#nothing completely jarring nor boring

[spinningbuster98]

And we're back! Yes this is indeed Samus' second adventure involving the Metroids. Absolutely. There was positively nothing in between.

So Metroid II is a bit weird to me, not the game itself as much as the fandom's reception of it

Back when I joined in 2012 I...never saw anyone talk about this game, and when they did it was usually with a big "Eh, it's the black sheep (after Other M)"

So it was particularily jarring to me when this game suddenly saw lots of fans come up and present it as some sort of misunderstood masterpiece in later years, like some sort of secretly genius jem of a game that pushed the limits of the gameboy! This was mostly around the time AM2R dropped and especially after Samus Returns, when people would prop up the original game in order to shit on the remake for all the things Samus Returns did wrong.

Not gonna lie I use to resent this game: I used to think it was fucking boring and dull as hell, so seeing people praise it to high heavens just to shit on SR (as flawed as that game also is), and the subsequent clusterfuck that the Metroid fandom was between 2016/17 and 2021, kinda soured me on the game

But looking at this game in an unbiased way (or at least as much as possible)....this game isn't that bad, not as much as I thought (though it definitely is an acquired taste) nor as much as people used to say

...but it's far from great

But let's start with the positives: this game controls comparatively better than Metroid 1.

It's...still not great because Samus still feels clunky and too floaty, but now she can crouch and shoot and also shoot downwards while falling, which helps a lot

The sprite work is also a FUCK ton better than Metroid 1, with stuff being a hell of a lot more detailed, especially Samus.

Granted it's....got its issues (and I'll get into them more next time) but I'll give credit where it's due

Enemy placement is also far better, with enemies being placed far more reasonably except when you're dealing with the screen crunch and not as incessantly spammed as before. They also tend to do much less damage

The game introduces the series' trademark save points which sure beat Metroid 1's password system or even the Famicom version's save system which still spawned you at an area's start and with minimal health

Of course the game still doesn't have a map (in 1991 this was already pushing it) but given the game's more linear nature it's less egregious...but not completely so because most areas still look samey partly due to the gameboy's monochromatic color pattern and also because, despite the game's better overall spritework, most locations still look really samey, either being generic caves, generic Metroid nests (except the Omega's, that one is pretty cool) and generic building ruins that all look pretty much the same as far as architecture goes

And then we have the music

Yyyyyyeah uhhhhhh

The game certainly has some good tunes, the title theme is delightfully creepy and minimalistic, but with a really nice hopeful part. I like the main caverns theme, the credits theme and especially the Metroids' nest theme

Unfortunately you'll be spending a big chunk of the game listening to beeps and boops that wanna pass off as an atmospheric, minimalist ost

Now look: it....sorta works. When you're going through dark spooky caves and only have these atmospheric...weird sounds to keep you company it can absolutely give you a sense of loneliness and creepiness.....but the game overplays its hand with it way too much

These tracks play every time you visit one of the game's main areas and when you're outside of their buildings, meaning this is pretty much gonna be all that you'll hear of this game's OST for about half of your playtime.

I often see people claim that this game pushes the gameboy's limits and yeah in some ways it does, but in this case I'd say it plays against its limitations rather than within them: the gameboy's simple sound font can't easily create minimalist atmospheric tracks without them sounding way too basic or outright boring, or at least the composer wasn't able to, yet the game doesn't seem aware of this and just spams these tracks throughout most of the game, tracks that barely sound any different from each other and just end up blending in.

I think they jumped the gun way too early with this. There is merit in creating tracks that are incredibly simple and un-melodic but that can still give you the creeps. Just compare this to this

As it is Metroid II's soundtrack, at least most of it, makes the game just sound boring and uninteresting which....well isn't helped by the monochromatic pallette and some gameplay aspects though that's for next time

#metroid #metroid ii #return of samus #my gameplay #Youtube

[ancaporado]

Ok I need to go on a rant about show tunes. They're objectively bad. Don't worry, I've heard a lot of them, I even played in the pit for my high school theater and I still hate show tunes. 1.The lyrics are cringey, basically just dialogue or literal exposition of the story. I do like concept albums, in fact I think the idea of using music to tell a story is great, but making your characters constantly RHYME to speak to one another is absolutely insane as it takes away the characters ability to speak in their own voice. The linear progression of story telling also means that the lyrics rarely repeat, often as a song goes on a chorus allows for the listener to reinterpret the previous verses and anticipate new ones, we rarely get such a break in show tunes. this almost means that we get explicit character names, places, and events in our lyrics which lacking context completely jar a listener. 2.Singing is bad. Essentially it's modern opera, so I get that it started with lots of projection and vibrato, but let's be real you no longer have to do that with lapel microphones. We can have dynamic volume and annunciation. These people have grown up their whole lives singing with piano accompaniment and it shows in the tin-like nasal annunciation they sing. Even the best broadway singer would instantly butcher any other genre as they barely slide notes or usually can't hold notes WITHOUT vibrato, nor do they get through distorted vocals without simply getting raspy. 3.Instrumentation. To be fair, musicals have been getting a little better about incorporating stuff besides classic accompaniment but basically whenever they do they attempt it as a genre piece, and end up completely cliche as the genre is concern. Outside of the narcissisms of the writers or actors, the MUSIC is never the focus of the song. 4. No genre or originality. I would say Grease and Rocky Horror are perfect examples of this in that basically they are simply 4 chord progression covers of a well established genres that are extremely easy to churn out. If you know a little music theory you could write a "blues" or "rock" or "jazz" musical in an afternoon. Even when it's done no song from a musical can stand on it's own against MUSIC written for the purpose of just being listened too. If you were to have a blind listening test for anyone trained in any amount of music they could pick out a "musical" song nearly 99% of the time. Most "Musical" music is to normal music what Christian Rock is to rock, the music is entirely secondary to an agenda.

5.Arrangement. Very little thought is usually put into the arrangement of the of songs, as nothing besides the voice of the actors can really take up much time in the melody so why bother. Interesting sounds, instruments, or melodic and harmonic ideas are just a distraction to the performance. Outside of backing there's little required of most musicians to preform these pieces, and half the time it sounds like a church band or high school choir for this reason. Improvisation, instrumental solos, or a breakdown are either rare or completely unimaginative in structure. 6. Chord progressions are all basic to the point that the "halfway through a song key step as a way to mix it up a little bit because we got more exposition in the lyrics as we go from point a to b as we do a 4 chord progression that is getting boring" is a thing in pretty much every musical. So anyways in conclusion, musicals suck, are completely stagnant as a "genre". They are written by and for a strange kind of narcissistic person who needs to constantly hear a very loud voice telling them a story with comforting non-dangerous music that's really only there to help set a little bit of mood for whatever tacky costume and choreography is supposed to be happening on stage. If you listen to show tunes for fun outside of actually watching a stage production you probably should be institutionalized. If, even worse, you make other people listen to them on a PA system while at a retail or work situation you should be euthanized. Don't send me your favorite "this is musical music but it's good because it avoids the reasons you said above" as it still sucks for another reason I didn't remember while typing this.

[acceptsonlynttnightwing]

Persuasion 2022 makes me want to visit Jane Austen’s grave and apologise

So here’s a compilation of hilariously scathing reviews. Enjoy!

-Clarisse Loughrey

How exactly does the line, “it is said if you’re a five in London, you’re a 10 in Bath”, improve on Austen’s work or make it any more palatable to modern audiences? Or what about the comments on being “an empath” and focusing on “self-care”? 

When Anne is reunited with Wentworth (Cosmo Jarvis), the man she once rejected, Austen writes: “Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.” In the film? We get: “We are strangers. Worse than strangers. We’re exes.”

There’s nothing here that seems to drive her [Crackell’s] work (...) beyond the directive of capitalising on current trends. This is exactly what happens when art becomes a brand exercise.

There’s not even an attempt to be accurate here – Marianne Agertoft‘s costumes only look like Regency dress if you’d somehow been led to believe that the pages of this month’s Tatlermagazine had been shot out of a time machine. And, as much as I am loath to defend Bridgerton, the Netflix production Persuasion clearly modelled itself after, its anachronisms at least feel carefully chosen in order to give the series a poppy irreverence.

You can’t help but think what Austen would make of all this. She was nearly 40 when she wrote Persuasion, inches away from her deathbed. Anne’s pain in the novel is sharp, laced with the fear that she’s reached a point in life where she’s outrun every last opportunity, most especially for love. How do you absorb all of that feeling, only to give us an Anne who sighs performatively after she knocks a vessel of gravy on her head and boasts about dancing to Beethoven alone in her room “with a bottle of red”? How would the latter even happen in an era before record players?

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Austen should be allowed a chance at the Instagram generation. But the frozen expression on romantic lead Cosmo Jarvis’s face throughout speaks louder than any review. (He can relax: one of the few things that can be said about this film with certainty is that it will be forgotten quickly.)

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- Patrick Cremona

It all seems so forced and deliberate, more annoying and jarring than it is charming or inventive.

Then there are the frequent fourth-wall-breaking monologues, which start early on and continue to arrive at all too regular intervals throughout the runtime – with Alice providing a near-constant running commentary on the action, one that's neither witty nor insightful enough to be worth its while. It all allows a certain archness to take hold, a smugness that gets in the way of any emotional sincerity.

For the most part, it just feels rather drab and half-hearted, breezing along easily enough without ever injecting any real pizzazz into proceedings.

All this ensures the film commits one of cinema's cardinal sins – frankly, it's a little bit boring.

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In other words, the film’s Anne, unlike Austen’s quivering and stifled introvert, is that rom-com mainstay, the manic pixie dream girl, an ostensibly smart and capable woman whose klutziness and all-round-adorability ensures she’s completely non-threatening.

Sad but true, she (Dakota Johnson) is upstaged by the wallpaper on several occasions.

The famous ’letter scene’ is shrug-worthy. The final kiss moved me not.

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It’s set in the early 19th century, not remotely of Austen, but of Bridgerton, the success of which has unfortunately convinced Netflix that anything goes. Imagine flaunting an antique copy of the novel in a full-cosplay selfie, but holding it upside down.

Meanwhile, the dialogue perpetrates five war crimes per minute.

The way Michell finessed the most autumnal of Austen’s works, with Amanda Root cast to perfection, set a gold standard. This takes a flailing leap, but it’s neither audacious enough to commit to a singular vision, nor shrewd enough to get the novel right. It nosedives between two stools and never gets up.

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It is like an Austen amuse bouche — an entry-level cover version that tries to rev up the humor and speak directly to Gen Z by using its lingo — or at least an advertising executive's idea of what Gen Z sounds like. 

-Lindsey Bahr 

Instead, viewers get brief snippets of Anne’s internal character conflict and her yearning for Wentworth. By extension, Wentworth is always shafted and his character falls short due to the comedic tone of the film. Anne and Wentworth have clumsy and awkward exchanges that feature the sort of delivery you’d expect from an episode of The Office as opposed to a romance about healing the wounds of two heartbroken people.

Characters are constantly espousing modern beliefs. “A woman without a husband is not a problem to be solved,” says one sagely, greeted with a wry smile by Anne. Except that in 1817, unmarried women faced ridicule, lack of social agency and destitution, something Anne and Austen knew all too well. By removing Austen’s thematic concerns – class, spinsterhood, the questionable power of persuasion – there are simply no real barriers to Anne and Wentworth’s reunion. Indeed, it’s hard to see how this spirited person could be persuaded to do anything. With such low stakes, the film crawls along without momentum.

I’m all for modernising the classics (see 2020’s Emma for Austen with an injection of over-the-top fun) but this one can’t decide if it’s trying to amuse or edify and consequently does neither. Bring back Bridgerton, please.

- Francesca Steele

Sadly Persuasion, not only the worst Austen adaptation but one of the worst movies in recent memory, delivers on all the agony and none of the hope. 

The filmmakers have served up a soggy mess of limp rom-com clichés that does a disservice not only to Austen but to all her contemporary inheritors, from Cher Horowitz to Bridget Jones. As played by Dakota Johnson, the novel’s heroine Anne Elliot, a lovelorn, bookish, self-effacing woman on the cusp of spinsterhood, becomes an insufferably coy scatterbrain who speaks in 21st-century buzzwords 

There is updating classic literature to bring it in tune with modern sensibilities, and then there is insulting the viewer’s intelligence. Persuasion’s endlessly attempts to pander to young audiences presumed incapable of understanding any message not conveyed via Instagram hashtag 

Unfortunately, as played by Cosmo Jarvis, Wentworth is also something of a lifeless sad sack. His pining for Anne is believable enough, but his character is so thinly written that it’s hard to see whatever qualities induced her to spend eight years pining for him. 

In this movie, eligible men are mostly nattily attired scarecrows on which to hang romantic longing. 

The fine shadings of social class that drive the novel’s conflict are mostly lost in this translation to the screen. The presence of Black, Asian, and mixed-race actors in the cast at first feels refreshing, but any intended social commentary is lost in the script’s thematic muddle.

it’s hard to overstate what unpleasant company Johnson’s Anne Elliot is. She performatively chugs red wine straight from the bottle, goes everywhere cuddling a never-explained pet rabbit, and interrupts one stodgy teatime with an extended and charmless non sequitur about a recurring dream that an octopus is sucking her face.

she (Austen) describes Anne and Wentworth’s long-ago affair as “a short period of exquisite felicity.” The only such moment afforded by Persuasion is when the closing credits finally start to roll.

-Dana Stevens

(just read the whole review, seriously- https://slate.com/culture/2022/07/persuasion-netflix-movie-2022-dakota-johnson-jane-austen.html)

#persuasion 2022 #dakota johnson #cosmo jarvis #henry golding #you poor man #not a terrible performance though #Mary and Louisa Musgrove #were also pretty good #was I the only one who expected Wentworth to be more dashing and charming tho #He's a naval captain and a hero right #Like more of a younger Brad Pitt / Tom Hardy kinda way #Anne and him had one of the smallest hero-heroine age gaps of any couple in Austenland #Plus he's the only one who's described as attractive enough to get women solely based on his looks #And Dakota Johnson's way to young and pretty looking given that Anne was kinda depressed and was supposed to have lost 'the bloom of youth' #Henry golding would have been a way better Wentworth #At least he had charisma #and he and Anne seemed far better matched than her and Wentworth - which is the exact opposite of what's supposed to e happening!

[audzarts]

i literally only use @audzarts-rb for reblogs and reblogs ONLY that only now have i noticed that it still has the balance : unlimited layout on it

#quality #have a rich sugar daddy to simp on #audz says this #only now do i also rlly think about balanced unlimited's as an anime #honestly it was #okay #i guess #nothing completely jarring nor boring #tho i can say the life of the fanbase was as long as a firework #2020 really just said and that was all it #haru and daisuke has a funny detective dynamic me thinks

[the-broken-truth]

Senior!! May i ask you a question? Are the requests still open?

If yes, could you do a Donna Beneviento x Child!reader? (Platonic-Comforting). Okay so, one day, the reader is really Curious about their mother face because its always covered under her long black veil.

Since the reader wanted to know their mother real face even though the reader already knew from the picture that was displayed on the wall, having an opportunity when their mother is working on her new doll, the reader suddenly lifts her veil up and shows a mutant or a big scar on the right side of donna's face.

Knowing this, Donna immediately slapped their hand away and accidentally slapped her child until their cheeks turned red. Instead of crying, the reader suddenly hug her tightly and apologize for million times because the reader lifting up her veil without her permission.

Donna burst into tears and explained why she was hiding her face because she was afraid that the reader would feel embarrassed or disgusted with her. however, the reader assures their mother that they will not do such a thing and they're grateful that they can be her child

Andd if the requests are closed, please ignore this request and take your time^^ thank you very much, i hope you have a great day/night.

Mommy's Cloth Face - Donna Beneviento x Child Reader [Platonic]

Broken Truth: Hey, @snowflakestree! Just wanted to let you know that - yes, the requests are still open; I recently opened them and don't intend to close them anytime soon. Thanks for the ask and now I shall have to honor of writing this interesting request.

- Quick Key -

[Y/N] - YOUR FIRST NAME

[H/L] - HAIR LENGTH

Broken Truth: The Reader's Last Name shall be Beneviento and their age shall be 8. Eight years olds are very curious, at least I was at that age. Their hair & eyes will be black - the same as their mother's. As for their skin, they would be rather pale, living in the Valley of Mist doesn't give much sunlight

Curious black eyes stared at the large portrait that hung against the wall where the stairs rested; focused on the face of the Head of House Beneviento. Tiny feet were planted firmly at the top of the stairs, looking at the portrait as if to see something they had missed before; even though they've seen that same picture every day since they began aware of their surrounding but something was always drawing them to the painting of the Head of House Beneviento. They were going to question themselves when a suddenly...

"GOOD MORNING, [Y/N]!!!" A sudden loud voice shouted behind them, making them jolt forward with a chill up their spine as they began falling forward in the direction of the stairs. Black eyes narrowed as they turned to where their back was to the stairs and shot their hand out - sending 5 red strings shot from the tips of their fingers and nail into the wall, stopping their fall mid-air with their heels at the top of the stairs.

Broken Truth: What? You thought I wasn't gonna give them some kind of power? Please, what would be boring and the Broken Truth doesn't do boring.

[Y/N']'s Power: Puppeteer's Stingers - [Y/N] calls mental control links - that appear in the form of puppet strings from the tips of their fingers; whoever the strings touch, [Y/N] can control their every move or control the area around them.

"For the love of Mother Miranda, Angie, why must you scare me at the worst times?" [Y/N] asked as they pulled themselves back to the top of the stairs - the moment their feet touched solid wood, they lifted their hand to recall the puppet's strings.

"It's not my fault you were distracted. Besides, why were you just staring at Donna's painting like you? it's not something new, ya know." The doll said as she floated round the young master/mistress of House Beneviento.

"I know - it's something else." [Y/N] said as they turned on their heel and walked down the stairs to head to the study to look for their mother.

"What is it then?" Angie asked as she followed them.

"Mommy's always wearing her veil around - even in the house & around me; I wanna know why. The only thing I have to her face is that painting." [Y/N] said as he and Angie reached the study; the doll was quiet for a moment before she spoke in a softer voice.

"Some things are better to be left alone, [Y/N]. There's a reason Mother wears the veil and she doesn't want to take about it." Angie said, almost in a sad tone of voice.

"What could be so bad that Mom doesn't trust me with it?" [Y/N] asked with hurt floating in their black eyes.

"Sorry." That was the last thing Angie said before she floated away to do her own thing. [Y/N] just stood there with their hands clenched by their side, looking at the ground with hurt in their heart at the numerous amounts of questions that were floating around their 8-year-old mind.

'What is Mommy hiding from me? What is under that veil that she doesn't trust me with?' They stood there and through for a while before opening their eyes and making the choice then and there. 'I'm gonna see what's under that veil.' With resolve in their heart, The Future Lord/Lady of House Beneviento went off to find their mother - who happened to be in her creation room to make a new doll.

[Y/N] peeked around the corner of the threshold that led to their mother's Doll Creation Room - doll parts of many shapes and sizes hung from chains on the ceiling while other parts - like joints, sockets, eyes, and fingers - were kept in small drawers or jars tucked away in the shelf.

Sitting in the chair at the table - littered with doll parts - was the woman down in a black dress, a mysterious veil over her head - covering her face, and her hands - the only thing that remained uncovered - as they moved along the doll parts to assemble them into a body - that woman was Donna Beneviento - The Head of House Beneviento and mother of [Y/N] Beneviento.

The child took a calming exhale - to strengthen their nerves and resolve; they had to do this or they were going to go their entire life without knowing the truth.

"Mommy." [Y/N] called out to their mother as her hands froze over the doll torso she was connecting the legs to as she turned around in her seat to look at her son/daughter, who just stood in the doorway with nervousness in their small black eyes - eyes just like hers.

"[Y/N] Dear, is there something wrong?" Donna asked in her concerned motherly voice.

"No, Momma. I just...I wanna know - Why do you always wear your veil around me? Why don't you show me your face?" [Y/N]'s question made the breath in Donna's throat catch as she turned back in her seat, unable to look in her child's direction.

"Momma has some...issues and she prefers to wear the veil for the betterment of everyone. It's nothing to worry about, darling; just go play with Angie and the other dolls." Donna said in her low voice as she went back to fiddling with the incomplete doll; it became quiet in the room as if she was the only one left - [Y/N] must have listened to her and went to play with the other dolls.

Wrong.

The child still stood there - their mind running with thoughts - they weren't thinking straight. They were some in depths with their own mind that they didn't notice their body moving closer to their mother, nor did they feel their arm lift or their hand reaching for the veil before clenching into a fist.

It was the sudden "NO!" from their mother that made them snap back into reality and become aware of their surroundings, but it was too late. The veil was in their hand that was now at their side - revealing their mother's face to them...

As well as the massive growth of flesh that overtook the woman's right side of her face - completely replacing her right eye. [Y/N]'s eyes widened at their mother's face - the horror and fear in her eye - as they dropped the veil and reached for it; BAD MOVE.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!" Donna's voice yelled as her hand lashed out to slap her child's hand away from her face but in her disorder, she missed her child's hand but made perfect contact with their cheek, making them fall to the ground - sitting on the ground with their eyes wide and their hand on the sore cheek. Once again - fear took Donna's face - she just struck her child, her child saw her face; they would mostly be running away in horror if they weren't paralyzed in pain.

"Oh my god! [Y/N], I'm so sorry! I didn't been t hurt you! I...It was a reflex, I would never hurt you, ever!" Donna panicked, trying to come up with an acceptable excuse for what happened but she came up with nothing. Tears began falling down her face but before she could open her mouth to speak - the sudden weight of her child crashing into her mid-section and wrapping their arms around her while sobbing in her chest made her quiet; looking down at the child who held her for dear life.

"I'M SORRY, MOMMA! I DIDN'T MEAN TO SCARE YOU! I'M A BAD [SON/DAUGHTER]! I DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT YOU, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!" The child begged with tears flooding their eyes.

Donna was confused.

Her child wasn't afraid of her?

Her child was angry at her for striking them?

Her child was begging for forgiveness...for scaring her?

She looked down at the child who looked into her eye with tears down their cheeks.

"You...you're not afraid or disgusted with me, [Y/N]?" Donna asked in her low voice - this made the child look at her wide-eyed and confused.

"What? No, why would I be Momma?" The child asked - completely confused.

"Dear..." Donna rubbed the back of her baby's head. "So many people have hurt me because of my face. They would bully me and ignore me. When I started wearing my veil, people started befriending me but once they saw my face...they would abandon me. I didn't want to lose you over my looks, my child. I thought...once you saw my face...I would be alone again." Donna closed her eye - letting all the tears fall.

"Then all those people are idiots!" [Y/N] yelled, making Donna look at them again. "If they couldn't see the really awesome person you are, then they are the ugliest of all people! My Mom is the most beautiful person in the village...no, IN THE WORLD! NOT EVEN AUNTIE ALCINA OR GRANDMA MIRANDA CAN MATCH HOW PRETTY MY MOMMA IS!!" [Y/N] cried out as they reached up and placed a gentle kiss on the mass of flesh that took their mother's eyes. The head of house cried again before hugging her child for dear life as she thanked them for staying with her and loving her...as not even her own mother did.

As time went on, Donna would no longer wear the veil around the house or around her child. [Y/N] was happy to see their mom happy and now had the inspiration to draw pictures to show at the village school...which caused a few people to say mean things about Donna, resulting in [Y/N] being suspended for a week for nearly killing 5 students. When Donna asked them why used their powers to bend the bullies' limbs in inhumane positions and almost kill them, the child answered.

"They were talking crap about my beautiful Momma and that don't fly."

