashiya: ...Huh?

He's not coming out...

Ashiya: He might be sleeping inside the house... Should we intrude? (Zenko's dad is probably cleaning by the front gate, but...)

Abeno: !

Ashiya: Abeno-san? Where are you going?

Abeno: I can feel Yahiko's aura over here.

Ashiya: Wait...! Umbrella, umbrella!

Abeno: (Ah?) I don't need it.

Ashiya: Since you don't have an umbrella, you'll get cold!

If you don't want to share an umbrella with me, then I'll give it to you! Just take it before you get cold! (If you get cold, you're going to scoff at me again, you know?!)

Abeno: I'm not cold!

Ashiya: Now you're lying?!

Abeno: !

Page 23

Ashiya: Snowmen?

Ashiya: Yahiko! I found you! (You transformed, didn't you?)

Abeno: That's just a regular snowman.

Ashiya: But these mass-produced snowmen all seem like they were made by Yahiko.....?

Abeno: Yeah.

(Ashiya: Yahikooo! Where are youuu!)

Abeno: !

Page 24

Abeno: Found you.

Yahiko: Haruitsukiii! Did you come to play in the snow with me?

Page 25

Ashiya: Yahiko!

Ashiya: (So he was hiding!)

(Even though he might have a cold, he's as high-energy as ever...)

Yahiko: Cough...

Yahiko: Cough, cough... cough!

Abeno: !

Yahiko: Cough...

Yahiko: Cough...

Yahiko: ...Today... I was supposed to play in the snow with Okina...

Yahiko: But Zenko said I had to wait quietly at home...

So I...

Page 26

Yahiko: Cough!

Abeno: Hey!

Ashiya: Wah!?

Abeno: Yahiko...!

Ashiya: A-a-a-are you okay!?

Page 27

Yahiko: Cough...

Haa...

Yahiko: Haa...

Ashiya: His face is red, and he's sweating a lot...!!

Yahiko: Cough...

Ashiya: The symptoms are worse than what we heard from Zenko!

Abeno: It's higher than a normal fever should be...

Page 28

Ashiya: Abeno-san...! Is there anywhere in the Mundane world a demon can go for a medical examination?

A shop like Kiyakudou, maybe...

Abeno: I don't know any trained medical professionals like Koura, but...

Ashiya: Then, should we take Yahiko to the Underworld to see Koura-san!?

Abeno: No... That's...

Yahiko: No way!!

Yahiko: I won't go to the Underworld!

Yahiko: I'll never ever go!!

Abeno: Hey...! Quit struggling!

Yahiko: Cough, cough!

Ashiya: Yahiko...! We can't leave you like this!

Zenko will understand if you have to go to the Underworld, so...

Page 29

Yahiko: No, no, noo!

Yahiko: I won't!

Yahiko: I'm perfectly fine! Don't stop me from playing in the snow!

Yahiko: Haruitsuki, Ashiya, go away!!

Yahiko: (Cough, cough, cough, cough)

Ashiya: Yahiko...

Abeno: ......

Abeno: ......

Yahiko: (Cough, cough... cough)

Page 30

Abeno: ......

I have no intentions of exorcising you.

Ashiya: !?

Abeno: I know very well why you don't want to go to the Underworld.

Abeno: From the time I was old enough to become an employee of the Mononokean, I acquired a lot of knowledge about the history of the Underworld from the Executive.

Yahiko: !

Abeno: Of course, I learned about you, as well, sir...

Abeno: If there's something happening to your body, it may be connected to the fate of the Underworld.

Page 31

Yahiko: ......

Yahiko: Haruitsuki...?

Abeno: Please take a rest for now.

Abeno: Older brother of the Underworld Princess, the earthbound Prince Kamo-mioya-hiko.

(Note: The counterpart to hime (princess/lady) used here is hiko, so Yahiko's name comes from the last part of his name and this honorific, Kamo-mioya-hiko. I’ve also decided to translate the preface of his name, which means “far from the Underworld” as “earthbound.”)

#fukigen na mononokean #fukigen na mononokean translation #fukigen na mononokean 71 #fukigen na mononokean chapter 71 #The Morose Mononokean #manga translation

[edmund-valks]

Rented Birds and Family Ties

"It's missing most of its skin!"

Ila rolled her eyes.  "I know. I told you, I had to take it off to get it clean!  You can replace it, it's not a big deal."

Her youngest brother was shaking his head, muttering.  Sarendal was usually decent enough, but he seemed rather put out by this.  "You promised you'd bring it back in perfect condition!  This is definitely not that, Ila."

"It's still in perfect shape structurally," she argued.  "The only damage is cosmetic, and let's be honest -- it could use a new outside!  The old skin was ugly and starting to dry out and crack."

"That's not the point."

She sighed, making no effort to hide her irritation.  "Then what is, Sandy?"

"The point is you made a promise, and you didn't stick to it."

"Oh, for… it was that or die!"

He crossed his arms, clearly suggesting which was the correct option under the circumstances.

"If I'd died, you wouldn't have gotten any of the bird back!"

"No," he admitted, "but at least I would've been able to consider it an even trade.  Death wipes out most debts."

Ilandreline snorted, still not buying this nonsense, especially from her twerp sibling.  "You're being unreasonable.  I'm worth more alive returning a superficially damaged bird than I am dead."

"Are you, though?"

Her laugh died before actually leaving her throat.  The way he was eyeing her… Was he really serious?  He sure seemed to be.  Ila's eyebrows drew down and perilously close together.  "You know what?  Fuck you, Sandy, you've turned into a real asshole.  I was going to offer to get a fancy new skin and put it on, but no.  Do it yourself."

She turned on her heel, hand on her knife as she stalked off toward her mother's compound.  Her brother was probably still not enough of a prick to try murdering her, but if he did, he'd learn she'd only gotten better since the last time she'd had to kick his ass.  Unfortunately, she did have to respect him enough to check back over a shoulder real quick, if only to make sure he hadn't found a crossbow somewhere.  He was talking to himself, though, and rechecking the damage to his awful hawkstrider, Light burn them both.

"Mother," she called, entering the gate to the family estate, "are you in the gardens?"  Mellura'thel Glimmerbow was a skilled herbalist, possibly the best of even their extended family.  She also liked plants more than people, which sometimes -- like now -- it was hard to blame her for.

"Greenhouse," came the muffled response.  "What do you need, daughter?  I am in the middle of something delicate."

That was never not the case, in Ilandreline's experience, especially if they needed to have a talk.  Like now.  "How long are you gonna be?  I wanted to get your… guidance… on something."  She couldn't ask for an opinion because her mother didn't deal in those.  What she said was right, everything else was not; that was how things were.  It had taken Ila a while to figure out how to use that.

"I should be inside in an hour.  Be a good girl and make the tea."

In the interest of continued quasi-harmony with the one member of her immediate family who mattered most, she didn't argue.  The time allowed her to really mull over what Sarendal had said and refine how she wanted to address it with her parent.  It also allowed her to drink the entire first pot of tea and still be able to make more before her mother came in without hurrying.

