#and he rebuilt his family by becoming a father to another child who lost HIS family
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The Ramose Kingdom
His mother was sick. His father too. Soon his uncles and aunts. His cousins. One by one. They all fell ill. Was it the Shade? The mysterious creature had established a foothold in the royal land long ago. Or was it another illness? Just a week ago the crops had all died. Whatever it was, it took Jentu’s family away when he was only a hatchling.
And the horrors just continued. He didn’t know that an imperial’s body must be separated after death. That it must not come in contact with any other imperial, especially not that of another dead one. But his parents died beside each other, in the same bed. And he was only a child. How was he to know what an Emperor was?
He watched as his parents rose from their bed, their bodies twisted and malformed. Fused with one another. For a brief moment he thought maybe they were still alive. But they bared their teeth at him, and he felt blood run down his face from their claws striking him.
He ran. He hid. He did what he had to do to protect himself from the horror that was unfolding. He remembered shaking in a broom closet, unable to see out of one eye and feeling blood drip down his face as what were once his parents roared and tore down walls.
When the Emperor was finished with its carnage and left the ramose kingdom, now fused with eight other imperials, Jentu finally emerged from his broom closet. The palace was destroyed. The citizens were terrified and angry. And Jentu was alone. His family were dead or missing.
He was a child, and now he was a king. He took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of the traumatized kingdom.
“We will rebuild. We will survive. This is our home. And it will always be our home.”
***
Years later, Jentu stared at himself in a mirror. He touched the scar on the side of his face, and where had once been an eye. He patted down the black feathers growing from in between his scales, it was a side effect from repeated Shade infection, and took a deep breath. He placed his mandible helmet onto his head. He had a big day ahead of him.
He stepped onto the cracked balcony of the royal palace. Half of it was still covered in tarps, unable to be rebuilt until the lumber finally arrived. If it would ever arrive. He stared out at the dragons lined up below him. It wasn’t a large crowd. Maybe around fifty dragons. That was around half of the dragons that resided in the kingdom. He remembered when he was younger hundreds of dragons, and his parents told him of the days when there were thousands in the Ramose Kingdom.
“Welcome, my kingdom,” Jentu spoke, his voice rough and not used to speaking. “As we know it is the 20th anniversary of the massacre. I would like to take a moment of silence for everyone we had lost on that horrid day.”
The dragons below him were already quiet, and simply waited for him to continue.
“Rebuilding has been slow, and the Shade has not been kind to us. But we stay, because this is our home, and it will always be our home.”
“We stay, because there’s nowhere else to go!” One angry dragon shouted.
“Yes. Exactly. You leave the kingdom, and the Shade will claim you. It is safe here.”
“My son died from the Shade last week.”
“And I am sorry for your loss. It is a tragedy to lose any citizen of Ramose.”
“And when are we going to stop losing people?”
Jentu bit his tongue. “As soon as the medicine arrives. Which will be soon! We will become a powerful Kingdom yet again. Now I think that’s enough for this anniversary. Please, visit the graves of the fallen and think about how lucky you are to still be here. I, as your king, will be hard at work rebuilding and making sure medicine and food is on its way. Thank you.” Jentu turned away as his people shouted behind him.
He entered the empty palace when out of the corner of his eye he saw something move. His ears went back and he snarled.
“Who dares to approach me in my royal chambers?”
Another imperial stepped out from a ruined door frame. She was black like midnight and sparkled like the night sky Jentu had only read about in books. She was dappled with patches of gold and green, which matched her Wind eyes.
“Sorry, I think I’m lost.”
“You must be,” Jentu said. “I don’t recognize you.”
“Sorry to just intrude. But I heard you’re the king here. I figured if there’s anyone who can help me, it’s you.”
“Let me guess, you got lost in the Hewn City?”
“Yes.”
“And my Kingdom has been the first sign of life you’ve seen?”
“Uh huh.”
“And now you want to leave?”
“Well yeah. I need to go home.”
“Well, welcome home then.”
“What?”
“This is your home now.”
“Uh. No it’s not.”
“You can’t leave.”
The other imperial bristled, “What you’re trying to trap me here?”
“I don’t have to do that. The Shade already has,” Jentu sighed “If You try to leave you’ll only get lost again, and you won’t find another break in the darkness like my kingdom again. But I promise you, i’ll take good care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me! I need to go home!”
“I won’t stop you from trying to leave. But please consider my warning. My name is Jentu, what is yours?”
“Zesiro.”
“Would you like to join me for tea? It’s nice to see a new face. And another imperial.”
Zesiro looked around the ruined palace. “What happened here? Are you the only one who lives here?”
Jentu smiled sadly. He removed his helmet, and Zesiro gasped.
“Damn. That’s nasty.”
“I’ll tell you all about it if you join me for tea. I’ll have to warn you though, it’s not a happy tale.”
Zesiro shrugged. “Eh. Sounds better than nothing. And I could go for some tea after wandering that wasteland.”
Jentu led her to the kitchen and placed a pot of water to boil himself. He refused to accept servants, and did all of his own cooking and cleaning. He wanted to humble himself, like a proper king should.
He sat with her in the sitting room and told his tale. At the end, a tear fell down his remaining eye. Zesiro curled the tip of her tail around his.
“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. I… I’ve met my own Emperor. My brother was a part of it. He was prince, and he was murdered.”
“Prince? So you’re a princess?”
Zesiro shrugged, “I guess? I’m not exactly a girl.”
“Oh you’re not? My apologies.”
“I mean I kinda am? I don’t know, gender is weird. I just feel like ‘girl’ doesn’t entirely capture what I am.”
Jentu nodded. “I understand. I go by king because it sounds… powerful. But I’m not entirely a boy either. I’m nonbinary.”
“Oh cool.”
“But uh… I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Eh, he was a bit of a prick. Still, it’s fucked up he became a monster.”
Jentu sipped his tea. “It is. Do you know why it happens to our breed? I’ve always wondered.”
“You don’t know? It’s because the Lightweaver’s an idiot.”
“But she’s our Goddess of Knowledge! How could you say that?”
“She made us from corpses. Our entire being is coated in nasty shit. Created from death, so monster we become.”
Jentu shivered. “I would like to change the topic.”
“Sure. Can I stay here tonight?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to get lost in the Shade. There’s plenty of empty houses you can move into.”
“No I mean. Here. In the palace. With you.”
“But it’s in ruins. My bedroom is the only bedroom that has been repaired.”
“Sounds perfect then.”
Jentu blushed. “I-I mean only if you’re comfortable with that…”
“I feel quite comfortable with that, Jentu.” She wrapped her tail tighter around his.
#firefly writing#Ramose Kingdom#and the Emperor Zesiro is talking about is the Lampsi Emperor#flight rising#flight rising lore
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NAME. Carmine Verga
AGE & BIRTH DATE. Physically 23 & May 29th, 1995
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him
SPECIES. Lycan ( Volatile )
PACK. Unaffiliated
OCCUPATION. Employee at Waffle House
FACE CLAIM. Lorenzo Zurzolo
biography
( tw murder, blood, death, eating hearts ) An unassuming shadow, the youngest Verga was brought forth on a timid spring morning; violence pervaded each crevice of the life he was brought into, but the volatile who’d be known as the Malice was not born but created from such circumstances. Politics and blood shrouded his life, but the Verga family was closely knit, a pack of wolves driven by ambition but tamed by their loyalty to one another. Hunger went hand in hand with desire, but Carmine was often a shadow of his family’s ambition; he witnessed the violent temper his father could unleash upon others, and drank in his mother’s fierce acerbity at the politics that enraptured her. Though they were atop many a heap in Sicily, the Verga family served dutifully to the mafiosi that laid claim to the toe of Italy’s boot.
Ambition and loyalty were woven within each other, one could not mingle without the other, and through their spotless reputation that bespoke their loyalty to the Sicilian mafia they were in turn handed influence, riches and splendor. Carmine recalls the abstinence of his parents, though Iron Fangs had a truculent hand and a vicious temper, he retained only what was gifted to him from those higher up. Romeo and Carmine were weaned off of such gifts, surrounded by such violence, but it was spliced with the love and adoration of doted parents who never asked for them to extend their loyalty to the mafia, too. Romeo burned brightly, he lunged at the opportunity to follow his father’s footsteps and become a made man who was gifted power, influence, and glory. Carmine, was still an adolescent, wide eyes crafted with enchantment at what he did not understand.
He watched the bright ambition within his brother burn him up; a star blazing too ferociously as ambition swallowed his brother whole. Coined the Beast, a perfect rendition to replace their father, Iron Fangs, as Romeo pushed his influence upon the mafia that the Verga family had been sworn to. Where their parents had been sated of their gluttony, Romeo’s greed could not be halted as Romeo placed a target upon them all. Whispers of the Beast replaced those of their father, Iron Fangs; darkness shrouded Carmine’s brother and a child reared off of the maw and grit of violence would soon come to replicate it. Carmine’s ambitions were nurtured by violence as the mafia soon came to find Romeo too unpredictable and sanguinary to control. From beast to prey, Carmine was forced to kneel and witness as his parents were weakened and culled. Vengeance and desire fed his need for freedom as a vampire tethered to the mafia they’d once blindly protected forced Carmine to witness his brother, the Beast, beaten and incapacitated, his father, Iron Fangs declawed and bested.
The Verga legacy burned out that evening as, manacled and beaten, his parents and elder brother were loaded into a van never to be seen again. Nobody expected a child to garner any mettle but just as his brother had been coined the Beast, the Rancor, the Cruel and Terrible; Carmine had been a witness to such brutal teachings. As the weakened howls of his family dimmed with the van disappearing from sight, Carmine howled a final promise as his rage allowed him to shift; bones snapping, maw gaped, he ensured those that had bested the Verga legacy, burned it to the ground, would never return to tell the tale. It’d been his first taste of blood, but it’d not be his last as Carmine disappeared from Sicily, revenge a potent taste upon his tongue.
Vampires and mortal humans had made up those who destroyed him and Carmine would not be gentle as he sought to dismantle what was at its very core. In a single night, all had been lost to him, but Carmine rebuilt with flesh and blood staining his teeth, with the ambitions of every Verga wolf that had been murdered bolstering his carnage. Years tacked on as a boy aged to something of a man; there were no more whispers of The Beast, of Iron Fangs, his family had been lost and Carmine’s hope died with them. Carmine scrounged by, from golden chalices and riches to prowling the woods for prey. He’d been a beast before, by privilege and circumstance, but now Carmine was a hunter as he ensured the legacy of a Verga could never die, not so long as his belly remained full and his howls spliced through the air.
Hunger begets hunger and no strength would ever compare to turning against one’s own; power had been pilfered from his lineage and as Carmine craved to return to what had been lost of him, his rage had ensured his lethality would conquer. Hell hath no fury like a twink scorned, and though he’d be underestimated as far more menacing-appearing lycans scoffed in his direction, the Malice would come to be the last sight they’d gaze upon before their ribs cracked open. Ambition fueled his aggressions, but as he gorged upon the hearts of other lycans, he feasted upon their aggressions, too. A wanton that could never be satiated but Carmine gorged himself all the same; a lone wolf spurred by spite. Consequences had found his family once before but Carmine spat in the face of such an idea that one could ever attempt to tame him again; underestimated, forgotten, a shadow of his brother before Carmine became everything his brother was not. If Romeo had been a ruthless Beast garnering a reputation of violence, then Carmine was the wretched Savage who turned against his own kind for a putrid ideal of glory.
If he’d not have peace nor the familial love he’d lost, then Carmine would chase a bitter glory, chasing a high as he defeated those weaker than him, as malevolence shrouded any moral compass. Malignance and venom was his armor and his comfort and as he razed through Italy, hunted the hunter, Carmine would stumble upon the Valter lycans. Raucous, spurred by traditions, adorned in opulence; Carmine hesitated at the world he’d stumbled into. Volatile’s were placed upon a pedestal; eat or be eaten, for the first time in what felt like ages, Carmine smiled. Bested, but not defeated, a scowling Carmine was spared by the Valter heir. There was something to be said of their similar virtues, the truculence that ran parallel to it; that hedonistic folly could turn to something akin to a sickening fondness.
Plucked from the violent solitary of his life, Carmine was paired with another of similar mettle and menace. They’d both heard the call of Lupercal, the beacon that was shrouded away from the vampire and human monarch of Rome. It spoke of Carmine’s purpose in life; the need to destroy that which took all from him, and the reverie of madness that had to be at the cynosure of Lupercal. Dragged by Napoleon, they’d ventured to Rome and came face to face with the putrid apparitions that lay waiting in the shadows. Carmine did not fear what loomed in the dark, it resounded as a comfort, and the Malice would not be satiated until the entirety of Rome’s glasshouse had been stoned and shattered, until their reform turned to corruption and iniquity.
personality
+ Resilient, adaptable, individualistic
– Sanguinary, aggressive, manipulative
played by gia. est. she/her.
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General #7
Hiiii! Okay, well I bet you thought I forgot about this! Or, more than likely, you forgot you even requested this back in Decemeber. But never fear, my child. I remembered and have been thinking of this fic and what to write for months.
And so I’m so sorry, I’m a total perfectionist and I started and discared like 3 ideas for this before deciding on this oneshot sooo if this sucks, I’m at least comforted by the fact that I accomplished something in writing this itself? That sentence made zero sense but... I’m tired 🤷🏼♀️😅.
Prompt : General # 7 :
“Is that blood?”
“Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-”
“You are literally bleeding.”
Anyways, thank you for the prompt and here we go!
Whispers Of Light
I don't know exactly how I got roped into this. How exactly Delly Cartwright, Peeta's best friend—and alright, my friend now too—managed to convince me to help her and Leevy and about three dozen other members of the community with sorting boxes.
Sorting boxes. Organizing contents. Decorating with "found treasures".
The type of activities Prim loved doing with our mother. The type of activities I refused to do after my father died, to punish my mother for her depression.
The type of activities I now kick myself for walking out on, that I'll never be able to take back. I'll never be able to get those moments back with my sister. I'll never know what those hours between her and our mother entailed, because I chose to exclude myself, just so I could hold onto my petty anger for something that was out of all our control.
Maybe that's why I agreed to help Delly and the others with sorting through boxes upon boxes of debrief, of the items that scarcely survived Twelve's bombing almost two years ago. Maybe I only agreed out of guilt, both for never doing this type of endeavor with my sister and for being the direct cause of the bombing itself.
But whatever my reasons were, I agreed to help nonetheless, and I always follow through my promises. If there was one part of me forged in the war, if only one minor aspect of me was amplified in the smoke and haze and blood of revolution, it was the importance of keeping your promises, against all odds.
The dire consequences of a broken promise has long lasting aftereffects, beyond anything either Haymitch or I wish to dwell on.
"Katniss!" Delly calls, holding up an old, half-ripped paper book that is completely void of a front cover. "Look! I think this book is from the old Apothecary Shop!"
I squint at the dusty, decimated item, not entirely convinced. "I don't think so?" I murmur, unable to even decipher the words on the now melted, conjoined pages. "I'm pretty sure my mother kept the only apothecary book in her family?"
Kanon Bagley turns to inspect the battered item in his girlfriend's hands as well. "I don't think this is a medicinal plant book, Dells," he says sheepishly, a small smirk playing on his lips.
She gives him an incredulous look. "What do you mean medicinal?"
I peer up at him too, not comprehending his meaning any more than Delly. "What kind of plants do you think are in here?" I ask, taking the nearly destroyed object myself and flipping through the worn pages again, seeing odd herbs that neither of my parents ever mentioned or had on hand. "These don't look like the poisonous ones my father told me about?"
Kanon bites back a laugh now and I can't help feeling a little perturbed. As kind and soft-spoken as he usually is, I'm foreign to the feeling of him laughing at me. "What?" Delly snaps at him before I even can.
He still chuckles though, in spite of both our nasty glares. "You guys, it's a book of plants that'll get you high."
It takes a full minute for the meaning to dawn on me. Long enough that Leevy and a couple guys I used to go to school with come over to inspect the book as well. Long enough that they confirm Kanon's assessment just as I realize we're talking about plants that'll make you feel akin to how the morphling made me feel while confined for I killing Coin.
While everyone else snickers—and Delly full on chortles—I pass the book back to Kanon, sliding out of the crowd and moving towards a brand new box of savaged items.
It's not that the mention of plant-based drugs is a trigger for me. It's not something I ever truly gave any thought to before, to be honest. My father likely knew of them but it's not like he was about to bestow that kind of knowledge on his eleven-year-old and my mother perhaps felt it was inappropriate to mention.
No, it wasn't the subject in itself that hit a sore spot for me. But like so many times before, it's where the subject led my mind. It's where the topic took me back to.
Snow's Execution Day. The day I chose to kill President Coin instead. Being thrown back into my old tribute room. Getting high on the morphling.
Trying to forget all that I'd lost. Trying to forget my little sister becoming a human torch before my very eyes. My district engulfed in flames. The ambiguous loss of my best friend.
The connection between me and Peeta that I believed then would be permanently severed. That I believed then to be irreparable.
I suppose I believed then I was irreparable too.