It got a lot worse when [Y/N] grew up and started going into the village to do teenage things - one negative whisper about Donna Beneviento would get your neck twisted the other way & it didn't matter if you said it around them.

Their little puppet ravens always find out who said what about his beautiful mother and they would pay...DEARLY.

#ask #donna beneviento x reader #resident evil 8

[thecrusadercomrade]

What frustrates me about Season 3A is that we know the writers CAN be better than this, with examples from previously in the show itself. When Hop Pop reveals he buried the box to Anne, we get a whole episode of them reconciling, and we assume that’s enough, right? But no, the very next episode is a fully twenty minutes of the show giving actually time and weight to Anne’s lingering feeling of betrayal, and how even with a heartfelt reconciliation, she can’t simply walk it off, and all she can do about this is take the time to heal. The emotional consequences of Hop Pop’s actions are actually explored and given weight;

Then comes True Colors, Anne’s leap of faith in trusting Sasha is brutally used against her. Her own faith in Marcy is irrevocably shattered before seeing her friend get MURDERED. And she is also betrayed by the king she thought she could trust, who even goes out of his way to destroy Frobo and nearly kills Sprig, causing such emotional distress that Anne unlocks her Calamity mode for the first time. And then in the immediate minutes following this episode, she goes completely back to normal and acts as she normally does. Anne talks as if the mission is just getting the Plantars back home, and the issue of Andrias’ invasion is an afterthought. Sasha and Marcy aren’t mentioned.

Season 1 ended with Reunion. Season 2 begins and at least some weeks have passed, but the emotional trauma it left on Anne is still shown. She has an actual, vivid flashback, and Sprig asks her about it; And Anne’s behavior this episode actually echoes an attempt to regain a sense of control. Plus, there is room for the audience to believe that in the immediate days after Reunion, Anne was able to talk with the Plantars or at least silently process what happened.

With The New Normal, there is no room for that; The Plantars ask Anne if she’s okay once and are never concerned again, even when they’re trapped in the house and bored with nothing to distract them from what happened. This all takes place in the next few minutes and Anne can’t even shed a proper tear when in Reunion, she immediately does so. And the theory that Anne is ‘drained’ of her ability to feel is bullshit, because she’s clearly guilt-tripped by sympathy for the Plantars into contacting Frakes before Dr. Jan can assure it’s safe, so obviously she’s still very sentimental about others. It’s baffling.

The worst part is that with the castle directly overhead, there’s a good chance the next episode will have Anne and Sasha see Darcy as they realize Marcy is, physically at least, healthy and alive. Meaning they, or at least Anne, never has to ever grapple with the belief that Marcy is dead, nor does she ever have to confront this alleged ‘denial’ she has over it. And anything that happened on Sasha’s end will be entirely offscreen, or recounted in flashbacks after the fact, which isn’t satisfying. The stabbing really was just shock value, and didn’t even contribute to the Core assimilating Marcy, considering Andrias’ dialogue indicates it nearly prevented that with her potential death.

It really is jarring how little impact True Colors seems to have left on Anne and the Plantars. If Marcy getting stabbed never happened, pretty much nothing about Anne's story in 3A would've changed, which is just... really bad. I don't know if Disney was cracking down on the crew to not mention it after the big controversy over True Colors, but it's a huge stain on the show's record regardless. If I wasn't aware that this was a failure of writing, I'd honestly think that Anne and the Plantars were at least partially sociopathic, or at least never cared about Marcy or Sasha. Anne watched Marcy get stabbed in the chest, and just a few minutes later she's gushing about having cell service, and then not long after that she's going on a shopping trip with her parents, with absolutely zero regard for the situation she left back in Amphibia. It's so damn frustrating, and it's such a tonal whiplash. Anne, the Plantars, and Anne's parents come off as total assholes during the Earth arc.

And then in Escape to Amphibia the Plantars say that "Amphibia can wait a few more days", and at the end Anne has the audacity to to ask "what happened here?" when she sees the state of things. Did... did they just completely forget what happened in True Colors? It really seems that way with their lack of urgency and surprise that things aren't going well. I just don't know what the writers were thinking with all of this.

#ask #amphibia #amphibia spoilers #anne boonchuy #the plantars #marcy wu #sasha waybright

[babbling-idiot2]

Raoul Silva x reader

Requested: “Hello!! May I please request a Raoul Silva x female reader? Where the reader works with Bond, but for a time is kidnapped by Silva and then when she escapes and works with Bond again she is conflicted because she has feelings for Silva and then there is a showdown between her and Silva but she doesn’t shoot him when she has the chance?? And then they end up kissing. (Bond is not around) If that is waaaaaay too specific, I completely understand. I’m also a writer and really like this idea, I just don’t have any motivation right now. But If that’s too specific, then just something Silva x reader please?? If not, that’s cool! Thanks and have a blessed week!” -By Anon

Warning:

(Hello! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this. It’s actually kind of funny I had a fic for him in the drafts but never got around to posting it. But this was a better idea then mine so, I hope you enjoy!!)

*****

It wasn't suppose to be hard. Nor was it ever hard to do your job. Sure a few bruises and cuts here and there but it was your job and you enjoyed it. You have feared for your life before but at this point in time you weren't that scared anymore. Especially when it involved getting kidnapped. Now you had gotten kidnapped before. But it was also so easy and almost boring. Like they didn't try anymore. Well that was until you got kidnapped by a man named Raoul Silva. You knew him from a brief glimpse of a case file yet you didn't know enough to be interested. Only in the fact he is a ex MI6 agent. That's the only thing that caught you attention. 

In training you are taught many things. One being to never get involved with the target. Ever. If you did you would also be terminated. So, you never ever were involved with anyone. Even outside of your job. But luck would have it, as you've found yourself in quite a pickle. Did you get kidnapped? Yes. Was it on purpose? Well of course not. Did you know who kidnapped you? No! But it was quite the shocker to find out the ex MI6 agent, Raoul Silva had been the one behind it. When you were finally sat down. You sat in an empty room. Filled with high tech computer equipment and the sound of people moving around behind you. Mostly out of boredom and the fact that they themselves are bored with this charade. Then as you were also getting bored, you hear an elevator. You looked forward and could clearly see an elevator opening at the end of the room. Silva steps out and begins walking over to you. "Miss Williams. It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you. I must say that I have read much about you." He’s close enough now that your finally able to see him up close. You shouldn’t be thinking this about your kidnapper but he was very much more attractive then his picture "Good things I hope." "Oh nothing less of good I can assure you. Though I am disappointed they left out so much." You continue to look at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this, already having a good idea "Well that's the point isn't it? To keep as much personal information out of the files?" He tilts his head and nods slightly "Yes. I suppose that's correct but I must admit, I would like to know more about you before I get to the real reason why I brought you here. If you don't mind?"  You raise and eyebrow curiously as you continue to follow him with your eyes. You didn't answer and he seemed to just take that as a yes. He was walking around the area, not once making his way towards a chair. He kept walking, pacing in the same line as he questioned you on your past. "From what I know, you were a top student in school. A plusses and never once a B. You were dedicated to learning everything. You even graduated 2 years earlier than your classmates. Did you enjoy it? High-school, I mean." You shrugged your shoulders "Its hard to remember everything, since it was a little while ago. I do remember enjoying it though. Many good memories." He hums out in either approval or refusal. Which turns out to be refusal. "I do not believe that. You see your file here says, 'School for miss Williams was, in her words: Troubling, I was bullied a lot and had no friends. My studies were the only thing I focused on. I was the laughing stock of my high school career." You didn't say a word, you had no idea that he was really seeing your file right in front of him. "Now Miss Williams, you were bullied, treated horribly and now you are an MI6 agent. Says you've never had any infatuation for anyone in your life. Is that true?" You close your eyes and shake your head "No. I've never been in a relationship nor do I ever want one." He chuckles and looks at you, straight in the eyes "Miss Williams you do know I have your file here and every word you've said is a lie. I do not think that is a good idea. Tell the truth." He says now looking at the file again. This time you roll your eyes and adjust yourself in the seat "I was in one relationship in college. We only dated a week." "Why?" "Because he was a creep. And an asshole." "See now that is what a want to hear. The truth!" You roll your eyes again and become even more annoyed. 

You had no idea how long it had been but what was for sure was that it was long enough. You could hear the sounds of gun fire coming from outside of the building you were in. You thought for a moment that you were hearing things but when you heard the door being slammed open and the sound of an MI6 agent calling your name, relief washed over you. You were soon taken onto one the helicopters and was taken back to HQ. There you were met by a medical team and M. She was glad to see you walking and not in a body bag. She nodded your way before telling the medical team to take care of your. Also ordering you to go with them, knowing how much you hated any kind of medical attention. But you agreed and went along anyway.

Not even a day later you were reunited back with bond and even he was happy to see you again. But sadly even though reuniting gave you a slight feeling of happiness, you were conflicted. For a time you didn’t know what by. Was it work? Did you receive bad news? Did you say something and regret it? You had no idea, until it hit you one day like a truck. You thought back to when you got kidnapped by Raoul Silva. You couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was like he was an infection in your brain and you couldn’t get rid of it. Bond could tell something was wrong with you. Just by looking at you for an extended period of time, he could tell. But he had no idea what it was or better yet, who it was. 

You were ordered to go after him. Simple task, easy enough right? Well not exactly. You were hot on his trail, right behind him and yet he was just that much faster then you. Suddenly out of know where he turned this corner and right before this very large door could close you just made it through when it closed with a loud thud. Silva was at a dead end and had no where to go besides the way you came. When he turned around you already had a gun pointed in his direction. Completely prepared to shoot him if he made one wrong move. He knew that you would so, he would have to choose his next words and moves very carefully. “Miss Williams, I am very amazed at how you caught up so quick. I was not prepared for this encounter today.” “Yes well, you’ve screwed up your chances at getting out. I suggest you make yourself comfortable.” You say gesturing to the ground. He knew you wanted him to sit down on the ground but he couldn’t let that happen. “Miss Williams, Or better yet, Y/n? We both know that you won’t shoot me.” He says stepping closer. Though the fact that he knew your name was quite jarring, it didn’t impair your judgement. It was a sign that he was trying to get close. And you most definitely couldn’t let that happen. You pulled the hammer of your gun back and stepped a bit closer, keeping eye contact as to try to intimidate him. “You really think I’m afraid of what M will do if I shoot someone like you? I could care less. You’re actually lucky your up and walking now.” You never once let your confident and intimidating persona drop, not around him and at a time like this, it would be game over for you. But Silva was smart and he could see through your demeanor. “You are smart Miss Y/n. And you hide your private life so well. So hidden like a hermit in the sand. Yet I see right through the cracks. You have feelings for me.” You clench your jaw and shake your head “In your dreams Silva. I could never like someone like you.” “In my dreams? No, no, no y/n. In your dreams. You’ve thought about me since the day you got kidnapped by my men. Ever since you saw me and now, you cant get me out of your head. You can’t hide your feelings for me y/n.” He says now even more closer then he was before. You couldn’t back up anymore, for the door was closed and there was no escape from this. Your finger tightened and he saw this. He reached his hand out. Hoping that you wouldn't pull the trigger. Your brain told you to pull the trigger and end all of this now. But the more irrational part of you held you back. When he got close enough he wrapped his fingers steadily around the barrel of the pistol. He directed it out of the line of his face and slowly stepped into your personal space. He smiled at you and tilted his head at you. “There we are. I knew you couldn’t shoot me.” “It’s the worse decision I’ve ever made. I’m just as good as dead as your are now.” he starts to shake his head at you “No! No, no, no, no my dear! No one will know about this. Not even Bond. You just have to keep this a secret. You’re good at that, right?” You clench your jaw at hearing that. Keeping a secret from the MI6 was like trying to keep candy from a toddler. But nevertheless you nod your head and look to the side. You weren’t looking away for long until you felt a hand on your chin pulling you back. You looked back at Silva and saw a look in his eyes. You weren't sure what it was but what he did next gave you a good idea. He leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t for long but it definitely took the breath out of you. When he pulled away, on instinct you chased him slightly. When you realized what you did you looked away embarrassingly. Hoping he didn’t notice. He did, and smiled from ear to ear. Kissing your forehead and the side of your face. He leaned down where his mouth was near your ear before whispering “You should never feel embarrassed around me dear. I want to see you for you, not what they made of you.” You swallowed your embarrassment and looked up at him before leaning in slowly to kiss him back. It was quick, nervous and very sloppy. You were sure you kissed the side of his mouth. He smiled nonetheless and looked down at his wrist. Sighing out in annoyance he looks back to you. “I’m very sorry my dear, but I must end this meeting. I am suppose to meet my men in 5 minutes or our plan is ruined. Till next time my dear.” As he was walking away you stared confusingly at him. “Wait so this was part of the plan wasn’t it?” He turned back as he was about to pull a hatch open that was in the ground. He smiled at you cheekily. “My dear, I have a plan for everything.” He says as he closes the hatch behind him. You stared wide eyed at the hatch before you. 

“Well then, where did he go Williams?” You sighed out in annoyance “Like I told you before. I went down the hatch as I saw him do, when I got to the bottom he wasn’t there. He was gone. I ran to the end and searched. He was gone.” M stared at you, disappointment lacing her features as she looked at you. You could practically feel it by now. She shook her head and waved you off not bothering to say another word to you. You rolled your eyes and walked out. Fully intending to just go home. 

When you got there you hung your coat up and slipped your shoes off at the door, barley noticing the other pair of shoes right there next to yours. You looked up and sure enough you could see the back of someone's head sitting on your couch. You didn’t have your gun, and hand to hand combat was the only thing you had up your sleeves at the moment. When you came around the couch all thoughts of intruder and fighting left your mind. Silva was sitting there flipping through one of your magazines you had sitting on your table. “You know, you should invest in better security and better reading material.” He says still eyeing the magazine. “And you know I have a full bookcase right there? Also I like to be notified when I have company before they come over. I hate surprises.” He smiles and lays the magazine down, looking up to you with the same smile on his face. “But you like me, so it’s a welcomed one.” You shake your head smiling before walking over to the kitchen. You looked back and he was still seated there, looking out into space of your living room. You had no idea how you were going to deal with him. You had no idea how long this would go on for, but only time could tell now.

*****

(Hello so, I hope you liked this! If you did, any kind of feedback is amazing and highly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have an amazing day/night and stay safe out there in the world!)

#raoul silva x reader #raoul silva headcanons #raoul silva imagines #raoul silva #skyfall #javier bardem

[sweetcathedral]

☁️Jujutsu Kaisen — Nanami Kento☁️

Note: I finally found time to get around my collection of books I bought, but haven’t read yet. This is just the first list of books, there’ll definitely be more to come. I hope it doesn’t sound biased. I took away the fantasy books I read (mainly Leigh Bardugo & V.E. Schwab), since Nanami is already in a fantasy world himself, I feel like fantasy books wouldn’t interest him. Also, he wouldn’t buy self-help books since they’re common sense to him & sorcerers in general have a higher perception of emotions. Anyways, I’ll let the list (and somewhat fun blurbs) speak for itself!

Life for Sale by Yukio Mishima

This was given to Nanami as a birthday gift from Gojo. As Nanami was reading the story he found himself eerily similar to the main character, in terms of having the same feelings when he used to be a salaryman. He thought it was another way of Gojo trying to screw around with him, but gave him the benefit of the doubt since the story was interesting. Once Nanami was done reading the book, he smacked Gojo upside the head saying that he knows he gave him that book cause it reminded Gojo of him. Gojo replied asking how he knew it was him when he hasn’t said anything about it being related to him. Nanami clicked his tongue.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

While Nanami was doing business in Kyoto, he was called to the jujutsu campus there to assist the students on a couple of their missions. When looking for Gakuganji, he got lost and decided to look for Miwa since she’s a teacher’s pet. Miwa was found lounging on the couch reading Pachinko. Nanami asked if it was worth buying it (he keeps seeing it displayed at every bookstore), and she replied in enthusiasm, but then realized that Nanami was a man and that he might not be interested in romance. He took it as a challenge and bought himself a copy.

The Essential Rumi

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

Yuji wanted to find a way to understand Nanami better ‘cause he felt like they didn’t get along on their first mission together, so Sukuna thought it’d be funny to see him read Rumi & No Longer Human. Sukuna’s reasoning is that Nanami is a complicated man, and that these books represent him as a whole. Yuji was crying in confusion when reading Rumi & suffered a feeling of emptiness at the end of No Longer Human. While Sukuna was having fun emotionally abusing Yuji, Gojo came in to see if he was okay cause Megumi told him that he heard Yuji crying and laughing (Megumi got scared that Yuji was having trouble switching with Sukuna). Gojo calls Nanami to see if he could make Yuji feel better, since Nanami was better suited for these types of things. Nanami came in seconds later, Yuji jumped on him crying and asking if that’s how Nanami really felt, pointing to the book. Sukuna was hysterically laughing on Yuji’s cheek, which Nanami found annoying so he asked Gojo if there was anything he can do to shut Sukuna up. Gojo held Megumi as hostage and threatened to kill him if Sukuna doesn’t go away. Offended, Sukuna retreats. Yuji was able to calm down and get back to his normal self. Nanami read Rumi & No Longer Human to see why it made Yuji that way and you wouldn’t guess who he called to get him out of that empty feeling—Gojo Satoru, the same man who gives him stress on a daily basis and the only one who’s able to whip him back into his normal sanity. Gojo teleported to his place with Cards of Humanity & kept quizzing Nanami solely on questions about him (Gojo likes getting praised).

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami

Panda read Tsukuru as a way to experience human emotions, but at the end he end up with more questions than answers. Nanami bumped into him on campus and Panda remembered how much Nanami likes to read, so he decided to ask him for the answers. He replied saying that only the author holds the answers and meanings, but Panda insisted that he might hold the answers since he seems like the type to write these kinds of books. Nanami gave the book a shot. A bit offended, he asked Panda if he comes out as this depressing. Panda just sat there acting like he doesn’t know human language.

Men Without Women: Stories by Haruki Murakami

Yaga impulsively bought this book during the time of his divorce. He passed it to Nanami as if letting go of the past, and Nanami tried to refuse it saying he doesn’t want his baggage. But after some heavy silence, Nanami felt like he had no choice but to accept it.

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera

Spotted Yuji, Megumi & surprisingly Sukuna crying over it. Nanami looked at them in worried confusion and even wiped Sukuna’s tears away, Sukuna ate the tissue and spat it back at Nanami for making him look like he needed comfort. Nanami just flicked Sukuna’s eye to get him to behave. Later on, Nanami cooked Yuji & Megumi comfort food as he read what the book was about. It felt like Haibara was talking to him in a nostalgic way.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Utahime came into the lounge room in a pissed mood, and asked Nanami if he’d seen a book called The Bell Jar anywhere. Nanami nods and realizes that she wasn’t anywhere near the lounge, so why is she looking here? When he asked, Utahime ended up ranting to him about how Gojo always hides her things to piss her off. Nanami decided to help her as a way to retaliate back at Gojo. He ends up finding the book first, read the summary at the back & decided to read the first page while he still had it. A few chapters later, Utahime snatches her book out of his hands, looking at him as if he were Gojo. Nanami was about to say he wasn’t done yet, but realized that it was Utahime’s copy. He apologizes to her before bumping into Gojo and smacking him upside the head. (After finishing The Bell Jar, he bought more works by Sylvia Plath)

I Love Dick by Chris Kraus

Despite the questionable title, Ijichi was caught by Nanami slacking on his work because of this book. At first, Nanami was caught off guard ‘cause he didn’t know Ijichi swung that way, but he accepted it with an open mind (nothing’s wrong with Ijichi being gay). After clearing his throat to get his attention, Nanami began to lecture him about how unprofessional it was to bring inappropriate material to work, but Ijichi quickly reassured him that wasn’t what it actually was. According to Ijichi, it was a really good book & told Nanami that he’d be interested in the storyline (since Ijichi saw him reading The Bell Jar).

The Shadow of The Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Nanami saw Ino at the edge of his seat when reading this book. He’s never seen Ino so completely immersed in a book before, nor has he ever seen him pick up any type of book before. He had to pry the book away from Ino’s hands to get his attention. That same day Nanami bought his own copy ‘cause if it’s able to get Ino hooked into reading then it’s probably worth it.

Satan Says by Sharon Olds

Ieiri found the book too boring and complicated to finish, so she gave it to bookworm Nanami. She told him that she doesn’t know if he’ll like it or not, but it was better in his hands than it is in hers. Nanami opened the book to a random page, read the first line, which he immediately understood and closed it to get back to work. The whole day he was only thinking about getting back home to finish it.

Assholes: A Theory by Aaron James

During Nanami’s time in highschool, he asked Geto for advice on how to tolerate Gojo. Geto gave him this book, and to this day he applies the book to Gojo. When Megumi first met Nanami, he asked Nanami for advice on how to handle Gojo. He said all the answers were in this book and passed it to Megumi like it was a family heirloom. It’s basically a manual on how to handle people like Gojo, little do they know it’s written by a Gojo.

The Emotionary: A Dictionary of Words That Dont Exist for Feelings That Do by Eden Sher

Also received during his time in highschool. It was a gift from Haibara that Nanami repeatedly reads from time to time. Haibara thought it’d give him a change of pace from all the negativity they experience during their missions. The book is filled with quirky words used to describe the good & bad days. Nanami also applies these words to describe the stress Gojo gives him.

#Nanami’s book adventures #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #jjk nanami kento #nanami kento #iori utahime #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #nanami fic #gojo satoru #yuji itadori #fushiguro megumi #yaga masamichi #ino takuma #kiyotaka ijichi #jjk panda #miwa kasumi #haibara yu #ryomen sukuna #jjk yuji #jjk megumi #jjk gojo #jjk ieiri #shoko ieiri #jjk sukuna #jjk Haibara #jjk miwa #jjk utahime

[booksforevermore13]

Nine days (at long last)

Summary: Harry wants to propose to Ginny, but it turns out to be a lot harder than he thought. In the end, it takes nine days.

A/N: Huge, huge thanks to my awesome teammates Autumn, Ashleigh and Hannah for looking through the fic! I had a lot of fun writing this (after ditching another one I wrote) but in the end, I'm glad it turned out okay! Read it on Fanfiction or AO3 if you prefer!

...

"Mate, if you're waiting for the right moment, this is it."

"I know."

"Like, now."

"I know."

"She's looking at you, mate."

"I know."

"It's now or never."

"I know," Harry hissed, glaring at Ron. Consciously, he glanced at her again, standing between Bill and George and laughing as George spoke, and, if he hadn't chosen today as the day he proposed, he'd have been laughing along with her. But her eyes were on him, and then not, as her gaze turned to George and she laughed and Harry found himself immediately missing her gaze.

"I know what the problem is," Ron announced and Harry looked at him, arching an eyebrow in question.

"What?"

"You," Ron pointed at him, "are going to propose to her," and then pointed at Ginny, "my sister. My only sister."

"I know who I am going to propose to, Ron. Get to the point."

"The point is that I," he declared, "am her brother. It doesn't fundamentally work for me to tell you, my best mate, to marry my only sister. That… that's like violating the brother's code."

Harry rubbed his forehead, glancing warily at the glass of whisky in Ron's hand. In the short span in which Hermione had gone to help Mrs. Weasley with the cooking, he'd downed more than he would have with her around.

"How much have you had to drink, Ron?"

"Enough to be disgusted by the two of you simply looking at each other. You act as if you've never seen her before, Merlin."

"Oh, god, Ron, she's looking at me again."

The last time he'd been this nervous was back in his sixth year and that was when he and Ron had been dolts of the highest calibre. When he looked at Ron again, he was shaking his head in exasperation.

