#yes I have issues with the hidden villages

[migila]

Fic time! Boruto time! ...Without Boruto himself

Spoiler warning: Spoilers up to Boruto episode 248

For a Greater Cause

Buntan stares at the corpse at her feet, still bleeding out despite the man having died already. This was it; it was done. She’d gotten her revenge. What was getting one’s revenge supposed to feel like? Once she got her revenge for Kagura, whatever it made her feel had been overshadowed by her grief over Hebiichigo’s death, but now, while there had been injuries, there had been no deaths on her side. The only one who died today was Shizuma, and yet she felt nothing. Just… empty. She wasn’t glad, but by no means was she sad, either.

Wanting something else to think about, or more like just something to think about, she looks at the person who had helped her with her hunt from the corner of her eye. A chuunin from Konoha, Metal Lee of Team 5. He had joined her, with the Hokage’s permission, in her hunt a few weeks back when she’d finally gotten a reliable lead on where to find her target. Shizuma had caused no trouble to Konoha aside from that one time on Sarada’s class’s field trip years ago as far as she knew, so it was odd for the Hokage to send someone to help. That was enough to tell Buntan that it hadn’t been the man’s own idea; Metal must’ve requested this. Why, she was not sure, but she was grateful for the help; she wasn’t sure if she could’ve done this alone.

“Why did you come to help me?” she should be saying thank you instead of questioning his motives, but the doubt and need for answers comes far more naturally to her.

Metal, having also stared at the body until now, looks up to her.

“If Miss Hebiichigo was still here, she would’ve lent you a hand. But she’s not, and that’s because I couldn’t protect her.”

Ah, so he was still stuck on that, blaming himself of the girl’s untimely death. It’s not like he was entirely wrong, but if he was to blame, then so was she. They’d both been there, so they’d both failed to protect her.

“It wasn’t your fault” Buntan says “Not any more than it was the fault of the rest of us. We were there too, I was there, yet I let her die. We all let her die.”

Needless to say, comforting people wasn’t her strong point. Metal says nothing, and they stand there for a long while until he starts to move the body in front of them. She doesn’t need to ask; she can tell he’s preparing for a burial. She’s not all that sure that Shizuma deserves one, but doesn’t say it, and joins the man.

Once they’re done, Buntan feels ready to go home and leave this all behind; it was over. However, seeing Metal stare at the grave in silence keeps her from voicing her desire to leave. She senses he’s not done with whatever he came here to do, something aside from just helping her.

“Can I burden you with a secret?” he asks all of sudden. Buntan is surprised by the sudden question, but doesn’t think much of it, even though calling it a burden strongly implies that it isn’t something happy. And she owes him, though even if she didn’t, she would’ve probably still given the same answer: “Sure.”

“I’m leaving Konoha” he says, lifting his gaze from the grave, his intense, pitch-black eyes meeting her own “I’m going rogue.”

What had Buntan been expecting him to say? It certainly hadn’t been that, that much she knew.

“Rogue? Why?” and why was he telling it to her? Did he think she wouldn’t try stopping him? Not that he was wrong, and she wouldn’t rat him out, either. Not her village, not her problem, but she did have the urge to know why he’d make such a decision.

“Do you know why Miss Hebiichigo became a shinobi?” he asks.

“…I asked her about it once. Her answer was “because I’m good at killing.”” at the time, Buntan had been sure there was more to it, but she hadn’t asked. Should she have? She was starting to feel like Metal knew something she didn’t.

“Yes, that’s right. She followed the shinobi who’d praised her for her ability to kill after she’d accidentally killed a runaway shinobi. That was the first, and for a long time only, thing she had been praised for.”

Buntan hadn’t known that. She didn’t know much of Hebiichigo’s life before they met, other than it hadn’t been an easy one, and even that she only knew by observing her, not because of something the girl herself had told. But for one reason or the other, she’d told Metal.

“She became a shinobi and honed her skill to kill because she thought it was the only thing, she was good for, because no one gave her a chance to think otherwise, to try something else. There are lots of people like her out there, and I want to help them. For her sake; no one deserves a fate like hers, dying without getting to try out other paths in her life, without really even getting to see that they were there!”

She could understand what he was saying, or at least she thought she could, and she respected his desire to help complete strangers, even though that was anything but her style, yet it didn’t answer the most important question.

“But why go rogue? Wouldn’t it be easier to help others as a shinobi? You would have your team and your friends to help you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about being hunted down for being a rogue ninja.”

“I would if I could; I already tried” Metal says, visibly deflating as the light leaves his eyes. He looks away “I talked about this with Denki and Iwabe. They understood, and we brought this up to our teacher and even the Hokage. They said they understood what we meant, but that it was important to have strong new shinobi available for the village’s sake, so encouraging everyone with talent to become shinobi was necessary. And that even though we do that, no one’s forced to become shinobi. And I’m sure that’s true for those of us born in the village, those privileged enough to have choices in front of us right from the start, but what about the ones with talent who have nothing, the ones like Hebiichigo? They’ll take the chance when given one, and no one bothers to let them think of other paths in life. That’s what I want to change. I want to give people like that a chance to decide for themselves, before any village can get their hands on them and make them think being a shinobi is the only choice they have!”

Buntan stares. She had not expected such a passionate speech. But how was Metal planning on doing it all?

“At first, I thought that I could still do things on my own and with my team, help people from outside the village that are recruited, but others caught up to it soon and told us to stop. We were just telling people there were other options for them, too, yet we weren’t allowed to do that. Who would’ve it harmed if one or two people occasionally chose differently?! It’s about their lives!”

The sharp toothed woman couldn’t agree more, but was the situation really as bad as Metal made it seem? The Seventh Hokage was known for his soft heart; wouldn’t he back Metal up in this? She voiced her thoughts, but the boy shook his head furiously.

“The Hokage himself told us to stop; that’s why Iwabe and Denki quit. I know that he has to do what he sees as the best for the village, but I can’t think like that, I can’t stop thinking about the individual people who might be able to make themselves better lives if they just got the chance!”

So, the Hokage was no longer as soft as in the stories. Had his age and the world caught up to him, getting rid of his naivety? Or had the stories ever been true in the first place? Buntan didn’t know, and probably never would.

“Well, the Hokage isn’t naïve. That’s good, considering that he has a lot of people to lead. But you are. How do you plan to find such people? And to avoid those chasing you?  How will you get money to live? Do you have any plan on how to go about this?”

Metal gives her a heated glare, but while the boy knows how to give a convincing speech, he lacks the ability to intimidate.

“Of course, I have plans!” he defends “I’ll leave while pretending to go on a vacation, so I’ll have a head start! After I don’t come back in time, it’ll still take a while for them to understand that I left on purpose! I have savings; I’ll get by with those for a while, and I can do small jobs here and there. If I keep low profile, it’ll make it difficult for anyone to find me. I’ll- “

Metal rambled on, and while there were a lot of risks and what ifs, Buntan was pleasantly surprised about how well he had thought things out.

“And what if I go rat you out to the Mizukage right now? He’d report it all to the Hokage. What would you do then?” she asks while he’s midsentence and Metal stops talking. But to her surprise, he doesn’t seem worried.

“You won’t; that’s not what you’re like” he says, sure of himself “That’s why I chose you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Buntan was a lot of things, not all of them good, but she wasn’t a snitch. She wouldn’t rat out a friend.

“Why did you tell me all this in the first place?” a thought occurs to her “Is this why you helped me to get my revenge? To make me feel indebted to you so that I would follow you?”

“What? No!” Metal looks absolutely mortified by the idea. It’s not like Buntan had seriously considered it in the first place, but with how genuinely he denies it, what little doubt she did have leaves, too. But he had to have some reason “I could never expect that out of you or anyone else! I just… needed to…”

He trails off, and Buntan recalls where this conversation started from.

“Can I burden you with a secret?”

“You wanted someone to know the truth” she says. Metal nods, visibly relieved, but also embarrassed if the pink hue on his cheeks was anything to go by “You wanted someone to know that you aren’t doing this out of selfishness or some greed. You wanted there to be someone who didn’t judge you, but you needed it to be someone who wouldn’t try to stop you.”

“Yes, exactly!” Metal confirms, but his smile leaves as soon as it came “But I now realize that it was a bad idea; it’s unfair to push a burden like this on someone. I’m sor-“

“Don’t” Buntan cuts him off fast, and Metal snaps his jaw shut “Don’t say you’re sorry, I… I’m glad you told me, that you trusted me.”

And she wasn’t going to spit on that trust, even though she felt like she really should, for Metal’s own sake. Not that she’d actually go and tell the Mizukage, but maybe Boruto or Sarada… if only Kagura was still alive, she’d definitely tell him.

“But are you sure you want to do this? Kyohõ and I got off as easily as we did due to Kagura’s insistence, our young age and the fact that our actions were limited to Kirigakure and the Land of Water. You might have friends in high places, but you aren’t a child anymore, and if you really want to avoid being caught, you’ll have to leave the Land of Fire. If you do this, there’ll be no going back.”

“I know. It’s not like this is some sudden impulse, most certainly not. I thought of it long and hard before coming to this decision. I have to do this.”

They stared in to each other’s eyes, and the always so earnest boy’s, or more like a man’s, really, gaze didn’t waver. His mind was set.

“…Visit Kagura and Hebiichigo when you start” Buntan settled on saying “You might not have a safe chance to do so for a long time afterwards.”

“Right! I will!” Metal says, and even while she doesn’t know him very well, even Buntan can tell he’s relieved she’s not trying to talk him out of it. He’s like an open book, which makes her wonder if his friends and family will eventually notice that something’s wrong and stop him. She’s not sure if she should hope for that to happen or not.

 In the end, it only takes three weeks for Metal to arrive at the graves of their friends. Buntan’s on a lookout high up in the tree when he does so. He doesn’t notice her, causing the woman to scoff. It’s not like she was in plain sight, but if he was going rogue, he’d need to learn to pay attention to his surroundings at all ti-

“Did you come to see me off, Miss Buntan?”

She blinks, surprised. So, he had noticed her, simply not acknowledging her presence until now. She supposes she didn’t give him enough credit. She jumps down, landing directly behind him.

“I came to see if you could really pull this off. No one suspected anything?” she asks. She hadn’t thought he’d change his mind, but she had been sure that someone, probably Boruto, would notice something being wrong and would confront him about it.

Metal turns to face her.

“They seemed to notice that something was wrong, but I just claimed to be a little tired. Taking some time off fit well with that, too. And I made sure I wasn’t followed, many times, so there is no need to worry about that.”

With that, he picks up the bag at his feet.

“I wish you well from now on. To Kyohõ too, of course. But now, I must be on my way.”

Buntan smirks. That was her cue.

“Great” she says, walking over to the tree and taking her own bag from where it’s hidden from sight just right “Let’s go, then.”

Metal stares. Blinks, then stares some more, before what she said sinks in.

“What? No no, I never asked you to come along, I told you that didn’t I?” he panics, waving his arms around “I only told you because- I mean- “

“I know” Buntan assures, closing the distance between them to put a hand on his shoulder “I know you didn’t. This is my own choice. This is what I want to do. After Shizuma died, I didn’t feel any sense of relief or happiness, I just felt empty. I had no idea what to do. But now I do; you gave me something to feel about again.”

“But going rogue- didn’t you work so hard back then so that you wouldn’t be chased down? All the work that Kagura put in to getting you your freedom- “

“Has been put to good use during these few years, but it’s time to let go” she interrupts him yet again “Following the orders of someone sitting safe in his office while subordinates risk their lives isn’t for me, anyway.”

“Then what about Kyohõ? If you leave, then his whole team- “

Buntan interrupts him by putting two fingers in to her mouth and whistling, shutting him up. Only a few seconds later, Kyohõ walks up to them with a bag thrown over his shoulder.

“He’s coming too”

“What? But-?”

“I can’t leave Buntan alone, and I want to help people like Hebiichigo, too” this time it’s Kyohõ who interrupts the soon to be rogue ninja’s speech “I want to do this.”

“We had a long talk about this, and we’re not changing our minds” Buntan smirks “You’re stuck with us.”

Metal stares at them. Buntan is prepared to argue some more if he still tries to change their minds, but it turns out to be unnecessary.

“Alright, I’ll be counting on you, then” he bows deep, dramatical as usual “Thank you for joining me!”

“Yeah yeah, whatever” Buntan says, still not used to his overflowing honesty despite having known him for years. No wonder Hebiichigo always found it awkward “One question, though.”

“Yes?”

“What’s with the clothes?” she can’t help but ask. This was the first time ever that she saw Metal wearing something else than a ridiculous green jumpsuit. He was still in a similar outfit, but this time it was black.

“Ah, this? I couldn’t possibly dishonor the Great Green Beasts of Konoha by wearing the usual when I go rogue. Leaving Konoha means leaving behind that, too.”

She recalled him defending the ridiculous garment heatedly when it had been made fun of, and he’d worn it so much; it was obviously important to him. He had made sacrifices for this, unlike her or Kyohõ; after all, they had nothing to sacrifice. Many people in this world had nothing to sacrifice, aside from their lives.

It was people like that that they were setting out to help.

“Kagura must be rolling in his grave by now, but let’s do this” Buntan says, holding her fist out “For Hebiichigo, and for those like her.”

“For Hebiichigo” the two chorus as their fists hit hers.

#because fuck the government #sending those kids to die while the adults just stand by #yes I have issues with the hidden villages #boruto naruto next generations #metal lee #buntan #kyohõ #hebiichigo #fic #fan fiction #would've really liked to see someone GOOD going rogue simply because the system sucked

[suguwu]

gn!reader x childe, identity issues, predator/prey.

minors and ageless blogs dni.

You have always loved crocuses.

Snezhnaya is a brutal winterscape at the best of times, but the crocuses never fail you. They pierce through sheaves of snow, bearing spring in their hardy stems. They bloom into dark purple bruises, their golden stamen hidden away between the petals, something precious and protected. 

It’s a promise imbued into a flower, small and hardy, the beginning of the Snezhnayan winter’s long goodbye. 

They are coming later and later, these days. 

The village whispers that there may be a day they never come. That winter will stake its claim on your land forever, leaving naught but desolation in its path. 

You will not let that happen.

“That rite is ancient,” the elder says, her brow furrowed. “And that god—”

“Still lives,” you say.

“—is dangerous.”

You fall silent. 

The elder’s eyes gleam in the firelight. You think of the dark stones of the river under moonlight, how they shine. “Yes,” she says. “He lives. But it is too perilous to invoke him.”

“He protected us once—”

“That does not mean he will protect us again.”

“What choice do we have?” you ask. “What more can we lose before it is too late for us to recover? The winter begins to have no end.”

“And who will be sacrificed, then, to fulfill this rite of yours?”

You take a deep breath. “I will.” 

The elder watches you for a moment, her expression giving away nothing, as impassive as the glacier that rises beyond the village. You meet her gaze. She sighs.

“You are certain?” she asks.

No, you think, a chill fluttering down your spine, a spiral of winter. 

“Yes,” you say, and if your voice trembles a bit, she is kind enough to say nothing.

“Very well.” The elder leans back in her chair, her dark eyes keen. “We will help you with the preparations.” 

You dip your head. “Thank you, elder.”

“Go,” she says. “Make ready.”

You turn to leave and pause as she murmurs your name, as soft and warm as the spring sun. When you glance over your shoulder, her eyes have a glassy sheen to them.

“May you come back to us.”

You give her a small smile.

You go to meet your fate.

—

Snow is falling as you leave the village, the fat, fluffy flakes spinning in the breeze. They catch on your eyelashes and melt away, beading there like crystalline diamonds, sending the sun refracting through them, nature’s favorite prism. 

It’s a half a day’s walk to the ritual grounds. The path is almost gone, lost to the passing years. The snow hides it, too, thick drifts of it piled high among the sapling ribs of the forest. You follow it as best you can.

You see the first crocus around midday.

It blooms through the snow, a bruise against the pristine white, and you stumble towards it. From there, you spy the next, the bloom unfolding towards the sun, an acolyte at an altar. 

They only grow thicker from there, sprouting up in bunches as the snow thins, little markers of purple as deep as the night sky, dotted with blooms the color of the sun. 

Soon you have to step around them carefully, leaving a path of swaying flowers in your wake, rippling like a river. They come to an abrupt halt at the edge of a snowless clearing, where thick tufts of grass are verdant against deep, dark soil. There are tiny flowers dotted in the grass like stars. 

In the center of the clearing, a riot of flowers spills over, from massive peonies almost buckling under their own weight to tall, proud irises rising high. There’s something to the shape of them. It prods at you, but you can’t make sense of it.

You take a deep breath and step into the clearing. 

Something sweeps through you, a frisson of power long dormant, fizzing across your nerves. Gooseflesh rises on your skin. 

Nothing happens.

You step forward again. The sun shines boldly here, the rays soft against your skin. It is nothing like the bleak winter sun that has accompanied you on your journey. You close your eyes and turn your face up towards it. It plays over your skin like a lover and you bask in it. There is a sweet scent lingering in the air; it mixes with the fresh smell of the grass crushed beneath your heavy boots. 

For a moment, you simply stand there, nestled in this little pocket of spring. 

Ice trickles down your spine. 

Your eyes pop open as your breath catches in your throat. You glance around wildly but nothing has changed. 

“Hello?” you call out.

“Hi,” comes echoing back to you, obscenely cheerful, and you stumble back. A shiver rolls down your spine. “Over here,” the voice says, full of laughter.

You follow the sound of it up to a tree on the very edge of the clearing. It’s half in bloom, one side thick with lush leaves, while the other is barren and dusted with snow. 

The god is sitting on a branch, tucked up against the thick trunk. His long legs are crossed and resting on the branch; he’s the picture of relaxation. 

You suck in a sharp breath as he peers down at you, his head cocked to the side. It lets you see the very edge of a crimson mask jauntily perched on the side of his head. It gleams in the sunlight, wine-dark. You frown for a moment, wondering if there’s a mask you should be wearing—you don’t remember reading about one. 

“Whatcha doing here?” the god asks.

You pause, thrown by how flippant he is, by the wide grin on his lips. Something cold settles behind your ribs, digging sharp teeth into the softness of you, a warning bite. You shudder.

“Well?”

You shake off the oppressive feeling that’s layered over your skin, coating you like oil. “I’ve come to invoke the spring rite,” you say. “The winter—it’s gone on too long. The growing season should have already begun.”

The god hums.

“Please,” you say, “the village won’t survive.” 

“There’s usually a sacrifice for these types of things, isn’t there?”

Your hands tremble. “I’m here,” you say. “I offer myself in the spring rite.”

The god’s eyes gleam. “You give in easy, don’t you?”

You pause. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell you what,” the god says, hopping down from the tree gracefully. He lands on his feet without a wince despite the long drop. He prowls closer to you and the air thickens with something you can’t name. You choke on your next breath.

“You know the lake?” he asks.

Bewildered, you nod.

“You run to it. I’ll follow. If I catch you, you’re mine. If I don’t, I’ll help the village. Sound good?”

“I—I don’t understand—”

He prowls closer still. His orange hair catches in the sunlight and you think of a crackling fire, of the snapping bite of the flames. Your stomach turns.

“Do we have a deal?”

You square your shoulders. “Yes.”

He smiles; ice spirals down your spine. 

“Run, little mouse,” the god says, sounding far too cheerful. His eyes—blue, blue, blue like the ocean’s depths, and just as cold—are sharp. “And c’mon, make it a good chase, won’t you?”

You turn and run.

Behind you, the god laughs, the sound young, almost boyish. 

The flowers of the clearing smash beneath your heavy boots; you all but throw yourself back into the snowy grip of the woods, dancing between the massive oaks. 

Your pulse is already singing in your ears, a thundering crash of waves. A branch catches your cheek, a sharp bite of pain, but you don’t even slow. You know you don’t have a second to lose, not with the snow slippery beneath you, not with the sound of laughter echoing behind you. 

