#WHO NEEDS TO LEAP OVER RIVERS WHEN YOU CAN JUST SWIM TO THE OTHER PARTS OF YOUR ISLAND

[slyphire]

Brain: Do not time travel. The game is meant to be enjoyed day by day and you might keep playing it a bit longer if you don’t TT

Me: But more content tho. :(

#silence sly #i haven't touched acnh in almost a year so i restarted my game #i want blathers and more villagers already aslkfdsk #also fun fact: the wet suit is unlocked right away so i can just skip needing the pole lmao #WHO NEEDS TO LEAP OVER RIVERS WHEN YOU CAN JUST SWIM TO THE OTHER PARTS OF YOUR ISLAND

[charming-charlie]

Washed Away pt. 3

Title // Washed Away pt. 3

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Teeny tiny swears, fear of dying/drowning/losing loved ones. Dead bodies unfortunately.

Summary // Who knew hanging out with Buck and Christopher for a day would lead to a life or death situation?

Word Count // 2.1k

Prompt // Hi! Can i request a fic where you were with Buck & Christopher when the tsunami hit? They could be dating or crushing on each other. If nothing comes to mind, then it’s completely fine to ignore this request! Have a nice day!’

Author’s Note // This is Part 3 of the Washed Away series. || Part 1 || Part 2

Tagged List // @aprildecker-blog​ @coffeewithoutcaffeine​ @daddysfavoritesexkitten​ @chenfordlove​ @comeasyoudar​ @carnationworld​ // If you want to be added or removed from the tagged list, please drop a note.

“I guess we are going to hang out here a little bit longer,” Buck said gently. He kept his voice smooth and low, and you knew it was to keep both you and Christopher calm.

The water was slowing down. The waves, while present, were no longer rapid and threatening. Still, you didn’t feel comfortable moving, and neither did Buck. He held onto Christopher with one arm and keeping the other next to you. It was extremely comforting having him there, despite everything that was going on.

Too bad it was suddenly short-lived.

“HELP!” a woman suddenly screamed, somewhere away from the firetruck.

Buck immediately sat up at attention and looked around. His arm slipped out of your grip and you instantly felt a sense of dread as you followed his eyesight. Just once you wanted a moment with him, just once.

Buck slowly started to stand up, staring eagle-eyed at the damage before him. He was scanning the area, sweeping his eyes left and right in search of a body to go with the voice. What was once a road full of cars and people was now a river, and there didn’t appear to be any end in sight.

“Help me!” the voice screamed again, and you knew you weren’t going crazy.

Buck was at attention, his ears trained for all sorts of desperate cries for help. There was a woman waving for aid in the water, screaming for help. You stared in horror, knowing exactly what she was feeling in that moment. The fear that this could be the end…

No, Y/N. Let’s not think about that right now. You’re fine.

“Chris, um… I need you to sit right here for me with Y/N. You promise me?” Buck crouched down to reach Christopher’s line of sight; his tone was serious.

“Yes,” Christopher said.

You wanted to shake your head and forbid Buck from leaving the firetruck. Forbid? Really?

He seemed to sense your fear and apprehension and he turned to face you. If it weren’t for the immediate danger that you were facing, you knew you would be leaping into his arms like a knockoff Disney princess, but it wasn’t that easy. It was very, very difficult to even think about letting him out of your sight, and here he was, being a damn prince and diving into the face of danger.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he looked at you, frowning slightly, like he almost didn’t believe his own words, “watch Christopher for me. Please.”

The woman was still screaming for help and Buck couldn’t wait another second. He reached for your hand and you held it tightly, but it slipped out of your grip before you even had a chance to hold on.

The ex-firefighter did what he did best. He grabbed the ladder and catapulted it off the truck so that it formed a bridge between the truck and a pile of what appeared to be a random island of cars and vehicles. Was that stable? It didn’t look very stable.

He had the firehose piled on his shoulder to use as a rope and he began walking across the very unsafe ladder bridge. You were watching him, entranced by his knowledge of survival skills, but your breath was caught in the back of your throat with each step he took. There were more than a few times where the ladder shook unevenly below his feet and he had to steady himself by putting his arms out to the side like a tightrope walker. Watching this scene was painful and yet you couldn’t look away.

He had to jump into the water to reach the woman and you lost sight of him after that. Your heart was pounding erratically in your chest and for a second you thought you wouldn’t know what to do without Evan Buckley in your life. Damn, Y/N, is this really where your mind is going?

She was still screaming for help and you saw a flash of Buck’s orange shirt climbing over one of the cars to reach her. You would’ve let out a sigh of relief but nothing about this situation was relieving.

Christopher grabbed you by the pant leg and tugged on it. Immediately you turned your attention to the little boy, feeling the beginnings of a heart attack. Was he okay?

He seemed to be. He was smiling a little, probably having no idea just how dangerous the situation was. Oh, what it must be like to be a kid, naïve and unaware of things.

“Is Buck okay?” Christopher asked. There was a slight uncertainty to his voice, and you were surprised from catching it. Maybe Christopher knew exactly what was happening all along.

You turned your head to find Buck, but you lost him again. And… there was that panic building up once more.

“Hey, I need you to let go! Let go! You’re doing great!”

You heard his voice shouting over the waves and it took a few minutes to find him in the water. Apparently, he used the hose like a rope, just as you predicted, by tying the other end to a tree and letting a woman swim towards it and grab on. It was such an impressive maneuver, something you would never have thought of in a million years.

He grabbed the flailing woman and used the rope sort of like a zip line back to the truck. You jumped to action, reaching over the edge of the truck and helping her up. She landed on the roof with a bit of a thud and your hand reached for Buck’s to help him up next.

The moment he touched your hand, the two of you froze in fear, staring at each other with bated breath.

There were more cries for help. A lot more.

He turned to look behind him and you looked straight ahead, past him. Many people were swimming to the truck, calling for help, waving their arms for attention.

Buck’s hand slipped out of yours and you tried not to notice. When were you finally going to have your moment with him? It was scaring you inside, how dependent you suddenly became on him. It wasn’t the fact that he saved you, no. It was before that. And now, there was a possibility that you two might not live through this. You hoped it was a small possibility, but it was still there. And you needed that moment with him, a moment to show him, thank him, and appreciate him for everything he has done to enrich the quality of your life. You need that moment before it is too late.

“Watch him,” Buck said as he looked at you, pointing to Christopher.

You nodded, letting him know he could count on you. You couldn’t say anything. Your voice was frozen in your throat and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

Buck clung to the hose bridge he made, and the other tsunami victims grabbed on. They half shimmied, half swam, down the hose to the truck and you were helping every single person on board. Occasionally, you would glance at Christopher, who was fine. The woman, the first one Buck saved, was next to the little boy and keeping a firm eye on him, allowing you to focus on helping the others onto the roof of the emergency vehicle.

Within minutes, the roof filled up and people were saved. Buck was the last one on board, and he flopped down, gasping for breath. You had no idea the amount of adrenaline it must’ve taken him, but yours was also wearing off. You felt exhausted, numb, and just downright over this whole thing.

He sat next to Christopher and you sat next to him, just like before everyone had to go play hero. It felt normal, and you thought that was weird. This shouldn’t be normal, none of it should, but it was. At least for now.

“You amaze me, buddy,” Buck said to Christopher. His hand reached for yours and you grabbed it instinctively as Buck turned to face you. “And you amaze me too.”

If it weren’t for the insane flooding and sitting on a firetruck boat, you knew your heart would be skipping beats left and right. Was this the moment?

“Oh, no. Do you see that?”

“Look over there.”

The other people in the truck started speaking up, softly at first, but enough to grab your attention along with Buck. Cool, this was not the moment.

You weren’t prepared for what you saw. Dead bodies started floating down and Buck immediately turned to Christopher and tried to distract the boy from seeing them. He picked Christopher up and sat him on the edge of the truck so that his back was facing the bodies as they floated down the watery road.

Your hand was on Buck’s shoulder to steady yourself as you tried to look away. You dealt with dead people often, it was part of your job as a nurse. But this… this was different. The people in the water shouldn’t be dead, and that’s what made the whole situation sick.

Buck’s smile turned into a frown as he watched the victims float on by, and he turned back to look at you. There was something unreadable in his eyes.

The horrible moment passed, and people took their spots back on the roof. Christopher, Buck, and you sat in your usual section toward the front of the truck and for now, you just waited.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell your father,” Buck spoke up, speaking to Christopher, “I take you out one time and uh… look what happens.”

“You saved me,” Christopher said in reply, like he didn’t have to think about it, “you saved Nurse Y/N, and you saved them.”

The crowd of people on the roof of the truck were waiting, looking around, being quiet, but the gesture was clear enough. Buck definitely did something remarkable today and you were hoping he saw it. You hoped he saw just how amazing he was and how brave, heroic, and daring his decisions were to save everybody on the truck. Hell, he saved you, and that’s not something you plan to let slip from his memory. You owed him your life at this point.

“No,” Buck said, and he turned to look at you, talking to both you and Christopher at the same time, “we did that together. Me and you make a great team.”

Christopher moved in and hugged Buck, and the ex-firefighter wasted no time hugging the little boy back. Using his other arm, he pulled you into the hug as well, and it was nice. A small group hug with the three of you.

And then…

All the sudden, the water was rising and splashing around the truck. Harsh waves crashed against the truck, pushing against it. The vehicle lopped and shook within the water, feeling unstable for the first time. Trash and various items were scratching against the sides, sending piercing screeches to your sensitive ears.

Buck was on his feet quickly. He watched what was going on with eagle eyes, staring hard. It was like his brain was calculating the best course of action, but too much was happening too soon, and he couldn’t land on a solution quick enough.

People started falling off the truck and into the water.

Buck, gripping Christopher with one arm and you with the other, yelled at people to get down. Seeking shelter was the best course of action but it was hard to hear him over the waves.

It felt like another tsunami, another surge.

A man screamed for help, someone who had fallen overboard. You quickly rushed to the side, and Buck was right behind you. You held out your hand to reach for the man, Buck was holding onto you so that you wouldn’t fall in. You don’t know what propelled you to act this way, but you did. Instinct took over. You grabbed him, pulled him out of the water, and Buck moved next to you to help you. Together, the two of you heaved the man onto the hood of the firetruck.

But something happened.

Something crashed into the truck, so quick and powerful, that your grip on the man was broken and he fell back into the harsh rapids. Buck’s first response was to grab you firmly so that you wouldn’t fall in after him. Thankfully you didn’t but a certain realization hit you soon enough.

Both of you scrambled off the hood of the truck and looked at the people remaining.

Christopher wasn’t there. The little boy was nowhere in sight.

#Buck #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #buck x reader #buck x you #9-1-1 #9-1-1 on fox #9-1-1 fic #christopher diaz #oliver stark

[sergeant-spoons]

Hi , I saw your song-inspired post, they are all really great! Would you write no secrets with liebgott please. Thank you!

Sure thing, Anon! 💕

No Secrets

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Female OC

Word count: 2286

Tone: Fluff and angst and everything in between; mention of pregnancy; developing romantic relationship

Summary: For as long as they’ve known each other, they’ve held to one vow between them and them alone: no secrets. When their relationship turns into one they were not expecting (yet happily welcome), this promise serves them ever the better.

Song inspiration: “No Secrets” by The Shires

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @thoughpoppiesblow @victoryrollsandredlips @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @mgdln97 @josephtoye @tina1938 @drinkwhiskeyandsmile @ask-you-what-sir @indecisiveimpatience @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​

Joseph D. Liebgott.

Amelia M. Battle.

Best friends throughout all their childhood. When the war started, he enlisted promptly, and she was quick to do the same. They parted ways for the first time in many, many years that August of '42, he to Toccoa, Georgia for paratrooper training and she further north in Cali to train as a nurse. Just once in the next four years did they cross paths, in a place most called Bastogne but Joe and Amelia dubbed Ice Hell. Not the most creative, sure, but hard to think of anything else when, as they put it, "your nuts and tits are so frozen they're about to fall right off".

Then one day, Joe was laying on the grass, four years to the very day he'd enlisted in the Airborne. The August air here in Austria was fresh and clean and his mind strayed to Amelia, wondering how she'd have liked it. She was always complaining about the city smog, back home. He chuckled to himself, but his mirth was cut short when he could have sworn he saw her face form for an instant in the clouds overhead. His heart gave a leap. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but that was the very moment he realized he needed, not just wanted, her back in his life.

Who you’re with, where you’ve been- That’s not us, never has been. Got no secrets, no.

Growing up, the pair were thick as thieves, so much so they soon became "Lieb-and-Battle", as if they were one and the same. They didn't mind. It made sense to shorten and/or combine their names if it meant they could get quicker permission from their parents to go ride down the steep street in a wagon, go swimming in the river although it was high tide, chase the trolley up and down the stone-riddled hills of the city (most of their ideas were remarkably dangerous, in hindsight).

Secrets? Pah. They made a pact when they were nine years old- well, Amelia was nine and Joe was two days away from turning the same age -that they'd always tell each other the truth. This vow led to some fights, plenty of guilt, and a good deal of teasing, but it also provided them the strongest friendship in the whole of California, maybe even the western seaboard. Their parents thought it was a miracle, that they stayed friends no matter what, and every time some adult shook their head and mused as such, Joe would share a smile with Amelia.

"You can tell me anything," he used to say when he saw her fidgeting with a loose thread or unable to focus on her geometry homework, and she'd let him know what was troubling her- a boy, a girl, a grade, the weather, a family pet's passing. Anything at all. He would listen, patient as a stone in a riverbed, letting her words wash over him until she was done. She always felt better after she'd rambled to him a bit. His mother thought Amelia was an angel, the only person who could get her son to sit still and/or shut up for more than five minutes at a time.

As Joe grew older, he started to have the same opinion, but for a markedly different reason.

"No judgment, just listening." The night he snuck through her bedroom window to tell her one of his pals was hit by a bus while they were out drinking, he felt like the worst friend anybody could ever have. She let him lay his head in her lap and she played with his hair, calming him, as he rambled out the story. Glad to hear the boy would be alright, though he'd need a long stay at the hospital to ensure it, Amelia had leaned over and kissed his forehead. She didn't tell him he was a fool, didn't say anything against the stupidity of his underage drinking, didn't even venture into the realm of 'it was your idea to drink so the accident was your fault'.

She was kind and forgiving and said just what he needed to hear, that night.

That evening was when Joe realized there was something more to him and her than mere friendship.

Got no secrets, no.

The day he enlisted, they had a breakfast date. Well, not a 'date', but an agreement to meet at their favorite local diner. The instant his trousers met the red booth seat, she told him to just tell her already. So he did, and she was silent for a moment, then, to his surprise, she laughed.

"I guess great minds do think alike." She laid her hand over his across the table. "I joined up with the ANC last night. I was gonna call you, but I thought it was better to tell you in person."

He smiled, just a little sadly, and when she squeezed his hand, he knew she saw it in his eyes, everything he was feeling, all at once.

"Well, then." Amelia leaned back in her seat and glanced at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles over the booth just behind Joe's head. "What're you gonna order?"

He chuckled, not bothering to reach for a menu. "You know I always get the same thing."

She shrugged, a smile creeping back onto her lips, reassuring him better than any words could. "I know."

You can put your hand on my heart, I’ll swear to you honestly: Nothing but the truth is all that you’ll get from me.

When Joe stepped off the train and was met immediately by a stocky little body wrapping him in the biggest, brightest hug he could imagine, he knew just what he had to do. So he followed his heart, and as their families began to cheer, he closed his eyes as she flung her arms around his neck. God, he'd waited so long to kiss her. He kept hold of the moment as long as he could, until even the more patient of their relatives started muttering for them to break it up and get a room. When she opened her eyes again, he was already staring at her with a smile wider than any he'd shown during the entirety of the war.

"I think I love you," he said, as matter-of-fact as anything, and she nodded right back.

"Yeah, I think I feel the same."

"Good-" He kissed her forehead, slipping her hand into his grasp. "-'cause I've been meanin' to make you mine for a long, long time."

"Then I'm yours," she agreed, and the matter was settled as simply as 1-2-3.

Some tiptoe 'round the conversation- That’s not us, we just say it. You make it easy, easy to say the hardest words.

Once:

"I'm having a tough week, so if you could be a little extra patient with me these next few days, I'd really appreciate it."

"Of course."

He wrapped her in a hug, breathing her in: citrusy shampoo, body wash that smelled like purity itself, that faint aroma of coffee that seemed to linger with her no matter the time of the day.

"Thank you, baby."

Another time:

"When you leave the sink spigot half-open and it drips, I gotta say, it bothers me."

Amelia reached over his shoulder to fix that very issue, pecking his cheek as she leaned back. "I'll do better."

"Thanks."

A different day:

"Baby?"

"Yeah?"

Amelia stood in the doorway of the kitchen, rocking back and forth on her feet. She was agitated, and Joe was quick to rise and greet her. When he reached for a hug, she stepped back, flushed. He tilted his head- whatever she had on her mind was clearly weighing on her.

"Hey, Ames," he soothed her, "you can tell me anything."

"I know..." She took a deep breath. "I had a pregnancy scare this morning."

He cupped her chin in his hands. "Are you okay? What can I do?"

Her eyes watered and though she leaned into his embrace, her body was still stiff and tense. "I'm- I'm okay. I know we haven't talked about kids, and I- I do want them, one day, but not now-"

"Yeah, me too." Joe kissed the top of her head, running his hand in a soothing motion down the back of her hair. "When we're both ready for 'em. Okay, baby?"

"Yeah." Amelia nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder. "Exactly that." A beat. "Thank you, Joe. You always know just what to say."

"Oh, I dunno 'bout that-" He smiled into her hair. "-but really, Ames, I love you. I hope you know that."

"I do." She pressed a kiss to his chest through his shirt. "And I love you, too."

You can put your hand on my heart, I’ll swear to you honestly: Nothing but the truth is all that you’ll ever gonna get from me.

"Joe?"

He looked up from the Funnies page of the Sunday paper, tossing it aside on the kitchen counter. Amelia looked frightened and apologetic and uncertain all at once, and he leaned back in his chair. He'd been expecting this discussion all morning.

"I- I know I got drunk last night," she admitted, wringing her hands in front of her, "and I flirted with some guy. I can't remember who but he looked like you? And then I asked him if he was single and he said no and I remember crying because I liked him a lot and- oh, Joe-" She turned away, tears bubbling to the edges of her vision, only to find her boyfriend's arms wrapped firmly around her.

"Wh-"

"Hey, no worries- it was me you flirted with, sweetie." He pecked a kiss on the tip of her nose and she seemed to slump forward in his arms, terribly relieved. "I gotta say, it was hella cute when you started crying when I said I was in the best relationship I've ever had."

Amelia blushed, a smile flickering onto her face.

"I'm glad," Joe went on, "that you came to let me know right away."

She gasped. "Of course! 'Sides, you were at the bar with me- but that wouldn't make a difference, y'know. What kind o' girlfriend would I be if I didn't tell ya?"

"Not mine," he chuckled. "She's too smart and sweet and loyal to think otherwise."

"Well, I'm glad that's how that ended." She drew him into a kiss that, as always, left him craving another. "Breakfast?"

He kissed her nose again.

"Breakfast."

Yeah, we fight when we’re tired, baby, you and I.

Amelia lived up to her surname: every time she and Joe fought (a big one, over something important) it was a real battle. Armed to the teeth with jibes and angry blaming, these hearty fights could last for some time, persisting until they'd worn themselves out. Thankfully, they were also few and far between, as rare as Los Angeles rainfall. The sole exemptions from their arguments were, to each's endless relief, scathing remarks about each other and physical blows. Not once had they called each other a nasty name, even in the most heated of arguments, save for affectionate teasing when they were both in good spirits (such as "Gimme my hairbrush back, asshole"). The same went for bodily injury- neither would ever, ever lay a hand on the other, no matter how mad. Never.

We ain’t perfect, we work at it, day and night.

Once the yelling was done, and they'd taken their deep breaths, inching closer and closer to each other, they would fall into a tight hug and didn't let go for a long, long while. She would kiss the scruff on his jaw, he would brush his lips across the top of her head; as they breathed together, they began to see the other's point of view. Then they'd talk about it, always for longer than the initial fight, and come to a mutual compromise or understanding. Amelia said once that she wished she could skip that stage, with all the yelling, and Joe promised they'd grow out of it.

He was right: they did. Sooner than either expected, even.

We can hurt, but it works, baby, you and I Never lie, our only secret is we got no secrets.

One night, Joe packed a few things in the back of his truck and surprised Amelia by driving her up to the highest ridge in the Bay Area. He told her, as he let the engine peter out with a stutter, that he'd heard about a meteor shower on the radio yesterday, supposed to happen tonight. Amelia, who loved to stargaze anytime, anywhere, was thrilled with his surprise and eagerly helped him to lay out the pillows and blankets he'd brought in the flat of his truck. Curling up against him, she peppered his cheeks and chin with kisses until he reminded her to watch the sky so she would not miss the spectacle. She did so- adorably reluctantly -and Joe took a moment to ignore his own suggestion, staring at Amelia instead.

"You know why we work so well, baby?"

She smiled and leaned into his chest, pulling the blanket further over their bodies. They both knew the answer, he just liked to hear her say it.

"'Cause we got no secrets."

"That's right." 

He kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled up closer to him. Oh, how he loved the way she fit into every nook and cranny of his body like a puzzle piece that belonged right there.

"Our only secret," he whispered as the first of the meteors flashed across the indigo atmosphere, "is that we got no secrets."

#joseph liebgott #joe liebgott fanfic #joe liebgott #joe liebgott one shot #band of brothers #fanfic request #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #hbo war show #hbo war #hbo war one shot #hbo war imagine #hbo war fanfic #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show imagine #hbo war show fanfic

[alyssaallyrion]

Title: Nothing short of a dream

Rating: T 

Summary: In which Itachi has a nightmare, which may not be a nightmare at all.

Written for Shisuita Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: Dream

ao3 link

“Shisui, no…” he hears a quiet whimper.

Instantly, Shisui opens his eyes. Pale moonlight, streaming through the small window, has painted the room haunting silver. Shisui glances to his right and sees Itachi lying in bed next to him, his long dark hair strewn across the pillow. He’s clearly asleep, but tears are streaming down his cheeks, and quiet sobs escape his lips, making Shisui’s heart clench. He sits up on the bed and reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Itachi’s shoulder.

“Itachi,” he calls out gently, “Itachi, wake up.”

Itachi shifts under Shisui’s touch, still in the grasp of sleep, but Shisui’s persistent – he calls Itachi’s name again, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Shisui?” Itachi mumbles, waking up, eyes still bleary from sleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Shisui replies softly, “But you were crying in your sleep, and I was worried. Are you alright?”

Itachi doesn’t answer – instead, he sits up on the bed and pulls his legs close to his chest. Shisui remains quiet – he knows Itachi will speak when he’s ready.

“I…had a nightmare,” he says finally. Shisui sighs as he reaches over and pulls Itachi close against his side.

“It must have been terrifying,” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through Itachi’s hair, hoping to soothe him with the caress, “But it’s just a dream. Everything is ok.”

“I know,” Itachi bites his lip, not looking at Shisui, “But it felt so real.”

“I’ve had nightmares too when I was young,” Shisui replies, “And I’ve found that telling others about them made them far less scary. So, if you want to share, I’m here to listen.”

Itachi looks at him quietly for a moment as if weighing his words.

“It…was terrifying,” Itachi’s voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks, “You died and left me all alone.”

A sad smile blooms upon Shisui’s lips as he takes Itachi’s hand into his and presses soft kisses to his knuckles, “I’m sorry you had such an awful dream, but I’m right here, and I will never leave you.”

“In my dream,” Itachi continues, his voice shaky, “We were shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Our clan decided to rebel against the village. You and I have tried stopping them, but we failed, and you…”

“What a strange dream,” Shisui murmurs quietly, worry rising in his chest. “You have entrusted the fate of the clan to me,” Itachi breathes out, “But I couldn’t do anything – and in the end, I had to kill everyone, including mother and father. Only Sasuke was left alive.”

A cold hand of anxiety clenches Shisui’s throat, but he smiles through it. Pulling Itachi closer, Shisui wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses to his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He wants to reassure Itachi that he’ll always be by his side, that nothing will ever separate them - not again.

“Itachi, my love, that sounds awful,” he says softly.

“It was,” Itachi nods, glancing at Shisui, “But now that I have told you, I feel slightly better.”

“I’m happy I could help,” Shisui replies, pressing a light kiss to Itachi’s temple.

Silence falls upon them for a moment.

“Will you hold me while I fall asleep?” Itachi asks quietly, moving against Shisui, “I…just need to feel that you are here.”

“Of course,” Shisui murmurs.

They shift on the bed, Itachi facing away from him, as Shisui wraps his arm around Itachi’s middle, pulling him close to his chest. Itachi’s hand comes to rest atop of his, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

Shisui lifts up on his elbow and leans forward to Itachi on the cheek.

“There is nothing to be scared of,” he says, “Shinobi lead the life of violence and often meet quite a brutal end. But you and I are simple innkeepers, and ours will be a long and happy life. I promise you that.”

“I love you, Shisui,” Itachi murmurs sleepily.

“And I love you,” Shisui replies.

He listens quietly in the dark until Itachi’s breathing steadies. Once Shisui knows that he’s deep in the grasp of slumber, he carefully pulls his hand away from Itachi’s and climbs out of bed.

When he had used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi and Sasuke – and the villagers – three years ago, he thought the plan fool-proof. It seems that he was wrong – apparently, Itachi’s memories have started to come back in the form of dreams.