"Yeah, why is that, Harry? Did she find out you've been staring at her for the last ten minutes?" Ron hissed and Harry glared at him.

He clearly wasn't expecting Ron to give him a sharp nudge to his ribs, and when he did, Harry found himself a lot closer to Ginny than he was before. This time, when he turned, Ron nodded excitedly at him and when he looked at Ginny again, this time, her eyes were already on him.

"Hey," he found himself saying as he walked near her. George leaned over to say something to Bill but stepped away as Ginny turned on them, and they put their hands in the air, grinning.

"Hey back," Ginny said as he neared, and if he hadn't been so secretive these last few days, he'd have thought she'd figured it out.

For a second, he wished he hadn't chosen the Burrow to be where he proposed. nine days before Christmas, too. It was a time when everyone in the family was there, and the extended family too, and the Burrow became so crammed up that they slept on the couches and conjured tents outside. Harry loved it, but given the time, it might not have been his ideal choice for a proposal.

But the Burrow was and had remained the place where he had the most good memories, the best ones, with the people he loved and who loved him back, and in the end, he'd figured this to be the right place. The best one.

"You want to say something to me, Harry?" Ginny asked, and Harry realised with a jerk that he'd been staring.

"I do." He coughed and patted his coat pocket, searching for the box. "It's uh… very important."

"Yeah?" Ginny smiled and stepped forward, putting her hands around his neck. Consciously, he could feel eyes on them, but focused on Ginny, the slight smile on her face, her flaming red hair falling in waves down her shoulder and when he looked closer, the tiny flecks of golden brown in her eyes.

Where in the bloody hell was that box?

"You look beautiful," he stammered, searching his jeans for the box. He'd told her that before, but in the heat of the moment, complimenting her was the only thing coming to mind. He checked his coat pocket again. He was sure he'd had it while talking to Ron. He'd felt it.

"Harry." He heard Ginny say his name and looked up at her to see her chuckling."What is it you want to say?"

"I… uh…"

It wasn't there. The bloody box wasn't there. Harry brought out his hands from his pocket and with one hand, brushed back some of her hair behind her ear. "It's nothing," he found himself saying. "Just uh… want you to know how much I love you."

And that if I could find that ring, I'd get down on one knee right now.

Ginny laughed and if Harry could have bottled that sound and got drunk on it every day, he would have. "Where's this coming from?"

"Nowhere," he said hurriedly. Goddamnit.

Harry could see she was trying not to laugh. "What's going on, Harry?" Ginny asked, and Harry stilled.

Should he tell her? Without the ring? Harry looked at her, taking note of every small detail, even though he'd done it a thousand times before. The sprinkle of freckles around her nose, the golden brown flecks in her eyes. Her face was so close to him that he could smell the sweet fragrance of the sherry she'd been drinking and Harry knew that if anything, she deserved a perfect proposal. So, he shook his head and waited a moment longer. Then he kissed her.

If there were any groans from the audience, he didn't notice, nor did he care about the fact that he was kissing her in front of her brothers, who'd threatened him more than once for the mere feat that was dating her. No, instead, he cupped her cheek to bring her closer, one hand lost in her hair.

When they finally broke for air, and she looked at him with that knowing smirk on her face, Harry couldn't help but kiss her again.

"Have I ever told you," he said breathlessly, "that your hair is really soft after you wash it?"

And she laughed, and Harry felt a surge of disappointment because after all the talk of right moments, he knew that if he could do it, he'd do it now.

When they finally turned, the crowd around them had left, all except for Ron looking disapprovingly at him, Hermione who'd come back during the commotion and who was now shaking her head at him in earnest, and George with a rather bored look on his face.

"I thought it was going to be interesting," he said, and then shuddered. "Instead, all we got was a very public display of affection. Merlin."

And as Ginny laughed beside him, Harry couldn't help but blush.

Try another day, it was.

…

Harry shivered as he stepped inside the Burrow. It was two in the night and the silence he entered was almost jarring. Pots clanging, Victoire crying, Teddy's excited voice from the living room, George and Ron laughing in the backyard, Ginny screaming at her brothers; it had become a comfort to hear it. Now, however, silence.

He welcomed the warm gust of air as he closed the door behind him, shrugging off his coat and jacket, keeping his boots on the mat. He'd not expected a call from the Ministry that night. Two nights before Christmas, and they'd spotted Mulciber in a Muggle village, and he'd had to go in. They'd not anticipated anyone else, but when they Apparated there Mulciber had not been alone.

"Hey," he heard a voice and turned around, a smile on his face before he even saw who it was.

Ginny was sitting on the couch, a tub of ice-cream in her hand.

"What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "I had a very strong craving for blueberry ice-cream," Ginny said and Harry laughed.

This was not the first time he'd come back home to see her up. Harry'd never said it, but it was comforting, coming back home at three in the morning to see her licking off ice-cream right from the tub. He'd sit beside her and she'd open up a tub of chocolate and they'd eat it until it melted.

Harry sat beside her on the couch.

"How'd the mission go?"

"Rough," he replied, not bothering to lie. Ginny knew him well enough to catch his bluff.

"What happened?" she asked, and he could hear the distinct concern in her voice, the fear in her eyes.

"Nothing major. Avery was hoping for a tussle when we went in. There were a dozen of them, five of us. Took us by surprise."

He felt her still beside him and looked at her, smiling reassuringly.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No. Bruises, stuns, splinches, nothing that'll stay."

"And you?"

"I'm fine."

She sighed, and Harry leaned against her, too awake to feel sleepy, yet completely worn out. He felt Ginny move under him and then her thumb rubbing circles on the juncture between his thumb and his index. He smiled absently, closing his eyes in comfort.

"You know," Ginny said softly, "George and I, we scrounged up a T.V today, televelly something."

"Television." Harry smiled absently. She was offering a distraction, and Harry was glad she was. He needed one.

"That," Ginny chuckled. "We fixed it. Well, Hermione did and then we found this… this… some moony…. moovyon it."

"You mean, a movie?"

"Yes, that," Ginny said indignantly and Harry laughed and pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Anyway," she waved around her hands, "I found a movie on it, and it's the same as a book I read when I was young. Frankenstein."

"You've read that?"

Ginny nodded, and then got up, squeezing his hand as she did and then rummaged under the table for something. She walked behind the sofa, and hauled up a large cube like thing, covered by the black cloth. Harry watched her in confusion as she took out her wand and charmed a table mat into a socket, and then took off the black cloth.

"Wait, you really found a T.V?"

She looked at him, an eyebrow arched. "You thought I was joking?"

"No," he said, and Ginny smiled.

She rummaged around a few more minutes, conjuring up things, fixing wires into sockets and then sat down beside him, a remote in hand.

"Don't look so surprised, this is all Hermione," Ginny said and pointed to the screen "I thought this was a mirror."

Harry had to hold back a laugh before she peered at the remote and pressed a button and he whistled as the screen came to life. Ginny wiggled her eyebrows at him and then pressed a few more buttons, and as fast as the screen had lit up, a black and white series of images appeared on the screen.

"I know, I'm brilliant," Ginny said, smirking at him.

"Damn right.'

She turned her gaze to the screen and he followed her. Frankenstein. He knew the movie. He didn't like it. Harry had seen it last at the Dursleys, and he, quite frankly, hadn't been big on a movie which showed someone creating a monster and then dying at the hands of the said monster he created. It was terrifying for him.

He didn't say anything, seeing Ginny's face. She was excited and happy, and seeing her like this made it a little more bearable for him, but he was positively miffed when he saw the monster being created and right on the edge of covering his face when it killed its first victim.

It was all well and good until he saw the man talk to the creature, and that was when he knew he was done.

"Ginny," he said breathlessly, "hey, Gin?" and as Ginny turned to him, he didn't know if he should have laughed or jumped around the living room thrice.

He turned his face in embarrassment, as Ginny looked at him and promptly started laughing, her laughter echoing in the room before Harry pressed his palm on her mouth and her voice was muffled. She quieted down, but he could see her glinting in the dimming light of the fire.

"Merlin, sorry," Ginny chuckled, "I shouldn't laugh."

He tensed again as the monster in question roared.

"Gin, this movie, it's really scary, seriously," he said quickly, "but you're enjoying it so I'm trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?"

"It's a classic!" Ginny laughed. "Merlin, Harry, take a chance. What harm can it do?"

"Oh, I took a chance. Fifteen years ago. I don't see how people find this," he pointed at the screen, "this scary, murderous movie where everyone dies as a cinematic masterpiece."

Ginny was still laughing and Harry's ears were now a bright red, and he couldn't have been more embarrassed.

When Ginny finally switched the T.V off, he couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"How," Ginny said and he shook his head, knowing what was to come, "can a person like you, who fights Death-Eaters on a daily basis, be scared of a movie?"

Harry tapped his forehead in exasperation and Ginny laughed.

"God, you're adorable."

She leaned forward, kissing him and then moving away, but Harry held onto her waist, bringing her close to him. Perhaps now was the right time to do it, he thought. Maybe he should take out the ring now.

There were only them here, she was in his arms, he could just take out the ring and ask.

But what if it was too early? What if she said no?

Harry looked at her, and Ginny leaned forward, her hands around her neck as she kissed him and Harry wondered how long it'd take for him to gather the courage he so direly needed. In a way, this was more daunting than the monster Frankenstein had created.

But then he heard a noise, a clicking noise, and a smell of something burning, and they broke off, Harry still holding Ginny close to him, alert for any signs of danger, when they saw it.

The socket was smoking. Bloody smoking.

"Shit!" Ginny cursed, and scrambled up, Harry behind her, and before Ginny could touch anything, Harry wrenched out the socket.

"Oh, shit," Ginny repeated, seeing the blackened metal. "Oh, Merlin, no."

"There goes our Frankenstein," Harry mumbled. And my proposal.

Ginny glared at him.

…

Christmas was every bit as wonderful as he had imagined it. As he had imagined it every year. No, the right word wasn't wonderful. It was happy.

Harry, by now, was convinced that Christmas was meant for the Weasley family.

A strong gust of wind blew and he smiled as he heard Ron's voice and then a cracker burst and then Mrs. Weasley yelling.

"Hey." He heard Ginny behind him and turned.

"Hey back."

"A change of colours, I see?" Ginny asked, looking at his sweater. Consciously, he tugged at it, then looked at her.

"I think Mrs. Weasley ran out of red yarn." He smiled, brushing the golden yellow snitch on the hem of his sweater. It was blue this year, and Harry had been surprised when he'd opened the package, but it had essentially been one of the best gifts he'd got.

Ginny walked near him, slipping her hands in his. They were hands which knew how to hold on and yet simultaneously set you free.

He was going to do it.

"Gin," he started, the weight of the ring in his pocket reassuring. "I have to ask you something."

She nodded and Harry continued. "I… I love you. It's no secret. I… you are… I love you so much. It was and has always been… you." He waited, out of breath, but he wasn't going to stop.

"You love me like I'm the person who actually deserves your love."

"But you are the only one who does," Ginny said, and Harry, for a moment, couldn't help but wonder what he'd done to deserve her.

Momentarily, he looked down, taking out the box, but when he looked up again, his eyes widened. This time, Ginny was holding a box too, identical to his, and her eyes were shining.

"What… h-how?" he stammered and Ginny laughed.

"How do you think?" she said, "Didn't think I'd know you were trying to propose to me for the last nine days now, Harry, did you?"

"It was supposed to be a secret!"

Ginny laughed, and Harry laughed too, though he was a bit disgruntled by the fact that she'd known the whole time. Maybe he wasn't as smooth as he thought he was but it was a mystery to him how she had known.

"Where did you find the ring the first time you lost it, Harry?"

Harry gaped at her, and chuckled unbelievably. "How?" he said, then chuckled again. "With Teddy."

"Yes, well, he showed it to me before he gave it to you. Clearly, he knew the ring was meant for me."

This time, Harry laughed out loud, and her hand still in his, he brought her closer to him.

"And if that wasn't enough, my hair being soft essentially gave it away," she said with a smirk.

Harry kissed her on the forehead, and then on the lips. He frowned as Ginny drew away, but it turned into a smile, as he saw her opening the box.

The ring inside was identical to his, the only difference being the vines running along its length. He took out his ring from the box, holding it beside hers, flowers and vines side by side.

When he looked up, Ginny's eyes were shining with tears. He knew his were, too.

"So," she said, "will you marry me?"

Harry laughed, and then gently put the ring on her middle finger.

"Only if you marry me, too."

And Ginny laughed, and cried, and he thought he did too and in the end when her lips collided with his, he knew it had been worth it.

In the end, he was glad he'd waited nine days.

...

#fanfiction #hinny after the war #ron being supportive best mate and brother #hinny #hinny fanfiction #fluff #romance #humour #harry potter #ginny weasley #ron weasley #george weasley #bill weasley #christmas #nine days #written for the quidditch league fanfiction competition #hinny proposal #harry/ginny

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra Dimitrescu x Maiden ----Valiant pt.2

Part 1

You don’t think you could catch a wink of sleep if you tried.

Your mind is just too busy to shut down. Nerves buzz across your whole body. You feel like you’re suspended in time, trapped in a loop endlessly replaying the previous night’s events. Your mistake was getting involved in affairs that didn’t concern you. In this village, that can very well be one’s undoing. You know it. You knew it.

Yet you still intervened. 

Like a fool.

If you close your eyes, you can still see her. The brunette Dimitrescu. A living painting of a woman in a background of howls and pitch-black darkness, who spoke with a lilting voice and prettily pronounced vowels –and complete disregard over human life.

Earning her amusement was the only reason you and the shopkeeper got to see another sunrise, although you have a sneaking suspicion it will be his last. Nobody disrespects a Dimitrescu and gets away with it. It may as well be law in the village –and the sentence for breaking it is very clear.

The man doesn’t remember what he did. It may be for the better, bitter as it feels to you. Either way, you try not to stare at him too much –nor the bruise on his face in the shape of your knuckles— when you enter his shop and ask for the brunette daughter’s order. It’s under the initials C.D. No name has been given and no address. He hasn’t realized who she is. Perhaps being permanently intoxicated has to do with it.

The box you receive weighs heavy in your hands, for more than one reason. Seeing it springs forth in your senses the expensive scent of her perfume, the tickle of her hair against your nose when she leaned in. Her lips were soft as a wildflower’s petals and cold as snow.

The “Thanks, sweetheart.” she said plays on repeat in your head.  

Of course, such is your luck that you couldn’t pine over any normal girl. It’s human nature, you suppose, to desire what’s forbidden, but that’s not the only adjective that describes her;

She’s lethal.

A certain part of you was aware the moment you looked into her blueish amber eyes. Like a snake being stared down by a hawk or a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf, your place in the food chain wasn’t quite the same. Part of you was –is— attracted to her beauty. Part of you was petrified.

The stories your mother told you about her family don’t help in that department. Maidens who have been taken as maids into their castle never came back. Nobody who passed that threshold ever returned. There are rumors about dungeons filled with wailing. Warnings, to avoid bloodied steps should one come across them in the forest. To fear the mark the three daughters bear on their foreheads.

Hours pass. The sun begins its descent down the plane of the sky.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll see it rise again.

You tell your employer you aren’t feeling well and need to take the evening off. You’ve worked non-stop so many days he doesn’t get to voice anything other than a grumble of acknowledgement.

It’s… a daunting experience, being alone after sunset.

You aren’t used to it, which makes it all the more jarring when the distant howling begins. You’re sitting in your couch with the nicest button-up shirt you have on –might as well look good dying, you figure— waiting.

And waiting.

Night has completely settled in. The cold penetrates your skin. You busy yourself with lighting the fireplace, pretending not to hear the sounds from outside. The cracking of wood helps, if only for a little bit. It gets a tad warmer, though you’re still chilled to the bone.

Perhaps she won’t come. you’re beginning to think.

But then, a peculiar sound comes from the other side of your door. Like the buzzing of insects, followed by a rush of air. Followed… by a knock on the wooden surface.

Your lungs suddenly empty of oxygen. If it was possible for a heart to jump right out a person’s chest yours would be doing just that. You have to answer but you’ve lost your voice. Every instinct screams at you to stay as far away from the door as humanly possible.

“It’s me.” you hear her muffled huff.

You summon all the courage you possess to walk to the entrance –and turn the handle. The brunette Dimitrescu is standing there in all her black-clad glory, eyes gleaming in the dark like gemstones. The very edge of her lip curves up upon seeing you. You move aside to let her in and waste zero seconds in closing the door behind her.

Her hood is pushed off in one graceful motion, revealing her waterfall of rich brown hair. “It’s cold in here.” she states, then turns to you. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You are, but that’s the least of your worries. “Kind of.” you say as you hover there awkwardly.

Your breath leaves a hint of smoke behind. Hers does not. You’re moving towards the box before your nerves cause you to break down in front of her.

It’s one thing to have a pretty girl in your house for the first time.

It’s entirely another when said pretty girl can also very easily kill you.

“Eager to get rid of me, beautiful?” she asks. There is obvious teasing in her voice but also an undertone of… something else. Disappointment, maybe. Whatever it is it strikes straight at your heart.

“I—no.” you reply, quickly. “Can I offer you something to drink, uh…” you still don’t know her name.

“Cassandra.” she smirks. A name as beautiful as the rest of her.

“Can I offer you a drink, Cassandra?” The offer makes her smirk widen, almost to the point of a grin. It’s cute but you’re not sure you want to know why the question amuses her so greatly.

“Depends.” she retorts, taking off her gloves. “My choice of drink is very… singular.”

“Well, there’s wine. It’s… good.”

She eyes you for a moment. There is hunger in her gaze, something deep, as it lingers over your collarbones. Then she averts her head in favor of looking about the house. It can’t be anything like the castle she lives in, but it’s quaint, at least. Her heels click against the wooden floor. They come to a stop in front of the small table your sketchbook lies upon.

“You draw?” she questions, curious as a child.

Please, don’t look inside. you pray. The rough sketches of sheet-clad brunettes will surely give your tastes away and your heart can’t take that embarrassment on top of everything else right now.

“Landscapes and stuff. When I’m bored.” you lie to save your dignity.

“I’m a bit of an artist myself.” she grins proudly. “I paint.”

“…acrylics?” you ask.

Cassandra gives you that secretive smile again. The one that is both hot and scary at once. “You could say that, yeah.” If any of the rumors have basis in reality, you don’t want to think about what she could be painting with. Some things are best left unsaid.

“So. I got your order.” you say, taking the box in your hands.

Cassandra walks to you and takes the object between her pale fingers like it weighs nothing. You’re left staring. At her hand, then her eyes, looking into your own with that same curiosity from earlier. “I’m sure mother will like it.” Then, after a pause, “She’d like you, too.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

“You’d look good in the castle. But then I’d have to share you and I don’t think I’d like that.” Her fingers absently toy with the hem of your shirt while she speaks. It’s terribly distracting, to the point you almost miss what she says. It’s not fair that everything about Cassandra is just so damn attractive…

You like her, you realize. You already knew that you’re weak to her looks and her grace and the way she talks, so it’s not a startling revelation. But what is surprising is the mirror of what you’re thinking in her eyes. She likes you back.

She could just turn and leave, yet she doesn’t.

Instead, she lifts her hand to your chin. Traps it between thumb and pointer… and leans in. You think she’s going to kiss you goodbye on the cheek again, like the last time. Instead, her lips find the corner of your mouth and leave you breathless.

For a heartbeat, you don’t move.

Cassandra lingers, almost unsure but unwilling to let go.

A certain part of your brain is triggered and the sense of danger and reason keeping you back evaporates. You turn your head to kiss her fully, sucking on her lower lip, running your tongue over its softness until she opens her mouth to let you in. She tastes like strawberry lipbalm and wine and oh God you’ll die right there with that little moan she gives.

You end up holding her sides and she the back of your neck until you have to pull back or you’ll melt into an aroused puddle on the floor.

She looks as dazed as you feel. Her nails dig into your skin but your warmed body only draws pleasure from the slight sting.

Cassandra’s hooded eyes drop to your throat like a woman left thirsty in the desert far too long. “…does the offer for a drink still apply?” The breathy quality her voice has taken does things to you. You can only nod and trust she won’t kill you. She did ask, so your chances are probably decent.

Brown hair tickles your nose. She’s wonderfully close, the length of her cool body pressed against yours. You can feel the swell of her breasts and the firmness of her thigh almost as if there are no clothes between you. Your body is alight, heart pounding. You want her.

“Keep still for me, beautiful.” she says with a little growl to your ear and—

Pain comes.

Sharp. Biting.

You don’t expect it. A harsh gasp leaves your throat. You can feel twin needles embedded in your skin, breaking open your vein. The corners of your eyes prickle. Something thick and wet trails down your collarbone while she swallows mouthfuls, keeping you tighter in place. It’s agonizing, at first, but the area begins to numb, then fill with a pleasant tingle.

You can’t tell when Cassandra stops drinking from you, but you feel her tongue on your neck, following the red trail down before it ruins your shirt.

Your brain can’t comprehend what just happened, yet something about it is just so raw and erotic you know you won’t be able to sleep for days without the thought of her haunting you.

“You’re delicious, darling.” she breathes, eyes brighter than before, licking her lips like a lioness.

You want to reply, but you nearly wobble on your feet. “Ugh.”

“Take it easy and dress your wound.” she smiles, fingertips tracing the slope of your jaw. “I’ll come by again, sometime.”

Your hands tighten on her sides, but she only gives a little laugh –and steps away too easily. Her hood is pulled back on. A last molten look is sent over her shoulder.

Then, your mind halts for the hundredth time that night as you watch her figure disperse into a swarm of insects and black swirls. The door closes behind Cassandra.

Your hand slowly reaches up to your neck, where the imprint of her teeth in you –her mark left on you– yet throbs.

Ko-Fi

#Cassandra Dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #Cassandra Dimitrescu x OC #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady dimitrescu's daughters x oc #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #fanfiction #sexy vampires are sexy #I'm in love with the entire family send help

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

Castlevania Season 4: I’m not mad, just disappointed

Season 4 is poorly written fanfiction, which is...better than a lot of things could be, I guess.

Spoilers below the cut.

Content warning: trauma, sexual assault, psychological manipulation

The Gods Have Had a Change of Heart

Or, “Season 3 Blocked and Ignored”

Season 3 felt like the fabric of the universe had been twisted just to inflict additional pain. Season 4 overcompensates in the other direction; trauma evaporates, and good things happen for no other reason than to make our favorite characters happy.

The Season 3 finale left two characters in particular totally devastated: Alucard and Hector. Alucard is violently betrayed in a horrifying sexual assault by the first two people he’s spoken to since Trevor and Sypha left. He ends up killing them in self-defense and puts their bodies on stakes outside the castle, alluding to his father’s habit of doing so and potentially hinting at a turn toward evil. Hector is seduced by Lenore and then enslaved using a magic ring.

Yet at the start of Season 4, it’s as if these things never happened. Alucard is troubled, but not totally devastated, certainly not evil. Taka and Sumi are referenced in exactly one conversation with new character, Greta, in which she says the rather tactless throwaway line, “I had a boyfriend and girlfriend at the same time once. But they never tried to kill me.” Hector is nominally imprisoned, but immediately seems highly agentic, perhaps even more so than before. He studies, lays traps, and makes secret plans with other people. Furthermore, his relationship with Lenore is completely transformed. From falling to his knees in abject horror and despair at being enslaved, he suddenly switches to light banter, in what is apparently a basically okay, mutually enjoyed romantic/sexual relationship. Manipulative, selfish Lenore is now a sympathetic character struggling to reconcile her own role and feelings with Carmilla’s plans.