And I miss Peeta suddenly, even more than I already did. Because he always knows what to say when my thoughts turn dark, when I'm suddenly triggered out of the happy, every day events and suctioned backwards to a war torn bird with her wings clipped.
But he's not here to talk me down or scare away the ghosts haunting my mind. He's not here to comfort me or even shoot me a supportive glance. No, he's at his very busy business today.
Peeta's bakery—the Mellark Bakery—has only proven to withstand the test of time these past few months. Since someone accidentally burned down the place, with nothing more than a croissant and a fancy Capitol toaster, the rebuilt bakery has been nothing but a success.
And also extremely time-consuming, I grumble internally, as I begin to pull out stuffed toys that once belonged to dead children.
"If any of those are still intact, we can donate them to the community home," Leaf John says as he opens the box across from me.
"And what exactly are we supposed to be use as decorations from these boxes?" I murmur, peering into another cardboard container, full of half-charred papers and cloths.
The general idea of today, as Delly had pitched it to me last week, was to help the community of Twelve finally sort through these boxes, donate what we could to those in need and decorate the new Justice Building with the leftover contents inside.
Somehow though I can't imagine pinning up terrible drawings of plants that'll inebriate you or headless teddy bears is going to bode well with the district.
Delly rolls her eyes in my direction—a whole new kind of response that I never thought I'd be receiving from the girl who skipped through the town square until she was fourteen years old—before nodding towards boxes on top of the ladder. "We're decorating the Justice Building with the surviving photos from those boxes, Katniss."
"Oh." Then why am I sorting these grimy, dirt-covered playthings? Why didn't anyone give me more clear instructions on today?
And why has it taken almost two years for Twelve to get a group of people together to organize the surviving items from the bombing?
I have no idea how Peeta's managed to get two bakeries built in the time it's taken for thirty-eight of us to come to the Justice Building and look through fifty cardboard boxes. And if I'm being honest, I have no idea why I'm even still here helping. I'm clearly not contributing much to the event. There's definitely more than enough volunteers without me.
And, of course, I could be at the bakery right now. Without a doubt, I'd be of more service there than I am here, digging through dusty knickknacks. I could be helping Peeta and Thom and the other part-time employees, exerting more knowledge and authority than I have here.
After all, Peeta did say the bakery was partially mine. In his mind, at least.
The ulterior motive of getting small, fleeting moments with my boyfriend, of basking in the feeling of safety with him beside me, of the occasional stolen kiss or hand squeeze when no one is looking, runs through the back of my mind.
And sways my decision immensely.
I open my mouth to tell Delly and the others that I'm about to head out, that they clearly have it covered here and I'm just in the way, when at the worst possible second, Leevy kindly murmurs, "Katniss, do you mind starting on the box on the ladder? Seeing if any of the pictures are in decent enough shape?"
I hesitate for a long moment, realizing immediately my predicament. It'd be rude to leave right after someone just essentially assigned me a task. I did agree to be here today, to help out with this tedious project. Leaving right now would only come off as rude and inconsiderate.
This is the reason I never did enjoy group assignments in school. The longer I'm here, the more I'm rediscovering this fact about myself. The division of the workload, the bore of the standing around, not knowing if you're doing the right or wrong thing, the lack of total control.
But I still nod after waiting a beat too long and agree with the nicest flare in my tone I can manage.
I'll go through the one box at the top of the ladder and then subtly make my exit afterwards. The image I unintentionally conjured up of Peeta and the bakery is still pulling at me, making me anxious to get back to him, to see him again even though we were together only three hours ago.
Since we officially became a couple a few months back—though Haymitch scoffs at that notion, claiming we've been together since Peeta first started sleeping over in my bed—I've found myself growing far more clingy to him than I ever could have anticipated. I hate when he leaves for the bakery in the mornings now, even as I still revel in the solace I find inside the woods. I look forward to his return home every night. More than even look forward to it, I'm usually at the bakery around the closing hours, helping him clean and inventory, asking him when he's coming home. Maybe looking somewhat unconsciously flirtatious as I say it.
I grab the box sitting on the ladder's top stair and pull it open, easily maintaining my balance one rung down, the same way I maintain my balance on a tree branch while hunting.
Inside pours out a plethora of photographs, mostly of Twelve's now past citizens. Near the top of the pile I see images of Greasy Sae's daughter, Dolly. The mother of her granddaughter. The daughter who died of croup a few years before the war.
Those photos must belong to Sae, I realize. Which means more of her items are probably scattered throughout the boxes here. And despite the fact that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'll tell me not of be impractical, that if she's made it two years without these things she doesn't need them now, I still make a mental note to return her lost items. If nothing else, I make a mental promise to give back to her the photos of her daughter.
I know better than anyone what kind of comfort photographs of the deceased can provide.
As if in line with my thoughts, as if I alone manifested it somehow, the next image that catches my eye is one I entirely do not anticipate.
It's a shiny photo, on the kind of glossy paper my family could never afford. In the image is a blonde man with broad shoulders and a tall build. Wrapped in his embrace stands a petite girl, with long blonde curls and mascara accentuating her already long lashes. The couple both have eyes that match the color of the sky and are dressed up in some of the nicest clothes in all of Twelve. A white dress with lace. A gray suit with a black vest. The pretty girl wears jewelry and lipstick and there's a familiar glint in the male's eyes and I find myself mesmerized.
And I can't pretend I don't see my boyfriend in both of their faces. I can't pretend Peeta isn't the spitting image of both his parents.
He has his mother's smile, I realize with startling assurance. I never saw the witch smile personally, at any point in my life so I suppose I wouldn't know where he got his charming, sweet grin from.
The mannerism looks so out of place on his mother. The kind smile Peeta has, the one that could light up a blackened sky, doesn't bode with the woman in the picture, even on her wedding day. The charming smile doesn't fit with what I know of the woman's character. With what little about her Peeta chooses to share.
But I'm even more surprised to find how much Peeta has come to resemble his father. How much Peeta has grown to favor the now deceased man.
The last time I saw the baker—the original baker, that is. Haidon Mellark—before the Quarter Quell, I resented the fact that Peeta wasn't as tall or as broad as his father. I privately believed if he'd inherited those traits, he'd be even more likely to win the games again and I could worry about him less.
Peeta was always taller than me and was always remarkably strong, after working in the bakery since childhood. But his father was a whole different level. Haidon Mellark, I'd forgotten until now, had a body that could only rival my own father's.
And as it turns out, Peeta did inherit Haidon's physicality. He just also happened to be a late bloomer. Like his mother, I imagine, staring at her tiny frame in the picture.
The change in Peeta's form occurred so gradually I barely even noticed until a couple months ago, when I woke up with my head against his heart and abruptly realized just how broad he had become. Until I couldn't even reach to kiss his jaw on my tip toe. Until he started laughing at me and had to lift me up in order to properly embrace the way I like.
"Katniss?" I hear Delly beckon, trying to bring me back to reality. Trying and failing, that is. I hear her but only in a vague, distant sense. My mind is still stuck on the image in my grasp. Still stuck on the novelty that I managed to find a remembrance for the boy who still at times questions if his memory is full of lies.
"I still cry about my family and somedays I can't even remember their faces."
I never even considered the possibility of finding a token of Peeta's departed family here. It never occurred to me, the potential finds in this box at my fingertips, that I could take home to my boyfriend. I never imagined finding him something to hold onto when the inevitable dark day came again like a storm cloud, full of thunder.
I'm so entranced what this could mean for Peeta, so lost in my own little world, that I'm barely even hanging onto the ladder. I'm definitely not as steady as I should be, standing near the top rung.
And I'm definitely not steady enough to hang on when Delly gives it a rough shake, trying to catch my attention.
/
The boxes break my fall. Sort of. Kanon and Leaf John had taken the liberty of placing the empty cardboard, already looked through and emptied, beneath the ladder.
Falling headfirst into a large, void box is better than falling plainly onto the filthy, concrete tile floor. But not ideal. Not as helpful as falling into a box of surviving clothes or toys would have been.
Delly apologized profusely for shaking the ladder. She'd even begun to cry when she noticed the blood seeping from my forehead.
Thankfully Kanon was there, as I didn't have the energy to console her much. I don't even know how I managed to cut my head at all, but it stung a fair amount and it provided me the excuse I wanted minutes prior, to escape the group project and head for the bakery.
Even after the fall, my mind still was cemented on the newfound treasure. My first instinct was still to show this memento to Peeta as soon as possible.
Kanon though, like a good friend, insisted on walking me home, despite my many protests that it was unnecessary, that I was just fine, that I could walk home blind if I had to. He insisted, foiling my intention to walk directly to the bakery and not wait for Peeta's return home, which still remained hours away.
Kanon was surprisingly stubborn when he felt strongly about something and I chose to relent, to give in and allow him to accompany me back to what used to be Victor's Village—where he now resided with Delly, inside Peeta's old home—without much fight.
Fighting for your independence and autonomy doesn't exactly present you as rational when there's a bloody gash in your forehead.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Kanon asks as we make out way up my porch.
I look up, maybe a little startled, from Mr. and Mrs. Mellark's wedding photo. "My head?"
"Yeah," he says carefully, looking at the blood like it's a mutt in an arena.
I shrug, doing my best not to indicate how dizzy I actually feel. Either from the fall or the blood still dripping out despite my attempt to plug the wound up with old cotton rags someone sorted into the trash box. "I've had worse."
He chuckles, a little sardonically. "Yeah, so have I."
I thank him for walking me home—for it was as inconvenient as it was sweet—and close the door slowly behind me, before leaning my ear against the wooden frame, waiting. Waiting for him to climb the steps down from my porch and make his way back to the Justice Building. Waiting for him to be far enough out of sight that I can sneak back out without him also trying to accompany me to the bakery.
It's not that I don't appreciate Kanon and Delly and all of my other friends' concerns. It's the fact that I wish to bestow a likely loaded item upon my boyfriend and I really don't need an audience to do it.
It's not the easiest feat, to slyly time it so Kanon won't hear me opening and shutting my front door again. And it's probably not my smartest plan, to walk alone along the rocky cobblestones and the uneven concrete, with a less than level head and body.
But I make it to the back door of the bakery still, just as I knew I would. It takes three times as long, but I make it there nonetheless.
Still clutching the photograph of his parents between my fingers too. Still with the same primary focus on my mind. To give him a token of remembrance, a token of the imperfect family he lost so tragically, that he still greatly missed, even when he can't say their names. Even when he can't conjure up their faces.
"You don't remember your family?"
"Sometimes I do... I'm not so sure other days. My memory isn't exactly top notch, if you know what I mean."
I push open the heavy-weighted back door, using all the energy my body can muster up. To my relief, Thom is already in the back room, sweeping flour off the floor.
"Hi, boss," he greets slyly as I walk in, barely glancing up at me. I shoot him an over-the-top eye roll, though I can't help smirking myself at the stupid nickname, when he beckons Peeta. "Hey, your girl is here!" He yells loudly. Too loudly to be packed with customers at the counter.
I take that to mean the daily rush has come and gone. Which would be very convenient, as it means I can present Peeta with my finding that much faster, without having to worry about his business—or our business, as he teasingly calls it—being held up.
I hear the sound of my boyfriend's quiet laughter from the front. The sound that I akin to my father's singing or my sister's squeal of delight. The last sound still alive that can make my heart do a flip.
But it dies out the second he peaks his blonde head into the back room. The moment his baby blues, the same color as both his parents', meet my silver ones and then trail upwards.
Almost as if remembering the gash in my head, I reach to my forehead, to ensure the makeshift cloth bandage is still in place.
"Katniss?" Peeta says, his eyes looking far more nervous than I anticipated. Which I can only take to mean the red liquid has seeped through the plain fabric. "Is that blood?"
I don't want him to focus too heavily on that fact though. Like I told Kanon, I've had much worse injuries in my life. Me and Peeta both have.
Just look at his prosthetic leg.
"Yes," I reply easily, before moving closer to him, pushing the glossy photograph towards him. "But that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is-"
"You are literally bleeding."
I sigh, feeling slightly perturbed now. "Peeta, look," I insist, thrusting the image of his parents towards him, waiting for it to take anchor.
And it does. It takes a beat longer than I expect, but it happens nonetheless. I watch silently as the image captives him, as the shiny photograph takes him back to a time when this exact location was the only home he'd ever known and this business was run by the two people inside the picture.
He touches the photo, as if to test it's realism, before looking up at me in disbelief. "Where did you find this?"
"The Justice Building today. Inside the boxes, with all the things lost in the bombing."
There's a long pause as Peeta process this. The silence makes me antsy, finding myself abruptly uncertain of what could be going through his mind.
Finally, he whispers softly, "I never thought I'd see this picture again."
And the awed, tender smile that spreads across his face swiftly encompasses me in its warmth.
And I suddenly don't even feel the gash in my head anymore.
/
Read The Rest On AO3
#everlark#thg#the hunger games#everlark fics#fanfic#everlark fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#play with me 🥰
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Title: threads spun
Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.
AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.
The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.
It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes.
He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.
Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.
He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.
In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.
He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.
He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.
Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.
But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.
Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.
The Rebellion might as well be lost.
"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.
"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.
"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."
"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.
Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.
Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.
"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"
"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."
No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.
"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."
Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.
"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."
"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."
Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.
"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"
You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.
He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.
"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."
Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.
And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.
"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.
"Of course."
"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.
Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."
"Braid my hair?"
Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."
Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.
"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.
He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.
The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.
He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."
He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.
There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.
Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.
"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.
Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.
"How does it look?" Luke asks.
"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."
Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.
"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.
"You are welcome, Padawan."
Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.
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AU where Drogo does not kill Viserys.
Jhiqui runs to him when Viserys drags Doreah to their tent by her hair. She says the foreigner is mad with anger and she fears for the khaleesi. He walks in just in time to see him slap Daenerys so hard she falls to the floor. Daenerys, the girl Viserys gifted him. Daenerys, his wife. Daenerys, the moon of his life. Daenerys with their son in her belly.
Whatever Viserys might have done or said after hitting her was nothing. His fierce little wife strikes him so hard across the face with a golden chain that it leaves a mark. He falls to the side just as Drogo reaches them, and he picks Viserys up by the throat with one hand.
Drogo might have killed him then and there, but his wife begs for his life. He is her brother, her only family, she says, in broken Dothraki. Perhaps he does not understand all the words, but he understands enough. Send him away, Daenerys pleads, but do not kill him.
It might have been better if he had. Viserys follows them on foot for many days. On their first encounter with another khalasar, just outside Vaes Dothrak, Drogo gifts him to the other khal. The Andal tells his wife, he knows, but she says nothing to him and if she is angry it does not show.
Then Drogo falls from his horse on the Dothraki Sea, and Daenerys is reborn in fire and blood. One of their children she names Viserion, for her brother.
When Daenerys burns the khals one of their riders brings her a gift. It's Viserys, filthy and despondent, but alive. Neither knows what quite to do with the other, the beggar king and the dragon queen. Still, for the blood they share, Daenerys gives him a simple tent and male servants and a single horse, and he rides with her when they leave.
He rides with her all the way to Meereen, for when she finds Drogon on the Great Grass Sea she tames him with nothing except a whip, her khalasar in awe as she lands him in their midst. She looks at Viserys, and he at her, and then she pulls him onto Drogon's scales and together the last dragons fly toward the besieged city.
Daenerys keeps looking at him like she expects a fit, like she expects him to demand what is rightfully his, from a crown or a Targaryen bride to rooms suitable for the queen's brother. He does none of that. When the city has calmed and the slavers have died, he goes to her in her counsel room and kneels before her, taking her hands in his.
"I'm sorry." Viserys says, looking up into her eyes. "I was a poor brother and a worse king. I hurt you, I thought only of myself, I sold you into slavery. I was young and afraid and desperate, but I should have protected you. All we had was each other."
This Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, she is above all a rescuer. Daenerys drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains, she can scarcely abandon her own brother. Instead she drops to her knees beside him on the floor and tells him of all that has happened since they parted.
When she is done, Viserys says, "I cannot be the king. You must go on in my stead."
"The throne is yours by right." Dany replies.
Viserys pauses, then admits, "I can father no children, Dany. You are the last of our house. You hatched dragons and conquered cities. You must be the queen."
"The maegi said-"
"That you would go to the Dosh Khaleen and become one of them. Or that you would die on Drogo's funeral pyre." Her brother touches her face with a gentleness she has never felt from him before. "A witch who murdered your son and husband is not a reliable source of information, Dany."
"If one of us has a child, then they must take the throne," she insists, "I am the blood of the dragon and for that I ruled, but Viserys I only want peace. The little house with the lemon trees and the red door. Peace."
"Let us rule together, then. As brother and sister," Viserys tells her, "We are the last of our blood and we only have each other."
Then they return to Westeros, where Cersei and the White Walkers await them. The dragons do not allow Viserys to ride, but they seem to like him. Brother and sister, Viserys rides behind Dany on Drogon's back, the last dragons the five of them.
"You are not here to be queen of the ashes," Tyrion tells her.
"Nonsense," Viserys scoffs, "You've lived through a starving Kings Landing, Lord Tyrion. It's said they ripped people apart and ate them still living in front of your eyes."