Worry stirs in his chest, and Shisui feels a lump in his throat. As much as he hates himself for doing what he did, he knows it was necessary. The memories would have tormented Itachi, and Shisui couldn’t allow that. More than anyone, Itachi deserved to be happy. That was why Shisui took him away from Konoha, from the pain and violence of the shinobi world, and tried to give Itachi a chance at a new, happier life. He was too late, of course, and for that, Shisui would never forgive himself, but he did the best he could with the circumstances.

If only he had been stronger, if only he had never left Itachi in the first place…

He knew he made a mistake the moment he leaped of that cliff. Itachi needed him, and he was leaving him alone to deal with an utterly impossible problem – like a coward. Like a traitor. The realization burned – he swore to Itachi once that he’d never betray him, and there he was, doing just that. When the blinding pain pierced through his body once he hit the water, only one thought was left in Shisui’s mind – he needed to come back to Itachi.

Somehow, his prayers were answered. A man, who Shisui later learned was Orochimaru, had found him on the bank of Naka river and offered to help him.

“My experiment can heal you,” he said, “And, who knows, perhaps even restore your eyes. But it will be painful.”

Shisui scoffed – after what he’d gone through, he cared little about pain. Still, the offer was suspicious.

“Why would you help me?” he asked.

“I’m just looking for test subjects for my experiment,” the man replied calmly, “And, besides, letting you live might keep things…interesting.”

The man’s hand was on Shisui’s arm, hauling him up – his skin felt cold and slimy like that of a snake and sent a shudder through Shisui’s body. A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, but he steeled his heart – he had to return to Itachi.

The experiment worked, almost better than Orochimaru had expected – it took nearly a year, but Shisui’s eyes were restored with their full abilities. To Shisui’s surprise, Orochimaru let him go without much trouble.

“It was a pleasure,” the smile on Orochimaru’s lips was utterly unsettling, “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Shisui didn’t dignify him with a response. There was only one thought burning in his mind – to get back to Konoha, to get back to Itachi.

He was too late. When Shisui saw Itachi, he was standing over red ruins of their clansmen’s corpses, grasping a sword in his hand, and, at his feet, was Sasuke’s lifeless body. Bile rose up in Shisui’s throat, and his head spun – this was all his fault. If he had never left Itachi, this would have never happened.

The broken sob that left Itachi’s lips upon seeing Shisui shattered his heart.

“Are you here to judge me?” Itachi asked, “You haven’t answered my prayers once, and now you choose to appear to me. Should I have done this earlier?”

He was laughing then, and Shisui felt paralyzed with fear. It was clear that whatever he had suffered through in the last year – whatever he had to do that night – was testing the limits of his sanity. And it was all his fault. It was his duty now to help Itachi, any way he could - to give him the life of peace he always wanted.

Kotoamatsukami allowed Shisui to erase the memories from Itachi – and Sasuke’s – mind. As if the massacre didn’t happen, as if they were never shinobi in the first place but rather simple innkeepers of a small tavern in a country far away from the Land of Fire. To ensure that their new life would not be disturbed, he used Kotoamatsukami on the other villagers too, making them forget Itachi and Sasuke, laying the blame for the murder of the clan exactly where it belonged – at Danzo’s feet. He hoped that whatever punishment Danzo suffered would be long and painful, and he deeply regretted not being there to see it.

It warmed his heart to see Itachi so unburdened, living the life of peace. He seemed so happy tending to the garden and the inn, going to the nearby river to swim or fish with Sasuke and Shisui, and spending quiet evenings reading on the porch. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair to take Itachi’s memories, but it was Shisui’s only chance to give him happiness – and he’d do anything to preserve it.

He wonders from time to time if death has changed him. Before, he wanted to do everything to keep the clan alive and at peace with the village, but now the only thing he regretted was that he wasn’t there to take on Itachi’s mission, to take away the burden from his soul.

Shisui walks into the small room on the first floor of the inn and lights the candle on the desk. Settling on the chair, he pulls one paper from the stack and picks up a pen, then pauses for a moment, musing how to start the letter – after all, he’d never thought that he’d have to contact Orochimaru again. But, perhaps, the time has come.

He hopes Itachi’s dream was just a fluke of his mind – that by the morning, Itachi won’t even remember what he’d seen – but Shisui knows that there is no such thing as being too careful. Especially not when it comes to Itachi’s well-being. And so, he writes the letter. There is no guarantee, of course, that Orochimaru knows enough about Kotoamatsukami or the Sharingan to be useful, but there is no one else who could help.

Shisui’s hands quickly form the necessary seals, and the paper in front of him disappears in the flicker of pale blue light. His heart feels heavy – he knows that Orochimaru’s help always comes with strings attached.

Whatever Orochimaru asks for will not cannot be too much – after all, Itachi’s happiness is worth everything. 

#shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #shisuita #shiita #shisuitaweek2021

[freckled-lili]

So some of you may be trying not to remember that I did a silly, cingey playthrough that I called Sou Doki Doki!, where I was playing Doki Doki Literature Club and named the MC after Sou Hiyori, then for the rest of the VN acted out as Sou. It wasn’t very good.

But anyway.

During Act 2 of the VN I had also wrote a poem and uploaded it into three parts (mostly because the poem ended up being a lot longer than I had originally intended). But I had also encrypted the poems in different codes (Base64, Binary ... I think the last was UCode or something?), because that was gimmick DDLC also did with some of their easter eggs - hide extra poems or additional content through encryption.

After some thought, I’ve finally decided to upload all three parts in normal text for anyone who was curious about what was going on with those poems. I will admit it’s not that great, but I worked really hard on the poem so I’m satisfied with how it came out.

*skateboards out*

The Man with the Glass Smile

 Part 1

Today I was invited to a game

When I arrived, there were only

Two holes

They fit perfectly for my eyes

They must have been made

For me

They said

“Look inside me”

So I peered inside

Not all things can be ignored

Inside were rivers

All rushing and struggling

To move forward

To steer their own course

Fleeing nonsensically,

A world full of tangled possibilities

But all rivers lead to

The bottomless ocean

You can’t change nature

You can’t change the threads of fate

I stumbled back

The two holes said,

“I’m sorry

Did you think that all life

Was equal in this game?

You are all nothing but

Numbers on a page

And you and I

Are the most insignificant

Of them all”

I fell to my knees

tried to scream

But

I was choking

A million beats

threatening to erupt from

my throat

Tiny frogs

trying to swim up

a waterfall

Something was dribbling

from my lips

I covered my mouth

But soon it was lea

king

from the cracks of my pale fingers

Excreting from my body

was ink and glass

It splattered over

the floor below me

A black, cracked pond that reflected

Nothing

Least of all myself

The pond grew tall

Morphed and twitched into

A figure

He had a smile made of glass

He was someone I should know

A memory shoved in the back

Or a piece of my soul I barely knew

The man with the glass smile said

“I’m sorry

You should never have been sent

To the front lines

I am not your savior

I will be the one

To walk out of this game

For you

All you have to do

Is stay inside”

I wish I could I say

I refused countless times

It’s hard to remain crystal clear

When the mind is

crac k ing

I rested my head down on his shoulders

Held him like a tired child

He carried me in his arms

Ink stained my skin

Shards pricked my flesh

There is no flawless future

So I buried myself

In the ink and shards

We held each other close

We conducted our discordant lullaby

“We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together”

I close my eyes

I will sleep

Until the poem is finished…

Part 2

…but I couldn’t sleep

There were voices

From outside

It was so cramped here

It was made for me after all

Is survival supposed to feel so

Lonely?

I saw two holes along the walls

They fit perfectly for my eyes

My isolation enticed me to peek

Not all things will be ignored

Outside there were eyes

They were upset about something

Seething, glaring, squinting

Their pupils dilating with hunger

For demise

My demise

They drew in close

They said,

“Soon

Soon

Soon it will be

Your turn to die

Soon”

Distressed, I looked down at

Myself

But I was no longer mine

I belonged to the man with the glass smile

That was the deal

With my mouth

We bared cracked grins

With my voice,

We crafted lies to conceal me

With my hands

We passed the skull to another

With their lives,

We moved forward

With his way,

My hands are crimson

It hurts

Is this really survival?

I pleaded

“It wasn’t me!

I’m sorry, it wasn’t me!”

But my mouth

Wasn’t mine anymore

The man with the glass smile

Stroked my cheek with jagged hands

Wet with inky tears

He said,

“I’m sorry

Did you think this was going to be easy?

We’re only doing this

Because you can’t

They’re only numbers on a page

All frantically adding and subtracting each other

Are you really weeping for numbers?

Don’t forget

Yours the most insignificant

Of them all”

He drew me away from the holes

We whispered out lullaby

“We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together”

Inside I tried to sleep

The poem will be over soon.

But I couldn’t think about verses

Only numbers

They’re just supposed to be numbers

Why does it hurt

When one is taken out of the equation?

It doesn’t matter

How many times it gets better

1000 x 0 = 0

All rivers lead to the bottomless ocean

The voices our louder

Swarming, twisting, writhing,

I can’t breath

Has anyone drowned in sound before?

This can’t be survival

I need to get out

So I start scratching

Fingernails rakING violently around me

A revolting

cac

O

PHO

ny

Of voices and s////cr\\\\a////tche\\\\s

Soon my nails are stuffed with pulp

Like a FATTENED cherry pie

I keep s////cr\\\\atchi////ng\\\\

I//// ke\\\\ep sc////rat\\\\ching

S ////c r A \\\\ t C H I n //// g gggggggggggg \\\\

The man with the glass smile

Peels me away from the walls

Shards pierce my skull

Ink stinging my cuts

He said

“I’m sorry

But you knew

You could never survive this game

That’s why I’m at the front lines

There are no saviors

There are no heroes

There is only surviving

You can’t really die on the inside”

We struggled

We scrEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEamed

at each other

“We/I CAN(‘t) keep the pieces together!

We/I can(‘T) keep the pieces together!

We/I CAN(‘t) keep the pieces together!

We/I can(‘T) KEEP THE PIECES TOGETHER!”

He went back outside

I kept sc////rat\\\\c////hin\\\\g inside

This is not survival

I want this poem to end

I hate how it’s coming out

I keep scr////at\\\\c////hi\\\\ng …

Part 3

…but it was all meaningless

I always knew

If there really was no chance

Then I wish I was taken out of the equation

Before I put together a glass smile

There were two holes

They fit perfectly for my eyes

I crawled towards them

And took another peek

There are some things you won’t ignore

Outside there were eyes

They were upset about something

Seething, glaring, squinting

All hungry for demise

My demise

I’m sorry

In the distance

There was a silhouette

Faint as a ghost

They fluttered towards me

Softly

A cherry blossom in the wind

Their little hands poked through the holes

I held them by their fingertips

Tried not to stain them with ink

(Or was it blood?

I can’t tell anymore

It all looks the same now)

They didn’t seem to mind

I forgot what gentleness felt like

Behind me

A cacophony of voices and scratches

In front of me

The hushing breath

Of a meadow’s breeze

They swept away

The madness of sound

I forgot what tenderness sounded like

Did you ever think

That a ghost would bring life?

I forgot what that was

I wasn’t living

I was simply not dying

I always had my head down

Trying to keep the pieces together

I was always struggling

To remain afloat in the rushing river

With one faint touch

I looked up and remembered

To bathed in the sunbeams

With one faint touch

I felt a little more grounded

And finally touched the sky

The air felt so clean and clear

I breathed again.

They asked me

“Have you ever met someone

Who became a ghost before they died?

I am a ghost for someone I lost

Just like you

Who you lost, I don’t know

You and I are simply flickering in life

Maybe I can save you

What little light I have left

I want you to have

So you may be your own light again

If I have to fade

I’m ready for that”

They let go

They fluttered away

But not to join the wind

A cherry blossom adrift

On the ocean’s surface

Ready to sink

Did you keep my head up

So I could watch you go

And never come back?

The man with the glass smile asked,

“Are you really weeping for numbers?

It’s just another subtraction

That’s how the game goes

Remember

You’re the most insignificant

Of them all

Subtracting you won’t save anyone”

Enough

My fingers flew up

Smashed the glass smile

From my face

I reached out

I already lost myself

Please!

Don’t let me lose them too!

Please!

But the two holes were too small

So I start scratching again

Dug my nails along the edges of the holes

Spread them open

I leap out

All rivers lead to the bottomless ocean

I reach out

With the last of my strength

I held up the flickering ghost

With my last breath

I blew them back into the wind

And they fluttered away once more

There are saviors here

But that savior wasn’t me

Under the surface of the ocean

I gazed up towards the reflection

Of the man who once had a glass smile

I said,

“I’m not sorry

I can’t live being made of glass

You and I

Could never keep the pieces together

Instead you just picked off

the shards from my broken body

Laid them down

For someone to bleed on

How can I walk out of this game

If you keep taking me apart

And leave me behind?

The person I lost was me

You were never really surviving

Just writing a long-winded poem

Hoping you would never have to

Finish it”

The final word

Was mine

I’m reaching the end of this poem

I never felt so happy

I sunk into the cradle of the ocean

Silence never sounded so beautiful

I smile

I sink

I live

0.0%

#lili writes #lili scribbles #doki doki literature club #lili plays ddlc #sou doki doki! #the man with the glass smile #long post #also the grammar is all over the place #i apologize for that #i'm not a very consistent writer asdhfasdfasf' #sou hiyori #shin tsukimi

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                Tu’er Shen, the Rabbit God of LGBTQIA+ Relations,                            whose origins stem from Ancient China.                                      He is currently unemployed.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Hoseok/Wonho - Soloist GOD NAME: Tu'er Shen / Tu Shen (Leveret Spirit / Rabbit God). He is the patron deity and safeguarder of LGBTQIA+ relations. IC NAME: Hu Tianbao PANTHEON: Chinese OCCUPATION: undecided DEFINING FEATURES: upturned rabbit-like nose

PERSONALITY: Ironically, Tian has grown a lot since his untimely death. However, he is still very much the same lovestruck young man that he was before his rise to divinity. Go figure that losing your life would give you a passion for living, right? He tries to experience new things whenever he can and not set limits on himself. This extends into his relationships with others as well. He has a big heart and cares very much for the people around him, the amount of which is always increasing because he's outgoing. Surprisingly, in spite of being a God who is known to help others find love, he isn't actually known for being monogamous. Part of his reasoning had been that he wasn't settled anywhere in the past, but nothing has changed now that he has put roots down in Mount Phoenix. Tian believes that he has a lot of love to give and that there is no reason it should be restricted to one person.

HISTORY: Many stories over the course of history have romanticized the act of sacrificing oneself for true love. Hu Tianbao doesn't really consider himself any different. A young soldier from the time of the Qing Dynasty, Tian found himself in quite the predicament when he fell for a man serving as a government official.

While bonds between men weren't unheard of in the province of Fujian, they were often concealed as a brotherly sort of relationship. The elder man, known as the qixiong (adoptive older brother) would pay what was essentially a bride price to the parents of the younger man, who would become known as the qidi (adoptive younger brother). They would even host a ceremony just like a formal wedding, after which the qidi would move into the qixiong's home and serve as the equivalent of a wife. Eventually, both men would be expected to marry women and procreate, but some of their partnerships could last up to twenty years before they separated to fulfill their "husbandly duties."

It was risky thinking that perhaps the man he desired would engage in such a deceptive partnership. The official was from another province and it was unlikely that their practices were the same, but Tian couldn't help how smitten he was. They'd met in passing, but he might as well have been invisible to the official, just another lowly commoner. Even so, he'd find himself longingly watching the man as he went about his duties and found it harder to keep his growing affections to himself. Could such a beautiful feeling truly be immoral? Unbeknownst to Tian, the official had noticed him hanging around and had grown suspicious of his intentions. He'd assumed he was a spy or some other shady criminal, but his attention had been harmless enough that the official couldn't make an accusation. The day came that Tian could no longer keep his feelings to himself, though, and he ventured to the bathhouse he knew the official frequented, hoping to catch him alone so he could tell him. He'd very nearly backed out, but the official saw him before he could and immediately questioned why Tian would invade his privacy. In a fit of nervous emotion, Tian confessed his love, saying that he knew it was wrong and that he was unworthy of a man of his stature, but that he couldn't help his heart's desire.

The official would have probably been less disgusted if Tian had confessed to murder. In a fit of rage, he dragged Tian out of the bathhouse and had his guards beat him to death, leaving his body beneath a dead tree. Tian journeyed to the Underworld, where the Lord of the Afterlife recognized his love had been true and granted him the title of the Rabbit God, so that he may oversee and protect the affairs of people like himself. With his newfound purpose, Tian returned to the mortal realm and appeared in the dream of a villager, telling him to build a temple where those in need could seek his aid.

For nine years, Tian blessed many relationships who would otherwise be shunned by the powers that be. In 1765, however, a new official named Zhu Gui came to Fujian. On the surface, he seemed like a true servant of the people, but his ultimate goal was the expansion of Confusian principles. He would create and enforce the first law in China to ban homosexual relations and so began his crusade against what he deemed as the "Cult of Hu Tianbao." Zhu Gui accused the Rabbit God's followers of being lewd individuals who prayed in secret for assistance in corrupting the youth to share in their depraved desires. It didn't take much convincing for him to receive government support to destroy their places of worship.

Tu'er Shen's temples were razed to the ground. His idols were smashed to pieces and scattered into the river to never be recovered. Like the forgotten bits sinking into the dark depths, those who worshipped and found comfort in the controversial God were forced to do so in secret. They would erect small, unmarked shrines that only they knew the true purpose for and couldn't even tell the tale of the unfortunate Hu Tianbao without the fear of retribution. Yet the shunned God still listened to the pleas of those who felt misunderstood and oppressed simply for who they loved. He only wished that he could reach out to more of the community that had no other Gods to turn to who understood their plight.

For nearly two centuries, the government's persecution of his followers had left Tu'er Shen's already discrete temples abandoned. If anyone happened across it, there wasn't even any sign that it belonged to the Rabbit God, except for the coincidental presence of bunnies that could occasionally be caught scurrying away into the foliage. He would go years before he would hear the whispers of someone's prayers... So it was with great sorrow that Tu'er Shen left Fujian. The harsh reality was that he couldn't do much for people who didn't know he even existed. A forgotten God was powerless... Yet as the civil rights movement for the LGBTQIA+ community grew in fervor, he realized that he could do so much more as just a man.

Tianbao traveled the world, finding the little pockets of people willing to fight for the freedom to love who they wanted without the fear of suffering the same grim fate as so many others. It wasn't until the 20th century that the movement truly started gaining traction and was able to make legal leaps and bounds to decriminalize same-sex partnerships. Seeing the progress that humans made, without having to entreaty the aid of a higher power, really astounded Tianbao. He would have never thought in his wildest dreams that any of what he'd witnessed would ever be possible. A once silent community had found its own voice and fought against all odds to make sure they were heard.

While Western nations were making more progress, though, Tian wasn't ignorant to the seemingly insurmountable oppression that was still going on in his homeland. In 2006, he found himself called back when a priest in Taiwan built the first temple dedicated to The Leveret Spirit in nearly two centuries. Even though he had been fighting for civil rights alongside mortals for many years, there had always been a sense that something was missing. Hearing the prayers of those who felt alone and reminding them that they were not fulfilled a purpose he had all but forgotten. During his years spent in Taiwan, Tian had crossed paths with a few Gods and Goddesses from an island out in the sea that mere mortals couldn't find. It wasn't until 2019, when same-sex marriages were legalized in Taiwan, that Tian decided to go check out this island for himself and he has remained there ever since.

POWERS: in his myth, Tu'er Shen can enter dreams and interact with the dreamer. But when going to his temple, people pray to him to find love and for blessings/good fortune in same-sex relationships. Usually at the temple, they ask for talismans or blessings on things like skin care products to hopefully attract a partner. So I was thinking his powers would be the ability to walk in dreams and influence the dreamer, momentarily increasing the luck or allure of someone carrying a blessed item, and minor wish granting.

STRENGTHS: confident, assertive, observant, instinctive, friendly WEAKNESSES: single minded, overly emotional, blames himself for things he can't control, overly protective of his children, cannot swim

#kpop rp #krp #lee hoseok #wonho #mp; welcome

[fancifulwhump]

people tend to stab Jaskier a lot in whump fics but I’ve only seen ONCE instance of near-drowning and it was INCREDIBLY GOOD, so if you’re still taking prompt requests,,,

Jaskier tends to avoid large bodies of water if he can help it. Nothing against them, really — only he’s heard one too many stories from Geralt’s reluctant lips, of Aeschnas and Brukolaks and Drowners, pulling oblivious travels down into the deep. It would be enough to turn anyone off a nice afternoon swim, really. For life — if you’re lucky enough to get away from the water’s edge breathing. As someone who quite enjoys living, and has little desire to meet an unromantic end in some boggy mire, smothered by mud, Jaskier’s learned to keep his distance whenever he finds himself passing by a lake or river. Though he always gives Geralt’s monsters a wide berth, the water beasts get the widest berth at all. 

Whatever lurks beneath the deep, it’s not his business. Jaskier’s got no desire to bother them — so, by the gods, they shouldn’t want to bother him.

Of course, the gods always have a nasty sense of humor.

“I’ve heard the stories, of course,” he declares, while keeping an easy pace at Geralt’s side. Before most kills, Geralt is usually quieter than the grave, focused on going over what he knows and forming a plan on how to kill it. Jaskier’s not the ‘thinking ahead’ sort, really. He’s also really good at filling silences before they can become uncomfortable. Really, if Geralt didn’t have him around, he might forget what words sound like entirely. “They call it plenty of things — the nokk, the nix, the nik-nak — okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the point. Beautiful women who live in lakes and streams, and pop out naked to lure unwary travelers to a brutal demise!” He claps his hands together, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Ooh, my friend, is was one I can't miss!”

“There’s still time,” Geralt replies, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder. “Start running back to the inn. Maybe you can make it by nightfall.”

“Very funny.” If Geralt meant it, he’d do more than tell Jaskier to go home. He wouldn’t have let him come in the first place. They’ve been there before, and Jaskier’s learned to understand when a monster’s simply too dangerous, and when Geralt’s just indifferent to company.

All he warns before setting out on this job, Jaskier trailing at his heels, was, “don’t make friends.”

“Oh, no no.” Jaskier throws back his head and chuckled, keeping quick pace on foot with Roach’s trotting. “I appreciate the female body in all shapes and sizes, but a tail is a bit much, even for me. All parts where they belong, if you please.”

To Geralt’s credit, he doesn't buy that for a second. “Tell that to the Dullahan you bedded last month.”

Jaskier gasps. “That woman —-“ he sputters for a moment, scrambling for some way to salvage his pride, but comes up blank. “Was possessed of great personal charm! It was all going great until her head fell off, I’ll have you know.”

“And you started screaming.”

“Reasonable.”

“And I burst in to find you naked, in bed, holding a woman’s head in your hands.”

“Hardly the worst thing you’ve accidentally seen, let’s be honest.”

“And that,” says Geralt, picking up the pace on Roach, “is exactly why you should have stayed home.”

Winding up jogging half the way to the nokk’s lake has Jaskier out of breath and aching, though not at all deterred. By the time Geralt settles down to make cake for the night, they can hear the trickle of the stream not far off in the distance. If Jaskier’s puny little human ears can make it out, Geralt’s Witcher senses must be on high alert. Any move the Nokk makes, they’ll know. Why, this job should be wrapped up before dinner time!

“Is it…” he ventures tentatively, after watching Geralt sit and stare, stone-still, into the distance for a solid five minutes, “awake?”

“No.” Geralt finally sighs, kicking a bit of dirt into the makeshift fire pit Jaskier has been creating. “And it won’t wake up unless it sees a reason to. No flame tonight.”

“Thank god it’s summer,” Jaskier mutters, filling his hard work back up again. “Don’t exactly fancy freezing to death because you —“

“Shit.”

He doesn’t even pause. “Don’t really need to know that, Geralt, but thank you for the wonderful input —“

“No. Shit.” Geralt catches his attention by rattling something metal. When Jaskier looks up, he finds the other man holding his water canteen aloft, upside down and empty. “Out.”

Jaskier’s mind flashes back to his own canteen, tied to his waist… but he’d been operating under the assumption that Geralt had plenty of water, see, and it was a very long walk. He’s got a few mouthfuls left, maybe.

They blink at each other, silently debating what to do for a long moment. Well, Geralt’s debating what to do. To Jaskier, they’ve got exactly one option, and it seems obvious.

“Well,” he declares, planting both hands on his hips, “seems like we have to go make friends.”

At once, that peculiar look comes over Geralt’s face, the one that acknowledges he and Jaskier aren’t the same species anymore, but questions whether they ever started out that way to begin with. “No,” he declares at once, settling down on the nearest log. The poor thing grunts under his weight. Jaskier’s frown deepens. “We’ll have to do without.”

Snorting, Jaskier tosses his head in the direction of the running water. “Excuse me, were we not just walking for half the day? I had a chance to replenish myself with ale at the last inn, but you didn’t even get to do that. We both need water, Geralt. It’s really not a topic for debate.”

Geralt’s eyes narrow into slits. A lesser man might be intimidated into shrinking into a cowardly turtle shell, but Jaskier’s seen him do the exact same thing with flies bothering them on their way. At this point, Geralt could start doing vaguely-threatening tricks with a very big knife and Jaskier wouldn’t be phased.

At any rate, though, Geralt shows no signs of giving in. His glare doesn’t falter… and after a moment, Jaskier decides it isn’t worth it to press. He sighs, slumping down on the adjacent log, and tugs the water satchel from his waist. Leaning over, he holds it out to Geralt; when the Witcher blinks at him, he gives it a tempting shake. Finally, Geralt gives in.