The air is humming, shot through with something you can’t name, something that settles deep in your bones, an old and terrible thing. You shudder with it as it shrouds you, weighing you down. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You dart right just as a hand skims the flaring end of your furs; you feel the slight tug of it and throw yourself forward, pushing harder despite your already-screaming legs. 

“Good,” the god says, sounding deeply pleased. 

You veer away from the sound of his voice, almost slipping on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. You can practically feel him behind you, keeping pace with you as if it’s child’s play. He dogs your steps, his very presence oppressive and heavy. 

You lose precious time ducking around trees and weaving your way through the forest, but you know he’ll catch you if you simply run. The winter wind nips at your cheeks and nose; it burns your throat as you take in huge, gasping breaths. 

Behind you, the god is humming.

The tears burn at the corners of your eyes. It feels like they freeze on your cheeks as they trickle down. But the trees are starting to thin, the lake not far off beyond them. 

You push yourself, thighs and feet screaming as you leap over a tangle of roots, and then the lake is in your view, glimmering under the bleak winter sun, the water shifting like a mirage. 

You’re almost there.

You put on another burst of speed, your heart in your throat, lengthening your stride as your pulse hammers.

“Game over,” the god says in your ear.

You go down before you know what’s happening.

The god takes you to the ground in one fell swoop. He’s warm against you. You barely catch yourself; pain sears through you as you hit the ground. Still, you take advantage of his loosening grip to wiggle out from underneath him, dragging yourself free by digging your hands into the soil and scrambling forward.

You’re almost on your feet again when he catches you by the ankle with one big hand. 

You kick on instinct, something carved into your bones coming to life inside you, a desperation passed down in your blood. You catch him just below the ribs, in the softest part of his stomach. Air leaves him in a billowing gust. His teeth clack together, bone against bone, a graveyard sound. 

But he doesn’t let go.

He laughs.

It’s a crow of delight, bright and merry, echoing off the barren trees. His blue, blue eyes crinkle at the edges. 

He drags you to him with an ease that makes something in you go cold, like the darkest part of winter, when the night swallows up even the smallest hints of the sun. He flips you over onto your back. 

“Not a timid mouse after all,” he says, baring his teeth in a wide, thrilled grin. There’s blood shining on them. “You kick too hard for that, right, little hare?”

You try to kick him again; he pins you in place under his body weight, his eyes darkening. 

“You can do better than that,” he says. “C’mon. Hit me harder. I know you can.” 

“What kind of god are you?” you whisper.

He blinks. “God?” he says. He stares at you for a moment with those eyes, dull and deep, and then he throws back his head with a laugh. “Do you mean the god of that little clearing? You think I’m him?”

“I don’t understand,” you say, dread welling up inside of you, spreading through you like poison. 

“I’m no god,” he says cheerfully. “I did kill that one, though. Tsaritsa’s orders. He was weaker than I thought he’d be.”

You think of the mass of flowers in the center of the clearing. Of the odd shape of them.

“I thought you were him,” you breathe. 

“Nope.”

“You—” you start, before your tongue fails you. “You’re not a god?”

“Afraid not.”

You buck beneath him, trying to throw him off, wiggling around in the snow and trying to get leverage.

He tightens his grip until you go still. 

“Still, a deal’s a deal,” the god—the man—says cheerfully. He leans down and brushes his lips over yours, a whisper of a kiss. 

“You’re mine.” 

#childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #bee writes genshin #predator/prey tw

[yaut-jaknowit]

Okay but now I started thinking on how would an argument with Gawtin go? Also, glad to be back to pester you💪

An Argument with Gawtin

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1247 (Couldn't help it)

Summary: Like dominos falling in line, things build up until the dam can't handle it. The stress, the cracks. The two of you are a tornado, feeding off of each other.

Author Note: I decided to do this a little different than I usual do this. I have off feelings about angst, like arguments and you might see it here. To be honest, Gawtin doesn't get anger often, rarely at all. Thank you Kissmyaft! I love it when you come to give me phenomenal ideas such as this!

P.s. I decided to create a Kofi since I believe my page has grown to a reasonable amount. If you want tip or buy me a coffee, you're more than welcome to. If you don't want to, that's okay! I make my content free because I know the frustrations when the good shit is hidden behind paywalls. My Kofi link is on my Masterlist page

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 2

Honestly, Gawtin and Reader don’t fight very often. Some disagreements, of course. Some miscommunications. We are talking about two different species, cultures.

But Gawtin doesn’t like to feed into anger. She, like most other females, are cooler minded than their male counterparts. They know how to discuss their issues than result to straight violence. Fights do break out when no one can’t come to an agreement. Nothing that could kill the other though.

When an argument happens, it’s when both are at end of their lines. Gawtin is stressed out from Qui’oky or something with the village. She brings it home with her unfortunately.

Reader has had some trouble still adapting to the new planet or being homesick or worrying over Gawtin. That sets off Gawtin even more. The two of them feeding on each other’s energy.

Reader wants to be left alone, unsure if someone around will help them. In the heat of the moment, words are exchanged. Unfortunately.

Gawtin, no matter how enraged she ever becomes will never, ever, hit you. Yes, for Yautjas, fighting and violence is normal. But you aren’t Yautja. You are weaker than her. It’s just fact. She’s okay with that.

“Can you just fuck off already?” you snapped when Gawtin entered your art room. The door had slid back to reveal the hulking green form that made up Gawtin. Her purple eyes pinned on you sitting at your desk, trying to distract yourself.

Like two demons feeding on each other, you consumed the other’s energy. Like a tornado starting to form or even a hurricane. She had arrived home, pissed off. Someone had gotten under her skin and caused her to be a raging bitch currently. As her wonderful mate, you wanted nothing more to rid her of this unease.

But she just threw it all back in your face.

Qui’oky was set down for a cranky nap in Gawtin’s room. Poor thing sounded tired from missing a nap from this morning. He kept fussing for a bit. Since you knew Gawtin wasn’t wanting to speak with you when she dismissed you harshly, you just went to hide away in your art room. The safe haven that she had gifted to you once she took notice of your skill of wielding a pencil.

A gruff scoff met your ears. You huffed with a roll of your eyes but kept your sight on the blank page before you. It felt not only was that taunting you but Gawtin too. She had to come in here after dismissing you. Didn’t just say she didn’t want you around her and to go away? Dismissed like a measly pet.

“All you do is whine,” she grunted back at you. You head whipped up, back still towards the Yautja. Your nostrils flared in an attempt not to spin around give a piece of your mind. All the shit she’s made you put up with from the first day you met her in that damn forest. For all that you cared for, you could’ve just left her to bleed out! Or let the fucking soldiers take her!

Instantly, you felt regret at the thought and tried to calm yourself down. That didn’t stop the need to cry rise up inside of you.

“Well, you ruined fucking everything in my normal life,” you returned fire, hand grasping the pencil. The wood groaned at the pressure. Your knuckles turning white.

Another scoff. Soft, pitter-patter of feet glided across the floor until the beast was hovering behind you. Her blazing heat boring down on your hunched over form. “Ruined? I’ve given you everything as my mate. How have I ruined ‘everything’?”

A massive palm was placed on the small open space on the desk. This allowed her to bend her body more over you, blanketing you in her shadow. The pencil creaked again. “By taking me here! I don’t belong here. You took me from everything. My home. My family. My friends.”

“I think you are misremembering things, ooman. It was your choice to come with me. You saved me, I could not kill you after I owe you my life and Qui’oky. Why are you so angry?” she growled, nails digging into the wood of your table. That seemed to tick you off more. She was destroying your things.

“I have a right to be angry! You ruined everything. My life is forever stuck here because of you. I’ll die here, on a planet so far from home,” you bite out then finally whipped around in your chair to face her. Gawtin did not move. She stayed sturdy like an oak tree. You bumped into her only to be knocked against your table. It was the only thing holding you up. That didn’t stop you from glaring the Yautja right in the eye and baring your teeth. Something you learned from your time in her culture.

Her mandibles bristled at the sight. A growl starting deep in her chest as she glared down at your unwavering form. “Then, go back. Leave. Go back. Go back home.” That last word was spat out with such disgust, spit hitting your face.

Realization smacked you harder, harder than anyone or thing could. Words said in the heat of the moment but she was telling you to leave. This wasn’t your home, not in her eyes. And that hurt. You felt the way your chest tightened and twisted like a serrated knife lodged there. Tears, hot and burning pooled in your eyes, throat threatening to close up.

Gawtin grunted and leaned down so close her mandibles barely brushed against your cheeks. “Are you going to cry now?” she mocked with a look of distain on her alien face. When you took a deep breath in to cool your nerves, your breath hitched, catching on the lump building in your throat. By god, you were on the verge of breaking down right in front of her.

Something you refused to do. You steeled your nerves, stood up, shoulders back, and got impossibly closer to her face. An act she wasn’t expecting. “Get out.” She raised her gem-studded brow. “Get out!” you shouted at Gawtin, full force. This was your area, your space, your safe haven in this fucked up world you’ve been brought to. Somewhere to go.

Chittering cries echoed out in the hall. Shit. Your breath hitched. Qui’oky had been awoken by your yelling. Guilt dripped into your veins at the sound of his crying. Gawtin huffed that ended in a throaty growl before standing up and marching out of the room.

Once the door slid closed behind her, your whole body nearly went completely lax. Anger still simmered beneath your skin. Yet, sorrow followed in its wake. You bowed your head to calm yourself before plopping down in your seat. The chair squeaking at the new weight. You hated arguing. With her of all people too.

In your hand, you let the pencil go. It’s now shattered pieces falling onto the wooden table. You groaned and placed your head in your hands, fretting over how to fix this.

Hot, fresh tears wettened the wood underneath you. ‘Go back home.’ You flinched as Gawtin’s words echoed back at you in the silence of your room. Qui’oky’s voice barely coming through the door. You clutched your hair at the thought of her not wanting you anymore. Had you just ruined everything?

Heh, it wasn’t her that ruined everything. No. You just did that.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Gawtin

[breithenua]

Probably gonna get some Sakura haters (probably including the misogynist troll variety, kill me now lmao) on this post but... here goes.

Rewatching the episodes where the majority of the Konoha 11 decide to "deal with" Sasuke and the fallout from that. And well, I think people's reaction to Sakura's "confession of love" to Naruto is unfair.

Yes, it was emotionally manipulative of her. Yes, if it had worked it would've resulted in a relationship based upon a lie. Yes, she hurt Naruto with that attempted manipulation. And yes, she's normally smarter than to think that's a good idea.

But y'all forget how emotionally broken she was at the time. She'd just gone through witnessing the entire village of Konoha being razed to the ground. People she had been treating at the time probably died in that Shinra Tensei attack (yes they were brought back afterwards but it was still traumatic). Her sensei and the 5th Hokage was in a coma that no one knew if she'd ever come out of. Danzo had just undermined and replaced Tsunade as Hokage, with her still being in a coma and being unable to defend herself from being deposed in any way, and then basically sent out a kill order on Sasuke. Sasuke, the man she's loved since she was a child, that she begged to not leave Konoha, had been directly involved in *two* different missions to bring him back, both failed, one of which was only a few weeks earlier and they had come *this* close to making it to him in time. Sasuke, the man she had only just found out had joined the Akatsuki and "kidnapped" Killer Bee, making Danzo's order all but justified. Sasuke, the man Naruto just willingly got the shit beat out of by Hidden Cloud ninja, in an attempt to appeal to their senses of mercy in regards for Sasuke. She has to be feeling absolutely powerless at this point. Afterall, she wasn't able to do much during Pain's assault (or probably at least perceived herself that way), can't do anything to help her comatose mentor, can't do anything to stop Danzo from taking over her mentor's position, and so far has been unable to bring back Sasuke. She feels powerless.

And then Sai comes up and tells her that she's part of the reason Naruto is in so much pain over Sasuke. That his promise to her to bring back Sasuke is causing Naruto even more pain and his shouldering of that burden is getting ever harder. And mind you, Naruto only recently lost his greatest mentor. And she's told that the rest of the Ninja of her generation (with the exception of her and Naruto obvs) have decided that they'll go and kill Sasuke themselves to avert war with the Hidden Cloud.

Sakura is incredibly fragile at this point in the story. And now she's told that she's causing one of her closest comrades and friends immense pain, and that said comrade's love for her is only intensifying that pain. She's feeling like a failure in *multiple* ways at this point, she's terrified she's going to lose her mentor, and her lifeling love interest, and she's struggling with the fact that her peers in the Konoha 11 *might actually have a point* in thinking everyone would be better off if Sasuke were dead. She's under so much emotional distress from so many sources, feeling guilty for not being able to bring her sensei put of her coma, not being able to stop Danzo from taking over as Hokage, not being able to stop Danzo from issuing an order to hunt down and kill Sasuke, etc etc. And there's nothing she can do about any of it. But she perceives that there is at least *one* thing she can do something about: The pain that Sai just told her she was putting Naruto through. And in her desperation and guilt, she decides she's going to sacrifice her own happiness and aid in killing Sasuke, and is willing to give Naruto what he's wanted from her for a large portion of their childhoods as extra insurance that he'll give up on aaving Sasuke.

No, her and Naruto probably would not have been happy in the long run in a relationship built upon a lie like that. But again, she's not in a stable emotional state right now. She's probably not thinking long-term consequences. She tries to put on an act to convince him of it.

My point being that yes, maybe normally she'd be smarter than that. But there were a lot of extenuating circumstances that affected her emotional stability and judgement in those few episodes.

Not only that, but something I neglected to mention earlier in this post is that *she is a child* at this point. A teenager yes, but still a child. Her emotional maturity (outside of moments of cartoon gag violence, which imo should be given a pass considering the medium and the genre) is incredible for someone of her age at this point, sure, but at the end of the day she is still a child soldier in a world without mental health professionals and therapists. Under the pressure of what she was going through at the time, just about anyone of any age would have likely snapped, much more so someone that's only 16.

I have my issues with how Kishimoto writes Sakura, but this particular incident is not one of them for me.

#sakura haruno #naruto #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #character analysis

[lesbianslvt666]

Sea monster and treasures

pt 0

captain! Ellie x pirate! Reader

In which instead of finding your brother in a pirate crew, you end up fighting the Ellie Williams, the infamous pirate. however, fighting would not be the end goal, for Ellie longs for something deep, every time she sees you.

Content warning: swearing, smoking, mentions of drugs and alcohol, burglary, fights, swords, denigration, abandonment issues, a bit of gore, you aren't the good guy, neither is Ellie lol. Morally grey characters tbh.

Small glossary at the end for some of the lingo here, (if we don’t like it I can change it no worries ;)

The loud howls of the village roared, the light of the fires mirrored the intensity of the fear and madness of the ones protecting their land.

In the faint outline of the shore, what it felt like a thousand marauders raced toward land, like crazy hyenas, hysteric to get further in.

They were fighting everyone they encountered, they were screaming and gushing everyone they saw, two rushed to you.

Looking down at them couldn’t stop the small chuckle you let, yanking the rails of Callous, you rushed the horse further in, pushing past and beating down whoever tried to get you off him.

After shoving one of them, you heard a familiar voice screaming, finally looking forward, the man himself. your brother looked at you, his face beaten up, the scraps of clothes opened revealing the grandiose amount of jewels he carried around his neck.

"Yo ho! Ye!" you extended your arm as if to touch his skinny form, his attention darting to you, like an arrow, gleaming eyes, thinking he could get your jewels or at least something to fight.

His approach was faster than a lighting on a diluvium night, striking almost as fast as he got near you.

Without a care, your feet got planted on the ground beneath, taking the sword you have been hiding in between the scraps of skirts you had put on.

the bright body of it gleaming in both eyes, for him had only a blade. He went all the way, punching forward, scratching with his blade the skin of your arm.

the crimson blood sparking with fury out of his nose after the hook you pulled, and for a moment he saw the sand, thinking he could win over you.

yet, you took the moment to push your leg forward, sending a strong punch to his stomach,  however, your confidence was the reason for your blow, not realizing he was ready to take your foot with both his hands, twisting it hard enough to get you on your knees right on the sand, his tall figure towering over you now, too in trance with your jewellery to realize that his own blade had been claimed by your right hand, pushing as a threat on his neck, slouching backwards give you the momentum to swing him to his back, now on top of him, his weary eyes twinkled with something, recognition.

"me lass?" his expression cut by the piercing sting your closed fist gave his eye. "eye" your voice fell quieter, a pinching knot in your stomach bubbled with the rage of the seven seas, like a storm erupting form the pit of your pain.

"how dare ye tar, leaving me behind, for you knew I could go with you, could do what ye do, could tar the way you all do!" his eyes, big as the moon, his mouth slow to talk, for another voice came down before his own.

"ye wench, think ye could do a better job than my best tar?"

the blow given to your back strong like a wave, kicking you down to the grainy sand, rocking your body with such a force that it felt like you fell in shattered glass, for the woman who spoke was now the one on top of you, a lock of your hair trapped in between her fingers, with her other hand roaming around your hip, as to check for any other hidden weapon, but really as petty excuse to touch you a bit more.

"who ye think ye are lass, ye scurvy dog" and with all the force left from all the fighting before, you yanked your legs from in between hers to twist her to her side, now topping again the woman insulting you, putting a blade hidden in between all your necklaces, her beautiful face gleaming with something, breath heavy, cherry lips intoxicating your view, her shaggy clothes almost opening with the way you were painfully swinging the blade up her chest to her neck, too close to her face.

"let me join ye hands ye old salt and I'll let ye go" your eyes waltzing all over her delicious features, you knew it was her, you knew she was the captain, you recognized her face even only from tale tales, and for her smile brightened the shadow you casted over her silhouette.

Her wondering hands flowing naturally from base of your knees to up your thighs to rest on the curve of your hips, feeling goosebumps all over your body, like a cold breeze chilling all thought in your head, stopping you from working as fast as you would have.

Taking advantage of that, she pushed past you, with the force of her hands on your hips, a loud thud was all you’re her and her faint voice like a fog saying "take a caulk princess."

The cold floor smelled like salt and dead fish, your mouth tasted like iron and rum.

Your hands flew to your face, trying to get the haziness of your sight, however, pressing upon your eyes revealed a sting that travelled to the head ache that you were getting accustomed too, the bloody nose and the busted lip didn’t do much to help you.

the creak of the chamber door opened, revealing a bitten up scrappy boy, a mare resemblance of the brother you remembered, his warry eyes softened as soon as he saw you awake, his shoulders falling as to relax the pit of guilt building on his stomach.

"blimey, ye lass, I thought she would kill ye!" the way he approached carefully your cell sent a warm in your heart, he acted like the last time you saw him.

"how did ye found me?" his eyebrows raced, almost to touch his hairline.

"finding a nobody is hard, but following Williams's trace is a bit easier" your voice raspy from the harshness you were treated the day before and the screams you let out while getting small glimpses of consciousness.

"I am happy ye are 'ere now…" his eyes fell to the ground, dragging with weight of his shame and the pain of his guilt, seeping form is fingers in shapes of sweat, whipping it on the scraps of fabric he called clothes.

"ye look tired…" your eyes floating his shape as too take his new being in, like a picture of his state, because even if his body looked more scrawny, his demeanour felt brighter like a sun at its peak.

"well… I guess is time to confess, for I paid a good amount of gold to two people, to follow ye and send me details of ye’r being, for I guess they were lying to me this whole time, they told me last year ye were fathom deep, I felt about to feed the fish. Ellie saved me from that, making sure I came down to my senses once in a while, and that is when I met a beautiful sailor! I would like to introduce ye two…" 

his hands were holding on the bars, mirroring the stability your smile and warm eyes gave him.

"I missed ye…" his eyes now glued to the cracked wood beneath his feet as if to hide the stubborn gleaming droplets that fell from his eyes.