The events of season 3 happened, remaining canon in the most basic, literal sense. But the emotional weight attached to them has disappeared into thin air.

Not gonna lie, I did breathe a sigh of relief when I saw that Alucard and Hector were okay. I’m soft-hearted! I don’t like seeing characters I like suffer! I mean, conflict is important, and I can deal with (or even enjoy in a certain sense) seeing characters suffer if it makes sense and serves a narrative purpose. But as far as I can tell, the season 3 finale was nothing more than lurid, meaningless violence. I probably wouldn’t have continued watching the show if it devolved into nothing more than finding novel ways to torture the characters.

Still, it doesn’t feel quite right to pretend like nothing happened either. Or, really, not that nothing happened, but that those things didn’t matter, didn’t hurt, didn’t leave lasting scars. That’s...almost kind of worse.

But, I thought, I can sort of forgive this sudden shift in the stars, given that there may have been some sort of change in creative direction relating to Ellis’ decreased involvement with the show.* Plus, season 3 was insanity. It’s not like it was full of great writing choices, so if we quietly ignore some of them, maybe that’s for the best.

*I only later learned that Netflix actually chose to continue with Ellis’ season 4 scripts. It is not lost on me that maybe Ellis doesn’t know how to write about the lasting effects of traumatic sexual experiences or how power dynamics can make a sexual relationship problematic because he doesn’t understand that those things exist.

Characters Being Nobody and Nothing Happening

Pretty Pictures, Not Much Else

Unfortunately, the disconnect between seasons 3 and 4 isn’t the only problem with this season. Although I felt that season 4 was a bit less boring than season 3 (I particularly enjoyed some of the earlier episodes of season 4), it suffers from the same basic problems of Characters Being Nobody and Nothing Happening.

None of the characters experience any significant development, let alone any sort of coherent arc. Sypha has changed slightly, becoming more rough and jaded. I did really like the scene where she talks about becoming the kind of person who says “shit.” I think it really speaks to how entering into a relationship with someone means taking on aspects of their lifestyle, and how that can change you in ways that you can’t predict and therefore can’t exactly “agree” to. Sometimes those changes are good, sometimes they’re bad, sometimes they’re neutral, and sometimes it’s difficult to know. But you have to accept that you’re sacrificing some aspects of the person that you could have been if you chose to live completely independently, or with someone else.

Trevor really hasn’t changed since season 1 when he first decided to take up the mantle of hero again. Likewise with Alucard. Hector and Lenore change, as previously noted, but that change is sudden, jarring, and occurs completely off screen in between seasons 3 and 4. Carmilla dies as exactly as she lived: bitter, angry, and violent. Saint Germain just kind of...gets fucked over in a nonsensical subplot, which is its own whole can of worms.

We also get several new characters in season 4, none of whom have developed personalities or motives, nor do they develop any of those things over the course of the season: Greta, Zamfir, Varney, Ratko.

And nobody. Does. Anything.

Trevor and Sypha spend the entire season trying to explore and aid Targoviste, which comes to absolutely nothing. They’re unable to help anyone, Zamfir dies, and they end up just jumping through a magic portal to the actually relevant subplot in the finale. Carmilla literally does little more than draw maps until she’s ultimately killed. Hector plays a minor role in Saint Germain’s extraction of Dracula from Hell; otherwise, he and Lenore basically just exchange banter. Saint Germain does sort of do some stuff? But it’s often unclear how he’s made his connections, who the people who are helping him are, or what exactly he’s doing in terms of his magic beyond “whatever it takes to get back to his lover.”

Sure, there are fight scenes, but they feel meaningless. There’s no context, no stakes. There’s also a LOT of dialogue, and it is. Not well written. Exposition is embarrassingly clumsy at times, and the philosophical musings are cliche at best, muddled and confusing at worst. There’s just not all that much going on.

That is, except for Isaac. But more on him in a second.

What Kind of Show Is This?

When the plot line adapted from Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse ended with season 2, the show struggled to establish a new identity.

Despite nominally dealing with themes like whether humanity is inherently good or evil and how to cope with wrongdoing and loss, seasons 1 and 2 ultimately boiled down to a pretty generic action-adventure/fantasy plot with found family/power of friendship elements. Main characters Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard don’t really wrestle with big philosophical questions or suffer any major defeats. They know that they have to take down Dracula for the good of the world, and they work together as a team to do it, with a little character development relating to their various backstories sprinkled in.

Then season 3 happened, and things got weird. The trio is broken up for what feels like a pretty trivial reason—Alucard has to protect the castle and Belmont hold, I guess? And the result of that decision is that the dynamics for the three main characters are completely unbalanced.

Ellis openly admits that he basically went feral with the writing of season 3, and it shows. The messaging in seasons 1 and 2 was cliche, but consistent. The message of season 3? Anyone’s guess.

Season 4 reversed the darkening of tone from season 3, but shares its inability to pick a story and tell it.

Isaac is the Main Character

Always has been.

While I can’t say that his character or arc are perfect, I can say that he actually has a character and an arc. He starts off motivated by his fierce loyalty to Dracula, then has to struggle to find his purpose once Dracula is gone. He goes from subservient to agentic. He goes from fully endorsing the genocide of humanity and not caring about his own life to seeing some worth in humans and genuinely wanting to live. He has an interesting moment that deepens our understanding of what night creatures are, while also serving as an exploration of the meaning of one’s fundamental nature. Most importantly, these changes happen naturally over the course of the show. They never feel forced or out of the blue, and while I feel like even more could have been done with Isaac’s character, there’s a lot to appreciate about what is there.

If there’s any thread holding Castlevania as a single, coherent work together, it’s Isaac. Not only is his character the best executed and the most coherent over the course of the show, his character explores themes that are larger than himself and relevant to the show as a whole, like those mentioned earlier: misanthropy versus a belief in the value of humanity; the ability to go beyond one’s “nature” or initial circumstances; and how to respond to being wronged or losing something important to you. Exploring the individual lives of characters is great, but really good writing usually requires going beyond that to reflect on broader questions and ideas. Isaac is the only character here that serves that larger purpose.

Sorry...I Just Don’t Buy It

The season 4 finale is crazy, although in a different way from season 3′s.

Varney being Death makes no sense on several different levels. I’m not going to spend a lot of time picking that particular plot twist apart, but I will talk about why I think it doesn’t work at the largest scale, and how I think season 4 might have been done better.

Last minute twists with zero foreshadowing are rarely a good idea, and this is no exception. Why introduce this “Death” entity at the last minute to be the most important battle of the season? The finale of the entire show, even? Besides the lack of logic or emotional buildup, this robs the show of the opportunity to make use of the antagonists that it already has. Since Dracula died, Carmilla has been the obvious choice for a new big bad. Why hasn’t she done more?

Season 4 feels crowded with characters and plot lines that amount to nothing. Why not bring some of these characters together? If Carmilla is the main antagonist, how come she never meets any of the protagonists (except Hector, who is a pretty minor player in this ecosystem) or even affects them in any way?

Season 4 feels like maybe it was trying to make something out of season 3 and the model that it presented, but it ultimately fails to do so. The writers throw the trio back together at the end anyway, so why not have them rejoin sooner and work together? Maybe Sypha and Trevor’s past experience with Saint Germain could have helped Alucard and Greta piece together what he was plotting sooner, rather than all four of them being completely blindsided by it in the penultimate episode. (Sypha and Trevor know that someone is trying to resurrect Dracula, but they fail to find out any actual detail about the plans, despite their supposed attempts.) Have characters actually do stuff, figure stuff out, advance the plot!

Likewise, maybe Carmilla becomes aware of Saint Germain’s scheming, sees it as a threat, and tries to take him down. Maybe she tries to get involved and somehow use alchemy or the Infinite Corridor to her own benefit. What does it look like when power-hungry Carmilla, who wants to rule the world, finds out there’s an entire multiverse out there? That could easily set her up to be a foil to Saint Germain, causing him to realize that what he’s doing is wrong.

What actually ended up happening in the show feels disjointed and often empty. In particular, most of the events that happen in the last two episodes just don’t really work for me. I didn’t like Trevor suddenly sacrificing himself to this random, new, super powerful enemy, or how the gems and dagger that he found just happened to be the perfect weapon to kill this new enemy, or how he inexplicably returns from the dead.

This kind of thing is what I mean when I say that this season feels like fanfiction. Trevor comes back from the dead for no discernible reason other than that it would really suck if he died. Greta as a character seems to literally only exist to be Alucard’s girlfriend and support him so that he doesn’t have to continue to be alone and potentially turn evil. Alucard’s trauma from Taka and Sumi and Hector’s trauma from Lenore are both conveniently erased. Even Dracula and Lisa are resurrected somehow and get their happy ending. And it’s like, I guess I prefer deus ex machina to the opposite (Does that have a name? When everything is going well but then something terrible happens for no reason other than to make things worse for the characters?), but they’re both bad writing.

God. This isn’t even getting into what happened with the Council of Sisters. And I don’t even really like those characters, but that doesn’t mean I want to see their characters handled poorly.

I’m not sorry that I watched until the end, but I can’t in good faith recommend the show as a whole. If you’ve yet to watch Castlevania, just stop at the end of season 2. While there are some shining moments in seasons 3 and 4 (4 more than 3), it’s just really not worth it.

#review #thoughts #television #animation #adult animation #video game adaptation #fantasy #Netflix #Netflix Original #Castlevania #storytelling #writing #characters #plot #character development #vampires #Isaac (Castlevania)

[harrenhalyuri]

for us, the wounds kissed long before the lips

23rd of Sun's Dawn, 1E 461, Alessian Empire.

During the coronation of Emperor Gorieus, the Hortator and the head of House Dagoth steal a moment for themselves.

tags: drinking & talking; angst; one-sided relationship; attempt at worldbuilding

ao3 version here

They stumbled forward laughing and shushing one another as the heavy oak doors closed behind them - the warmth and merry of the coronation feast left behind as the two stepped out into the garden.

Nerevar recalled walking the streets of Nirnbuldihr - the cyan glow of the giant mushrooms reflecting on the windows of several shops. One in particular caught his eye, and he crossed the cobblestone sidewalk to inspect it more closely. Blown glass sculptures, colorful and intricate in the way the dwemer favored.

His favorite had been a piece hidden in the back of the window, as if outshined by more complex, elaborate pieces upfront. It had been a white glass diorama, depicting a cottage surrounded by trees swaying in the breeze - the sort of simplicity the dwemer had no interest in.

The garden reminded him of that diorama - covered in a blanket of snow, completely undisturbed by the world around it.

Voryn pulled him under the arches that covered the path to the guest wing, but the Hortator held him back.

“No, let us stay for a bit.” He answered, arm still draped around the back of his friend’s neck as he stepped on the soft snow. Voryn sighed, yet allowed Nerevar to lead him.

“Frolicking amidst the cold? Do you plan on inviting the Nords to join us?” The head of House Dagoth said snidely as he crossed his arms to warm himself.

Nerevar laughed and shoved him away.

“The snow never belonged to those s’wits, you’re simply thin-blooded from living under the shadow of a volcano.”

“Perhaps, and rightly so.”

The snow softly crunched under their boots as they wandered near a tree - now completely stripped of leaves, its gnarled branches seemed to reach towards the sky.

“It always snows in Akamora.” Nerevar inhaled deeply, enjoying how his lungs burned as he took in the crisp, cool air. “In the mountains, at least. The paths are sharp and winding, and it freezes over during winter. No caravans may come or go, not until Sun’s Dawn.”  

The Hortator grabbed a handful of snow, the ice leeching the warmth of his skin through the kagouti leather gloves. Absent-mindedly he shaped it until a white sphere rested on his palm. Secunda and Masser bore down on them - the moon glow glinting on the high windows of Skingrad’s castle.

Nerevar recalled the moon glow glinting on the tip of ice spikes, sharp enough to be spears, at the highest peak of Akamora.

Azura had come to him then, for the first time, to bestow Moon-and-Star upon the captain - his fingers had been so stiff from the cold that he could barely feel them anymore, the goddess’s touch as foreign as the ring she had slipped on his finger.

When he came down from the mountain, the first ashlanders had hailed him Hortator, and it had felt just as foreign as the ring on his finger.  

“It must be rather grim.” Voryn commented, the cyrodilic brandy swirling inside the bottle as he brought it to his lips. The distaste in his face was plain to see - it couldn’t hold a candle to the Dagoth brandy.  

Nerevar smiled, his short-lived melancholia forgotten.

“How can you say that? Short-tempered caravan masters, cheap mazte and all the comforts of a straw bed...” The captain delighted at Voryn’s growing distaste as he spoke. The head of House Dagoth was a creature of comfort and status, something that had made the duo different as the sun and the moon.    

"Lovely, I'm sure." Voryn replied with a sour expression. Nerevar laughed.

"For a researcher, you spent far too much time cocooned up in Kogoruhn." The Hortator recalled several jars containing fungi species and creatures preserved in a strong alcoholic solution, one more outlandish than the other. In his curiosity, the captain had pestered Voryn with questions until he nearly dropped one of the jars. The head of House Dagoth had snapped at him to stop before he accidentally unleashed a deadly plague and got them both killed.

That had been many years ago, before the war, when Nerevar was still seeking support from the great houses. The somber, willowy lord that had greeted him in Kogoruhn had been the first to join him - his support had been won easily, but his friendship had not.  

"And due to that, couriers are eternally indebted to House Dagoth. Why would I waste my precious time wandering through mud in a thrice-damned swamp?” The councilor huffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Nerevar laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“And what if your Hortator commanded you to?”

The previous distaste vanished in a second as the sharp, haughty aristocratic features softened; the ruby-colored gaze meeting his, warm as the liquor sloshing inside the bottle.

“I’d wander until time itself ceased to be if Muthsera willed so.” Despite the devotion, the lord councilor had steel in his voice; unwavering as the very core of Nirn.

Nerevar let the snow sphere fall to the ground, the reverence in those words overwhelming as he broke his gaze away, before joining the councilor on the stone bench. The orange glow of a candle reflected on the windows above; a small flickering flame moving as a servant crossed the corridor. The former captain followed it until the speckle of light vanished behind stone walls.

“I miss it.” He blurted out, seized by a deep longing as the world seemed to be reduced into that snow-covered, unperturbed garden; as if its two occupants were the only souls in Nirn.

“By the Three, how I miss it! To Oblivion with those titles and thrones and crowns; I miss the road, I miss the ache after a long day’s march and falling on the straw at night too tired to think.” Nerevar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. Azura had blessed him with the strength to carry the title of Hortator, yet he craved the simplicity of being nothing more than a captain, with no past nor future beyond the next town.

The Hortator missed walking through the crowded streets of the bazaars; the cramped food stalls with ill-tempered merchants that served meals with enough spices to burn his tongue; the shady cornerclubs where you had to watch both your tongue and your coin purse.  

Now he signed papers, spoke with lords, and followed the proper etiquette befitting his rank; he watched the streets through the high windows of his palace, as if his brethren were tiny ants. The former captain pulled his hands away and felt a tear roll down the bridge of his nose; the liquor was truly getting to his head. He placed a hand on his councilor’s knee; the several layers of red wool soft under his glove.

“Let’s leave - just the two of us and the road ahead, like it was before the war. We’ll name ourselves whatever we wish, we’ll sleep under the stars and chew on marshmerrow pieces as we travel.”

“Where shall we go, sweet Nerevar?” The young lord played along; his voice soft as a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness around them.

“Wherever you desire - do you still wonder about Hammerfell? I’ll take you to see the dunes that stretch as far as the sun, you’ll study their beetles and giant scorpions for as long as you wish, then we can drink qishr and break bread with the nomads.” Nerevar found himself smiling as he recalled the heat of the desert and the loose, colorful fabrics the natives wore.

He turned around and reached for the bottle, fingers brushing against his confidant’s. Only then, Nerevar realized his councilor had forgotten his gloves inside the hall; the golden skin contrasting against the snow, the long, elegant fingers trembling with the cold.

“Oh, Voryn.” The former captain frowned, quickly pulling his own gloves off and taking hold of the other’s wrist; the scarlet nails vanishing into the supple leather as he adjusted the glove.

“Remember when you fell sick, five days after we departed Kogoruhn? We had to-” The sentence fell on deaf ears, vanishing under the branches heavy with snow as lips met his, swallowing his words with hunger. A hand connected with his chest, closing into a fist as Voryn pulled him closer; as if it weren’t enough.

Distant and haughty Voryn, who ate sparingly and never smudged the red paint he wore on his lips, bit the Hortator’s lower lip before pulling back; eyes half-lidded as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nerevar’s in a silent plea.

The ink-colored hair contrasted against the pale golden skin; the black fur collar brushing against the captain’s chin; a pale pink blooming on his cheeks, either from cold, the brandy, or something else-

Heart hammering against his ribcage, blood drumming on his ears; it was the slightest tilt of his face that thrice-damned him as Voryn’s lips smashed against his; a devotion he was unworthy of every time their tongues met; muffled prayers in form of sighs and whimpers.  

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy. A voice whispered in his mind, taunting him; in his mind’s eye he saw peach-colored lips curled in derision, teeth bared like a wolf’s. Almalexia’s snarl.

Somewhere, a door groaned open and the sounds of the feast reached the garden, shattering their sanctuary; the weight of being Hortator came crashing down on his shoulders. Nerevar pulled back as if he had been burned, his palm on the young lord’s shoulder firmly holding the other back. He looked down, unable to face the confusion, the longing. Too much, it was too much. His hair was disheveled, pale strands falling against his face and he felt grateful for the cover.

“Nerevar-” The head of House Dagoth began, voice hoarse and breathless.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’ve wanted-”

“It was a mistake.”

“Oh.” Voryn inhaled sharply as if his lungs had suddenly been emptied.

“I’ve...I drank more than I should have. We both have.” His words feel hollow, and he can no longer tell if the bitter taste on his tongue belonged to the brandy, or the shame. The silence stretched; neither dared to move.

“I see.” His voice is flat, devoid of emotion; the usual aloofness reserved for others. Out of the corner of his eye, Nerevar watched him straighten his posture; the dark hair falling like a curtain, obscuring half of his face.  

Other guests left the feast; their chatter and laughter permeated the garden as they walked down the path to the other wing of the castle. Nerevar felt the red gaze pinned to his back, yet no words left his lips. He watched the snow under his boots; watery and muddy as it mixed with the dirt below.

At last, he heard the rustling of fabric as Voryn rose to his feet; impeccable posture as he towered over the Hortator.

“May this servant be excused, Muthsera?” The words rolled easily off his tongue; the sharp formality of it made Nerevar wince.

The Hortator forced himself to lift his head and face his long-time friend; clad in red wool and black fur, the snowflakes melting on the long, inky hair; the blank expression betraying nothing, except for his lips; the red paint had been smudged, contorting their shape.

“Yes.”

From the cradle, the heir of House Dagoth had been taught the games of persuasion and deceit; a master in concealing his thoughts behind a mask.

Nerevar took a hollow, cowardly comfort in it.

Voryn Dagoth bowed before him, as etiquette mandated, before vanishing into the corridor; the sound of his footsteps hammering inside the Hortator’s head until they vanished, leaving him with nothing but a headache and the cold.

After finishing the bottle by himself, the former captain laid in bed, watching the moons slowly crossing the sky through the windows; his dreams haunted by both his closest friend and his wife; one seeming to shift into the other as they pinned him against the sheets; ever-hungry as they sought out his lips.

It was late morning when he rose; mouth dry and head throbbing like it had been split open with an axe. The hearth had been tended to recently, the fire crackling as it consumed the logs. He turned in bed, still wrapped around the sheets.

Voryn will understand, he understands the importance of duty better than anyone. He reasoned with himself.

A single kagouti glove on the floor, as if someone had pushed it under the door.

Across the hallway, a lord painted his lips red; immaculately framing the natural shape of his lips. His unbalanced emotions shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces when his fingers trembled for a second and a smudge appeared.

Duty, he’s devoted to duty, the lord repeated mentally, as he collected the shards.

#voryn dagoth #indoril nerevar #nerevoryn #one writing tag to rule them all

[kerie-prince]

scent of theirs

Draco Malfoy x Non-Binary!reader (fluff)

requested: (anon) Hello! Could I request Draco x Non-binary Y/n they were childhood friends but Draco stopped talking to them because they were sorted into Hufflepuff and then in their 6th year Slughorn makes the Amortentia and they smell each other and Draco is scared because he doesn’t think y/n would want him?

summary: Your lifelong best friend didn't take your sorting too well in your first year of Hogwarts. It saddened you, but you learned to move on. Only thing is, you actually haven't. And neither did he.

a/n: i hope this turned out well! i did lot's of research on what it means to identify as non-binary so if it's wrong, let me know so i can re-write it!

(gif not mine; creds to owner)

You’ve been through many things growing up; at age 5, your father passed away due to a blood curse. At age 9, you broke your right arm from a fight with a boy twice your size and surprisingly won. And at age 11, a few months before your first day at Hogwarts, you realized that you didn't identify with the societal norm of just one gender. During all these events, there's been one person by your side: Draco Malfoy.

Draco’s been your best friend since birth. Your families are some of the oldest pureblood wizards and companionship had joined the families for generations. At one point, you actually believed that the Malfoy’s were your own blood relatives, but unfortunately they’re not. Didn’t matter, you still called his parents ‘Auntie and Uncle’.

Your best friend was running down to your house, Dobby straight on his tail yelling, “Young Master, wait for me!” The young boy ran up to the door and knocked with high energy, not stopping until someone opened the door. “Hello Master Draco-” your housemaid was cut short as he ran past her and ran straight to your room. Looking inside, you weren't there. His next best guess was in the greenhouse. He ran in and saw you watering the mandrakes. “Y/N! I got my letter!” Draco waved the parchment around excitedly. “Where’s yours?”

You had a disappointed look on your face. He mirrored the same look until you started laughing. You pulled out your letter from the pocket of your jeans with a smile. ‘Don’t joke like that again,” Draco scolded. Later that week, his parents took you two to Diagon Alley shopping for supplies. The entire time, Draco talked about how excited he was for the both of you to start your educations and most importantly, be sorted into Slytherin together.

When the hat placed on your head announced ‘Hufflepuff’, he felt strange. But in his mind, the one who was strange was you. From then on, he stopped talking to you while you were at school. During breaks, he’d put on his best act in front of your families but behind closed doors, he reminded you of how he thought of your house; weak and pathetic.

Now, in sixth year, you two had completely cut ties. Your families still enjoyed each other's companies, though. You walked the hallways with your best friends Justin, Ernie and Hannah. “How do you suppose this new professor is?” Ernie asked. From what you saw at the first feast of the year, Slughorn looked somewhat quirky. Of course, no one could beat Trelawney. “Hopefully, he’s nice,” you said.

An arm bumped against yours in the hallways. Even though they bumped into you, you were the one to say ‘sorry’. A familiar voice, now deeper, scoffed at you. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Draco looked at you with hateful eyes. He kept walking with his crew of followers.

It hurt you that the person you grew up with became a stranger through the years. And what hurt the most was that even though he stopped being your friend, your love for him never ceased. He never bullied you nor misgendered you. It was a small indication that he still cared for you.

As you and your friends took your seats, you waited for Professor Slughorn to start his lesson. Everyone stared as Harry and Ron came into class late and you stifled a laugh when they were seen fighting for a book. “Now, class, can anyone tell me these concoctions I have on this table?” Half of the class had their hands raised. “Ah, Miss/Mr. Y/L/N-”

“It’s just Y/L/N,” you and Draco stated at the same time. You looked into his light blue eyes. He didn’t meet yours. Slughorn looked at the papers in his hand that had the list of students and surely enough was a mark next to your name to just call you by your last name per your request. “Yes, terribly sorry. Can you tell me what this potion is called?”