“There.” Jaskier feels much more reassured, seeing the last of their water slip down Geralt’s throat. After all, it wouldn’t do for the experienced monster hunter to collapse in the middle of a job. Jaskier could hold his own against a monster as far as running went, and could probably scream it’s ears off, but any actual fighting would see him monster mash rather quickly.

Which is why it’s probably a bad idea to sneak off with their canteens the very first moment Geralt is distracted. But, well, Jaskier’s never been known for his instincts of self-preservation.

They need water, is the thing, and as far as Jaskier can see it they’ve got two options: try to pilfer some out from under the nokk’s nose, or lure it out with a nice juicy human, let Geralt kill it, then help themselves to however much water they feel inclined to. Either way. Everyone wins.

The stream is deceptively peaceful, almost eerie in the bright moonlight. Water glimmers wherever it ripples over stones and gullies along the ground; it isn’t very wide, enough for Jaskier to conceivably cross in a running leap, but he can’t gouge deepness from here. It could be up to his thighs or well over his head; there woodland streams are deceptive, and he’s accidentally blundered into both.

Most importantly, it’s quiet. Very quiet.

Exhaling softly in the midnight air, Jaskier creeps to the water’s edge. The only sound is that of running water, from the falls somewhere in the distance. The only crunch of leaves come from beneath his own feet. When he leans over, gazing into the clear waters, the only blurry silhouette is his own. Hastily, Jaskier uncaps his canteen, and bends to begin filling it with water. It flows without hesitation, filling in a matter of moments; the water is a bit too cool against his bare skin, biting like a predator wherever it touches, but he braces himself and ignores it. By the time he fumbles the cap back onto his canteen, his hands are shaking. As though he’s just stuck his hands in snow, his fingers ache, chilled to the bone. When he huffs out a breath, it’s visible in front of him.

But wasn’t it just… summer?

Jaskier looks up, and his heart freezes, too.

The woman makes no obvious effort to be beautiful. One glance at her, and it’s clear she doesn’t need to try. She moves with a natural grace, inimitable to anyone who doesn’t possess it naturally; dark hair flows down her shoulders and back like a waterfall, clinging to bare skin until it reaches her hips. Bare, there’s the thing — she is utterly bare. Jaskier’s blinded by her breasts first, a perfect pair; in the glow of moonlight, they’re practically translucent. Then his gaze ventures down, along the hourglass slenderness of her waist, to — to — oh, by the gods. He’s always tried to live a good life, and this sight alone is his reward. This is the sort of body ballads were invented for.

“Please,” he heard himself say, though he’s certainly not conscious of it. “I didn’t mean to intrude… forgive me.”

Her head bows, and he is forgiven. Whatever chill jaskier may have been feeling seconds ago is thoroughly forgotten. What was it Geralt said back at the camp? Make friends? Surely this is just what he meant… oh, and if there’s ever been a soul he’s more interested in befriending…

“I’ve had so many dreams like this,” he hears himself say, transfixed by her hand as it extends out to him. “Usually they end… marvelously, on a great dramatic crescendo… then sometimes they end with my friend leaping out of the water with a sword to ruin the party, but I try to forget those. More… nightmares, really…”

Geralt. Where is Geralt? Won’t be be worried? Jaskier had something to do here, he’s sure… but the canteens have fallen from his hands and gone forgotten in an instant. With a dull ripple of realization, it dawns on him that he can no longer feel the shore under his feet. There’s water lapping round his calves; he takes a step closer, and it reaches his thighs. Something about this isn’t right, but he can’t put his finger on it… not when the lady in front of him is still reaching out, consuming all his thoughts. But Geralt… halfheartedly, Jaskier tries to break away, the thought of his friend left alone at the campsite troubling him. It’s like pulling his thoughts from molasses. He hesitates, starts to churn, feels a shiver penetrate the blanket of warmth suddenly surrounding him… then the lady’s arms are on his shoulders, and he can’t feel anything at all.

Her eyes are pitch black, pupilless, leaking something dark down her face like tears. She flutters lush lashes at him, and a smile spreads across Jaskier’s face, goofy and unmoored. What was he doing? Can’t remember, not important. This… this is a poem in itself, a living sonnet, and he has fallen headlong into it. Whatever he’s done to earn this… oh, her hands are there, and her lips are there, and he can’t think of anything more, nothing else…

Come with me, he hears her say.

Jaskier is already dissolving in her arms. If he wanted to, he couldn’t refuse.

And gods help him, he doesn’t.

Her lips find his; they are cold as ice. His eyes can suddenly no longer stay open. The water closes over his head, and he knows nothing at all.

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

It’s Geralt’s fault, really, for looking away.

But ultimately there’s no sense blaming himself for the idiot bard doing what he does best; trouble is drawn to Jaskier like a magnet, and whether he’s warned once or one hundred times, he’ll find it. As soon as Geralt realized the conspicuous absence of irritating voice at his side, he took off through the woods, tracking Jaskier’s scent… but ultimately, he couldn’t make it in time.

If he owes Jaskier anything tonight, it’s making his job a little easier. They found the Nokk.

Specifically: the Nokk found Jaskier.

He reaches the water’s edge just as Jaskier’s lips are captures by the monster’s determined own. Restraining a shout requires every ounce of self-control in his body — if the Nokk has a chance to get away, she’ll vanish into the depths of the water, taking Jaskier down with her. As it is, Geralt only has the chance to register a handful of things: the way Jaskier goes limp in the Nokk’s grip, it’s monstrous clawed hands scraping possessively along his shoulders, and the blue tinge to Jaskier’s skin a second before the water closes over his head.

Geralt doesn’t think. He leaps.

The Nokk doesn’t see him coming, so she doesn’t have a chance to react. She springs out of the water, mouth opening in a feral shriek. It’s fangs are needle-sharp, black and dripping. Geralt brings the silver blade down towards its head, but the Nokk is too quick. She twists in the water, lashing out. What were slender legs a moment ago has transformed into a tail, sleek and powerful, that almost succeeds in taking Geralt’s legs out from under him.

He stumbles back instead, and rips a much larger blade from its sheathe against his chest. This one, he doesn’t give the monster a chance to register. He swings, catching it in the chest; the Nokk wails. Caught off guard, she’s easy to attack, again and again. The more swings catch her, the more fight goes out of her, and the more her visage melts away. By the time Geralt’s blue comes down for the last time, it is in a shriveled, serpentine creature, scales covering the entirety of its withered body.

The Nokk’s head comes off, and it quickly cast to the shore. Geralt’s eyes take in the edge of the water; his pulse quickens. There’s nothing there. There’s no one.

He wheels back to the stream, where a cloud of black blood is quickly spanning out to tinge the water black and depthless. It’s deeper than it looks, but not so deep. Jaskier’s somewhere, somewhere below the surface, and if he hasn’t emerged —

Geralt plunges forward, scrambling in the anger for anything to grasp onto. His hand closes around something solid, but it’s a roof that refuses to leave the ground. Somehow, he gets his arms around a piece of driftwood; this is hurled aside with a grunt of frustration. “Jaskier!” he hollers, though far past the point of expecting an answer. “Jaskier!”

There’s nothing there, until there is. In the depths of the frigid water, Geralt closes around something solid — and finally, finally, Geralt can breathe.

Which is considerably more than Jaskier is doing. As the limp body is hauled out of the water, Jaskier is completely motionless. He doesn’t struggle, even as Geralt hauls him over his shoulder and trudges towards shore. Already, a hand is rubbing along Jaskier’s back instinctively, trying to coax any water he’s swallowed up. Even when Geralt drops him down to solid ground, however, Jaskier doesn’t so much as cough.

His chest is still. His dark hair looks black, papered to his dripping face. His lips, his cheeks, his everything, have a blue tongue which sets Geralt’s sluggish pulse alight.

“Jaskier,” he hisses, pushing once, then twice, on his chest. Nothing. “Jaskier, wake up!”

This isn’t something he’s ever had to deal with before. Most victims of water monsters are far beyond the point of saving; Geralt’s tried once or twice, but has never been able to manage. He’s carried those bodies back to town along with the monster’s head. The very thought of doing that with Jaskier sends his pulse into a frenzy, bike racing up his throat. Now, he moves on instinct alone. Jaskier’s head is tilted back, mouth open. Geralt pushes down on his chest twice more, then leans down to breathe air against his mouth. Jaskier’s lips feel like ice beneath his own.

“Breathe, damn it!” Out of sheer frustration, he gives Jaskier a desperate shake. 

“Come on —“ Another compression. Another breath. Jaskier doesn’t react. “Come on —“

He will not be able to stand it if he has to cradle Jaskier’s corpse against his chest the entire way back to town. This isn’t Jaskier’s home; these are not his people. Geralt doesn’t even know where his home is, where his body belongs once his spirit has flown. If Jaskier’s never even mentioned that, then how is he possibly supposed to put him to rest? And the idiot bard was getting water, of all things — not for himself, because he’s not that stupid, but for Geralt — 

It’s his fault. It’s all Geralt’s bloody fault.

“You’re not allowed to do this!” he snarls, slamming down on Jaskier’s chest once more. “Not like this! Wake up, Jaskier!”

Up to that point, Geralt never believed it was possible to yell someone back to life. As usual, Jaskier is eager to prove him wrong.

He sputters, once. It’s sudden, convulsive, and so quick Geralt feels certain he imagined it — but suddenly black water is bubbling up Jaskier’s throat, he’s gurgling on it, and it’s all Geralt can do to flip him on his side. Immediately, a torrent of water bursts past Jaskier’s lips. He heaves, trembling, and braces himself upright on weakened elbows. As soon as the water has left him, the coughing starts. He sputters as if he’s going to die.

Geralt waits, a hand massaging firmly between Jaskier’s heaving shoulder blades. Whether this helps or not is anyone’s guess. Jaskier gags again, eyes fluttering. Almost like a muscle spasm, one arm soars up to grip Geralt’s arm, desperate. Taking the hint, Geralt wraps both arms around his shoulders, heaving him into an upright position. Free of having to support himself, tremors begin to wrack Jaskier’s entire body, like a leaf in a storm.

“Oh—“ he hiccups, rubbing a hand over his mouth. His entire face scrunches up like he’s in pain. “Ohhh… that was… not at all what I was hoping for…”

“You idiot,” is all Geralt says. With the bard braces heavily against his chest, he finds himself unconsciously rocking him; if Jaskier notices, he doesn’t say anything, and though Geralt is startled at himself, stopping now would be even more conspicuous. 

Jaskier’s chest heaves again. He tries to catch the gag in his throat, but can’t manage; a hand flies up to his mouth. Geralt has just enough time to flip him before he’s vomiting again, a torrent of more water, plus the meagre breakfast they managed that day. His chest convulses violently. If Geralt wasn’t holding him, he surely wouldn’t be able to hold himself up.

When he finally cuts off, he slumps back heavily against Geralt’s chest. For the moment, all self-respect is abandoned. All he can do is breathe heavily, head lolling back against Geralt’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he manages after a moment. A hand comes up to his chest, and he grimaced visibly; Geralt has the decency to feel guilty about that.

“Don’t,” is all he says, brushing some remnants of water from the corner of Jaskier’s mouth with his own sleeve. The other man is still soaking wet, trembling, and it’s urgent they get him back to camp as soon as possible. Now that there’s no monster to alert, they’re clearly going to need a fire. “Can you walk?”

“Gimme a minute,” Jaskier manages. He takes more than one to gather his strength, slowly testing his weight when it isn’t braced against Geralt. After a moment — with a bit of support — he finds his feet again. Jaskier looks practically sturdy.

“Yeah,” he huffs out hoarsely. “I think… I’m alright.”

“Let’s get you back to camp before you freeze to death,” Geralt grunts.

He starts to take a step forward, but Jaskier doesn’t move. Jolting, Geralt rounds back on his companion in annoyance, but Jaskier is looking over his shoulder.

“The water, Geralt,” is all he says. “Get the water.”

It takes Geralt a moment to understand; then he sees the two canteens, abandoned at the stream’s edge, and gets it. With a heavy sigh, he leaves Jaskier by the water’s edge and scoops up both canteens; when he turns back, Jaskier is miraculously still standing.

“Next time,” he mutters, slinging an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders once more, “tell me before tracking down a water monster by yourself.”

Jaskier laughs hoarsely, his entire body convulsing with it. “Oh-ho, my friend,” he mutters, “next time, save yourself the trouble of inviting me.”

“When did I invite you?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier’s elbow digs lightly into his side.

They are quiet the rest of the way back.

#whump #hurt/comfort #jaskier #the witcher #sickfic hope this is as good as you were hoping for!! #Anonymous

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 6

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,304

chapter 6: it’s getting late, and i cannot seem to find my way home tonight

Paragliding is absolutely exhilarating. Eijiro would be whooping in delight if he weren’t almost immediately breathless from the thrill of it, his blood pumping loudly in his ears.

In the brief moment of freefall after he’d hopped off the plateau, his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his throat, and then when he’d snapped the paraglider taut his stomach had gone plummeting out of his body. But like, in a good way, unlike when the tower had rocketed up into the air and launched him with it. Even with the slight strain in his arms from holding onto the glider, this is the most fun he’s ever had in his life.

Oh, he can’t wait to just start leaping off of things—of anything. This feels awesome. This feels right.

He encounters his first moblin directly east of the plateau. He recognizes the towering, monstrous creature about ten or so seconds before he plants his boots directly on its face. They crash to the ground one after the other, but Eijiro’s smaller and it makes him more agile, and he rolls to his feet with his sword out in under a second.

It’s probably just the adrenaline rush leftover from his flight down, but Eijiro grins, bright and feral. He’s lucky enough, or the moblin’s disoriented enough, that the fight’s over in seconds and Eijiro’s blood is singing with the accomplishment.

The rest of the night’s trek doesn’t go so easy. Traveling at night is worse, it’s always worse, and he knew that when he stuffed as many supplies as he could into his new bag and leapt off the plateau, but there’s no way he could have managed to stay still tonight. But, hey, he doesn’t have to now, because as soon as the sun dips below the horizon, stalkoblins are popping up from the ground to harry him. And not once, but twice as he tries to follow the road through the ruins he gets swarmed by two separate clouds of keese.

If he almost blows himself up throwing a bomb at the second cloud as they’re swooping for his head, well, at least there’s no one to witness it.

By the time he’s reached the bridge down the road from the plateau, it’s been well over an hour and Eijiro is tired, and achy, and frustrated. There had been two more moblins in the mix of monsters inhabiting the ruins that dotted the roads, and Eijiro had been confronted once again with the fact that things are not as they should be. That he is not as he should be.

It’s like he knows exactly what to do, what all their weak points are, how they’re going to come at him, but his body can’t keep up with his knowledge. It feels like he’s done this a million times, only this time he’s just a little slower than he’s always been, or he somehow misses the place he was swinging for with his sword, or, worse, he gets the timing correct and the aim right and he just doesn’t hit as hard as he should.

He gets what Inko was saying about him not having fully recovered from his slumber, and he hates the feeling of weakness even more than the bumps and bruises that form because of it.

When the shrine just to the right of his side of the bridge starts peeking out, Eijiro almost groans. He thinks he’s spent around an hour and a half just getting this far—and it’s not far at all, it’s really not; he can still see the Great Plateau over the tops of the ruins he’s just fought through—and the thought of using his brain to puzzle his way through another exhaustive trial is not at all appealing.

But he doesn’t know when he’ll be back here next, if he’ll be back again at all, so he sighs and treks up to the shrine.

It’s well and truly dark out by the time Eijiro emerges from the shrine, more than a little put out to not at least have gotten a new rune for his trouble. It’s late but not that late, and he entertains the thought, briefly, of setting up camp in the nook that surrounds the elevator into the shrine.

It would be sheltered on three sides, both from the wind and from the sight of any more monsters that stray near, so it wouldn’t be the worst place to set up. Eijiro considers it for maybe fifteen seconds, but—but even bruised and frustrated, Eijiro wants to keep going. He’s weary after two very full days back to back but he isn’t tired, and he’s still impatient to get to Kakariko Village. He’s impatient to help Katsuki and Izuku already.

He adjusts his bag, double checks which of his weapons he needs to worry about breaking in the middle of a fight, and sets off across the bridge.

There’s a man on the bridge keeping vigil over a lifeless guardian in the near distance, openly terrified it’s going to spring back to life and start firing lasers everywhere—Eijiro can’t exactly fault him for that—who gives Eijiro directions to Kakariko and lectures him emphatically about staying as far from Hyrule Castle as possible. Eijiro doesn’t see the point in telling the guy he’s not gonna follow his advice, but the man seems just as desperate for real interactions with other people as Eijiro is, so Eijiro lingers as long as he can bring himself to, making small talk with him before he carries on.

There’s another tower of Sheikah make, like the one on the Great Plateau, that stands right at the foot of the Dueling Peaks. It’s absolutely dwarfed by their size, and he feels like placing it right next to such massive formations almost defeats the purpose of making a tower at all. He wishes he could say he reaches it at a better pace than he reached the bridge, but by the time he disposes of all the monsters—living and skeletal—that try to bar his path, swims across the river, and scales his way up the Sheikah tower, it’s been just as long.

He’s genuinely tired now, and almost any way he moves has his body complaining in a multitude of ways, but he doesn’t want to stop. He just—he just wants to finally feel like he’s making real progress, and for the three hours he’s spent traveling, he feels like he’s gotten nowhere.

Unfortunately, he’s all but swaying on his feet by the time he’s placing his Sheikah Slate into the tower’s pedestal and watching as the blue liquid drips onto the screen. Once again he’s gifted with a map of the entire region, a chunk two or three times the size of the Great Plateau just to the right of it. He can barely keep his eyes open as he examines the new information, plotting out his course to Kakariko.

Part of him wants to scream at the fact that he’s not even halfway there, even though it hasn’t even been five hours since he left the Great Plateau. That part of him demands he push onwards, make more progress, but…

In his state, it might not be long before he just passes out on the road, without finding somewhere safe to sleep. And that’s if a monster doesn’t take advantage of his exhaustion before he reaches that point. Ugh, he hates having a little bit of common sense and a faint sense of self preservation.

Before he finally caves to his internal debate on his need for sleep, the slate makes a new sound from its spot in the pedestal, and Eijiro blinks at a new icon that pops up—not on the map itself, but on the same tab as the map. Sheikah Sensor, it reads, and a message on the screen appears that informs him that the slate will now beep at him when he’s near to a shrine and facing towards it.

Honestly, that probably will be helpful—but not now. He plucks the Sheikah Slate from the pedestal, and finally admits to himself that he needs rest.

Eijiro drops down to the highest rest platform before the top area of the tower, so that at least he’s sheltered by the low walls on a few sides, pulls a blanket from Inko’s tiny cabin out of his bag, and does his best to curl up and get comfortable. It really says something that he falls asleep almost the moment his eyes are closed, despite the hard stone beneath him and the wind still whipping past.

Tomorrow, he’s gotta get serious. He needs to get to Kakariko Village, to figure out his next step.

Eijiro awakens stiff and cold, with several muscles protesting at the uncomfortable angle they’d spent the night in, but at least he feels more or less rested apart from that.

It’s early, and there’s nothing he longs for more than to be in a bed so he can pull the covers over his head and knock out for a few more hours, but unfortunately he is awake and he knows he’ll have the energy to keep going for a while. Packing up his makeshift resting spot quickly, Eijiro’s stomach gives an impressively thunderous rumble. He mentally rifles through all the food that he has in his bag but… but, fuck, dude.

He had to swim through a cold river, at night, to climb this tower and sleep in the wind and dark, and he’s stiff and chilly and doesn’t want to be awake and is it so much to ask for a warm, freshly-cooked breakfast? It’s not, of course, but the problem is he’s going to have to cook it himself. He passed a cooking pot about fifteen minutes back from the tower, across the river, but now he has to debate between his impatience for progress and his desire for a hot meal.

He only has to think of Inko’s frowning face after she worked so hard to teach him to cook so he’d be taken care of, and the desire for a hot meal wins.

Eijiro climbs back up to the top of the tower, just for that extra height when he launches himself off of it, paragliding back down towards the cooking pot. That never gets less awesome—this time he does whoop for joy, hoping no nearby monsters come to investigate the sound. The wind whipping his clothes around him and ruffling his hair somehow gives him a sense of both peace and gleefulness at the same time, like he was born to just jump off of things left and right.

He touches down on the other side of the river without ever having to touch the water this time, a relief as he’s still warming up from going to sleep damp from last night’s swim. It’s quicker to get back to the cooking pot than he remembers from the night before, which he mostly attributes to not having to fight stalkoblins every few steps but…

Well, he might have to concede he’s been slowing himself down by stopping to pick every edible or potentially useful plant just to see how much he can fit in his pack. (The answer: a lot, he’s discovered.)

He’s still eager to get moving and doesn’t want to waste a long time, so he throws together a hastily-cooked omelet with hylian mushrooms and hyrule herb. He considers adding a spicy pepper to help him recover from his cold night but—actually, he’s got blisters forming in his mouth from how spicy Inko had made the food yesterday, so he should probably lay off the peppers for a day or so.

He settles instead for eating the omelet fresh off of the pot, shoveling it down still hot, and he’s barely even started to chew the huge final bite he’d shoved in his mouth before he’s lurching to his feet. The Dueling Peaks, cleft down the middle, rise huge and imposing nearby, and he’s determined to make it through them with good time this morning.

He stares up at what he can see of the Dueling Peaks through the trees that crowd the road, and for some reason all he can think of is how it’s said that the peaks used to be one singular mountain, until a dragon split it into two to create an easier path to travel. Sure, there’s a river that cuts through the gap between the peaks that could be a less fantastic explanation, but Eijiro doesn’t think it makes sense for the river to be what actually cut the mountain in half. Maybe it could create a cave through it, fine, but the river couldn’t cut up a mountain, all the way to the top.

The way he thinks about it, it feels like it’s an argument he’s had countless times. He wishes he could remember the significance. He wishes he even knew who he’d be arguing it with.

He just wants to remember anything about his actual life, and it’s a longing he can’t shake as he enters the shadowed path between the two mountains. In this morning’s trek, things become easier, at least for a little bit. In the shadow between the Dueling Peaks, less things grow for him to get distracted gathering and shoving into his bag, and he makes quick progress down the path at first, with his new Sheikah Sensor chiming at him the whole way to let him know there’s a shrine ahead.

Of course, why would he expect anything to be easy, though, right? It goes smoothly right up until he finally sees the glowing orange of the shrine up ahead—on the other side of the river, on a cliff that stands maybe twenty-five or thirty feet up the inside of the other peak. His detour for a warm breakfast left him on the wrong side of the river.

He’s already made the swim before, it’s not that he can’t make it across, but the river was cold yesterday and he knows it will be cold now. And besides that—he can see a disturbance in the water, almost directly in between him and the shrine, betraying two creatures swimming very fast just under the surface.

Lizalfos, his mind supplies, without even having to see them to confirm. Monsters that are agile, intelligent, and very dangerous to fight at the best of times, but when there’s a water source, they won’t come out of the river to where he can fight them. It makes them at least twice as dangerous.

Just as he’s considering how he might be able to get across without swimming—he wants to avoid backtracking as much as possible, so waiting for the bridge much farther down the path is out of the question—and wondering if using his cryonis pillars would be colder or warmer than the swim itself, he hears a loud splash and the telltale sound of something whistling through the air.

Eijiro barely rolls out of the way before the rock spat at him by an octorok farther upstream smashes into the place he’d just been standing. The movement catches the eye of the nearest lizalfos, which then pops its head out of the water, rearing back to spit a concentrated stream of water at him he just knows is going to sting.

“Fuck it.”

He doesn’t have time to swim—the lizalfos will be much faster than him in the water, and he can’t fight the current and dodge the octorok’s stones—so he whips out the slate and makes a pillar directly below his feet in the shallows of the river. From there, it’s a mad scramble to make ice columns ahead to jump to, rushing to make the leaps in time to dodge projectiles and water blasts. It’s probably the least cool or competent he’s ever looked or felt, slipping around on the tops of the columns and narrowly avoiding getting knocked the fuck out by hurtling stones that are bigger than his head.

As soon as he’s across, he’s dragging himself up the interior of the peak, trying to reach the ledge the shrine rests on, and the lizalfos lose interest fast but he still almost gets his head taken off by the octorok. Why the hell are those things so persistent?

When he finally sprawls on the travel gate at the door to the shrine, panting and reaching awkwardly up to press his slate to the pedestal from where he lays, all Eijiro can think is, this shrine had better be worth it.

Disappointingly, like the last shrine, Ree Dahee Shrine doesn’t offer him another rune.

What it does have, however, is a hidden chest containing a bandana that, apparently, is enchanted to make its wearer scale cliffs faster. Thinking of the perilous climb just to get to this shrine while under fire, yeah, he’s glad to have it.

It’s almost an hour and a half later by the time he emerges from the shrine, and the lizalfos and octorok have thankfully all forgotten him by then. He’s beginning to get that distracting feeling buzzing under his skin again, now that two more monks from the last two shrines have gifted him their strength or whatever, and he hopes he won’t have to go all the way back to the Temple of Time just to alleviate that feeling once more.

If he does, it’s going to be a while before he’s willing to head back that way.

Gliding down from the shrine, Eijiro hurries forward, determined not to slow down any more than he has to.