"then why'd ye left me behind??" the shakiness in your voice calling for his sight coming to go upwards, locking with your now glossy eyes, pain meeting guilt.

Before he could answer you, the loud thud of the door like thunder being opened startle both, jumping slightly and stopping the heart to heart moment, and before the question that had been marinating in your aching chest for the past three years, her voice dismissed your brother.

Stepping closer to your, pressing the ground underneath her shoes with such a grace.

"ye beautiful wench, what would we do with ye, ye know, ye’r brother has plead to me not to make ye walk the plank, so..."

her floating like walk took her right in front of your cell, looking at you from head to toe, smiling wide like tressure finding, her eyes bright like a cat seen its pray mare inches to her catch.

With a swift motion she opened the cell door, fastening to get inside, almost moving as intoxicating as the fog in between the ocean waves, hazy eyes meeting her own, hands exploring the fabrics that adorned your body.

"so show me princess, what does yer delicate hands can do…"

grabbing you roughly by your waist, pressing you to herself, feeling your breast clash with her own, a whimper scaping your mouth and a groan of her own.

"we are alone here dove" a feather like contact her lips gave your ear, made you sigh, mind going blank, only wanting for her to touch more and more.

you knew the rules in the sea didn’t applied like the land ones, for you could freely roam with your hands around her the way your needy cunt plead you to, however, you didn’t know how to behave around Ellie, you knew she was everchanging.

with fear of getting her mind to change if you did the smallest movement for her dislike, you choose upon your words.

"all ye need them to do, give me a command and ill attend to it." her smile sharp on your neck, striking with her fiery breath the skin in front of her.

"put your hands on my body as ye please…" the lust clouding your vision and the need of her, lowered from your mind to in between your legs, pressing them together when she attached her lips to your collarbones, kissing and liking, but not marking you just jet.

her body vibrating with a frustrated expression helped you remember your task at hand, roaming at first towards her hips, imitating her movement earlier by bringing her with force toward your own crotch,  the hum she gave in response ignited something deep inside of you, like a wild fire that burned the valleys that your reason was.

your hands travelled all the way up, taking our time on her waist but the final goal was her breast, and when you reach for them she pushed you to the wall behind you, taking your hands in between hers, one leg pressed between your legs.

"oh I knew we both wanted this, but I wasn’t expecting ye to be such a good girl."

"Sail Ho!" the screechy sound of the warning screaming cut off the steam radiating from both bodies, however, Ellie didn’t wanted to stop any time soon. "yellow jack 'em, Jesse. YELLOW JACK!"

her hands leaving you, the fire catching flames from her lack of contact, walking towards the entrance door she looked back at you.

"Dove, yer job until I choose yer position. Ye'll swab, ye'll be the only one bringing me food and me rum." and like you were merely the ghost of a memory she left the chambers, leaving both the door of your cell and the entrance open, you took your time to come aboard for the first time, finally to be part of the Sea Monster.

Your eyes squinted in sharp pain from the sudden burst for the intensity the sun beamed in the sky, everyone moving from side to side, fulfilling their job and singing, obvious drunkards stumbling around trying to get their tasks over with.

Behind you, your name was called by a tanned and beautiful girl, standing proud on deck, her feet planted like strong trees on nurturing soil.

"Yer brother talks a lot about ye less!" her smile glowing with delight, "aye, that’s me, who might you be?" my own imitating hers.

"Dina." her reply short almost playful, yet she remained focus  "okay sun, Captain told me ye would swab and take her food, I'll show were everything is at and all ye have to do. after that I'll take ye to the cooks, they'll tell ye how Cap likes her food" she now looked back at you, challenging like you were to battle. "savvy?"

The sun was now setting, your neck aching with sharp punctures like small needles kissing you with despair.

Your entire body almost collapsing in pain and exhaustion. The first plate of the day you took to the cabin. the captain was nowhere to be seen, probably on deck or somewhere around. Now, she was in front of you.

sailors only get one meal a day, like you now, the higher the rank, the more you could eat,  your brother had two meals, however, Ellie… she could ask for a meal any time of the day and it was handed to her, although, most of the days she only took two, like today…

and that’s how you were now standing with her plate, the sun setting, its light beaming with force behind you, to Ellie, sitting behind her desk, separating you two.

it seemed like the glow radiated form within you, mirroring the intense something she felt in her chest every time she got near you.

Both staring at each other, not really daring to speak, your walk careful, waltzing towards her with the plate in your hand, she already serving her rum.

two glasses…

Your eyes never leaving hers, the pull you felt towards her, hard like the same gravity keeping your feet on the ground, your mind gravitating in her direction.

Her arm reaching for your wrist, the plate already sitting in front of her and you felt the urge to just seat in her spread thighs, the way she was siting, inviting for you to either straddle her or just kneel in between her legs, but, you remained there, planted like a scared mouse, being preyed upon by a cat, her sharp green eyes drinking you in.

the way you skirt rode up your thigh from carrying buckets all day long, the way your messy locks were tied behind you head but the front straight hairs framed your face, and of course, the way your breast felt like they were going to spill out of your dishevelled blouse, all perfect for her…

And for a second you thought it was your time to go.

you couldn’t… her hand holding you tight, dragging you to get closer. Giving you the other glass of rum.

"drink it treasure, ye' can leave afterwards." her voice buttery and intoxicating, if it was poison you would've drink the vessel dry.

her hands now moving to your hips, oh how she was containing herself now.

She was the captain for the past three years, normally people were terrified of her anger, gleaming on top of her like a sun that shone with the force of losing her caretaker, the only men ever who helped her since child.

She hated the world, Joel was the thing keeping her sane, and when they took him away from her. She sworn to bring havoc amongst the people and to however crossed her path against being what he wanted to become.

she was taking his dream and making it a reality, he needed his name to be heard amongst the seven seas, and as far as we know hers already was, and so was Joels Precious ship.

You took the rum and gulped it down, needing a way to drown your thoughts, the intensity of her presence feeling like too much, your body tingly.

However, she took that as an offence, seen as if you wanted to leave as fast as possible, her narrowed eyes confusing you.

"so ye' want to leave?" standing from her chair, now towering over your frame, making you feel trivial like a an ant. "no?" your voice small, emulating the way you felt. "ye' know…"

her face now inches close to you, feeling her agitated and drunk breath. "ye' 'rnt even my type anyway" your head crooked to the side, the confusion plaguing the features in your face, crunching them together.

"the fuck ye' talking to me like that for?" the confusion become anger, the anger become madness, as you two launched to each other, your fist slamming against her beautiful face, a cut appearing in her lip, her low blow targeting your stomach.

your exhaustion mixing with your pain made your body stumble for a bit, she saw it, like an open window, the opportunity in front of her, taking your arm and twisting it behind your back, her face in your neck, she felt like a stray animal fighting for survival, and somehow you did too.

Spitting the blood that had pooled in her mouth. she spoke lowly on your ear like a snake biting its bitter venom on your brain. "how fucking dare ye' acting all tough on me while being no more than insignificant."

you took the proximity of her face and launched your head to the side with all the force you could gather, hitting her and making her stumble to the side, almost falling on the table, you took off the blade in your neckless, hiding it between your long fingers. She however, looked at the desk and run to take a cutlass, running back to you, taking you by your waist, you place your hand right on her stomach, the other one in her hip, her armed hand pointing the blade in your neck.

"and how come I am still here? Trusting me with ye'r food, making me drink ye'r rum" you couldn’t finish, for her blade was now dragging shimmery crimson tears of pain from your neck, living matter flowing redly down to your cleavage.

Your pressed your dagger hard in her stomach, her eyes wide like a full moon.

A smirk marked her face, taking your bladed hand on the one she was holding you with. placing your steel up to her neck.

"do it dove, help me pay for I have sinned."

and without thinking too much your dragged the blade, slowly and firmly, the cut not too deep to kill, enough to ache, and her scrunch face lowered with her body, now kneeling in front of you.

One of her hands moving to touch your leg while the other going slowly towards her mouth, desperate to drag her tongue along the blade.

tasting your blood and closing her eyes with it, groaning at the fact that you were standing, tall now, looking down at her, the red droplets staining your breasts. And she was there at your mercy, like an idiot at your feet.

You tried gathering your composure, the sight in front of you like a spell and, standing still, you came close to her face, taking her by her neck making sure she could hear you clear and loud. "fuck you" you spat on her face. She closed her eyes for a second, her body still relaxed. "I will treasure, I will."

With perfect timing, the door creaked open. "Captain!" Dina, without looking inside, almost like she knew, Chimed in.

"look out sees land"

When the ship sailed, the sun roared it last rays. The sand creating curtains of clouds, reminding you of Callous, you haven’t seen you buddy since you got on board, probably left behind in the last shore.

Like enchanted, you ran with the crew, roaming around and getting what your eyes deemed fair.

The screams clouding the air becoming part of it, people refusing to give in the personal possessions. Deciding upon return, you found a child, a knife on both hands, so little that the steel looked like sword, the kid standing tall, its tiny body unmovable, looking at everything around you with big eyes, behind her, hiding a baby, their cries, loud and painful like a screech, a dying sound that chilled the skin up your spine, you turned around, now instead of looking at things, scanning the scene.

Blood running wild like a river of despair, the walls drench with pain and guts of the ones who refused to give their possessions.

The horror of the screaming become real instead of an afterthought, the pain wasn’t from stealing things, it was from taking lives.

Running down the streets, trying to not get cut by blades or punched by someone scared. Your own fear seeping from your eyes in the shape of tears, salty like the sea.

Hands taking you from your shoulders, almost punching however took you until you saw your brother.

"what the actual fucking shit is happening! I cant. I can't do this?"

your brother was speaking but your ears could only register the screeching of the dying people. years of wondering adventures in your head alongside your brother didn’t looked like this.

"fucking stop the crying, fuck! Ellie would kick ye' out, and myself maybe! if she sees. for sirens sake!" your brows furrowing tight, eyes trailing up to him, with great confusion.

"and why the hell would I want to continue with. That!" your hand pointing back at the horrific scene. His eyes rolling, something behind his head knew you were correct, still chose his dream.

Choose to excuse the growing pain he had in his chest since the first day he joined Ellie.

"I just, I don’t wanna lose you again. I can manage maybe to convince her to make ye' stay on board dooring the lootings-"his words were cut open from his back all the way to his chest, a grand sword puncturing his body, blood scaping his mouth like a waterfall, eyes wide in horror of what is to come.

your body falling with his, holding him with all your strength like that was going to save him, the man who did it in shock, scared of his own actions.

your anger firing your body with violent tint, like burning you from your guts out, spatting curses towards the men, taking your own blade, larger than the one in your brothers chest.

your sword returned to you by Jesse before the looting started, your should've guess since then what was to come.

with teary eyes, your arm slamming with force at his throat, forcefully entering getting out from the side, cutting off most of his neck, almost decapitating him.

Your screams called upon another villager, who ran to you with a butcher knife. Your long blade cutting his hand in a swift motion and running to face him, eyes bloodshot, mouth-watering with red liquid pooling down now, and your hand, burry deep in his intestines.

Your body coming to full stop, looking back at your brother, and feeling the weight of the agony darkening your eyes.

Full embrace, trying to turn back the time to when you were young.

Wench: A woman or peasant girl

Ye: You

Yellow Jack: When a ship flies a yellow flag, it indicates the presence of an ill crew member, such as yellow fever. But this was also a trick that smart pirates used to avoid becoming the target of another ship.

Yo Ho Ho!: A cheery expression to get someone’s attention

Swab: Mop or clean the ship’s deck and floorboards

Take a Caulk: Take a nap

Tar: Sailor, crew member

Thar She Blows!: Whale sighting

Three Sheets to the Wind: Very drunk, intoxicated

Scurvy Dog: insult

Scuttle: Sink a ship

Seadog: A veteran sailor or old pirate

Shark Bait: This is what you become after you walk the plank

Run a Rig: Play a joke or a trick on someone

Run a Shot Across the Bow: Warning shot given to another boat's Captain

Sail, Ho!: A warning that another ship is in view

Savvy?: A question asking, “Do you get it?” or “Do you understand?”

Lookout: The pirate who keeps watch for land or oncoming ships

Loot: Stolen money or belongings

Man-O-War: A pirate ship that is decked out and prepared for battle

Maroon: Leave someone stranded on a deserted island with no supplies, which was a common punishment for any crew members who disrespected or dishonored the Captain

Marooned: To be abandoned with no food, drink, or possessions

Me: My

Mizzen: The 3rd mast from the ship’s bow of bigger ships

Mutiny: When crew gang up against the Captain of the ship or other authority

No Prey, No Pay: The ship’s crew received no wages; however they got a part of the loot or treasure

Old Salt: Experienced pirate or sailor

lad, lass, lassie: A kid or young person

Fathom: Six feet

Feed the Fish: About to die

Cutlass: A thick, heavy and rather short sword blade for pirates

Buccaneer: A pirate

All Hand Hoy!: Everyone get on deck!

Avast Ye: Pay attention and check this out!

Aye: Yes

Aye, Aye: A crew member says this to the Captain, meaning “I will get that done right away!”

Batten Down The Hatches: Tie everything down and put stuff away for a coming storm.

Bilge-Sucking: An insulting expression of disdain

Blimey!: Surprise, shock

Blow me down!: Phrase of amazement or shock

Blow The Man Down: The Captain’s command to get rid of a person

Ye'r: Your

Ye'er: You are

let me know if you wanna be tagged please <3

@endureher ,@ancrygurl , @cherdailys

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #the last of us #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #lesbian #wlw post #wlw and nblw only #wlw ns/fw #sapphic #lesbian pride #wlw love #enemies to lovers #pirate! au #pirates #pirate ellie #pirate reader #pirate girl

[marvelmusing]

Aleksander dealing with Fae Queen!Reader...

Oh yes yes yesssssss

This idea has not left my head since you dropped it into my ask box, and it has slowly grown out of my control

I started it as headcanons, then a little drabble, and now we have a fic with a moodboard, so I hope you’re pleased with yourself

The Tale of the Queen and the General

The Darkling x Fem!Fae!Reader

»»---------------------►

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Queen, who ruled over the Fae kingdom.” Aleksander smiles fondly over at you as he smooths his hand over your daughter hair. Her dark eyes widen, and she looks over at you with her lips parted in recognition as she realises what story her father is telling her.

Your foot knocks against Aleksander’s affectionately as you settle into the comfort of your daughter’s bed, her tiny body nestled between you both as he continues his tale.

“She was clever and brave and strong, but her advisors wanted her to marry to strengthen their country.” Eliza’s brow furrows as she interrupts,

“But, but you told me you should only marry someone that you really love.” Aleksander nods sagely at her words, a small smile curling at his lips.

“That’s very true solnyshko.” His eyes flicker to you, his expression softening even further as he drinks in the sight of you looking so content. “So, she agreed that she would only marry the man who could bring her a rose.”

Her small face crinkles once again as she frowns,

“But we have roses in Mama’s garden.” Your face glows with the smile that adorns your lips, and Aleksander’s heart flutters at the sight.

“We never had roses, not until the handsome General swept the Queen off her feet.” You tell her. Eliza turns her head back and forth a few times, looking between both of her parents.

“Papa found them!” You nod, your smile widening.

“Yes he did my little blossom.”

You still remember the first time Aleksander had visited your court.

“You’re a long way from Ravka, General Kirigan.” You remark from your seat on the throne. He reaches the foot of your dais, before dropping into a respectful bow.

“My King seeks to forge an alliance with your kingdom, Your Highness.”

“And the King did not wish to see me himself?” Despite the centuries that have passed, you are still wary of humans. Being cast out from your village as a child is not easy to forget.

“I believe he thought I might make a more suitable bridge between our countries.”

There’s something hidden in the General’s words, a dislike of the situation, or perhaps of the man issuing these orders. You knew of what happened to Ravkan Grisha - a life of servitude to the King in exchange for more safety than the Grisha of past could have dreamed of. You can still remember the days when Grisha and Fae hunting parties raided towns and villages.

“And how will you attempt to create this bridge?”

“I have heard you are searching for a suitor, and would like to offer myself as a contender.”

Your heart flutters briefly. All of Ravka knew of the Black General, the fearsome Darkling that led the Second Army. Now that you had finally met him, you had to admit he was handsome. His dark eyes were almost Faelike, and his face had a sharpness that demanded attention.

He had followed the rules of your court, keeping a respectful distance from you, something that members of your own council often forgot. You’re almost upset that you set such an impossible task for a man for win your hand.

“Do you know of the terms set for my prospective suitor to adhere to?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” You raise a brow at him.

“And yet you come to me empty handed?”

“Perhaps I wanted to ask Her Highness if she had a particular colour in mind for her rose?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, your lips nearing a smile and your gaze softens as you look down at the floor. You’re quiet for a long moment before you say,

“Yellow.” You meet his eyes briefly, finding him studying your expression intently. “But not a bright yellow. Like the pale, creamy yellow of the morning sun.” There’s a flicker of vulnerability in your tone, and you clear your throat quickly before standing and approaching the General. “If you succeed, I will accept Ravka as my ally, and you as my consort.”

He nods slowly.

“I will return before the next full moon.”

“Don’t get my hopes up General.”

You smile fondly as you join in on the storytelling, Eliza staring up at you.

“It’s too cold in Fjerda for roses, and too dry in Shu Han. They were almost impossible to find.”

Your daughter listens intently, her gaze mirroring her father’s as you continue.

“Men continued to visit the Queen, trying to win her hand. Some brought all manner of flowers in an attempt to impress her. Some enchanted sticks or rocks, to look like a rose. But the Queen saw through their tricks, because no one knows trickery better than the Fae.”

“Then the General returned.”

As the days before the full moon passed by, you became more and more distracted. Thoughts of the General filling your mind. Every time you considered him never returning, your heart ached. You felt foolish, waiting for a man you had only met once. But you couldn’t deny that the Black General had made an impression on you.

You’re sitting through a council meeting, where yet again your advisors are vying for you to marry. Some of them are even bold enough to make some suggestions. Then a messenger arrives.

“General Kirigan has requested an audience with Your Highness.”

You dismiss your advisors immediately.

The hallway is quiet as you make your way towards the expansive balcony which overlooks the courtyard of your palace. It’s there that the General waits for you.

His hands are folded behind his back, and he’s almost hidden in the shadow of a nearby tree as you approach him.

“I believe I told you not to get my hopes up General.” You’re a little disappointed that he’s empty handed, but you’re surprised by how happy you are to see him again.

He pulls his gaze from the horizon, his dark eyes twinkling as they meet yours. He nods in greeting, before his lips curl into a smile.

“And I believe I assured you I would deliver, Your Highness.”

Then he pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a rose in full bloom. You stop breathing for a moment, utterly starstruck. Your fingers trace over the petals delicately. He even got the colour right.

“When I was a little girl,” you begin quietly, and the General watches your face carefully. “My mother had roses in her garden, the same colour as this one.” A faint smile touches your lips, but it soon fades. “She was just a quiet village girl, seduced by the evil Fae King - my father. She told the villagers my father was a merchant, always away travelling. Which they believed at first.” Your gaze hardens as you stare down at the gravel beneath your feet. “But they soon found out what I was. A changling child, with too much darkness in me for my age.”

You lift your eyes to meet his, and you know he sees it. The wrongness. You’re at home in your kingdom, surrounded by the Fae, but your time of living quietly amongst humans is long passed.

“The villagers gave my mother an ultimatum. Abandon me in the forest, for either the wolves or the Fae to take me, and they would let her stay. She refused.”

The General remains still, considering every word you say with great care.

“My last memory of her, is her telling me to run. I did. And I didn’t look back. One of my father’s advisors, Lenard, found me and took me to the Fae Court. It wasn’t long after that I make The Change.”

“The Change?”

“I told you I was changeling child. Meaning I could make The Change. I gave up my humanity to join the Fae Court, and it made me into this.”