Drogon burns the Red Keep to the ground with its inhabitants inside but saves thousands from starvation and wildfire. The siblings find Cersei dead on the throne, having poisoned herself, and Tyrion weeps over her. Daenerys returns her body to the Rock, for his sake, and names Olenna Tyrell their Hand.
"With the queen's permission I'll go north and take one," Jorah Mormont offers.
"None of our men are going beyond the Wall. This is all ridiculous. You, the "King in the North" are going to personally go to the most dangerous place in the world for the sake of Jaime Lannister and his men?" Viserys touches his sister's shoulder gently. "You can never trust a Lannister," he tells her, Tyrion looking more uncomfortable by the second, "when Tywin Lannister swore to our father that he would fight for him, he sacked the city and murdered Rhaegar's family. Rhaenys, all of three. Aegon, the rightful king. Elia of Dorne. Jaime Lannister himself broke his sworn oath to our father. Do not trust them. Do not."
Jon Snow goes without Jorah Mormont, and of all the men that step beyond the Wall only he makes it back, bloody and battered, barely alive. Those that had gone with him had traded their lives for his, and had died for nothing. Jon has his wight. Jaime Lannister does not stir from the Rock. Perhaps he swears not to attack them, but he did not have the strength to fight in the field anyway.
"You will rule wisely and well, while she-" Varys begins, but Jon cuts him off.
"If you want another ruler, go and speak to Viserys."
And Varys has, but whatever happened to him in Essos has made it so that he will hear not a word of it. What Varys did say he expects made it back to Daenerys. "Viserys is his father's son, just so, and Rhaegar's son comes before his brother."
Varys will burn that night, when Viserys and Jon both swear that he is a traitor. Viserys would burn Jon too, but Dany refuses him. Burning the North's chosen ruler will do little to make them love her, she says. I love him, she does not, but he hears anyway.
Viserys has seen Jon's eyes. He is a Targaryen, that one, not a Stark, not like his beloved Ned. He takes to wearing full armor, even on Dragonstone, and warns Grey Worm as well. They come to an understanding, if an uncertain one, for Grey Worm has lost Missandei and he will not lose her as well.
As the Red Keep is rebuilt, Dany goes to walk among the ruins. Sometimes she goes up to the Iron Throne, although that room has not been started yet, just to be alone and think. She takes no guards but her children. In the throne room, she welcomes Jon to her, angry or not. They argue.
Casterly Rock has burned, and Viserys is looking for his sister. He finds her usual guard in the hall, and asks where she is. "The throne room," they say, "Jon Snow is with her."
He starts to run. Alarmed, the Unsullied follow him. She had commanded to be left alone, but Jon Snow is one of her generals, one of her trusted allies. The queen has been alone with him before, in more intimate places, and
"You are my queen." Jon says, and she lets him embrace her. There is a blade in his belt, one that almost killed his brother. He reaches for it.
Yet Viserys is not fast enough. He is only a man, but Drogon is not. While he is not Viserys' in the way he is Daenerys', he still feels his fear, still knows it's for his mother. With a flap of his great wings he shakes the snow away and soars up to the ruined keep.
Viserys bursts into the throne room steps ahead of the guards to find Daenerys naked and on her knees, weeping over the corpse of her lover, half-burned away along with her clothes. He still holds the blade he would have killed her with.
Removing his cloak, he drapes it over her instead, hiding both her nakedness and the swell of her stomach as she cries. Viserys pulls her away from the body, turning her face into his shoulder. His mother was careful, so careful, to shelter him from the worst of his father's atrocities, but this is not the first time he has smelled burning flesh. It's all he can do to mummer in High Valyrian to his sister, trying to calm her.
"You were right." Are her first words. "I should never have trusted him. You were right."
Above them is Drogon, the son she bore from Khal Drogo's pyre. Because of her they sit in the halls their ancestors built and call themselves king and queen. Three cities yet stand in Essos, their slaves free for the first time in thousands upon thousands of years. All her doing.
Viserys accepted a long time ago that he was never going to take back the Seven Kingdoms. He was never going to go home. Yet here he stands, all because of his little sister. Viserys had wanted his father's throne; Daenerys envisioned a new world. Jon Snow is but dush and ash.
"No," he presses a kiss to her forehead, and tries to wipe away the tears. "You're a conqueror, Dany, you're a queen. He chose the old world, and you will craft a new one."
#daenerys targaryen#viserys targaryen#game of thrones#fanfic#this started out much darker#but why can't they be happy?
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part 10 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3
Huaisang has a surprise for his husband, who tries to surprise him in return
It took nearly another week after Cunzhi’s little adventure before the Nie finally arrived at their winter camp. The entire time, Nie Huaisang stuck close to his husband, in case Lan Xichen had developed a taste for confronting wolves unarmed and needed to be stopped. Lan Xichen was both amused and touched by this, and didn’t complain.
He thought that Khan Mingjue too seemed rather entertained by this turn of events, and acted perhaps a little less angry toward him these days. When they arrived at the winter camp, Lan Xichen was bossed around by the Khan just the same way as everyone else as they rebuilt the gers, and he was trusted with helping Huaisang and a few others check whether any of the animals had sustained wounds during the long journey. He also was a little warmer when the three of them retired for the night, and constantly teased him about the wolf. This greatly annoyed Huaisang, which seemed to be the aim, but Lan Xichen found he rather enjoyed the Khan’s dry humour. It reminded him of Lan Wangji.
When they reached the place they would spend the winter, it took very little time to set everything up, at least in Lan Xichen’s opinion. In less than a day, there was a whole village standing, looking exactly as if it had always been there. The herds were then separated, which led to a few small disputes here and there. The Khan ordered his brother and Zonghui to take care of those if they could. As for himself, Mingjue was only giving the horses a chance to rest a little, and then he would head with a few men toward the other camp, to make sure that everything was alright with them.
Mingjue left early the next morning, just as Lan Xichen was starting to wake up. He groggily bid his brother-in-law a safe trip, then decided it was really too early to be up yet and tried to pull Huaisang back under the covers with him to cuddle for a while. Huaisang indulged him at first, but before long he was escaping to eat something, saying he had a busy day ahead. He was clearly very proud of having been tasked with helping settle any disputes that might have arisen due to the migration, and refused to let his brother down when Mingjue was finally trusting him with something.
Any hope Lan Xichen might still have had about a quiet morning together was fully ruined when Meng Yao came to check on them. Huaisang and Lan Xichen were still having breakfast, but invited him to sit with them if he wished and share their meal. Lan Xichen was delighted to see his friend, as always. So was Huaisang, though he still left before long, eager for this chance to prove how very useful and mature he could be.
“We’ll chat later,” Nie Huaisang said in Hanyu, his accent much better than it used to be. “Keep my husband company, Menyao. Make sure he does nothing stupid. No more wolves for him!”
Meng Yao laughed, and promised to keep an eye on Lan Xichen. Satisfied with this, Huaisang dropped a quick kiss on his husband’s forehead and hopped out of the ger. Lan Xichen watched him go, unable to refrain a fond smile as he passed some cheese to Meng Yao.
“Do you think he minds that we are friends?” Meng Yao asked as he took the food.
Lan Xichen shot him a surprised look. “Of course not. Why would he?”
Meng Yao appeared to hesitate, the way he sometimes did when he feared he had some unpleasant information to share. He stalled a moment, nibbling on his piece of cheese, before diving in.
“These barbarians can be rather possessive,” he explained. “And I am right in guessing you are still refusing him his marital rights, are you not?”
Lan Xichen nodded and looked away, heat rushing to his face. It really wasn’t a matter of refusing anything at this point, and just that the occasion for it couldn’t be found. With Nie Mingjue gone for a few days, Lan Xichen was hoping they’d seize their chance at last… but of course he couldn’t have said that to Meng Yao, it was too private a matter.
“Huaisang is much sweeter than the others,” Meng Yao said, “but even he could get jealous. Lan gongzi should keep that in mind, and tell me if I create problems for him.” He sighed, his expression pained. “Lan gongzi is dear to me, but I will distance myself if it is needed. I do not want to provoke Huaisang into anger.”
Lan Xichen laughed awkwardly, and drank to hide his embarrassment.
“It’s fine, it’s quite fine,” he said. “Huaisang doesn’t mind at all. You’re his friend too, in spite of his brother.”
Meng Yao looked unconvinced. “These people will turn on their friends over anything. Even among brothers there is strife sometimes. If Huaisang weren’t so indolent, he would probably have been killed a long while ago, just so he wouldn’t pose a threat to the Khan’s power. Their grandfather killed his own father for power, it runs in their blood. So please, be careful, and tell me if I can ever do anything for you. You’re the only true friend I have, I don’t want for any harm to come to you.”
The story of Huaisang’s grandfather wasn’t unknown to Lan Xichen. Huaisang had told it to him, not without some pride, because the murdered father had been a cruel man who abused people and animals alike. Mingjue, who had been with them in the ger, had added that an unjust Khan could not be allowed to rule, and he would expect the same if he took a turn for the worse.
It had disturbed Lan Xichen at first, that anyone could talk so lightly of killing one’s father, one’s superior. In the end, he figured that perhaps the Nie too had a version of the Mandate of Heaven at play, and that Huaisang’s great-grandfather had lost heaven’s favour with his misconduct.
“I’m glad Meng gongzi feels this way,” Lan Xichen said. “I also see you as a true friend. If you had not been here to help me, I don’t know what I would have done. And I hope you know that I would be happy to help you as well, should you ever require it.” He hesitated a moment, then added: “For example if there might be a way to mend things between you and the Khan…”
Meng Yao failed to contain a slight grimace, and shook his head.
“No, the chance for that has passed,” he sighed. “He hates me too much now, and is too ready to blame me for everything that goes wrong in the clan. I’m sure he blames me for what happened with Cunzhi too, wouldn’t you say?”
Lan Xichen, quite awkwardly, didn’t know what to answer.
It wasn’t that Meng Yao had caused that situation on purpose, of course. Still, Lan Xichen had become quite convinced that Cunzhi had escaped his mother’s care and hidden this way specifically because he had been so upset at losing Meng Yao’s company, and somehow hoped that making his displeasure obvious enough would allow him to get his way. It was likely that Khan Mingjue had come to the same conclusion, but was less kind with regards to Meng Yao’s intentions in that situation.
“Misunderstandings have happened in the past,” Lan Xichen said at last. “They can be corrected. I’m sure there must be ways to let the Khan see that you’ve never had ill intentions, only bad luck.”
“You think too kindly of the Khan,” Meng Yao scoffed.
And you think too ill of him, Lan Xichen thought with some disappointment.
Khan Mingjue could be somewhat unreasonable when worrying for his brother, but even in his dislike he wasn’t unjust. He treated Meng Yao coldly and refused to deal with him more than necessary, but he didn’t go out of his way to be cruel to him, nor did he allow for him to be treated poorly by others. Aside from Huaisang, nobody was forbidden from associating with him. Lan Xichen was certain that if both parties had only made a small effort, they could have reconciled and returned to the friendship Huaisang told him used to exist between them. At first he’d thought all the efforts would have to come from the Khan, but he now saw that Meng Yao too would have to be a little more forgiving.
It would take time, Lan Xichen knew, and no small amount of work.
“It’s fine anyway,” Meng Yao insisted, chewing on the last of his cheese. “I’m only biding my time until I can go home. I know someday my father will return for me, just as you must hope your family will do. When my father comes to get me back, it won’t matter much what the Khan thinks of me.”
The barely restrained fierceness in Meng Yao’s voice surprised Lan Xichen. His friend rarely spoke of his father, or indeed of anything about his life before joining the Nie. Lan Xichen was under the impression he had perhaps been less well treated in their home country than he was among nomads. From some of the things he said, Lan Xichen suspected that Meng Yao was either the child of a concubine or a servant who had been noticed for his intelligence and given an education, but never treated as truly part of the family. If so, it was unlikely that his father would ever bother to attempt to buy him back from the Nie, not the way Lan Xichen thought his own family might attempt once they’d built enough of a fortune with this new trade route opened to them.
It wouldn’t be for a few years at best, but Lan Xichen was unsure what he’d do if this happened. Of course he missed his home and family no less than Meng Yao did, yet he wouldn’t want to leave Huaisang behind. But it might be a pointless question anyway. Meng Yao might hope for his father’s return, Lan Qiren might attempt to buy back his nephew, but Khan Mingjue probably wouldn’t want to let anyone go who knew too much about his people.
Overtaken by a mild melancholy, Lan Xichen changed the topic and quickly finished eating so Meng Yao and him could go out and take care of their chores. Busy hands helped him empty his mind, though his mood remained a little off all morning. It was only when he returned to the ger for lunch that he started feeling better again, knowing he would see Huaisang.
Just as he had hoped, Lan Xichen found himself smiling happily as he entered the ger and started preparing for lunch. That smile only widened when Huaisang finally joined him, holding a bowl of dumplings in one hand, and carrying a dark wooden box under his other arm. The dumplings were carefully set aside, and the box presented to Lan Xichen.
“It’s for you!” Huaisang announced. “A gift for my husband.”
Lan Xichen glanced at the box, then at Huaisang’s excited face.
“Where did you get this?”
“I made a trade with old Xianjun,” Huaisang explained, handing the box to his husband. “Foals for three of his mares from my best racing stallion in spring, and he gave me this. It’s a Han thing, right?”
Inspecting the box more closely confirmed it was of Han origin. Its style had a southern flair to it, and Lan Xichen wondered how it had arrived so far north. It wasn’t a luxurious box, a little rough here and there, but still beautiful and made with obvious care by a competent artisan, and seeing this trace from home tugged at his heart. To distract himself from this renewed melancholy Lan Xichen opened the box while Huaisang peered curiously over his shoulder.
Lan Xichen gasped.
“Is it bad?” Huaisang asked, a note of worry in his voice.
“It’s very good,” Lan Xichen replied, sitting down to more comfortably admire his present. “Why did they have this?”
Huaisang chuckled nervously. “Old Xianjun followed my father on a raid against Han people when he was young,” he admitted. “He traded away many things, kept a few. Nobody wanted this and he found it pretty, so he kept it. What is it?”
“The four treasures of the study,” Lan Xichen said, only to be met with a blank look. “Ah, hm. It is used to write things, like in my books?”
Among Lan Xichen’s few possessions when he arrived with the Nie had been two books he’d taken with him. A caprice, his uncle had called it when they were getting to leave home, telling him he wouldn’t have any use for poetry, nor for that short history treaty he’d picked up some weeks earlier and never made time to study. A few months later and he knew those books by heart, as did Meng Yao who had nearly cried from joy upon being allowed to borrow them. As for Huaisang, he showed little interest in the books themselves, but enjoyed having the poetry read to him and explained, and he liked also the few printed illustrations.
“You can make a book with this?” Huaisang asked, looking doubtful.
“If I had something to say. I could also paint something,” Lan Xichen suggested, guessing that might amuse his husband more. The paper was of good enough quality that its age hadn’t made it too fragile, and the ink still seemed good at well. The inkstone was intact, its square shape simple but elegant. Only the pair of brushes wasn’t perfectly to Lan Xichen’s liking, since they were clearly made for writing rather than painting, but their quality was good, and his skill wasn’t high enough that the wrong tool would really hinder him.
“Paint something for me!” Huaisang predictably demanded, eyeing the box’s content with more interest now.
“Gladly. What should I paint?”
Huaisang barely hesitated. “Something you would miss if you went home.”
Hearing this, Lan Xichen’s smile faltered. It seemed he really couldn’t avoid thinking of home that day. At the same time, this had the advantage of being an easy request to fulfil, because there was only one thing he could think of painting after being asked this.
“I will do that. But it has to be a surprise. You can’t look at it until it’s done, Huaisang.”
“But I want to see how you do it!”
“After this, I teach you how to paint,” Lan Xichen offered. There were about three dozen sheets of paper in the box, which didn’t feel like much, but it would be enough. He’d just have to ask his family to bring him more next time he saw them. “This one will be a gift for you, so you can’t see.”
Huaisang went from pouting to grinning in an instant. Lan Xichen took a moment more to admire his own gift, then closed the box and asked his husband about his morning. They sat down and ate together, chatting about this and that, making plans for the rest of the day. When they were done with food, Lan Xichen took his box and started carefully preparing some paper and ink. Huaisang watched with fascination the process of grinding ink, asking questions about it that Lan Xichen answered as well as he could. Once he started actually painting, Huaisang was chased away to the other side of the ger where he worked for a while with leather.
Lan Xichen found it quite nice to be together like this, each of them occupied with their own work, occasionally trading a few words, but mostly silent and focused on what they were doing. He had never expected that it would be so comfortable to be in someone else’s company this way, least of all under such circumstances, but it made him glad once more than Huaisang and him had been brought together. Fate had really found him a perfect partner.
All too soon though, this moment of peace was interrupted. Someone came to ask Huaisang to help them with a dispute regarding cattle, and Lan Xichen had his own chores to attend. They both put away their work and went out, knowing they would meet again for dinner.