Mellura'thel's entrance was preceded, as always, by her scent: moss; the close, wet warmth of a greenhouse; and a bloom whose name Ila always forgot but smelled as amazing as it was fatal.  She swept into the room, robes pristine, and took her seat at the table with a precision clockworks would envy.  Ila poured her tea, added the sprig of bitterleaf her mother always took, and placed the cup and saucer within easy arm's reach.  Conversation didn't start until she had enough tea in her to deal with people, meaning more waiting.

Eventually: "So, daughter, what did you need me to help you with?"

"What would you do if someone said you were worthless to the family?"

Eyebrows, dark like Ila's but much more refined, rose, her black eyes shimmering in what passed for daylight streaming in through the windows.  "In most cases, I would likely consider a warning was in order.  Perhaps a mild poisoning, with enduring effects no less than a month.  Cramping, intestinal distress, possibly temporary blindness, something along those lines."  She paused, head canting several degrees from vertical, a posture she took while thinking.  "If it was a second or third offense, I may simply kill them instead.  The pain and duration of their death would naturally be dependent on a number of specifics to the situation, but death is required in that case regardless."

Oh, by the Dark… "I didn't mean you specifically, Mother.  I was thinking more… generically.  Hypothetically, I guess "

"Without some other details on the situation, my answer remains the same: a warning, followed by consequence."  She sipped her tea, there being nothing unusual to Mellura'thel about discussing the murder of another over a simple insult.  Then again, accusing her of being worthless to the settlement wasn't that simple.  More like playing with fire next to alcohol fumes and a cloud of black powder.

"Okay, that's fair, but, like, what if they said it about, say… me?"

The older woman's focus snapped down on Ilandreline, creating a palpable sense of pressure as she was weighed in her mother's eyes.  The slight twist of her lips may have been disheartening to others, but Ila knew that was how she looked while thinking through something.  Not that it necessarily gave her hope -- an interest in non-magical methods of anything was hardly popular, but mechanicals were especially scoffed at when necromancy was so easy -- but it delayed the knowledge of disappointment for the moment.  Finally, Mellura'thel blinked her whiteless eyes.  A decision had been reached.

"The statement is not true.  You have provided knowledge to the family through your work, and occasionally still contribute some news of goings-on we may not otherwise hear of.  You were an excellent assistant as an adolescent, though you decided to turn your focus toward… other matters… once you were allowed to do so."

That was surprisingly fair.  Ilandreline was all set to exhale in relief, maybe even smile, when she saw her mother's mouth open again.

"However, I trust the gist of the statement is less literal and instantaneous, referring instead toward your total life and how it intersects with ours as a family, as well as the family's interests."

Oh no, here we go.  

"Under that assumption, it would likely be a fair statement, for while you have a great deal of potential for several beneficial areas of pursuit, you appear to have no interest in actually pursuing any of them.  Instead you claim kinship rights based on prior relationships and work provided, while doing little in the present to give in kind of something we may need or desire."

And there it was, the old gutpunch to deflate her.  Ilandreline gave herself several minutes to digest everything, mentally turn it over for examination.  It wasn't that her mother was wrong, exactly, but that… what?  What did she contribute?

"I see," was her eventual response.  "In that case… I suppose I'll leave now rather than spend the night."

As she stood, her mother's brow furrowed in what might have been confusion.  "You are entitled to stay, daughter.  I don't object to your presence or your company; you're certainly much more pleasant now than a century ago, while you worked on your thesis."

Ilandreline shook her head, black bob bouncing around her chin.  "I don't need to, Mother, and I don't think I want to right now.  Maybe next time."

She headed for the door.  No effort was made to stop her, no call of "Wait!".  Before she left, she did turn to say, "Hope your experiments go well," but didn't wait for a response.

Her motorcycle was waiting right where she'd left it.  Throwing a leg over, she took grim satisfaction in the throaty roar of the engine stirring to life.  There was something to be said for a little noise and a lot of combustion humming between your legs.  Perhaps the ride back to the Respite would help put her mind back to rights.

#wow rp #warcraft rp #fence macabre #ilandreline glimmerbow

[seven--secrets]

Glass Heart Chevalier | Riley | Re: Prologue End

That first day and evening in the soon-to-be-haunted house (in a different way than she had hoped, unfortunately), had been extremely fun for Riley! She’d gotten to talk to a lot more of her classmates than she had so far in classes, there had been a fun event full of competition, and there had been a cool new place to explore and plans to make for it! There was even a baseball diamond! :D 

This place might be creepy to some, but for what they needed it for it was Perfect, so Riley truly felt like there was nothing to fear. As she’d gone back to her tent for lights out and gone to bed, she had been content. …Up until, of course, they’d all received Takako’s message in the middle of the night, and things had spiralled out of control from there. 

While it was possible at first to think that all of this was some sort of badly timed joke at the start, Riley hadn’t been able to shake the sense of unease as they’d all filed out of the building and met Takako at the gate. She’d swallowed the feeling for awhile despite the knowledge that something was Wrong, focused on being ready to also climb up after Takako if need be, but as for what had happened next…

Riley froze as Takako was fully impaled and her soul seemingly stolen, and things hardly got any better from there. Part of her couldn’t believe what she was seeing was real, and the rest of her that could certainly didn’t know how to handle it. She’d seen injury of course, witnessed car crashes as she raced, but Riley had never seen something like THIS. Death was… was…

But there was no time to dwell on that, because Ezra was being targeted next. Riley yelled out to her, unable to react in time or do much of Anything before- Before Ezra had been saved, and everything else had occurred in rapid succession. The roomba, bird, KAZ, protecting them, and a moment later blaming them for what had happened. 

Their fault…? All of this… Takako’s death… was there fault…? Despite not knowing the reason for why or how it possibly could be because of them, Riley freezes at the accusation, her look of horror and fear only growing worse as the start of tears form in her eyes. No, no, she CAN’T focus on that right now, no matter how badly it shook her. Because…

“S… Sensei…! We have to, she’s- She’s hurt we n-need to help her,” Riley sputters, despite knowing that if there’s no way out of here this second that there was almost no way that Takako would be surviving something like this under normal circumstances.

But Chioko’s there first, and Riley can only watch as Kaz takes the lead to help and explain. Not dead, technically, but functionally she was in every way that counted without her soul and in a state like this. 

Riley follows as they’re ushered inside, willing to help to carry Takako but seemingly unneeded, and meeting up with Rei and hearing their own explanation did little to quell her worry. Her spine crawls as the board is brought out, and those haunting words read out, and theories as to why described. 

…One of them had done something? Doing this to them was seen as Justified???? Riley refused to believe it, and desperately wanted to speak out, to argue, the pain of it clear on her face. But her terror was too great to do so quickly, and by the time she would have gotten ahold of herself to do so… 

Forced calm washes over her thanks to Kaz, and Riley’s face goes nearly blank and emotionless as the pain dulls without being processed, a frown still on her face and tears still falling from her eyes from her former panic. Without another word, she walks back to her tent. Riley would sleep for now, but not because she wanted to.

Because this is a game that she decidedly did not want to play.

#riley #prologue #reaction #submission

[geekmama]

The Kensington House

 Pure fluff and kid!fic besides, this is the 26th part of my Time of the Season series, and written for the Where prompt in the BDT of prompts I’ve been working on - 98 down and 2 to go!