You gesture to yourself, encouraging him to take in your inhuman features - the pointed ears, sharp nails that curl like claws, and the pitch black eyes devoid of irises. He doesn’t stare, his gaze doesn’t linger on any of these features. You would almost say he was simply admiring you.

Then he says,

“I have something else for you.” You regard him with surprise in your eyes. You have prided yourself on being romantically unapproachable, no man has ever dared to attempt courting you. You find yourself feeling almost shy under the attention of the General.

He unbuttons the front of his kefta, slipping a hand under the fabric to reach into a pocket hidden in the garment. From there he pulls out a black, silk handkerchief, and you frown as he offers you the piece of material.

Taking it in hand, you realise there’s something concealed between the folds. You unwrap the object carefully, your frown deepening when you see what is hidden amongst the silk. It appears to be a stick, with a clump of mud clinging to one end of it. You look back up at the General with puzzlement in your eyes. He only smiles softly at you.

“For you to create your own rose garden.”

Then your heart stops. It’s a rose stem, with an entact root. Meaning that you can plant it. Meaning that you can grow your own roses.

“The General brought the Queen a stem which grew into the most beautiful rose garden the kingdom had ever seen.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” Eliza asks, her eyes becoming heavy as her bedtime approaches. Aleksander chuckles softly, encouraging her to rest her head on her pillow.

“Yes they did solnyshko.” You hum in agreement, tucking the blanket over her small body.

“They had the most beautiful wedding, the General was made the King of the Fae, and they ruled alongside one another.”

Eliza’s eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“And it wasn’t long before the princess was born.”

“S’that me?” She asks, her voice filled with sleep as her dark eyes blink up at you. You smile at her.

“Yes little blossom, that’s you.”

She smiles, closing her eyes as she mumbles,

“Love you Mama, love you Papa.”

Aleksander leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and tenderly smoothing her hair from her face. Then he responds in a whisper,

“We love you too, very much.”

She smiles softly, hearing his words even as she drifts into her dreams. Her fingers curl around his wrist as she begins to fall asleep, just as she used to cling to his finger when she was a baby.

The two of you share an affectionate look, and Aleksander carefully removes her fingers. He stands and checks the curtains are closed, and you pick up the candle from her bedside cabinet. Once you reach the doorway, you stand and wait for your husband. His hand settles at your waist as he stands beside you, and the two of you take one last look at your daughter.

You blow out the candle, discarding it on a table in the hallway as Aleksander closes Eliza’s bedroom door.

There’s a twinkle in your eyes that Aleksander recognises, and a smirk curls at his lips as he steps closer. He curls an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his, and kisses you deeply. A thrill runs through you, as his lips move against yours, and the two of you are breathless when he pulls away. Pressing your foreheads together, you can’t help but breathe out his name in a soft sigh. He responds by whispering your own name back, and you smile widely.

Names have power in the Fae kingdom.

Only two living people know your name. Lenard - the Fae that took you in after you escaped the village of your childhood. And Aleksander. Living for centuries means that Aleksander had to be careful with who to trust with his name. Meaning that you were the only one blessed with the gift of his true name.

“Aleksander, I have something for you.” He raises a brow in curiosity, and you offer him your hands with he takes instantly. With a smile, you guide his hands to rest against your stomach. “We’re having another baby.”

His smile nearly dazzles you, and he looks so young, his face full of boyish delight as he picks you up, twirling you in his arms. He presses a series of kisses over your face and you giggle at his antics. He cups your face tenderly, his eyes misty,

“My darling wife, you brilliant, beautiful thing.” He kisses you again.

“I did have some help.” You remark playfully, nudging his chest gently and he smiles again.

From the giddy expressions on your faces, no one would be able to tell there was more than a thousand years worth of life between you both. That you had fought countless wars, and merged countries to protect your people.

Aleksander kisses you again.

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling x y/n #the darkling x you #the darkling au #the darkling moodboard #the darkling imagine #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x you #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes #ben barnes au #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone au #answered asks #thanks for the ask! #my mutuals (both affectionate and derogatory)

[angelynmoon]

Kilgharrah calls for Merlin two weeks after Morgause's siege, Merlin hadn't known he could do that but he answered the Dragon's call anyway, curious.

At least Camelot's re-introduction to Magic was going well, as was Morgana's penance, she found comfort in helping Gaius with his rounds, apologizing for her actions under Morgause and tending those with illnesses or injuries. Gwen often helped her with Percival, Leon or Elyan trailing behind them.

Sometimes Merlin and Lancelot joined them but they were often called to Arthur's Council room to help with Magical issues, Lancelot for advice and Merlin to unravel whatever had been done.

As it was, Lancelot was on patrol with Gwaine and Leon to make sure the Druids and Outer Villages were aware that having and practicing certain Magics was no longer punishable by death.

"Merlin." Kilgharrah greeted when Merlin arrived.

"What did you want, Kilgarrah?" Merlin asked.

"I have long since thought I was the last of my kind, I was wrong, I have found an egg in a distant region." Kilgharrah said.

"That's great, I can't wait to meet them." Merlin grinned up at the golden Dragon.

"And meet them you shall, for only a Dragonlord can call a Hatchling from their egg." Kilgharrah informed him, "It will take several days to get there."

"Oh." Merlin said, "Let's go then."

Kilgharrah nodded and bent down for Merlin to climb upon his back, then they leapt into the sky, on their way.

Most of the flight was quiet, Merlin taking his sleep in Kilgharrah's claws to avoid falling to his death when night came.

"While I have you here, I want to ask if you can breath fire on another Sword?" Merlin asked.

"And why would I do that, in the wrong hands it can do great harm." Kilgharrah reminded him.

"I want to give it to Lancelot." Merlin admitted.

"Ah." Kilgharrah said as he landed, "You wish to court the knight."

"No, yes, I mean, we've been courting, ever since he first arrived in Camelot." Merlin blushed a little.

"It'd be an anniversery gift, for his Knighthood." Merlin explained.

"He has not been a knight very long." Kilgharrah said as they approached a small cave.

"Not his Camelot Knighthood, his Old Religion one." Merlin climbed Kilgharrah's foreleg to get to the opening of the cave, too small for Kilgharrah to fit.

"So, he is a Knight of the Old Code."

Merlin nodded and looked up at Kilgharrah, "Please?"

Kilgharrah nodded, "Very well, a Knight who can swear the Old Oath of Knighthood is rare indeed. Bring me a blade and I will temper it with my flame."

"Thank you." Merlin hugged Kilgharrah's side before entering the cave to find the egg.

It was hidden behind a handful of enchantments that Merlin gently detangled. The egg was a soft blue with purple streaks through it. Merlin picked it up with great care and walked back to Kilgharrah.

"Now you call the Hatchling forth by speaking their name." Kilgharrah instructed.

Melin let his eyes close and searched for the name of the Dragon, only, he was hearing two names.

"Elpis, Efrosyni." Merlin called and opened his eyes to the cracking of the egg, smiling as two little tails flopped out.

"I have never witnessed a twin pair of Dragons." Kilgharrah said in awe as Merlin coaxed the two little ones into his arms, "Which is which?"

Merlin looked at Kilgharrah, "The blue is Elpis, her name means hope, and the purple is Efrosyni, her name means joy. It suits them."

Merlin giggled as Elpis nipped at his fingers.

"We'd better get back to Camelot." Merlin said, " Lancelot should be back by now."

"You will have to keep the Hatchlings with you, I have other places to search, and I am much too old to keep up with young Dragons." Kilgharrah told Merlin.

"Okay." Merlin said as he tucked the two Hatchlings into his shirt, against his chest, figuring the tiny Dragons would appriciate his warmth.

Within moments the Hatchlings were asleep against his chest, hatching was hard work.

"We should feed them when they wake up." Merlin said.

"Yes, but they will sleep for the trip to Camelot, hatching can be a tiring process." Kilgharrah said as he lifted Merlin up to his back.

Merlin cast a small heating spell to keep the winds' chill from his Hatchlings and hummed a lullaby his Mother had sang to him as a child.

Eventually Camelot came into view and Merlin parted ways with Kilgharrah after he kindly caught a deer for the twins' first meal, laughing at the face Merlin made when he learned he'd have to half chew their meet for a few weeks, luckly they would not come to harm from cooked meat since a Dragon would often roast their food with their fire.

High on energy from the meal Elpis and Efrosyni jumped and danced around Merlin as he walked back to the Castle, climbing up onto his shoilders as he reached the lower town from the forest.

"Where have you been, Merlin?!" Lancelot yelled as Merlin entered the courtyard, the Knights of the Round Table geared up for what was probably meant as a rescue for Merlin.

"Are those Dragons?" Gwen squealed, "They're so cute."

The group looked at the two Hatchlings.

"So, Lancelot is like most of impulse control, I may or may not have gone off with an Elder Dragon to hatch two baby Dragons." Merlin admitted.

Lancelot looked at the two Dragonlings and they stared back.

Lancelot sighed, "Sire, we're going to need a bigger room."

"We?" Merlin asked.

Lancelot smiled as he took Merlin's hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"We." Lancelot confirmed.

Elpis chirped and glided over to Lancelot's shoulder.

"Hello, you." Lancelot scratched her head.

"Her name is Elpis, but she likes being called Ellie." Merlin told him, "And this little mischief maker is Efrosyni, Effie for short." Merlin cuddled Effie against his cheek.

"Hope and Joy." Morgana said softly, "Very good names for a new beginning."

"If they eat anyone..." Arthur trailed off unsure how to end the threat as Gwen and Morgana both stepped forward to coo at the Hatchlings, "Why is this my life?"

"Well, it's never boring." Gwaine offered, as Ellie sneezed and let of a burst of sparks.

"We'll get Gaius and Geoffery to look up fireproofing spells." Elyan said and pulled Percival along with him.

"But I wanted to pet the Dragon." The knight whined, even as he let himself be pulled along.

Eventually Lancelot, Merlin and the two Hatchlings would be settled in one of the towers, which was great once the two started flying, they could come and go as they pleased, Merlin too, once he learned how to change his shape.

But for now Merlin lets Lancelot pull him into his rooms amd tucks the two Hatchlings between them, laying a heating spell on the blankets to make the Dragonlings comfy. In the morning Langelot would watch with disgust as Merlin chewed Ellie and Effie's food for them but would do the same at the dinner they shared with Arthur and the other knights.

He had chosen Merlin, just as the man had chosen him and if a life with Merlin involved Dragon Hatchlings and and half chewed meat then so be it.

--

A/n: is this an excuse for Merlin and Lancelot to raise baby dragons? Yep.

For those that care Merlin's gone like a week or so without telling anyone.

The names come from Greek.

Elpis — Hope

Efrosyni — Joy, mirth

#a knight #part 4 #mercelot #merlin/lancelot #merlin bbc #dragons #kilgharrah

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

Hashirama Senju birth chart (Headcanon)

The warm fire of konoha & his ashes

Considering that Hashirama is Madara's alter ego, there will be a lot of reference to my previous birth chart on Madara. If you haven't read it yet it's here. And also now that I know you have read Madara's one, I won't explain deeper like last time each sign I consider you clever enough to do your own research on google to further your knowledges

☉ Sun : Ego – Branding to the world

♑ Libra

Broadly what libra sun wants to reach is harmony. In their perfect worldview everyone is able to communicate and understand each other feeling by the power of love and blabla jutsu. And there is a the real world where it's doesn't work and that's why you need a capricorn friend (Madara) to keep you realistic.

Naruto, Hashirama are both libra and it's not a coincidence. Thanks to @lunyzare 's ask I've already talk in detail about his sun in Libra here . Actually the whole Naruto's serie is a libra anthem inside a scorpionic world. Shinobis are after all shadow warrior using occult power, living in a hidden village with a hokage at his head (shadow of the fire. It's a world between secret society and spying activities Masashi Kishimoto is himself a scorpio with strong libra energy. (Maybe it will be a good idea to do the author birth chart one day. Let me know in the comments if you would like to🤔)

As the MC's ancestor, Hashirama represents this search for an ideal of all people coming together to reach peace. But what people misunderstood is that Hashirama, as all air signs, is appealed by the concept of peace before understanding the reality of building peace. It took him to kill his best friend to realise the consequences of his decisions and the price of his dear village. It's as if before that, he stayed completely careless of all the issues around him.

Often when I think about his famous quote, it reminds me the french revolution. They dreamed to realise equality, freedom and the Human's right where all humans are equals... But before reaching this noble goals, the previous regime had to be slay by the guillotine who had been invented for this purpose of beheading quickly as many nobles as possible. This period is called The Terror in history. And if you wonders, yes France is a Libra country!

In the same fashion, the darkness times took over Konoha in the name of peace. Some people from the village preferably Uchiha needs to be sacrifice to realise Hashirama's dream. There lies the dark side of Libra. They are kings and queens of gaslighting. They are also very good at soft speeches, doublespeak, and politically correctness. By refusing to acknowledge any opinions contradicting their ideal of justice and harmony, it ends up creating a bloodshed to protect it.

Ascendant/Rising Sign : Social personality – Physical Body

♑Sagittarius

For the ascendant I thought about what people see of Hashirama the first time they met him mostly Suigetsu who's the most talkative :

God of Shinobi ( but it's mostly his legacy post mortem)

Bubbly

Full of enthusiasm

Goofy

Loud

Broad figure

someone capable of brief but memorable fit of anger

I don't know you, but when I read my list I see a sagittarius' description. Traditionally to differentiate each fire sign, I like to think of Aries as firecracker , Leo is a pyre , Sagittarius is the wildfire. Nobody knows where it starts but goes rapidly in a rampage and disappeared as mysteriously as it came. Sagittarius got this reputation of being bigger than life, authentic and sometimes clumsy, but loving party, free spirit, loving foreign people, and foreign land, foreign wisdom. Jupiter is the planet associate with Sagittarius. Zeus God of the Gods in greek mythology, the bridge is easy to do with our God of shinobi.

With this ascendant couple with Libra who is already a social sign, I can see why Hashirama's election was not debatable. He was naturally the popular guy while Madara in my description is a very stern double Capricorn who's intimidating unless you know him very well.

☾Moon : Emotion – Comfort zone

♋Pisces

One quality of Hashirama is that he can read people. He has this real emotional smartness. It doesn't mean that he can effectively communicate his feeling (that's mercure's business and that's Naruto legendary best quality) but you can't really lie to him. He's the only person who saw behind everyone facade. He saw behind the fortress of blunt who is Madara and said that he was a deeply sensitive person while everybody think he's the devil (ironically Madara will become exactly what people expect of him in the end). He also discovered first Madara's weakness and used it in his advantage years later.

He read also Sasuke and was the only one of the five kages who believed that answering Sasuke's questions was in the long-term more efficient than rushing into the battlefield.

He read Oroshimaru's mind. Which is the rare moment where our devilish snake didn't feel confident at all.

♂ Mars : Action - Desire

♌ Taurus

In the Narutoverse, fighting's style is the easiest way to guess their mars.

In the same way that Mars in leo was obvious for Madara. Mars in Taurus came to me without a second thought. If Madara as a warrior is the epitome of fire, you need a superior energy capable of blocking such powerful storm. And in all zodiac no one has more resistance than Taurus. Sure the impetuous mars planet is not at its fullest potential in this slow and venusian sign. But what it losts in speed, it gains in determination. A mars taurus is like a unbreakable wall. It's built to resist and when it starts moving at his own pace, nothing can stop it.

Mokuton as his signature is a mix of water and earth element, both consider as feminine traditionally. And in feminine concept there is the idea of being the receiver and the creator. If you study most of Hashirama's fight you can see that he uses mostly defensive jutsu, while Madara has a preference for offensive one. There is the wood dragon technique who absorbs Kyuubi's chakra, Myojinmon or God’s Gate who literally stop an enemi with Tori gate falling from the sky (again it contains someone else's energy rather than attacking). In the creative side : Kajukai Korin makes him grow a lively forest. Shin Susenju : is his most famous offensive jutsu. He can create a giant Buddha statue with a thousand hands. And it took him time to knead his chakra and passing into senjutsu mode but when it's done, nothing can stop him.

And cherry on the top : Leo and Taurus are both fix sign (stubborn and difficult to change) and in synastry Madara's mars in Leo will square Hashirama's mars in Taurus. A square is usually considered as an intense tension. And those two bananas are notorious for creating natural disasters and climate change every time they met on a battlefield.

♃ Jupiter : Infinite Expansion – House of wisdom

♌ Leo

Remember in the Madara birth chart I had both mars and jupiter conjunct in Leo. Hashirama being from the same generation it's most likely that Jupiter is in the same sign (it took about a year for jupiter to move from sign, while mars stay few months).

The duo Mars/Jupiter for Madara enhances the martial and fierce aspect of Leo. A Leo much more authoritarian and narcissistic. But Hashirama has got only Jupiter in Leo that would glorify the brightest side of Leo : generosity, bravery, optimism, luck, having children (his pride). In a way, it makes Hashirama even more popular and lovable. During the warring state era, Hashirama makes most of his dream comes true in his life time. Compared to his friend he got it all : He build his village, was acknowledged and respected by all, he kept his little brother alive, married a powerful kunoichi, controlled through his wife the most powerful of the nine bijuu, seems to have had a family life with his child/children and grandchildren (he spends time with Tsunade), he established a peace (it seems that the first shinobi war start after his death?), he elaborated and transmitted his will of fire, and formed a new generation who will continue his legacy after him. So he thought at his death that peace will prevailed after him and he had accomplished his goal.

☿ Mercure : Intellect – Communication

♑ Scorpio

When mercury is in scorpio, the mental goes more deeper. The intuition is precise like a laser. It can sometimes brought to the surface the darkest part of human's psychis.

Some would say that apart this moment above, Most of the time Hashirama isn't that dark. However, I believe in the same way that on a superficial level Madara is an intimidating character with a secret sensitive nature. Hashirama is for people that solar charismatic guy but underneath that facade, he is, just like all shinobis of his time... a warlord. He didn't reach the top level of his clan by just being cute and smiling. In the warring state era to prove you can lead, you need to show some extreme cold mind. And it's only Madara who's able to push Hashirama to "reveal his guts", to show his authentic self. First when Hashirama was ready to die to prove his good-will and during the valley of the End when he answered the question Madara asked few years ago in the Uchiha's shrine : If he had to chose between his brother/ friend or the village, he will sacrifice everyone for his village.

♀ Venus : Attraction – Seduction

♒Libra

What are Hashirama's desires? First of course is building his village with every clans cooperation. It still fit the Libra's ideal of perfect cooperation.

And what is the object of his desire ? Mito Uzumaki. Based on what she confessed to Kushina in her old days, she seems to have been loved by her husband and this love makes bearable her duty of jinshuuriki.

Mito was in her youth really beautiful, classically beautiful. She looks like a princess from older time. Knowing that Mito is also a taurus. It's an other sign where Venus (planet of love and beauty) is at its peak just like in Libra. I believe Hashirama's attraction to his wife was real.

♄ Saturn : Restriction – Time - Enlightenment

♐Sagittarius

Saturn in Sagittarius means also Saturn is close to his ascendant.

Naruto in Boruto era doesn't actually like that day to day office job as hokage. He does it because it's his duty. I headcanon that it was exactly the same for Hashirama, he's too much of a dreamer, a social butterfly to just seat in an office and sign papers. Actually he first offered the job to Madara for a good reason : yes it will give him a new goal in life to protect the village but let's be honest : Capricorn thrives in responsibility and boring procedures. Yes they want to be an office manager and boss people around all day. They love being in charge and control a situation. If that wasn't for his popularity issue, Madara was really overqualified for the job as hokage. He's just like Tobirama, efficient, rational and over-organised. Imagine if he had put the same energy he put in the infinite tsukuyomi into Konoha? They will be the united state of five nation reaching Naruto Era. That's what you need to administrate and organise a village. But well the people wanted the pretty Hashirama the people got Hashirama… He did it because that's what is expected from him. It's what Saturn does in your life, restricting you to challenge you. Remember in Madara's chart I use the image of the tamed fire : The Judge and the stern spiritual leader. The severe aspect of Saturn in Sagittarius (house 12) is more pronounced in Madara because of his heavy capricorn chart. In Hashirama who is most Air and Fire, Saturn in Sagittarius in his first house will just restrict his freedom, his carefree attitude. He might have felt sometimes depressed and weight down by his responsibilities and the feeling he can't be authentically himself, people expect from him to embody the head of clan, the leader of Konoha, the "God of the Shinobi".