When afternoon reached its end, Xichen returned to the ger and found it empty. After tidying a bit, he took this chance and went back to working on his painting. It was no masterpiece, not when he had never received the education to create great works and hadn't touched a brush in months, but Lan Xichen was still happy enough with his work. He was putting the finishing touches when Huaisang returned, dusted with snow that had started falling, and carrying again some food.
"Can I see soon?" Huaisang asked, staring toward the sheet of paper but keeping his distance, as he'd been asked.
The painting wasn’t quite done, there were a few details to add, but Huaisang’s barely contained curiosity was too adorable. Lan Xichen motioned for his husband to come closer, which Huaisang immediately obeyed, rushing to his side and dropping on his knees right next to him.
“Here it is,” Lan Xichen announced, revealing the painting and handing it to Huaisang.
Just as he had hoped, Huaisang’s initially excited expression quickly turned to astonishment as he discovered that on the paper was a portrait of himself, painted as faithfully as Lan Xichen’s skill would allow. Huaisang’s face took on a very sweet pinkish hue that grew more intense the longer he gazed at the portrait, while his eyes shone with emotion.
“Something you would miss,” he mumbled, tearing his eyes from the painting to look at Lan Xichen. “Really?”
“Really,” Xichen said, putting away his brush in its proper place, telling himself he would clean it in a moment. First, though, he needed to kiss his husband. Huaisang, seeing him lean closer, hurriedly set aside the painting and threw his arms around Lan Xichen’s neck.
It wasn’t rare these days for the two of them to get passionate while kissing, and like many times before, Huaisang quickly ended up straddling Lan Xichen’s lap as he licked into his mouth, his hands wandering under the layers of his husband’s clothes. Usually that was the moment Mingjue would pick to come home and glare at them, but…
But Mingjue wasn’t there at all this time, and at this time of day nobody would come looking for them. So Lan Xichen let himself fall back on the carpeted ground, and looked up at Huaisang, still straddling him.
Huaisang let out a strangled noise, but didn’t move. “Do you want…”
Lan Xichen quickly nodded. However much it had once terrified him to be wanted by Huaisang, he’d more than made his peace with it, his desire now matching his husband’s. There was no one else in the world he could imagine wanting as much as he wanted Huaisang, no one he would trust as much.
That nod was all the invitation Huaisang needed. He leaned down to kiss Lan Xichen with renewed passion, clumsily trying to untie his husband’s clothes while Lan Xichen did the same for him.
It was, to put it mildly, a fun night for both of them.
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Hakuoki Shinkai: Ginsei no Shou - Saito Hajime Chapter #1 English Translation
well... it’s going to be a long while before I finish translating another chapter from this game, though I will definitely finish at least one more before the end of the year.
please note that i will not be posting any translations next week on account of me taking a break for CNY and studying... so, to whom it may concern, Happy Chinese New Year~! Alternatively, Happy Lunar New Year~! also happy early family day (Canadians only xD)!
anyway, enjoy! as always, tl is CN->ENG so it may not be 100% accurate while the final edits will be done later though I’m not sure how long that will take with my current schedule.
Hakuoki Shinkai: Ginsei no Shou - Saito Hajime Chapter #1
Translation by KumoriYami
12 month of the 3rd year of Bunkyū
In order to find my missing father, I left Edo and came to Kyoto……
The night I arrived in Kyoto, I was attacked in an alley by a group of men.
They had ominously blood red eyes, were armed with vicious blades, making one feel one's blood run cold [reword later].
They smiled/laughed eerily at me as they drew/came closer, at that moment/then in a split second, the silver light of the moon flashed, and someone had cut them in half.[reword later]
Those swords that helped me—— [they were from] Shinsengumi First Division Captain Okita Souji and Third Division Captain Saito Hajime. [reword later]
I had accidently caught a glimpse of their secrets, which was why I was taken back to their headquarters and questioned by their executives......
I didn't expect for them to also be looking for my father, which was why I agreed to stay, on the condition that I helped find him.
As a result of that entire incident, I was to be treated as a page by the Shinsengumi.
Even among the executives, Saito-san was especially taciturn.
He doesn't say anything more than necessary, if he is given a mission, he will fulfill it better than anyone else [reword later].
Although I accepted how he was basically a cold person——
I however thought that this was because he always prioritizes devoting everything to accomplish his missions.
That's why he never ridiculed my swordsmanship as a woman [check jp mtl] and calmly evaluated my capabilities, and supported me accompanying the patrols [reword later].
During this time, I already knew how extraordinary his strength was, and in the following days, I witnessed that strength and his seriousness countless times.
For example, during the Ikedaya Incident, when the Shinsengumi arrested a large number of the Choshu [? check jp mtl and game. this wasn’t translated well] who had been flying the Emperor's flag and expelling foreigners.
There was also during the 7th month of Genji, a month after the Ikedaya Incident, at the Hamaguri Gate Rebellion......
While the Aizu and Satsuma were fighting against the Choshu who attacked the Imperial Palace.
Saito-san was facing Amagiri Kyuuju from the Satsuma/who was associated with the Satsuma Domain, who had seriously injured Heisuke-kun during the Ikedaya Incident, and stood his ground, not allowing for the situation to develop further.
Because of these events, at the end of the first year of Genji, I had come to a gradual understanding of who he was.
This is the story of what happened in the winter, one year after I came to the Shinsengumi [check jp mtl if this is more 'in the first year i came to the Shinsengumi'].
11 month of Genji
Approximately half a year after the Ikedaya Incident, and about three or four months after the Hamaguri Gate Rebellion......
I had more or less become accustomed to my life with the Shinsengumi.
Today, in order to look for my father, I was accompanying the Third Division's patrol.
I heard that after the Hamaguri Gate Rebellion, almost half of Kyoto had been destroyed by fire......
Yukimura: Quite a few homes have been rebuilt.
Saito:......Ultimately, it was a very large fire.
Yukimura: …………
The Shinsengumi has been patrolling the streets everyday, doing to their best to protect the people and streets of Kyoto, [though] many people still lost their homes and property in the fires caused by the Hamaguri Gate Rebellion.
Although the division members didn't say anything, they probably felt incredibly remorseful at being able to prevent this disaster from reaching the streets.
Child 2: What are you looking at? If you want to say something, say it/talk!
Yukimura: ?
Hearing a child's/children's voice/s from the other end of the ally, I glanced at Saito-san.
Yukimura: Saito-san, just now that was......
Saito: That sound was probably from a child playing around with their friends.
Yukimura: But that voice right now, rather than playing, it sounded more like......
It sounded like a fight.
Yukimura:…………
Since we were still on patrol, regardless of what I think, this matter is highly unlikely to concern my father or the Shinsengumi, but I......
Yukimura:......Saito-san, can I take a quick look?
Saito: Right now we're on patrol, I can't waste time on matters that have nothing to [my] division's [our]work [check jp for taishi].
Although I thought he would say that.
Yukimura: Please...... I'll come right back.
I asked him again and again, and he seemed to be in a bit of a dilemma, but......
Saito: Okay, in that case, I'll go with you. You aren't allowed to move on your own/be alone.
Yukimura:......Thank you.
Soon after he gave orders to the other soldiers, we went together in the direction where I heard that child's voice came from just now.
Yukimura: The voice just now, it really did come from around here......
Following that voice, there was a tea house in front of us.
Yukimura Huh [check jp mtl]? Shouldn't it be here——
Sure enough. There were some older kids surrounding a smaller child [/boy. check jp].
Child 2: Aren't you learning kenjutsu? Come on, take your revenge!
One of the children spoke sarcastically, hitting the small child's head with a shinai.
Child 1:…………
But, the child being beaten who was beaten just bit his lip tightly, and resigned himself.
Child 3: Why is the child of an ordinary family learning kenjutsu?
Child 2: Are you wanting to rob my family's store?
Child 1: I don't, I'm not……！
Child 2: Lies/You're lying! Isn't your family's business not doing well? Furthermore, my parents said that your family's store burned down a while ago.
Child 1: Wu......
Yukimura: What are you doing!
I couldn't continue watching this, and moved without thinking.
The children backed away for a moment, but recovered immediately——
Child 3: What? What's wrong with you? Go away!
Yukimura: You're bullying this child, right? Why do you need to do that?
Child 2: What I say has nothing to do with you. My father is popular around here. If you're going to go against me, I'll make it so that you can't stay in the capital.
Apparently these children are not going to listen to me talk.
Yukimura: Hey, you kids/children——
I was about to start speaking when Saito-san stepped forward.
Saito: Yukimura, as I said earlier, we're still on patrol, time cannot be wasted......
The children froze as soon as they saw his uniform.
Child 2: H-Hey, that haori......! Isn't that what the Mibu Wolves wear [check game if it's Wolves of Mibu or Mibu Wolves]?
Child 3: That's right! My parents said that! We absolutely cannot get involved with them!
Child 2: We might get killed! Run for it!
Yukimura: Ah, wait a moment......!
Before I could stop them, they abandoned [dropped] the shinai as they ran away.
Child 1: Wa-Wait for me......!
Although this child was left behind, he also wanted to escape......
But it seemed that he had no strength, and wasn't even able to stand up.
Yukimura: Are you okay?
Child 1: Ah......! This, I......! I haven't said bad about the Wolves of Mibu.
This child apparently believed in the negative rumours about the Shinsengumi that were going around and was terrified.
Yukimura: Uh......
I don't know what to do......
Without any better idea, I picked up the fallen shinai, and handed it to the child.
Yukimura: This..... does this belong to the children who were here just now? If that is the case, can you please return this to them?
He visibly trembled, as if he were using the entirety of his strength to answer.
Child 1: That...... it's mine......
Yukimura: This is your shinai? Then I'll return it to you.
The child hesitated for a moment, fearfully taking the shinai.
I've heard it from the other warriors before......
Kyoto's populace does not have a good impression of the Shinsengumi, apparently this was true.
Yukimura:......You don't need to be so scared. The Shinsengumi only goes after people who do bad things.
Child 1: But, everyone says that the Wolves of Mibu are extremely scary/terrible......
It was different from me who was in contact with these warriors every day/I was different since I was in contact with these warriors every day...... [check jp]
This child had little chance to be in direct contact with the Shinsengumi, so it was difficult to imagine that prejudice would be eliminated any time soon.
But......
Yukimura: Although those children spoke poorly of the Shinsengumi just now, however [check jp. either reword or remove], do you think that I'm scary?
The child desperately shook his head.
Child 1: N-No no, don't...... I don't think that......
Saito-san had been silently watching our exchange.......
Saito: This matter appears to have been settled. Let's go, Yukimura.
Yukimura: Ah, okay, I know/understood.
I turned to the child again.
Yukimura: You should go home, be careful on your way back.
Child 1: Nn......
I said good-bye to the child, and left there with Saito-san.
After/Afterwards/Later, on our way back to headquarters, Saito-san quietly spoke/spoke softly.
Saito: You're very caring about children.
Hearing him say something so suddenly, I felt puzzled./I felt puzzled to hear him abruptly say this.
Yukimura: Eh? You're talking [referring] to just now/what just happened?
Saito: Nn. I didn't expect you to have a side like that.
Yukimura:......While I lived in Edo, my family's clinic also provided medical care to children. Certainly, I might get along well/be good at dealing with children.
My answer was apparently unexpected to him, and his eyes widened slightly.
There was silence for a moment......
Saito: No, not only that.
Yukimura: What do you mean?
Saito: Nn, it should be said that I feel like you would be a good elder sister...... No, you'd be a good mother. If you have children, you should be able to guide[tl word can also mean teach or instruct] them well [check jp mtl].
Yukimura: Eh……！
I didn't expect him to say that [I'd be a] "good older sister" or "a good mother"......
It was surprising/I was surprised.
Yukimura: A mother....... me/Me...... as a mother? I've never thought about that until now. Furthermore, rather than saying that I care about children......
In fact, I was bullied by other children when I was a child.
As a result of that, I wasn't able to ignore what happened to that child just now.
Saito:......What's wrong? You've suddenly stopped talking.
Yukimura: No...... it's nothing. However, as far as I'm concerned, even if I can be a good mother in the future, I would need to find the[/a] father of[/for] the [/my] child first. Meaning, I would first have to find a lover.
He held his breath, apparently somewhat nervous.
I was used to seeing him always look calm, so it was hard to imagine how his words were so awkward [now]......
Saito: Th-That's right...... Indeed, that is true. Still, that's probably too early for you.
After he spoke, Saito-san seemed somewhat embarrassed and averted his eyes.
Saito-san had actually brought this subject up first.......
He was so embarrassed as he spoke that I started to feel embarrassed [reword later].
Yukimura: Yes......
Thinking about it, until now, I've never had the opportunity to talk about this subject with anyone.
I didn't expect to actually talk about this with Saito-san..... it was quite astonishing.
Afterwards, we chatted about some other topics on our way back to headquarters.
A few days later.
I was in the middle of sweeping the entrance of the Yagi residence [check game for capitalization].
Yukimura: Mm......!
The winds of the eleventh month were cold and bone-chilling.
I was planning to finish sweeping a bit earlier then go back to my room.
Okita: Areh, sweeping here?
Yukimura: Ah, Okita-san. Are you back from patrol? You've worked hard.
Okita: That's right..... There was a bit of trouble though.
Yukimura: What was that trouble [reword later].
Okita: While we were on patrol, a kid kept on following us. Since they were in the way, we tried to send them away, but they were really persistent and kept following us/ insisted on following us.
Yukimura: Was that child not one of Okita-san's friends?
Okita: I don't/didn't know them. They weren't a kid who lives nearby/It wasn't a kid living around here. I think/feel that they weren't so much as chasing me, and were rather looking at the [our] uniform[s] to keep up/follow [us?].
Maybe they wanted to join the Shinsengumi? Well, that/it'd be impossible for such a little kid.
Yukimura: That child, where did he go?/Where did that child go?
Okita: Who knows? They seemed to have followed me/us/made it to the Mibu Temple. Though they might have given up already?
Okita-san wasn't interested in saying anything else and went back inside.
A child who was interested in the Shinsengumi......
......I couldn't help but feel concerned.
According to Okita-san, that child had followed him all the way to the Mibu Temple.
……Mibu Temple was right behind headquarters, and many of the warriors went there to practise kenjutsu.
It should be okay/shouldn't matter if I go look there for a bit [take a quick look].
Having thought this, I decided to go check the Mibu Temple.
Yukimura: Huh......?
Okita-san clearly said that a child followed him here/ had come to this place.
But there was no one around.
Was it possible that they gave up and went home?
Regardless of how close the Mibu Temple is, it's not possible for me to leave headquarters without permission, so I still needed to return.
I was just about to finish my sweeping.
Saito: Yukimura, where were you just now? [might swap this line with the 4th one after. tl is almost the same]
Yukimura: Ah, Saito-san!
Saito: You need to be accompanied by one of the executives when you leave, this should have been repeatedly explained to you/this should have been repeated several times.
Yukimura: Sorry, I thought I'd be able to just to quickly go there and back, that's why......
Saito: Where did you go?
Yukimura: Here's the thing—— [reword later. i don't like how it reads]
I told him everything Okita-san had just said about the child.
Saito:......A child was following the Shinsengumi around?
Yukimura: Yes, I feel that I can't just stop thinking about this. But it seems/appears that no one's no one around the Mibu Temple anymore/ like they're no longer around the Mibu Temple. It'd be worrying if they got lost and were unable to go home.
Saito: That's true/It's as you say. We should try looking around for a while then.
Yukimura:……Is that okay?
Saito: I don't have any particular arrangements now. Of course, if it's not necessary, then I will refrain/stop.
Yukimura: That isn't the case. Thank you.
Saito: okay, then let's go.
Thus, Saito-san and I went to go look around.
As we looked for the child, we walked down the main road.
Yukimura:......I can't find them anywhere. Maybe they're gone home.
Saito: Perhaps. If that was the case, it would be good if these were just groundless worries.
Yukimura: I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Let's go back to headquarters......
After I said that, just as we were planning to go back.
Yukimura:……！
Saito: What is it?
Yukimura: A familiar looking child ran down that alley just now...... I want to go chase after them/catch up and go look at them. Can I ask Saito-san to come with me?
Saito: Nn, there's no problem, let's go.
Saito-san and I started running.
Then, in the a narrow alley that lead to the Mibu Temple——
Yukimura: Hey, don't run [away].
I finally caught the child.
Child 1: Ah……！
The face of the child looking back was very familiar [reword later].
Yukimura: You should be the child from that time......
Child 1:…………
Saito: Is this the child who was following the First Division?
Yukimura: I think so.
Saito: Why have you been following the Shinsengumi around?
This child seemed to be scared of him.
He timidly opened his mouth.
Child 1: I want...... to learn kenjutsu.
Yukimura: You want the Shinsengumi to teach you kenjutsu?
Child 1:......Nn. Adults say that the Shinsengumi is frightening/terrible. But I hear that even if you aren't a samurai/warrior [check audio], even if you're an ordinary person...... it's possible to join their ranks [literally: team/group. may reword later]. I want to become stronger....... please teach me kenjutsu.
Saito-san frowned and/as he glanced at me.
Although he appeared to be very calm......
I think he was probably worrying about how to respond.
After a while......