There was something amiss. Sherlock knew it as soon as he laid eyes on his wife, on returning to 221B earlier than his text that afternoon had originally estimated. Molly was very happy to see him, but there was something around her eyes, and in her smile, and in her embrace when she rose from the dinner table and came round to greet him. The baby must have been put to bed already, but the three older children were their usual selves, each of them vying for attention and yammering on when Sherlock was frowning with narrowed eyes, striving for wordless communication with their mother. 

But then Jon popped up with, “Oh, and Lady Smallwood came to visit today, she walked in just when we’d started playing pirates!” 

And Will laughed. “Yes, we were bashing about with our swords, even Daisy. And Lexie was helping Mum with the laundry, so the place was a complete tip! I think Lady Smallwood was pretty shocked, she didn’t stay for tea or anything--” 

“But Daddy!” Daisy broke in, tugging with some violence on the sleeve of his Belstaff. “She asked us to dinner tomorrow -- all of us, not just you and Mummy. At her beautiful house! May we go, pleeeease?” 

Sherlock pried Daisy’s little hand from his coat and gave it a squeeze, though he raised a brow at Molly’s expression. “Is that what it is?” 

He saw that she was tempted to brush it off, but then she gave a rueful chuckle. “Well, yes, a bit. Not that I blame the children! If it hadn’t been pouring buckets all day, we could have gone out somewhere, a museum and the park perhaps. But with Lexie barely on the mend from that virus...” 

“Yes, the weather was far too cold,” Sherlock agreed. “It’s ridiculous for the beginning of May, and particularly inconvenient on a day when these tiresome brats are out of school and must be kept occupied lest they tear the place apart.” The tiresome brats merely laughed at this, and hugged him, and he couldn’t help smirking. But he said to Molly, “Not the best way to spend your day off. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay and help. ” 

“Greg needed you,” Molly shrugged. “And we managed -- though I believe Will was right about Alicia being shocked. Mrs. Hudson let her in and we didn’t hear her coming up the stairs, so there was no time to put things to rights. But we can discuss this later, if you like. I believe your greedy sons have left you at least a few scraps of dinner! Come sit down.” 

But Daisy, dissatisfied at this put-off, said, “But Mummy, Daddy, can we go tomorrow? If we promise to be good?” 

The thought of his children on the loose in Alicia Smallwood’s elegant Kensington mansion was enough to strike dismay into the heart of a stronger man than Sherlock Holmes, promises or no. But Molly reiterated in her “Mummy’s Serious” tone, “Your father and I will discuss it later!” and Daisy sighed, dramatically sulky as only a four year old -- his four year old -- could be, but ultimately accepting the delay without further complaint.

 *

 Alicia might be known as Lady Smallwood, Associate of the British Government, but she was also very much a woman and a mother, and was not at all impervious to the sight of three of the four Holmes urchins, all dressed to the nines and fairly dancing with anticipation of a high treat as they made their way into the gate and up the front walk, their wary but resigned parents in tow. 

“No running! And remember: your best manners,” Molly was heard to say, probably for the tenth time. 

Alicia chuckled as Mycroft came up beside her at the door and took her hand in his. 

“Let’s hope you’re still amused two hours from now,” he murmured. 

“Oh, hush,” she said, giving him a severe look. “You know you love them to pieces.” 

Mycroft gave a sigh of resignation. “I do, but I prefer them in small doses, rather than en masse.” 

Alicia chuckled at that. “They’ll be fine.” She turned back to greet Daisy as the little girl cast off restraint and flitted ahead, up the walkway. 

“Look at my new dress, Aunt Alicia!” she exclaimed, as she bounced up the few marble steps to the wide porch. She stopped to smooth the skirt of the pink satin confection she was wearing. “Isn’t it lovely?” 

“My dear, you look ravishing,” Alicia assured her, bending down to kiss her cheek. 

Daisy sweetly returned the favor, and then said, brightly, “Hello, Uncle Mycroft! We’re here!” 

“So I see,” said Mycroft, the laughter in his voice almost entirely free of disapprobation. 

“Look, lads!” said Sherlock, too brightly, as the rest of the family approached in Daisy’s wake. “Uncle Mycroft is here, too! Now we’re guaranteed a fine selection of cake!” 

Alicia narrowed her eyes at Mycroft’s brother but refrained from comment as Molly had the matter in hand with raised brows and a useful jab with her elbow. 

Unfortunately, he only simpered at Molly before turning his teasing gaze on his brother again. “Things must be slow at the office with both of you able to be here,” he remarked. 

“An accurate observation,” said Mycroft, “and a fact for which we must all be thankful. Boys! You look very smart -- and uncomfortable. I thought school was out several hours ago.” 

“We had our music lessons just before we came,” Jon said, wrinkling his nose. “Madame insists we dress like gentlemen.” 

“Ah, so I recall now, and very proper, too,” said Mycroft with approval, “though if your parents permit you might at least remove your ties -- God knows your father hasn’t worn one in years. Molly, my dear, you look as ravishing as your daughter.” 

Molly, who wore a lacy white cardigan over a light blue sheath that prettily accentuated her still-slender figure, said warmly, “It’s good to see you, Mycroft.” 

“And you,” said Mycroft, with real sincerely, smiling down at his sister-in-law. 

“Alicia,” said Sherlock. “You’re looking well.” 

Alicia raised a brow. “Thank you,” she said, then silently mouthed one word at him: Behave! 

He made no verbal reply, just assumed a comically wounded expression and placed his hand over his heart. 

Alicia rolled her eyes and and turned back to the little boys. “I see that you’ve brought along your violin, Jon, and we’ve just had the piano in the drawing room re-tuned. Will you two favor us with your latest pieces?” 

“Yes!” said Jon with alacrity, and Will smiled, too, his eyes lighting at the prospect of sitting down behind Alicia’s beautiful baby grand. “But can we play in the back garden after?” 

Alicia laughed, remembering the astoundingly grubby but eminently satisfied look of the three the last time they’d been allowed the run of the back garden. The lawn and shrubbery were quite extensive for a home situated in the middle of London -- which was, of course, one reason for tonight’s invitation. Alicia said, “If your parents permit, yes, but you should probably wait until after we’ve had dinner. Now come in, all of you, and let’s have some music!”

 *

 The children had been on their best behavior, both prior to dinner and throughout the rather formal meal, sufficiently awestruck by their surroundings to be quieter and more careful than usual, and actually put into use the manners they’d been taught. Now they had been released to play in the back garden while the light lasted, much to Molly’s relief. The house was not at all “childproof”, for Alicia’s three children were grown and had been gone a dozen years or more. None of the three had elected to settle in the noisy bustle and excitement of London and now rarely even visited the metropolis. Alicia’s eldest, the current Lord Smallwood, had settled at the country estate with his wife and son, shortly after the death of his father; her younger son had emigrated to Australia in his early twenties and was still gainfully employed in the music industry when he wasn’t indulging in some extreme sport or other, to which his mother was forced to turn a blind eye or go mad with worry; and the daughter of the family had married a Scots physician and was settled in a picturesque little town outside Edinburgh, busily raising a pair of ginger-haired twin girls and apparently more than content with rural life. 

“It’s a shame your children don’t care for the city,” Molly commiserated, as Alicia stepped up beside her, near the window where she had been surreptitiously keeping an eye on her brood. “You must miss them.” 