It’s over half an hour before he emerges from the other side of the gap between the Dueling Peaks, the sunlight finally beating against his skin again. The side of the river with the well-worn path had been devoid of monsters for once, probably because regular travelers kept it that way—but the damn shrine had put him on the side without the path, and he’s got a few new scrapes and bruises and a much nicer sword for his troubles in dispatching what monsters had blocked his way.

Apart from the sunlight, Eijiro’s greeted by the most welcome sight of all—people. Not a lot of them, but—well, more than any he’s seen so far. There’s a stable set up at a fork in the road, with at least eight people milling around tending to the horses or their own pursuits, and a couple more people coming and going.

He’s only seen, like, three people since waking up—and one of them was a spirit, and another was just someone he saw at a distance, walking along the other side of the river. Now, he can see ten of them—men and women and children and—wow, okay, it’s so nice to see people.

He wants to shout and wave and maybe cry a little as he runs towards them like a man who’s been lost in the woods for months with no sign of civilization—well, close enough, right? A hundred years underground without seeing another person was surely grounds to act like that. He stays calm, though, apart from picking up his pace to an eager jog, to a point of entirely bypassing another shrine that sits on this side of the peaks, just across the path from the stable.

He can get to that later. He can talk to people now.

Altogether, if Eijiro’s being honest, he’s spent… too much time lingering here, especially after his determination not to waste time.

In his defense, the day had been young when he’d arrived—maybe only half an hour past noon? With the sun not even at its peak, it hadn’t seemed as pressing to hurry on his way immediately, not when he finally has a chance to talk to some other living, breathing people. He has the opportunity to try and get a sense of what the world—what life—is like now, in the wake of the Calamity, but more than that he can just get a sense of normalcy from being around actual civilization again.

Eijiro doesn’t have to have his memories to be acutely aware that he is, and will always be, a social creature. Just being around other people is a comfort. He soaks up the company and just the very existence of a remaining pocket of normalcy with eager relief, chatting with everyone he can and happily listening to the conversations of everyone around him.

He’s flagged down almost immediately by a stable worker offering directions, which he doesn’t really need but that doesn’t stop him from pressing for all the information he can get about Hateno to the east, Kakariko to the north, and even the wild horses that roam the area. With how much he doesn’t remember, with how much he doesn’t know about everything that’s changed, any information could be important.

After that, another man working the counter at the entrance to the stable gives Eijiro some tips about how to catch wild horses, and explains how registering horses at their network of stables across Hyrule works. He chats with a couple of little kids by the horses—well, mostly just sits and lets them chatter to him as they like.

A quiet, timid boy around his age—shit, what is his age?—with a massive, beetle-shaped backpack introduces himself as Koda and informs Eijiro that he’s a merchant who travels all around Hyrule to meet new and interesting bugs and creatures, so the odds of them seeing each other again are high. When Eijiro questions what he means by ‘meeting’ the creatures, he learns that Koda has magic that lets him talk with animals, and Eijiro wastes no time impressing upon him how cool that is. It would be kickass to be able to talk to, like, a wolf or a bear or something.

Koda takes the praise with a squeak and a furious blush, waving it off almost frantically, so Eijiro decides to spare the boy more embarrassment by letting it go—but really, it’s cool.

Letting Koda resume his conversation with his beetle collection, Eijiro introduces himself to a woman a few years older next, who tells him her name is Awata. She mentions making elixirs to him offhandedly, and looks concerned when he asks her about it—she seems to think it’s a miracle he’s made it to the stable in the first place without knowing about them. She gives him a quick verbal crash course, and Eijiro sees Koda shoot her a distressed look when she explains that most bugs and a few small critters can be boiled with monster parts to make them.

She also gives Eijiro a hasty elixir, which he takes with some mixture of suspicion and gratitude. He’s just not gonna think about what’s in there. If it helps him run faster, he doesn’t need to know if he’s drinking, like, boiled down keese eyeballs and slugs or something. He also makes a mental note never to make or drink an elixir in front of Koda. He’s not a monster.

It feels like he’s barely had time to blink before nearly thirty minutes have passed and all he’s done is hang around the stable chatting with anyone who’ll put up with him. The shrine just across the road from the stable still sits there, glowing orange in reminder that he really ought to get it done and get moving, but there’s just one more person at the stable who he wants to talk to before he forces himself to leave this bubble of normalcy.

There’s someone who’s pulled a stool up to a crate just left of the stable, and has notebooks littering the top of that crate like a desk. In front of them sits a telescope that’s gone untouched since Eijiro’s been here, but they still toss frequent glances skyward as they sit unmoving at their little makeshift study, consumed by thought.

“Uh… excuse me?” Eijiro prompts, to try and gain their attention. He can’t really tell if they’re a man or a woman, but it doesn’t really matter—to him, or in general.

They startle slightly, turning to blink up at him. “Oh—sorry, I was lost in thought. I didn’t notice you there. Did you need something?” With them actually facing him, he can make out more about their appearance—they’re around thirty, as best as he can guess, and despite their shortish, messy black hair falling into their face, he can see their eyes well enough to tell they’re a shade of brown so dark it’s almost black, though there are flecks of what look like a lighter blue catching the light. It kind of reminds him of a night sky.

“No, it’s cool, sorry for startling you,” Eijiro assures quickly, beaming to drive home that he didn’t feel ignored or anything. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro, and I was just curious—” He gestures towards the entirety of the space they’ve claimed. “—you’ve got a whole setup here. Mind if I ask what you’re working on?”

They smile, clearly not bothered by being interrupted. If anything, they look pleased by the interest. “No, I don’t mind at all. Nice to meet you, Kirishima—my name is Hirooki Anakuro. I’d love to explain a little! I’m mostly tracking the movement of different celestial bodies; I’ve figured out the patterns of movement of a few of the figures above us, but I’m primarily focused on the moon.”

A slightly closer look at Hirooki’s notebooks reveals a lot of quickly jotted notes, star charts, and a few other sketches that Eijiro mostly can’t make sense of at first glance. “The moon?” he asks, curiously. “Why the moon specifically?”

“With enough understanding of how most celestial bodies move, I think it’s actually possible to predict when the next blood moon is. Well—I know it is. It’s just a matter of spreading the information, so travelers don’t get caught unaware when it happens.”

“Blood moon?” Eijiro asks. The term isn’t familiar, and his brow furrows.

Hirooki blinks at him, their already large eyes growing wider. “You don’t know the blood moon? Surely you’ve seen it? When the moon unexpectedly rises full and red, and stains the entire sky the same grim, bloody color at exactly midnight?”

Eijiro stares. When the moon what now? “I… no?”

Seeming entirely taken aback by this, Hirooki leans back slightly in their seat. “It’s been happening every so often for one hundred years now. It poses a very real threat to travelers, because in that moment when the sky turns red, any monsters who have been defeated across all of Hyrule are revived right where they stood. Whenever a blood moon happens, areas that had been previously made safe become a hazard all over again.”

That shocks him—brings monsters back? But that’s… he’d fought so many just to get here, because he thought it would make the countryside safer for travelers. All the monsters he’d dispatched instead of avoiding in the ruins that led here—they’d just come back to endanger someone else? “They really come back to life?”

Hirooki nods gravely. “You’ve really never noticed this phenomenon?”

“I… guess I must have slept through them all,” he says, staring down at his feet. It’s the understatement of the century, he knows—seriously, because he’s been sleeping for all of the century that they’ve been happening. This… this explains a lot about the state Hyrule’s in, almost moreso than the destruction it faced one hundred years before.

Of course people are so sparse. Of course there are so many more monsters than there should be. People can’t spread out and retake any of the kingdom—not without the areas they’d retaken becoming infested again, as soon as another blood moon happens.

Hirooki doesn’t seem to think it’s an unrealistic explanation, at least, despite their surprise. “Well, I suppose if you’ve spent most of your life someplace safe, there probably wouldn’t be much reason to take note. But the question of why and how have been plaguing most travelers for decades now. I have my own theories about that, but I’m still much more focused on when. I think when could save lives. It doesn’t correlate to any particular phase of the moon, or happen every cycle, so most people don’t know when to prepare.”

Eijiro nods—he can see why that would be important. “Yeah, I can imagine. You said you have theories about why, though?”

“Yes, well. They’re mostly afterthoughts, since they’re not my area of specialty,” Hirooki explains. “So I haven’t put a lot of research into these theories, and they’re mostly a secondary line of thought. But monsters seem to be more powerful in the darkness—it’s why you see long-fallen monsters rising in their undead stal forms at night, but not any other time. Or, rarely, in areas that have no light even in the daytime.”

Leaning forward again, they tap at their knee in thought. “So my suspicion is that the blood moon isn’t what causes the dead monsters to rise—you see, the blood moon coincides with lunar eclipses, when the sun is blocked from reflecting light off of the moon. With the night darker than it normally gets, my thought is that something is taking advantage of that increased darkness, and using it to revive them. The Calamity itself, probably. Of course, I can’t be sure of any of the rest of this theory—but I am sure that the blood moon only occurs during lunar eclipses.”

That definitely does make sense, though—eclipses have always happened, Eijiro knows that much. Eclipses bringing monsters back from the dead, though, only started at the same time the Calamity had struck. “That’s… crazy. I mean, the whole blood moon thing is. But I think you’ve gotta be right.”

“I think it’s likely,” Hirooki agrees, glancing back over their notes. “If you’re not going to be taking a bed at the stable for the next few nights, Kirishima, I recommend you be very careful. I don’t have the exact pattern down yet, but if I’m right, the next blood moon will happen soon. So be smart on the road. It’s not something you want to catch you by surprise.”

Shuddering at the thought, Eijiro can’t agree more.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[likesomekindofcheese]

Cottagecore  (Gwilym Lee x fem! Reader Oneshot)

A/N: Hello! For @queenandborhapevents​ I wrote this fic as a part of an exchange on Ao3 and now I can share it here and reveal who I am! Hello there @itsametaphorgwil​! I am your Secret Santa revealed! I am glad you enjoyed it and know I enjoyed writing it for your honor!

Word Count: 1,832

Summary: When reaching your dream job gets too stressful, Gwilym suggests an escape to the countryside to get you to relax.

Warnings: not much, some swearing, drinking, a touch of angst, but mostly fluff, and poor Reader being on edge.

“Y/N, if you would like this position, here are the things you need to work on for the next month. Then we might give you this offer,” the woman stated.

You nodded your head enthusiastically. Every word was put into your brain in the strongest part of storage. Your dream job was eminent. The people you have admired for ages were pushing you on. Every dollar spent, every hour clocked in, and every bit of training and studying and student debt was about to be worth it.

“We’ll try you out and interview at this point on the fifteenth of next month, sounds good?” she folded her arms in her black pantsuit, slightly serious.

A Pollyanna smile grew on you.

“Of course! I will!”

You wound up practicing and trying every free hour you had for this job. Cups of coffee devoured. Then water to make up for coffee. Then constant bathroom breaks. Words in front of you seemed fuzzy. But you kept at it.

Even when your boyfriend, Gwilym was around, it was all you could talk or think about.

“Hey Y/N…let’s escape,” he suggested. “There’s a place…it’s out in the country!”

“I don’t know…” you sighed.

“It will be fun!” he begged, taking your hand.

With a huff, you nod.

“Where is it?”

“Pembroke-near some family.”

Pembroke! Grassy fields, a nearby ocean…

And two whole weeks without work!

He led you into the cottage excitedly. Then his smile dropped briefly as he saw you pull out your laptop from its bag on the kitchen table.

“Annwyl, did you bring anything related to your job with you?” he asked sternly.

The laptop clicked shut and you let out a sigh.

“Yes, it’s just that…I’m really afraid of failing!” you cried. “It’s just…I’ve been…been afraid to relax. I’m just so close to my dreams coming true, and I’ve been struggling and hustling just to get the opportunity…I feel like if I let go…it will slip away from me.” Tears came out before you could stop them.

He hugged you. You could hear the rustling of trees.

“Then promise me this…every day you do one hour- and only one hour- of work and the rest of the day, you try to breathe.”

You nodded, “of course.”

“Oh, Y/N, I completely understand but…you’ve seemed so…it isn’t going to go away if you enjoy yourself for a bit.”

He kissed the top of your head tenderly.

Settling into the cottage, the sunlight poured in from everywhere. Dust specks flitted around in circles as if they were dancing. You only flicked the lights on when it got dark.

Both of you had to see the garden around the house. There were more roses, lilacs, and peonies than you could count and plenty of green sprouts not even Gwilym could name.

Soon you were walking down to the markets, drinking cold lemonades, and buying a large basket of strawberries in their prime: large, red, and juicy, almost like candy to devour.

The next morning, you felt him shake you awake.

“Cariad…look out the window…” he said softly, kissing your temple.

The sun was rising and the whole world was baked in a sweet, pink light. The sunlight was melting over the fields, making it glow.

“Are we in a fairy tale?” you asked.

You could sense the sleepiness in your voice and you felt two arms pull you close, so your back touched his chest. You heard the slight rumble of his laughter.

“No, we’re in Pembrokeshire, but close.”

There was a ten-minute stroll to town, passing herd of sheep or a goat enjoying its breakfast of dandelions. The town was tiny- the houses still had vines, dates from the 1600s in the upper corner and every nook had little shops and businesses and whatnot. People walked by, from children on bicycles to grandmothers ushering in guests for tea.

Nearby there was a stone bridge. A river babbled beneath it and across you could make out taller buildings, some painted a gaudy yellow or a musty red.

But something about the rust on the bridge’s sides made it feel surreal, ancient. Every step you took you held your breath because it might collapse and fall. It never did.

On your third day there you noticed there was a gaggle of little ducks, clucking nasally as they glided across the water’s edge.

“Look!” you cried, pointing to them.

Gwil leaned his brown head over in your direction. “Why, look at these little fellows!”

Normally at this time, as soon as your walk with Gwil was over, you took to your work: editing your resume, cover letter, and other items online and practicing and curating what the try-out would consist of.

But today was different. You felt tired at the thought of that hour approaching. You wanted to take your time.

“Should we get them bread?” you asked.

“Not bread, that will make them sick…”

Gwil ran up to a plant shop and got them seeds, you both took turns tossing it to them. Laughing at the way they shook their beaks as they ate. Soon a mother waded forward with a trail of ducklings behind her- all peeping in high little voices and in a line so straight it seemed mechanical.

He opened the bag and released the seeds into his palm. Their graininess against the softness of his skin. Reaching in for a bit, you could smell the earth it came from.

He walked closer over the edge of the bridge. His reflection looking back up at him from the blue of the water A few ducks hovered toward the mirror Gwil, quacking in curiosity.

He let a few seeds fall with a plop into the water.

They nibbled graciously. As they chewed with their beaks open, a pretty, little white duck passed by, sniffing for morsels as well.

Grinning, you obliged, letting a few seeds fall from your fingertips. They landed, creating ripples that went to the edges, growing fainter. But the white duck wagged its tail as if it were a canine and devoured the seeds.

“How would you like a beach day, tomorrow?” he asked. “It’s only an hour dive.”

“Is that even a question?” you replied, giving him a chaste kiss.

The hour drive long drive seemed to take forever with no beachy signals except for the smell. Until a road that went downhill showed the yellow sand right where it dipped down- flowing out of the grass until soon it replaced the fields as you drove onto it and parked.

The sand dissolved between your toes; the breeze was cool against your legs. Only a few people came and went as they day was slightly overcast.

“Yeesss! Let’s swim, Y/N!” your boyfriend cheered, leaping out of the car.

Gwil ran childishly toward the ocean in his swim trunks and you in your red one-piece, pulling you with him. Though you shrieked at the icy water, it soon seemed normal and refreshing to feel around your calves.

Both of you splashed at each other and got deep enough to swim. Often bending down to pick up interesting little seashells and collect them in a glass jar.

Suddenly Gwil turned his head, let out a slight swear, and covered your eyes with his hands.

“Oh, Y/N, I’m glad you said yes today…” he teased, walking against you so you had to walk forward.

“What! How come? What are you up to?” you asked.

“We havesome guests!” he announced.

“Are you really going to let us have all the fun?” a sweet voice asked in front of you.

He pulled his hands away and you let out a squeal. You knew that blonde bob and pair of bright eyes anywhere.

“Lucy! Lucy, what are you doing here!”

“Rami’s filming, and Gwil had told us you guys were vacationing. Might as well go over and say hello!”

Salt caught into your hair to where you smelt in all day. You missed the scent of the ocean and the sound of its lulling, but hearing Rami and Lucy catch up as Gwil drove back made up for it.

“Oh- we got two local Cabernet bottles to try…would you stay for a drink?” Gwil offered, pulling up near the cottage.

That night, the wine overtook you both, Lucy especially.

“It’s cold! Let’s go in the room!” Lucy insisted, as red as the strawberries in the fridge.

She went over to an extra guest room in the cottage- it was smaller with white walls, a few paintings, and a tiny window. But the bed was so large it took up half the space.

Ooooh! It’s sooooft!” she cooed as she settled on it.

Both of you pulled the duvet over the two of you and began talking softly. You heard Rami and Gwil catching up downstairs with talk of directors and long days of filming.

“Hmmph, do you think this shirt shows too much of my titties?” you asked.

Laying down in the bed had pulled the edge of your shirt down and you began to stubbornly pull it u.

Lucy began giggling like mad. She pulled the duvet over her head into a large lump.

“What is it?” you asked.

She poked her face out with an elfish gleam in her eye.

“Titties!”

You both began to giggle profusely. There are creaks upstairs as Rami and Gwil walk in, bemused at the two of you. Lucy and you pulled blankets up over your mouths to stop.

“You alright? You both had a lot…” Gwil began, walking closer to see your faces.

“We’re fine, it’s just…” you began.

“It’s about…about titties!” she blurted.

You both burst out howling.

Rami and Gwil looked at each other, beaming despite Lucy’s tipsiness.  They ran downstairs and returned with a small plate of cheese, crackers, and apple slices.

“We’ll leave you ladies be,” Rami promised.

He put it on Lucy’s lap. She grinned and gave him a smooch as thanks.

Gwil stood by the door, watching you take a bit of a red apple slice.

“Just have something on your stomachs,” he added before Rami returned to shut the door.

Lucy and you giggling over snacks was the memory you kept inside you. That and the beach, the ducks, the berries, as you and Gwil crossed the corner where the fateful building stood.

A month had gone since this was planned and the day you expected and dreaded had arrived. You whisper the right words and picture it. And none of it is forgotten- a muscle memory.

“Darling…thank you for the trip. No matter what comes to it-I needed to enjoy things and not let it all get to me,” you say, pausing before the door.

He cups your face, “you always put your heart and soul into things…and I love you for it.”

As Gwil walks with you to the building, saying he will wait outside. He kisses you on your forehead, leaving a subtle, shiny mark there as you walk in.

Taglist: @queenlover05​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @joeneslee​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ @bens-jawline​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​

#carrie writes #carriewrites #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee x y/n #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x fem! y/n #gwilym lee x fem! reader #angst #comfort fic #gwliym lee comfort fic #bohrap #bohrap boys #bohrap fic #gwilym lee oneshot #bohrap boys oneshot #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody cast #bohrap cast fanfic #bohrap cast fanfiction #bohrap cast fluff #bohrap cast imagine #gwilym lee comfort fic #gwilym lee x you #rami malek #lucy boynton #lucy boynton x platonic! reader #lucy boynton x platonic! fem! reader #lucy boynton x platonic! fem! y/n #reader insert

[sabraeal]

All That Remains, Chapter 6: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 3]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 2: Nobility Exhibit self discipline. Show respect to authority. Obey the law. Administer justice. Protect the innocent. Respect women.

Ah, but we have gotten ahead of ourselves once again, have we not? So wrapped up were we in lies and glamour that we have forgotten our girl on the shore, heart dripping in her hands.

It’s all right. She’ll forgive us. Little girls always do.

Let us not leave her waiting.

A girl stands on the shore, red shoes wet in her hands, with none of the answers she seeks. Or rather, none of the ones she was prepared to have.

Alive, the river had told her. Away, said the darkest fears of her heart.

Never had she thought that dead would seem the better option.

We are complex beings; animals with four-chambered hearts. We are meant to hold more than a single thought, a single emotion, a single wish. But still, still-- it is a poisoned gift when elation and desolation can exist beside one another, when they can be flavored by guilt and betrayal.

She is a just a child, and yet a storm brews in her chest, too large for to contain. Beneath it, she is but an island, alone at sea.

So when the boat comes, a humble thing with no explanation, no expectations, she steps on it. What else can she do, when there is no other way to leave the hurricane behind her?

Her rooms are dark when she returns to them.

Kiki moves, pale hair catching the last light of the hall. “Where are your matches? I can’t--”

“No.” Her voice feels wrong in her mouth, too sour and too low. For a moment, Shirayuki wonders if this is truly her body, or if she has stood in the shadows too long and becomes someone else.

“I mean,” she begins again, sounding more like herself with every word, “there’s no need. I’m going to bed.”

Kiki stills behind her. “Do you need help?”

Yes. “No.” Her fingers fumble at the clasps of her gown. “I wore one of my old dresses tonight. From when I...”

Still felt like myself. Her hands clench, cotton soft beneath her fingers, and for once she longs for something coarser, for a wool that might itch or a lace that might scratch. Anything that could ground her to this moment, this body.

“...before,” she manages, peeling the fabric off her. The night’s chill stings her skin. She nearly laughs-- in Lilias, this would a be a balmy night, and now she’s pimpled with goosebumps. “I haven’t forgotten how to undress myself.”

Stay here long enough and you’ll get the hang of it, Obi would be so quick to say. Or maybe, Master should be seeing to it that you do, Miss. But Kiki--

Kiki nods, skirting back to give her space she desperately doesn’t need. It’s strange how she can feel every inch of the gap between them, even though it is only empty air.

“Will you be coming tomorrow?” she asks, striving to keep her tone bright, buoyant. She may not feel like herself, but Shirayuki has made a career out of pushing forward, of persevering, and tonight is no different. “These other gowns are always a bit of a handful by myself.”

Kiki hums; it isn’t in agreement. “The consort will see to it.”

“Haki?” She tries to imagine that, the elegant queen of Clarines looping a hundred pearl buttons down her back.

Kiki’s lips cant into a soft smile, as if she knows just what Shirayuki must be thinking. “She’ll have women sent to you.”

“R-really?” She’s had maids before, lent to her when she traveled to Tanbarun, or sometimes for the night when Izana had deigned her appropriate company at one of Wistal’s balls, but for the queen to assign a pack of them herself, it seemed--

Official. A statement for other nobles to take notice of. Her stomach twists.

“She believes in you,” Kiki says quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

Her belly churns with a sickening flop. So did Obi.

Shirayuki shakes herself. It’s all going to be fine. Obi wouldn’t give up on her, and Zen wouldn’t give up on Obi either.

“R-right,” she manages, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’ll do my best.”

Is that not what we all want when we are lost? A way to leave the storm behind. A gentle guide to show us the way. An easy answer when none can be found.

It is said that lightning takes the path of least resistance; tree or pole or child-- all of them are the same in its eyes, so long as it meets the ground. And is that not what we are? Lightning in a bottle, a closed current seeking release. We hold a charge within ourselves and let it out when we touch metal. Sometimes even when we touch each other. No wonder we seize the easiest answer when we find it.

But, oh, how foolish we are to take it.

The covers surround her in a protective cocoon, warm and safe. Tonight’s turmoil has wrung her dry; she flops onto her mattress like a child who has run themselves to collapse. Dreams tantalize her from the corners of her vision, and she’s so ready to tip into their embrace, to take what oblivion they will give her with open arms.

There’s no reason to get so upset. 

She jolts from the edge of sleep, fingers clenched. It’s a stray thought, an echo of Zen’s voice; no reason for her heart to race, not when it’s true. Not when everything is taken care of.

It’s not odd for Obi to disappear with no explanation.

A protest strains against her lips, even with no one to rail against. The boy who left Wistal swimming in the fur of his coat isn’t the man who returned. He hasn’t been, not for years now-- maybe not even then. Not since they stood beneath a tree in Tanbarun and she said, I told you we’d see the town next time, right? Not since he’d dragged her along the walls of Lilias and showed her a sunset.

We might as well try to keep a cat indoors.

She rolls, burying her face in the soft cage of her pillow. There’s no point in worrying, not when Zen has everything well in hand, not when there are men out looking for him--

My lady, I don’t know any that have.

Her heart stutters in her chest. Zen had told her-- had promised her that he would send men out, and he wouldn’t-- he couldn’t--

The boy must have been mistaken. Or the consort had the right of it, and Zen had passed over the royal guard, using the knights of the Royal Circle instead. It would make sense; it would take more than a usual guardsman to catch a man of Obi’s skills, if he didn’t mean to be caught.

Whichever direction you’re heading in, he’d said, words misting in the air between them, a promise. I’ll be sure to follow along by your side.

Which can’t be true. Obi couldn’t-- he wouldn’t leave, not without saying goodbye. Not when he had so many promises to keep.

He saw a man leaping over the walls the night Sir Obi went missing. The guilt in Kai’s expression haunts her even now. He was seen leaving with a woman, my lady.

Shirayuki has always prided herself on her cleverness, how she could unravel the most tangled symptoms into a diagnosis. But she holds this puzzle in her hand, and no matter how she tries, she cannot make the pieces fit, cannot make them into a whole.

Obi is a man of his word. He jokes, but he never lies, she told Ryuu once, though she can hardly remember why now. He wouldn’t leave her, not like this. Or Ryuu. Or Zen. But yet, yet--

Did you know he didn’t leave alone?

The sheets tear from her, and oh, the morning is blinding, leaving her cold and blinking on her bed. Her eyes adjust, and there, in the bright glow of the dawn, stands the consort.