The pink mist in the air was recognizable. “That would be Amortentia.”

“Very good. Would you explain to the classroom what it does?” Slughorn asked.

You stepped closer to the table, “This is one of the most powerful potions to date. Specifically, it’s a love potion. It takes the scent of the person you desire. When given to a person, they fall in love with the first person they see.”

“That is correct, thank you Y/L/N.” You went back to your friends as he dismissed you, “Today, we will be making Amortentia and you will record what, or in better words who you smell. Once I’ve seen that you’ve properly brewed the potion, you will start a paper on the dangers of using this potion incorrectly which will be turned in at the end of this week in my office. You may begin now.”

At your table, your friends decided to turn it into a group effort; one will gather all the ingredients and one will read the instructions out loud as you all worked with your own cauldrons. You volunteered to gather the ingredients. In the back of the class, you reached for a glass jar. A pale hand also reached for the same jar and brushed his hands with yours.

Draco looked at you with the signature scowl, “Get your own, Y/L/N.” He grabbed the one you had your eyes on and turned away.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Draco stopped in his tracks at your words. “For what?” he asked as he looked over his shoulder. “For… that. Earlier in class,” you reminded him.

He looked forward, straightened his back and replied, “It’s nothing.” When he left, you felt something within you. Sadness, yes. But a little flutter in your chest. You were able to find another jar and headed back to your table with your housemates. It was quite surprising how easy it was to make Amortentia. “You’d think that for something that’s so powerful, it would be difficult to make,” Hannah pondered once she finished her potion.

“Alright, what do you guys smell?” Justin asked.

“I smell,” Hannah started, “gardening pots, flowers, and shampoo.” Justin, Ernie and you all looked at each other and smirked as you looked at Neville across the room. “Wonder who that could be,” Ernie teased. “Shut it. Who’s next?” Justin nor Ernie wanted to go. Ernie insisted that he didn’t smell anything from his. “Maybe I made it wrong,” he used as an excuse. “No, because we all made it the same way so it should be right,” Hannah pressed on.

“Fine, I’ll go,” you declared. You nervously took in the scent from your cauldron, not knowing who you would smell. Or maybe you did but didn't want to admit it to yourself. “I smell men's cologne, apples, and fresh toothpaste.” You knew instantly who it was. Without knowing, Draco had heard you from his table. His eyes bore into yours and you couldn't tell what he was thinking.

From behind you, Slughorn surprised you as he looked into your cauldron. “These are brewed beautifully, good work. You may be excused or if you’d like, you can start your papers in class.” With that, you grabbed your things and walked out the class ignoring the questions from your friends.

You made a straight line into Myrtle’s bathroom knowing no one comes in here. Her cries were drowned out as you stood over the sink. You potentially confessed out loud about your feelings for Draco for everyone. All you could do was hope that no one picked up on it. But the look on his face was confirmation enough that he knew.

The bathroom door was heard opening and you panicked. You could've sworn no one comes here. Here you thought you could just bask in embarrassment alone.

A silhouette came closer to you in the poorly lit bathroom until it became clear who it was. “Draco, what are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” He asked gently. “Why? So you can make fun of me? Just get it over with and go back to your friends so you can laugh at me all you'd like.”

“Will you just shut up and listen to me?” Draco didn't try to hide his annoyance. “In class, who did you smell in the potion?”

“What, now you want me to say it? Was me saying out loud for the whole class to hear not enough for you?” You kept jabbing at him as you tried to hold your tears. “I’m not really in the mood for this, Draco. I’d like to be left alone.” He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. You didn't understand why he was annoyed. You half expected him to have laughed at you even though he’s never actually done that in the past few years.

Draco cleared his throat and walked closer to you. “Do you want to know what I smelled?” His gaze was soft and voice low. You stood frozen before him before you scoffed with your arms crossed, “You gonna describe Parkinson to me?”

“I smelled roses, cinnamon, and chocolate,” Draco’s gaze never faltered from you. Without noticing, he stood inches from you. The words clicked in your head when you heard he named three of your favorite things.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” You uttered. He took one of your hands in his and rubbed it gently. “Before I heard you, that’s what I smelled. You were who I smelled in that Amortentia. Not Pansy, not anyone else. And when I did, I never thought that you would feel the same. I thought that after the way I’ve treated you, you had forgotten all about me. I’m sorry for acting the way I did when you got sorted into Hufflepuff.” His confession shocked you to say the least.

A tear fell down on your cheek. What do I say to this? you thought to yourself. Before thinking, your mouth spoke for you, “I forgive you.” Deep down, you meant it. Your reply made Draco smile before he pulled you in for a hug. “And one more thing,” he said. He pulled away just enough to look at you without letting go, “Would you be my… my partner?”

Your heart skipped a beat from his proposal. Everything was happening quickly and your mind was going on overdrive as your stomach had been filled with butterflies. Just an hour ago, you two were strangers who didn't look eye-to-eye anymore. But now, Draco was asking you to be his partner. Inside, you knew the answer. It was clear.

“Yes,” you accepted. Not even seconds later, he kissed you with passion. His lips were just as soft as you imagined. And he thought the same of yours. Years of being estranged to each other all ended that day as your newfound partner walked outside into the hallways with you beside him.

His partner. It has a nice ring to it.

—

requests are open!

#draco malfoy #requested #requests open #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x non-binary!reader #draco fluff #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco x reader

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 1

And, here we go. Chapter 1 of this monstrosity (no pun intended) is now up and running below, on AO3, and on FF.net.

I'm going to be completely and 100% honest with everyone before you start reading, so please heed this warning! This first chapter is rough in the sense where it contains a bit of brutality and the death of a child. So far, this is the only gruesome chapter, and while the gore is NOT detailed, I still want my more sensitive readers to be wary.

This is the most action-packed fic I've ever written, and also the most expansive world I've ever built (in my humble opinion). With that being said, while the setting is a bit more on the historical side, there are plenty of modern references. For instance, not in this chapter but in future ones, a bathroom is just a bathroom. I don't mention plumbing or the lack thereof. My attention and energy was on more important things and I just didn't care about those details, lol. Additionally, a lot of slang, jokes, and references are fairly modern. Don't @ me (but also do). All-in-all, what I'm trying to say is I built my own damn world where there is no historical accuracy, so don't go looking for it, lol.

Unless otherwise stated, I plan to post each new chapter every Friday. So, yeah... I think that's all I've got to say.... have fun! Enjoy! Thank you for reading! Ily! Bon Voyage! Don't hate me!

----------

The responsibility is ours.

Kagome gasped as her feet slid in the mud, the small decline of the path she and her younger brother hurried down gradually becoming more slippery as the rain began to pour harder. Through the noise of the droplets and the sloshing of their boots, she heard a slight commotion; horses’ huffs, heavy feet, and boisterous men barking orders. Initially, she’d figured it was the village men ushering their families indoors, their livestock into barns, their carts and tools under shelter, and their firewood into a dry place as the storm reared its ugly head. The sunset sky was shadowed in gloom, thunder making it’s entrance in the far distance as it was bound to be banging on their doors and windows in no time. But, at the tug of her arm by her sibling, her attention was shifted to the actual cause of it all: Naraku’s henchmen.

“Again?” She shuddered resentfully.

“Third time this month.” Sota confirmed, clenching his jaw as he slightly tugged his sister behind his smaller frame. He was perfectly aware that he was only twelve, well in the know that he stood no taller than her shoulders, but he’d be damned if he did nothing because of it.

This time, there wasn’t a hoard of them. No, there were merely four, all of which were already off of their horses on the main path through their little village, making demands and threatening anyone who got in the way of their objective.

Throughout the last four and a half years since Naraku rose as a fearsome demon that easily brought down peaceful powers and attempted to control the world Kagome knew, she’d become more than familiar with this procedure. It wasn’t until just recently that they’d started coming more often than a monthly visit, though. And, it was no secret what, or who, they were after.

Her.

Anyone of her kind, really.

She was different. She was hunted. Those like her were supposedly powerful, but matters being what they were had caused anyone who shared a similar fate to subdue their abilities to the point of total lack of recognition of their true potential. At least, that’s how it was in most cases. Because, if they were found out, they were killed on sight. The reason for it was entirely unknown. Naraku didn’t just target them, though; he made everyone’s lives hell, especially if they stood out in a supernatural manner. So, while she figured there had to be a yet-to-be-identified reason, she felt it was safe to assume it was also just because he could. Maybe he didn’t like the threat of other, similar forces that could collide against him. Maybe he was egotistical enough to think he was the only deserving being. Whatever the case, he was cruel.

Kagome’s kind had several names through the decades - so many, she hardly knew the correct term for herself. At one point, ages ago, they were called banshees. The title didn’t make sense whatsoever, given their powers and what a banshee actually was, and the story was so old that she didn’t know where the justification even stemmed from, but it caused them to be feared, and for that, she honestly wouldn’t have totally minded if the name stuck around. They were called priestesses, but then it sounded too peaceful, too practiced, and it painted them as “good.” They were called witches, mages, sorceresses, but they committed no typical magic of that sort. Kagome didn’t know a single spell, nor did she have nearly enough time in the day to pack an array of herbs, spices, and what have you into jars that were sealed with candle wax - though she had caught wind that there were some older women of her kind with the ability to curse. Now, they were called conjurers. Their abilities were that of the spirit, aiding with protection, purifying dark forces - passively or forcefully, bringing forth light, and more she was sure.

In Kagome’s unpopular opinion, given what they could do and what they supposedly stood for, priestess was more suitable a term, but she also understood that there was nothing holy about the world they lived in.

There was no birthmark of the conjurer. There was no dead giveaway of their kind. The powers were gifted at random, as far as she knew, not passed down through lineage. The only thing Naraku and his followers seemingly had to go off of was that conjurers were born female.

Sometimes, they’d conduct their mission by way of senseless inspections. They’d rip apart the insides of homes looking for all the wrong things in all the wrong places. Truthfully, with how absurd they carried themselves, it was obvious they didn’t know the telltale signs they were looking for and were wasting their time. Which was what made it clear that for them to be so clueless, even Naraku didn’t know all there was that made up a conjurer. They were ignorant and they were blind, but they were also relentless and ruthless.

The days where they singled women out were the worst. Kagome, so far, was spared that cruelty, but that didn’t make it any better. It was usually the more mature, the elderly, that received the short end of the stick.

More often than anything, they’d line up every woman and girl in town and go down the rows one-by-one, stimulating their nerves in one way or another to see if they could get a “conjurer’s reaction.” Kagome could only guess that meant a sudden surge of purification power. It was the main trait conjurers were known for; but they were going about it wrong. Screaming in their faces, threatening everyone, or jostling them around a bit wasn’t going to get the demons purified, no matter how much she wanted to toss something their way. Of course, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that.

Every so often, they’d come in a pack and create havoc with violence. They said it was their way to pressure people into giving up any information they might have, but in all honesty, the smiles some of the brute demons wore said they were bored and simply wanted a little entertainment. Apparently, screaming and pleading were equivalent to a musical number in their bloodlust eyes.

Their own little group of demon slayers that resided in the village helped prevent this from happening when they could, which was why the henchmen came in numbers. The demon slayers fought for a sense of control, not to kill. They would only allow so much, but belligerent violence was not an option. It was obvious that, as of late, their village was a targeted spot, one that got a little more attention than neighboring towns, and for what reason, no one knew. They didn’t have the fighting power to win that sort of fight, though, and the leader of the group of slayers was sensible enough to understand this and explain it to the masses that questioned them. They were made up of a handful of men with rigorous combat skills they didn’t learn from home, refused to take recruits below a certain age, and could only train so many at a time. As much as they’d all love to retaliate and end things for good, intuition was telling them not to in that manner. Even Kagome felt that. Deep in her gut, she knew that even if they could, killing them would only put the people of the village in a worse position. This wasn’t something that would stop by taking out the underlings. Not at all. Far from it. Anyone who was paying attention could see that they’d need to exterminate the head honcho in order for any positive difference to be made.

Unfortunately for them this time around, their little pack of demon slayers had left on a request to take care of a troublesome demon a little ways off just that morning. And, listening to the henchmen now, seeing them in their dark leather, their cloaks, feeling their dangerous energies wafting through the streets of their little town, Kagome could tell that they were going to do whatever they wanted tonight, despite the fact that it was just the four of them. It wouldn’t be horrible, and would most likely be a lineup, but they were definitely going to take their sweet time and see who they could break.

“There’s still time. They haven’t noticed you. We can hide you.” Her younger brother said, his tone more on the convicted side as opposed to suggestive. He should have known she wouldn’t have gone for it, though. So long as every other woman and girl had to stand in front of their villainous promises and vile breath, so long as her mother had to keep a straight face, Kagome would always stand there with them. She’d made a promise to her brother, her older cousin, and especially her mom that she’d never willingly out herself for no reason, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hide when everyone else had to stand through their harassment. She swore that if the demons were ever convinced an innocent was a conjurer, that was the reason to give herself over.

Never would Kagome allow another to mistakenly go down in her stead.

No one but her family knew of her powers, and until necessary, it would stay that way. According to her cousin, the more people that knew, the increased danger she was in.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She shook her head, minding her steps through the small slope of mud as she gently pulled her arm out of Sota’s grip.

“Miroku would say the same thing if he were with us.” He argued.

“Yeah, well he’s not. In fact, he’s probably getting himself into trouble by picking a fight with one of those goons.”

“Kagome, I have a bad feeling about this. Come on, just listen for once.”

“Okay,” She stopped, turning around to challenge his look. “Say something bad is going to happen. Knowing these assholes, you really think my absence will stop that?”

“No, but -“

“Right. They’re going to do something no matter what, correct?”

“Kagome -“

“And then what?”

“And then they’re wrong, but they didn’t get you.”

“How is that fair to the person they might hurt?”

“That person isn’t my sister.”

“What if it’s mom?”

Sota’s eyes slighted to the side, a heated huff leaving his lips just before he begrudgingly sealed them. His jaw clenched minutely as his head gave a little shake, brown eyes once more meeting his sibling’s. “Miroku and I will protect her.”

Kagome gave a fed up smile, sighing, rolling her eyes, and turning back on her heel to continue toward the main path. Families came out of their homes dressed in cloaks as they prepared to, once more, be harassed until Naraku’s men exhausted themselves, husbands and male relatives holding resentful expressions as they guarded their female family members until they couldn’t any longer.

“Kagome!”

“Sota, quit it. The louder you are, the more suspicious we become.” She quietly warned. Kagome heard her brother’s aggravated grumble before he jogged forward to catch up, his demeanor holding much like every other male in the village.

No one’s feet rushed toward the excitement. The tension of the town was up so dramatically that Kagome could physically feel the crushing weight of it all, the anxiety as they made their way closer to their disgusting visitors was causing her stomach to bubble and waver, and her throat constricted nervously as she and Sota finally met up with the crowd, her brown eyes scouring over shoulders to scout out her family. Sota’s hand encircled her wrist firmly, tugging her to the right as he found them and guided her over. Miroku stood tall in front of their mother, brows noticeably creased and indigo eyes straight ahead until he’d caught their movement in his peripheral vision. Immediately, his posture squared further, as if enlarging his shoulders so that he’d be able to successfully hide both Kagome and his aunt behind his frame. Her mother held out her hand for Kagome to take as soon as they were close enough, a peaceful smile unsurprisingly gracing her lips while she pulled her in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, she always did her best to calm Kagome’s nerves with the simplest of sweet gestures. Sota took his spot before them, influenced by Miroku’s stature as he replicated it.

Allowing herself a brief moment, Kagome bowed her head further, bracing it on her older cousin’s shoulder. She shut her eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply, attempting to release her trepidation with a long and heated exhale before composing herself and straightening out.

“- But this is too much! Why the hell are you back again!? There’s no conjurer in our village! Don’t you fucking get that by now!?” A man shouted, livid, and it was evident she and her brother had missed the beginning of the argument playing out in the center of the uneven circle created by people.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” One of Naraku’s men yelled back.

“Not until you tell us why you’re back for the third time!”

“Would you rather we made ourselves at home!?” Silence from the opposing man answered his question clearly. “That’s what I fucking thought.” He spewed, and Kagome could hear the spittle fly out as he cursed. His attention returned to the general public, his tone shifting from vicious to gruff as he made his command. “Only girls ranging from ages five to twenty, line up! Now!”

Increased unsettlement coursed through the crowd, mothers and fathers clinging to their young daughters, little girls’ fearful whimpers polluting the air as they hid their faces in their parents’ legs, and even Kagome’s own mother’s hand tightened her grip as a breathy gasp left her lips - understanding that this meant her eighteen year old daughter was being sent into the fire without her. They were narrowing down, slimming the numbers, and the small smiles on the villains’ faces made Kagome assume that something last time may have tipped them off to lessen the demographic.

“What do I do?” Kagome whispered to her cousin, failing in her attempt to hide the sudden panic striking her.

“Nothing. You do nothing.” He urged quietly, shifting his head to look into his younger relative’s eyes. “Listen, Kagome, treat this like routine -“

“This isn’t routine.”

“Treat it like it is. Keep your head down.”

“If they -“

“No.”

“But, they’ll -“

“Kagome, no. You made us a promise.” Miroku reminded firmly, knowing exactly where her mind was traveling. In the case of an incident, which there seemed to be a higher chance of this time around, she may need to intercede.

She took a deep breath, straightening her face as much as possible so Naraku’s men wouldn’t grow suspicious as they impatiently yelled again for the girls to gather before them. “If this means they suspect something -“

“It may just be a tactic they’re using. For all we know, they have nothing and could leave here with the same. So, treat it like routine. Okay?”

“Promise.” Sota insisted during Kagome’s silence. The mens’ barking got louder, more demanding, as did the crying of little girls being pulled away from their parents. With the building weight in her chest, like a liquid filling her lungs quickly, the density making it almost impossible to take full breaths of air or move without falling forward, all she could muster was a meager nod before forcing herself to walk out. Miroku and Sota both leaned to opposite sides to part their shoulders for her to move through, her mother’s soft hand still lightly holding her own until she was far enough for their fingers to slide away from each other’s.

At most, there were about twenty girls in that age range to offer, and Kagome’s brown eyes drifted over the uneven row of heads as she approached, finding her friend in the mix trying to calm the little girl beside her. Sango glanced her way, as if feeling Kagome’s eyes on her, giving an apprehensive grin and waving her over.

“Ready?” Kagome asked, though it was completely rhetorical. It was just habit for these things. It was unavoidable, unexpected, and overall, impossible to be ready for. But, when they bounced the question off of each other, it was like one final reminder to stone.

Sango knew. Sango and her family were the one exception to the familial rule. She was Kagome’s closest friend and Miroku’s significant other. She was more than trustworthy. And, more importantly, had known since Kagome accidentally found out, herself, as a kid. Because, that’s how it was being a conjurer. You weren’t born knowing. You didn’t have an outward appearance that proclaimed your status much like demons did. It was always an accidental happenstance; in her case where she put a little too much oomph into her bow and arrow lessons and purified the evil - and life - right out of a passing crow demon after missing her target.

She remembered the feeling of total surprise, then tremendous fear because she thought she’d be in a lot of trouble. Kagome had literally thrown her bow to the ground like the thing, itself, was the culprit of the power. Miroku was gawking, Sango was covering her mouth with both hands, and their dad’s shared an identical, tight-lipped expression. Her papa was motionless for an overwhelmingly-tense sixty seconds before shifting his wide, curious eyes to her.

“Did you know you could do that?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.” Kagome innocently answered, but she could feel the red, hot heat in her face from her lie. She was awful at those when it came to the people she was close to. Still was to this day. Give her a stranger and she could keep it straight, but in the face of friends and family, she cracked almost too easily. It was a guilt thing.

But then he’d laughed, ruffling his little girl’s hair before reassuring her that it was okay. He said they’d just have to go about her training a little differently from that point on to make sure accidents like that didn’t keep happening, and it was only because of him, his adventurism, his accessibility to knowledge from his travels, that she even discovered what she was in the first place.

Back then, though it wasn’t quite as dangerous to exist as a conjurer, her papa had still suggested they keep her abilities under wraps. She distinctly remembered binding that with a pinky promise after Sango’s dad had a private discussion with her own. Maybe it was because Sango’s dad was even more educated with the world, and knew the potential hardships that could come her way, being the leader of the demon slayers that he was - and still is. Honestly, the reasoning was hard to determine now because she didn’t put much thought into it when she could and should have. Being the young, spunky, loyal girl that she was, if her dad wanted her to keep a secret and held out his pinky to her, that was all the reason Kagome needed, and nothing pleased her more than making her papa proud. And, when he and her uncle were fatally wounded in a demon attack on their village, even though Naraku’s name had never once yet been muttered near her ears, he still made her do one final pinky promise to him saying, “Protect yourself for me, my little bird. Keep it in its cage. I love you so much, Kagome.”

She wasn’t even a teenager when that had happened. There was a part of her that wondered here and there if he was secretly clairvoyant, or if he merely studied the patterns throughout history of people of her kind and wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and make her life as easy as possible, given the reputation they had, their ever-changing titles, and the ignorance others had of their nature. If only he knew where she was now. Would he still ask his little bird to stay in the cage while the door was wide open?

“Ready. You?” Sango returned, standing straight and allowing the little girl to cling to her leg.

“Ready.” Kagome breathed.

Those not lined up hesitantly backed away, creating space and growing agonizingly silent as they seemingly held their breaths for those that were chosen. Kagome hated when they did that. It was like she could physically feel the onlookers’ anxiety, and it was the last thing she needed on top of that of those actually subjected and her own.

The four men walked back and forth, up and down the two rows of girls, criminal eyes taunting them with silent threats and menacing grins. It was creepy, but no longer was it fear-inducing. Kagome had a bad habit of not shying away anymore. Sure, she was nervous beyond belief, but the last thing she was afraid of were their snarls, scarred and dirty flesh, and crooked teeth. That, of all things, was the least intimidating factor for those who were calloused to the routine.

But, when an abrupt instruction was given by the leader, her already-loose expectations of “routine” fell apart completely.

“Hold out your left hands, palms up!”

Confusion soared through every individual, and Kagome met Sango’s brief side glance, minutely comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one without a clue as to what was going on. Questions weren’t allowed though, and even the little ones were well aware of that, so as the small group of men demanded everyone shut up and do it, all outward bafflement dissipated.

Slowly, Kagome raised her left palm, her arm outstretched, swallowing as she willed the slight trembling to cease. Brown eyes searched quickly as she waited for whatever to begin, weeding through the crowd and finding Miroku already pinning her with a stare. It was wary, but hard, his jaw visibly tense.

The sound of an unsheathing blade was unmistakable, and immediately Kagome’s attention bounced to her left where the leader danced the grip of a knife in his fingers, his lips curved downward into a permanent frown. The first girl in line couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, noticeably shaking as her anxious stare bounced from the man to the blade.

A man in the crowd began shouting, stirring, pushing forward through the heap of villagers to reach the forefront, “Hey! No! What are you going to do!? That’s my daughter; what are you going to do!? Don’t you dare touch -“ Abruptly silenced by a defensive elbow to the diaphragm, gifted by an all-too-fast demon.

The young teenager shuddered, not sure what to worry about first as the leader gave her no moment to react, grabbed her hand, extended it further, and gave a small slice with the tip of his knife to the center of her palm. She winced, a whimper easily escaping her mouth from the sharp pain, tears leaking from her eyes quicker than the blood that seeped from her laceration. And then he grabbed her hand in his, sealing their palms together as he stared her in the eyes for a moment. She was utterly terrified, wanting to pull away while knowing she shouldn’t, but as nothing else happened, the man released her, murmuring to stay in line as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his blade, his hand, then moved onto the next.