Alicia gave a little shrug, though she was smiling as she looked out at the children in the garden. “Oh, I don’t know. It gives one a good reason to indulge in frequent holidays. Mycroft and I were in Scotland just last weekend, for example -- Allison and Amabel are growing up so quickly! And I believe it won’t be long before they and their cousins -- my oldest boy’s children -- will be able to come visit us in London, whether their parents accompany them or not.” 

Molly smiled. “That will be an event.” 

“To be sure. They’re already anxious to meet their little Holmes cousins.” But then Alicia chuckled. “Heavens, I can just see -- and hear -- Mycroft.” 

Molly gave a small snort of laughter. “We’ll have to get him a bottle of his favorite wine for the occasion. Or even brandy! But he’s been very welcoming to our little savages this evening. I was a bit surprised you dared to invite us, after that display at Baker Street yesterday. Not our finest moment.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” said Alicia. “Entirely understandable under the circumstances! And there’s not a mean-spirited bone among the lot of them. Really, Molly, you’ve done an amazing job with them.” 

“Well, thank you, but Sherlock has a great deal to do with it, too, you know. He’s a wonderful father.” 

“Marriage and fatherhood seem to have been the making of him, certainly,” Alicia agreed. “Gave him something to think about other than his beautiful, brilliant self, which was exactly what he needed. Still, who would have guessed, nine years ago?” 

“Well… I did,” Molly said with a smile. 

“So you did.” Alicia turned to Molly and considered her thoughtfully for a few moments, and finally Molly raised an inquiring brow. Alicia said, as if in reply. “Speaking of yesterday… not that that has anything to do with it, really, it merely reminded me why… well… I assure you I’ve had it in mind for months...” 

Amused at this uncharacteristic rambling, Molly asked,. “Alicia, are you quite alright? What did you have in mind?” 

Alicia took a deep breath through her nose, steadying herself, then glanced around before meeting Molly’s eyes again. “Do you like this house?” 

Molly laughed. “Well, of course. How could one not?” 

“Yes. Well. I like it, too. But it wants… a family. It was made for a family, all those years ago, and of course it was a splendid home for mine when the children were growing up, but… they’ve been gone a long time, now. And my husband… well. In any case, I was wondering… would you and Sherlock like to have it?” 

Molly stared, gave a choking exclamation of “What? Alicia, you--” 

“Rent free, of course,” Alicia interrupted, as though Molly hadn’t spoken. “Though there is still the upkeep -- I use a service now, and they are most efficient, if a trifle costly, though with the children you might want to hire some staff -- not necessarily live-in, though there is certainly room, there are quarters for at least two or three persons off the kitchen. And there are the taxes. But I’m given to understand the two of you could well afford those things and still keep Baker Street as an office for Sherlock, and as a second… ah… bolthole? Guest house? In any case, I don’t suppose you’d care to give it up. You have done such a lovely job renovating it since you and Sherlock married and the children began to arrive.” 

“Alicia! You cannot be serious!” 

“I am, though.” A little smile tugged at Alicia’s lips. “I have finally acquiesced to Mycroft’s wishes and consented to move into his house. There is some refurbishment already being done there in preparation.” 

“Oh!” Molly smiled. “That’s wonderful! Are you… that is--” 

“I have not yet agreed to marry him. We are still in negotiations on that point.” 

Molly laughed. “Oh, Alicia, you are… the completest thing. To keep The British Government on a lead for all these years…” 

Alicia chuckled, and looked quite smug. But she said, “So. Will you discuss it with Sherlock? Since little Alexandra came along it is all too apparent to those who love you that 221B Baker Street will soon be filled to bursting. Here there are enough bedrooms for each of your children to have his or her own with plenty left over for guests, a playroom, an office. I won’t be taking much of the furniture, just a few favorite pieces, and you can keep what you like, and replace the rest at your leisure. Daisy, and even the boys might like to pick out new furnishings for their bedrooms, for example. They still share a room at 221B, I believe?” 

“Yes,” said Molly, feeling quite dazed. “John’s old bedroom, though they’re getting so big… and we’ve been in a quandary about Lexie, now that she is getting older. She can’t stay in our room much longer.” 

“And here she won’t have to!” Alicia said cheerily. “There is a lovely little bedroom that would be perfect for her, just across from the master suite.” 

“The master suite!” Molly repeated, even more dazed. Not that she and Sherlock had not been blissfully happy in his bedroom… well, their bedroom, for almost a decade now. But still… 

“Would you like to come upstairs and take a look around? And I believe Mycroft has been presenting the proposal to Sherlock while we’ve been talking, and I haven’t heard any explosions. I take it as a good sign, don’t you?” 

“Oh, Heavens. I don’t know what to say, Alicia. Why… why?” 

“I don’t want to sell -- the property just gets more and more valuable. But I don’t want it to sit vacant, either. And lease it to strangers? I… I just don’t think I could do it. Think of it this way: you and Sherlock will be doing me a great favor.” Alicia laughed again at Molly’s apparently obvious bewilderment. “Come! Pull yourself together. The children will be fine out in the garden for half an hour. Let’s go see what Sherlock thinks, and the two of you can take a look at the rooms upstairs -- go all over the house, in fact, so you can make an informed decision.”

 *

 It was after midnight and he and Molly were in bed, but not sleeping. Far from it. They were both lying on their backs, staring at the deeply shadowed ceiling. Holding hands. Still both astounded at the way their world was being overturned. 

Sherlock thought one minute that he couldn’t do it, then the next he remembered that he would not be leaving 221B, precisely -- he would still spend a great deal of time there. And Baker Street was just as close to the boys’ school as the Kensington house. He could imagine his sons racing over when class let out, if he were not out on some case; doing their homework or playing until he should be ready to journey home. 

Home. 

They could still practice their music here, after school -- Mrs. Hudson would grieve for it, else. 

Ah, Hudders. What would she say to all this? She was getting on in years, of course. Didn’t make the journey up the stairs with tea and scones nearly as often lately. Visited her sister in Devon more, though that lady’s health was failing rapidly, from what he gathered. That would be a blow and no mistake.  And it might not be long before she herself… well. Time was a cruel master to all, even their timeless landlady (Not your housekeeper! -- he grinned briefly in the black night). 

There’d be room at the Kensington house for her, too, if it came to that. 

Ten bedrooms. Lord. Not quite as bad as Musgrave, but along those lines. 

They would have to acquire a housekeeper. 

And a second violin for Jon to keep at 221B. The spinet could stay, since Mycroft had a fine instrument of his own and Alicia had told them she was content to leave her baby grand with the House. William would like that -- and Molly. And the girls, eventually. Daisy was nearly old enough to begin lessons already. 

But… it still hurt to think of leaving. After all the work they’d put into 221B (and C) to create a suitable environment for their growing family. Of course, they had not realized just how much their family would grow when they’d begun the renovations. 

Four children. Who would have thought it, a decade back? And yet here they were with a houseful -- and nothing yet done to prohibit a potential fifth. They’d have to think seriously about that, or risk another surprise. Alexandra had been a delightful one, to be sure, but five children? It seemed excessive, to put it mildly. 

Though his parents wouldn’t mind. They reveled in their role, Mummy dismissing the bother with a wave of her hand, and merely hiring some neighbors’ daughters, lively teenaged girls, to help out when Will, Jon, and Daisy were to stay more than a night or two. And Lexie, soon enough. 