“It is time to get up, Shirayuki.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “There is much work to be done.”

There are no oars in this little boat, the girl realizes too late. She has no sooner pushed off from the shore then the current grabs her, hurtling her toward the river’s end. Water sprays up from the rapids, and her little boat rocks perilously under her feet. The easy path this may be, but it is not safe either.

There is a part of her that is frightened, watching as the world moves by her, taking her toward places unknown; but there is another part as well, and it is relieved. She may no longer be in control, but oh, that means she is also no longer to blame.

“So few gowns,” the consort remarks as her women parade Shirayuki’s closet for her review. “And so many of them out of season. They’ll have to be replaced.”

Shirayuki offers a brittle smile in the mirror as one of the maids firmly drags a comb through her hair. “I don’t--” she hisses, teeth tangling in a knot-- “I have as many as I need. Long skirts and fine dresses were bound to get ruined in the pharmacy.”

“But at necessary at court.” Her mouth bows into a faint frown, displeasure weighing on her brow. “You must understand, this is not a simple undertaking. You cannot just...pass a test and become worthy of a crown.”

“That isn’t--”

The consort raises a hand, and her words stutter to a halt. “You have made your position clear, Shirayuki. It is not the title nor the trappings you want, but Zen himself, and I--” she hesitates, gaze distant-- “it is part of why I want to help you. Love is no little thing.”

She smiles, a shy, secret thing, as if they were alone and the room not teeming with her maids. “It is worth all the pain, if you can have love as well. But--” the consort’s gaze fixes on her in the mirror-- “it is not enough. The kings of Clarines once ruled by divine right, and the people-- they have not forgotten.” Her expression shadows when she adds, “they cannot be allowed to forget.”

Shirayuki stares at her hands, flushed. Tanbarun’s royal family had been a joke rather than an inspiration, a vestige of a bygone age that the country had never quite shucked. She’d never held much stock in divine rights, in the idea that someone could be her superior by nothing more than being birthed from the right womb, but--

But being with Zen would mean participating in that fiction, upholding that illusion to keep him safe. “I don’t see what my dresses have to do with that.”

“Everything,” the consort assures her. “You have read fairy stories, haven’t you? Princes cast away because they are dressed as paupers, princesses made by conjuring the right gown-- we think with our eyes first, and then our thoughts. Do you see what I mean?”

Her lip worries beneath her teeth. She’s read those stories, yes, a thousand times, and in each one, it is the clothes than make the man, that set designs on how he is treat but--

The prince is always betrayed by his courtly manors, the princess found by the softness of her skin or made by the contents of her heart.

But those are just stories. Here, in Izana’s court...

Shirayuki bows her head, allowing the maid to slip a pin tight against her skull. “I do.”

“Good. I’ll call for my dressmaker.” The consort slides up beside her, inspecting her maid’s handiwork. “Lovely. Where do you keep your ornaments?”

“Oh.” She nods her her chin toward the wooden box. “Over there.”

The consort lifts the lid with elegant fingers, taking in a breath as if she means to speak--

And stills. Her fingers splay in the air, and she-- she closes the box.

“Well.” Her mouth melts into a warm smile. “That will have to be taken care of as well. Don’t worry, Shirayuki, you’re in good hands now.” Her teeth flash white behind her lips. “Mine.”

Why must these things always happen to children, you wonder. Could this girl not be a woman? Could this boy not be a man? Must it always be that the smallest and most vulnerable that are asked to wander the roads we most fear?

Certainly, they could be. Stories are but lenses through which we see ourselves, made more palatable for the distance. On another page, in another life, they could be a man and a woman on the cusp of something greater, the distance only increasing their longing--

But in a fairy tales there are rules, and the foremost among them is: you must be able to see the magic for it to happen.

When the boat pulls up to the shore, you must not see the beautiful women waiting at its dock, but instead the woman who can conjure. And that, that--

That is the provenance of a child.

Shirayuki is an eternal well of optimism, a veritable font of good will, but when it came to her training--

It’s impossible, she’d told Obi, face buried in her pillow. There’s no way any one person can do all this and look like they’re not trying.

He’d only grinned, idling by her bedside with his usual insolent grin. Glad to see Princess Lessons are going so well.

She’s prepared for more of the same, for the familiar two-steps-forward, ten-steps-back dance she’s been doing for the last few months only now with the added humiliation of the consort beside her but--

It’s different, this time.

“Shirayuki.” Lady Mihoko is entrenched in the divan today, looming with dignity of a temple’s ruin. It’s only the consort’s presence that has excavated her from her favorite chair, but she bears it like an statue missing a limb. “Pour the tea.”

She knows this for what it is: a trap. Mihoko’s maids flank the door to the parlor, ready and entirely willing to pour endless cups of too-sweet tea for everyone seated. This isn’t about thirst, oh no, but that she’s doing entirely too well. Mihoko wants to see her falter and fail as a girl with so common a spine should.

Shirayuki leans forward, mouth thin with concentration, and--

“Keep your shoulders back.” The consort sips delicately at her cup, her words barely rippling its contents. “Don’t round over. Pretend you have a pencil between your shoulder blades.”

Her hand stutters over the salver. A pencil--?

Lady Mihoko watches from her perch; a vulture waiting for a limping animal to fall. Shirayuki has always been at the top of her class, her time at Lilias served with distinction, but yet in this her failure is not only assumed but assured.

Fine. She pushes her shoulders back until the blades kiss, imagining that pencil between them, holding it still as she bends. It’s-- different. Exposing, almost, though she’s wearing no less than she was before, and--

And Lady Mihoko makes no comment as she pours, filling her cup to within a finger’s width of the rim. Nor does she have any disparaging remarks for when she fills the consort’s cup, or her own.

“Sugar?” Shirayuki offers mildly. The corners of her lips twitch, and it takes every last crumb of control she has to keep from smiling. The last thing she needs is for this victory to be tarnished by a vulgar expression.

Mihoko’s lips thin into a forbidding wrinkle, but holds out her cup. “It seems you are much improved,” she allows, begrudgingly, less a compliment and more an accusation.

Shirayuki will take it. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

“Not that you could have sunk much further.” The lady takes a dainty sip before settling the cup onto its saucer. “But I suppose that would make any progress heartening.”

Her smile, carefully constructed to show no improprietous teeth, wavers. “You are...too kind.” The consort sends her a warning glance, and she adds, “My lady.”

“I know I am.” Mihoko glares down her nose, severe. “You should be grateful that Her Majesty has taken you under her wing. The queen of Clarines has much more pressing duties than to educate a--” she casts a disapproving look over her-- “hopeful.”

“Please, Lady Mihoko.” The consort’s mouth rounds into a pleasant curve, the perfect smile. “I am all too happy to fill my hours with such pleasant company as Lady Shirayuki’s. A lady may learn the right fork or the proper dance for an occasion, but one cannot teach a good heart or an interesting mind.”

Her ladyship harrumphs, a quake that shudders through her from slipper to veil, tenders no harsher reply than a sip from her cup. Some degree of royal relation she might be, but even Mihoko won’t quarrel with a queen.

“I’m very grateful!” Shirayuki assures her. “This whole, um, process has been quite challenging and, ah...”

Lonely, she doesn’t say. It nearly tips out all on its own before she even knows it is there, but now it catches in her teeth, sticky and unpleasant.

“It’s an honor,” she finishes, lamely. Mihoko only nods, propriety fulfilled, but the consort--

Haki stares at her, chin tilted, a finger laying thoughtfully along her jaw. She may not be Izana, but her gaze itches like his, as if she were a puzzle that needed solving, or even--

A bug under a glass.

It is not that the girl did not know the danger of sorceresses. Oh no, she had been warned about such women, had read of them in books and shivered at the sound of them in song. But standing as she is, shoes in hand, alone on a river too swift to swim and no oars with which to row--

She makes a choice.

The boat rocks as it comes to shore, so gentle under the sorceress’s guidance, and the little girl makes herself as placid, as docile. That has always been the way she fooled adults before; misbehavior is only assumed from unruly children, but an obedient one--

Well, she has only gotten this far because no one expects the obedient one to run.

It is a good plan, a clever plan, one any young child could be proud of, but--

She does not expect this sorceress.

It had never occurred to her how mortifying it would be to have someone to watch her fail lesson after lesson, to hear as her teachers passed along their lukewarm-- at best-- praise. Shirayuki had always been top of her class, her professors’ best student, and now--

Now she’s grateful Obi had to stand outside while she floundered. One day of the consort’s steady observation and she wants to lay down in her bed and never be seen again.

“You did well.”

Shirayuki turns, eyes wide, as the consort follows her into her room. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, head tilted. “I mean what I said: you did well.”

But I didn’t nearly tips right out, nearly falls straight on the carpet like an ink stain, but she catches it, just in time.

“You’re too kind,” she manages, because somehow implying a lie is more palatable than saying it outright. “I’m not sure my tutors would agree with you.”

The consort waves a hand, as if such worries were little more than smoke. “They are used to ladies. To breeding. When compared to a girl who has been training for this opportunity all her life...yes, you fall quite short. But that is not who you are.”

Haki steps forward, taking one of her hands in hers. “You are the woman who saved Lilias. That some believe a straight spine or a sprightly step could be worth more than that in a princess is--” she takes a breath, agitated-- “antiquated.”

Shirayuki stares, mouth slack, hand limp. “I thought you said--”

“It is important for the people to remember why kings are give the power they possess,” Haki tells her, her eyes so blue, so earnest. “But a good king earns the trust of his people by surrounding himself with the best minds his kingdom can offer. Anyone can learn to hold a fork, Shirayuki, but you--” she smiles-- “you cannot be replaced.“

Something in her chest squirms, but it’s not unpleasant. More like...a squirrel that’s made its next in a tree’s heart, finally waking after a long winter.”

“Oh,” she croaks past the lump in her throat. “Oh.”

In the stories, the sorceresses are old. Or failing that, they are seductresses, dark haired and pale-skinned, every word a twist of the knife.

But this one, oh-- this one is so beautiful and young, her hat so brightly painted with flowers. There is no danger etched on her face or molded in the curves of her body, no sharp teeth or crooked grin. Just a smile, so warm and so gentle.

The little girl is not foolish; she knows exactly how it is when you are not what you seem but--

She does not expect this.

Nor she does not expect to say, “I love roses,” the moment the woman touches her hand.

“You poor child.” When the woman speaks, every word is a song, “How did you come all this way on such a dangerous river? You must be very brave indeed.”

No one had ever called the little girl that before. Pretty, of course, and kind, and often gentle, but brave--

You must tell me who you are, the sorceress says, awe plain in her voice, and how you came here. I must know everything of such a clever little girl.

Her eyes prickle, and before she quite knows what to do, tears stream down her cheek.

Oh, my darling. Arms wrap around her, warm and soft, and oh, how long has it been since she has been held, just like this? So long, so long. No more worries. I have you. I will take care of you.

“Your Majesty, I must insist.” Arundo’s brow blisters with sweat, his dark eyes pleading. “Truly, it is my duty to instruct Mistress Shirayuki. I cannot possible ask you--”

“You are not asking,” the consort reminds him, her mouth hooked into a devious smile. “And I am the one insisting. I think a change of partners will do her ladyship a world of good.”

The dancing master pales. Shirayuki can’t blame him; if Izana was to find out she mangled his wife’s feet as she did Arundo’s...

“I’m not sure she’s ready for such a, ah...change.” He wrings his hands, mopping at his brow. “Surely a few more weeks, and perhaps--”

“I have been watching these lessons for quite some time, Master Arundo, would you not agree?” The man has no recourse but to nod, not with the way the consort pins him with her gaze, hedging him against the wall with her imposing posture. “I have noticed a few areas in which her understanding of the dance might be improved.”

All of them, probably. Despite years of tutors, Shirayuki has never quite grasped the finer areas of dance. Not that there hadn’t been some successes-- she never seemed to embarrass herself in Tanbarun when Raj insisted on a waltz, and Obi always managed to make her look capable, if not competent, but outside that--

Well, Her Majesty shouldn’t be wearing slippers facing off against her feet.

Arundo deflates in the face of her determination. “Ah, well...if you’re certain...Your Majesty...”

“I am.” The consort turns to her, skirts skimming the floor. Ah, it had been hard enough avoiding Arundo’s feet when she could see them; this hemline can only complicate matters. “Come, I’ll lead you through it. A waltz might seem hard to start, but there’s very little to remember.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s what they’d been trying to do before Arundo had decided that learning polka might behoove her more, if only because it put space between her partner and her feet. “Ah...if you think so.”

“I know so.” Haki tilts her a small, secretive smile. “Give me your hand.”

With one last helpless glance at Arundo, she does. The consort’s palm is cool against hers, like marble warming under her touch, and she slides into the circle of her arms with only a little finagling.

“I should be about the right height.” Her face is so close-- nearly too close, the her eyes so pale and so clear, so unlike the deep Wisteria blue. “Give or take an inch or two.”

That is all the warning she has; the accompanist starts a thoughtful piece, slow yet bright, and the consort sweeps her across the floor. She stumbles on the first step, but the music’s pace makes it easy to recover, to remember the simple rhythm of up, up, down; up-up-down--

She steps out into her turn, arm lifted, and--

Just barely misses Her Majesty’s slippered foot, slid to safety just in time.

Haki laughs, and it’s so different when it is not a disappointed tutor that looks back, but Her Majesty’s smiling face. As if she were not in a practice room, but a bed chamber, practicing on a lark instead of disastrously careening toward a deadline.

“Well then,” Haki breathes, holding her stomach as if it might cease her giggles. “Now we know what we need to work on.”

The girl is but a child, well-loved and then sent into the world alone, shell of determination over a soft body of longing. For how long has she been reaching out her hands only to come back empty? For how long has she been calling for help, only to go unheard?

And now a hand catches hers with warm smiles above it, with arms so ready to hold the burden she’s been carrying for far, far too long...

The little girl enters a garden, and oh, who are we to judge when she grasps with both hands.

“Well done, once again.” Haki slumps onto the divan beside her, flushed, eyes bright. “I think you’ve nearly gotten that waltz.”

Shirayuki delicately closes her jaw. “I’m...I don’t really think that’s true. I nearly stepped on you at least two dozen times.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Only because you’re much quicker than Arundo is,” she laughs. “Which is good, otherwise Izana would have--” she coughs, flustering under the consort’s bemused smile-- “I mean, His Majesty would have been quite upset if I’d broken your foot.”

Her Majesty hums, gaze measuring. “I see he was right.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re really not afraid of him.” Haki’s sweet smile sharpens into a grin. “Izana.”

“Hguk.” If only she knew how to answer questions like these-- or at least, how to answer them when someone with a His or Her poses them, looking for an answer that is not respect is earned, not given.

“I’m from Tanbarun,” Shirayuki settles on, since that seems...safe.

“Yes,” Haki hums, all too knowing. “I could see how a royal title might not impress you.” 

She has the sudden, perverse urge to object. Raj might have once been a black mark on Tanbarun’s reputation, the prince no princess would deign to entertain as a prospect, but now-- now he was a prince the people could be proud of. That she could be proud of. Even if he was a little ridiculous.

But she doubts that consort would understand such a change. So she drowns the impulse in the tea a maid hands her.

Haki sips at her own with effortless elegance, measuring her with a glance. “I suppose that is part of your charm. That you don’t believe in this,” she explains, “the superiority of good breeding.”

Tea burns when she breathes it instead of swallowing, and well, a coughing fit is one way to get out of having to answer...any of that.

Haki pats her back, harder than Shirayuki would expect from a woman raised to be a king’s demure shadow. “There, there.” The words ripple with the undercurrent of a giggle. “Let us talk of something else instead. Perhaps the reason your mind wanders?”

The garden and its marvels lead to a cottage, its walls of wattle and its roof of thatch. The most delicious smells waft through the window-- fresh baked bread, hot fruit tart--

Come inside, the sorceress says, I have sweet berries, fresh picked, and cool cream with which to have it.

The little girl hesitates, red shoe hovering over the threshold. It was one thing to stand upon the dock with her, to be held and hold in return, to walk among her flowers and marvel at the sight, but it’s quite another to enter her home, the center of her power. Unless she wants to be sweet child stew--

You must tell me how you came to be here. The sorceress smiles, so warm. I will help you, if I am able.

The little girl steps inside.

The consort smiles in her silence, sweeping up across the room. “You have such pretty hair pieces,” she remarks brightly, “I must applaud your taste.”

“Oh I...I didn’t pick them,” she admits. “I don’t really have an eye for that sort of thing.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifts. “You don’t mean to say my good brother did. I never thought him the type.”

“Oh! No, it wasn’t him,” she laughs. “Obi...”

I’m looking for a boy, the little girl says, for despite all her cleverness, there are some tricks a child cannot see. He has dark hair. He is this tall. He gave me these shoes.

My oh my, the sorceress says, leading her to a chair. There are no other children in this house, but even still it is the right size, just large enough so that her toes brush at the floor when she kicks them. You describe him so well. He seems like he must be a very good boy.

He is, for he is, even if he’s strayed from her. But he is lost.

This is for you. The pin balances awkwardly behind her ear, hair entirely too short for something like it. He smiles at her, something lopsided and sharp. She hardly knows him then, only thinking that she must look ridiculous. Still, his eyes are the clearest she’s ever seen as he says, Part of my prize.

Is that so? the sorceress hums. Do you mind very much if I were to brush your hair? It is so disheveled from your travels, I would hate for it to get too tangled.

The girl hesitates, her hands in her lap. The berries and cream look very good indeed, and when the sorceress brings out her brush, it is mother of pearl, so pretty and so fine. She knows what they say about strange food, she knows what they say can be done with only a few strands of hair, but-- she is a small girl, so weary, so unused to kindness, and--

She nods.

Since there’s no martial arts match to win, he teases, so many years later, I thought we’d go choose another one for you.

It sits heavy in her hands as she stand in the hall, waiting.

Thank you, she says, meeting eyes that are still so clear all these years later, thank you so much for this

Have you seen him? she asks, watching the woman warily as she approaches. The little girl has heard of what conjurers might do, but she is a strong girl, a brave girl, a clever one. She would not be fooled by illusion. My boy?

Your boy? The sorceress sweeps close, the scent of flowers wafting on the air. I have not.

The brush is so soft in her hair, so lulling. She can feel her eyes drift to half mast. It has been so long since she rested.

But I’m sure he’ll come through. The sorceress’s mouth rounds into a dangerous curve. Everyone does, eventually.

You’re drunk, she decides, watching the way he sways on the balls of his feet, swaying like a sailor at sea. Still, he’s coiled tight, braced for an attack. Even soused, he’s vigilant Obi, I know that--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

His eyes have never been cloudier.

You have roses, the little girl slurs, so many of them, and so beautiful.

You like them? It’s hard to keep her eyes open now, her head nodding at the table.

They are my favorite, she says, my boy and I...we raised roses together.

The brush pauses, mid-stroke. You don’t say?

“It’s too bad you have so few.” The consort reaches out a hand, her fingers catching in her hair. The touch is so unexpected, Shirayuki forgets to flinch. “Your hair is so lovely.”

“Thank you,” she manages, which is better than saying, I hear that a lot.

It’s no use; Haki’s mouth lifts wryly, and even though she hasn’t said a word, Shirayuki knows she’s heard every one. “You’ll have to let me lend you one of mine.”

“Wha?” She blinks, staring as the consort rounds the divan, clasp in hand. “I couldn’t--”

“Put it in yourself? I know. Please,” the consort comes to sit beside her, pales eyes shining eagerly, “allow me to pin it for you.”

“I...” Shirayuki snaps her lips over her protest; Haki may only be the consort, but still, saying no to a queen was what Obi would call career limiting. “You’re too kind.”

Her hands are gentle as she removes the pins lying tight against Shirayuki’s scalp. “Oh no, not at all. It’s the least I could do for my sister.”

She says it so casually, as if this were all settled, as if Shirayuki’s success was already assured and not balanced on the head of a pin, and--

And for once, Shirayuki believes it.

You should stay, the sorceress says, and the little girl hardly hears it, her chin cradled on her arms.

I can’t, I can’t, she yawns, looking out on the world through the net of her lashes. I have to find my boy.

He’ll come, in time, the woman assures her. As I said, everyone does. Why not wait here?

With what she’d seen of Rona’s skills the last time she’d visited Tanbarun, Shirayuki expected to be left with a rat’s nest that would take three maids to untangle. But the consort’s hands are practiced, neatly twisting and lifting as she pins.

“Have you’ve done this before?” She grimaces; there was probably much more polite way to put that, one that didn’t call a queen’s qualifications into question. “I mean...there aren’t many ladies of the court that know how to, um, do this.”

“Take care of themselves? Yes,” she hums, too amused, “I know. I was one of the dowager’s handmaidens when she was queen. We didn’t need to do much, but, well...a girl like to distinguish herself, doesn’t she?”

“O-oh.” She bites her lip, thoughtful. “So...before you were the Mistress of Lilias? Is that how you met Izana?”

Her hands still, just for a moment, before twisting another piece. “No. We have known each other...far longer than that. Our fathers were...”

“Friends?” Shirayuki supplies, when Haki does not.

“No, better-- allies. I was practically raised with the Wisterias.”  She laughs. “No wonder I was always desperate for a sister. Good thing at least one of my brothers has decided to oblige me.”

The comb’s teeth skim against her scalp, and Shirayuki grimaces. “With someone no one expected.”

The consort drops down beside her, companionably close, closing a hand around hers. “Perhaps you did not realize, Shirayuki, how serious I was. I am as selfish as any of these men, though what I want from you is not feminine perfection.” She grins, and it’s not like Izana’s, a prelude to a challenge, but an invitation to mischief. “Don’t forget that before I was the queen of Clarines, I was the mistress of Lilias. If the woman who saved the North is an unorthodox choice to the relics of this court...then it is just the one I want. Do you understand?”

Stay, my precious girl, the sorceress whispered, I have long been waiting for a dear little maiden like you.

“I do.”

It is dark when one woman says to another, “There is a box in her room, on the dresser. Do you know it?”

The second bows her head. “I do.”

“Good.” The first worries a lip, hesitant. “See that it disappears.”

“I...” The second straightens, nods. “I will.”

A little girl sleep and a sorceress stands in her garden.

You must stay with me, she says as the roses seep beneath the ground, and see how happily we shall live together.

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #All That Remains #snow queen AU #ans #this was supposed to be twice as long #and go to the end of this section #but I very quickly realized that for pacing reasons it needed to be cut #so enjoy a slightly shorter interlude #a prelude to a storm one might say #continuing my 'every odd chapter knocks you on your ass' motif

[yourdeepestfathoms]

turn this boat around (we’re going down)

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

who would win: a normal river or one soggy girl

Word count: 5764

Prompt: “You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

———————

“Don’t forget to put on—”

But it was too late. Kitty and Cleves were already sprinting into the river and collapsing into the water. Jane’s arm fell limp to her side and she narrowed her eyes at the pair.

“Fine. I hope you both fry.” She hissed before turning to help someone else- someone less stupid and more obedient- with putting on sunscreen.

It had been Kitty and Maggie’s idea to go out for a swim, which was why the ten Tudor reincarnated ladies were out by a secluded riverside in the first place. It was quite warm that day, anyway, so they gave in to the idea and packed up two cars and drove out to the serene little spot for a nice day on the water. However, not everyone was as thrilled to be there as Kitty and her impractical soulmate were.

Joan’s nose curled as water lapped hungrily at her toes. She stepped out of the shallows and back onto the sandstone shoreline. It was too cold in her opinion- she didn’t know how Kitty and Cleves weren’t bothered by it.

Not to be a buzzkill, but she really didn’t want to be there. She hated the water, although she didn’t quite know why, as she didn’t think she had any trauma attached to it. She just didn’t enjoy getting all soggy and cold. Nor did she know how to swim, so just added bonus points to why she didn’t enjoy water. However, everyone else was onboard with the idea without even hearing her opinion, so she got dragged out with them whether she liked it or not.

Although, she had to admit the place they were hunkered down at was quite beautiful. Down a dirt path and through a thicket of foliage, the trees opened up to border the riverside. It was shaded by the overhead shrubbery, shielding them from the sun, and had several rock formations sticking out in the deeper end, perfect spots for jumping off and diving, as Kitty has already discovered, since she was already clambering up the side of one crag. Dense brambles locked around the other side, which has a bay like a gravelly beach. Joan was standing in front of the shallows, where sparkling rivulets of water rushed through the weathered limestone riverbed. She winces when she steps on a pebble. She knew she should have brought some kind of river shoes.

At the main site, Maggie had just jumped in and was now chanting for Maria to get in, who was slowly lowering herself into the water and squealing about how cold it was. A purple, black, and indigo blur then suddenly passes them in a flash; Bessie pops up from the surface a moment later, blinks at them through violet goggles, then disappears once again without a word.

“She is in heaven,” Aragon commented with a chuckle. She was seated beside Jane in a beach chair on a flat ledge just in front of the water. They were both basically taking up the roles of lifeguards for the expedition.

“Definitely.” Jane agreed with a light laugh of her own, but that light laugh quickly turned into an uproar of laughter that nearly made her fall out of her chair when Bessie unexpectedly resurfaced holding a catfish by the tail. “HOW DID YOU—?!”

“ELIZABETH!!” Aragon barked, laughing as hard as everyone else. Joan even thinks there’s tears streaming out of her eyes at the sight. “PUT IT BACK!!”

Bessie stared at her, then at the fish, and then placed it back in the water. It fearfully shoots away from her as fast as possible, probably having a fishy panic attack. She blinked, flashed a quick peace sign, and then dived again.