Saito: The Shinsengumi is not a place for children to learn kenjutsu, and a child like you will not be allowed to join. [/it is also not something a child can become a member of?]
Child 1: Eh...... But...... I've helped around the store several times already, and I'm not that different from an adult!
Saito: That's not the problem. With your height, do you think that you will be able to fight against ronin [check audio]?
Child 1: That......! That might be true now, but I'm still growing! So please, teach me kenjutsu!
Once the child finished speaking, he bowed deeply.
Saito:…………
He seemed very unaccustomed to this type of situation, and was apparently/seemed to be worrying about how to convince this child.
Seeing how troubled he looked, I——
Choices
[ Asked for his reason/Asked for a reason] <-
[remained silent]
Yukimura: You just said that you were learning kenjutsu to become strong/more powerful, so why do you want to become stronger?
Child 1: Because…………
Saito: If you want to get stronger than those kids who bullied you to then retaliate against them, I cannot approve of that as your/will not acknowledge that as a reason to join the team [thesaurus later]. Kenjutsu is not to be learned for that sort of purpose [reword later?].
Child 1: Ah......
Hearing such strict words, the young boy's eyes were filled with tears.
Looking at his demeanor, Saito-san bearing softened somewhat.
Yukimura: Wait, Saito-san, this child looks like he has something to say.
Having said that, I turned to the boy again.
Yukimura: If it's not for revenge, is there/do you have another reason? Can you tell me?
The boy took a moment to hold back/suppress his tears
Child 1:…………Nn.
He nodded slightly.
Saito:......I really am no good at dealing with children. Fortunately, you are here.
Yukimura: Such a thing......
It was great that I was able to help him.
Child 1: I…………want to learn kenjutsu so I can protect my family, and my little sister. That's why I started going to a dojo to learn kenjutsu. But the other kids told me that "it's strange for ordinary people/civilians to learn kenjutsu".
Saito:……Indeed, to protect your family, that responsibility/duty belongs to the town/it is the duty of the town to protect your family. You do not need to learn kenjutsu for this. Everyone has their own responsibilities.
Child 1:Those other children's families are well-off, and as long they hire people, they'll be able to entrust someone with that responsibility, but....... my family only has a small store, and during the previous conflict, part of it burned down......
Yukimura: I see……
Saito:……You mean to say that you only want to protect your family, with your own hands, right?
Although I knew that many streets had suffered losses during the previous conflict.......
It was still very painful to hear about someone personally talk about it.
After Saito-san thought over it, he crouched down next to the boy.
Looking directly into the child's eyes......
Saito: I understand your circumstances. In order to protect your family and the weak, those are good reasons for wielding the sword.
Child: Re-Really!?
The child's face immediately lit up.
Saito-san however, still had a serious expression as he spoke.
Saito: But even if that is the case, I naturally cannot teach you kenjutsu. Of course, you can't become a member of the Shinsengumi.
Child: Ah......
The boy's face was full of disappointment. However, it wasn't a face that was on the verge of crying.
Saito-san was taking him seriously, and although he was a child, it seemed that he understood that.
Saito: In order to protect yourself, and one's family, practising in a dojo will suffice. Kyoto is protected by us. No matter what happens, we will certainly protect you all. Please pass that onto your family.
The boy's eyes widened, almost as if he was striving to engrave Saito-san's words into his memory.
Saito-san lightly nodded, then he placed his hand on the child's head as his expression relaxed.
Saito: The purpose of the Shinsengumi is to protect the helpless in Kyoto. For the sake of becoming strong to support those who are weak, we practise kenjutsu together here. In the event that one day, you truly need the assistance from the Shinsengumi...... Then, we will certainly be there to help you.
Child: Really?
As if to confirm this, the child asked this again.
Child: Really....... they'll help me?
Saito: Of course. We — as warriors, if a promise is made, we will never break it.
Hearing Saito-san's words, the boy's eyes seemed to glow with strength.
Finally, he firmly nodded......
Child: Mm, I understand. I..... will believe the Shinsengumi.
Hearing those words, Saito-san, his mouth formed a satisfied smile.
Saito: All you need is spirit. I also believe that you are determined to become stronger.
After saying that, Saito-san slowly stood up.
After we watched the boy return home, we started going back to headquarters.
Yukimura:……Saito-san is such a kind person. Even when speaking to a child, you will treat them so sincerely.
He narrowed his eyes in embarrassment.
Saito: I didn't treat him as a child. While addressing someone [who has chosen to] wield a sword to protect the weak, even if the other person was an adult, I would have said the same thing.
Yukimura: But, I think, to be treated as an adult…… for that child, it must have been a good experience.
Saito:……If that is the case, that's good.
As expected, he was still embarrassed and refused to meet my gaze. [depending on jp sentence, change to as 'really']
Saito: I really am unable to deal with children. It would be better for Souji to handle children/Children should be left for Souji to handle. [depending on jp audio, change to 'as expected']
Yukimura: Is that so? But, I think that if Saito-san had children, you would be a very good father.
Saito: Me, a father……？
He froze with a face full of embarrassment, almost as if he heard something completely foreign.
Saito:……For this sort of thing, I haven't even thought about it until now. After all, let alone a child, I still haven't married yet……
I'm afraid I said too much.
Yukimura: Th-That's right. Saito-san is busy doing work for the Shinsengumi, and can't be bothered about these things……
I quickly retracted my thoughtless words.
Saito: No…… it's not that I'm not a little interested……
Yukimura: Eh?
Saito:…………It's nothing.
He walked away with a shy/embarrassed look on his face.
Yukimura: Wa-wait for me, Saito-san!
Just now he said, it wasn't that he wasn't uninterested…… [reword later...? kinda gave up trying to tho]
Did that mean he had someone he liked?
Or was it……
After, I asked him several times, but he never answered back.
—The End—
after chapter 4 (still 40% done T_T)... i’m probably going to focus on chapter 2 then 5.... tho who knows when that will be since im translating at a severely reduced speed since school> all else, though i will definitely finish translating at least one more ginsei chapter this year (can’t say the same for videos given how painstaking it is to format everything lol).
anyway, the reason why i say that i need my queued filled up to november before working on translating another ginsei chapter in earnest is cuz i don’t want to worry about meeting my self-imposed weekly translation goal and cuz i prefer having lots of time to work on full chapters given how long they take for me to get done... while also having pleeeenty of leeway for procrastinating lol.
also my laptop had a stupid error so everything shut down (though on the upside to that, i can see all my pc text again). thankfully robocopy makes it so that i don’t need to duplicate everything, but it’s seriously taking a long time for everything to move...
after everything finishes, i think im going to have a calendar that celebrates each month of no computer problems lol.
#hakuoki#hakuouki#hakuoki shinkai#Hakuoki Game Translation#Saito Hajime#Yukimura Chizuru#Okita Souji#Hakuoki Ginsei no Shou Translation
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They call us “Angels”
1.
She has no name but is known by all in her village. She is the woman who weaves baskets faster than anyone else. She is the the one who knows exactly when to pick berries to get the perfect ripeness. She is the mother of a boy who refuses to paint with the other children because the texture of paint against his hands doesn’t feel right. She is the creator of the first paintbrush.
She is my first human, my first assignment as a protector. I guard her from all I can and hope I do well. When she grows ill I hold her hand while she begins to nod off. Her son is in the other room- she did not want him to see her like this. I will look after him too.
In her sleep, she smiles, lacing her fingers through my own. To have a body is still foreign to me, but I manage to squeeze back. She should not be able to feel this. I don’t let go.
-
Our task is simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we can as to not stall their progress.
And goodness, do they make progress.
2.
He is the first to learn how the scraping of flint and steal can cause sparks to fly. I watch as he grows- he’s a curious one, this one. Many times I lead animals away from where he sits, always too distracted to notice. He has many names, for the grunts and murmurs of vocal chords are still adjusting, and sound is something they are still trying to find the boundaries of. “Ma” seems to be his favorite. When he figures out how to turn sparks to fire I put myself between him and the flames to keep him from being burnt. They don’t leave marks in the same way they would him.
Everything is fast after that. Suddenly things can be cooked. Meat is much more edible than before. Suddenly water is safe to drink without the risk of disease. Suddenly warmth can be found in places other than the curves of another person. He hands it to everyone he knows and they take it with clumsy footing, no doubt leaving singed earth along their path. We will worry about it later; they learn quicker than anything we have seen in a long, long time.
-
They won’t stop growing. There are so many- we are in the millions but it is only a matter of time before they surpass even that. There are many other species that grow at similar paces. But none of them take so much time to mature. None of them have so
much to learn- none of them have all that and more.
We were not built to worry. We do, however, wonder.
3.
They tell stories. Nothing has ever done this before.
Then again, I imagine nothing has ever been this lonely either.
I am assigned a boy named Jack. He is born on a ship, the moistness of wood replacing the soft of grass while the world moves beneath him. When night falls and the waves grow rocky everyone gathers in the middle of the deck, taking turns weaving tales under the stars. They discover religion. They discover us.
We have a name, now. Angels. We have never had a name before- nature never referred to us with anything close to that. It feels foreign against my tongue, yet it’s surprisingly fitting. We grow into our new labels.
Jack slips and nearly falls off deck, but I am there to keep him steady. His mother thanks me for my efforts. Calls it a blessing from the gods. I am no god, but I appreciate the sentiment. She tells him, “Be more careful next time. These waves will only grow more rough.”. She tells him, “The sea is no kind beast. She will balance us above the dangers below but she is not to be held responsible for anything- or anyone- who sinks further.”. She tells him, a bit teary up, “I may be the captain of this ship, but not even I could save you from waters like this.”
He learns how to stay standing when the wood beneath his feet refuses to still. We listen to stories together.
The children’s favorites are the ones told by his mother. She leans against a cane and speaks of adventures she has had, run ins with other pirates, loves she has cherished and betrayals she is still bitter from. Most of them, I’m sure, aren’t half true. Jack does not seem to mind.
Eventually she grows too old to run the ship. He takes her place, leaning against her- his- cane and telling tall tails of danger, run ins he has had with other men his age. Men who he had a fondness for and those expected better of. Most of them, I know, aren’t true in the slightest. The children do not seem to mind and the crew are not the type to ruin a good story.
He dies in his thirties after a particularly rough storm. As careful as he was, nature does not hold back or those who are weary. I keep the pressure off his lungs for as long as I can. I try to make every gulp of water taste sweet and calming. It takes everything in me to make his death peaceful.
But some people are simply not ready. He trashes till he can’t. Panic only clears when his vision darkens.
His body is never found. The crew mourn him like they mourned his mother. They keep the cane in their honor.
-
They won’t stop dying. They pass from the tiniest things, always so quick, always before we can do anything to help. Sometimes we can’t, even given the time. Sickness is everywhere now. People are dying in the streets. We can’t do anything to heal them. The best we can do is prolong the inevitable- that, however, is much too painful a death to seem like a blessing.
They call it the plague. They call it a punishment from god. Our names go from ‘angels’ to ‘demons’ very, very quickly.
We are only able to bless things that already exist. You cannot eat a cake when you have no ingredients. The doctors don’t know how to fix this- they are not yet advanced enough to deal with something this big. We can only sit and watch, horrified, as those we have been sworn to protect die by our feet. I am assigned more people than I can count. Their names become a blur. By the time it’s all over, humanity has changed. They have lost so many. We have lost so many.
For a while, each miracle leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
4.
The most stressful assignments, although also very amusing, are the ones who need to be protected from themselves.
His name has been passed down from generation to generation, yet he much prefers to go by Eric. I help him breathe through his corsets and let time pass faster when he’s forced into a face full of make-up. On the few occasions he steals pants from his brother’s room I make sure his footsteps are quiet, because such things are life or death in times like these.
His family is rich and he is tired. They throw parties of plenty, and I hold his tongue when he’s pressured into dancing with the other men there. He steps on their toes and I laugh. Eric is all too ready to rebel in ways that girls his age get disowned for. I let the small things through, smiling at his internal dialog, filled with sass and curses and things that would make his father turn purple. Nothing too big. Never what he really yearns for.
A boy lets go of his hand and gives a terse smile, excusing himself to the food table. We watch him limp away. Eric grins.
He dies young. With a tongue that sharp, it was to be expected. He is caught kissing a woman with undamaged shoes while they both are wearing pants. It was the only time I let him. Witches, they call them. I do my best to save them both, but it’s useless. Heels are not meant for running.
They are buried in unmarked graves. It’s the only blessing I can give.
-
They recover their numbers quickly. It seems no matter what, they always bounce back in a relatively short amount of time. It’s amazing. It’s terrifying. We get assigned more than one person at a time.
5.
My first household is a family of three. It’s a mother, a daughter, and a child that’s somewhere in-between. Mostly I look over the children- their mother works from home and is much less prone to mistakes than them. And goodness, are they reckless.
Their names are Rose and Julian. Rose is a night owl and I have to make sure on more than one occasion that she doesn’t spill mugs of hot coffee on herself. It’s a brutal task, especially when she refuses to sleep when she should. I urge her to drink colder drinks. She refuses.
She is stubbed toes and dropped papers, noise when it should be quiet. She is clumsy. A long, long time ago, this would have been a dangerous trait to have. But things have changed. This world was built by people like her. She will be okay.
Julian is young but they are not stupid. They know more about the ways of the body than any human I have watched over before, bookshelves filled to the brim with pages upon pages filled with the morbid details of what makes humans blood flesh and bone. They flap their hands when they’re frustrated and chew on whatever they can get their hands on. This world was not made for them. I hope it will be rebuilt by the time they’re old enough to live in it.
They are experiments gone wrong and the urge to learn more, even when it becomes less than safe. I bless their hands to stay uncut while experimenting on a dead frog, holding knives that are much too sharp for someone their age. I don’t stop their mom from waking up to scold them. I do make sure they get to keep the frog.
I grow more connected to these children than anyone else I have ever looked after. Jack would have liked them- he would have told them so many stories. I’m with them while they take their driver’s test, pressing their feet down with just enough pressure on the gas petal for smooth sailing. Rose refuses alcohol for the first time and I am there to make sure she doesn’t give into peer pressure. Julian studies for a medical degree, studies how to make this world better for people like them. They don’t need much help on their tests, but I’m still there to lead their pencil on particularly hard questions.
They move out but they stay connected. I watch them bring new people into their lives, watch as their create families of their own. Over the years they change, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. But they are always kind. They are always Rose and Julian.
I’m not as foolish to say I forget how they died. However I don’t like to think about it, so that’s as close to forgetting as I’ll get.
They were good.
I was not built to miss people. Yet they still linger.
-
Our task was simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we could do as to not stall their progress.
There were many we could not save, and even those that we did were still doomed to the same end. Fate has it’s limits- you can only bend it so much. We were already testing it’s patience by simply existing. And that was fine. Death is normal, death is natural.
But these humans- these humans are different. They create and they are kind to a fault and there is nothing else like that. We did not expect to learn from them. We did not expect for this to hurt.
We did not expect to care.
5.
There’s a woman who lives to be 94. She is one of the lucky few to make it so far. She has grandchildren of plenty and their parents are happy. We all call her Nana. I watched over them for generations, the longest I have for any family before. In her last moments she prays. She tells me I did a good job.
Her grandson dies at age seventeen because I am busy helping his brother clean up glass. I do not pray- such things are better left to those who have faith. But I do hope she forgives me.
13.
I try my best to keep them safe. But this family, this family is not meant to last. There is always something wrong, always something broken, always something that needs to be blessed. It wears me out in ways I have not experienced for centuries. I can’t- I can’t help them all.
In the end there is only one left. She cannot bear to be alone.
No miracle can help someone who does not want to be helped.
21.
The sweetest boy I’ve ever protected is in a family full of rotten people. He is the best thing in that house. I give blessing after blessing, miracle after miracle, and he lives to be happy. He finds a husband and a wife- I bless them too. When he dies it’s a shock even to me. The world seems to dim. I protect his spouses and everyone else he cared about. It’s the first time I come dangerously close to grieving. He would not have liked that.
56.
While the family sleeps, their cat nuzzles into the couch and gives me a slow blink. I always end up sitting with it for the next hour. I cannot touch it, but it seems to appreciate my presence anyway. I miracle it mice to catch.
73.
They are sisters- there is nobody left but them. How reckless they are, spray cans routinely clanging against the cement while they take off from the police. They laugh while they run, and it would be sweet if it weren’t so dangerous. They get caught, once, because I feel they need to know just how serious this is.
The cop lets them off with a warning but also makes the one with darker skin lay on the floor while the other stands.
I do not let them get caught again.
When they pass I make sure their graffiti stays up, soon surrounded by many similar pieces by people like themselves. My next assigned family passes it on the way to the subway and I have to pause for a moment. I come very close to smiling. It would have made them happy.
?
We love them,
?
We grieve them,
?
We miss them.
-
We are angels. We are guardians of humans, protectors of families. We are the small miracles, the big blessings, and we play a balancing act with death just for them. Because they are growing and they are evolving. Because they love in ways we did not know were possible and they love us in ways that can only be described as ‘human’.
They have taught us so much. They have taught us to feel.
There is nothing we would not do for them. Challenging fate is just one of our many favors.