Kagome’s attention snapped back to Miroku as it dawned on her, his eyes holding the same idea as he gave a steady but stern shake of his head in retort. They were looking for the untrained conjurers. The conjurers who weren’t skilled in holding back. Everyone was already scared, and the wound inflicted a heightened sense of fight-or-flight. Then their hands gripping the victims’ - their demon hands against the victims’… they were working to spark a purification reaction, and they were going about it right this time. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill them, nothing that small or unsuspecting would be, but it would hurt - much like the notorious fairytale of a vampire taking a quick step into the sunlight before swiftly turning around and heading back inside. And, that was all they needed.

Unbeknownst to everyone but Sango and Miroku, Kagome wasn’t completely helpless. Not only was she well-versed in subduing her powers, but alternatively speaking, she could knock a guy completely on his ass. She’d practiced. She’d practiced for hours at a time for several years now to see what she could do, what sort of strength she possessed, all on the far outskirts of the village, hiding near caves with only her friend and cousin who'd agreed, despite promises and secrets, that they all should try to be prepared for anything. By no means was she an expert, but she could handle her own for the most part and a situation like this was something she’d been well-conditioned for, for quite some time now.

Especially since she’d first received that message in a dream.

The responsibility is ours.

Whatever it meant, no matter how bleak it felt, it was a no-brainer that Kagome couldn’t go on without some sort of knowledge of her own potential.

She took a shallow breath, diverting her gaze to the goon before her as he happily took out his own blade, the other two following suit as they set out to narrow the time this was going to take. He stepped forward, grasping the wrist of the frightened and resistant girl beside Sango, who Sango had to hush into calming, telling her it would be done quickly. When nothing gratifying came from the occurrence, the man moved on to Sango, pinning her with a glare that she challenged right back. She hardly flinched at the slice of her skin, brown eyes never leaving the demonic ones of her assailant. When she shrugged a brow as he clasped their hands together, Kagome could practically see the heat rising in the man’s body language, quickly fuming from how audacious Sango was acting - which Kagome couldn’t help but respect, not knowing if the chuckle she forcefully swallowed was one of matched humor or nervousness.

The man threw Sango’s hand to the side, merely wiping her blood from his palm and blade on his pants before vehemently grabbing Kagome’s and extending her arm completely, bringing an inadvertent gasp to escape her throat. As the tip of his knife pierced her palm, dragging slowly to create a burning gash - one larger than Sango’s, so she suspected her nonchalant pass of amusement wasn’t as admissible as she’d thought - Kagome couldn’t stop the hiss that slid off her tongue, her brows creasing and jaw dropping as crimson dripped from her hand to the mud. With a clap, he pressed his palm to hers, fingers squeezing her small hand with unmitigated pressure. She felt a flurry in her abdomen, her diaphragm, her chest, warmth that drove her power, and that was her cue to hold her breath, to pretend everything was fine, to tell herself she was safe and trick her mind when she really wasn’t. She pretended she was holding Sota’s hand - the first person that came to mind, and the least intimidating one that she knew. Sota as an adult whose hand was finally bigger than hers. She couldn’t help but feel this was a huge insult to her younger brother, so she subconsciously apologized as she continued her visualization. It was like a lump built in her throat, the kind that grew too difficult to swallow, but she also felt completely in control, returning the man’s stare before he dropped her hand and moved onto the girl beside her.

“Shh,” Sango gently hushed the small child. “Everything’s fine now, but you have to stay quiet. Give me your hand.”

Kagome slowly let out her captive breath, the air she sucked in to replace it cold and not the least bit comforting despite the danger she’d evaded. She kept her palm face up but closer to her heart, cradling it for a moment as she tried to ignore the searing pain, diverting her attention to Sango and the kid. Her best friend was already looking up at her, using the long sleeve of her shirt to clean the blood from the girl’s hand and apply pressure so it’d stop bleeding, never minding the bleeding of her own palm. Thankfully, it only looked to be a little knick, and Kagome wondered if the creep of a demon that had handled them secretly had a soft spot for children.

“You okay?” Sango silently mouthed to Kagome. She nodded in reply, picking up the bottom hem of her own shirt and pressing it to her wound.

A sudden, deep, and broken yell punched through the air as one of the demons stumbled away, his hand yanked back, fingers furled in offense, and face twisted in rage. A little girl shrieked as he lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her cloak and pulling her out of the line, her feet stumbling to keep up as she cried apology after apology.

No. Conjurers weren’t common; now more than ever. How could there be two in one village? Especially one as small as theirs? How could there be more than one not even miles apart? How did Kagome not know? Didn’t conjurers have the ability to sense one another? She’d only assumed that was the case because of the seemingly-prophetic dreams she’d been having; because of the woman that had been coming to her in those very dreams. It was a weak hypothesis to go off of, but it was the only answer that made sense to Kagome. But, now there was a child being dragged into the center of where the town congregated, begging and pleading for her life while her mother screamed from the sidelines where she was being held at bay, and Kagome was none the wiser to her existence.

She wanted to yell that they were wrong, but how could they have been? It was a physical test. The accidental reaction of her powers was a dead giveaway. They couldn’t even lie their way out of this, or pretend the allegation was false. She was a conjurer. And they were about to kill her.

Kagome’s heart twisted and bunched painfully, that hard lump once more building in her throat, a murmured, “no,” barely leaving her parted lips, and her brown eyes caught a pleased grin on the approaching leader’s face that, just moments ago, seemed stuck in a scowl. He twirled his dagger in his fingers before kneeling down in front of the weeping girl.

“Found you.” He snickered, plunging the blade into her abdomen.

“No!” Kagome gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth in shock. The village was alight with terror, screams, cries, the rumble of defeat, the wailing of a grieving mother striking over all other sounds. Still, she was withheld from her little girl, reaching for her over the shoulder of the unforgiving demon who kept her away.

The knife was yanked free of the girl’s gut and she fell to her knees, her hands braced before her stomach as crimson crawled out, staining the front of her rain-soaked dress. Small hands weakly pressed into her abdomen, the wide look of horror, of pain, of fear etched into every inch of her expression as she gasped tremblingly. All too easily, the leader stood and walked away, not an ounce of remorse displayed.

“She was… she was just a kid.” A sympathetic village man stated morosely. “She wasn’t even ten yet.”

“She wasn’t dangerous!” Another testified.

“Would you like to be next?” A demon threatened, thinking his raised voice would retain order.

Kagome could hardly breathe, tears burning and brimming at her lower lid. All she could think to do was try to stop the bleeding, try to save the child, her feet moving on their own accord as she rushed out of line. Beyond the anger building in the crowd, the yelling growing louder, and the intense disturbance increasing rapidly and overwhelmingly, Kagome heard her name called multiple times. But, she couldn’t bring herself to listen, to stop, as she skidded to her knees in the mud, her arms catching the little girl as she fell forward. Her mother was finally freed, racing over and falling to the ground at her child’s side, helping through her weeping to lay her on her back.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” She soothed as best as she could, hovering over her daughter's face so the rain wouldn’t hit it, shaking fingers pushing sopping hair from her cheeks.

Kagome grabbed the length from the girl’s cloak that stuck out on her side, bunching it and pressing firmly into the wound. The choked gasp that came from the kid was agonizing, and Kagome apologized profusely, blinking away her own tears as she whipped her head around to take in the rousing group of people, fury evident in their tones, in their bodies, as they returned threats with the offending demons.

“Where’s the doctor!?” Kagome asked as loudly as she could, her soaked, dark hair whipping her in the face as she spun her head around to try and find their town's self-proclaimed physician. “Help! We need help!”

“He isn’t here; he left for herbs yesterday.” Sango informed as she dropped down beside Kagome.

“And he still isn’t back!?”

“The storm must have delayed him.” Sango shook her head in response, her brows creased together as she glanced over her shoulder to quickly mind the budding commotion before turning her worried expression back toward the crying child. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t - I don’t know.” Kagome stammered, her breathing growing heavier as she panicked, noticing the blood was barely halting, the stain in the girl’s dress expanding and absorbing through the cloth she pressed against the wound.

“Apply pressure!” Miroku instructed when he slid to his knees in the mud on their opposite side, careful of the girl’s mother.

“I am!” Kagome cried.

“Stay with me, baby! Stay with me! I’m right here, look at me!” The woman coo’d, sniffling and gasping with her tremors while the comforting smile never left her lips.

“Hey! Leave her! Let her die, or we’ll kill you too!” One of the vile men demanded, though his shouts went ignored, easily drowned out by the encroaching, enraged men who finally appeared fueled enough to physically challenge them. Kagome could only hope they’d hold the demons back so they’d have the chance to save her.

“Here, let me see!” Miroku pushed Kagome’s shaking hands away, pulling aside the cloth of the cloak to take a peek at the wound in her stomach. Kagome had to look away then, the sight of the thick blood seeping through too much to handle. Instead, she focused her attention on the little girl, crawling up to hold her cold, bleeding hand.

Scared, pained, blue eyes focused on Kagome as she took shuddering breaths, her chest convulsing slightly as her small voice broke with her cries. Little fingers softly gripped her hand in return, and the tiniest of smiles curved her lips upward, light beginning to dim from her irises.

“Miroku!” Kagome urged. She glanced back at him and noticed the hopeless expression on his face. One that claimed there was nothing anyone could do. Her heart dropped, a nauseating weight filling her stomach. Quickly, she turned back to the little girl, leaning an inch closer. “Kikyo and the other conjurers, they’re gonna win, okay? We’re gonna win. I promise.”

“Who’s…”

“You! What did you just say!?” Heavy steps sloshed in the mud toward them, his voice low, growling, dangerous.

Kagome had spoken up to be sure the girl had heard her over the yelling, but she hadn’t realized that it could have been heard by anyone else. She didn’t think about the ramifications. She didn’t think. She’d just wanted to fill the child with some form of final hope. What was wrong with that? Was it the fact that she’d said Naraku would fall?

She’d hardly had enough time to turn and react before she was grabbed by the hair and lifted to her feet, yelping as she was dragged back and away.

“You mentioned Kikyo!” He exclaimed, giving a forceful yank as Kagome loudly gasped from her constant stumbling, the pain on her scalp, the fear racing through her. In the thick of it, she’d forgotten Kikyo wasn’t a person who was widely known. She’d forgotten Kikyo was a secret beacon of hope to the surviving conjurers, who appeared in dreams and spoke in riddles.

“No!” Was all she could manage to reply, screamed brokenly, heard clearly throughout the number of villagers around as the action died down and all attention was on them.

“How do you know her!?”

She yelped again, forcefully pulled backward and released to only trip and fall over some tools.

“Tell me, wench!” He demanded, picking Kagome up by her throat and slamming her back against the wall of a home.

“I don’t!” She adamantly swore, still able to speak. His grip was there, but not choking.

“Liar!” He said, slapping her hard across the face. “How do you know Kikyo!?”

“I heard of her in passing!” Kagome cried, wincing from the sting before she was forced to look at him again.

“I find that hard to believe.” He growled, inching closer to her face. His hold on her throat tightened, cutting off air, thick fingers pinching painfully into the sides of her neck. “Where is she?”

“I - I don’t know.” She sputtered, wheezed, her tears hot as they glided down her face. The rain was nothing but a drizzle now, though the distant sound of thunder roared angrily. She was both cold and hot, her lungs begging for air as his hand pushed further against her windpipe.

“Stop it! Let her go!” Miroku barked, and his presence was just enough to distract Naraku’s henchman and cause him to release some tension from her throat. Kagome greedily sucked in as much air as she could, though he still constricted his fingers against her. It was like breathing through a straw.

Her cousin stood there, dark hair sticking to his temples, bloodied hands braced before him as if to reason. “She doesn’t know anything; she just told you!”

“Oh, another tough guy?” A demon behind him chuckled. “A little scrawny for that, don’t you think?”

“You have me wrong, I don’t want to fight. Release my cousin, and we’ll back away peacefully. She meant no harm.”

“The harm was done when she stepped out of place to save the girl!”

“She was a child!”

“She’s a conjurer! She has no place in this world!”

“She did! She did have a place in this world, and we all know it!”

“You best shut the fuck up, boy.” The leader said from the sidelines. “Word may carry that you’re on their side. Now, you wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

“Tell him to let go of her.” Miroku sternly ordered.

“Back off.”

“Let her go!”

“Suit yourself. Have some fun.” Their leader flicked a finger at the two other demons, allowing them to do as they pleased.

Miroku hissed a low, “Fuck,” before dodging a hit from one of the two demons enclosing in on him. He was able to throw one of his own, nailing an ugly bastard in the face before he was grabbed from behind, bulky arms wrapping under and over his shoulders to hold him in place. The other demon was eager while he arrogantly approached in front of him, smiling as he punched Miroku in the stomach.

“Stop! Miroku!” Kagome squirmed against her own offender’s grasp, her instincts beginning to kick in as she felt a wild sensation build in her veins. Something righteous whispered the power she held in her ear, told her to use her abilities to save her cousin, further fueling the heat that made her forget about the nip in the air.

“Kagome, don’t!” Miroku coughed, pinning her with his indigo gaze before his eyes pinched shut from a swift hit to his diaphragm, blood dribbling over his bottom lip and down his chin.

Control sucked Kagome back to the present, the earnest crackle of Miroku’s voice ringing in her ears and overpowering the one that told her to fight. The grip against her throat tightened again, closing off her air passage as red eyes turned back to her, the lines of his frown deep.

“Don’t, what?”

Kagome wasn’t sure if he actually expected an answer or not, but he’d made it physically impossible. She clawed her nails along the thick skin of his large hand, trying to pry him away so she could breathe. It was dire that she didn’t use her powers; she understood this. But, as the adrenaline raced violently through her body, it was growing increasingly harder to keep it subdued. She’d be killed in a heartbeat; she’d already witnessed their unforgiving lack of hesitation. Her mother and younger brother would have to watch. Her cousin, too. She’d promised everyone she would protect herself, and she'd promised herself that she would protect them. Above all that, a different, deeper, more rational voice spoke to her, drowning out the one that told her to take action just a moment ago, telling her that her fight was meant for somewhere else. Something bigger. She could practically feel the breath hitting her ear, urging her of the importance. It told her to swallow it, hold it at bay, keep it buried no matter how badly it burned for release at the underside of her flesh. Keep it in its cage.

Finally, the demon released his tight hold on her neck, opting to firmly grip the front of her shirt. His upper lip twitched in disdain while Kagome sputtered, and coughed, and gasped for air to fill her lungs.

“Don’t, what?” Naraku’s henchman repeated, this time a little lighter, and it was impossible to miss that he was visibly analyzing for any sort of body language that could tip him off.

“Fight.” Kagome attempted to say, though her voice came out incredibly raspy and broken.

“Like I’d be worried about what a girl as small as you could possibly do to me. Unless,” He cocked a brow. “I’d have a reason to worry. Unless, you’re a conjurer.”

She shook her head, scared to look away from him, hyperaware of any movement she made in that moment. She was absolutely terrified of letting him know she was lying, but what if her stiffness was what told him the truth? What if the vehemence behind her objection was exactly what he needed to convict her? Where was the happy medium? Was there one? Kagome’s bottom lip quivered, resisting the impulse to glance Miroku’s way when he continuously coughed, the sound slightly gurgled, scared the shift in her eyes would be mistaken for something else.

“How else would you know who Kikyo is?”

“I - I h-heard of her in p-passing.” Kagome said, still unable to use her voice, and she wondered if the strangulation was enough to damage her vocal cords or if her anxiety was the cause of it. “I-In a nearby town. By - by the r-river.”

The demon yanked her forward and slammed her back against the wall, the back of her head smacking the wood painfully. “Are you a fucking conjurer, wench!?”

“No!” Kagome wheezed, releasing her own hold on his fist to emphatically present the blunt cut on her palm to him before she repeatedly smacked it against his forearm, smearing hers and the little girl’s blood, showing him the exact reaction - or lack thereof - they were looking for in coming today in the first place.

“Let - let her go.” Miroku was on his knees, breathing impaired, holding his side with one hand while the other braced his weight in the mud. “She’s not a conjurer. She’s not. She can hardly even hunt. I have to take her everywhere. There’s no way anyone that knows her would believe she’s one of them.”

“Being a conjurer doesn’t have anything to do with hunting, boy!” One of them spit.

“Well, how the hell would anyone know!?” Sango shouted from the side, still seated on her knees beside the child. Her cheeks were flushed furiously, and her hands were held out inches from her chest, palms up, covered in blood that she was afraid would never wash off. Their attempts were in vain and the mother wept, clinging to her little girl, her face buried in her daughter’s still chest. “Conjurers are practically going extinct; you’re all winning! We don’t know what they can do! They probably don’t know what they can do! Conjurers either have to hide to save their lives, or they don’t even know they are one yet!”

For a brief second, Kagome allowed herself to glance beyond Sango’s head, finding her family. Her mother’s hands were cupped in front of her mouth, trembling as she never removed her eyes from her daughter. Her brow was creased deeply, concern etched so thick you’d think an artist may have been too heavy with their pen. Kagome couldn’t tell if her mom was breathing slowly, or if she was holding her breath. She couldn’t tell if her mom was saying a silent prayer, or if words could barely form in her mind as she had no choice but to watch the scene unfold. Her mother had to witness a daughter torn away from another; a daughter who held the same, supernatural fate as her own. Kagome could only imagine the stress that currently laced her mom’s system.

Before her stood both her brother and Sango’s, Sota bearing a wide expression, neck tense and lips parted uncertainly, and Kohaku wearing a more cautious grimace, watching apprehensively. Knowing her onlookers were nervous, worried, should have been the very thing to cause Kagome to proceed carefully, but instead it served as the switch that flicked on in her head. She was tired of living like this, done with the dreadful thought that this was their normal. This wasn’t going to continue.

She’d been waiting for a sign, waiting for her cue. Bags were packed and weapons were stored in a hiding place where they’d been training outside of the village. Miroku, Sango, and she had discussed a while ago that they were going to eventually leave together and find the called-upon conjurers, and join Kikyo to fight against Naraku. It was their - the conjurers’ - responsibility. As much as she wanted to know why, pleaded with the apparition of this seemingly all-powerful conjurer time and time again for an answer, at this point it was no longer deemed necessary. Not anymore. Kagome figured she’d hear this magical invitation telling her when and where - which was farfetched but a fair assumption given she barely had anything to go off of. She even thought she might have to wait a while longer until she was stronger, more trained in her capabilities, before Kikyo gave her some form of clear signal instead of these ominous, detail-lacking prophecies in her subconscience that she was currently getting every other night. But now a tick in her core, an itch in her chest, a steady deepening in her resolve told her the time was now. Screw waiting, screw messages, screw rolling over, screw self-pity, and screw Naraku. If he wanted a fight, if this was his initiation all along, his declaration of war, then he was finally going to get one.

“If that’s the case, bitch, then what were you telling the girl?” The demon holding her collar jerked her slightly to demand her attention, receiving it with vexation.

“I,” Kagome took as stable a breath as she could, her throat aching and voice pathetically weak, clearly evident now that it was due to the ruthless strangling she’d received. “I told her Kikyo would kill Naraku.”

“And, why the fuck would you say that?” He asked, almost surprised at her bold statement.

“I wanted her to go with hope, not fear.”

He guffawed, his chest pumping. “You don’t actually believe that!”

Without hesitation, as straight as she could manage while she halted his laughter, Kagome replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His smile faded quickly, humor replaced with anger as his fists bunched tighter and he heatedly pulled Kagome away from the wall and threw her to the floor. Kagome landed on her front, quickly pressing herself to her hands and knees just before he pushed her belly down, her wrists sliding and giving out so the side of her face planted in the mud.

“Kagome -“ Her cousin called, stumblingly crawling her way before another demon kicked him in the side he’d been clutching, a tiny crunch being heard just as Miroku choked in pain.

“Miroku, stop! I’m fine!” She attempted to say clearly, a foot braced on her back.

“Enough.” The leader stated. “Everyone back in line. We haven’t finished yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” A man asked disbelievingly. “You don’t think you’ve done enough damage already!? Get the fuck out!”

“Yeah, get out of here!” Other villagers began to call out, joining in. “You aren’t welcome here! You’re only taking advantage because our demon slayers are gone!”

“You think that matters?” The leader chuckled. “Go ahead. Revolt. Fight back. Make us leave. See how quickly your entire village will be wasted the next time around. You see four of us and think you stand a chance. You see a large group of us and think you’re safe because you’ve got a little pack of demon slayers protecting you. Funny, that’s never stopped our inspections before, so I don’t see why you think that’d stop us now. Either way, not a single one of you would be left alive if we brought a fraction of the wild demons under Naraku’s control, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if we borrowed them to kill you all. In fact, that’s already in the plan if we don’t check in. You kill us all, congratulations, but you’ll be worse off. Compared to him, we’re the most compassionate monsters you’ll ever meet, and I suggest you learn to appreciate that. Now, get your girls back in line.”

“It’s okay, papa.” An older girl spoke. Kagome couldn’t see from where she lay, but she recognized the seventeen year-old’s voice. Ayumi. She was soft-spoken normally, but also fairly brave and kind. The only child of a widowed father, and a girl, like the rest of them, forced to grow up too soon.

Ayumi walked forward, having backed away from the rowdiness with the majority of the girls who hadn’t run back to the safety of their parents. Notching her chin upward, she raised her left palm, “Let them finish. They won’t seem so big forever.”

“Bold girl.” The demon complimented.

“Yeah. The more I find myself hoping the conjurers win, the bolder I feel.”

“Careful, now. You’ll wind up getting yourself killed.”

“Looks like being female might just get me killed, anyway. So, I might as well go down confident that Naraku is the true evil here, and evil never wins.”

“What a disgusting cliche.” He groaned. “Grow a brain and come up with something original before you spew that sort of shit. It’s embarrassing. Look, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but as the chick over there stated, we already are. We’re winning. Now, I won’t argue that we’re the bad guys here, but at this point in time, that doesn’t really matter.”

Ayumi swallowed thickly, eyes faltering downward for the smallest moment before she rose them to meet the red eyes of Naraku’s henchman. As sickeningly as that notion sat in her esophagus, Ayumi felt it would be worse if she’d sunken her shoulders at the validity of their power. By no means was she strong, and by no means was she actually all that courageous. Ayumi, true to heart, was a daydreamer, was a fantasy-enthusiast, was a soft, sweet, and hopeful wisher, was tired, was passive. So, while she could admit her stare wasn’t striking, her irises would never be vivid with the passionate heroism she dreamed about, her lips would never curve with a compelling and threatening snarl, she could also admit that just the act of matching his gaze was all she needed to do to defy defeat. With chapped lips parting, not a waver traveling over her tongue, she spoke. “Yes, it does.”

“Yes, it does.” Another girl agreed, approaching to stand beside Ayumi.

“The world hasn’t always been this way. Naraku only grew large less than five years ago.” A woman said, a mother, holding her fearful daughter in her arms. Several more girls got back in line, their shoulders a little more broadened than before. “I find it appalling how arrogant you all have gotten in such a short time. I assure you, conjurer, demon, human, or anything in between, I’d give them my trust sooner than I’d yield to the idea of life staying like this. Good and evil, the difference will always matter. So, yes. Yes, it does.”

“Inspirational.” One of Naraku’s demons remarked sarcastically, cringing.