And there is no picture in the Manga where Hashirama is confined his office. He's often outside, on top of the cliff observing his village alone or with Madara. In the fillers you also see him walking around the village, talking with people. And also we know he gambles. Did he starts this bad habit to escape his office duty just like Tsunade did?

#Hashirama #Hashirama Senju #Hashirama headcanon #Hashirama birth chart #Madara #Madara Uchiha #birth chart #naruto meta #meta #astrology #fictional birth chart #naruto analysis #character analysis #astrology placements #astronomy #Al Hekima's analysis

[i-am-beckyu]

The Perfect Hill

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII @crimpie I WAS YOUR SECRET SANTA!!! I loved both your prompts so much but this is the one I went with! I really hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️ This was created for the 2022  MCYT G/T Secret Santa under the theme ‘winter wonderland’.  @mcyt-gt-events

cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), I think that’s it? Its pretty fluffy :3

word count:  3089

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

“Come on George! You’ve got to see this Hill!!” Sapnap said as the hunter trudged through the snow behind him. “It’s perfect for luging down with the sleds!!” 

“Yes Sapnap, I know. You’ve said so like 20 times already.” George said as he tugged his jacket on closer. It wasn’t really fair that his friend, the literal fire born demon hybrid, didn't need to stay rugged up to stay warm. It’s not that he wasn’t accustomed to the cold though as a Hunter. Harsh terrain and cold nights out on long hunts were part of the job, but still. He didn’t like exposing himself to the cold weather when he didn’t have to. But no one else wanted to join Sapnap on his escapade when he returned to the village one day, claiming he found the greatest Hill with the most perfect slope to sled down or ‘luge’ down, as he claimed was the proper term. But it was just too cold for most people and while George had reluctantly agreed, the more Sapnap described the location, the more something felt off about this supposed ‘Hill’. He knew the land better than anyone and well, the Hill Sapnap described, didn’t exist. Not to George’s knowledge anyways.  

“But that’s because it is George!!” Sapnap stated as he adjusted his grip on the sled. “And you’re taking forever to get there!!!”

“Hey you’re literally melting snow as you walk making it easier to get through. Not all of us are walking furnaces!” George remarked as he tried to catch up to his friend. Winter was in full swing now with every night leaving a fresh layer of white powdered snow in its wake. The world a glowing; but cold, Winter wonderland. 

“Oh come on George! Lighten up! It’s not that cold.” Sapnap exclaimed, shoving a jab at the hunters arm.

“Uh huh. Sure it isn’t.” 

After several more minutes of walking, George began to get impatient. They’d been walking for ages and he swears he’d seen that same tree for the 3rd time this trip. “Snapmap, you’re supposed to know where this great Hill is, BEFORE you make someone walk all the way there..” George muttered as he saw the same bush for the 4th time. “If you call me Snapmap again, we're gonna have issues George.” A glaring Sapnap responded as they continued on. “Just saying Sapnap, I swear if we walk past the same ruined portal again for the 5th time I’m going to-”

“THERE IT IS!” George watched as his friend ran to the ‘very real’ Hill that was presented before him. The angle just right to slide down at a controlled speed. No trees in the way, or bulges of snow that could hide potential hidden boulders. Completely flat and smooth from the fresh layer of powdered snow. Just as Sapnap described: The perfect Hill. But something was off about it. George was positive he’d never seen a Hill like this before in all the time he’s been in the area. Not even in the warmer months of Summer could he recall a hill being so bare that snowed over it would look as good as this. But none of George’s inner concerns seemed to phase Sapnap, as his friend began to climb the Hill. 

“Come on George! Hurry up!” Sapnap called as he continued the climb up. George raced to catch up. Panting a little as the icy winds filled his lungs. By the time Geroge finally did catch up to Sapnap, they had reached the top of the Hill. It had quite the view and was just high enough that they could see parts of their home further off in the distance where some of the lower trees stood.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Sapnap turned to George expectedly, a gleam in his eyes.

“Sapnap, don’t you think it’s a little too perfect? I know these woods better than anyone and I swear I’ve never seen this hill before.” Sapnap simply shrugged. 

“You’ve probably just never come through this part of the forest before George.” he replied as he placed the sled down and began to get situated atop of it. “Now come on, get on already. I’ve waited long enough for someone to join me.” 

George wanted to believe Sapnap he really did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. It just didn’t make sense that such a hill like this could just magically exist. He’d seen map after map and couldn’t pin ever seeing this Hill around ever! Or maybe he was just tired and the cold was getting to him? Sometimes he got a little weird when he was tired enough. At least he had the dagger attached to his belt if something was wrong. 

Reluctantly, the Hunter eventually sat down on the sled and the two began their descent. They did a few runs down the slope taking turns on who sat in front. At first, George was able to let his mind relax. It was a good day and Sapnap was right, the Hill was perfect for sledding down. Every run down the hill had been smooth and allowed for them to gain some great speed, but after the fourth run, the little nagging voice in George’s mind started to whisper.

‘Why have there been no bumps on the slope? Why have there been no rocks to avoid coming down? Mother Nature is a wonder, but surely there should be something, anything to cause a rough run of the slope?

It was George’s turn to steer the sled as he and Sapnap boarded the sled once more. But George just couldn’t shake the feelings. Something wasn’t right.

“Sapnap,” George began as he turned to face his friend. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that we haven’t had a single ditch or rock to avoid for any of the runs?”

“No, not really.” Sapnap replied. “I mean, I did say this Hill was perfect but now that you mention it, we haven’t had a single bad run yet have we?”

“And you don’t find that strange?” George inquired as he turned to face his friend. “I know these woods Sapnap. I’ve never come across this hill ever and even if I had, no hill is this perfect!”

Sapnap suddenly stood and got off the board moving to position himself in front of George. He then proceeded to crouch down into the snow. “Well if you’re so sure that there’s something wrong about my ‘perfect Hill,” Sapnap said he leaned forward planting a hand in the snow. “Then let’s take a look at it without the snow in the way.” Without a second thought, Sapnap began to melt the icy soft blanket of snow, revealing a very bright green patch of ground. At first glance you’d think it was grass. But George knew better. They were in the middle of December. The season of Winter. Grass was never that green. Curiously, George reached forward to touch the baffling green ground. Although damp from the snow, George recognised the texture. Fabric. And by the feel of it, Jersey knit. 

“It’s a blanket?” George said flatly to Sapnap, confusion evidently painted across his face. 

“Why on earth would someone leave a blanket here?” Sapnap replied. George then tried to pull the blanket up from the ground. However, it did not budge. In fact, it barely lifted from the ground at all. Perhaps too much of the blanket was buried? Clearly also complexed by the odd blanket before them, Sapnap began to melt away more of the snow, revealing more of the green fabric. Why on earth was this thing so big? 

“Maybe if I melt enough of this snow away, we’ll be able to lift it up?” Sapnap said as he melted away another patch of snow. It just didn’t make sense. None of this dumb Hill made sense!!! That feeling of dread George had before began to seep back into consciousness. Why would someone leave a blanket out here? And such a huge one at that! Fabric like this cost a lot of emeralds when trading from villagers and why on this Hill that shouldn’t exist in all its perfectness? Before George’s thoughts could spiral once more, the ground suddenly shifted. And then again. And again. Earthquakes weren’t completely uncommon in the area but this didn’t feel right. 

“Sheesh this blanket is huge!” Sapnap said as he melted another patch of snow away, oblivious to the building tremors. “I could make like 6 giant hoodies with this stuff!”

And then it all clicked. Why he’d never seen this Hill before. How it was so smooth and perfect. Why this green fabric was here and so huge! 

“Sapnap, get on the sled now.” George said as he slid himself slightly towards him. “Oh come on George,” irritation clear in the hybrid's voice as he continued to melt some more snow. Not wanting to waste anymore time, George reached over and grabbed Sapnap, yanking him into the board. “WHAT THE HECK GEORGE??? I JUST WANTED TO GE-“ 

“Sapnap you don’t understand this isn’t a hill!!!” George cut Sapnap off as he got situated on the board. “It’s a flippen AHH!” The sled suddenly lurched forward into motion, nearly throwing the two riders off. The Hill was moving. 

“What the Heck???” Sapnap said as he tried to regain his balance. The Hill suddenly moved again, launching them both back into motion. George gripped the controls of the sled harder trying to steer the sled down the hill on the moving terrain. He turned to the right aiming straight for the tree line at the bottom. If they could just make it into the trees then they could get away. “GEORGE! SLOW DOWN!!!” Sapnap yelled as he latched onto the Hunter in an effort to not be thrown off from the speed and unevenness of moving terrain. But he couldn’t stop! Not when the ground was shaking and they were sledding on top of a sleeping-

“WATCH OUT!!” Sapnap screeched as a wall suddenly appeared before them. Unfortunately, the warning came too late and the two slammed into the upright surface. In fact they slammed so hard that the upright wall was now horizontally flat. 

“Ugh ouch that hurt.” Sapnap dazedly said, rubbing at his head. George pushed himself up on the surprisingly squishy surface. But George didn’t have very long to process because all at once, the ground they were on was moving. George latched onto the closest thing his arms could wrap around and tightly shut his eyes. He felt gravity shift as he was lifted up higher and higher from the ground to his impending doom. He’d heard the urban myths and legends of what was supposedly a terrifying creature living in the woods. A tale to keep young children within the safety of the village walls. But never before had George ever considered the stories true. And he was certainly  not equipped for what would be a losing battle. Warm air suddenly washed over his body. Shakily, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to reveal his worst nightmare. A giant.

Oh and if it couldn’t get any worse, it was looking straight at him. Or we’ll at least it was trying to? Said giant only looked to be half awake. Its green eyes were trying to focus on him but seemed to be covered in a sleepy haze. Wait. Sleepy? Oh. They’d been sledding on a sleeping giant. And they just went and woke it up…

Said giant yawned and rubbed at its eyes. He was still tired and the world felt cold. Too cold. Spring isn’t normally cold? Giants normally slept all through Winter so he wasn’t used to being awake when it was chilly.. At least he had thought to catch whatever it was on him before moving to sit up, but now he was annoyed because he was awake waaaaay too early and cold!  He was acutely aware of the two humans sitting in his hand and had been semi aware they had been crawling all over him in his sleep which normally, wouldn’t be an issue. But he’d started to get really itchy on this one spot on his arm and it was extremely irritating. Irritating enough that he was awake. Great. 

“Ughhhhhhhhh why’d I have to be woken up so early.” The giant exclaimed as it drew out a yawn. 

George froze at the sight of the massive teeth the giant displayed as it yawned. They were too close and this giant sounded annoyed. Not good. 

“And all because of an itch. Like seriously, I’ve slept through blizzard upon blizzard and a dumb itch wakes me up.” The giant said, as it sat up. George watched as the giant then used its free hand to scratch at a spot on its lower arm. The spot on the fabric of what George now recognised as a massive hoodie, was slightly different in colouration. It appeared slightly dryer. That was the spot Sapnap had melted snow on wasn’t it? And the giant was complaining about it. They were dead. Oh so totally dead. George turned to Sapnap, who had the same look of realization on his face. George grabbed Sapnap's wrist and pulled him closer to him, and the edge of the giant's palm. He eyed Sapnap off from him, to the ground, silently communicating what he had planned. They were going to have to jump. There was no way they could fight off a giant. But as the two were about to jump, the giants' other hand appeared and cupped around the other, effectively trapping them both within its grasp.

“Careful.” The giant said, its tone laced with concern. “We wouldn’t want you falling now.” 

Well there goes that idea. What could they possibly do now? 

“Please,” Sapnap said suddenly. “Please don’t hurt us! We didn’t mean to wake you up!” George turned to face his friend. “It's my fault you woke up. I just wanted to luge!” George’s heart panged at the response of his friend. Sapnap had just wanted to go sledding and no doubt felt it was his fault they were in this mess, if the fear and guilt weren’t evidence enough on his face. 

“No. It’s not his fault. It’s mine.” George said, conviction in his voice. He had urged Sapnap to melt the ground. He was the reason he had melted the snow, skeptical of what lay beneath. He’d been right of course, that it wasn’t a hill, but it was still unfair to Sapnap to take the blame. “Sapnap didn’t mean to melt the snow and wake you up! I just didn’t believe you were a real hill we were sledding on, and told him to melt the ice.” George then moved to be in front of Sapnap as he continued. “Please, let him go. You can do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt Sapnap.”

The giant just stared at the two humans in his hands, its expression changing from one of sleepy concern to confusion. 

“Hurt him?” The giant furrowed its brow. “Oh Prime no I’m not going to hurt either of you!” the giant said. “I knew you were crawling all over me and that’s normal when I go into hibernation for the winter, and sure you woke me up from the itchiness of the heat,” the giant raised George and Sapnap higher to its face to be eye level with it as it spoke. “But that’s no reason to hurt you. I could have been woken by anything. You were just curious, that's all.” Well George collapsed to his knees right there and then, adrenaline leaving him exhausted. He was still wary of what this giant could do, but the assurance that he and Sapnap weren’t going to die was good. 

“You alright there little guy?” The giant said as it lifted a thumb towards George for support. “Yeah yeah, I’m alright.” George said as grasped the giant appendage to help get his bearings. “Oh the name is Dream by the way.” The giant, Dream said. “George and he’s Sapnap.” George replied. “We’re sorry for using you as a sled slope.” Sapnap said to the giant. “It’s just well, snowed over, you really were the perfect Hill.” Sapnap said awkwardly as he fiddled with his shirt. The giant simply threw his head back and laughed before doubling over wheezing.  

“Oh so that’s what you were doing.” Dream said as he tried to compose himself. “Honestly I was so confused about what you were doing by how you moved around, but was too sleepy to worry about it.” George and Sapnap looked at each other before also bursting out laughing. 

“Yeah that must have felt so weird with the sled suddenly racing down your backside, or uh arm. Wherever we were sliding.” George replied as he tried to compose himself. 

“Yeah it’s a shame though. You really were the most perfect bill for luging down.” Sapnap said a tad sheepishly. 

“Well,” Dream began as he searched the ground for something. “I don’t mind if you use me to luge down.” Dream then shifted George and Sapnap into one hand as he used the other to pluck something from the ground. Opening his hand, the giant presented the two with the sled. “You’re welcome to slide down me as often as you like.” Sapnap's face lit up at the notion. 

“For real? You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Not at all! Just, don’t go around melting things on me in my sleep.” Dream said as he winked. 

“Done deal.” George piped up. “And I’ll make sure of it that even in the future, no one lights fires on you while you rest.” 

“I appreciate that George.” Dream replied. “While I don’t mind being used as slope, I’d rather not be woken mid sleep.” Dream laughed. George looked to Sapnap and then to the giant. 

“We will make sure no one knows you’re even here.” He said as he smiled .

And so it went, after that fateful day a tradition of sorts was formed. Every snowy winter season, when the earth was painted white, and the air a chilly ice, Sapnap, George and anyone who wished would journey to the mysterious perfect Hill and have a fun day filled with sledding. And while no one knew what happened to the Hill during the warmer months, George and Sapnap were off exploring the world with their very special friend. A perfect Hill.

#beckyu writes #my fic #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #mcyt gt community #mcyt g/t community #mcyt g/t event #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #giant!dream #tiny!george #tiny!sapnap #g/t #gt #gt writing #g/t writing #one shot #so now the focus of writing returns to the first fic I started writing now this is finished lol #mcyt gt secret santa 2022 #mcyt g/t secret santa 2022 #beckyu but on ao3

[nemaliwrites]

Ooh, are you doing separate fics for Angstpril this year instead of one long one? Can we see some of the ideas?

Yup! Figured it would be a good opportunity to finish up some of the ideas in my drafts.

And YES you can indeed see some of the ideas! These are all working summaries btw which is why they're....Like That lol. As always, if any of these appeal to you, I am always happy to provide excerpts and/or expand on these ideas!

Fandoms: Danganronpa (v3 and Thh), Avatar, Persona 5, Miraculous, Paranormasight, Ace Attorney, Persona 4, Vampire Diaries, Wind Waker, Animal Crossing, JJBA, Age of Mythology

Prompts:

1. homesick | danganronpa thh

The survivors take a road trip after the end of the world.

2. frozen | avatar the last airbender

outsider pov, Yue being touched by the moon spirit manifests in strange ways.

3. broken-hearted | persona 5

Akira and Shiho get together. Ryuji and Ann deal the only way they know how (hooking up)

4. longing | miraculous

Zoé is used to loving people who don't love her back.

5. rise from the ashes | paranormasight

Ayame and the men in her life (derogatory)

6. this isn’t going to work | ace attorney

Dahlia is poison. This is not a good thing.

7. bad dreams | miraculous

falling in love with your sleep paralysis demon (mariblanc)

8. lost battle | miraculous

They say snakes can't feel love. Luka wishes this were true.

9. trust issues | ace attorney

Two children visit Lamiroir in the hospital, and they say they are hers. She doesn't believe them.

10. phantom pain | miraculous

Adrien and Marinette are body swapped; but why is she unable to resist any order Gabriel gives her as Adrien? Suspicious....

11. no way out | ace attorney

Mia promises to take Maya away from Aunt Morgan. It's a promise she never fulfills.

12. a little too late | persona 4

Yosuke starts training with Chie after Saki's death. It doesn't help.

13. learning the truth | ace attorney

Godot finds Morgan's letter to Pearl hidden in Kurain.

14. surrender | vampire diaries

Caroline/Tom Avery - they're both never anyone's first choice.

15. confrontation | ace attorney

Miles is a Fey. This changes things.

16. cry for help | new danganronpa v3

Miu doesn't have a soul mark. She definitely doesn't care.

17. last chance | persona 4

The fog's closing in, but they'll save Yukiko in time...right?

18. left behind | wind waker

Grandma's always wanted to be a hero.

19. trembling | miraculous

Masochism as a character study - Claw Noir Cataclysms Shadybug, but only after she asks him to.

20. broken | ace attorney

Phoenix offers poison; Kristoph takes it willingly.

21. faking a smile | animal crossing

Your friend is not the same; you pretend you see nothing.

22. drained | ace attorney

A children’s book author and a blind singer walk into a bar.

23. swept away | vampire diaries

Lexi and Alaric finally meet - but they're trapped together in the 1994 prison world.

24. the ghost of you | jjba

Shinobu and her husband swap bodies - whoever is in her now seems far too used to controlling a body that's not theirs.

25. cold shoulder | age of mythology

Kastor asks Arkantos for help. But the gods do not answer, and Arkantos is a god before he is a father.

26. grief | paranormasight and ace attorney

Harue travels to Kurain Village.

27. panicked | miraculous

Shadybug has the same mark for her soulmate and her greatest enemy.

28. never see you again | danganronpa thh

Outsider POV of the survivors after the killing game - but they think they're not alone.

29. betrayal | vampire diaries

It's far too easy for Jeremy to trust someone with his sister's face.

30. the last time | ace attorney

Thalassa forms a triangle; Zak and Valant are the other two points.