And he gave a slight snort of laughter at the thought of denying his own happiness. 

“What?” Molly whispered, turning her head on the pillow to peer at him, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back. “I am… counting my blessings, I suppose.” 

She let go of his hand and turned onto her side to face him, fingers rather shyly smoothing the soft material of the ancient T-shirt he wore. She said, “Do you think the Kensington house would enhance them?” 

“I think it might. I think we’d be fools not to accept. Our children are not going to stop growing.” 

She chuckled. “No! Though sometimes I wish…” 

“What? That time would stop?” He moved to face her and put his hand on her waist. 

“Yes,” she said, and, closing the final gap, kissed him. 

He smiled beneath the kiss, bittersweet. 

He’d always known there were two sides of the coin called love, which was why he’d shied away from it for so many years, and even this issue, the inexorable march of time, was an ever-present weight. Pain was always part of the joy -- and perhaps made the joy all the sweeter. 

Doors closing. 

And others opening, down the way. 

“I’m a lucky man,” he whispered, when he could. 

“You are,” she whispered back. “And a brave one, too.” 

But he laughed softly at that, knowing that it was only she who allowed him to be so. Physical courage had never been an issue, and he had never lacked confidence in his intellectual abilities. But love… the one thing that truly mattered… that had required assistance. 

The loyalty and perception and faith of one Molly Hooper had been necessary to complete him. 

He reached up and brushed the auburn hair back behind the perfect pale pink shell of her ear, seeing the colors in his mind’s eye, even in the shadows. 

How long had it been since they’d made love in the clear light of morning, or through a long, golden afternoon? 

And yet, the darkness enhanced one’s other senses. 

Touch. 

Smell. 

Taste. 

“I love you,” he replied, still whispering. 

“I know,” she whispered back. 

And, sensing his need, she gave herself to him once again, in that well-practiced way she had… skill… infinite tenderness… an old comfort… 

Yet somehow, she could still surprise him… somehow it was always, always new.

 *

 Mycroft was stuck in his office, but Alicia was able to escape for a few hours on the evening of the Big Move, accepting the invitation to join his brother’s family, John and Rosie Watson, and Greg Lestrade for a celebratory dinner of Thai take-away, and to see the changes that had been wrought at the Kensington house. 

Alicia had moved out nearly two months before to facilitate matters, and was happier living with Mycroft than she had imagined possible -- and he seemed content, too. He had twice reiterated his proposal that they should marry, and she had almost accepted the last time. Perhaps it would not needlessly complicate their lives. Perhaps she was making too much of a fuss over it. She knew many women who were on their third or even fourth marriage -- and most of them were divorcees, a situation far more difficult than her own. Being a widow, with her children grown and getting on with their lives, really did simplify matters. 

She was still mulling over this subject as she arrived at her former residence, and did not move on until she’d exited the car and had entered the front gate. Walking up to the door, however, she noticed how neat the small front garden looked, with three new rose bushes, a new bed of pansies beside the porch, and the bits of lawn very well-tended. The front door had been repainted, too, a shiny black, and it now sported a knocker very similar to the one on the door of 221B Baker Street. 

She used the knocker in the manner for which it was intended, and it wasn’t more than twenty seconds before the door was thrown open by Jon, with Daisy just behind. 

“Aunt Alicia!” said Jon -- or half-shouted, really. “Wait till you see my bed! It’s even better than it looked in the shop!” 

“She has to see my room first!” cried Daisy in the tone of a four year old who’d gone without her nap and reached the limit of her patience with her older brother. She gripped Jon’s jumper with both hands and tried to pull him out of her way with some violence. 

But Sherlock had apparently heard Alicia’s knock, too and was coming up just behind the children. Seeing what was toward, he snapped, “Enough!” in so sharp a tone that Alicia gave a little start herself, and the children turned to him wide-eyed. 

Jon was carefully silent. Daisy, however, began to whinge, “But Daddy! Jon--” 

“But Daisy,” Sherlock interrupted, bending down to look her in the eye. “You’ve been skating on thin ice for the last hour and if you utter one more word you’ll find yourself staring at the most boring corner I can find in this house. Alone. Until I say you can move, not your mother or Uncle John. Do you understand?” 

Alicia tensed, fearful that the little girl would be rash enough to put her father to the test. But, thankfully, she did not. Daisy merely lowered her gaze, lip quivering. 

Sherlock straightened to face Alicia, “Welcome to the madhouse.” 

Alicia replied, sympathetically, “Long day?” 

“My God, you’ve no idea. Come into the dining room,” he said, leading the way. “The kitchen’s set up, and the bedrooms -- and they do look like something out of Parenting Magazine. But the tour can wait. We were just setting out dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry,” came a tiny, discontented voice from behind them. 

“Shut it!” came Jon’s hiss, just as Alicia glanced over her shoulder. Jon was giving Daisy’s arm a surreptitious squeeze in warning, even as he favored Alicia with an innocent smile. 

Sherlock wisely feigned deafness and led the way into the dining room.

 *

 Less than an hour later, John and Rosie had departed, Sherlock was discussing a case with Greg over some brandy, and Molly led the way up the staircase, carrying little Alexandra, Will and Jon racing ahead, and Alicia Smallwood bringing up the rear, hand in hand with a now smiling Daisy. 

Daisy’s smiles were in strong contrast to the pout she’d maintained throughout dinner, much to her father’s annoyance. Molly, tired as she was, had been rather amused, however, and had quietly reminded Sherlock that his daughter came by her pout honestly, and the avowed lack of hunger, too. John and Greg would have picked up on this, both friends hinting at numerous recollections of a certain consulting detective who’d been renowned for his petulance in the past, but they’d cut the teasing short, not because of Sherlock’s glare, but in consideration of the fact that Will, Jon, and Rosie had been all ears. 

But it wasn’t hard to understand why Daisy and her brothers were anxious to show off their new bedrooms. Lady Smallwood had accompanied them when they’d all gone furniture shopping a few weeks ago, and now at last she would see the results. 

Alicia had convinced Daisy that they should “save the best for last”, so Will’s room was shown first. He’d opted to keep the simple and elegant cherry furniture already in the room, only enhancing the collection with a new roll top desk to match. There were several movie posters on the walls, Star Wars, Avengers, and the like, and the framed print of the periodic table that had hung in Sherlock’s room for so many years held pride of place above his new desk. All the bedrooms had walk-in wardrobes and Will’s now held stacks of board games and neatly organized bins of Legos, action figures, and other small toys. Molly said to Alicia, “Admire it now -- it’s not likely to look this tidy for long!”, but Will, who was now ten and feeling very grown up as the eldest, said, “It will if I can keep the brats from destroying it!” 

Jon retorted, “Who needs your old stuff? Come on and see mine, Aunt Alicia!” 

Jon, too, had chosen a desk for homework and art projects, but had also fallen in love with a sturdy bed frame designed to look like a race car. Much to his delighted surprise, his mother had approved the purchase, though his father had been less pleased with the idea when he’d been informed. However, when the bed had arrived and Sherlock had seen its beauty and quality, he had become much more enthusiastic. He and Jon had run with the theme, and the walls were now adorned with a number of pictures and posters of race cars, and Sherlock had installed shelves for Jon’s collection of model cars. His beloved trains were relegated to the wardrobe, but Alicia noted that his old Thomas the Tank cuddle pillow was waiting for him on the new bed. 