“Hey, whatever blows your skirt up, lady.” The leader shrugged. “You can believe whatever you want. No sweat off my back. Funny enough, I’d put down all the money in my pockets right now to bet not a single one of them would return that trust, nor would they risk their lives to save you. I mean, not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but look at the twisted circumstances. What the fuck have you done to help them? Human’s are selfish; only looking out for themselves. You hate us showing up because you don’t want us to hurt you. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us hunting down conjurers, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that little girl on the ground over there. If it did, you would have never watched it happen. If it did and it was just the ‘shock factor’ holding you back, you still would have done a little more than yell at us about how unfair it was. Oh, cry me a fucking river.” He grinned, stepping over to the first girl in the newly-formed line. There were less than half left that hadn’t been tested, and he got straight to work, unforgivingly slashing at the pre-teen’s palm and slapping his own to hers as he continued his heartless speech. “Even better, there’s two of your own on the floor, both of them getting quite the beating, and not a single fucking one of you did a damn thing to help. I understand the lad; that’s his - er - sister? Cousin? And, I mean, at least the chick tried to help the conjurer survive. I’ll give them kudos, but I think I speak for all of us non-humans when I say fuck the rest of you egotistical pricks. Oh no, my child might have a scar on her hand. Oh no, more trauma.” The leader mocked, his tone high and whiney. “Yeah, well, at least they’re not dead in the mud like little Suzie over there.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience at the harsh and morbid insensitivity. Still, no one challenged him. Someone should have, and no one said a thing.

Kagome tasted bile on the back of her tongue from the disgusting sentiments plaguing the thick, electric air. How cruel. She wanted to open her mouth and beg him to stop and just finish his job already, force her broken voice out to demolish his train of thought and hope he doesn’t mention the death for the remainder of his stay. The only thing stopping her was Miroku’s steady stare on her. It held more power than an order from his mouth to stay quiet ever could. With a foot on her back as a warning for more damage, the impending threat that he would easily be hurt again, and the fact that she’d said enough as it was, no matter how bold she felt in the face of this evil, she knew she was meant to face the source. She could only do that alive. So, begrudgingly, she obliged to his logical demand.

If they wanted them to finish, they needed to stop fighting. They needed to shut up. A double-edged sword. Like bowing their heads to the abuse. Enabling it. Allowing it so it ends quicker.

Kagome could feel her palms burning in the mud, a sense of humiliating defeat flooding her chest, making her feel sick to her stomach. She kept her eyes on Miroku, he kept his eyes on her. She tried to raise the volume of her thoughts, no matter how negative they were, to tune out the gasps and muffled cries of the young girls as they received the cut to their palms for testing.

How could she hold any form of power, yet still feel so powerless? How could she have the privilege of a voice, but feel so irrevocably silenced? She wanted to believe she could save everyone there if she just untied the knots concealing her abilities, but it physically pained her to understand that it was the wrong thing to do. It would be counterintuitive. It would wind up getting them all killed later. She could fight, but she also couldn’t.

“And, there you have it.” The leader finished by wiping his knife clean and slipping it back into the little holster on his hip, the hint of pride and sarcasm on his tongue. “Thank you so much for your cooperation and understanding. We’ll be seeing you.”

The demon holding Kagome down applied a small kick of pressure as he lifted off of her, chuckling as his dirty boots stuck in the mud with each step away.

There was an eerie silence, one that grew more deafening as the henchmen took their horses and disappeared from the village. It was heavy, thick, like sludge. Weighted with failure and death. Even the cries from the mother were muted. For a moment, Kagome thought that instead of drowning out the pained noises with her own thoughts, her brain had responded late to her distress by completely disabling her sense of hearing instead. But, she could hear the stickiness of the mud as she peeled herself from the ground to sit on her knees. She could hear feet slowly walking - most likely children rejoining their families. She could hear the thunder threatening them of the next onslaught of rain to come. The silence that captivated them was one that couldn’t be lifted with a simple, “Thank god that’s over.” No one could make it dissipate by asking if everyone was okay. Because, it didn’t matter.

And, that was something everyone, even the young, could recognize.

The small talk that would eventually come when everyone was back in their homes, the whispers, the crying, and maybe even tiny chuckles from people trying to find the little joys to get them through this, they would all be irrelevant. Because, outside there would be a blanket of despair thicker than the friction-inducing clouds hanging over them at this very moment, and it promised them there that it would stick around as long as it needed to.

“Hey,” A soft voice spoke in Kagome’s ear, a gentle, cold hand brushing her arm, and it was only when she gasped and jerked upright that she realized she’d been hanging her head, sights stuck on her hands on her thighs. “Sh, sh. It’s just me.” Her mother reassured, kneeling beside her and using her sleeve to try and wipe her face clean of some clumpy mud. “Are you alright, honey?”

Out of sheer reaction, she gave a meager nod.

“Look at me, Kagome. Look at me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Kagome said as convincingly as possible. When Miroku groaned, catching her mother’s attention and even her own, she was happy to have the focus off of her. Kohaku and Sango were beside him, trying to sit him up, freezing as he struggled.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get you home.” A couple, larger village men came over, better suited to help. One of them firmly clasped his hand in Miroku’s, quickly pulling him up to his feet so the pain wouldn’t be dragged out. Her cousin hissed at the shock, clenching his throat to try and swallow his grumble, and the two men supported him by pulling his arms over their shoulders.

“Can you stand?” Kagome’s mother asked.

“Yeah.” She whispered, not wanting to irritate her throat further and finding no real need to speak up right now. “I’m fine, mama. Don’t worry about me. Miroku needs your attention more.”

“Even if that were true, he’s kind of surrounded. I don’t think I’m needed there, love.” She replied, grabbing her by her elbow to support her as they stood together. “Sota, take her other side, please. Just in case.”

“Wait.” A broken voice called to them, trembling but by no means weak.

They all stopped just two steps in, looking over to the mother on the ground. Her daughter’s body, from head to toe, was covered by a long cloak belonging to one of the villagers beside her now, attempting to give comfort.

“Kikyo? Is that what you’d said? Kikyo?” She asked Kagome.

As clearly as she could, with a little nod of her head as she processed the question, Kagome said, “Yes.”

“Who is that?”

Kagome could feel the tension in her brow falter as the sympathetic, concerned curve in them wilted away to change more into dubiousness. “You - you don’t…” She didn’t know who Kikyo was. Even her own mother knew who Kikyo was. Her mom was the first to hear about her dreams before she started discussing them with the rest of her family. Had her daughter not had the same messages coming to her? Or, was she so confused, so distraught from them all, that she chose secrecy over being seen as insane?

“She’s a conjurer.” Kagome answered.

“Is she - is she a strong conjurer?”

“I think so.”

“I’m sorry, did your daughter never mention anything about Kikyo?” Sango carefully asked.

“N-no. Why would she?”

“We were just under the impression that she may have been sending survivors telepathic signals of sorts.” She said.

“That’s preposterous.” A man scoffed.

“Maybe. We heard it in passing. From an old man, no less.” Miroku said, discomfort laced in his tone.

“What - what could she possibly have had to say to a little girl?” The mother asked, her bottom lip quivering while her hand rested on her daughter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew.” The words were painful to speak. Not from her throat, but from the fact that she had to lie to a woman who’d had her everything stolen from her. A woman who, more than anyone, deserved the truth.

When she’d said what she’d said about Kikyo before, the little girl had muttered something in return before the demon tore Kagome away. It seemed like she was about to ask who Kikyo was. Kagome was sure now that the kid didn’t know. She hadn’t had the dreams, the premonitions, the one-sided conversations, nothing. She hadn’t had any communication with Kikyo, whatsoever. Maybe Kikyo was kind to exclude the young, and only spoke to the older, potentially more conditioned conjurers.

Or, maybe there was a possibility that Kagome was the only one.

And, it terrified her.

“Will she win? Kikyo? Will she defeat Naraku?” The crying mother asked.

Kagome was finding it hard to reply, to communicate. Her throat was tightening up as she watched the woman’s body begin to crumble once more toward her little girl’s; like she needed to be connected with her to prevent her from going cold. She could feel her eyes stinging, tears brimming, her fingers quaking and legs growing weak. Her cheeks felt hot and her chest wouldn’t allow a full breath of air - only unsteady, unmatched, quick puffs that burned. A hot hand slid into her right, her brother’s fingers tightening their grip, but she couldn’t control her body enough to grab it back.

“I refuse to believe otherwise.” Sango answered confidently.

The mother now sobbed, nodding in acknowledgment as she weeped over the covered body of her daughter. “Thank you.”

Kagome wanted to apologize profusely. For failing to protect her. For failing to try to protect her. For her loss. For the chance she was never given to learn to defend herself. For the silence she had to keep. The guilt was so heavy on her shoulders, she was ready to give in in front of them all, but the hand in hers pulled her back, made her move.

More villagers were moving toward the mother and child to help comfort while they removed the body, and that was the prime opportunity to get Kagome out of there. Sota could tell from the moment it started that she was going to break down, maybe even panic. He knew his sister, he knew the signs, he understood the stress she was under, and he wanted nothing more than to get her away and help her as best as he could. So, he disregarded everyone else and began pulling Kagome ahead. Miroku would have to move at a slower pace, Sango and Kohaku would stick by him and the men that helped, and he figured their mom would respect that they needed a moment of peace where they weren’t under more eyes than necessary.

Sota ignored the broken utterances of his name that came from his sister, he ignored the threatening weather, and he ignored anything that could potentially get in his way. He directed Kagome around their house, to the back, and toward the tree line of the woods. Three trees in past the shrubbery bush, on the opposite side of the trunk, Sota found the rope ladder to the treehouse their dad had built them hanging. Holding it steady, he released Kagome’s hand.

“Come on. Climb.”

-> | next chapter |

#This is honestly the longest fic I've ever written I have zero self control #gooooooooood fucking luck yo #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #miroku #sango #mirsan #mama higurashi #sota higurashi #kikyo #monster #my writing #akitokihojo

[kisskeiji]

2. Goodbye, good times.

Lost & Found.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating.

The walk back home was hard for Hajime. Home, he couldn’t call his place home since you left. It was lonely, he missed seeing you playing around in the kitchen while you danced to your favorite tunes. He missed the way you stayed up late to catch up with your school work,  the mess you made every morning when you were getting ready for school and the kiss you shared before you left. He missed you. 

He missed you and you were gone. But, where? You talked about the exchange offers you received with him, but you declined all those opportunities to stay with him. Could you have taken one of them? ‘Of course she did’  He thought. All the guilt he felt weighed on him everyday, and as if losing you wasn’t enough, his best friend was also ignoring him and wanted nothing to do with him. 

Two days after what happened Iwaizumi’s phone rang while he was at work, it was Oikawa calling.

“Iwa-chan~ Did Y/N break her phone again? My texts won’t reach her.” The brunette said with annoyance in his voice. 

“I don’t know. I can’t reach her either.” he looked down.

“You don’t know? You live with her, Iwa-chan, don’t be silly.” Oikawa laughed. 

“Not anymore, she left.” Iwaizumi busied himself cleaning the dumbbells on the rack before it was opening time. 

“Yeah, and I’m back in Japan. Stop playing Iwa-chan, now what did she do now? She dropped it in the toilet again?” Oikawa was growing frustrated. Why would he joke with something like that? 

“I’m not joking, Oikawa, we broke up.”  

“Why? What happened?” Anyone could feel Oikawa’s distress from Argentina. Iwaizumi sighed.

“She caught me with another girl.” his answer was almost inaudible, but Oikawa heard loud and clear from the other line. The sigh that left his lips after a few seconds was hard to read, it was a mixture of sadness, worry and disappointment. 

“You are unbelievable, Iwaizumi.” Oikawa said “Out of all people, I never thought you were one to be unfaithful nor you could do something so low like cheating on the girl who spent the last four years of her life on you.”

“Do you think I don't know?” 

“I don’t know, do you?” Oikawa spat. 

“Look, Shitty-kawa, I don’t need you to tell me what I already know. I fucked up my relationship with Y/N, but that’s none of your business.” 

“It is my business since my best friend blocked me because she thinks I backed you up on your stupid decisions. Can’t you see? She hates me too. And I’m sure she blocked Matsukawa and Hanamaki too, just ask them. You are right, it’s none of my business, but I got dragged into this mess because of you.” Oikawa screamed from the other side of the line. 

“Well I am your best friend too, I think I need your support rather than you scolding me from the other side of the world as if you were my mom.” Iwaizumi said dropping the rag he was cleaning the equipment with. 

“And you think you deserve any kind of sympathy after what you did?” The former setter asked in disbelief. Iwaizumi’s eyes dropped once again to the floor, there was no answer, he knew he didn’t but still hoped for his best friend to help him out. “Get fucked Iwaizumi, and please don’t ever call me again.”  

Oikawa ended the call and blocked Iwaizumi’s number too. 

That was almost two months ago. He was completely hopeless now. Out of the third years, only Matsukawa and Hanamaki knew about his affair and kept their mouths shut under the promise that Iwaizumi would cut the girl off, he didn’t. Still they made sure he wasn’t drowning on his own thoughts and checked up on him, they were friends after all.

 “What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi asked as he closed the door and took his shoes off.

“We were bored and  we brought dinner but you weren’t home.” Matsukawa explained.

“And there’s no Wi-Fi at the dorms.” the pink haired said without looking away from his laptop.

“Whatever, I’m going to take a shower.”  Iwaizumi walked past them.

“Eat something first.” Matsukawa called.

“Not hungry.” 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki shared a look and sighed.

“Let 's call him.” Hanamaki suggested.

“He is mad at us too.” Matsukawa ran his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, but he hasn’t blocked us yet.”  Sharing another look they agreed on calling Oikawa as soon as Iwaizumi finished showering. 

Ten minutes later, Iwaizumi walked out of his room and went straight to the kitchen, he could hear his friends whispering in the living room. “What are you two up to?” He opened the pantry looking for his protein powder. ’I forgot to buy it again.’ He thought as he stared at the empty jar. You used to get it for him on your way back from work, but not anymore. He could hear his friends bickering on the couch and he knew they were most likely planning something stupid. "What are you two doing?"

“Nothing much, can you come here for a second?” Matsukawa asked. Iwaizumi made his way to the couch where the other two sat, Makki placing his laptop on the coffee table. The screen showed an outgoing video call to Oikawa. 

“Why are you calling him?” He attempted to stand up but Matsukawa pulled him back down. 

“Because we don’t know what to do anymore, and he knows you better than we do.” Matsukawa explained. Before Iwaizumi could say anything else, Oikawa picked up.

“Makki I already told you I don’t want to see your rash! Go get checked or something!” Oikawa whined. The lightning adjusted and soon enough the three men could see him fresh out of the shower, drying his hair with a white towel.

“Shut up! I didn’t call you for that, you idiot.” Hanamaki retorted. 

“Then what? I had morning practice and I’m exhausted, it better be good.”  The former captain walked out of the bathroom and to his bed.

“We need your help.” Matsukawa added.

“Oh you are together, wait, you aren’t with Iwaizumi, are you?” Oikawa asked, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa shared a glance.

“Not right now.” Makki  lied. 

“Then go ahead, I'm listening.” As soon as Oikawa spoke, Hanamaki directed the camera to Iwaizumi and he could only stare awkwardly in the few seconds of silence before Oikawa could say anything.

“Before you hang up, please listen to us.” Matsukawa started. 

“You said you weren’t with him.” Oikawa whined again “I knew you were up to something and I don’t want to be part of it. Goodbye.”

“No!” Both Makki and Mattsun yelled trying to keep Oikawa on the line. 

“Let him go, he clearly doesn’t want to see me.” Iwaizumi said.

“Poor you! It’s what you deserve.” Oikawa scoffed and rolled his eyes while anger was already building up inside Hajime. 

“Really? And you deserve the most annoying manchild on earth award! Maybe if you stopped whining and listened for once in your life you could see there’s two sides of the story.” This time Iwaizumi yelled at his best friend. Hanamaki and Matsukawa remained silent.

“You are right, and thanks to you I can only listen to the cheater’s side, which I’m not interested in, go to hell.” Oikawa spat, he was no longer laying down and his breathing was heavy. 

“No, you go to hell.” 

“Both of you shut up!” Hanamaki intervened “Please just make up, you need each other, and like it or not Hajime needs us right now.”

“He is right, we are all friends but we all know that you two know each other better than anyone else.” It was Matsukawa´s turn to speak “Iwaizumi knows he fucked up and you already ignored him enough. So let’s just calm down and then we can talk, okay?” Iwaizumi and Oikawa looked at each other for a second.

“Fine by me.” 

“You have ten minutes.” Oikawa put his glasses on and propped his phone on his night stand.

 Relief ran through Iwaizumi´s body, his shoulders felt lighter for a moment. He took a deep breath and started telling everything that happened that night, how he met the girl and he kept his relationship with you secret. The ten minute mark was long forgotten, and after he finished Oikawa just sighed and stayed quiet for a moment. 

“You are still a piece of shit.” He stated. 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not the one who should forgive you, you know that too.” Oikawa pushed his glasses back.

“I went to her sister’s place to talk to her and she was gone.” Hajime ran his hands through his hair repeatedly in frustration. 

“Gone?” Matsukawa questioned.

“Yes, I think she took one of the exchange offers she got last semester, but  I don’t know where she could possibly be.”  Hajime affirmed and looked at Matsukawa, defeat and sadness in his eyes. 

“I think you should get the hint and leave her alone for a while, she’ll come around, my Y/N is not one to be remorseful. Just don’t try to win her back if she does call you again.” Oikawa sighed and laid back. Staring at the ceiling he could only think about you and hope you were okay. 

“I think Oikawa is right, get the closure you need and let her go.” Matsukawa got up and walked to the kitchen. 

“And leave her alone for good.” Oikawa added, still staring at the ceiling.

“I wasn’t planning to win her back, even if I tried, she would say no.” Iwaizumi admitted.

“As she should.” Another remark from Oikawa made Hanamaki laugh.

“Cut it out, would you? I think you’ve slandered Iwaizumi enough.” The pink-haired man patted Iwaizumi’s back trying to comfort him, Hajime smiled lightly.

“And I’m not done yet, wait till I get to you, mister thigh rash.” 

“Feisty.” Matsukawa said and handed a glass of water to Iwaizumi who whispered a ‘thanks’ and took a sip. 

“You can shut up too, you two are just as bad for not telling Y/N or me.”

“In our defense, as soon we found out Hajime promised to cut the girl off.” Hanamaki explained.

“But he didn’t. We feel bad too, Y/N was our friend too.” Mattsun placed his cup on the coffee table. 

“Oi, don’t say it as if she is dead.” Iwaizumi smacked Matsukawa´s head.

“Well, we sure are dead for her. She blocked us too.” Makki lowered his head. 

 “What you guys deserve.” Oikawa yawned and shifted to lay on his side.  “I am really tired so I’m leaving, I’ll call you guys tomorrow.”

After  saying their goodbyes Iwaizumi stared at his best friend.

“Oi, Tooru.” He called and Oikawa just hummed in acknowledgment. “Thank you.” He knew he didn’t need to say anything else. 

“Yeah, yeah, now get some sleep, you look like your soul left your body. Please take care.” It was hard for Oikawa to hide his concern, but with that phrase he ended the call. 

Deep down he was glad you decided to take your time and get away from Tokyo, but he was worried about you too. It was bright outside but he felt tired, it was the guilt also weighing on him, he did nothing wrong, but still he wished he could’ve been by your side and not on the other side of the world. 

A year later…

You were going back home after graduation. It’s been a year since you left Japan to study abroad in England, and it was by far the best decision you could’ve ever made. The year passed quickly, but you travelled and met a lot of people who you considered family. 

It was sad, honestly, as much as you wanted to come back home, it was a painful reminder that you had to confront all the people you left hanging when you went away, still you had no regrets. It was a great year, you graduated and you had a job secured once you returned thanks to your professors who put a good word for you with their acquaintances and friends in Japan. “I can’t believe you have to go already.” your friend Lily whined as she dragged one of your suitcases around the airport. 

“Neither do I, this year went by so fast.” You turned around and looked at her, she was clearly trying to hold her tears back. Truth is, your roommates became your best friends and a part of you wanted to stay in London just to be with them. 

“We’re going to miss you a lot, Y/n.” Emma, your other roommate, said and hugged you from the side. 

“Hey! I am here too. Are you going to miss me?” Kuroo complained “I could use some help too.” 

“Shut up, Tetsuro.” Lily flicked his forehead playfully. 

Kuroo Tetsuro, professional instigator and one of the guys you met through the exchange program you were in. He was also one of Bokuto's best friends, it was a coincidence —definitely not Bokuto’s doing — that you met, but you were glad you did. Kuroo was the closest thing you had from home and a great friend, after all he was taking care of you like Bokuto asked him to. You studied, travelled, cried on his shoulder and had the most fun with him the past year, and you were glad you were coming back home with him. 

“I know it breaks your heart to let me go, Lily.” He said with that shit eating grin that seemed to never leave his face.

“Whatever floats your boat, big boy.” She smiled at him and hugged him. “I am going to miss you and your big mouth too.” 

“Woah, we are getting kinky over here.” He joked before Lily punched him on his side. 

“Idiot.” She muttered. More of your friends came to say goodbye and send you off, after another round of hugs and promises to call and visit you were boarding the flight with Kuroo sitting by your side.

“Finally.” He sighed and laid back on his seat with his hands behind his head. 

“Yeah, finally.” You smiled at him and waited for the plane to take off.

“So, you are working for Bokuto’s team, have you told him about it?” Kuroo asked while he reclined his seat.

“Nope, It’s a surprise. Only Akaashi knows.” You looked through the window. “I can’t believe Bokuto confessed after I left.” 

“Me neither! How am I supposed to be the best man at their wedding if I wasn’t even invited to his confession.” He tapped his fingers on his leg and stared at the buttons above his head.

“They’ve been dating for less than a year and you are already planning the wedding?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m calling it right now, they are getting married three years from here.” 

“Bet?” You asked in a playful manner. 

“Bet. Loser makes a fool out of themself at the reception party.” You shook hands to seal the deal. There were almost fourteen hours left to get home, so you decided to watch a movie and then sleep for a few hours. 

Once you landed at Osaka’s airport, Bokuto and Akaashi were waiting for you at the gate. The volleyball player tackled both of you into a hug and asked a lot of questions, Akaashi just looked at his boyfriend in awe and smiled at you before welcoming you with a hug too. 

“Your sister made sure the moving company left all your boxes in your new apartment and she asked me to give you this.” He said once you let go. You see him fish into his pocket for your new keys”

“Thank you, ‘Kaashi.” You took the keys to your new house. You were excited to move to Osaka and start a new life — again—  you trusted your sister to find you a place and she did an amazing job, she found an apartment less than fifteen minutes away from your workplace. 

“Are you hungry? Let’s grab something to eat before we take you to your new place.” Bokuto threw one of  his arms around your shoulders and dragged one of your suitcases with his free hand. 

“Yes, please, we are starving.” Kuroo cried walking slightly behind with Akaashi. 

You had dinner with them and talked about your time in London, all the places you travelled to, the party tragedies and all the problems you got into with Kuroo making Bokuto and Akaashi laugh. You gave them the gifts you bought for them — a lot of thrifted books, a fancy pen and some keychains for Akaashi and a teddy bear with an ‘I love London” shirt, a hat and a phone cabin figurine for Bokuto — and had a lot to drink. Akaashi decided that it was better for you to stay the night with them since your apartment wasn’t ready yet, but you still wanted to see your new home. You opened the door and walked in hesitantly followed by your three friends.