We are angels, and they are human. They are learning and so are we. Because of them we know love. We would not trade them for the world.
-
Our task is simple. Protect the humans. Let them grow. Do whatever we can as to not tall their progress.
And my goodness, do they grow.
But to our shock, so do we.
-
#writing#angels#guardian angels#queer writing#lgbt writing#a mix of poetry and prose tbh#trans and gay characters#yeet#this was inspired by a post by what-even-is-thiss! check them out!#i really liked this concept#just#angels loving humans#:)#humans are weird#humans are... dare i say it.... cute
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MDZS/The Untamed AU thoughts!
Awhile ago, I headcannoned an AU but I can’t find the post. I wanted to babble on it while I’m waking up.
A/B/O AU where if you decide to cultivate a golden core, you’ll present as one of A/B/O, therefore when you present it’s biological, but magic based so you can choose to present, but you can’t choose what it is.
Long post. Mentions of the R word.
Normal people don’t present and are just normal.
WWX was an alpha. As was Lan Wangji so while they might angry-flirt, they’re never going to be mates. But then the Wens win at Nightless City during the Sunshot Campaign and Wei Wuxian is publicly executed.
13 years later, WWX is reincarnated into the omega body of Mo Xuanyu.
The world is quite different from when he died.
The Wens have the run of the place. Wen Ruohan has been crowned King while all other cultivation sects are now considered supervisory offices. More or less labor camps that are tightly overseen by Wens.
Before WWX can come to grips with this new world and what he’s supposed to do, he’s swept out of Mo Manor by yet-presented and beta cultivators lead by a young man named Wen Sizhui. His troupe are all Lans with threadbare grey-not-white robes and forehead ribbons that look like they were ripped off of white clothing, or the ribbons are so frayed they look tattered and second hand.
While Wen Sizhui appears kind, with a sweet face and gentle tones, he’s ruthless. They take out the Mo family curse that’s closer to a death sentence than a saving, then they drag all omegas out of the manor for The Games.
They were there to pick up the omegas originally, and just happened to save/kill the Mo family while they’re there. Confused, WWX goes along with it, barely registering that he is in fact an omega now.
WWX is taken on a carriage that looks like it could be closed up like a jail cell. He’s squished in with a handful of others that look crossed between terrified and depressed, resigned to a horrible fate.
Along the way they are met with another group. These are Jins with another handful of villagers. This one is headed by a Jin Ling. There’s an offhanded conversation, where it seems that Wen Sizhui and Jin Ling know each other, maybe even friends.
Turns out, the Jins sided with the Wens and are thriving under the heavy hand of Wen, while the other sects are dwindling in homes that closely resemble labor camps.
The Lans had rebelled again, so The Games are going to be held on the mountains of Gusu. They head up to Cloud Recesses which was never properly rebuilt. There’s huts, not homes. Attempts were made to make this suppressed sect back into its tranquil past, but it’s clearly lacking.
Throughout a semi-imprisonment while people are gathered to Gusu, WWX learns that the Lans have been the biggest rebellion to subjugation even over a decade after losing. He sees LXC a few times. He looks as beautiful and regal as ever, but his clothing is old, his ribbon is cut short, and the once brightness in his eyes for hope has darkened to a façade. He has yet to see LWJ.
Lotus Pier is gone. Wen Xu was killed by LWJ, and Wen Ruohan has adopted Wen Sizhui as his heir when Wen Chao had proven unable to perform after he ‘lost his mind’ during the Sunshot campaign.
When Wen Ruohan arrives WWX is shocked to see that he’s flanked by Meng Yao (top advisor) and Jiang Cheng (his body guard). Turns out, Meng Yao was a pivotal point in getting the Jins to turn on the other sects that won the Wens the war. Jiang Cheng was said to be a loyal dog to the Wens when he had no where else to go. Others say that JC was blackmailed into the position when his sister was threatened.
Jin Guangshan cowers before Wen Ruohan, but he smiles and has his head held high. He knows he’s in a position of power but only at the behest of the Wens. Then a crowd gathers and a ceremony is being presented for The Games.
WWX and other omegas are ushered to a side stage like cattle. Across from a crowd he sees alphas on a similar platform. On the main stage Wen Ruohan has a handful of minor and major sect leaders.
WWX is THRILLED that his sister is in the omegas with him so he tries to communicate with her who he is. Like everyone in the group, she looks frightened but resigned to what is going to happen. She doesn’t give WWX much room to talk, as they must be quiet while a presentation happens. Jiang Yanli does hold WWX close, as if comforting the other omega. He notices that there are others clinging together, and this is not uncommon.
WWX also sees LWJ across to the other stage at where the alphas are lined up. This group is different. The alphas are stoic in general, but there is a good number of Wen alphas in front of them, clearly rowdy and excited.
WWX notices that Nie Mingjue is not there, and Nie Huaisang is a cowering beta on stage. Sadly, NMJ was killed a few years ago protecting LXC in The Games. It’s rumored that it was closer to a murder than self defense, an orchestrated attack. Jin Zixuan looks disappointed and is instructed by his father to stand with the Wen alphas.
A gruesome display happens. A Lan omega has been induced into a heat and is on display as they writhe, out of control, on stage. LXC finally breaks ranks and covers the omega before a rowdy Wen can get too close. He covers them with his coat and they’re both beaten.
“At least he’s not raped this year,” someone says in the omega’s stage, a whispered, scared thing. WWX is surprised but as it turns out, LXC is an omega. He always said he was beta, but being an omega as a sect leader is near impossible when it comes to respect among peers.
The Games, as it turns out, is like Hunger Games. Higher ranking omegas and alphas are forced into heats and ruts then let loose in a designated area for sport. Wens hunt the omegas. The alphas that are not Wens are let loose for the sake of humiliation.
The forced heats will usually last three days, in which there is no shelter on the mountainside, but magical barriers to keep them in one area. Birds with eye-talisman fly overhead so that those not in the arena can watch the chaos from a screen-like object.
After the ‘ceremony,’ the alphas and omegas are ushered into a tight space and a magic hormone scent is pumped into the area. They are being forced into head/ruts.
First into the arena, the omegas are released. They’re separated so they cannot hide together. The first alphas WWX encounters is JC and Jin Zixuan. He’s afraid of JC immediately when he’s rushed upon, thinking that he’s about to be raped by his former brother-turned Wen, when JC rushes past him to knock out a Wen that was coming up behind him.
Jin Zixuan looks on at WWX in disgust. Apparently, Mo Xuanyu had no shame and would try to mate with his blood relatives. But WWX’s fears of JC being let loose on him begins to fade when JC notes that he doesn’t like WWX’s scent and they surround him as they walk to find other non-Wens. They’re playing guard.
WWX is confused. Aren’t they Wen allies now? But as it turns out, in The Games, people form pacts. JZX obviously would only want to mate with his wife, and JC says he has a pact with another omega so he can’t spend his energy on WWX’s nasty smell.
The scents they give off is magic based with their golden core. Despite giving up his core, then dying, the scents of MXY is mixed with that of his own brand of magic. JC notices something is.. off on the scent. Familiar. Like the past and like his own but different. He can’t put his finger on it so he puts Mo Xuangyu into a familiar category in his brain/hormones which is a no-mate zone.
They find Jiang Yanli. She’s apparently the alpha of omegas and is known for taking omegas under his wing. She has a trail of them behind her and they all look relieved when JC and JZX come into view. They know they’re here to protect them... until their own hormones overwhelm them and they have to mate.
The next day they run across a group of roaming Wens that induced themselves to give them vigor and a stronger sex drive. JC and JZX have to play a careful political game to outwit and beat off the Wens without compromising their positions in the Wen hierarchy.
So JC isn’t a Wen loyalist after all. He was, indeed, blackmailed, and it appears that JZX had spoken out against the Wens and that is why he’s forced into The Games along with his wife. Despite protecting each other, it isn’t unheard of omegas getting raped despite being mated in these games. They are built to humiliate and tear down heroic sprites, but if one becomes pregnant with a Wen, then they are forced into a sort of Wen concubine’s life, forced to live under the Wen that is the parent of the child.
They eventually come by a small pact of Lans. WWX learns that the Lans have long since kept to themselves after they were overthrown and have little trust with other clans. However, WWX does note that LWJ and JC have a sort of alliance, possibly even friendship going for them. Or as friendly as the two of them can get. JC is low key always helping where he can, and WWX suspects that JC led Wen Xu into LWJ’s sword.
Among the Lans are a few others with masks on. WWX quickly recognizes the scent of Wen Sizhui. He holds respect for Lan Wangji because he saved his small village of Wens, including Wen Ning and Wen Qing.
Seems LWJ is all over the place making allies!
The few pacts run together for a bit until a few get too rowdy to help out. A few mated couples have to part way, unable to keep hormones in check.
During The Games, there is little shame among them. They cannot control themselves, so announcing to the group that one has to part because they’re going to lose control, and need to have a good dicking with their mate, is not frowned on. If one has to turn away in the corner of a cave to take care of things, it’s respectfully ignored and understood.
WWX has struggled quite a bit. This body is in his prime and he is not used to the responses of an omega.
When the pacts begin to shrink due to the need to part ways to mate, they start to converge. Eventually, the Lans run with JC’s group when JZX and Jiang Yanli had to leave.
Finally, JC admits that he cannot stay in control, and Lan Xichan leaves with him... that is when JC’s familiar scent leaves and WWX is overcome with LWJ’s dominate hormones.
That’s also when LWJ is not simmered from his brother’s scent and is overwhelmed with WWX. Not MXY, but he knows, he cannot mistake the scent of the former alpha he used to love.
It has been rumored that LWJ hasn’t touched anyone when forced into these games. He’s one of the few that still have fire in their eyes, a desire to fight back. In WWX’s opinion of seeing him again, he’s still just as beautiful as ever, even with his ripped robes and messy hair, he stole WWX’s attention even from far away.
Now, closer, stuck in this pact with LWJ the sole alpha among a handful of omegas and undercover Wen helpers... WWX lets out a whine and LWJ responds!! It takes everyone by surprise when LWJ doesn’t even try to move them away from the group as the others did when he grabs WWX and start rutting up against his thigh.
They’re used to this in The Games, honestly. It’s the sorry and sad nature of the event, but to see someone like LWJ break shakes them.
Wen Sizhui can’t get LWJ’s attention enough to even ask him to leave, that they’ll take care of the omegas when LWJ pushes WWX down on the ground and starts rucking up his robes. So the omegas and undercover Wens run before LWJ penetrates WWX. And as for WWX, the dam broke the moment LWJ touched him. He was gone, all wet and wants nothing more than to get LWJ inside of him and mate him until he can’t see straight.
Which he does. Brilliantly.
Having held back for so long, and never taken anyone, even in a forced rut, LWJ has very little control or downtime. He mumbles, between sessions, how he is sorry that he “cannot care of Wen Ying as he should” and WWX understands. And gets that, well, LWJ knows who he is.
After The Games end WWX begins to incite rebellion among the people. Mo Xuanyu was never respected for his obvious incestuous desires for his kin and his general lack of sanity (or so they say). But he suddenly gains new respect among the repressed with the rebellion leader LWJ by his side.
However, Meng Yao (sorry, he is the evil bad guy in this one) is smart, and uses his skills of persuasion and sweet face to always be at the right place at the right time when the rebellion tries to rise up. However, soon, the entirety of Gusu Lan is overturned and the Wen office is burned.
NHS gets on board and make a personal vendetta against Meng Yao for the plotted death of his brother. Soon, smaller sects join in once they see the tides turning.
Then on a surprise move, Jin Guangshan is poisoned. No one is 100% sure who did it, but some suspect his son. Jiang Yanli will never tell the public how her father-in-law tried yet again to get her into bed, and how her fingers slipped over his drink with something hidden in a ring.
This incites inner fighting, then a pushback on the Wens.
A few months of fighting passes by and changes happen as tensions rise and people are pushed together as they fight. Mainly, having to maintain heats around alphas.
WWX didn’t realize the amount of work that omegas went into to keep their scents at bay, so he didn’t realize at first just why LWJ would not let him have a night to himself. Or why LWJ would be possessive around other alphas. Then he goes into heat again, naturally, and LWJ steals him away for an amazing few days of doting and mating and come back to a lost battle for the rebels.
Lan Xichen has to teach WWX these things. Here, WWX learns about JC being a secret romantic to LXC and they have mated no just out of necessity. LXC blushes and says that JC marked him years ago and they had to find a spell in the black market to cover it up. Apparently, Wen Sizhui discovered this and handed the spell to JC and since has shown himself as an allie as well.
WWX slowly falls in love with LWJ, who turns out to be an incredibly doting mate and even asks to be marked before the final battle. LWJ never stopped loving him, even in death.
The final battle, NHS calls a secret truce talk with Meng Yao where NHS says he’ll betray the rebels as long as he’s left alone and safe with his art and fans. Then he stabs Meng Yao in the back. Literally, NHS asks for another bowl of wine, and when Meng Yao turns to get it he stabs the little f’er in the back.
The Wens are falling apart when JC pulls his loyalists/secret rebels/Jiang clan survivors to turn the tide. It’s Wen Suzhui that kills Wen Ruohan with a bloody show of power; even holds up his head as proof before everyone that he’s dead, then orders Wen Chao dragged out and beheaded as well.
Wen Suzhui is viciously cold when he has to be. Therefore, the young man becomes sect leader and surrenders the Wens to the rebels. Unlike before, when the Wens are all rounded up in the end they have a leader that doesn’t resist but demands boundaries to be set, all the while with the sweetest of faces and the deception of youth.
Wen Ruohan loyalists are cut down, and what little remains of the Wens are banished to a village where Wen Ning and Wen Qing are. So, not many Wens left. (Doesn’t stop Wen Suzhui from courting the Jin heir from afar with sweet letters, gently returned with flowers with Jin Ling’s scent)
At the celebratory banquet for their win, WWX announces his pregnancy and LWJ publicly cries happy tears. And then...?
Happily ever after? Probably.
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A tiny ficlet for @tolkiengenweek
Was supposed to be for Day 1 and family, but I didn’t manage in time. Anyway, young Feanaro acts like a big brother, albeit reluctantly.
A lending hand
"Fëanáro! Fëanáro, where are you!"
The voice calling him sounded very much like Irime. Fëanáro puffed in annoyance and glanced over his shoulder towards the doors. Indeed, there was his little half-sister, looking frantic and distressed. She hovered at the doorstep, as she already knew she was not allowed inside the forge without an adult. "Fëanáro!" she spotted him finally and clearly forgot about the prohibition, for she ran straight to him. At his firm gaze, however, she stopped mid-step, torn between whatever urged her to seek him and the fact that she should not have entered.
"What are you doing here?" Fëanáro inquired sternly. Irime usually followed Nolofinwe around very much the same way Nolofinwe followed him, so he didn't bother asking how come she knew the way to the forges. "You may come."
"Ara is lost!" Lalwende rushed to her brother, her eyes welling up with tears and her lip trembling. "Fëanáro, help!"
"How come?" Crossing his arms at his chest, Fëanáro looked down at her. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"Looking for Nolo..." Lalwen bravely swallowed tears and met his gaze. "Thought he'd be here. But I wasn't sure of the way and went to ask and Ara wasn't there and..." she sniffled and suddenly she was clinging to Fëanáro, sobbing into his apron. "I lost him!" she mumbled somewhere around his thigh.
"Alright," Fëanáro sighed in irritation and grasped the tiny hands clinging to him. "Wait for me outside. I am coming," he stressed, seeing Lalwen's uncertain glare.
Having asked master Mahtan to be dismissed, Fëanáro dropped his apron and gloves on the bench and hurried outside. The sooner he dealt with his half sister's disaster, the sooner he would be able to resume his work. Nolofinwe of course was nowhere near, the one time he could actually be of use hanging around.
"So where did you lose him?" Fëanáro asked and fought the urge to roll his eyes as his sister grasped his hand and tugged.
"Over there, somewhere around the corner," Lalwen tried to run, but Fëanáro's hand held her firmly. "Come on!"
"I am," he huffed at her. "Stop pulling." He strode after Lalwen, who would not slow down. “Who said you could go this far alone anyway? Not Atar surely,” Fëanáro asked sourly, remembering how not so long ago their father would first chide Nolofinwe for slipping out yet again, then ask him to pay attention and look after his brother, should he disobey his parents again. And now Lalwende too? Wonderful.
“Told you, looking for Nolo.”
“And yet we are looking for Arafinwe,” Fëanáro remarked pointedly. “No, you are not going alone anywhere, I will not search for both of you.”
“But-“
“We are going together.”
And then they heard it. A child calling Irime, his voice getting higher and higher as he must have realised his sister was nowhere within his sight. Before they reached the corner of the street, the calling turned into a whimper.
"We are here, Ara!" Lalwen cried out and this time managed to force her brother to run. "See? We are here!" She passed the corner of the building obscuring the view and halted as the stone pavement ended abruptly, revealing uneven ground. This part of the street was being rebuilt, but the works had been stopped and for a good reason.
Fëanáro groaned. "Oh great. HOW did you manage to find the only puddle within the next hundred yards?"