Joan watched Aragon and Jane for a moment as they settled, half transfixed on how pretty they looked in their bathing suits and hating herself for it, before a flash of green caught her eye. She turned to see Anne standing there and tipping the can of sunscreen at her.

“Have you put some on yet?” The queen asked.

“Not yet,” Joan replied.

“Need help?”

Joan’s ears were suddenly on fire, much to her dismay.

“N-no, I got it.” Joan stammered.

“Alright,” Anne shrugged. She handed Joan the can and then went to get in, pushing in Cathy, who was trying to hype herself up to jump in, as she did so.

After very poorly putting on a coating of sunscreen, Joan just awkwardly stands by the bags for a moment. She watches everyone else splash around happily, then walks past Jane and Aragon, and to a swampy area of the bay. It was overgrown with cattails and reeds, and the surface of the water was covered in a layer of mushy green algae. Joan wrinkled her nose, not even wanting to know how that would feel between her toes, and stepped across the goop to a rock sitting between a circle of tall grass growing out from the water, then to another, and another, and another, until she situated herself on a flat, fairly large stone that would make for a good watch point.

And watch she did, since she didn’t have anything better to do.

On the tallest rock formation, probably around twelve feet in height, Kitty was standing on the edge babbling about being the true queen of the castle or something. Maggie walked up to her, looked at her wordlessly, then shoved her off. Kitty’s alarmed squeal was quickly overcome by the splash of her body slapping against the river’s surface. Jane was barely able to fight back a flinch when she saw this, but was able to settle herself from where she sat.

At another part of the river, a slightly shallower area where you could stand up and only be submerged around the waist or stomach, Cleves and Maria were playing with a volleyball that had been brought along. Cleves was playfully barking at Maria to not tuck her thumbs in or else she would end up breaking them, which “would not make playing the drums very easy.”

And then, in front of Jane and Aragon’s ledge, a flurry of bubbles explode against the rippling surface. A moment later, Bessie pops up like a two thousand year old river monster that has just awoken from its slumber. Thick, long tendrils of black hair draped over her face like wet snakes, but she’s able to navigate her way over to the shore with ease. When she gets to a ledge, she hops up, grappling her arms in the rock for a grip while her feet scrabble against the stone before finding a hold and pushing the rest of her body up. Once she stands, she pauses for a moment, then shakes her head wildly to dry her hair, quickly replacing the image of “river monster” with “soggy black bear.”

“Was that really necessary, Elizabeth?” Aragon said with distaste, as she got caught in the crossfire of the splattering hair water. But even from a distance, Joan could tell Aragon was just messing around, and was quite endeared by how at ease and happy her daughter figure was.

“Yes.” Bessie said with a blank face. She padded over to the cooler and took out a water bottle. She took a few sips, then set it down, along with her goggles. “I don’t need these.”

“Elizabeth, don’t open your eyes under-”

But Bessie had already returned to the river, which she’s practically claimed as her aquatic kingdom. Aragon shook her head with a loving chuckle.

Just then, Joan felt a flash of embarrassment. Bessie was so calm and relaxed, despite being in a bathing suit. Everyone knew she had issues with her body, but she looked so peaceful. Sure, it was a one piece swimsuit (dark purple with black stripes) and she also had shorts on, but still! Even Kitty was in a tankini! And Cleves, who was the proclaimed “ugly one” by history, was proudly flaunting a ruby red bikini!

Joan shyly looked down at herself, at the light blue rash guard and darker blue waterproof shorts covering her floral bathing suit underneath; and felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She felt kinda pathetic- what gave her the right to be so ashamed of her body? She wasn’t touched in the way Kitty and Bessie were. She shouldn’t be so nervous of skin being shown.

She sighed and plucked up a pebble sitting on her slab, throwing it fiercely as far as she could. The resounding splash seemed to alert a few of the girls on the largest rock, who just now noticed that she was sitting there.

“Joan!” Maggie called. “Come on! Come up with us!”

Joan scanned the water, but found no possible way to get to the rock without getting in, and it was very deep in that area. Besides, even if there was a way, she knew she would probably be pushed off if she dared to venture up there, and she didn’t know what she would do if that would happen. Everyone would figure out she couldn’t swim, she would probably have to be rescued, and she would never be able to live that down. She huddled further into the center of the stone she’s on.

“I’m good!” She called back.

Maggie exchanged looks with Cathy and Kitty, who were up there with her. Anne was standing on the top, too, but she just tilted her head at Joan in a curious, but slightly worried way.

“Why not?” Kitty yelled this time.

“It’s too cold!”

“Uhh.” Kitty blinked. “Okay.”

Joan bit her lip, already knowing she was being judged. They definitely saw through her answer and were thinking about how stupid and scared she was. She wished she could be like the protagonist in a movie that would suddenly get a burst of confidence which would send her proudly leaping into the water and being perfectly fine, but she just couldn’t. She didn’t want to get in. And she didn’t want to sit there looking like a fool anymore, so she stood up and hopped back onto the bay.

Joan walks over to the bags, noticing random trinkets- necklaces, rings, hats, even a damp, clumped up shirt- piled neatly on the ledge Aragon and Jane were sitting at. She looked at it curiously, then yelped as a crushed beer can was suddenly hurled out from the water. Aragon and Jane look at her in amusement.

“Watch out,” Aragon warned her a little too late. “Elizabeth is cleaning out the river.”

“And also creating a hoard.” Jane nodded at the pile.

Speaking of the devil, Bessie’s top half emerges from the water and clings to the edge of the ledge so she can place a scuffed green beaded necklace with her pile.

“Think you can find me some sunglasses?” Aragon asked.

Bessie grinned up at her and then disappeared in the water again. Joan momentarily saw her figure ripple near the riverbed before sliding out of view into the deep end.

“She has a tendency to go nonverbal when she’s in her zone or concentrated.” Aragon informed Joan with a chuckle. “It’s adorable.”

Joan smiled slightly, then moved to sift through one of the bags. She pulled out two pencils and her small sketchbook. Seeing as she had nothing else to do, she thought she could get away with drawing. Not like anyone would do anything to stop her.

She looked around for a good place to sit, then noticed a path winding through the trees to her far left. She blinked at it, glanced at the others not paying any attention to her, then walked into the riverside jungle.

The tangled trees seemed to be reaching for her with long trailing roots, and branches like skeletal fingers snarled together overhead to create a canopy of sorts. Sunlight filtered in from above, casting pale yellow spots across the large boulders dotting the foliage. They were all huge and just lied around like the remnants of an ancient landslide. A few packed together tightly against a tall fjord of earth, creating a rocky corridor of sorts. There was another path to get to the other side, beneath a log suspended in the air by two crags and through some weeds, but Joan decided to venture into the crevice.

Walking through the passageway felt like she was getting a hug from the earth. It was a slight squeeze to go through, she had to hunch her shoulders in to keep them from scraping against the walls, but it felt worth it for the sights.

Flowers were blooming from vines etched in the moss-matted bedrock on either side of her. Orange and green and amber were streaked through the rock walls, glowing beneath streams of water that glittered like melted diamonds from a spring somewhere up above. Specks of sunlight bleeding in through the canopy above would hit the stone’s tears in just the right way to set them off in radians of iridescent and silver. The deep emerald moss was fluffy beneath Joan’s fingers when she tentatively touched the patches. Ahead, she then sees braids of willow dangling down from a long, reaching branch that has itself draped over one of the boulders. When she pushes through the curtain, she’s met with scattered trees that break down and fold into a field of rock crags that border the glistening river.

Joan walks through the grass and down onto the shoreline. Most of the bay there were shallows that have leaked into the openings between stony ridges risen from the ground. She shivers as she wades through the ankle-deep water, feeling the cold jolt through her muscles. She clambered up the first rock she could reach as fast as she could.

She took a moment to scan around her, then glanced over her shoulder. Parts of her were hoping to see the others calling her name, breaking through the foliage and running to her in relief for wandering off, but she knew that would never happen. She bet they would end up leaving her there entirely if she stayed out too long.

Shaking her head to rid herself of that though, Joan began to traverse the rock formations carefully. She leapt from one shelf to another, feeling like a graceful bighorn sheep climbing a mountainside or a dragon mapping out its new territory. Jumping and moving like that made her feel so free and uncaring- perhaps this is what Bessie felt when she was in the water?

Joan paused for a moment to catch her breath. She looked to the side and saw a large pool of stagnant brownish water sitting in between some ledges nearby. A dark green, blobby frog croaked from in the warm, bubbling mud, then bobbled at her with its big yellow eyes. Joan giggled softly, then moved on.

Hopping across rocks, tight walking over fallen logs, occasionally stepping through the water below when gaps were too big to jump, Joan made her way across the stone shoreline. Then, the ground flattened out and the bay became one of smooth stone that she could easily walk across, only occasionally going around the reaching shelves of earth that stretched out from the cliff face bordering that side of the river.

Finally, her trek and hard work paid off when she spotted a nice rock formation reaching over the water. It was high up, safe from any splashing from the rapids below, with a sheer edge and an inclined side that Joan was able to climb up with little difficulty when she held her pencils and sketchbook in her mouth. There, she settled herself and began to draw.

Around thirty minutes into finishing up a drawing of Killer Frost brawling with a menacing polar bear (what? she had an active imagination!) she looked up and stared with wide eyes at the hawk perched only a few meters away.

It’s not that she’s never seen a hawk before, she has, but she’s never been this close to one. And it’s not like they were common in a big city like London.

This one was pretty big. It had its streaked, slate grey chest puffed out as it scanned the water with orange-red eyes from the tree branch it was regally perched on. The thick, bristled tail was still banded, though the marks were fading, meaning this was an adolescent. And the wide, white stripe over the eyes told Joan that it was a goshawk.

The bird flexed its razor sharp, obsidian black talons around the branch, and Joan watched it do this simple action in awe. She flips to a clean page and begins to sketch out the beautiful creature, looking up every few strokes to check the details and diameters.

On her fifth glance, the hawk suddenly billowed its huge wings and leapt off of the branch. It dove straight down into the water, submerging itself for a moment before soaring back out in a blur of brown and grey. A long, blue-grey fish was now wriggling desperately in its hooked beak. It clamped down harder to keep its meal from falling out, then glanced at Joan. Its fire-colored eyes narrowed at her, talons twitching subtly beneath it as it hovered in the air. Then, it cocks its head back, as if to say, “Try to top that, wingless bird,” and flies off into the trees on the other side of the river.

Joan watched it go with an amazed look. She smiled and went back to her sketch. She finishes it relatively quickly and goes to the next blank page. As she’s doing so, she slowly starts to pick up on how active the floral and fauna around her was.

Tangles of thorns and thickets of huge ferns grew along the shoreline on the other side, which was coated with smashed up gravel and fragments of river shells and pieces of smooth black flint. Sharp, hollow reeds poked out of the edges of the water like pale green and light brown needles, just waiting for some poor sole to step on them and be lanced by their spear-like points. Tadpoles and minnows were weaving between the bases, their delicate bodies barely even stirring up a fleck of mud as they swam.

In the deeper water, the shimmering bodies of fish could be seen, although it was hard to tell what size or color they were because the rapids were rushing white streaks over the surface. However, she did notice a green-brown catfish swimming lazily from underneath her rock, whiskers billowing beside its face like little squirming snakes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joan noticed a tawny, speckled gecko skitter up onto her ledge, then paused when it saw her. It looks her up and down with its big brown eyes, sizing her up, then turns away, deciding to find a different place to sunbathe. Joan giggled softly. She HAD to draw Killer Frost messing with a lizard, now. As she was reaching for one of her pencils, however, it slipped from her hand and began rolling to the edge. Joan lunged just a bit too far for it.

Joan couldn’t even think to try and catch herself as she tips over the edge and into the icy water below.

The first thing she realizes when she falls in is that the water was a lot shallower than she thought it was. Or maybe she fell with enough momentum to slam all the way to the bottom. She didn’t know, but she felt her back connect to the riverbed with so much force she thought her spine broke for a moment. But then her body began to writhe like a stabbed snake without her brain commanding it to do so. She just squirms and wiggles and flails, but she can’t get to the surface and the current seizes her in its glacial talons and drags her along with it. She can feel her back scrape and shred against the rock beneath her, even with the rash guard on.

The water stings every inch of her like dry ice until she can’t tell cold from hot any longer. She’s so in shock from falling in and then landing on her spinal cord that she forgets if she’s being boiled alive or being frozen solid.

Everything is dark, and the water presses down on her. Someone is coming to save her. Jane is coming to save her. She must be. Or someone must be— they won’t let her die!

This— this was why she’s scared of the water. Not because of a past trauma, but because of the knowledge of how powerful it is and the inherent fear that comes with that. The water is stronger than she’ll ever be and that makes her scared.

She can’t swim, she can’t breathe, she can’t escape. She’s going to die in this river, and shouldn’t it have edges. Shouldn’t there be a way out?

Joan suddenly bashed into a boulder sticking out of the river— there it was. Reeling with pain, awareness rushing back to her, Joan spun in the water, flailing for a hold on something.

She crashed into another rock, bounced off, and slammed into yet another. The river was going so fast now that she couldn’t stop herself. She was being dragged hungrily by the undertow at top speeds.

Joan manages to twist over so she wouldn’t be belly-up anymore like a fish waiting to die. She shoved her knees against the riverbed, feeling the stone slabs slice off an entire layer of skin like a hot knife, and breaches the surface. She gasps, sucked in as much air as she could in her panic, then tried to scream for help, but was cut off when her face smashed into solid rock.

Joan sees bright, colorful stars explode across her vision— or maybe they’re minnows, because she keels over and the undertow reclaims her into its depths. She’s back underwater, sinking into an alarmingly deep part of the river.

Mmmmm... The river seemed to rumble around her. So delicious... Mine. My prey.

Blood is swirling up from one of Joan’s nostrils. She doesn’t know how because that nostril already feels like it’s swollen shut. That side of her face is pulsing with pain; she can feel her heartbeat pounding away- is it getting weaker?

Her back touches the riverbed. Knobby protrusions and pebbles and shells scratch against her rash guard like desperate fingers. A few might have actually managed to cut through the fabric because she can feel the streaks of pain lancing across her spine worsening by the second. Her cuts being packed full of grit and gravel is so bad that she doesn’t even become aware of the burning in her lungs until just then.

Shhhhhh.... The water whispers when Joan’s whimper sends ripples through its body. Shhh... Rest. Mine. Hungry.

The burning turns into a full on incineration of her lungs. Suddenly, the water around her feels a lot less icy and a lot more like it was boiling around her. Her body felt so hot and heavy, her frigid and numb at the same time. This and the pain brought awareness back to her somewhat. She’s dizzy and can barely move, so it wouldn’t matter if she knew how to swim or not. Someone warm and wet is trickling from her nasal passage and down into her throat- blood.

Hungry. Hungry. Mine..... Cooed the water gleefully.

Stop, Joan thought desperately, as if she could speak the language of the undertow humming around her. Please stop.

Something is pressing down on her chest with talons of fire. Her throat is wrapped with burning hot razor wire. The surface just ten feet away from her face is starting to look a lot more black.

Want this. Want want want. Chanted the water. Sleep. Hungry hungry hungry.

Let me go. Joan mentally begged. She couldn’t believe she was using the last of her strength to try and telepathically speak to a fucking liquid. Please.

Can’t. The water replied, and now she knew for sure oxygen deprivation was making her delirious and think it was talking back to her. So hungry. Yum yum yum...

No. Human yuck. F-fish yum. Joan tried to persuade. Ripples swish around her like the aquatic shake of a head.

No. Need. You. Mine. So hungry. The water burbled. Shhhh....

No- Human yuck. Human yuck.

Joan couldn’t tell if she was crying, but the voice she was using to think with was cracking and trembling like she was.

Shhh....

Human yuck. Fish yum. Please don’t.

Shhhhh.......

No-

Shhhh.....

STOP! Joan roared. Her eyes shot open and, thick with gurgling blood, she screamed, “HELP!!” as loud as she could.

She may have been underwater, but surely someone had to hear her. She had to be close to the others by now.

How long has she been drowning without them knowing...?

“HELP! HELP!”

HUSH! Cried the water.

STOP!! Joan shrieked back.

Suddenly, something pierces the surface. Through the blackness hazing her vision Joan looks up and smiles weakly. She knew the others wouldn’t have left her to die. She knew they cared.

But it wasn’t them.

The fleeting blur of grey and brown zipped out of the water in an instant. The water is agitated, roiling and churning in rage. It seizes Joan by the throat and arms and legs and shakes her.

Then, she’s going up, up, up, dragged against a jagged, razor sharp slope of shell shards and flint daggers, and—

And she’s thrown over the surface.

Joan gasps loudly, reintroducing her lungs to oxygen—but they weren’t quite ready to quarrel with the element just yet. So, instead, she just made feeble, wheezing squeaky noises as fights to stay up above. Or, rather, the water fights to keep her up. She was just floundering around like an upside down drunk duck that never learned how to swim.

Crack went something in her chest as she wheels into a twisted rock formation and stab went another bolt of pain throughout her entire body.

Human yuck, Went the water as it shoved her waterlogged body into another protrusion. Human yuck.

Human yuck, Joan agreed dizzily as she extended her hands and grappled onto the next rock she was thrown against. She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the tiny chick-chick-chick of the spiderwebs crawling through her rib cage when she stretched out her arms. Human yuck. She repeated tiredly.

Weakly, Joan crawled out of the water and flopped onto the top of the stone. At the sudden pressure on her stomach, water comes rushing out of her mouth and all she can really do is slack her jaw and let it all pour free from her innards. It was a terrible sensation, like water snakes were slithering out of her stomach and up her throat. It halted her breathing for several terrifying seconds, so she had no choice but to force up a cough to move the process along, but that cough turned into a gag and then a sob.

She has definitely been crying.

Joan wasn’t too sure how long she was sprawled out on that rock with tears streaming down her cheeks and water leaking from every orifice, but eventually looked up blearily. She had managed to float all the way down to the small forest with the rock passageway, but wasn’t at the other side yet. She also saw that tangles of water weeds and ropes of slimy algae were coiled around her limbs, like medals awarding her for not drowning. She didn’t have the strength to peel them off.

Everything hurt so badly. Her knees were skinned raw and filled with gravel, her back was so gashed she was sure her spine could be seen, her palms were on fire and one of her fingernails were missing, one half of her face was swollen and bruised, and something was very wrong with her ribs. She had no idea how she was going to get back to the others, and she was starting to fear they weren’t going to look for her at all. They were going to leave her.

More tears spilled free. She tried to call their names, but her voice came out as a strangled gurgle that the rapids shushed with their relentless churning. She stared fearfully at the rushing water around her and whimpered pathetically at what was to come.

After a few more minutes of laying still, Joan slowly slid off of the rock. The icy chill of the water sends the cuts scattered across her back alight with fresh pain and they sing with discomfort. She sings with them when she keens miserably.

Each step is agony. Her knees tremble under her weight and her ribs quiver in her chest in a terrible, unnatural way. The only reason she’s able to cross to the shore is because the water is only to her chest, but it’s still hard to wade through and bubbles around her, like it’s laughing at her efforts.

Joan stumbled to the bay along the side of the forest, which is situated on a ledge she wouldn’t be able to hoist herself up onto with her injuries. So she has to scale the side, walking through the deep, murky water until gravel turns to mud and her feet are sucked at hungrily. She can’t manage a yelp, so she just gurgled awkwardly and jerked back quickly, which makes her see stars. She clings tighter to the grass on the ledge and continues forward.

Finally, after twenty-five minutes of moving at a crawl, she reaches the end of the forest. The bank curves into a pool-like area, then continues to a straight line where the site was. Joan considered getting out and walking over there, but knew what would happen if she did- everyone would have to pick up and leave and they would all hate her for ruining it for them. As much as she really wanted to go home and soak in a hot bath that won’t try to drown her, she didn’t want everyone being annoyed with her, either.

So, instead, she dragged herself to the pool bay. Slimy black mud squelched beneath her toes and she nearly flattened a squishy-looking toad when her knees finally buckled and she collapsed. It hops out of the way with an alarmed croak, gawks at her black and blue and pale white form half sticking out of the water, then scoots away hastily.

There, Joan lays, moaning and crying miserably. She rationalizes that she’ll have more strength in just a moment if she just rests... Yes... She could feel the pain ebbing away already...

Sleep, sleep... Cooed the water as it licks her legs gently. Mine. So hungry... Human...yum.

———

“Can you get her up the hill?”

“Yes, Catherine, I’m not THAT weak. Besides, she’s really light...”

“I know, I’m not saying you’re weak, I just don’t want you to drop her.”

“I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

“I never—”

“I had a baby, you know? I know how to carry a person. I was a mother.”

“Carrying a baby and carrying a teenager are two different actions.”

“I don’t know... Look at the way she’s snuggled up to me. Jealous?”

“No—”

Two voices bicker above her head. They’re both very warm and very soothing, but one is barbed with thorns and the other is coiled with jagged gemstone points. She’s too delirious to make them out fully, though, or ask them to be quiet, so she just moaned weakly. They don’t appear to hear her.

“Gentle, Anne!”

“I am being gentle!!”

A whimper worms free. This time, she’s heard because the voices shut up. When they eventually speak again, their tones are too hushed to hear properly.

“Mmmm...” Joan choked out. “I’m.....mmmm.......”

A finger brushes her cheek- the one that isn’t swollen and throbbing. She leans into it with another feeble whimper.

“We need to bring her to the hospital.”

“We need to bring her home.”

“Do you see the state she’s in? She needs a doctor!”

“Well, you can be the doctor. Doctor Catherine!”

“Do you not care about her? Because if not, give her to me.”

“Woah, hey- I’m holding her. Back off.”

“Then we take her to the-”

“Home.” Joan rasped. “Wanna...go home.”

She forces her eyes open and sees Anne and Aragon above her. They both look very worried as they stare down at her.

“Please...”

“You heard her,” Anne, the one carrying her, said. “Come on. Let’s hurry to the car.”

They continue walking to where the cars were parked. In that time, Joan becomes a little more aware of her surroundings. Instantly, guilt filtered through her. Everyone was probably having to leave because of her.

“I’m...I’m sorry...” She panted. Talking was so hard and it made her bruised face hurt tremendously. “I can...I can walk....mm too...heavy...”

“Shh, shh,” Anne hushed her, making slight rocking motions. “You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

Joan tried to argue, but could only make a weak moan of pain. She hears the sound of a car door opening and then she’s being set inside with her head in someone’s lap- Aragon’s. Fingers began to gently thread through her wet, tangled hair.

“Why do I have to drive again?” Anne asked while sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Because you got to hold her.” Aragon said. “So I get to sit with her. It’s fair.” She looks down at Joan’s cloudy eyes. “Hey, baby girl. We’re gonna bring you home, alright? You’re gonna be just fine. We’ll take care of you.”

Joan really liked the sound of that.

She smiled dreamily in her daze and began to babble softly as she started to drift back off into unconsciousness. She can feel her cracked ribs aching, and she’s desperate to not feel again.

“Did she just say ‘human yuck?” Anne said from the front of the car. “Oh my god, that is too cute! Catherine, record that!”

“Eyes on the road, Anne!”

Soon, all Joan can feel is Aragon’s gentle hand stroking her hair. She knew she would be in an extreme amount of pain when she woke up again and may actually have to go to the hospital, but, right now, she just focused on the loving pets she was getting and the sound of the water’s lullaby still roaring in her ears.

One thing was for sure: she was never going to go swimming again.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #katherine howard #anna of cleves #jane seymour #anne boleyn #nana boleyn #joan on the keys #catherine of aragon #maggie on the guitar #maria on the drums #bessie on the bass #catherine parr

[baltimorehorsescycling]

Bali Tours And Activities

When traveling to Bali for a holiday, it's never a case of what are you going to find to do in your vacation, but fairly how many weeks vacation can you take to take pleasure in all that Bali has to supply. Many people consider beaches and white sand when thinking of Bali and affiliate is a being mainly a seashore holiday. Though there are many resorts alongside the beachfront to relax at, that is only a small a part of all the Bali tours and activities out there. There are only a few motels and resorts in Bali that will not have both in home excursions of Bali or be capable to organize some tour by way of an unbiased tour firm for you to take pleasure in.

With so many activities accessible it's tough to select the best to suggest, however based mostly on the recognition of the following these seem to be the most exciting issues to do when considering one of the many Bali excursions out there.

Well known Water Activities in Bali

Bali Marine Stroll

Have you ever always wished to experience the ocean flooring, the backyard underneath water that's teaming with marine life full of vivid colors and gorgeous fish, but have been afraid to dive or aren't a very great swimmer? Then it is a must so that you can check out whenever you visit Bali. This is a revolutionary diving system that you would be able to experience even should you can’t swim; all you need to have the ability to do is stroll. The concept behind it is extremely simple; an open ended helmet allows the wearer to stroll on the sea mattress by just placing it over their head. There's an inbuilt defogging mechanism that prevents the front “window” from turning into steamed up. There's a hose which is linked to the scuba tanks permitting free motion while enjoying with the fish and feeding them from your hand. This is truly a must do activity when visiting Bali. Marine walk have their very own boat that will take you to Lembongan Island where you'll be able to enjoy a day exploring the depths of the ocean.

White Water Rafting

Bali Adventure Rafting affords a 5 star service that is famend because the safest household rafting firm in Bali. Age is not an element with this firm, children from as younger as 5 have been rafting down the Ayung River. The experience is exhilarating and the views are breathtaking. The tour is on a stretch of river 8 kilometers lengthy and includes 27 class II and class III rapids wandering by way of unspoiled rain forests, towering gorges and sculptured rice fields. All the guides are professionally skilled and have tons of experience to pilot the rafts by means of some dramatic drops, waterfalls and rivers making your white water experience secure however superior.