“Fancy place.” Kuroo said after whistling in awe. The place was already furnitured, too minimalist for your liking but you were adding your touch — and a lot of indoor plants — later, the kitchen was definitely bigger than the one you had at your place in London, the high ceilings  made the place look a lot bigger. “If you ever need a roommate I’m free.” Kuroo peeked his head from what you assumed was your bedroom. 

“I rather eat dirt than sharing an apartment with you again, not after the Airbnb disaster.” You cringed at the memory of Kuroo almost setting the rented apartment on fire trying to light  a chimney. You travelled with your friends to Scotland during winter break and rented a place to stay during your time there, all of you were freezing and he offered to light the fireplace, but he forgot to mention he never in his life lighted a chimney, hence him setting one of the cushions — and part of his hair — on fire. “Oh, come on that was one time! And there’s no fireplace here.” he leaned against the wall also cringing at the memory of his burnt hair. 

“Yeah, I’m still not rooming with you.” You walked past him to look into your bedroom, he followed right after you. The bed was really big and you had a lot of storage space in the closet. The room had its own bathroom and a vanity. “I need to go plant shopping.” you entered the bathroom to take a look too. 

“Maybe you should go grocery shopping first.” You heard Akaashi enter the room. “The place is really nice, but I do agree with you, it needs a little bit of life and color.” 

“Once you start working you can get all the plants you want, Y/N, but first let’s focus on settling your stuff down.” Kuroo sat down on the bed and Akaashi hummed in agreement. They were right, you needed to unpack all of your belongings as soon as possible, your family planned to come the next day to help you out since Bokuto and Akaashi had to work and Kuroo had to take the train back to Tokyo to visit his family. You were excited to see your parents and sister, your departure was so sudden and you missed them like crazy.  Living by yourself  was terrifying for you. It was a reminder that you were alone. There was no one expecting you to come back every night, and looking back at your new bed, it was too big. ‘Stop thinking about him.’ You thought to yourself.

It was inevitable, Iwaizumi still occupied your thoughts from time to time, not as often as a year ago, but sometimes your mind drifted away and reminisced of your times with him. Like when you moved in together, your movie marathons and the nights you spent in his arms talking about the future. Ever since you went away you wondered what future he was talking about. If he wanted a life with you, why did he cheat? 

The first three months in England felt like hell, you were homesick and all the pented anger and sadness took a toll on you. For a month straight you cried yourself to sleep until your roommates noticed and asked what was going on, you told them everything one night hanging out with your friends —including Kuroo— drunk on wine. They all decided to join the “Let’s beat Iwaizumi up” club and helped you to get through the pain you were feeling at the time. You will always be grateful for them helping you forget Iwaizumi. But it wasn’t that easy. You couldn’t say you still loved him, but the aftermath of your breakup with him came with trust issues and affected the way you perceived yourself. You felt completely unworthy, like you weren’t enough and it took a lot of work and help from your friends to get past that. You deserved better, you know it now. However, the memories with him remained untouched in your head. You grew up together, he was with you in your proudest moments — funny enough, he brought you to your lowest — and it was impossible to look back without him being in the picture. 

A week after your arrival you were all set in your new apartment. Your parents and sister helped you out organizing your belongings and decorating the place. You and your mom were one and the same, she brought with her some indoor plants knowing that was your new place needed — You also went plant shopping and dragged your dad and sister with you —, your dad installed some shelfs and a security system since he was worried about you living alone far away from home and your sister went grocery shopping, organized your closet with you and gave you some tips on living alone. Bokuto and Akaashi made sure to drop by once your family went back home. “So you start working tomorrow?” Akaashi poured another glass of wine for you. 

“Yes! I’m really excited. I had a meeting with my new boss today and apparently the public relations department only has five employees. I’m surprised since it’s such a popular team.” You said and took a sip of your wine. You were working as a P.R manager for the MSBY Black Jackals thanks to your professors recommendations, although you never imagined working in the sports field but it was a great opportunity for you who just graduated college, so you took the chance and secured a job before coming back home. “When are you going to tell us which team you are working with?” Bokuto asked. “You should work for my team, my friends are really amazing.” He added, he was kind of bitter since you were working for another team and you are supposed to be his ‘super best friend’, what kind of super best friend works for a rival team? He felt betrayed to say the least.

“I’m sure, Kou, but it’s a surprise.” You giggled at your friend’s deflated state and puppy eyes.”You will see tomorrow.” You wanted to mess with him a little bit and tried to make really obvious that you were working for his team.

“How am I going to know if I’m not going to be there?” He asked in confusion, Akaashi and you shared a playful glance and then waited for it to hit him “Akaashi! What does she mean? and why are you smiling?” It took a few seconds until his jaw dropped “Wait! You are working for us?” He got up from his seat and waited for you to answer, you could only nod and laugh at his excitement, he hugged you and started talking at an unbelievable speed, telling you about his teammates and how excited he was to have you at work. “We’re going to have so much fun, Y/N!”

“Bokuto-san, we have to go, you have morning practice.” Akaashi announced trying to save you from Bokuto’s sudden energy kick, the gray haired man went back to his sad state when he heard his boyfriend’s voice saying they had to leave. You walked them to the door and held Akaashi’s arm, dragging him down enough to whisper in his ear. “Bokuto-san? Really?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“No pet names? My love, my one and only, love of my life? Nothing?” You asked in disbelief. He chuckled. “That’s none of your business, brat.” He flicked your forehead and laughed at your pained expression “Those are reserved for special occasions.” You gagged at his words and he pulled you into a hug and kissed your forehead right where he hit you before. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, ‘Kaashi, text me once you get home.” You closed the door and sighed at the sight of your empty apartment. ‘This is going to be rough.’ You thought, you couldn’t wait to start working to get away from the haunting loneliness that flooded your place.

The next morning Bokuto couldn’t be more excited, he texted you really early to wish you luck. He was really motivated during morning practice, he was energetic all the time, but you being there got him pumped up. The Jackals were currently running drills and his cross shots were exceptional. “Bokkun, you are on fire today!” Atsumu praised the wing spiker. 

“Miya is right, what got you so excited today?” Meian dried the sweat from his forehead with a towel and took a step closer to Bokuto. 

“My best friend is coming today! She just came back from London and I am really happy that she’s here!” 

“She is watching us practice?” It was Barnes’s turn to ask. Bokuto shook his head and explained. 

“She is going to work on our team as a manager!” 

“Good, we need a new one since Omi-kun scared the one we had.” Atsumu looked at Sakusa who opted to ignore him. 

“Not that kind of manager, she is going to work with Imai-san in  public relations.” Bokuto explained and sat on the floor before coach Foster came back and called the break off. 

“That’s right, Bokuto.”  a woman’s voice interrupted the chat between the players making them turn around to look at you and your boss, Imai Hideko, the MSBY Black Jackals manager and promoter. “Listen up, guys, this is Y/N L/N, she is our new Public Relations manager, I expect all of you to behave and get along with her. She is in charge of your schedules and everything that involves public appearances.” She introduced you and the team bowed as a greeting.

“I’ll introduce you!” Bokuto got up from the floor and took your hand to drag you around “This is Meian-san, our captain! He is really scary when he gets mad.” Bokuto pointed at his captain and his awkward smile that vanished as soon as it appeared. “See? Scary.” Bokuto trembled.

“Pleasure to meet you, thanks for working with us, take good care of our team.” The black haired captain greeted you. “Thank you for having me.” You greeted back before Bokuto dragged you to two extremely tall men who seemed to have a nice chat while they rested for a bit, you felt bad for interrupting their break.

“This is Oliver and Thomas, they are really strong players! Oliver-san spiked once directly to my face and I thought he broke my nose, and Thomas is one of our middle blockers, you may get along well, he speaks english too! He is always talking in english with Inu-san, where is he by the way?” Bokuto started to pull from your arm before you could even greet both players, you looked at them apologetically and they laughed, they were already used to Bokuto’s energetic personality.  “Inu-san!” Bokuto called a man from the other side of the court. 

“Hey, Bokkun! This is your friend?”

“Yes! Y/N, this is Inu-san, he always treats us to dinner and has a really cute cat! His name is meatball and he always scratches my face when he sees me.” Bokuto pouted and Inunaki giggled.

“I trained him to do it.” He said. “Shion Inunaki, pleasure to meet you.” You shook his hand and introduced yourself again, starting a small conversation about his cat until you heard someone cough behind you. 

“Oi, Bokkun, you are not going to introduce me and Omi-kun.” Another blonde haired man said. 

“You are right! Y/N, this is Tsum Tsum and the one with the mask is Omi-kun, they were scouted at the same time as me! We are like brothers.” Bokuto had a big smile on his face. ‘Omi-kun’ muttered a ‘No we are not.’ with clear disgust and walked away.

“Yeah, they are dumb, dumber and asshole.” Inunaki said, making you laugh. 

“Who 's who?” You asked. 

“Up to you.” He shrugged with a smirk and walked away. You never noticed when the guy Bokuto introduced as ‘Tsum Tsum’ stepped closer to you.

“Atsumu Miya, a press favorite.” he grinned.

He was insanely attractive, everyone in the team was but something about his hazel eyes made you look past his overly cocky attitude. His aura was definitely charming, but something inside you screamed ‘danger’, you took a step back and smiled politely. “Sure you are.” 

“Well guys, I hope you don’t cause Y/N trouble.” Hideko said, walking next to you. “She will be reviewing your schedule for the next few weeks since we are really close to starting a new season. Listen to her, and don’t be a pain in the ass, and yes Miya, I am talking about you.”

“Imai-san! What are you talking about?” Atsumu whined. 

“You know exactly what I mean, Miya.” Hideko placed her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. 

“Thought you were a press favorite.” You giggled at the setter’s upset expression, he could only look at you, before he could say anything else, you smiled brightly catching his attention. You were beautiful, and your smile was really sweet. It was his turn to smile, this time to himself, you were refreshing and something in your presence got him hooked. Maybe the confidence you irradiated, the warmth in your smile or how you played along with his joke. 

“Thank you so much again for having me and I hope we can get our work done smoothly, I’m here to help you in case you get in trouble with the press or have any questions on your schedule.” You bowed at the team once again. 

After a small talk with coach Foster, you and Hideko left the court and went back to your new office, leaving a great first impression on the team. “Your friend is really nice, Bokkun.” Adriah said while he did his cool down stretches.

“She is the best! I’m glad you guys like her.” Bokuto took off his knee pads and started stretching on the floor too. 

“I think someone liked her way too much.” Inunaki patted Atsumu’s back as he walked past him.

“Oi, Inu-san!” Atsumu whined, he almost choked since he was drinking from his bottle when Inunaki hit him. The rest of the team laughed at him. 

“You like Y/N-chan, Tsum Tsum?” Bokuto asked. 

“No, I just met her, and leave me alone, I don’t have time for this.” Atsumu said with clear annoyance as he walked away, the team laughed again because of the fit he was throwing. It wasn’t a lie, he just met you. 

But God, did he wanted to know more about you.

(a/n: hiiii, i took too long, i know please don’t kill me :( i got stuck halfway through it but it’s here and it’s really long! to make up for my pea brain that apparently can’t function properly. anyways, SAY HI TO THE JACKALS! i’m so excited, ik it’s short but next chapter you’ll get the content you want :) as always i want to thank my betas for helping me with this chapter too! they deserve the world honestly. and thanks to all of you too! for all the support and your feedback, it’s always a appreciated. <3)

masterlist

TAGLIST: @aonenthusiast​ @wiseeggspickleslime​ @koushisun​ @airheadpillar​ @sunflwrsandprettyskies​ @bbkiyoomi​ @daphnxy​ @shephard17895​ @avatarkyoshithewarrior​ @for-rebloggery​ @vv-bee999-vv @fi16ns

@kara-grayson04

#msby atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #Miya Atsumu #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi x you #oikawa #oikawa tōru #msby bj #msby black jackal #bokuto #hq anime #hq fluff #haikyuu!!

[daydream-believin]

Flowers Have Feelings

summary: it's valentines and you're making some gifts for your good pal douxie,,, also confessing

warnings: swearing probably, no proofread cause tired

word count: 2659

a/n: i've been struggling with writers block. i guess. i've returned to this only to write like, a paragraph so many times. which is bad cause like cheese designed the bouqeut and this should have been done ages ago. idk idk bon appetit

tags: @yagirlcheesely, is for you

image below: sketch of the bouquet

You jumped out of bed and slammed your alarm. Today was the day. You had to get everything ready today. Tonight would be the presentation. The night you finally do it. The night you confessed to your closest friend and crush, Douxie. Also happened to be Valentine’s day.

Your friends may have told you: “Just be patient. Drop hints. If he likes you, he’ll let you know.” But you weren’t about that passive love life. You liked to grab that strawberry cow by the horns. Subtly was boring and took far too long. You were in love with your friend and you were gonna let him know frankly if it killed you. It probably would, to be honest.

As confident as this makes you sound, you were aware of the possibility of him not liking you back, and that was okay. Sure, your heart would be shattered and you might not be very peachy for, say, a month or six, but you accepted that. At first, you had resigned yourself to just adoring him secretly. But you quickly grew impatient with that. What were you afraid of, really? Him letting you down gently, and ushering you two into an era of awkwardness? Okay so maybe that was worth considering. But not really. You wouldn’t let it come to that. Even if he did turn you down, you weren’t about to let that fact taint your friendship like that. You two were very close, and Douxie wasn’t the kind of guy to suddenly treat you differently after such a thing. Just a few weeks of awkwardness at most before all was forgotten (on his end at least). Only a problem for you. But, boy, it would be really, really nice, and not awkward, if he reciprocated.

You and Douxie were thick as thieves. There wasn’t a thing you hadn’t told each other. Not a secret between a pair of buddies as close as you. Oh, one thing, you know. The fact that you had caught feelings, that was definitely something you had kept secret from him. As eager as you were to do so, you couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that at any old time. That’s why you chose today of all days to confess; a little extra luck from St. Valentine. A little magic to give you a boost, placebo or not. This was going to happen. This was going to work.

You strapped on your helmet, safety first, before heading out on your bike. You cleared your schedule for the day cause you weren’t really sure if everything would work out or not. You could have everything done and ended wrapped up neatly in a few hours, or you could have a complete disaster on your hands, which could take up all your time. Time you would happily give, since you were determined for everything to be perfect. It was also nice to know you didn’t have to come in to work later,, lest you spend the whole night, crying your eyes out. You shuddered at the possibility. You were gonna stop thinking about that now. Yeah, only confidence now.

You may be a teensy bit sleep deprived. Only a teensy bit. You chugged a monster this morning, you’ll be fine. It wasn’t your fault you were up all night researching flower language. There were so many flowers, and those flowers had so many feelings. Eventually though, you managed to settle on a bouquet of roses, daisies, and dandelions. Fern leaves for greenery too. Greenery was important for flower arrangements. It tied the whole thing together. While it wouldn’t be the most on theme color scheme, the yellows, whites, reds, and greens, would mix together prettily. You definitely didn’t have to go as far as this, and you were banking on the fact that Douxie even knew flower language, but it was sweet, it was romantic. And you were going to be romantic about this, dammit.

Daisies, for friendship. It was really important that you communicate just how much you valued Douxie’s friendship and how nothing would change between you two if he were to not return your feelings. Red, red roses, classic romance. There was a reason the blooms were so strongly associated with the valentines holiday itself; no one sees a red rose and thinks of anything other than love and romance. A clear message to your beloved. And well, the dandelions? Cheery, beautiful, resilient, common weeds, never to be approved of, finding the strength to bloom despite assholes like Merlin’s best efforts. Dandelions were Douxie’s favorite flower.

Too bad the florist didn’t even consider them to be anything but said common weed. You had included them in your order when you called it in and you could hear the florist laugh, but muffled as if he put his hand over the receiver, before returning to the phone to inform you that you would have to add them yourself. Pretty rude, if you say so. No matter, hand-picked dandelions would be romantic, anyways. Even if no one else knew about it but you.

You placed the bouquet neatly into the basket of your bike. You’d pick the dandelions to complete it later, right before the big confession, in order to keep them fresh. But as of now, the bouquet peaked out of your basket, the floral fragrance wafting up to your face as you made your way to the next store.

Last week, you had seen such an adorable little box of chocolates. It had chocolates shaped like little skulls, flowers, and ghost cats, and the box had a silly pun about death. Goth chocolate, def. It would have been perfect for the edgy wizard in your life, but alas, it was way too fucking expensive. Like obscenely expensive. But no matter, you’d just steal the idea. How hard could making chocolate be anyway?

You left the grocery store with your haul safe in your skull-patterned reusable shopping bag. Wizard-chic and eco-friendly, it was your favorite bag. The contents of the much-loved bag? Melting chocolates, a jar of marmalade, a jar of raspberry jam, a jar of strawberry jam, and a new roll of wax paper, since you were out. Now you weren’t as ambitious as to make your own jam here. This was a failsafe. There are only so many ways to ruin chocolates if you did not make the chocolate nor the filling yourself. Now just a quick run in the stationary shop on your way home for a cute box, and you were all ready to start your chocolatier career.

 * * *

Douxie was getting antsy. Not many patrons had paid a visit to his bookstore this afternoon. Which was strange for valentine’s. and it left him with nothing but his thoughts to entertain his anxious mind. Doux had a lot to worry about. His band had a gig in a new town, so he wasn’t sure how they would be received. He was waiting on a shipment of books that was supposed to show up days ago. It may have gotten lost. That Lake kid was getting himself into more and more trouble these days and it was starting to become hard to help out without overstepping his vaguely imposed bounds. But most of all, at the very moment, he was worried about you.

You had asked him to meet up for dinner tonight. Okay, pretty normal for a Sunday night. Not that the weekend meant anything to either of you, but you normally set aside Sunday for dinner hangout. So nothing to abnormal. But then. Then, you said, something… Douxie actually can’t recall what you said, per se, just that it was along the lines of “we need to talk.” And that your tone sounded nervous. He did not like that one bit, nope nope. He had spent a great part of the day just revisiting every interaction the two of you had had in the last month or so, desperate to figure out if he did something wrong. But he was coming up blank, for all his efforts. Across the room, the clock ticked on. It would be closing time soon enough, and then he’d no longer have to wonder just what he did wrong, as you would be there to tell him directly. Fuzzbuckets, he couldn’t wait.

* * *

You wiped the goopy chocolate off of your cheek with the back of your hand. So far this wasn’t a total disaster. You had at least seven chocolate skulls filled and drying in the molds. The white chocolate seemed to have melted smoother than the regular chocolate? The regular chocolate ones looked kind of lumpy. You hoped they came out of the molds okay. Not to mention the ones you already messed up. A little mountain of chocolate pieces and jam had started rising from your table top corner.

It had been lots of fun at the start. melting the chocolates with a double boil, planning out which molds would be which flavors. But actually filling those molds? A messy, messy ordeal. You had chocolate and jam all over your kitchen, up to your exposed elbows, and even a little in your hair. But that was okay. You’d clean the kitchen later. With the molds in the freezer to set, your priority now was cleaning yourself up rather than the kitchen.

And you cleaned up nice, if you did say so yourself. You got the chocolate out of your hair, and had on a fresh outfit, taking a little time to put effort into your style. You looked snazzy, but not too fancy. You needed to stay casual. Something that you hoped would make Douxie be like ‘wow they look pretty okay’ but not freak him out with formality. Yeah. This was good.

Your watch beeped. Okay, you needed to get out of here, no more dilly dallying. You pulled the candies you made out of the freezer. Moment of truth. Thank the stars, all of the chocolates came out of the molds smoothly without breaking. You arranged them in the cute circular box you set up earlier and folded the tissue paper over them. They all fit in perfectly. The cheesy valentine card, the most important part, didn’t quite fit on top of the candies, you’d have to put it with the bouquet. You slid the lid onto the box and fastened a bow around it with a blue ribbon. Maybe this was a bit overkill, but Douxie knew how to appreciate the dramatic. He’d love it, you were sure.

Last but not least, you headed to the greenspace across the street from your apartment for the final ingredient in your Douxie wooing, dandelions. You were lucky that the empty lot had recently bloomed an entire garden’s worth of the yellow things. The chilly breeze mussed up your newly-fixed hair as you danced about gathering the tiny flowers, adding to the bouquet until you felt like it was enough. Which took longer than you had hoped. You definitely could have kept adding in more dandelions but your watch beeped once again and you had no choice but to make peace with the level of yellow and book it to the bookstore where you and Douxie were supposed to meet before heading out for the night.

* * *

Hearing the ding of the door chime, Douxie turned around to kindly inform the customer who came in that he wasn’t open, but the words caught in his throat when he was met with your smile. There you were, standing in the shop with a box in one hand and flowers in the other. You looked cute. Really cute. But Douxie chased that thought away. He fumbled with the book he had been re-shelving. It fell out of his hand unceremoniously, landing with a thud.

“Hey,” Doux managed to get out. “What’s all-”

“These are for you!” you shoved the presents into his now empty hands. That courage you had earlier? Gone. Your resolve? Dissolving as we speak. You had to get this over with before you chickened out. He was just so good, okay. And why did you think this was a good idea. Douxie looked down at the gifts in his hands confused, before blushing. If he could have reached a hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck he would have.

“I didn’t know we were doing Valentine’s, uh. I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh! Don’t be. I just,, felt like doing something nice for you and uh, special,” Douxie tilted his head. You took the box, freeing up his hand. “These are chocolates I made, like, like you’re supposed to do.” You waltzed over to the counter to place them out of the way. “The bouquet is the real star here, uh, I picked them out very carefully.” You tucked your arms behind your back. “I, uh- I brushed up on flower language, and I hope I got it right.”

Now Douxie may have been a Victorian once upon a time but he had barely any surviving memory of the frilly flower language people socialized through in those days. But thankfully, the blooms in the bouquet in front of him were straight forward enough that he did in fact get the message without taking too much gear turning in that noggin of his. Although, the friendly daisies with the red roses were kind of sending him some mixed signals. He knew what he wanted them to mean, but he could just be misinterpreting. You seemed to notice his hesitation.

“Um, there’s a card too. In the flowers somewhere. That. Probably explains what I’m trying to say a little clearer.” You carded your fingers through your hair. You had anticipated not being able to really speak with your voice, as you barely could now, so you’d written it all out on the card as backup. But damn, that card had everything on it. You maybe got a little carried away. There wasn’t going to be any going back from this.

Douxie dug out the card from amidst the blooms. It was handmade, with a cheesy little drawing on the front complete with a pun. And then he opened it. It was almost solid black with ink. Yeah, you had written that much in there. Both sides. And a little on the back. Wow. Doux tried his best to keep up a poker face while reading it but failed quickly as the first few lines alone left him flushed. It was true, everything was on it. From how much you adored Douxie as a person, to how much you valued his friendship, to how pretty you thought he was, to how you longed for something more, with him? Douxie felt like his hands were getting the card all sweaty.

It was nerve wracking watching him read that card. It seemed like he was finished, since his eyes stopped raking through it, but now he was staring intensely at the words written on the pages, in a trance. He broke focus, looking to the bouquet, back to the card, and then finally settled on you.

“Wow.”

“… is that a good wow?”

Douxie caught you by surprise. He pulled into a hug. “Yeah, a good wow.”

You and Douxie’s first non-platonic hug? Yes please. You didn’t even mind the flowers pressing into your back. Okay so a few rose thorns were poking you but that was fine. Douxie smelled like something you couldn’t name, but it was spicy, and cozy. He let you go sooner than you were ready to, but he grinned at you as he left to rummage through his things in the back for a vase. He turned to you as he proudly displayed them on the store’s counter, right where he could look at them all workday,

“So, where are we going tonight? For our first date?” Doux chuckled, “and, technically, our first Valentine’s day too.”

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