“Oh.” Arafinwe silenced and waved madly at both of them, fortunately not past the point of being irrevocably upset. Clearly what was about to become a disaster, now turned into an adventure. "Naro!" no longer alarmed by the lack of familiar faces, the child grinned, splashing more mud around, including both Fëanáro's knees and his own cheeks. "Muddy!"
"Yuck," the eldest son of Finwe made a face and turned to his sister. "You've got what you lost. Just take him back home."
Lalwende paled. "How?" she looked helplessly at her dirty baby brother, not in the least bothered by the mud soaking his garments, now that he had his siblings around. "Please come with me?"
Fëanáro shook his head and leaning forwards, he grasped Arafinwe under the arms and picked him from the mud. Trying to keep him as far away from his own clothes as possible, he put the boy on the pavement. "Like that," he shrugged and winced as he felt muddy fingers grasping his own. "Just take him home and try not to lose him again."
Arafinwe, however, had another idea. "Don't want home!" Looking hopefully up at his big brother, he blinked. "Play?"
"I'm busy."
"Fëanáro, please."
Feeling the gazes of the elves passing by, many of whom clearly recognised the High Prince and watched the three of them with visible interest, Fëanáro dearly wished for this sorry spectacle to end. Lalwen too looked like she had had enough fright for one day and would gladly return home. Only little Arafinwe seemed to have forgotten the scary moment of being utterly alone and was ready to explore the unfamiliar part of the city.
"Very well, I will take you back," Fëanáro agreed finally. "But you are getting him cleaned up," he warned his sister and firmly held Arafinwe's hand to make sure the boy would not wander off again.
Lalwende nodded hastily. "Sure."
Fëanáro was already walking, Arafinwe trotting by his side. He didn't look back, knowing that Lalwen would follow. What he didn't expect was another tiny hand grasping his own and a smile that was usually shy. With some hesitation, he returned the smile and tightened his grip.
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T&T - Chapter 13: Bloody Mad Genius
Author’s Notes | A long chapter, as good as it is long, I hope. Haha…
Words | 4293
⁑ Warnings: Mentions to death, blood, battle.
During the days that passed since Hvitserk arrived, he observed his brother's behavior around. Huge pieces of wood were brought into the hall composing an enormous reproduction of Kattegat's map as if it was a huge hnefatafl board in the center of the hall Hvitserk observed the carpenters adjusting until it was a perfect miniature of the hometown he could remember - a bigger reproduction from the one he saw into Ivar's map hall, on that beautiful wooden table he was sure he would ask his carpenters to reproduce in Ringerike for his own battle plans. Ringerike, by the way, also attached to that big table after Hvitserk came, marked as an allied territory along with Vestfold and Kattegat - Ivar was really intending to come back after Kattegat was properly taken and their base established, and it was something to surprise Hvitserk once more about his little brother: he was thinking about his people instead of looking at himself only. Kattegat was his homeland, but those earls Hvitserk saw in every reunion before the war were counting on Ivar's return to reign and conduct them and this was his plan.
Kattegat wouldn't be an annex to his own lands, but something in between Ringerike and those Irish foreign lands Ivar was ruling now, a market route for their merchants. Something to make both of their kingdoms bigger and prosperous.
Ivar had changed. Hvitserk could see this. Maybe life had sculpted his little brother with the hard hits that caused him the scars Hvitserk had the chance to see sometimes during the time he spent along with Ivar's family in that castle.
A family...
It just made his heart more homesick!
To see Iliana walking around with her little Vali just brought Hvitserk's memories of his precious Hillevi. How would Frigga and the children be? Missing him, for sure. It was close the time to go home. Hvitserk could almost feel their warm embrace around his body.
Iliana, on the other hand, was mourning the closer departure: the day had come for them to go and she couldn't really hide the concerns into her eyes. Hvitserk observed how she had become closer to his brother the last days before their departure, trying to enjoy each and every second of Ivar's presence by her side before they were standing on those docks, preparing to leave.
The tight embrace she involved his brother with caused Hvitserk's heart to clench into his chest. He wanted to kill that man so many times, for so many reasons; and maybe there was the reason why the gods never allowed him to fulfill his desires and lay his little brother cold on earth: there was true love inside that woman's black eyes; real concerns upon his brother's safe return. And he couldn't deny Ivar's eyes were full of the same trust and love towards her that he could see towards him into her eyes now full of tears as his steps were bringing Ivar closer to the boat. She had changed him. If only Ubbe could see it with his own eyes...
Ivar was something to be proud of now. He had grown into a man, after all. He was a boy out of control, after all.
Who among them never was?
Hvitserk could remember himself, his own conduct at his first raids, raping foreign women, killing foes as if they weren't men. He wasn't different from Ivar before... Maybe they had all committed mistakes judging one another too soon. Maybe things could have been different if they had tried to see each other as what they were.
Men.
Boys.
Children with their father's name weighting too much over their shoulders, forcing them to become men too soon.
"What is it that you think so much, Hvitserk?" Ivar's voice sounded near Hvitserk and, awaken from his daydream, he saw as Ivar's men helped him to climb up on the boat as he and Ubbe were used to doing when they were younger and lesser than kings.
Hvitserk's eyes searched for Iliana's figure at the docks, seeing as she was still there, lulling their son, probably mumbling a prayer with her eyes full of tears and that friend of them - Atli, if he could remember - consoling his crying queen with a hand respectfully over her shoulder.
"Nothing," Hvitserk answered, sitting at the edge of the boat, leaning his body out, holding himself at the cords of the mast as he was used to doing when he was younger. "Just thinking about life and how it has changed to us."
"How it has changed to us... Or how it has changed us, brother?" Ivar questioned, looking at the docks, watching as the boat caught the winds and the sand of his lands became further away until he couldn't see Iliana and his child at the beach anymore.
His heart had stayed with her, safe in the promise he would come back as soon as the gods allowed him to.
"You changed. And seeing you now makes me question how would it be our lives if we had the chance to watch this change before. If we had waited for this change to happen before fighting each other like dogs biting our bonds until it was too late for them to be rebuilt." Hvitserk said, sighing.
"Thinking about Ubbe, I suppose," Ivar taunted.
But Hvitserk just sighed again, looking at the horizon.
"I never stopped thinking about any of you, Ivar. Nor you, nor Ubbe, nor Sigurd, nor Björn. I don't blame you for Björn's death - he brought it upon himself with the bad choices and selfish behavior his mother taught him to have. I still blame you for not having my little brother here, playing his lute everywhere as if he wasn't the son of our father. But I blame ourselves for our separation. Things could have been different if we weren't that immature."
"Then Frigga would be married to another," Ivar stated, catching Hvitserk's curious eyes. "We wouldn't be kings... Iliana would be dead somewhere around Kattegat, caught by the hunters I saved her from. And I wouldn't be who I am. And you wouldn't be who you are. Things happen because they have to happen, brother. The gods know what they do."
Hvitserk pulled himself back into the boat, sitting beside Ivar who had taken his place at the bow of the boat.
"So, you just let things go?" he asked, taking a piece of dried meat to start biting something while they were talking - a habit he never lost during the years.
"If you want to know if I mourn Sigurd's death and how I did things until this point, the answer is yes. But I mourn, I don't regret it. I never wanted to lose control the way I did but that allowed me to never lose control that way again. I've learned something from each of my mistakes, Hvitserk. And so, I don't regret any of them. I would have done different if I had the chance, but I gather my mistakes as I gather my victories. Björn was right, after all." Ivar answered, causing Hvitserk to giggle at noticing Ivar was carrying forward the same lessons he, himself, had taken with him for so long.
"In the defeat is that you learn the most," Hvitserk repeated and Ivar nodded, twirling one of his daggers with his fingers to kill the time. "Our lives were full of defeats and beat downs..."
"And this is what made us wiser in the end, brother. This is what made us wiser in the end." Ivar completed
If only Ubbe could see their little brother, Hvitserk thought. But maybe it was good that he couldn't, his mind completed. Maybe if Ubbe was there, he wouldn't be beside Ivar to see what he saw. Maybe things wouldn't be what he liked them to be.
The gods knew what they were doing.
Hvitserk decided to trust them a little more from that moment on.
It was a matter of five moons for them to reach the bay. Ivar's plan was going as they both expected it would go: one village after another their men only found resistance at the seventh or eighth village they arrived in when they were already reaching the borders of Kattegat and there wasn't too much more than the capital to be defended. The news took time to reach the crown and Oleg wasn't really carrying about the nearby villages of the population on them, so many men around the small villages Hvitserk and Ivar invaded first joined their army making it bigger against the main town.
Also, the Rus were so focused on expanding their territories over Norway that they weren't really guarding the small parts of it, making it easier for Hvitserk and Ivar's men to eat the borders and besiege their enemies forcing them back to the central towns.
A pair of crows and Hvitserk's men started the same strategy from Ringerike towards the bay, causing the Rus to be forced back into Kattegat and Vestfold - the towns through where they had entered their continent and through where Ivar was planning to expel them back to their homelands.
In flaming boats, preferentially.
Nevertheless, Ivar knew the focus had to be Kattegat: Oleg and that bitch of his, Katya, were installed there as king and queen, and deposing them would be enough for the remaining Rus in Vestfold to flee instead of keep fighting for a deceased king. So, their men kept progressing against the villages, killing the Rus soldiers, releasing the villagers from their collars, and gathering new men to their armies until they met Hvitserk's men at the borders of Kattegat.
As he expected, the town was reinforced: his walls were thickened, the towers were taller and the field better illuminated around the town. However, Ivar wasn't so sure they would really have to face all those improvements to get into the town.
"What do you mean, Ivar?" Hvitserk said as they were walking through the woods around Kattegat, keeping themselves covered along with a portion of their men just for safety in case they were discovered. "What are we doing here after all?"
"Do you remember York, Hvitserk?" Ivar said, walking with his crutch around, pinning some parts of the soil as if he was searching for something in that part of the woods.
"I do," Hvitserk answered, watching confused as Ivar kept pinning the soil until his crutch made a wooden sound, causing the younger brother to smile.
"If I'm right and things are still here like this, then she didn't discover the things I hid from her," Ivar said, enigmatic, causing Hvitserk to frown looking at him. "Katya, Hvitserk. She played Freydis, as I told you, but even from his queen, a king must keep some secrets to himself. And this is a secret I kept to myself in case Freydis was taken by the enemies and I was able to escape alone."
Ivar then lowered himself, lifting a wooden door from the ground, showing Hvitserk a small tunnel under that door. Something that seemed to be sculpted for a single man to pass.
"If I had to move out of the town alone, I carved a complex system of tunnels bellow some parts of Kattegat, mimicking those roman aqueducts we saw in York. Nothing that big, but surely useful, with some passages that could allow me to go out. And to go back for her in case she was taken." Ivar explained, looking at his brother. "But I kept it from her cause if she was taken, then our enemies wouldn't be able to take this information from her and I would have a chance to save her...".
Even keeping secrets, Ivar had been trustful to his queen. Inglorious bitch, Hvitserk thought... It would be good to allow his brother the proper avenge for his broken dignity.
"These passages go to strategic points of the great hall and some parts of Kattegat's central square. We can use them to invade the town and take it down from inside out if we're patient to put our men inside and fill these gaps slowly."
"It would be York, backward," Hvitserk said, understanding.
"Exactly: we would use the tunnels to go inside, instead of using them to defend the town from the raiders," Ivar explained.
"I know Floki has told you this before, but you're a bloody mad genius, you motherfucker!" Hvitserk patted Ivar's shoulder causing him to giggle, rolling his eyes.
"Tell the men to bring supplies: it must take one or two days of work. We'll slide one man at the time through this and the other tunnels until we're sure there are enough men inside to fill the gaps. While the men come, we'll walk through the walls, call their attention to the main doors, and let them prepare for an outside attack. I must ensure the doors are still the same and if they are, I'll tell you the little surprises I had in those doors so you won't be taken by the traps. Then, we shall split, brother. You'll conduct an attack from outside to call their men. I'll guide our men inside to eliminate their command and we meet each other at the central square after Kattegat is ours again," Ivar settled the plan and Hvitserk smiled.
"Let us write one more victory on your story, brother."
"On ours, brother," Ivar said, smiling back at him. "On ours."
The orders were given and through the hours that passed, Hvitserk and Ivar attracted the Rus' attention towards the main doors, circling the town, showing their presence along with some men, causing the reinforcement at the walls to be visible.
At the dawn of the second day, however, Oleg himself decided to show up at the towers, yelling at Ivar when he passed by, driving the chariot Hvitserk's men had brought from Ringerike for him.
"Admiring my beautiful walls, Ivar the Boneless?" he yelled with a cocky smile from upon the tower. "As I told you when I placed you out of this town: you'll never cross these doors once again!"
"I do not intend to do so, my friend!" Ivar yelled back and Hvitserk smiled by his side, comfortably resting against the chariot's inside wall.
"I know what you've been doing! You won't corner me here, Ivar! I'll take you down and water the soil of these lands with Ragnar's blood! Then I'll hang your bodies on the entrance of this town to remember every single villager of what we have done to their heroes and gods!" Oleg yelled once again, looking fiercely at Ivar down on the fields.
"It would be wiser than let me live one more time, Oleg," Ivar announced, sounding a little darker. "Tell Katya to warm our bed..."
"The king is coming home!" Hvitserk joked as Ivar pulled the reins, walking away with the horses and the sound of their men's laughs behind them.
The armies withdrew once again into the woods, leaving the Rus one more time without a real notion of how many were the men Ivar and Hvitserk had around the town.
Despite the fun Hvitserk was finding in those moments, making Oleg so tense and ensuring the guards at those towers were shitting their pants at night, he could feel Ivar's aura once again. Just like when they were younger, his little brother was smelling like death.
Maybe not everything had changed and something Hvitserk was sure about: Oleg and his queen had their days counted.
They arrived at the camp and Ivar dismounted from the chariot.
"Tell the men to be prepared. The walls are still the same, except they're taller to make the archers unreachable. He kept my traps and the fire blowers so listen closely." Ivar started, looking at Hvitserk. "There are three main doors: a wooden door you can see, a second wooden door inside and one iron gate that can be released in a fast movement hidden right behind the first door. Ignore the gates, Hvitserk. Tell your archers to shot fire arrows in the middle of the main towers and you may blow the oil gallons that are hidden into them. Keep your men away: I remember I needed around ten to twenty liters of oil to fuel those fire blowers so the explosions might be huge and will take the gates and half of the wall down for you to pass."
"Fire blowers?" Hvitserk said, looking at Ivar. "You mean those fucking dragon mouths you used against us? We just had to..."
"Shot the middle of the towers? Yes." Ivar said, causing Hvitserk to giggle, impressed.
"Fuck..."
"Yeah, I know. Simple ways are usually what nobody thinks about, Hvitserk. Simple flaws are something no enemy will search. They'll always think about the most complicated way to get into your town..."
"Like Björn, trying to break those gates down," Hvitserk remembered.
"Exactly," Ivar confirmed. "You shot around the height of a man and a half and you shall be able to force the fire to explode the gallons. Two or three volleys of arrows shall be enough to blow that shit down. I'll take the sound of the explosions as a sign that your men are in and with this done, I'll wait for your horns to sound and I'll come out with my men to take the Hall from inside out and clean the square so we can crush the Rus men in the middle of our army. The night may fall soon. Let us take the darkness to cover us. Take one of your men to ride my chariot and take you with him to the gates and Oleg may not miss me around the men."
Hvitserk nodded, moving his hand and a man obeyed his order, taking the reins from Ivar's hands and the helmet that Ivar's men offered to him.
"I'll meet the men at the tunnel. Start the attack with the last ray of sun," Ivar sentenced.
"May the gods be with you, brother," Hvitserk said, shaking Ivar's hand before they leaned their foreheads closer to one another.
"May them be with us all," Ivar answered, leaving with a portion of his men as Hvitserk started positioning everyone.
With the last rays of sun, Hvitserk advanced with a line of their army in front of the town, away from the archers' reach, warning the Rus they were to attack that night.
As they planned, the great majority of the Rus' men were at the gates, along with Oleg who was posing at the wall, looking down at them with that cocky smile of his.
"Prepare the fire blowers," he ordered his men, certain of his victory. "We might offer roasted men to our Lord tonight."
Sun hid its face and Hvitserk patted the man's shoulder as he guided the chariot a little forward, keeping its face lowered under Ivar's helmet.
"Not a single word for us, sons of Ragnar Loðbrók?" Oleg yelled a taunt Ivar would have answered for sure.
But Hvitserk did nothing but raise his hand.
"Archers!" he called.
The arrows were lit and the archers lifted their bows, making the aim as Oleg started laughing, first thinking they were trying to reach them on top of the walls.
"Too high for your needles, m'ladies!" he joked.
Not getting a single step back from the Norsemen down at the field.
"Loose!" Hvitserk ordered.
And then, the smile on Oleg's face was completely erased when the whole bunch of arrows stopped in the middle of the main towers and Hvitserk called the archers for a second volley.
"You fucking bastard!" Oleg yelled "Archers!! Take them down! Take them down!!"
"Loose!" Hvitserk repeated.