#angstpril #angstpril 2024 #ask nem 🦚

[umishiqu]

read from left to right and if you can’t read um. the dialogue is in read more:

lloyd: i just want to have someone I can trust and someone who can trust me wholeheartedly. is that so hard?

akita: that’s…

akita: that’s because you are a sad little boy with abandonment issues because your parents decided to leave you to fend for yourself at a very important stage of your development, only to come back when it seemed like you were worth something so you’ve always held yourself up to a high standard because you believe it is the only way to keep the small amount of trust others had in you.

lloyd: what?

akita: likewise if there is the smallest sign that others disagree with you or you believe you did something wrong, you process it by pushing close ones away from you because you don’t want to know if they will leave you left to fend for yourself first. again. the you that you are now, who is benevolent, won’t be able to survive if you lived in circumstances like that again. keeping these emotions hidden from others only makes them question your credibility so you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place where not saying something makes you feel like you’ve brought this upon yourself only anyway so you’ve accepted the consequences of being untrustworthy, but you fear saying something that could possibly hurt those closest to you and they will never forgive you again, deeming you untrustworthy. you’ve been put on two extreme ends of trust and betrayal from the same people that you’ve now lost the ability to determine who to keep in your closest circle and who not to, who in your closest circle will you accidentally hurt and who will you not, and who in your closest circle will accidentally hurt you and who will not, to determine the people you surround yourself with. you keep track of all of that because you are scared of the consequences. you don’t want to hurt ever again.

lloyd: ugh

akita: …

akita: you are… part oni and dragon, yes?

lloyd: yeah, why?

akita: did you unlock those forms?

lloyd: no, and i rather it stay that way. what’s another power given to the green ninja to freak everyone out more, right?

akita: …hm.

akita: vex the formless was known as a manipulative man who was spiteful because he lacked another form. however, many don’t know that he was fearful as well.

akita: even before his ceremony, he was afraid of what others would think of him if he did not receive a form.

akita: because of that, he was also afraid of displaying any doubt of himself so willingly to others, in fear that they may become true… and it only became a cycle to suffer from. by the time he entered his ceremony, he was so heartbitten by fear that he could not display his true, raw emotions to let out his true, raw form.

akita: he had believed his fears to be justified. the elders only told him that they would welcome him with open arms anyway. however, he thought their words to be lies, and left our village, never to return for quite a long time.

akita: no formling is told this story before their ceremony. the elders say that personal belief is built when fear is conquered for something, not in spite of something.

lloyd: …so then why did you tell me this?

akita: you saw the type of man that vex became, yes? fearful, manipulative, and spiteful.

lloyd: not helping.

akita: if you continue to believe you are unworthy of love, then eventually, you will be.

akita: however, right now, you have people who will accept you for you no matter what happens.

akita: believe in them. believe in yourself.

akita: do not give up. do not fear the unknown.

akita: you will find your form soon enough. and once you do…

akita: use it to protect the ones you hold closest to your heart.

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #ninjago akita #lloykita #lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago crystalized #ninjago crystallized spoilers #ns16 #ns16 spoilers #they will meet again one day ………….. #this was incredibly rushed and it’s 6 in the morning #I couldn’t get it out of my head tho #maybe Lloyd is sent to the neverrealm by overlord and comes back with golden oni form?

[minijenn]

Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: Kung Fu Panda 3

Alas, we have reached the end of the beloved Kung Fu Panda saga (at least until later this year when 4 comes out). I remember seeing this when it first came out, but much like the rest of the series, I didn't remember much about it going in. I did have a few minor issues with 2 during this watch through, so how does 3 hold up?

We pick up with Po and the Furious Five facing another new threat, an old peer of Master Oogway's, the spirit warrior Kai, who is determined to steal chi from all of the masters across China. Amidst this, Po reunites with his birth father, Li, who takes Po back to the hidden panda village, promising to teach him to use the power of chi he needs to properly confront Kai. Throw in a jealous, but well-meaning Mr. Ping, a village full of lovable new panda characters, and a plot about learning to become your best self and embracing who you are, and we result in an utterly beautiful movie with a touching and fantastic story to tell.

So yeah, I loved the hell out of this one. I still think the first Kung Fu Panda is my favorite of the series, it's just so beautiful in its simplicity and its message really spoke to me. But this one is also fantastic, with a lot more focus on the characters and the emotions this time around. Po is always a great character to follow; he's so fun and lovable and I love to see him come into his own as we round out his arc throughout the entire series in such a wonderful way. The Furious Five also get some much needed personality in here, with lots of great quips and jokes from them and Shifu alike. Mr. Ping gets some great focus, I always liked him in the first two movies, and he's just as much of a hilarious sweetheart here too.

As for our new characters, Li is a great addition to the cast; I love how he bonds so wonderfully with Po and they develop such a sweet father/son relationship that's put to the test when a certain revelation happens towards the middle of the movie, one that you can't even blame him for because he just doesn't want to lose his son again. The rest of the pandas are also a lot of fun, very silly and cute and not overstaying their welcome. Kai is SUCH a fun villain too! I will stand by my opinion that this series has consistantly great baddies, probably some of the best Dreamworks has to offer. Kai is hella intimidating, but he also has some hilarious moments too, courtesy of J.K. Simmons bringing his all to the role.

The animation here is next level. Like seriously, this franchise is consistently beautiful, but this one is just gorgeous. There were some moments in here that just made my jaw drop with how utterly pretty they are. The colors are so vibrant, the locations so lively, the characters move so fluidly, especially in fight scenes, and the stylization is so utterly well done that you can just tell so much love and care was put into every last frame. The music is also INSANE. Like seriously, Kai's theme alone goes so damn hard when it doesn't have to, and the rest of the score is so fucking beautiful man, I'm gonna have to listen to it while writing or drawing at some point just to soak it in by itself.

While not as emotionally impactful to me personally as say, HTTYD2, I still got a little choked up at some points here, especially during the climax and its aftermath. The movie also excells with its comedy, with a lot of really fun little jokes thrown in throughout. Overall, I feel like this movie tops Kung Fu Panda 2 because it just feels more... I don't know, focused? Like it doesn't meander and spend so much time on action scenes, it has plenty of that yes, but it also has so many solid character interactions as well. And I loved every second of it.

It's bittersweet to be bidding my second favorite Dreamworks franchise farewell as far as this watchthrough goes, but at least it's going out on an absolute high note (again, for now). Maybe I'll do a drive by review of Kung Fu Panda 4 when I see it, idk how to feel about it based on just the trailers alone, so I'll reserve judgement till then. As for Kung Fu Panda 3, well... it's a masterpiece. Simply put.

Overall Rating: 10/10

Verdict: Oh, to be an asexual panda with two dads

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#jen watches #dreamworks watch #kung fu panda 3 #kung fu panda #jen tortures herself with every dreamworks movie ever #dreamworks

[nicklloydnow]

Walker Percy statue in Bogue Falaya Park, Covington, Louisiana

“A Talk with Walker Percy

Zoltán Abádi-Nagy

The Southern Literary Journal, 6 (Fall 1973)

Q: You maintain that perhaps the best way of writing about America in general is to write with authenticity about one particular part of America. By extension this means that, likewise, your attitude and reaction toward philosophical questions of universal human importance— toward the question of the human predicament, to use the term of your philosophy—will be that of an American. Is that correct?

A: I think that is true. My novels have more a European origin than American. They are so-called philosophical novels which is probably a bad word. But you know that the first half of your question is quite true. The greatest exponent of this was Faulkner who concentrated on a small village in Mississippi. It is true that I am interested in philosophical, religious issues and in my novels I use the particular in order to get at the general issues. For example, The Moviegoer is about New Orleans, one part in New Orleans, a young man in New Orleans. The conflict is a hidden ideological conflict involving, on the one hand, what I call Southern stoicism. I have an uncle whose hero was Marcus Aurelius. The other ideology is Christian Catholic. The third: the protagonist is in an existentialist predicament, alienated from both cultures.

Q: What in your view is it in America that makes an existentialist today? What facets of the American intellectual climate, of the American existence in general, are favorable to existentialist thinking?

A: I think in America the revolt is less overtly philosophical. It is a feeling of alienation from American suburban life, the suburb, the country-club, the business community. There is a difference between my protagonists and the so-called counter culture. Many young people revolt in a purely negative way, oppose their parents' culture; whereas the leading characters in my books are much more consciously embarked on some sort of search. I am telling you that because I would not want you to confuse the characters of the counter culture with my characters. One of their beliefs is that the American scene is phony, and their revolt is to seek authenticity in drugs, sex, or in a different kind of communal existence. The characters in my books are embarked on a much more serious search for meaning.

(…)

Q: Your view of life in your literary works is very close to the absurdist view, but the term 'absurd' and the whole Camus terminology hardly ever appears in your philosophical essays. Does this coincide with your preference for Marcel's Catholic version of existentialism as opposed to the post-Christian character of the meaninglessness of Sisyphus' situation?

A: Yes, that is correct. I identity philosophically with people like Gabriel Marcel. And if you want to call me a philosophical Catholic existentialist, I would not object, although the term existentialist is being so abused now that it means very little. But stylistically mainly two French novels affected me: Sartre's La Nausée and Camus' L'etranger. I agree with their novelistic technique but not with their absurdist view.

Q: Is not your third novel, Love in the Ruins, with its Layer I and Layer II—the social self and the inner, individual self—a comic attempt to solve Marcel's dilemma about this separation?

A: You are right. This is a comic device to get at what, ever since Kierkegaard, has been called the modern sickness: the disease of abstraction. I think in the novel Dr. More calls the illness angelism-bestialism. There is nothing new about this. It had been mentioned by many writers in various ways. Pascal said that man is both not quite as high as an angel and not quite as low as a beast. So Dr. More is aware of this schism in consciousness. He talks about the modem mind which, as he sees it, abstracts from the world, from itself, and manages to lose touch with reality.

(…)

Q: Much of it, especially in Love in the Ruins, seems to be a social problem viewed from an existentialist viewpoint of the human predicament. Actually, this is a kind of movement I notice in your works: an increasing awareness of how much the social predicament has to do with the human predicament. If Binx in The Moviegoer was suffocating in an adverse climate of malaise which was a social phenomenon, he was not much aware of its having to do with society; he was not concentrating on things like the social self as later Dr. More is in Love in the Ruins. Was this an intentional change on your part or was the movement towards the concept of malaise as a social product spontaneously developing through the inner logics of these relations?

A: It was a conscious change. Love in the Ruins was intended to take a certain point of view of Dr. More's and from it to see the social and political situation in America. Unlike Binx, whose difficulties were more personal, Dr. More finds himself involved in contemporary issues: the black-white conflict and the problem of science, scientific technology which is treated as a sociological reality today. Both the good and bad of it. I really use this to say what I wanted to say about contemporary issues. About polarization; there are half a dozen of them: black-white, North-South, young-old, affluent-poor, etc. And do not forget that at the end of Love in the Ruins there is a suggestion of a new community, new reconciliation. It has been called a pessimistic novel but I do not think it is. A renewed community is suggested. The suggestion is in the last scene which takes place in a midnight mass between a Christmas Saturday and Sunday. The Catholics, the Jews come to the midnight mass, also the unbelievers in the same community. The great difference between Dr. More and the other heroes is that Dr. More has no philosophical problems. He knows what he believes.

Q: Is it a religious reconciliation then?

A: Yes, that is the case. This was meant for Southerners in particular and for Americans in general.

Q: Binx in The Moviegoer and Barrett in The Last Gentleman do not seem to have the set of positive values needed for absurd creation as conceived by Camus to create their own meaning in meaninglessness. Is this connected with your idea of the aesthetic reversion of alienation, i.e. by communicating their alienation they get rid of it?

A: Yes, there is something there. In the case of Binx it is left open. The ending is ambiguous. It is not made clear whether he returns to his mother's religion or takes on his aunt's stoic values. But he does manage to make a life by going into medicine, helping Kate by marrying her. I suppose Sartre and Camus would look on this as a bourgeois retreat he had made.

Q: How do you look on it?

A: Well, I think he probably . . . as a matter of fact the last two pages of The Moviegoer were meant as a conscious salute to Dostoevski, in particular to the last few pages of The Brothers Karamazov. Very few people notice this.

Q: To me the most striking difference between the European and the American absurdist view is the ability of the American to couple the grim seriousness with hilarious humor, to turn apocalypse into farce. In comparison, Beckett, for all the grim comedy which is there, is a sheer tragic affair. Can you think of some explanation for this?

A: That is a good question and I can only quote Kierkegaard, who said something that astounded me and that I did not understand for a long time. He spoke of the three stages of existence: the aesthetic, the ethical, the religious. When you pass the first two you find yourself in an existentialist predicament which can be open to the religious or the absurd. He equated religion with the absurdity. He called it the leap into the absurd. But what he said and was puzzling to me was that, after the first two, the closest thing to the third stage is humor. I thought about that for a long time. I cannot explain it except I know it is true.

There is another explanation, too, of course. Hemingway once said: all good American novels come from one novel written by a man named Mark Twain. With Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain established the tradition of this very broad and satirical humor. I think the American writer finds it natural to use humor both in his satire and in describing even the worst predicament of his main character. In this country we call it black humor: disproportion between the gravity of the character's predicament and the hilarity of the humor with which it is treated. Vonnegut uses this a good deal.

Q: Richard B. Hauck in A Cheerful Nihilism points out how Franklin, Melville, Twain, Faulkner have shown that the response to the absurd sense can be laughter. At one point Binx becomes aware of the similarity of his predicament to that of the Jews. "I accept my exile," he says. Whether we accept this as his affirmation of life in its absurdity or not, what follows is comedy. Could you agree that this comedy as well as Franklin's, Melville's and the others' could be regarded as the absurd creation of the American Sisyphus as opposed to the serious defiance of Camus' king?

A: I do not know if I would go that far. It may be much simpler. There is an old American saying that the one way to stop crying is to laugh. Binx says, "I feel more homeless than the Jews." Between him and the Camus and Sartrean heroes of the absurd there is a difference. Camus would probably say the hero has to create his own values whether absurd or not, whereas Binx does not accept that the world is absurd; so he embarks on a search. So to him the Jews are a sign. I think he said, "Lately when I see a Jew on a street I am amazed nobody finds it remarkable. But I find it remarkable. But to me it is like seeing Friday's footprint in the beach. " Of course, he is not sure what it is the sign of. Sartre's Roquentin in La Nausée or Camus' Meursault in L'etranger would not find anything remarkable about a Jew, they would not be interested in him.

Q: In your philosophical essay, "The Man on the Train," you stress the speakability of the commuter's alienation and the fact that the commuter rejoices in this speakability. We can probably add: laughability. Incidentally, you do mention in the same article how Kafka and his friends were roaring with laughter when Kafka read his work aloud to them. Again if we had the answer to how alienation can become a laughing-matter, we would have the key to much of what is recently called black humor.

A: I think you are right. In "The Man on the Train" I was talking about the aesthetic reversal: the alienated commuter feeling totally alienated when reading a book about alienation feels better because there is a communication between himself and the writer.

Q: The forms of alienation you are concerned with in your fiction are all results of the objectification, mechanization of the subjective. Does not this view meet somewhere at a point with Bergson's view of the comic as the mechanical manifested in a living human being?

A: It sounds reasonable but I cannot enlarge on that. I am not familiar enough with Bergson. But to your previous question. Let me finish. It is the first time it occurs to me. You brought it up. Maybe, a person like Sartre spent a lot of time writing in a café about alienated people, the lack of communication, etc., and yet, in doing so, he became the least alienated person in France. By writing he performs a superb act of communication for which he has many readers. So you have a complete reversal. He writes about one thing and reverses it through communication. Here we have the American writer locked in his alienation. But I can envision the American writer getting onto it; by seeing the possibility of communication, exhilaration, his alienation becomes speakable. There can be a tremendous release from that. I have never thought of this before. Nobody knows what is going on when you communicate the unspeakable. This all-important step from unspeakability to speakability is such a triumph that in his own exhilaration the American writer finds it natural to use the Mark Twain tradition of the funny, the humorous.

(…)

Q: Religion reminds me of another tendency I notice in your novels from Binx through Dr. Sutter to Dr. More: the scientist Dr. Percy showing in the novels much more than the Catholic. How would you comment on your religious presence in the philosophical essays the—whole idea of the islander opening all those bottles hoping for 'the message'—and on the absence of practical religion from the novels. I know that religion is there as a theme but with no commitment of the writer in any direction.

A: Well, that is very simple. James Joyce said that an artist must be above all things cunning and guileful and must use every trick in the bag to achieve his purpose. In my view the language of religion, the very words themselves, are almost bankrupt. If you are writing a technical article on philosophy you can use the correct word for the correct meaning. But writing a novel is something different. In my view you have to be wary of using words like 'religion,' 'God,' 'sin,' 'salvation,' ‘baptism' because the words are almost worn out. The themes have to be implicit rather than explicit. I think I am conscious of the danger of the novelist trying to draw a moral. What Kierkegaard called 'edifying' would be a fatal step for a novelist. But the novelist cannot help but be informed by his own anthropology, the nature of man. In this respect I use 'anthropology' in the European philosophical sense. Camus, Sartre, Marcel in this sense can all be called anthropologists. In America people think of somebody going out and measuring skulls, digging up ruins when you mention 'an-thropology.' I call mine philosophical anthropology. I am not talking about God. I am not a theologian.

Q: What I meant was not the question of style and technique explicit or implicit but the religious commitment which is there in your philosophical writings but absent from the novels or always left open at best.

A: As it should be left open in the novel.

(…)

Q: None of the main characters in your three books have problems in making a living. Binx is a successful broker, Barrett inherited from his father, Dr. More from his wife. Do you do this to contrast seeming affluence with emptiness under it?

A: I had not thought about it. Maybe so, maybe also to use it as a device to reinforce the rootlessness. After all if these fellows had been day-laborers working very hard they would have had no time for various speculations.

Q: Does that mean that existentialism has no comment on those who are without these economic means and consequently perhaps in a much more serious predicament—because they have no time for speculations?

A: To that Marx would have an answer, Henry Ford would have an answer, Chaplin would have another, etc. Marx invented the term alienation. . .

Q: He reinterpreted an older concept, he discovered a new explanation for alienation.

A: But it is now transferred to a different class of society in Sartre, Camus. These desperately alienated people are members of a rootless bourgeoisie, not the exploited proletariat.

Q: Your novels demonstrate that to many questions affluence is no answer. Danger of life and the saving of lives often figure in your work as in many other black humorists', too. One can think of Barth's The Floating Opera, The End of the Road, Giles Goat-Boy, Vonnegut's The Sirens of Titan, Mother Night, Cat's Cradle and others, Kesey's two novels, Pynchon's V., Heller's Catch-22 and We Bombed in New Haven, etc. Do you think that this or a similar event of great moment in one's life is necessary to awaken the existentialist hero to his absurd situation and that this somehow is needed to shock him into the feeling of necessity for 'intersubjectivity' and shared consciousness as an escape from 'everydayness'?

A: I think that touches on a subject I have been interested in for a long time—a theme I use in all my novels: the recovery of the real through ordeal. It is some traumatic experience—war, Dr. More's attempted suicide—in each case. You have the paradox here that near death you can become aware of what is real. I did not invent this. Prince Andrey lying at the Battle of Borodino and looking at the clouds, makes a discovery: he sees the clouds for the first time in his life. So Binx is the opposite of Prince Andrey: he watches the dung-beetle crawling three inches from his nose.

Q: Correct me if I overinterpret the difference but now that you make this comparison it occurs to me that perhaps there is some irony here in the way it is an opening up of vision for Andrey towards the clouds, the sky, some magnificence suggested by these, and in the way Binx zooms down on an ugly little dung-beetle.

A: Maybe there is a little twist there. But the point is that a little creature as the dung-beetle is just as valuable as a cloud.

(…)

Q: Ordeal is one existentialist solution to escape from the malaise. How effective do you think the others, rotation and repetition, can be? Is it possible that their effect can be more than temporary?

A: To use Kierkegaard's term, they are simply aesthetic relief, therefore temporary.