The whole trip will final approximately one and a half hours, depending on how briskly the river is flowing. On the finish of the journey there are hot showers and altering rooms so that you can refresh in, followed by a sizzling connoisseur buffet at a non-public restaurant with views of majestic mountains and rice fields. The distinctive facilities and having the longest course on the island has attracted Hollywood celebrities like Claudia Schiffer, Jean-Claude Van Damme and David Copperfield. Access is fairly easy, solely an hour’s drive from the majority of the resorts in the south of Bali.

Waterbom Park

Waterbom Park is situated in the resort village of Kuta; it is a massive 4 hectares in size with tropical vegetation making up the amazing panorama. World class water slides are situated all around the park and are clearly the main attraction, but are many different recreational services situated throughout the massive grounds. You've gotten the choice of dong some wall climbing, water volley ball, bungee leaping, and getting blasted with the water blaster. For the more stress-free tourist, the park presents a spa, many swimming swimming pools to loosen up in, the Wantilan Restaurant has a swim up bar facility, or just watching the children enjoy the Kiddies Park. This park is run by an Australian concern and the safety requirements are exceptionally high. There is a strict maintenance regime as well as supervision from certified lifeguards which might be continually on duty allowing mother and father to let their children splash away with none worries.

Inland Activities

Bali Quad Discovery Tours

One of many oldest mountain villages of Bali, Payangan, is house to Bali Quad and buggy discovery tours. The facilities are solely 15 kilometers south of Kintamani on the slopes of mount Batur close to Ayung river valley. The tour is through very remoted countryside, where you will not come across other tourists whereas driving your own 4 wheel quad bike. The teams are limited to six to be able to not make an excessive amount of of a disruption to the locals and to make sure that guides are able to give personal assistance. Groups are divided in line with talent stage, not necessarily age, however if you wish to have your own group composed of people of all skill ranges then that may be arranged. The only requirement that's needed is that you just be in good bodily form as the terrain can be very demanding.

Kintamani Volcano Tour

This is a very popular tour in Bali as it wanders by way of many alternative areas of the Bali countryside allowing you to expertise the variety of Balinese tradition and finally ends up with you standing on the edge of the crater of mount Batur. Among the locations and actions which might be visited and experienced on the best way is the well-known Barong Dance located in Batubulan, the village of Celuk famend for its silver and goldsmiths, the talented village of Mas with their beautiful wood carvings, the cultural capital of Bali, Ubud that is overflowing with cultural actions and beautiful paintings.

Elephant Safari Park Tour

The Elephant Safari Park located in Taro, Tegallalang is a must do for all visitors that come to Bali as it's the solely complete elephant safari expertise in the world. The unique park is the home to the only Mammoth Skeleton in South East Asia and is acclaimed as the world’s finest elephant park that's set in a picturesque tropical setting. In between using, sightseeing, hand feeding, touching them, taking photos with them, you possibly can study their ancestry and variety at the huge historic and graphic shows that the park has. The parks facilities additionally include a reception and information heart, a complete museum with many elephant memorabilia.

Overlooking an impressive lake is the restaurant that is able to hold over 200 folks and has a improbable international menu making it ideally suited not only for a visit, but is a perfect location to carry a wedding or different occasion. The gift store has an unimaginable array of elephant themed objects that embrace paintings, ivory (be careful when shopping for this, make it possible for it is not going to be confiscated at your individual nations airport), wooden and carvings, clothing and plenty of other souvenirs.

Though the park could be very tourist orientated the primary purpose of the park is the protection of those elephants which have all been rescued because of the deforestation that is happening in Southern and Central Sumatra and this park has grow to be a sanctuary for this endangered and guarded species. Elephants are very intelligent creatures and at certain instances of the day there are displays of the elephant’s capabilities together with portray. The park is great for every type of vacationers and will be a spotlight of your Bali excursions.

As a customer you will be able to the touch and hand feed the elephants, watch as they playfully bathtub within the massive lakes, have private photographs taken with you driving on the elephants, witness the intelligence of those large however gentle creatures and study their historical past, information about them and the considerations for their future. The park also gives mini rides for the children.

Bali Paragliding Journey

Bali has a mountain chain that stretches throughout the island giving paragliding lovers spectacular views and a wide range of different locations to launch from. The preferred locations are , Timbis, Gunung Payung, Mount Batur and Candi Dasa.

Timbis

Bali’s hottest flight zone and coaching middle is located right here, near the spectacular Bali Cliff resort. The rugged cliffs, white seashores, clear blue seas, Hindu temples and crashing waves over the coral reefs make this the perfect spot to discover ways to paraglide. There are facilities for meals and drinks when you prefer just to loosen up and watch the extra adventurous tourists soar off the cliffs. After your flight there are Balinese staff who will pack your cover away simply as you need it.

Gunung Payung

East of Timbis, possibly 15 minutes drive, Gunung Payung affords a launch area for the extra skilled para-glider as at high tide there is no such thing as a bottom touchdown and you'll have to soar and steer your means eastward to keep away from crashing in the water. Mount Batur. Mount Batur is an active smoldering volcano with four craters at an elevation of 1,717m which last erupted in 2000. There is no higher place to get your heart pumping earlier than takeoff, and if you're lucky enough to not get bombarded with showering lava, the view is breathtaking. Mount Batur is positioned in Kintamani, north of Ubud.

Candi Dasa

Candi Dasa has a small take off area and subsequently high landing isn't doable, the location is a 250m high ridge. The thermals are awesome here and it's typically possible to succeed in cloud base, 600-750 meters. The walk to take off from the black sand backside touchdown seashore is 20-30 minutes relying on how fit you are. There are Balinese porters for those who want assistance.

There are lots of trusted Bali car rental with driver as well as tour service who will in a position to drive visitors or vacationers to those attention-grabbing spots.

#bali tour #bali tourism activities #bali vacation #holiday in Bali

[centuryofdean]

When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 17

Author Note:: So sorry for the delayed update. I have been going through some issues from work, to my relationship, to my mode of transportation--I haven’t even had the urge to read fanfiction let alone write it. Things are starting to smooth out now so hopefully we can get this story finished!

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+. NSFW.

Warnings:: Language, Violence and Scenes of Sexual Nature.

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Kili

Most of the conversation that was transpiring around us blurred with my breathing. That and most of it was muffled due to the large amount of fish that was pilled around me. A deep shiver started from my bones and out to the outer layer of my skin. Another deep stabbing pain radiated from my thigh were the orcs arrow pierced it just mere hours ago.

How terribly foolish it was of Laurel to jump into the fray of battle to pull the leaver. Everyone in the company was grateful for her action. We were sitting in plain sight and vulnerable. Though I wished someone else had done the act, I should have done it. There was no question in my mind when I jumped to her aid. I did not know an orc was aiming for her, but I almost sung with relief when I felt the arrow's hot iron in my veins.

She was safe. If I had not interfered that arrow would have struck right to her middle.

Suddenly my barrel was knocked to the side. The act sent me sliding across the wooden floor beneath, aided with the slickness of the fish.

Each of us rose from the barge to follow the man. Once Bilbo helped Laurel up I took over and grabbed her hand to pull her with me. Walking without a grimace or a limp was fairly difficult, though I could not let her see how affected I was. I must be strong and reliable. A child taller than the company ran towards us, "Da! Our house, it's being watched!"

Bard instructed us to get into the water. The ice cold took my breath away. Laurel shivered, in turn I tried to pull her closer to give her some of my heat. We swam underneath the walkway under Bard, following him as he went. It was hard to keep your head tilted just right to breathe and to swim with enough speed to keep up with his brisk walk. Somewhere along the line he must have given instructions elsewhere to someone on where to go.

A soft knock could be heard somewhere above. Dwalin grunted and pulled himself up through an opening above us. "If you speak of this to anyone, I'll rip yer arms off," he snarled at someone on the other side. Bilbo followed, struggling as I tried to push him upwards. I sank beneath the water myself, coming up and gasping for air. Laurel followed next while I repeated the action.

"Da…why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet," a small girl called out above me.

A toilet?

Once we were out of the water and led up the stairs into Bard's home, we were offered blankets and clothing to change into. Laurel disappeared with the small girl children into another room to change. Each of us stripped and re-clothed in the man's clothes. They were large and barely fit in the right places.

Eventually Laurel returned to me. I would not settle for her to take place next to me, and she struggled while I placed her in my lap. "Kili," she hissed softly while placing her hands on my chest.

Idly my hand rose to play with the courting braid in her hair, fingers tracing the bead. "What is it little doe," I asked softly.

Slowly her harsh gaze softened. "It’s not appropriate for me to sit on you like this. Especially in front of everyone," she whispered while she tried to look and see who was staring.

"We are cold. Only offering comfort to one another," I replied curtly, "it is not as if I am caressing you or placing my lips on your skin."

Thorin's voice cut out through the rest of the company. "A Dwarvish Wind-Lance."

Silence became over the company as he paced back and forth in the home.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," Bilbo's soft voice came over the rest.

Balin cleared his throat as he looked at the lance as well, "He had. The last time we saw such a weapon, the city was on fire. It was the day that Smaug came. The day that he destroyed Dale, the bowman of the city was called upon to kill the beast.

"The dragon's hide is tough, tougher than that of the strongest armor. Only a black arrow could have pierced that hide. Few of these arrows were ever made."

Thorin snorted rudely. The sound was that of insult. "Had the aim of men been true that day, much would have been different," he scowled. My eyes lingered on my own Halfling archer. Her eyes were busy working over the house, taking in everything. They landed above the hearth of the fire, green pines lighting with discover. All that was there was hanging pots and pans.

The boy spoke up, distracting me, voice strong and assured, "You will know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under the left wing of the beast. One more shot and he would have killed it."

This is not something that I would doubt myself. The only person I had met personally that could shoot just as well as me or better was Laurel. Sometimes she did not realize just how true her aim was. Without thinking on it long, she killed two trolls and shot bustards out of the sky. All the while being stealthy and quiet. Granted her excellent archery skills were probably instinct from her Elvish traits, but Smaug is meant to be a large dragon. The lance was powerful enough, so aim just had to be well enough to pierce the beast in it's large chest. A skilled human could do it.

Dwalin genuinely smiled for the first time in a long time. "That is only but a fairy story lad. Nothin' more. The beast is unharmed and sleepin' in that there mountain."

"Where are our weapons we were promised," Thorin asked.

Bard left and shortly returned with wet weapons. If you could even call them that. They were clearly handmade and unsuitable. The things were liable to fall apart and not even pierce skin with the hardest swing. Even the confused look on Laurel's face told tales of her hesitance to accept these weapons.

With our escape from Mirkwood, Laurel and Bilbo were able to retrieve us the majority of our weapons. Fighting the elves and orcs had us loosing almost half. Thankfully Laurel had her sword, bow, and arrows. Unfortunately my own broke in my barrel while flowing down the river.

"These are a joke," Bofur hollered over the rest of the complaints.

Bard was covered in rage, "You will not find better outside the city armory. All weapons are held under lock and key."

Eventually an argument broke between uncle and the man. Laurel had long left me to trail along the home in her child dress. It was odd, seeing her in something that was not meant for a woman but a small girl. It almost gave her a childlike appearance. If I had not known she was a grown woman (in the eyes of men) then I would have thought she was in her early to late puberty. After everything I had seen and heard from her lips, I knew better. Laurel was clearly full grown and beautiful.

"Thorin," Laurel hissed from the corner of the room, stopping the argument quickly. "I've seen you kill an orc with your bare hands just hours ago. Bard has done what we asked of him, and paid for, and was even kind enough to give us clothes and warmth. It is very rude to continue to berate him."

Surprisingly enough uncle held his tongue and shot a look of disdain to Bard and not Laurel. The act itself had my eyebrows high and questioning. Fili seemed just as surprised, if not more. Laurel was not a favorite of Thorin's, and neither Fili nor I spoke to him in such a way. Bard grunted and fled from the room, telling his son in hushed whispers that we were not to leave the house. Ideally I would not want to leave at the moment anyway. It was dark and I was tired greatly. The pain in my thigh throbbed harshly, causing me to hiss in the back of my throat. In moments Laurel returned to me, pressing my hair out of my face to hold it softly.

"Would you like something for the pain," she asked.

"'Tis alright," I muttered, "I will survive. You should not talk to uncle like that. Especially in front of the company."

At my words he materialized next to us.

"She was right," he grunted. "He did what was asked, what he was paid for. Tonight we need to sneak into the armory and get those weapons."

Did Thorin just say Laurel was right? With his words my eyes grew and landed on the beauty. Dwalin and Balin called uncle over to discuss the next move of tactic.

Fili slumped next to me, elbows on knees as he peered at Laurel with deep questioning eyes. "What witch craft did you bestow on him," he asked in all seriousness.

"Yes what craft," I muttered along, "and when should I start to question my hearts yearning for you as true or magic?"

Her jaw dropped, hands on hips as her brow furrowed in disbelief. "I am not a witch! I don't know why he is suddenly being nice to me," she whispered the last part.

"They are right," Ori looked perplexed, "it is pretty odd that he suddenly has taken a liking to you. Let alone let you talk to him in such a way. Even if you did save his life."

She huffed and trailed off into the kitchen where the children were standing around cleaning or talking quietly to themselves. I could make out her speaking and introducing herself to them. Every once in a while I could hear her speak up to an unnecessary level, or blocking us from view with her body altogether.

On the other side of the room I could hear Thorin speak loudly of his plans to steal weapons from the city. "Go tell him that he is being too harsh and loud with his theft," I nudged my brother, "the children will hear and tell Bard. He will try and stop us. Laurel is trying to distract them."

I watched as Fili did what I mentioned, and smiled when I saw Thorin's lips twitch at the sight of my love working to help us.

The next hour passed slowly, though over time we were all dry and getting ready to depart. Laurel convinced the boy to lend her a pair of his trousers and shirts. After she changed we rose to leave and carry out our plan.

"Where are you going," the boy stood in the doorway as we tried to exit.

"Please move boy," Balin asked kindly, "we were given what we asked for and paid rightfully for it. We are due to leave and continue on our journey."

The young man shook his head and extended his arms out to either side of the door, "Da said you are not to leave, so you will not leave."

"Bain," Laurel gently grabbed his arms and lowered them, "I'm sorry but we do have to leave. We can't stay. Your father won't blame you for us going, you can't stop us either."

Eventually he nodded and left our exit. The darkness of the night covered our slight forms, but it did not stop the thundering of boots across the wooden planks. No one even knew where to look to begin with. Either way we walked as quietly as we could to find the city armory.

We came upon a large rickety building fort of sorts that was made of wood and bolts. About three dwarves high was a smallish window. Nori heaved Dori on top of his shoulders. "Lass, could ye climb in through the window and let us in through the door," Bofur offered his hand to her. Laurel took it readily and stifled a scream when she was tossed into the air and caught buy Dori. The dwarf heaved her by the feet and pushed her up and to the window. In the dark I could make out her lithe form disappear into the shabby shack.

Moments later the door creaked open softly, revealing my little doe. Half of the company stayed behind to keep a look out while Thorin, Fili, Dwalin, Laurel, and myself started to gather weapons.

Inside there were enough weapons to suffice for a small army of fifty or so. If each member had one sword and smaller weapons apiece. Laurel started to gather all that she could hold, I attempted to take them from her. "Let me carry, I can hold more," I whispered.

"Are you sure? I saw you limping across the walkways," she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Yes," I muttered annoyed. In moments I fought the weapons out of her hands and started to descend the stairs.

Suddenly the searing pain blossomed into something uncontrollable, and I gasped, feeling my leg give out. It happened so quickly but it felt as though ages passed while I fell down the flight of stairs. Each step hit me on the way down, and I could feel swords slicing at my clothes and nicking my skin. What was most worrying was all the noise of my body falling and the metal tinging together made.

Two moments of silence passed. Whistles started to ring through the air, killing any silence we had. Feet hammered down the wooden walkways towards us. Guards were pointing swords and staffs with knifes in our faces. Laurel of course stood in front of me to protect me from the weapons. Silly woman.

One guard grabbed her by the wrist and attempted to yank her away from me. Dwalin, who was closest, jumped and knocked the weapons away from his face to stand in front of her and deter the guard from his actions. "She ain't goin' nowhere, and do not point weapons at a lady you mongrel," he muttered knocking away more spears pointed at us.

Slowly they rounded us up one by one and started to march us to the center of the town, in front of a large brick building. A small greasy man poked his head out, looking alarmed before going back in where he came from. Soon another large bulbous man returned outside with him.

"What is the meaning of this," the larger man stated.

The captain of the guard stood forward, "We caught them stealing weapons from the armory sire."

"Ah, enemies of the state!"

Dwalin tore his way forward to growl at the man, "Hold yer tongue! You do not know to whom ya speak. This is no criminal, this is Thorin! Son of Thrain! Son of Thror!"

Uncle laid a gentle hand on his friend and came into view to speak as well. "We are the dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland! I remember this town and the great days of old. Fleets of boats carrying fine silks and gems. This was center of all trade in the North, not some peasant forsaken town!

"I would see those days return. We would send wealth and riches from the great flowing halls of Erebor!"

Cheers started to erupt from the people that gathered around us. It seemed that everyone in the town had awoken to see all the commotion. Laurel was holding onto my waist, resting her head on my chest. Without even realizing it I was giving her the heft of my weight. Softly I tried to stand straighter and hold my own.

"Death," Bard's voice echoed around us, "that is what you will bring to us Master Dwarf! Dragon-fire and ruin that will surely come when you awaken the beast. It will destroy us all. You have no right, no right at all to enter that mountain!"

Thorin advanced on the stairs leading up to the building so that he was eye to eye with the tall man Bard.

"I have the only right," he muttered darkly. It was enough to raise the hairs on my neck. "I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see us fulfill this prophecy? Will you share in the great wealth of the dwarves of Erebor? What say you?"

The large bulbous man opened his arms wide, chuckling as he spoke, "I say unto you Thorin Oakenshield… welcome! Welcome thrice more, King under the Mountain!"

I felt Laurel hug me a little tighter.

Previous Chapter << Chapter 16: Lucid Trickery

Next Chapter >> Chapter 18: Likeness of One is not the Other

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #kili x oc #kili x reader #kili #kili durin #kili fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #kili fanfic #when lightning strikes

[savenysublets]

Bali Tours And Great Things To Do In Bali

When traveling to Bali for a vacation, it is by no means a case of what are you going to search out to do on your trip, however moderately what number of weeks vacation can you're taking to take pleasure in all that Bali has to offer. Many people think of beaches and white sand when considering of Bali and associate is a being primarily a beach holiday. Although there are various resorts alongside the beachfront to calm down at, this is solely a small part of all the Bali tours and activities obtainable. There are very few motels and resorts in Bali that won't have both in house excursions of Bali or be capable of organize some tour via an unbiased tour company for you to take pleasure in.

With so many activities accessible it's difficult to pick the best to advocate, but based mostly on the recognition of the next these appear to be the most exciting issues to do when considering one of many many Bali excursions out there.

Really useful Bali Water Activities

Bali Marine Walk

Have you ever always needed to experience the ocean ground, the backyard below water that's teaming with marine life full of brilliant colors and gorgeous fish, however had been afraid to dive or are not a particularly nice swimmer? Then this is a should so that you can try out whenever you go to Bali. This can be a revolutionary diving system you could experience even in the event you can’t swim; all you want to be able to do is stroll. The concept behind it is very easy; an open ended helmet permits the wearer to walk on the ocean bed by just putting it over their head. There is an inbuilt defogging mechanism that stops the entrance “window” from changing into steamed up. There is a hose which is related to the scuba tanks allowing free movement whereas enjoying with the fish and feeding them from your hand. This is really a should do exercise when visiting Bali. Marine walk have their own boat that will take you to Lembongan Island the place you'll be able to enjoy a day exploring the depths of the ocean.

White Water Rafting

Bali Journey Rafting presents a five star service that is renowned as the safest household rafting company in Bali. Age will not be an element with this firm, children from as younger as five have been rafting down the Ayung River. The experience is exhilarating and the views are breathtaking. The tour is on a stretch of river 8 kilometers lengthy and includes 27 class II and class III rapids wandering by means of unspoiled rain forests, towering gorges and sculptured rice fields. All of the guides are professionally trained and have tons of experience to pilot the rafts by some dramatic drops, waterfalls and rivers making your white water experience safe however awesome.

The entire trip will last roughly one and a half hours, depending on how fast the river is flowing. At the finish of the adventure there are sizzling showers and altering rooms so that you can refresh in, followed by a hot gourmand buffet at a private restaurant with views of majestic mountains and rice fields. The unique amenities and having the longest course on the island has attracted Hollywood celebrities like Claudia Schiffer, Jean-Claude Van Damme and David Copperfield. Entry is pretty straightforward, only an hour’s drive from the majority of the resorts within the south of Bali.

Waterbom Park

Waterbom Park is positioned within the resort village of Kuta; it's a large 4 hectares in measurement with tropical vegetation making up the amazing landscape. World class water slides are situated throughout the park and are clearly the main attraction, however are many other recreational services located inside the large grounds. You've gotten the choice of dong some wall climbing, water volley ball, bungee leaping, and getting blasted with the water blaster. For the more relaxing tourist, the park affords a spa, many swimming swimming pools to loosen up in, the Wantilan Restaurant has a swim up bar facility, or simply watching the youngsters benefit from the Kiddies Park. This park is run by an Australian concern and the security requirements are exceptionally high. There's a strict upkeep regime as well as supervision from certified lifeguards which are consistently on obligation allowing mother and father to let their youngsters splash away with none worries.

Really helpful Inland Actions

Bali Quad Discovery Tours

One of many oldest mountain villages of Bali, Payangan, is residence to Bali Quad and buggy discovery tours. The amenities are solely 15 kilometers south of Kintamani on the slopes of mount Batur near Ayung river valley. The tour is thru very isolated countryside, the place you will not come throughout other vacationers while driving your individual 4 wheel quad bike. The groups are restricted to 6 with a view to not make too much of a disruption to the locals and to ensure that guides are in a position to give personal help. Teams are divided based on talent degree, not essentially age, but if you want to have your personal group composed of people of all ability ranges then that can be organized. The one requirement that is needed is that you just be in good physical form as the terrain may be very demanding.

Kintamani Volcano Tour

It is a extremely popular tour in Bali as it wanders by many alternative areas of the Bali countryside permitting you to experience the range of Balinese culture and finally ends up with you standing on the edge of the crater of mount Batur. Some of the locations and activities which might be visited and skilled on the way is the well-known Barong Dance situated in Batubulan, the village of Celuk renowned for its silver and goldsmiths, the proficient village of Mas with their exquisite wood carvings, the cultural capital of Bali, Ubud that is overflowing with cultural actions and beautiful artwork.

Elephant Safari Park Tour

The Elephant Safari Park situated in Taro, Tegallalang is a must do for all visitors that come to Bali as it's the solely full elephant safari expertise on the planet. The distinctive park is the house to the only Mammoth Skeleton in South East Asia and is acclaimed because the world’s finest elephant park that's set in a picturesque tropical setting. In between using, sightseeing, hand feeding, touching them, taking photographs with them, you may learn about their ancestry and diversity on the huge historical and graphic shows that the park has. The parks services additionally embody a reception and data center, a complete museum with many elephant memorabilia.

Overlooking a powerful lake is the restaurant that is ready to hold over 200 folks and has a implausible worldwide menu making it superb not only for a go to, however is a perfect location to carry a wedding or other event. The present store has an incredible array of elephant themed objects that embrace work, ivory (be careful when buying this, make it possible for it won't be confiscated at your individual nations airport), wood and carvings, clothes and lots of other souvenirs.

Although the park could be very tourist orientated the principle objective of the park is the safety of those elephants which have all been rescued because of the deforestation that's taking place in Southern and Central Sumatra and this park has turn into a sanctuary for this endangered and guarded species. Elephants are very clever creatures and at certain times of the day there are displays of the elephant’s capabilities together with portray. The park is great for every type of vacationers and might be a highlight of your Bali excursions.

As a visitor it is possible for you to to the touch and hand feed the elephants, watch as they playfully bath within the large lakes, have private photographs taken with you riding on the elephants, witness the intelligence of these giant however mild creatures and find out about their historical past, facts about them and the issues for his or her future. The park also presents mini rides for the youngsters.

Bali Paragliding Adventure

Bali has a mountain chain that stretches across the island giving paragliding lovers spectacular views and quite a lot of totally different places to launch from. The preferred locations are , Timbis, Gunung Payung, Mount Batur and Candi Dasa.

Timbis

Bali’s hottest flight zone and training heart is located here, close to the spectacular Bali Cliff resort. The rugged cliffs, white seashores, clear blue seas, Hindu temples and crashing waves over the coral reefs make this the perfect spot to learn to paraglide. There are amenities for food and drinks in the event you prefer just to chill out and watch the more adventurous vacationers bounce off the cliffs. After your flight there are Balinese employees who will pack your cover away simply as you want it.

Gunung Payung

East of Timbus, maybe 15 minutes drive, Gunung Payung offers a launch area for the more skilled paraglider as at excessive tide there isn't any bottom landing and you will have to soar and steer your way eastward to avoid crashing in the water.

Mount Batur. Mount Batur is an energetic smoldering volcano with 4 craters at an elevation of 1,717m which last erupted in 2000. There is no such thing as a better place to get your coronary heart pumping before takeoff, and in case you are fortunate enough not to get bombarded with showering lava, the view is breathtaking. Mount Batur is positioned in Kintamani, north of Ubud.