Daisy’s room was last, and certainly by far the best, at least in Daisy’s opinion. The entire room had been redone in pink: pink furniture with lovely hand-painted flowers; fuzzy pink throw rugs; gauzy pink drapes on the window and canopied four-poster bed; and tiny pink rosebuds were patterned over the newly installed wallpaper. It might have been overwhelming, but Molly had insisted on using paler shades of pink along with a judicious use of white, and the result was really quite soothing. 

“Goodness!” exclaimed Alicia, taking it in. “It looks rather as though it dropped from Heaven!” 

Molly chuckled. “Now all it needs is an angel to take care of it!” 

“That’s me!” Daisy piped up. 

“Hmmm,” said Molly doubtfully. “I don’t know… there was that little display at the dinner table. An angel would not have behaved so -- or at least she would have apologized to her father for giving into her weariness, even after a long day of moving house.” 

Daisy looked between Molly and Lady Smallwood uncertainly as she worked this out, but then, coming to a decision, exclaimed, “I’ll be right back!” She ran from the room and could presently be heard yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!” as she pounded down the stairs.

 *

 At four in the morning, Sherlock was lying abed, caught up in a comfortable and eminently satisfied tangle with the wife of his bosom, the two of them having inaugurated the Kensington house in the best way imaginable, after recruiting their strength with a few hours’ sleep. 

“Now it’s on its way to being home,” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s ear. 

And she laughed, and turned her face to his, and kissed him. “I love you,” she said. 

“I know,” he returned with a smile. 

There were a great many more kisses, and some happy sighs, and cuddling: plenty of the most delightful clichés. But presently Molly extricated herself with a whispered, “Have to use the loo!” and Sherlock lay back contentedly against the pillows, stared at the shadowed ceiling, and thought once again what a lucky man he was. 

He must have started drowsing again, for suddenly Molly was there, whispering his name again. “Hmm?” he said, opening his eyes. The light was dim, but he could see she’d put on her dressing gown. 

“Get up for a minute!” she said softly. “You have to see the children!” 

He frowned, but did as she asked, throwing on his own dressing gown and padding after her over the thick carpet, following her out the door. 

“Are they alright?” he asked. “Lexie’s still asleep, isn’t she?” 

“Yes. It’s the others. Come see.” 

She didn’t pause at Daisy’s half open door, nor at Jon’s, but went straight over to Will’s room and motioned for him to peek in -- and there they were, all three of them curled up together in Will’s big bed, Daisy in the middle, and all of them sound asleep. 

Sherlock turned to Molly and made a silent pantomime of outrage. “Tell me again why we needed to move here? We might just as well be back at Baker Street!” 

But Molly shook her head, grinning. “They’ll get used to it. But now it’s really home for them, too. Don’t you see?” 

There was nothing for it. He had to take her in his arms and kiss her again. “I love you, Mrs. Holmes,” he said finally. 

“I love you, too,” she returned, a trifle breathless. 

The proper exchange. 

He took her hand up, said, “Come, then,” and, in the lovely silence before dawn, he led her back to bed.

 ~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly

[garden-ghoul]

of galadriel and celeborn

“special thanks to vardasvapors for helping me put off deciding whether to read lotr or the hobbit first”

The very first sentence begins, “There is no part of the history of Middle-earth more full of problems than the story of Galadriel and Celeborn.” There is also no elf more full of problems than Galadriel, so this is fitting. We’re off to a tremendous start! The problems Chris is having, though, are mostly historical inconsistencies.

...And these are the kind of inconsistencies that require a map. Lemme dig one up. All right I’m patching together 3 different maps in my head, this legendarium is Impossible. Originally Tolkien was thinking Celeborn was one of the Teleri who never went west in the first place (although, given that Cuivienen was a long way east of Lorien, he still went a LITTLE west), and had always lived in Lorien--east across both the Blue Mountains and the Misty Mountains from Beleriand. Then Galadriel hiked over two mountain ranges, just for funsies, and met a bunch more elfs there. However, in one of the appendices it says he lived in Lindon, which I think is just on the Beleriand side of the Blue Mountains.

In any case, the reason that she remained in Middle Earth after the big old war with Melkor was that “at the end of the First Age a ban was set upon her return, and she had replied proudly that she had no wish to do so." wow she truly is the greatest of the elves. The ban is because she was “one of the chief actors in the rebellion.” Like, was she? Did she convince a ton of people to come with her, all for the purpose of ruining Feanor’s life? I love her an unimaginable amount. Oh to be fair though “she longed to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule there a realm at her own will.” She has always been kind of into dominating other people? 

She really would make a fantastic nemesis for Morgoth; each of them trying to conquer more of the disputed lands and rule over everyone. Risk: Belerian Edition! I was considering her against some other elves who would make fun servants of Melkor, but she would never serve anyone, literally ever. If she got captured by Morgoth and he tried to break her mind she would just blow up his entire castle, killing everyone within half a mile. Is that something she can do? I know Luthien can do that, but Luthien is half-god so I dunno.

Back to the actual text: Chris is talking about Galadriel’s lover, Teleporno (Celeborn in Sindarin). This is the most unfortunate name had by any elf. Teleporno! They invented phone sex so Galadriel could run around far away from him and not get sexually frustrated! Another version of the story says that he lived in Alqualonde and was her first or second cousin. They built a ship together and after the destruction of Alqualonde they set sail by themselves, wanting to escape from the horror of their ruined city, but were Banned anyway. Banned! Banned! You’re all banned! None of you are free from sin! But this version of the story is pretty non-canon since it contradicts a bunch of actual published materials. Tolkien just wanted to make a point about how extremely separate from Feanor she is. Possibly he was being threatened by Galadriel to make this point.

Yet ANOTHER version is that they were still second cousins but they met in Doriath and lived there basically the entire first age, which doesn’t sound very Galadriel to me. Anyway in this version Galadriel and Celeborn hang out in northwestern Middle Earth for a while in the second age and then move to Eregion just west of the Misty Mountains for the purpose of thwarting Sauron. It says she might have chosen that place because she was pals with the dwarves of Khazad-dum (although Celeborn apparently blamed them for what the Nogrod dwarves had done to Doriath, because he was a racist fool). This is cute, I love to imagine that she has travelled all over the world and made friends with many different kinds of people. It’s interesting trying to imagine Galadriel being a guest anywhere except with her kin--she doesn’t like not having power like that. Must one assume that the people she visited were subservient enough to satisfy her pride? Ugh where’s my fanfiction of Galadriel travelling the world and having a personal crisis whenever she has to be humble. She needs to learn to play it like Teru and be The Most Gracious, Not That It’s A Competition. Her perfect etiquette gives her power. I dunno.

She looked upon the Dwarves also with the eye of a commander, seeing in them the finest warriors to pit against the Orcs. 

Oh.

Moreover Galadriel was a Noldo, and she had a natural sympathy with their minds and their passionate love of crafts of hand, a sympathy much greater than that found among many of the Eldar: the Dwarves were "the Children of Aulë," and Galadriel, like others of the Noldor, had been a pupil of Aulë and Yavanna in Valinor.