Q: Friedman says that distortion can be found on the front page of any newspaper in America today. It is not the black humorist who distorts; life is distorted. Does everyday American reality stir you to write with similar directness? I ask this because once in an interview you appreciated the way Dostoevski was stirred to writing by a news item in a daily paper and because once in connection with Faulkner and Eudora Welty you referred to the social involvement of the writer as useful because social likes and dislikes, you said, can be the passion and energy you write from.

A: I see what Friedman means. Right. The danger with newspapers and TV is that it is all trivial. You remember in Camus' The Fall: we spend our lifetime "fornicating and reading the newspapers.” I think the danger is that you can spend your life reading the New York Times and never get below the surface of current events; whereas in Dostoevski's case—The Possessed—the whole was inspired by a news story in a Russian newspaper. I would contrast the inveterate newspaper reader and TV watcher who watches and watches and nothing happens—he is formed by the media. Dostoevski reads one news story, gets angry and this triggers a creative process.

Q: Intersubjectivity is an escape for Binx from everydayness and the other forms of the malaise, he is certainly not formed by the media. But are his aunt's values cars, a nice home, university degree—somehow recreated through intersubjectivity so that he can go back to these formerly rejected values?

A: Yes, sure. The question is, how much? And whether he did not go a good deal beyond intersubjectivity when he regained his mother's religion. Binx says at the end that what he believes is not the reader's business, he cuts the reader loose, refuses to be edifying. This is Kierkegaard going back to Socrates, "I want no disciples."

Q: But in the next paragraph he says, "Further: I am a member of my mother's family after all and so naturally shy away from the subject of religion (a peculiar word this in the first place, religion; it is something to be suspicious of)." This means, it seems to me, that Binx definitely objects to being edifying, especially in a religious way.

A: Yes, if you like.

(…)

Q: I wonder why it is necessary to bring the mental sickness of these characters into such a sharp focus? Is it to perplex the world with the old enigma: are these sick people in a normal world or normal people in a sick world? Or is it the interest of the medical doctor? Or both?

A: It is partly therapeutic, medical interest but also goes deeper than that. The view of Pascal and some others who were interested in the human condition was that there is something wrong with mankind. So it is always undecided in my novels. This is the main question of the novels. Here is a hero who is afflicted, shows malaise, dislocation, and he is surrounded by apparently happy and sane people, particularly Dr. More, who lives in Paradise Estates. So who is crazy, the people apparently happy or those radically dislocated characters?

(…)

Q: Although I know you have been frequently asked about the position of the writer in the South, I would like to ask you to summarize your view on this question for the Hungarian reader for whom this talk is primarily intended and for whom your view of the writer in the South will be a novelty.

A: The position of the Southern writer now, as opposed to thirty years ago when Faulkner was writing, is more and more on a level with other writers' in other parts of the country. In other words the United States is becoming more and more homogenized. America is becoming more alike. Towns in the South lose their distinctive character. And yet, I think, in spite of this, there remains and probably there will remain a unique community in the South between black and white, so that there is much more communication, strangely enough, between middle-class white and black people in the South than there is between intellectual black and white in the North. In the South they have lived in physically intimate terms for 300 years. And whatever might have been the evils of this system, there still exists a strong historical basis of communication. I think it will continue to exist.

Q: Speaking about America, it occurs to me to ask you at this point if you have ever thought of rotation in historical aspect? Of America as a historical experience in rotation? What the settlers did coming from Europe, or the pioneers did going west was, it seems to me, as exactly zone-crossing as anything in the existentialist meaning of the term—even though the term came much later. If I may go one step further, how can you comment on the effectiveness of this rotation in the light of what you say on the first pages of Love in the Ruins: "our beloved old U.S.A. is in a bad way." And later, "now the blessing or the luck is over, the machinery clanks, the chain catches hold . . .”?

A: I did not think of rotation in an historical aspect. But if rotation is temporary it should run out. That makes it tough. There are more suicides in San Francisco today than in other cities; that is why the rotation has run out, which may or may not be significant. That is what Kierkegaard calls aesthetic damnation—living by rotation.”

#percy #walker percy #existentialism #camus #albert camus #absurdism #marcel #gabriel marcel #pascal #dostoyevski #kierkegaard #soren kierkegaard #faulkner #literature #southern literature #philosophy #bogue falaya #covington #louisiana

[itachianon]

Birthday present: Kazekage Gaara x Sas mod. I’m going to refer to her as Rose here. This is not an x reader fic just a birthday present consisting of my word vomit, kay thanks! @sasukeanon

It was overwhelmingly obvious, the way the young Kazekage of Sonohagakure was too interested in Konoha’s matters. Lately, he hasn’t been trying to hide it as well. Some weird, twisted sense of confidence in his over all stoic self. The reason is simple, the Uchiha Jonin of the Leaf, Rose. 🌹

It was fate that led Gaara to her, a mission gone wrong in the Hidden Sand from the Anbu Black Ops had caused a futile issue to turn into something of a civil war. It was to be expected that the Anbu Black Ops are stationed in every Hidden Village. Despite the now— friendly relations between the two villages, the Leaf isn’t going to let their guard down. As one of the key members of the Black Ops who reported to Itachi, (the fifth Hokage of Konoha (let me cook)), he had his utmost trust on his comrade. So, when matters became dire and her identity was leaked through a traitor directly to one of the chief members of The Hidden Sand’s council, Itachi paid no mind in trying to rescue her soon.

He didn’t have to, however— as a proof that The Hidden Sand bore no ill will with the Leaf village, Rose’s meet up was secured with the Kazekage himself. He wanted to meet this stoic, carefree, precise, cut-throat and loyal kunoichi who had taken down more than a handful of trained Hidden Sand shinobis in no time. Sharingan blazing with rage, and loyalty to the Hokage and the Leaf.

The prison bars creaked open as Rose furrowed her brows, the sound was no less than a migraine inducing catastrophe. “You are summoned.” One of the lady guards ordered, trying to had her intimidation from her behind a loud, nonchalant voice. “Mhm? By who? The Kazekage?” Sixth sense had been her forte for a while now. You get that sort of a thing once you are constantly exposed to danger.

“Yes, and you better show respect to him.” Rose scoffed after hearing those words from the guard. She will show respect if he deserves. No more, no less. He could stab her life out if he wants to and she wouldn’t bow down, the Uchiha were a prideful clan and that pride was instilled in her ever since she was young.

Hands tied behind her back in secure, metal hand cuffs, she was brought in front of Gaara. The moment her brown eyes met his, two things happened. Gaara was nullified of all emotions and she was enamored with how young and gorgeous the Kazekage sama looked. “Now, I didn’t ask her to be brought as a Prisoner did I?” Gaara reminded the guards who, reluctantly untied her.

“Are you untying me because you think of me as harmless?” A direct question with a commendable audacity was thrown towards the Kazekage, who was also— pleasantly taken aback. “No, I would be foolish to consider an Uchiha in the Anbu, directly under Itachi to be— harmless. I just trust your grit and your judgement. Maybe your faith in your Hokage & want to restore ours as well.” Yeah— right, after the attack during the Chunin examination, it was expected to expect, the Hidden Sand being notoriously upset about their Late Kazekage’s death under one of the Legendary Leaf’s Sannin, Orochimaru.

“Then you must know that I will not admit to anything you accuse me of, which might hamper The Hidden Leaf’s image.” Rose was brutal, and honest. Diplomacy doesn’t work on those who have the guts to slay enemies. Right now, she might just be standing in front of him & she was prepared.

“I don’t want you to.” Gaara smiled, asking the guards to leave to make her feel safer. He had no ill-intent whatsoever. Rose activated her sharingan, curious to witness and look around for any traps. “You must not consider me harmless either, Little one.” Gaara reminded her after the observation. “I will not lay down petty traps for someone.” His hands crossed defensively.

“Then why am I being treated normally?”

“As I said, we want to—”

“Really? You really want to prove to Itachi san that you are no threat and you can be trusted as the Kazekage but can you say so about the normal folks here? Can you say so about the council?” Rose challenged Gaara again, despite knowing she was in no position to. However, if Gaara really wanted the relations between the Leaf and the Sand to be amicable, then he must know the truth.

“I understand, it takes time for something like this to wash off. People still have a hard time accepting me as the Kazekage. As you know, I am a Jinchuriki of the one-tailed Shukaku.” He bared his identity in whole, catching her off guard. “Sometimes, I feel as if they are conspiring against me too. That does not matter though— because all I need, is the same to be done for any Hidden Sand Shinobi, if they are caught in your village.”

“I want them to be treated as if they are in a safe place. Somewhere under the shadow of Itachi, unharmed and allowed to fit in.”

“You have high ideals.” She raised her brow with a sigh, Gaara’s words… had an impact for sure. Someone who was being too optimistic perhaps. Itachi was not someone who treads on intents. However, he won’t let this act go unnoticed.

And… he didn’t. After Gaara let Rose go, escorting her to the Leaf safely. Itachi personally and cordially invited Gaara to the village.

The red-haired man was already losing everything by then. Sleep is something he has lost a while ago, thanks to Shukaku… right now— it’s his senses. He’s never seen someone so beautiful, so fierce, yet has eyes so kind. At first it started with his mind pondering off, then he started dreaming about her… now, he can’t wait to see her.

“Rose, The Kazekage has personally asked for you to be his escort through his visit. You can accompany him throughout the visit.” Itachi spoke, going through the papers sent by Gaara.

“Is he in love with me or what?” Rose laughed out, “I seriously think he hasn’t talked to a girl in his life.”

Itachi smiled at that statement, “Now now, whatever that is, we still treat guests nicely.” Itachi hummed, looking at her who had a plastered eye roll.

Things… proceeded. Gaara was in the Leaf, met Itachi, and eventually asked to go to the lake behind the village borders with Rose. Weird— this man was so fucking weird. Rose almost felt him delusional with how silent yet weirdly exhilarated Gaara looked.

Once they reached the lake, Rose couldn’t handle the strange quietness of the travel & finally spoke up. “Why did you ask of me to accompany you?”

“Why not? Do you not like accompanying me? I thought it would be a good break for you from your Anbu Black Ops duties…”

Thoughtful… is what she thought of him right now, the glint in her brown eyes rising. “I see, well, thank you Kazekage sama.”

“Please, call me Gaara..”

“No, I will not, Kazekage Sama.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t my friend or my buddy. You are officially visiting Konoha and I am responsible to accompany you as proposed by you officially to the Hokage.”

“What would it take for me to be called… your buddy?” Gaara’s cheeks were dusted pinkish. He had never been this brave in communication ever. But something told him that for Rose, he had to be.

“When you wouldn’t be wearing your Hokage robes, when you’d be a normal person who would meet me without my uniform. Maybe have similar interests as me. Then, I will call you Gaara; Kazekage sama.” Rose replied, and even though she didn’t say it precisely for him, Gaara felt his heart do sommersaults at the way her lips parted when she pronounced his name.

“You have a specific set of rules I must excel in, don’t you?” He smiled, looking down at the stillness of the water surface, watching her reflection and not directly looking at Rose. He felt he would melt if he did…

“Well, you wanted me to be informal. Then you, have to earn it. Just like you earned Itachi’s trust.” She smiled, also biting her lip. God— he was so gentle and kind, she knew the stories of how he used to be dangerous, vile, selfish & utterly cruel. This person & that person… don’t match.

“Well then, allow me to ask of your time so I can earn being your friend, please?” Gaara urged again, looking into her brown eyes this time, even with eyes as deep as hers, it was hard to read her soul.

“Are you asking someone who’s duty is to accompany you— and nothing else, to accompany you?” Rose laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, accompany me as yourself, not as an Anbu Shinobi.” Gaara re-phrased.

“I will see… maybe, maybe not. You must find out eventually.”

“Patience is something I’m very good at.”

“Oh, are you? Let’s see how long until you lose your patience and get oppressive with your demands.”

“Would you like that, Rose san?”

She didn’t respond to that, and for Gaara, it was enough that her smile hadn’t faded as they both watched the scenary around the lake, how the sun was fading… this wasn’t so bad after all.

#Happy belated birthday babe! <3 #Gaara x Sas mod

[bella-caecilia]

could you do 11 for Cobert for flufftober pls:)

A little drabble set post s6 <3

Day 12

11 – being distracted by thoughts about them

She shuffled slightly in the wooden chair she had been offered when she had been a bit late for the meeting. They had waited for her and immediately accepted her hurried apologies. But she felt very bad nevertheless. She didn’t want to appear as if she treated the weekly meetings in Dr Clarkson’s office with little respect. And she didn’t want to blame Robert for keeping her from departing timely either. But he didn’t seem to realise that her responsibilities as chairwoman of the hospital weren’t mere fun activities. She had to take them as seriously as he did his duties to the estate. When she had a meeting at the hospital it just didn’t do for him to hold her back with talk about next week’s dinner with Isobel and Dickie.

She huffed inwardly and blinked her eyes to focus on the meeting she was finally present at.

“We only have so many options to realise a higher bed count,” Dr Clarkson emphasised with a stern look at Isobel. “We–”

“Yes, very well. But isn’t it more important to ensure the proper workspace for the staff?” Isobel interrupted in her usual confident and slightly displeased tone. “Pushing the beds closer together will have our nurses in inopportune situations where they are trying to operate in the crammed spaces and don’t even have all the staffrooms and examination rooms they need.” The head nurse standing slightly behind Isobel silently agreed with a nod. “We had to do this in time of war but these exceptional circumstances don’t apply anymore.”

“Well, but what do you want me to do?” Dr Clarkson pressed his palms on the tabletop and his words were drenched in badly hidden exasperation and his Scottish tint. “Shall I expand and just build the hospital a few more wings?” he suggested sarcastically.

“Why not?” Cora asked. Until now, she had watched the discussion as a bystander. But someone had to get in between the intense bickering of Isobel and Dr Clarkson, and Cora didn’t think it a bad idea to grow the hospital.

Dr Clarkson looked at her perplexed. He was speechless, so Cora took the opportunity of the arising silence and elaborated.

“If we don’t look for a long-time solution, whatever we do will only postpone the problem for so long. I know putting up new buildings for the hospital isn’t something you can do overnight and it definitely will cost quite some money, but I am sure we will be able to raise enough extra money to settle the financial situation,” she said generously, and in the back of her head, she already pictured Robert’s exasperation.

“Are you quite sure, milady?” Dr Clarkson inquired.

“Well, I don’t say it’s a simple matter. But it’s the only real solution I see. And we all will have to work to make it happen.” She looked at Isobel and was glad when Isobel’s bright smile indicated they were allies in this issue. Having Isobel’s support was a deciding aspect. Without it, Cora would inevitably become a Sisyphus of her own idea. Now, in Isobel’s ambitious strength she had found the motor of her project.

“What an excellent idea you two have come up with!” Isobel praised and gave out approving looks between Cora and Dr Clarkson. “I absolutely agree with Cousin Cora on this. We need a stable solution for the future and if this means opening up a building site behind the village hospital then we should get to work. And if Cora says we’ll find a way financially then there is nothing to argue about, right?”

Dr Clarkson set to speak but Isobel was already rolling out her next ideas.

“We could put the maternity ward into the new wing. That way we have more room for our surgical patients.”

Cora cleared her throat and quietly chipped in, “Well, we don’t have an inexhaustible spring of money. Let’s keep that in mind.”

Isobel raised her eyebrows as she was interrupted in her speech and listened to Cora for a moment. “Of course!” Seconds later, she was head of her new building committee again. She scribbled floor plans on a piece of paper and explained to the Scottish doctor exactly how the project had to be structured.

Cora found herself zoning out again. She hoped Robert would not show too much of his disapproval. She knew that how he felt about it wouldn’t decide about the realisation of the project entirely, how it would have undoubtedly been in his father’s times. But his opposition would still make it harder for her. Maybe though, he wouldn’t be such a grouch about it. Cora had to think about the time he told her how proud he was of her. It still made her heart swell. How he brushed his knuckles over her cheek and sought her eyes under the brim of her head to tell her how greatly pleased he was with her work. She wouldn’t have been able to tell by the countless remarks he made about her absorbing job. He whined about her absence. He chided her priorities. And he indirectly questioned her choice. So yes, the revelation of his pride came as a surprise. He still managed to have words for her long days of work and to delay her in the mornings with his neediness, but overall, Cora could sense more acceptance and harmony with her job on his part.

His animated face appeared before her eyes as she thought about this morning. His vivid expressions had grated her a bit. He had tried to pull her full attention to keep her from leaving. He had talked about the right main course for next week's dinner and had tried to lure her into sitting with him on one of the library’s settees for a while. This morning, Cora had felt not understood. He knew she had to go but he didn’t respect it. Now, however, when she recalled his vivid facial expressions, she felt a twinge in her chest. Actually, she thought, he was quite endearing. She realised it was his expression of love to keep her for a few more minutes. He didn’t actually care for the dinner menu. He just wanted her attention and right now, Cora found it adorable.

She had to think of something Sybbie once said. They had been with their grandchildren, Robert and she, and Robert had carelessly given one of Marigold’s stuffed animals to Teo. When Marigold had cried out it was already too late. Teo had torn the stuffed rabbit irrevocably, and Robert stood embarrassed; the tips of his ears blushing bright red. He apologised sweetly and immediately promised a new rabbit if Baxter couldn’t fix it. He even brought the ruined toy downstairs himself right away. That was when Sybbie told Marigold not to be upset and explained to her, “Oh, but we do love our Donk!” And how right she was!

Cora did love her Donk, and a picture of him from last night arose, she had actually already forgotten because she had been so tired. But now, in her sweet thoughts, it came back. He was bowing above her as she already lay deep in the sheets. She was blinking jadedly and he looked down softly at her. With two fingers, he touched the hair framing her face and brushed it aside carefully. His smiling face was so adorable she couldn’t–

“I assume you agree, Lady Grantham?” Dr Clarkson’s voice ripped her from her thoughts.

Cora felt her cheeks grow hot. “I’m sorry. What was that again?”

And Isobel fell into an animated monologue again.

#cobert flufftober #thanks for the prompt! #cobert drabbles #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #our favourite donk #s6 #downton abbey drabbles #downton abbey

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Chapter 1: The Gathering Storm

A/N: It’s officially the beginning of the end. While Artemis prepares for her summer internship at the Ministry of Magic, a group of mysterious witches and wizards make their own preparations… Warnings: Intrigue.

The evening sky was grey, the turrets and pointed rooftops of Hogwarts castle cast in shadow by the ominous clouds, and the rain falling steadily on the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade Village. A cloaked wizard emerged from the Hog’s Head Inn, his pale face and eyes half-hidden by his dark hood. 

The wizard slipped around the corner of the inn and made his way through the maze of damp and darkened paths to an old building far up the hill, one with boarded windows and chipped paintwork, outside which a young woman - also hooded - was standing.

“Might be a bit scary for you, Miss,” he said, and the woman turned to look at him. “You know, they say that it’s the most haunted building in Britain.”

“What are you doing here, Figden?” the woman replied, her voice and face terse. The wizard grinned.

“Guess again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The wizard who wasn’t Figden screwed up his face, and his features grew more youthful. The witch tutted.

“Loken Burke,” she muttered. “I should have known.”

“Yes, you really should have. Come on, let’s go in. I’m soaked.”

With a glance over her shoulder, the young witch nodded. The door to the house was completely boarded over, but when Loken Burke tapped the boards in a rhythm with his wand, the two of them disappeared and reappeared inside. 

The interior of the building was, if possible, even more dilapidated than the exterior. The wallpaper was browned and ripped, the furniture even more so, as if a great beast had been let loose within.

“You’re late,” a woman’s imperious voice called out from down the hallway. “Burke, we have had words about this before.”

“Of course, Madam Buckthorn,” said Burke, following the woman’s voice to a small sitting room, and bending down to kiss the hand of the grey-haired witch the voice belonged to. He gestured to the woman behind him. “I found a friend.”

“I was wondering where you were, too, my dear.”