Candi Dasa

Candi Dasa has a small take off space and therefore high landing is not attainable, the site is a 250m excessive ridge. The thermals are awesome right here and it is usually attainable to reach cloud base, 600-750 meters. The walk to take off from the black sand backside landing seashore is 20-Half-hour relying on how match you're. There are Balinese porters if you want assistance.

There are a lot of trusted Bali automotive rental as well as tour service who will capable of drive visitors or vacationers to these fascinating spots.

#bali tour #bali activities #bali car rental

[furry-monster-trash]

What if Oakheart joined ThunderClan?

This has spoilers/information from “Crookedstar’s Promise” these parts will be bolded.

Two moons into her pregnancy, Bluefur attends a gathering to tell Oakheart that she is expecting his kits.

Oakheart tells Crookedstar (his brother) that Bluefur is having his kits. Crookedstar is not surprised.

A few days pass and Oakheart has been neglecting his warrior duties. He ultimately decides that he will attempt to join ThunderClan to help father his kits.

Crookedstar accepts his decision and says that he will go with Oakheart to ThunderClan: “I need to speak with Sunstar.”

The two arrive at the ThunderClan camp, escorted by Thistleclaw and Whitestorm.

Sunstar brings the two RiverClan cats into his den after calming his clan down.

Oakheart asks to join ThunderClan, with Sunstar interrupting his plea “You’re the father to Bluefur’s kits.”

Oakheart confirms the ThunderClan leader’s suspicions, saying that he never meant for it to happen, but that he fell in love with Bluefur and now he wants to father the kits.

Sunstar doesn’t respond and instead asks why Crookedstar came as well.

Crookedstar informs Sunstar that Thistleclaw - the next best option for deputy - has been training in the Dark Forest and has a thirst for blood that must be stopped. “It would be best to choose a stand-in deputy until Bluefur can do those duties.” During this, he also explains his connection with the Dark Forest, although not in heavy detail.

Sunstar takes Crookedstar’s words to heart and then informs Oakheart that he may join ThunderClan with only one condition: “You are to do apprentice tasks until you prove yourself to be loyal to us. You will also be trained in the ways of ThunderClan. If you join us, you are no longer a RiverClan warrior, you will be a ThunderClan one. If you ever show loyalty towards RiverClan outside of what the warrior code allows, my warriors have every right to drive you from our land.”

Oakheart accepts this condition and says his goodbyes to Crookedstar, who is sad to see his brother leave his side. Ottersplash is the new deputy of RiverClan.

When only Crookedstar leaves the ThunderClan camp, Sunstar makes the announcement that Oakheart is joining ThunderClan. He leaves out the fact that he is the father of Bluefur’s kits. 

Lionheart is tasked to look after Oakheart’s new training.

Bluefur takes Oakheart out into the forest after the clan dies down from the news and yells at him, saying that she had it covered and he didn’t have to join ThunderClan, “At the very least you should’ve talked to me about it!”

Sunstar brings in his senior warriors to discuss Thistleclaw and the deputy position. Adderfang agrees to act as deputy until Bluefur can take over: “I have no ambition to be the next leader, but I don’t want our clan to become soaked with blood due to my former apprentice.”

Thistleclaw receives no real punishment for his participation in the Dark Forest.

Lionheart takes Oakheart out to teach him how to hunt land prey that isn’t commonly found on RiverClan territory and how to stalk in the forest. Oakheart picks this up quickly.

Oakheart brings fish regularly to the fresh-kill pile much to the elders’ disgust, but the younger warriors and apprentices don’t seem too bothered by the extra prey.

When Bluefur gives birth, Oakheart lets her name all three of the kits. At this point, everyone in ThunderClan knows that he is their true father, not Thrushpelt.

For the first moon of the kits’ lives, Oakheart frets over every move they make and brings both them and Bluefur fresh-kill twice a day.

Stonekit, Mistykit, and Mosskit are loved and adored by all members of ThunderClan, with the three regularly going to the elders’ den for stories or trying to learn things from the warriors.

Oakheart is chosen by Sunstar to come to the border re-marking on Sunningrocks. Oakheart has been in ThunderClan for two moons now.

Oakheart leaves his scent as a ThunderClan warrior but stays at the border for a few moments longer than the rest of the patrol. Thistleclaw accuses him of wanting to go back to RiverClan. Oakheart ignores his accusations.

At the next gathering, RiverClan warriors spit at Oakheart and call him a traitor. “You know Sunningrocks belongs to RiverClan and yet you claim it for ThunderClan!”

Oakheart and Bluefur spend more time together as the kits finally reach the age where they can be left alone. The two go on a hunting patrol together and prove to be good partners.

White-eye agrees to look after their kits so that the two can go talk things out alone, not surrounded by anybody.

Oakheart confesses his love for Bluefur once more, a sentiment she returns. Bluefur asks if he misses RiverClan: “I miss my brother and my friends, but I’m becoming accustomed to the trees and woodland prey. Very few members of ThunderClan treat me as an outsider now.”

They spend the night out in the forest, pressed up against one another.

The kits are now three moons old and Oakheart spends every moment he can with them, trying to be as good of a father to them as Shellheart was to him. He plays with the three of them and teaches them about the warrior code.

When the kits are apprenticed, Stonepaw is given to Whitestorm, Mistypaw is given to Leopardfoot, and Mosspaw is given to Brindleface.

Oakheart teaches his kits to swim and how to fish.

At this point in Oakheart being in ThunderClan, Sunstar asks him to teach all of ThunderClan how to swim, not just his own kits.

Oakheart agrees but only to teach them at night when his former clan cannot see him.

Bluefur almost drowns and is saved by Oakheart. She thanks him for saving her life and clings to him until they get out of the river. Bluefur is the only ThunderClan warrior that almost drowns.

When Bluefur joins the warriors’ den again, her and Oakheart share a nest.

Oakheart teaches his kits how to attack from the water once they are eight moons old. Several ThunderClan warriors are also taught these moves (Sunstar, Lionheart, Bluefur, Frostfur, Patchpelt, and Goldenflower).

Bluefur is named the deputy of ThunderClan.

Thistleclaw attempts to murder Bluefur so that he can be the deputy of ThunderClan. Oakheart saves her life and kills Thistleclaw in the process.

Sunstar says that Thistleclaw always had a thirst for blood and wished him peace now that he is dead.

RiverClan attacks the ThunderClan camp after a few moons of accused prey-stealing.

Oakheart fights alongside ThunderClan and gives his former clanmates more than a few scars to remember him by. Voleclaw and him battle fiercely but Oakheart beats the RiverClan tom. This bout is seen by everyone in ThunderClan.

Sunstar honors Oakheart alongside the rest of ThunderClan for defending their camp.

At this point, there are few who distrust Oakheart as a loyal warrior of ThunderClan.

After the fight, Sunstar orders that those who know how to swim (almost everyone in the clan at this point) teach new apprentices how to swim as well and those that know water-fighting techniques teach those moves to all new apprentices as well.

Sunstar loses his last life and Bluefur earns her nine lives.

Oakheart sleeps inside the leader’s den with Bluefur. Redtail is the new deputy of ThunderClan.

Every other clan now knows that ThunderClan can swim, fish, and fight in the water after each clan sees these new techniques in their own time.

ThunderClan rarely goes hungry now because every new cat is taught how to fish.

Seasons pass and now Stonepaw, Mistypaw, and Mosspaw have earned their warrior names: Stonefur, Mistyfoot, and Mossleap.

Oakheart is the mentor to Ravenpaw instead of Tigerclaw.

When Rusty joins ThunderClan, Oakheart takes a special interest in him because he was also treated as an outsider for many moons after he joined.

Redtail dies over a fight for Sunningrocks, he fell off the edge and snapped his neck. Lionheart is named the new deputy.

Oakheart helps to mentor Firepaw alongside Ravenpaw. He notes that Firepaw has keen skills for a kittypet and could even rival some clan-born apprentices.

Firepaw’s formal mentor is Mistyfoot.

Oakheart trusts Yellowfang from the moment she steps in the ThunderClan camp.

Spottedleaf dies from wounds from Clawface. Lionheart does not die from ShadowClan.

When ShadowClan is revealed to be training kits and falling apart under Brokenstar’s rule, Oakheart is part of the raid to take back the stolen kits and he personally drives away Brokenstar.

Ravenpaw, Graypaw, and Firepaw earn their warrior names: Ravenwing, Graystripe, and Fireheart.

Oakheart disapproves of Cloudkit being brought into the camp because it was the dead of leaf-bare, not because he is a kittypet.

Tigerclaw’s ambition brings the rogues from ShadowClan into the heart of ThunderClan. During this raid, Lionheart dies from his wounds. Tigerclaw attempts to murder Fireheart because of his kittypet roots and the fact that Bluestar always favored Fireheart over him.

Oakheart leaps in to save Fireheart and the two large toms fight. Tigerclaw kills Oakheart and Fireheart beats Tigerclaw afterward.

Bluestar demands that Tigerclaw is kept prisoner for the time being while she mourns the death of her mate.

Bluestar names Fireheart the new deputy of ThunderClan.

Tigerclaw’s schemes are revealed at the gathering and he is driven from the forest.

Bluestar never loses faith in StarClan. Swiftpaw and Brightpaw are named Swiftbreeze and Brightheart, but the two still try to drive out the dogs. Swiftbreeze dies and Brightheart is maimed.

Bluestar still gives her life to save Fireheart from the dogs and Oakheart is the first one to welcome her to StarClan.

Oakheart gives Firestar a life (in place of Redtail) for always trusting your instincts and doing what is right, even if it hurts.

ThunderClan continues to teach its warriors how to fish, swim, and fight in the water. A tradition held up by Firestar.

#oakheart joins thunderclan au #my writing #oakheart #bluefur #stonefur #mistystar #mosskit #warrior cats #warriors #riverclan #warrior cats au #blueoak #thunderclan

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Nine | Along the River ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Sachiko ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ Blood, death ]

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He was barely a toddler when the raids came through. When houses burned, blood ran, and lives were lost. Among the fallen were his mother and father, leaving him only with his grandmother to raise him in her little house along a creek. Memories of that night were fogged, blurred...and only faded as he grew older.

By the time he is six years old, they are all but gone, knowing only his grandmother’s house and her love.

Little boys, however, are mischievous little things. And Obito is no exception. Inquisitive and daring, he often wanders around the woods behind the house, sitting at the very edge of the village. Animals and spirits alike scurry from his sight, sticks held like swords as he battles imaginary foes. And other times, he jumps around in the creek, catching frogs and salamanders, and sometimes even little fish!

But that’s not all that lurks in the water.

Sitting on a rather large rock along the bank one afternoon, he catches his breath, having just finished chasing a bullfrog. His bare feet are all muddy, the hems of his pants wet. Sachiko will surely scold him, but...he wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have. He had a frog to catch! Dazedly watching the sunlight warp and wiggle along the surface as it tumbles over some stones, Obito then slowly sits up straight.

...is...is that…?

Blinking large eyes, he stares at a gap in the rocks. It almost looks like there’s a face there...looking back at him from the water.

“...hullo…?”

Rippling with the flow of the water, the face...blinks!

It is a face…!

Forgetting his manners for a moment, Obito goes plunging back into the water to get a closer look. And as he does, the being’s eyes go wide...and it disappears.

“...huh?” Looking around, he searches for...whatever that was. “...hey! Come back!”

Behind him, unseen, the face peers around his previous perch, watching him silently as he goes rummaging around in the little rapids.

“Come back! I just wanna see ya! Where’d you go…?” He peers into crevices in the stones. All that looks back is a crawfish, clicking its pincers menacingly. “Aww…”

“...what do you want?”

“Yah!” Startled, Obito scurries forward, spinning around and bracing for a blow. But all he sees is the little face behind the rock. “...who are you?”

“I asked you first!”

He stares. This kid - girl? - has hair as white as snow. It curls about her ears like the white foam that gathers around the rocks. And the large, mirror-like silver eyes in her face are like a snake’s, pupils long and thin. Her ears are pointed, and the beginnings of moonstone horns - little more than nubbins at present - peek out from her temples. “I, uh...I thought I saw a person in the water! Was that you…?”

She nods. “Mhm. This is my river!”

At that, Obito frowns. “...river…? It’s barely even a creek!”

The girl’s cheeks puff in a pout. “That’s because I’m still little! See?” Out she comes from hiding, revealing she looks no bigger than himself, maybe even a little smaller. “I’m young for a river! But I’ll grow!” A finger points north. “My mother is over there...I branched off from her banks. Someday I’ll be just as big and strong as she is!”

“...uh…” Obito’s a little skeptical, but who is he to tell a river spirit what is and what isn’t? “Okay. So are you...a kami…?”

“Mhm! You can call me Ryū,” she offers.

“Do you have a shrine?”

At that, Ryū balks, suddenly pink with embarrassment. “N...no. Not yet…”

“But every kami needs a shrine! Are you really a kami without one?”

“O-of course I am!” she rebukes, stomping a foot and sending a huge splash outward, knocking Obito over to sit in the shallows. “Someday I’ll have a big shrine, and you’ll have to come pray to me for your fish and your water!”

Braced up on his palms, Obito stares up at her. Okay, so...she’s stronger than she looks. “O-okay! I...I didn’t mean t’make you mad. M’sorry. I’ve...never met a kami before. Just the little ones that run around in the bushes! Bāchan’s got a whole bunch of little houses for them in the garden!”

At that, Ryū perks up. “...she does?”

“Yeah! I leave ‘em candy sometimes.” Grimacing, he hauls himself to his feet, dripping. “Ehhh…” It’s gonna take forever for him to dry off!

Studying him for a moment, Ryū then claps her hands. At her beckoning, a whirlwind dances over the top of the water! With a few turns, it whips all of the water out of Obito’s clothes, his hair left standing on end.

Seeing as much, Ryū breaks out into giggles caught in her hands.

“...what?”

“N-nothing! But...you’re dry now!” Suddenly looking coy, she smiles behind her palms. “...I didn’t mean to knock you over.” Barefoot, she walks atop the water to where he stands, offering a hand.

Nervously, Obito takes it.

“Step up!”

“...huh?”

“Just do it!”

Looking unsure, he does as asked. And like a solid step, his foot rests atop the water. “...eh?!”

“Other foot, now!”

Gawking, Obito takes another step. He’s...he’s standing on the creek!

...river.

“Is...is this magic?”

“Mhm!” With a tug, she takes him back across, letting Obito step off onto dry land and ridding him of the last of the water. “There!”

“Er...thanks.”

“Be more careful next time you go splashing around for frogs, huh? You never know what might be in the water,” Ryū teases.

It’s Obito’s turn to pout. But he doesn’t really have a retort, either. “Okay, okay…”

With that, Ryū gently ushers him back toward the house where Sachiko begins calling him for lunch.

When Obito turns around, she’s already gone.

...that did really just happen...right?

At least he’s not wet and muddy anymore.

“There you are!” his grandmother greets as he steps back up into the house. “Catch any fish?”

“Nah...tried to get a bullfrog, but it got away.”

Sachiko chuckles, ruffling his wind-puffed hair. “Well, someday you’ll catch some. Then we’ll have fresh lunch, hm?”

“Hey, bāchan?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You believe in kami, right?”

“But of course!” The old woman points to the kamidana that looks out toward the entrance with a gnarled finger. “I still put out offerings for our house spirit. And whatever I can for the little ones in the garden.”

“There’s one in the creek, behind the house!”

At that, Sachiko’s eyes widen. “A river spirit…?”

“Yeah! She’s little, though. Like me!”

“I see…! Well, we’ll have to make her feel welcome, won’t we?”

“Mhm!”

With a little blade, Obito takes some branches from the forest, and begins to whittle in his spare time. More than once, he nicks his fingertips, having to stop and stuck on them to stop the bleeding. With little nails his grandmother gives him, he carefully starts constructing his very best attempt at a tiny little shrine. While he knows it’s nowhere near a proper one...well, they all have to start somewhere.

When it’s finished, he goes about settling it in the proper spot. Carefully wedging it protectively in a nest of stones, he stands back to let Ryū come up and take a closer look.

“...what is this…?”

“It’s a shrine!” He braces proud hands on his hips, looking smug. “I made it all by myself! With bāchan’s help.”

She just...stares at it.

...and Obito starts to get nervous.

“Do...you like it…?”

After a pause, she turns to him, chin trembling and eyes teary.

Obito stiffens. “Wh-? What’s wrong? Is it -?”

“It’s perfect!” she cuts in, leaping forward and latching onto him tightly, forcing him to spin slightly at her force to avoid falling over. Around them, a joyous wind eddies and ripples the water in an arc. Face hiding in her neck, she quietly mumbles, “...thank you.”

Above her, Obito’s cheeks tinge pink. “...y-you’re welcome.”

Every morning, he and Sachiko dutifully come out and leave an offering. To Obito’s surprise, Ryū never shows herself when the old woman is around. It’s only in front of the boy she emerges from the water, always miraculously dry.

“How come bāchan doesn’t get to see you?”

Sitting on one of the rocks by her shrine, Ryū hums. “...well...sometimes seeing a kami can be a bit, um...much for people. And I don’t want to frighten her.”

“You wouldn’t scare her!”

“...no,” Ryū agrees, still frowning. “...but it can still startle them. And it’s not good to startle old humans. It can make their heart go too fast. For you it’s okay, because your heart is young and your mind is open. Sachiko-bā’s mind is open, but...I’m afraid her heart might not do well, ne? So I want to be safe. Humans don’t live as long as we kami do.”

That makes Obito stiffen. In truth...he hasn’t ever given his grandmother’s mortality any thought. To him, she’s a constant. She’s always been here, so...surely she always will be!

...right?

“...but…?”

Seeing the conflict in the boy’s face, Ryū gently sighs. “...we river spirits can help with healing - water is the element of it, after all. I’ll do my best to help keep your grandmother healthy for as long as I can! But, Obito...all things have to pass eventually. It’s part of life, ne…?”

Frowning heavily, he wants to argue...but despite his young age, he also knows she’s right. He sits beside her, looking somber. “...yeah…”

She carefully leans against him. “Just make sure she drinks water from my river every day, ne? I’ll do all I can.”

“...thanks.”

Time, however, stops for no man and no kami. Seasons blend together, rising and falling as years begin to pass. Obito gets a little older, and a little older. Sachiko, however, hardly seems to change: sitting on the rear engawa and slowly fanning herself, looking over the water with a Buddha smile.

And it’s not just Obito that grows. With every passing wet season, the creek behind the house grows a little deeper, a little wider. Reeds grow along the banks, which Sachiko teaches Obito to weave into baskets to hold their food. Fish begin to swim in the currents, Obito spearing them for food whenever the weather is good, as well as finding freshwater clams and crawfish. And every evening, little glowing mushi float over the water, their light reflecting along the surface.

They, however, aren’t the only kami that start gathering by the river.

A kappa spoon shows up. Lurking in the waters, she watches the humans with her amber eyes. And every so often, an okuri inu wanders from his guarded path to drink from the banks.

Ryū welcomes them all. Like her waters, her physical form also matures. Taller, her silver-threaded white kimono grows with her, the patterns shifting and changing depending on her thoughts or mood. Her hair is longer, falling nearly to her tailbone: a mess of waves like her rapids. And the horns at her temple have grown, with several branches that curl out behind her head.

A few years later, Obito makes a second attempt at her shrine. This one is bigger, more refined, and set atop a stone slab he hauls in along the riverbank. Ryū still keeps the first one, nestled among other treasures beneath the water.

Even other villagers begin to make offerings. Sake and plum wine are poured into her currents with every harvest. She brings rains in the Spring, and cool winds in the Summer.

Life is peaceful.

...but peace rarely lasts.

At the elders’ requests, the boys begin to learn how to fight. Obito trains with blades and armor, often practicing his forms behind the house.

With doleful eyes, Ryū watches.

She still remembers how her mother’s waters would run red with blood when war swept over the land.

And like the turning of seasons, war once again falls upon them. The boys wait anxiously for the day it finds their village.

That is all they are: boys.

Children.

As Summer wanes, the fighting finds them. Samurai on horseback, intent on conquest, ride through and alight thatch roofs. Men who dare lift blades to them are cut down. Blood pools in the mud of the streets.

It all seems so hopeless.

“No...no!”

With every ounce of effort she can muster, Sachiko makes her way to the banks. In her arms, slack and unconscious, is Obito. Blood runs down his face...and horrible burns pucker his flesh.

“O-kami-sama...please! Don’t take my boy...don’t take what I have left! Please...please spare him…!” Stepping into the water, she brings his body with her. “Save him, I beg of you…!”

Emerging from the water, Ryū’s face is tightened with emotion. Water drips from her form, kimono heavy. “Obito…!”

“O-kami-sama…” Sachiko reaches a trembling hand, which Ryū gently takes. “Please…!”

Looking near tears, Ryū then turns to her friend. Carefully, she urges him further into the current, palms at his cheeks as he floats along the surface. A wind begins to eddy around them, the god’s eyes closed as she concentrates.

Around her, the water begins to shimmer, taking on an emerald hue. As it washes over the boy in her arms, his wounds begin to close, scarred and pink.

His eyes open, looking foggily up to her face. “...Ryū…?”

“Shh...you’re safe now…” Glancing aside, she motions to the kappa. “Hold him here.”

“Where are you going?”

Her silvers turn to steel. “...to finish this.”

Face slack, the kappa doesn’t argue, watching as the god approaches the bank.

Water brings life, washes wounds, and nurtures fields.

But so too can it drown.

Within moments, tumultuous storm clouds gather over the village, dark and rumbling. Lightning strikes, winds whipping. Torrents of rain begin to fall, dousing the flames. And as Ryū walks the street, forks of lightning find marks in the samurai’s iron armor. The god’s wrath washes over the village, scourging the invaders and leaving the villagers untouched. Screams of terror sound from the samurai, who scramble to retreat.

With a geyser-like hiss, Ryū shifts into her true form: a ribbon of white and silver scales, needle teeth bared in fury as claws dig into the earth beneath her.

“BEGONE!”

...then there is silence, broken only by the rain.

Staring out after the warriors, Ryū watches as the hiding villagers slowly reappear. Mourning cries begin to build for the fallen. Hands reach for the burned and broken buildings.

But those who survived will rebuild.

At each of the wounded, Ryū stops and does what she can. Many are saved. A few are still lost. Only once all are accounted for does the rain begin to ease, the clouds lightening and starting to scatter.

Returning to the river, she carefully brings Obito to the bank. Already the kappa has peeled away what remains of his armor, his body light.

“O-kami-sama…”

Turning her head to Sachiko, Ryū watches the human cry in relief, smiling as tears tumble down her face.

“Thank you...thank you.”

Softening, the god brings her snout to the old woman’s brow, carefully resting the cool scales against her skin.

“Ryū…?”

In a blink, Ryū retakes her human form, knelt and bringing Obito’s head to her lap. “It’s over. And I doubt they will return. Not knowing an angry god watches over this place.”

With a swaying, scar-marked hand, he reaches up to cup her cheek. “You saved me.”

“Of course,” is her soft reply. “You were my first friend...you built me my first shrine. You are forever nestled at the center of my heart, Obito.”

Smiling, he lets his eyes close, exhausting overtaking him.

For weeks, the village licks its wounds. Homes are rebuilt, graves dug, memories shouldered. And along the riverbank, a proper shrine is raised for their patron god. Dragons adorn every surface: painted, carved, and molded.

Standing within it, Ryū quietly takes in its beauty.

“Well...I think this one is better than either of mine.”

Turning, she alights as Obito enters. Still recovering, he leans heavily on a crutch. “They are all beautiful,” is her retort. “It’s not the appearance, but the intent. And yours were always the most heartfelt. So too is this one. But I will always treasure yours the most.”

Head ducking, he goes red.

“How are you wounds…?”

“Fine...I’m just sore. I’ll be all right. I was lucky.”

Her gaze drops at the memory of the fallen. “...it won’t happen again.”

“I know.”

Considering him for a moment, Ryū then crosses the floor to stand before him. “...you know, I wouldn’t be as I am if it weren’t for you.”

“Huh…?”

“You befriended me, and respected me. Believed in me. All kami need to be believed in and remembered, lest we disappear. Without you...perhaps I would have dried up. Faded away. But now...now I’ll flow for generations. And it all began with you.”

Now quite brightly blushing, Obito has no retort.

Allowing a smile, Ryū takes his cheeks in her hands, bowing his head to plant a kiss on his brow. “...thank you, Obito.”

“B-but -? I should be thanking you! You saved me, you -?”

“I did what I had to. What I wanted. It seems...we needed each other.” Her hands lower, taking his spare gently in her grip. “...and so...we will be together. Won’t we…?”

Looking a bit dumbfounded, Obito then softens and shuffles closer. “...yeah. We will.”

     This is depressingly late, but honestly I just...got too burnt out. Things I were trying weren’t working. So I gave up for a few days, let my brain rest. I THINK I can finish, now. One more free day for my choice, then another prompt from Meg, then we’re done! At least it’s not December, yet :’D      But anyway, some kami verse! I am...a huge sucker for this, okay. Japanese mythology is so interesting. I feel like maybe I don’t know enough to write this kind of thing perfectly well, but I try! It’s a bit like Obito’s bakeneko piece, but...reversed! lol      Anyway, gotta get some stuff done, but I’ma try to at least start another one tonight. We’ll see how it goes~ Thanks for reading!

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #uchiha sachiko #river runs deep [ au ] #blood // #death //