Mm... okay.

Now we hear about Celebrimbor, who lived in Eregion with our heroes. He LOVED crafting so so so much and he was dating a dwarf (Narvi), really ahead of the times. They basically carved a heart with their initials in it on the west gate of Moria:

I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Eregion drew these signs.

Cute... It says both kingdoms grew greater together than they would have apart, this is so so good. I’m a little concerned though, why they ever left...

Ah! It’s because Sauron taught a bunch of Eregion elves The Deep Craft Lore and convinced them to stage a coup against Galadriel’s family. She took her kids Amroth and Celebrian through Moria (to the other side of the mountains I think?) but Celeborn was too racist and stayed in Eregion. Because he wasn’t a threat and no-one cared about him. So Sauron hung out convincing the masonic smiths guild of Eregion to make him rings of power, and when Celebrimbor found out that it was actually for BAD REASONS he was SHOCKED and went to Galadriel for advice.

She told him to hide the three elven rings, and he gave her one, the water ring. It made her gay for the sea though, so she was a little sad. This was a Curse I guess. Oh shit this next part is good! Sauron makes war on Eregion, and although Gil-Galad sends Elrond to aid them they don’t quite get there in time; Celebrimbor makes a Famous Last Stand on the steps of the smiths guild that’s about to be ransacked for its magical treasure. He was probably expecting to die, but instead he is taken captive and tortured to find out where the seven rings and the three rings are. Then, disappointingly, Sauron puts him to death. This isn’t like in my fanfictions. WOW he does, uh, use Celebrimbor’s mutilated body as his standard while fighting Elrond’s forces though. Hell of a thing.

Elrond’s people withdrew to Imladris; the Lorinand elves and their dwarvish allies withdrew through Moria, which meant Sauron had a grudge against the Moria dwarves Forever. He’s so petty. Anyway then he marches to the coast to fuck with Gil-Galad’s fortress at Lindon. Blah blah war murders and the Numenoreans come to kick Sauron’s ass. The siege of Imladris is broken, Sauron retreats to Mordor with his tail between his legs. Galadriel, infected by Nenya with the seagays, moves to the coast until circumstances far later force her to return.

#next time: amroth and nimrodel #silm

[swiftkick404]

continued in part two of four...

(i/iv)

(ii/iv)

o o o

They called it 'The Tank' because it was sealed from outside rooms and had an observation window looking down into it from one of the labs. Those inside tended to resemble fish on display.

The woman Kabuto had brought in –abducted– to be kept in The Tank was designated as 'Chi' and she had the very unfortunate position of being a new favorite for experimentation.

Even though she felt uncomfortable in acknowledging as much, Karin also found Chi intriguing. The extensive network of scar tissue over Chi's body was beyond unusual and suggested that the body should no longer be viable. A dissection the length of the torso and a circumferential scar on the neck each indicated mortal damage, and yet Chi appeared perfectly functional. She was alert, active, and even had –almost humorous– disdain for Kabuto; she often pulled faces at him when he walked by the observation window. Karin kept out of sight to avoid similar treatment, but she had a sense Chi was aware of her nonetheless.

Their first order of business once Chi had been deposited in her new home was sensory response. The temperature inside the tank was steadily raised in increments until Karin was convinced Chi's body should have ignited, or given out from water loss. Chi fell unconscious eventually, but within several hours and a return to a moderate temperature, she had revived and continued lazily flipping off Kabuto. His recourse was dropping the temperature until she stilled completely like a slate blue work of art. When she thawed out, she spat out a ball of mucous and spittle that landed with a quiet 'plick' on the glass in front of Kabuto's leering face.

“She's lovely,” Karin heard him whisper without any hint of sarcasm. He was delighted.

“Is she employing some sort of clan technique or bloodline limit that enhances her physical resilience?” Karin asked, genuinely perplexed. She looked at the woman, currently sitting with her legs crossed under her and locked arms resting in her lap, and thought that somehow, they were similar. Karin frowned. “She's...not like me, though....”

Chi wasn't using any detectable amount of chakra to protect her body. She didn't appear to repair damage or regenerate cells at any remarkable pace. Simply, it appeared that she was continuing to exist in highly unfavorable circumstances.

“No more sustenance for her. No more water,” Kabuto said, not giving any response to Karin's thoughts.

“For how long, sir?”

Kabuto looked at her with mild confusion, and then deliberately, “I said, no more, Karin.”

Depravation wasn't anything new to their subjects or to Karin. She nodded and recorded the protocol change.

As she scribbled down the revised instructions concerning The Tank, she asked, “is she like Juugo? Do you think she's in some sort of prolonged survival state?”

Kabuto looked nearly predatory in his tempered glee. “No, that's not it. This is her state of being. She just is.”

Karin couldn't share his feelings, nor stand to look at him either. Hiding a twist at her lips, she peeked through the glass again.

Chi's violet eyes, vivid even from a distance, caught hers and Karin ducked back again. There was an unfathomable type of thoughtfulness in the woman's gaze that Karin hadn't gotten from anyone else in her life. A great sense of distance, somehow, behind those eyes.

“Karin,” someone said, dragging her attention to a young kunoichi at the lab door. “Those tissue samples you wanted are ready for analysis. Should I transfer them to this lab?”

Kabuto didn't react to the interruption from the kunoichi and Karin controlled the automatic, nervous hitch in her breathing. The samples were from the man who had died from the mysterious fever disease, The Ague, even though she had labelled them –as meticulously as she could while not risking too much– as something else.

“No, that won't be necessary. I'll be right there,” Karin said. She carefully finished her writing and thought she was in the clear to excuse herself without trouble.

“Samples?” Kabuto asked, not looking away from contemplating Chi. “Where are these coming from?”

Of course luck would shun her, Karin bemoaned. With a shrug, she gave him a prepared answer, “Suigetsu got over excited in training. I'm using his chuunin fodder for lab practice.”

“That boy needs to accept his losses and move on.” Kabuto accepted the lie. It was well within the realm of possibilities. “Anything worthy of note in your salvaging?”

“No, sir. Nothing so far. Massive trauma, blood loss, all the standard things. Two of his toes had been partially amputated at some point in the past, indications of frost damage on both feet and other extremities. A few missing teeth,” Karin said, trailing off. “He was a mercenary picked up on the fringe of Stone, I think. Displaced in the last war.”

She stopped before it became a suspicious amount of oversharing.

Kabuto had tuned out and said with a dismissiveness, “it's always charming to see a high achiever in the labs. Go to your work, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

She had made it a few steps before he stopped her.

“And Karin,” he said, tone airily detached in a worrisome way, “you haven't heard any of this squabbling in the ranks about some sort of fever, have you?”

“I'm looking into it,” she nodded. “These things usually have some basis of truth to them, but I don't have anything to report so far.”

That was the line she had decided to use and she had determined there was a fifty-six percent chance of success. Mostly because she really wanted it to work and also because she had prepared herself in the substantial chance it didn't.

“How capable. I knew you were trustworthy, Karin.”

“I'll keep you informed of any developments, sir.” She lied with a heavy silver tongue and walked with light footsteps from the room. She heard another splatter of spit on the glass and the doors swung shut behind her.