“I’m afraid I that became distracted,” came the reply from the younger witch, lowering her hood and bowing her head to the elder. “I was reading about the trial. I’m presuming that is why you called us here?”

“Actually,” said Burke, before Madam Buckthorn had a chance to answer, “I called you here.”

“You?”

“Anyone can call a meeting, love.”

Burke winked at the young witch, who pursed her lips and took a seat on the remains of what had once been a sofa, next to a stout man with a rounded abdomen and pink, swollen nose. Against another wall stood a tall wizard, whose dark hair was lined with silver, leaning against the splintered mantelpiece.

“I come bearing good news.” Burke’s face split into a grin. “I unfortunately was unable to abduct the designated target.”

“That’s hardly good news.”

“Ah, but I managed to get us something better. An Auror.”

“An Auror?”

“Oh, yes. It means that the plan will differ somehow, but,” Burke shrugged, “I think it will be easier to ingratiate myself with the Hexley girl this way. Win her trust. People trust Aurors, after all. And I will be able to find out some useful information.”

“We don’t need a change of plan, Burke,” said Madam Buckthorn. “We have our plan. Once we have access to Azkaban, it will not be long until our circle is complete again. And then we just have the small issue of the Hexleys to contend with.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s good to have a back-up plan, and a way of getting information from the Hexley girl herself.”

“We have both,” the man by the fireplace sighed deeply. “As you know, my child will be returning to Hogwarts this year. I’d like to think I still have a modicum of control, after all these years.”

“Of course, of course,” Burke bowed his head. “But if by some unfortunate turn of events, Rakepick remains inside Azkaban, we are short a member, not to mention Jacob Hexley…”

“And that is why there is the spare. If the plan fails, we shall use the girl,” Madam Buckthorn said, shortly. “And if necessary, we can find ourselves new recruits. If all goes to plan, we shall have one here tomorrow. By September,  he shall be stationed at the school.”

“At Hogwarts itself?”

“Indeed. Why the look of uncertainty, Burke?” 

“Do you think that wise?”

“Why should it not be? He shall be a loyal servant, provided that he believes we are able to give him what he requires to alleviate his… condition. And, given his predicament, he shall be hidden in plain sight, not unlike yourself.”

“I know, it’s just that the last few times we had someone inside Hogwarts itself… Well…”

Burke looked across at the pot-bellied man, who conjured a hip flask and took a swig. 

“In my defence,” he said, his voice a little slurred, “I didn’t realise that the boy would get stuck in the ice. And we modified his memories successfully enough, didn’t we?”

“Yes, Topsy, but still, look at Rakepick, and-”

“I hope you aren’t about to point your grubby fingers at me,” the young witch crossed her arms over her chest. “I played my role spectacularly. Hexley never suspected a thing.”

“Of course not, petal. You were astounding, you still astound me to this day,” Burke muttered, and the witch tutted. “I’m just saying that being directly under Dumbledore’s nose is risky.”

“No riskier than infiltrating the Auror office,” the dark-haired wizard said, sharply. “Alastor Moody-”

“No one listens to Moody. They all think he’s crackers.”

“Even so, Burke, you will need to focus on the task at hand,” Madam Buckthorn sighed. “Now, I don’t doubt that being in the Auror office will help you to gain the girl’s trust somewhat, but we already have ways of getting information on her. If we want to have all choices available to us, the plot at the Ministry has to go to plan. Do I make myself very clear?”

“Clear as a crystal ball.”

“Wonderful. Once you have done that, you can try and get closer to the spare. We will need her yet, one way or the other. And you are correct, having someone in the Auror office isn’t a bad idea. Is that all you wanted to discuss?”

“That’s all,” Burke nodded. “I know how to contact you all if I need to.”

“Indeed you do,” the dark-haired wizard stood upright, and held out his hands. “Shall we?”

The group stood in a circle, palm to palm. They lifted their faces upwards, spoke in unison.

“We stand in a round. We shall be led through the darkness to the light. We shall be witness to the power within.”

The group left the decrepit house one at a time, starting with Madam Buckthorn, who was followed by the dark-haired wizard. Before he left, he handed Burke a black quill.

“Your instructions,” he said, quietly, and Burke mock-saluted him.

When it was Burke’s turn to leave, he loitered by the fence outside, waiting for the young witch.

“What now, Loken?” she said, regarding him sceptically from beneath her already-raised hood.

“I thought you might like to go for a drink with me,” he said, and her eyebrows knitted together. “You know, Hexley has been at the Three Broomsticks Inn all summer. The one who is not currently sitting inside a ministry cell, I mean.”

“Of course. ”

“Topsy told me.”

“Well, he would know.”

“I thought I’d go and take a look at her. See what I’m going to be up against.”

“As much as I’d love to join you,” the witch said, her voice laden with irony, “I’m afraid that I don’t have the same luxury as you do when it comes to hiding in plain sight.”

“Ah, never mind,” Burke screwed up his face, and became unrecognisable. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Loken.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t get too close.”

“Don’t you worry. Discretion is my middle name.”

“No. I don’t mean…” the hooded witch lowered her head, so that her hood obscured her face entirely. “Try not to get attached. She failed before, remember? That’s why she’s only the spare. And even if she wasn’t, can you really trust any of the Hexleys?”

“No. But then, can any of us really be trusted?”

The young witch chuckled in response to Loken Burke’s question. He inclined his head to her, wrapped his cloak around himself, and started to walk back through the village in the direction of the inn, ready to catch a glimpse of the now-infamous Artemis Hexley.

As for Artemis Hexley herself, she had taken a seat in the quietest corner of the inn she could find, though the bar was growing noisier by the minute as more and more witches and wizards - some of whom she recognised as regulars and many others she did not - came inside to escape the heavy rain that lashed against the sash windows. On the table in front of her lay a stack of papers, parchments, and a single postcard from Brazil.

The postcard was from Alanza, a foreign exchange student who had been housed in Artemis’ dormitory for the months she had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the second half of Artemis’ sixth year at school. According to her postcard, Alanza had settled back in to her usual life in Brazil, in spite of ascertaining an injury from a Nogtail she had attempted to befriend on a walk through the rainforest. 

The other letters were from some of Artemis’ other, closer friends: the Weasley brothers, Charlie and Bill, the former of whom Artemis had spent two weekends visiting in the Westcountry over the course of the summer, and the latter of whom had just started a placement in northernmost Scandinavia as part of his training to become a professional Curse-Breaker; pretty and popular Penny Haywood, who was currently staying with her penpal Aurélie in Paris in order to complete a summer alchemy internship; mischievous Dora Tonks and Tulip Karasu, who had just come to the end of five days spent at Tonks’ house terrorising her family and neighbours; and Chiara Lobosca, a werewolf who had grown a lot closer to Artemis after spending a week with with her and the other girls at Penny’s family’s holiday cottage in Cornwall during the previous new moon.

However, it was not her correspondence that currently held Artemis’ attention, but the open newspaper that a punter had left behind, and that she was now reading intently. She had picked the paper up to read about the quarter finals of the Quidditch World Cup, but whilst flicking through it to find the sports pages, a different article had caught her attention altogether.

DATE SET FOR KHANNA MURDER TRIAL

Artemis had stopped scanning the pages abruptly, and turned her full focus to the article, her eyebrows furrowing deeply as she read.

A date has been officially set for the trial of Patricia Rakepick, former Head Curse-Breaker of Gringotts Bank and erstwhile Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Rakepick, who stands accused of the murder of sixteen-year-old Rowan Khanna on the grounds of Hogwarts School in late November of last year, was apprehended in April following a four-month search. Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Auror office had this to say on the upcoming court case:

“All that we can hope for now is that justice will be served to Madam Rakepick, and that this justice will be of comfort to Miss Khanna’s loved ones.”

Also on trial will be 26-year-old Jacob Hexley, who was taken into Auror custody the same night as Rakepick after being missing for almost nine years. Mr Hexley is accused of being involved with the criminal organisation ‘R’, of which Rakepick is suspected to be a member, and of playing a role in the death of his former classmate Duncan Ashe in the summer of 1981. Hexley, son of the late Unspeakable Leander Hexley, gained a status of mysterious notoriety ten years ago, following his and Ashe’s doomed search for the legendary Cursed Vaults of Hogwarts School.

Rakepick and Hexley’s trial will take place on the twenty-fourth of  August. As for whether this will shed some much-needed light on the extent of Rakepick and Hexley’s crimes, the organisation ‘R’, or Hogwarts’ Vaults remains to be seen. 

Finishing the article, Artemis closed her eyes and exhaled. She already knew the date of the trial, as she had been called to give evidence against Patricia Rakepick a week previously. This had not come as a surprise. Rowan Khanna had been - and always would be - Artemis’ best friend, and she had been one of only three witnesses to Rowan’s death at the hands of their former teacher. Artemis had given a statement previously to Mad-Eye Moody, one of the Aurors investigating the murder, and it was to be expected that she would have to give her testimony again now that the case was going to trial. 

But though it was not unexpected, it was not a pleasant prospect either. Artemis was not looking forward to facing Rakepick again, nor reliving the events of the night Rowan had been killed, and that was without the knowledge that her brother Jacob would also be trialled for crimes that she knew he did not even commit, though she had no proof…

A sharp miaow from beside her pulled Artemis’ thoughts away from the newspaper and the trial, and she looked up to see that her loyal cat Fergus had jumped up onto the table, his bottle green eyes fixed on the blonde-haired witch making her way across the crowded bar towards them: Madam Rosmerta, landlady of the Three Broomsticks Inn. Immediately, Artemis flicked the page of the newspaper over before Rosmerta could see what she was reading, and muttered her thanks to Fergus for his warning.

“What are you reading, love?” Rosmerta asked as she approached the table, raising one suspicious-looking eyebrow and resting her hand on the back of Artemis’ chair.

“Nothing, really,” replied Artemis, looking down at the article that was now on display. “So, there’s this wizard here, his name is Shi… um, Shiri… Shiratori” - she avoided eye contact with Rosmerta and continued to scan the page - “and he’s escaped from a prison… in Japan, apparently.”

“And there I was thinking the only foreign affairs that interested you were the World Cup and Bill Weasley’s Curse-Breaking missions,” Rosmerta chuckled, and gave Artemis a knowing look as she settled on the chair next to her. “You know, love, reading about the trial isn’t going to make you feel any better about it.”

“Yeah. You keep saying so.”

“Because you keep reading about it.”

Artemis pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose, pushing the newspaper across the table and away from her. 

“Is that why you came over here?” she asked. “To tell me to stop reading the newspaper?”

Rosmerta shook her head. “No, love. I came to tell you that you need to go to bed.”

“But you’ve not called last orders yet!”

Other than spending a couple of weekends at the Weasleys’ and a week in Cornwall with her girlfriends, Artemis and Fergus had been staying at the Three Broomsticks ever since the school year had ended in June. She enjoyed living with Rosmerta; after all, it was a great improvement on living with her mother - or rather, not with her mother, who had moved to America almost a year earlier - who had never really paid much attention to Artemis, especially not after her father’s death and Jacob’s disappearance. 

Madam Rosmerta, unlike Sara Hexley, was caring and warm, and it had become somewhat of a routine for Artemis to change the station on the wireless and help Ros clear up the bar after the punters left for the night, giving the two of them (three, if one counted Fergus, which Artemis definitely did) a chance to catch up before going to bed. 

But tonight, Rosmerta was adamant that she would sort out the inn alone.

“You have a big day tomorrow,” she told Artemis, firmly but kindly. “You don’t want to be tired for your first day of work experience.”

Artemis sighed loudly. Between their sixth and seventh years of school, she and her classmates were being made to complete a fortnight’s placement in a professional environment to prepare them for life after Hogwarts. At first, Artemis had revelled in the idea; she had her heart set on becoming a Curse-Breaker like Bill Weasley, and had immediately sent a letter to Gringotts Bank to request that she be allowed to go to Svalbard to spend three weeks with him there. 

Unfortunately, Gringotts had declined her request, stating that their curse-breaking placements were unsuitable for school students, a sentiment with which Artemis did not agree in the slightest. Having spent the previous six years continuing her brother’s search for Hogwarts’ Cursed Vaults, she had already done more than her fair share of curse-breaking. Still, she had kept hold of the information about the Gringotts Curse-Breakers’ training programme, including the details on how to apply, and had sent off a second request to the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Transportation. She may not get to visit Bill, but at least she was bound to travel somewhere interesting if she spent two weeks in the transport office.

“I’ll bring a coffee to your room in the morning,” Rosmerta continued, the note of finality in her voice making it clear that it would have been pointless to argue. Artemis tilted her head.

“Just coffee? Or will you bring me breakfast, too?” she asked, and Rosmerta chuckled.

“I’ll bring you whatever you like, love. Free room service. Go on. Bed.”

Artemis smiled, and with the promise of pumpkin marmalade on toast in the morning, packed up her letters and bade Rosmerta goodnight, winding her way through the crowded bar to get to her little room overlooking the village street, where the rain was still lashing down upon the cobbles.

Madam Rosmerta, as always, did exactly as she had promised. At sunrise, she knocked on Artemis’ door, a levitating tray holding a pot of coffee and plate of toast following her into the room. The heavy rain of the night before had eased a little, though the sky outside was still grey and water still ran down the window panes. 

The breakfast was welcomed far more than the hairbrush with which Rosmerta advanced on Artemis, but in spite of Artemis’ protests, she found herself having her hair detangled and pulled back from her face by the landlady.  With her mane of hair semi-tamed, a layer of mascara applied to her eyelashes, and dressed in a white collared blouse, Artemis found herself frowning at her reflection in the mirror.

“Do I have to dress like this every single day?” she asked Rosmerta, who was still vanishing the cat hair from her trousers. 

“Maybe not, but you definitely want to look smart on your first day. Make a good impression.”

“So tomorrow I can wear my normal clothes again?”

Rosmerta pursed her lips, but did not press the matter of Artemis’ clothing further, instead busying herself with checking that Artemis had packed everything she needed in the yellow rucksack she usually used to carry her schoolbooks. Apparently satisfied that Artemis was ready, Ros led Artemis downstairs to the large fireplace in the main part of the inn.

“One last thing,” she said, and held up Artemis’ camera. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ll want that in case I get to go anywhere really interesting with the transport people,” Artemis told her, reaching out to take the camera back from her. But Ros moved backwards and chuckled.

“Not so fast, love. It’s my turn to take a photo.”

“What of?”

“You,” Ros’ lips twitched. “Smile, Artemis.”

Artemis didn’t really understand why Rosmerta wanted to take a photo of her, but she did as she was told and smiled at the landlady, relieved when she saw the photograph appear out of the bottom and had the camera pressed back into her hands. This wasn’t the first time that she had allowed a friend to use the camera Rosmerta had given her for her seventeenth birthday, and so far she had found that she was far more comfortable being the one holding the machine than the one in front of the lens.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Having hugged both Rosmerta and Fergus goodbye, Artemis took a handful of powder from the mantelpiece and threw it into the hearth. The flames turned bright green and she stepped into them, feeling them tickle her bare forearms as she did. 

“Diagon Alley!”

As she spoke her destination out loud, the flames flashed and rose high around her. As they died down, she saw that she was in another fireplace, in another bar. But this inn was taller and narrower than the Three Broomsticks, and Rosmerta had disappeared from beside the hearth. In her place stood a tall wizard with spectacles and thinning red hair and two teenagers her own age, a red-haired boy and a pink-haired girl.

“Wotcher, Artemis,” said Dora Tonks, grabbing hold of Artemis’ hand and pulling her out of the fireplace. “See you’ve gone for the smart look, too.”

“See you haven’t,” Artemis muttered, eyeing Tonks’ laddered tights sceptically. 

“If I’m going to work for them, they’ll have to accept me for who I am one day. That day might as well be today.”

Artemis hummed in response and turned her gaze to Charlie Weasley, her other companion, who was not only wearing a shirt with a collar, but a tie as well. Seeing Artemis’ gaze fall to his neck, he shrugged.

“Mum said I had to,” he explained. “It really wasn’t worth the argument.”

“At least she didn’t cut your hair.”

“Believe me, she tried.”

The older wizard accompanying Tonks and Charlie cleared his throat, and Artemis looked up to see that he was reading the time on his wristwatch. 

“Not that it isn’t lovely to see you again, Artemis,” he said, “but we had really ought to get going. We still need to get to the visitors’ entrance, and we don’t want you all to be late.”

“Thanks for taking us to the visitors’ entrance, Mr Weasley,” Artemis said to him, remembering what Rosmerta had told her about manners. 

“Don’t mention it, Artemis. I was having to take Charlie the long way anyway.”

This was true. Although most of Artemis’ friends would be Apparating directly to the visitors’ entrance of the Ministry of Magic, she and Tonks had been too young to take their Apparition exam in March - not that Artemis had attended the lessons anyway - and would have to wait until the next school year to get their license. Poor Charlie, despite having turned seventeen the previous December, was also having to take his Apparition exam in the autumn, after a mishap during the March exam session caused him to fail the exam rather spectacularly, much to the distress of the elderly Muggle lady he had accidentally landed on top of when her got his final destination completely wrong. 

As a result, the three of them were today making their way to the Ministry on foot, guided by Charlie’s father, who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office.

“Still,” Artemis shrugged. “It is very kind of you to come with us.”

“Well,” Mr Weasley lowered his voice and leaned in towards Artemis conspiratorially. “If I’m completely honest, I am rather looking forward to taking the bus. Fascinating thing, you know, this Muggle transportation.”

Artemis nodded politely as Mr Weasley rattled off a series of facts about the London transport system, which took him the duration of the bus journey from Soho to Whitehall, whilst Tonks struggled to stifle laughter and Charlie looked over apologetically at regular intervals. Once they had dismounted the bus and stepped out into the rain outside, Mr Weasley pointed them in the direction of a disused Muggle telephone box. 

“You’ll have to go in that way, I’m afraid,” he told them.  “I’ll be taking the worker’s entrance, but they will both go through to the same place, I expect. Enjoy your first day, all of you.”

Charlie, Tonks, and Artemis thanked Mr Weasley once more, and together, they managed to squeeze uncomfortably into the telephone box, listening to the steady pattering of raindrops hitting its roof. Charlie picked up the phone and dialled the number written on the instructions they had been sent in advance. As he did, a cool clipped voice echoed through the box around them.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Wotcher,” said Tonks, leaning across Artemis to take the receiver from Charlie and speaking directly into the middle part of it. “My name’s Tonks, Dora Tonks, and this is Charlie Weasley and Artemis Hexley.”

She held the receiver out to both Charlie and Artemis, raising her pink eyebrows expectantly.

“Um, hi,” Charlie said dubiously, and Tonks took back the receiver once more.

“We’re here from Hogwarts for the Ministry’s summer internship scheme. Reckon you can-”

“Thank you,” said the voice, interrupting Tonks without any emotion. “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.”

There was a clunk and a clatter from underneath the receiver, and Artemis crouched down to see what had made the noise. From a metal chute, three badges had appeared. She picked them up and turned one over, reading what was written on it.

ARTEMIS HEXLEY - WORK EXPERIENCE

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

“Fantastic,” Tonks replied to the voice. “So, are you going to tell us where this Atrium is, or what?”

The clipped voice did not respond. Instead, the floor of the telephone box dropped beneath them. Artemis felt a hand grab onto her arm as the three of them plummeted down, below the level of the rainy London street, but it was too dark to tell who the hand belonged to. Now below ground, there was no light at all in the telephone box, just the sensation of it descending and the soft grinding sound it made as it did so.

Suddenly, the telephone box stopped moving, and a single slither of bright golden light appeared on the floor at their feet, widening and rising upwards. Artemis raised a hand to her brow, shielding her eyes. They had arrived.

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day.”

#artemis hexley #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm #charlie weasley #nymphadora tonks #madam rosmerta #arthur weasley #the cabal