Karin was sensitive to chakra signatures, even ones from skilled individuals were capable of masking their presence. She felt comfortable she had the lab to herself without possibility of someone sneaking in on her. She laid out her materials on a scroll she could close away easily just in case she had to hide it from curious seekers.

How did she determine the exact cause of death?

Medic-nin and other specialist ninja working with the Investigation Divisions in a village had skills and ability to trace damage on a body to specific jutsu; Karin had some self-taught time on a microscope and a bit of anatomical reading to guide her detective work. Her repertoire was maybe a little underwhelming on paper, but she had other things going for her.

For one thing, the disease was a potentially devastating epidemic waiting to happen – one that could end her relatively stable existence – and that was a substantial motivator to understand it better and try to combat it. As well, she had a burgeoning sense of obligation to protect the ranks, too. They had suffered enough under the machinations of their own leadership – why let something or someone else mess with them further? Unacceptable, really.

A fever was indicative of problems in the body and not a sole cause of death... as far as she knew. Usually it accompanied infections, which meant she needed to compare the diseased cells with healthy cells from a similar specimen; that might give her more information and an idea of what was abnormal, a place to start understanding what went wrong.

Because she didn't have an manual on where to start, she chose the area under the sixth chakra gate, the mid-to-low torso area, because it had some significance in medical ninjutsu. There was something in the kidneys that had to do with immune response in the body through hormone regulation. She might not see a cause of irritation directly, but maybe there would be other clues to follow.

She had set up the testing for hormonal content in different kidney samples, had opened up three kidneys from three different bodies, and was taking notes on a “healthy” example when she felt someone familiar on his way to her lab.

“Glad I could be your scapegoat,” Suigetsu grouched from around a straw. He had kicked his way into the lab and sullenly slunk his way towards her station. “Sure, I'm to blame for the guy clocking out his chakra card.”

“Maybe if you had brought him to the med bay like I've told you,” Karin retorted, not feeling guilted in the least.

“He wasn't gonna make it.”

“Are you really that upset I made you an accomplice? You wanted to be friends...”

Suigetsu sputtered, insulted. “I didn't want to be friends. You clearly can't stay away from me.”

In reality, Sasuke had been the one to coerce their passably amicable interactions, but neither admitted as much.

“Were you there when this guy fell ill?” Karin asked, changing the subject before either could get any sulkier thinking about their former ally. But he had always been more than that –

“Nope. Why?”

“I'm trying to determine how he died. It would be good to know the full scope of the illness. Where was he; how did it first show symptoms; how long was he effected? I don't know, but stuff like that.”

Using an elbow to indicate the spread of opened kidneys, “then what's all this for? Lunch?”

“So funny.” Karin mocked a smile. “Also for diagnostic purposes.”

“They all look the same to me,” he declared, as if to settle a matter.

“To an ignorant eye, they would,” she returned, but the sharpness was mostly to false bravado because she hated when Suigetsu tried to make her feel small. But, even so, as she looked at them all lined up in juxtaposition, she could see a noticeable difference in the 'diseased' kidney versus the others. Continuing with renewed suavity, “our man's organ here has very small, but numerous growths throughout the tissue.”

Suigetsu pulled a long frown. “And that's important...?”

Karin inclined her chin. “Of course. But I won't get into it with you, you'd fall behind too quickly and it would be an exercise in futility for me.”

He snorted and busied himself with his drink. “Anyway. I wasn't with him, but I can get that info for you. I know his cell and his CO is still hanging around here somewhere. Maybe they've submitted their mission report.”

“He was away from the base when he got sick?” She said about their patient. Karin hadn't heard that before.

“Yep. At least that's going for us. None of the men had been on base when they got sick.”

She straightened up in her seat with a dawning eagerness. This was important information. Forgetting to even order him around, she said, “would you be able to get their information as well? From the other cases?”

Like he might have something much better to do, Suigetsu made a vague gesture of commitment. Dragging out the words, very bothered by the prospect, “I guess...”

The fact he hadn't outright argued it told her he was keenly interested in the truth behind the fever cases. Anything less and he would have been a total shit about it.

“You've seen Kabuto's new toy?” Suigetsu asked, going back to playing with his straw.

Karin nodded and didn't hide her slight contempt for the whole thing. “Yeah, he's just told me today to not give her food or water. Like, at all.”

“Yikes. Well. Guess she won't be missing her tongue too terribly much then.”

She snapped her head up from where she'd bent down to examine the kidney. “What?”

“Well, I mean, she was a total mute, right? So it's not like she used it for talking or anything. And, you know, no food –”

“Are you telling me he's removed her tongue?” The idea wasn't the worst to come out of an Oto experiment, but it was unsettling. “Why?”

“One too many spit-chucks, sounded like.”

“That's...” –gross, terrible– “really unfortunate.”

“I think he's hoping it might grow back or something. What's that lady's deal? She some sort of Kimimaro copy?”

Karin didn't think so, but the comparison was easy enough to draw. They looked alike with their paleness and fair eyes and hair. “She's something different. Which is too bad for her.”

“Yeah, but like, obviously she's not that strong, right? Wouldn't have gotten stuck in a shitter like that if she had any real power going for her.”

“Maybe,” Karin surmised, not convinced either way. “She's pretty damn tough to crack.”

Suigetsu smiled, a bit unpleasantly, “but that's definitely what Kabuto wants to happen. He's going to find her limits and then he's going to cut her up and eat her. Just like he did with the old White Snake.”

She rolled her eyes at his mentioning of the other rumor currently rattling the ranks – that Kabuto had somehow eaten and taken over Orochimaru's powers. It was a ludicrous idea. ...She hoped.

Karin went still, something clicking in her mind and the connection made her cool with dread. “He didn't eat him... he absorbed Orochimaru...”

She was up to her feet and across the lab before Suigetsu could numbly drool out, “whaa?” in confusion.

Grabbing the slides she had been analyzing and tracking for several weeks, she hurried back to place them by her microscope. Then she was skirting around Suigetsu and heading to the door. To herself and with a weird sense of unappealing triumph, “no wonder I thought about the Curse Mark!”

Her company acted shadow as she left her usual lab sector to the lab hidden and secured for Orochimaru, and now Kabuto's, more secretive and personal pursuits. Suigetsu immediately accused her of only knowing how to enter from having followed and spied on Sasuke, but she ignored him (always on and on about Sasuke...). And he was wrong anyway – it just happened she had been brought there for other purposes by Orochimaru himself and she had observed his sealing methods. Understanding chakra was sort of her thing, of course she would be able to get inside.

She wanted Orochimaru's preserved hand.

If her hunch were right, then the hand would confirm that it was Orochimaru's cells infiltrating the tissue in the slides. And she would have to find a way to confirm that it was Kabuto's tissue being taken over.

Because if that were the case, then her master –the man who had saved her, taught her, made a place for her in the world– was not lost and gone forever.

Orochimaru was going to return.

o o o

Author’s Note:  It’s amazing how much science i can’t science anymore since i’ve been removed from science for so science long. :( but it’s magical ninja world, so...we’re good??? anyway i really like Girls Getting Answers. it’s my trope.

#swiftkick fanfic #expedient sequel #probably a 10k word project altogether...we're at 5k for the first two parts