A new volley of arrows hit the towers and they started burning intensely, causing Oleg's men to run from their positions right before the towers blew in a million pieces, throwing the iron gate trap up in the air and opening a huge hole at Kattegat's wall.
"Charge!" Hvitserk yelled, advancing with his men against the dizzy Rus, killing whatever they could in their way inside.
Ivar's plans were clear: no prisoners. Every Rus man should be killed to ensure they wouldn't have enough numbers to come back.
The chariot passed through the flaming remains of the walls, stepping on some of the wounded Rus on its way and Oleg yelled in fury as his personal escort was forcefully dragging him away from the battle, trying to preserve his life.
"That crippled bastard! Take him down! Take them all down! I want those bastards' heads on my table tonight!"
Hvitserk came down the chariot and so did the man who was driving it and it was enough surprise for Oleg to stop yelling. His mind trying to process what he had just seen.
"That's not Ivar..." he mumbled. "Where is that bastard? That's not Ivar!"
But his men didn't stop dragging him inside the barriers they had built to retard the Norsemen approaching to the Hall and protect their king and queen from the attack they had three days to prepare for.
"People of Kattegat!" Oleg heard Hvitserk's voice yelling as he was fleeing with his men. "Get inside and lock your doors! Do not fear the Rus! Do not open your doors before dawn! Our gods have heard your prayers and there will be blood tonight!"
The two bastards were sure they would recover the town until the morning, Oleg thought. But how could Hvitserk be so sure? How could they be so certain of their victory?
The men closed the great hall after entering with their king and Oleg stood looking at the closed doors, thinking. What could be Ivar's plan? Did he really underestimate the Norsemen?
The sound of the throats of his men being cut called his attention and Oleg turned to look at the blood spilled behind his back. His personal escort was dead on the ground, painting the Rus tapestry he had spread all over the place with their blood.
Standing in front of him, there was the true Ivar the Boneless with his black armor and iron crutch, swirling his dagger and watching as the Rus king frowned in fury.
"You had passages..." Oleg concluded.
There was no other way for Ivar to come so quickly into the Hall without crossing those walls!
Ivar smiled, keeping the dagger swirling on his fingers.
"I told you I had no intention to cross those doors once again, my friend. Such as I told you to ask Katya to warm our bed. If you had asked your queen to warm your sheets for me, then maybe she would have listened when we entered from under her bed, from behind her lockers, under her rugs..."
Ivar's men came from the bedroom, dragging Katya by her hair, forcing her on her knees in the middle of the hall ignoring the small squeals of the woman.
"You god damn demon!" Oleg yelled, unsheathing a curved short sword from his waist, advancing against Ivar who was waiting for this to happen.
He had ordered his men not to interfere in that fight regardless of what they could think about Ivar's possible disadvantage against Oleg. His movement limited to dodge Oleg's furious strikes and find the right breach to invade Oleg's guard with a step forward, sinking his dagger bottom-up into Oleg's chin in a single strike, covering his own hand with warm blood.
Katya covered her mouth with both of her hands, trying to hold back her tears as Oleg convulsed against Ivar's small blade, with Ivar's fierce blues deep into his eyes.
"Before you go whatever your false god decides to take you, let me teach you one last lesson, my friend: this is how you deal with your enemies," Ivar said, twisting the dagger into Oleg's flesh, getting one last grunt before he let go of his sword, starting to lose consciousness. "Quick, like the sheep of your god shall be sacrificed to mine...".
Oleg fell lifeless like a bag of stones in the middle of the Hall almost the same time Hvitserk reached the doors to meet Ivar inside.
Ivar cleaned his dagger, sheathing it back in his belt before sliding his bloody fingers on his own face and then on Hvitserk's as his brother approached.
"It's done, brother. Kattegat is ours once again."
Hvitserk turned himself back, bloody face, growling at his men who started yelling the victory outside in celebration. Still panting from the battle outside, he turned back to Ivar, looking at the woman on her knees on the ground.
"What will you do to her?" he asked as Ivar approached.
His men forced Katya to get up so she could face their king and Ivar touched her chin with his fingers still wet with Oleg's blood. She was trembling. Ivar liked that feeling.
"Tie her and keep her safe. We don't want anything happening to her before dawn." Ivar said, feeling as Katya trembled a little more.
"Ivar... My love... He forced me, I can..." Ivar's bloody fingers touched her lips shutting her mouth and causing Katya to cringe a little more with the metallic taste of Oleg's blood on them.
"Shhh. Spare me from your words, viper." Ivar said, sliding his fingers, staining her skin until they reached the golden cross on her chest. "Save them to pray for your God's mercy, cause tomorrow we'll see if your God is really merciful as all of you claim him to be."
He felt as Katya swallowed dry.
But her fate was sealed in his mind. And Ivar wouldn't go back now.
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NAME. Camille Delacroix
AGE & BIRTH DATE. 31 & June 11, 1989
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her
SPECIES. Witch ( Earth + Invisibility )
OCCUPATION. Newspaper Editor
FACE CLAIM. Dakota Johnson
BIOGRAPHY
( tw: drugs ) The Delacroix name was, to put it lightly, a standard for both old money and old magic in Chicago. With talent and reputation came a particular image to uphold: the quintessential family unit who embraced that legacy and never tarred it with their own indiscretions. Perfect. Pristine. Pretend. If one were bold enough to strip back the curtains, to open closets in search of skeletons, far more than antiques and shallow conversation could be found.
Andrew and Annette came together as a reasonable match set by their parents, married with a swiftness while the union was proudly displayed for all in their elite circle to appreciate. This was the height of elegance, this was what it meant to be proper. Of course, their marriage itself could be labeled little more than a ruse, deeply unhappy and rife with undercurrents of conflict only witnessed by their house staff. Children would be a gift to mend all they said, particularly any who were magically inclined from a young age and Camille’s life came into existence as a result of that ambition.
Eldest daughters bear a weight not often seen, but unquestionably felt. They become the carrier of secrets, the one burdened with all of their family’s demons in an effort to glue everyone back together. She looks just like her mother, the masses would say and they were right, but Camille never desired to walk in the matriarch’s shoes. Trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who spent more time yearning over his business partners than the Stepford wife waiting for him at home, Annette turned to mind games and manipulation rather early on. She attempted to mold her first born in this same artistry, but it never took. Camille was far too passive and unbothered for such effort, preferring to take on her mother’s flighty aloofness instead.
She was only four years into her childhood when Lucian arrived and the world around the Delacroix family shifted permanently. Even their youngest sister’s birth shortly thereafter was tallied as completing the picturesque brood, but the son–– the first and only son, Annette doted upon him as if he hung the moon and stars. Despite not wishing to become their mother, Camille discovered the seedlings of jealousy being implanted that she was less worthy of affection solely because of Lucian’s presence. She knew the family ghosts by now. Saw things, heard things. Yet the child who started fights at school purely for attention was preferred over the one who came first and kept her mouth shut about it all.
It wouldn’t be fair to blame Lucian for the spotlight he craved, in fact Camille might have claimed that she attempted everything in her power to avoid the very same. While she may not have been Annette, lies were familiar and the eldest child still managed to seek out recognition in more subtle ways. She became a perfectionist at school, highest marks in her class and capable of writing essays in her sleep. Words poured out of her pen and filled stacks of journals; their home library grew tenfold. As she transitioned from uncertain pre-teen into an adolescent with quiet confidence, Camille also learned that her penchant for invisibility could be utilized to not only disappear into her world of storytelling, but also from her home.
Literature became the common thread between the young witch and Lucian, from there a mutual understanding and even affection grew. Where his abilities lied in fire and passionate destruction, Camille was the steady hand which supported and repaired all that he broke. Salvaging rose bushes before Annette, or worse the gardener, noticed, quickly turned into a game between the siblings. Even if the constant social events hosted by their mother were tiring, at least the Delacroix children could discover solace in one another when the black ties were discarded for pajamas. Happiness in a world so superficial was fleeting at best, but their family discovered a sort of peace in this time.
Eventually Camille found herself shipped off to Cornell, a rather prestigious school for someone only intrigued by the study of comparative literature, but a generous scholarship and her parents’ expectations left little other choice. It was here that she first discovered pathways beyond what had been implied by Annette: you don’t have to love your husband, you only have to marry him. But what if she never married a man at all? Stunning, intelligent, enigmatic women were everywhere in New York and if the desire to not fall victim to her mother’s life had been strong before, the east coast nearly solidified it.
Not long after graduation did things begin to turn troublesome at home, rumors swirled about Lucian’s involvement with drug dealers and dangerous supernaturals. That he’d developed an addiction to more than substances and the golden child denied all until a harrowing incident occurred involving their father’s study catching fire by his inebriated hand. Their greatest family lie and her own resentment rose to the surface when Camille watched as her parents shipped Lucian off not once, but twice. Rehab and then a sort of well-funded banishment, and there she was again picking up the pieces left in his wake. It was less endearing this time around.
Forgiveness did not come with ease and blossomed slowly, Lucian rebuilt her trust as they both attempted to restart in New York. Camille took up an editorial job at The Times rather than being a columnist as desired, but truly could only pour her heart into it for the first couple of years until the inklings of repressed trauma began to reveal themselves. At some point she lost herself in the motions of it, exhausted by her own mind and yet attempting to maintain some semblance of stability because the alternative meant admitting that she aced school while failing at the construction of her own life. Somehow that irony is hilarious to only Camille and not her therapist.
Even Lucian ventured elsewhere to move on and while she heavily encouraged his growth, not having anything to fix started to feel like idle hands. Cigarettes and weed could only hold her attention for so long and thus she opted to keep long distance tabs on her brother instead. Even after all of this time and no longer worrying about preserving their family’s image, she still cannot undo the ingrained burden of maintaining his life. Worrying after his ongoings is a button that she refuses to uninstall, no matter how much Camille might deny its existence.
Which would also be difficult to claim after her plane touched down in Corinth Bay. Call it a sister’s intuition, but a lack of response from Lucian to her recent emails had been enough to prompt familiar concern over his self-destructive tendencies. She can only hope to have made it in time to sort out whatever recklessness the witch has done… Or worse, is planning.
PERSONALITY
+ facetious, easygoing, perfectionist
- irresponsible, detached, avoidant
PLAYED BY MARTY. PST. She/Her.
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Zelda AU #2: The Triplets
The sketch is rough at best, but Zelda is supposed to look like she does pre-calamity, Tetra looks like the girl from the BotW 2 trailer (because it is her, I might explain that later if anyone’s interested), and Sheik has his design from Smash Ultimate. This is really just my take on the twins AU which was originally created by someone else (rockingthegraveyard, I believe).
https://triforce-princess.tumblr.com/post/627266504652668928/this-is-awesome-your-brain-is-so-good
Anyways, I was thinking of what this might actually look like as a fleshed-out story, and I decided that Zelda’s twin could be named Tetra. And then I thought, “hey, we can’t leave Sheik out!” And so here we are. Basically, thanks to her siblings, Zelda is able to stop the calamity and (almost) everyone lives happily ever after. I don’t actually plan on writing this into a formal story so this is a long post where I just dump a lot of my ideas concerning the trio. I will not be writing this into a story, because I’ve never played BotW and I fear I would get everything wrong, but you’re welcome to! If someone ends up writing something based on this, I’d love to know so I can read it. I also have lots more ideas about this, so if you want more content (aside from this ridiculously long post), just ask!
Zelda is technically the oldest, although it hardly matters since they’re triplets. Thanks to this, she is arbitrarily the one who had all of the responsibilities heaped upon her. She’s pretty similar to how she appears in BotW, except Link isn’t even a potential love interest for her. He’s just her knight whom she’s gradually grown close to - as a friend.
Tetra is the middle child, and by far the most troublesome. She is outgoing, adventurous, brash, and basically everything you don’t want in a princess. King Rhoam tried to raise her to be proper, constantly reminding her that it was the hero’s (Link’s) duty to be the courageous one, not the princess. This often resulted in her running away and threatening to join the gerudo. She and Revali got along like a house on fire, often bonding over how overrated Link is. She absolutely hates Link, because to her, he represents not her failures, but the failures of her country and family. Why can’t a princess with no triforce be the hero as well? She makes no attempt to hide her distaste for him, although she might have changed her perspective a little if she realized that Link actually greatly admired her. It’s too bad that he was too scared of her to tell her himself. Speaking of being too scared to admit things, the one thing Tetra can’t bring herself to say aloud is that she has a huge crush on Princess Mipha.
Sheik is the little brother, known as the quiet one. Unlike his eldest sister, he knows how to fight, but hates doing so. He would much rather prefer to be exploring the lonely areas of the wild, or researching ancient tech with Zelda. He’s trans, and while his sisters support him and his father respects that, King Rhoam also saw that as an excuse to ignore him. After all, the legends never told of princes doing anything noteworthy. Thus, the king, and by extension almost everyone in Hyrule, more or less forgot about their quiet prince. The champions knew about him and were varying degrees of nice to him, especially Lady Urbosa, which was more than almost everyone he met could say. He didn’t mind it too much, and didn’t even realize that it was wrong until after his father was dead.
Link had a varied relationship with the triplets. Originally, both Zelda and Tetra despised him, because he reminded them of everything wrong in Hyrule - Zelda’s own self doubt, and Tetra’s failed attempts to become her own hero. Since his two sisters were always talking about how much they hated having this royal knight follow Zelda around, Sheik grew to dislike him as well, despite having never met in person. However, there was a time in the castle when Tetra practically kidnapped Zelda and whisked her away to an unknown location in Hyrule, sending everything into chaos. Sheik was pretty sure that they were both in on it and were simply trying to prove how well they could manage without Link, but they hadn’t informed him of their plan before they left, so he really had no idea. What he did know was that they left Link behind, and now the royal knight was panicking because he thought the king would blame him for letting his daughters vanish, and feared he’d be at the very least jailed.
Link, to his surprise, was not punished - the king was too busy cursing his own tomboyish daughter - but was sent to go find them alongside a team of Hyrulean soldiers. Not wanting to look useless, Sheik joined the quest. In their travels, Sheik discovered that Link was actually a lot like himself, just in completely different circumstances (and much more reckless, unfortunately), and the knight found that the prince was one of the few people who didn’t meet him with impossibly high expectations, for which he was thankful. They became fast friends, although since they both said an average of ten words a week combined, their friendship often looked more like them being present in the same room.
Much later, after both princesses had returned to the castle (“of our own accord,” Tetra had reminded everyone within earshot), the king doubled down on Zelda discovering her powers. She and her knight were rarely seen around the castle, always visiting springs and whatnot, while Zelda’s siblings were left at the castle doing... basically nothing. They were both training constantly for a battle that they were beginning to believe would never come.
Their seventeenth birthday started like any other day. They were at the castle while Zelda and her knight were off at another spring to pray, along with the champions. Then all hell broke loose. (Literally.) Something monstrous decided to rear its ugly head from under Hyrule Castle, and it took over the guardians to boot. Of course, both Tetra and Sheik became extremely concerned for their older sister, since she probably couldn’t fight a bokoblin, much less corrupted ancient technology. This, combined with the fact that the castle was probably the worst place to be right then, prompted the two to bolt into the field and find their sister. They had to fight guardians the entire way, and Sheik recieved a nasty injury, but kept denying how bad it really was.
Despite the storm, she wasn’t that hard to find, thanks to that explosion of what they guessed was her divine magic that had finally decided to say hello. They found her as opposed to the sheikah, but arrived on the scene a bit to late for the hero. He wasn’t dead (or was he?), or at the very least he could be saved/brought back, but he was clearly not about to help them fight. (Still, Sheik absolutely lost his mind when he saw the state Link was in, to the shock of his sisters. Neither of them knew he was close friends with the knight.)
Zelda quickly explained her plan to her siblings, where she would return the sword to the forest and face Ganon herself, to which Tetra said “hell no.” The Master Sword was right there! Hyrule needs saving, and the princess found herself to be a perfectly competent hero. The sword could be fixed. Somehow.
This part is where I’m a little on the fence about what happens. The sword’s health and power does seem to be tied to Link’s, as evidence by how it heals with him over 100 years and can only shoot sword beams when he’s at full health (I think), but since Tetra actually was worthy of wielding the sword, Fi could have been restored when she accepted the blade. Alternatively, Tetra and Sheik could have been the sages of earth and wind without realizing it, and we’re able to restore the sword on the fly. You get to decide how the sword repaired itself.
So now Tetra has roped herself into fighting Ganon with the Master Sword, Zelda by her side, while Sheik is losing his mind over what is basically the corpse of his closest friend. It’s at this time that Zelda realizes just how injured her brother is. She knows that he can’t fight the calamity like that, so she tasks him with taking Link to the Shrine of Resurrection, like Fi said. Initially, he refuses, but he soon decides that it’s all he can do and agrees.
The triplets go their separate ways. Somehow, the sisters are able to get to the castle very quickly, and start to challenge the Calamity. Zelda uses her new sealing powers to force him into a mortal form, while Tetra beats him up with her new weapon of choice. Ganon originally shrugs them off, more or less, but as they start to win he activates Panic Mode and summons all of his blights back to the sanctum to fight the sisters. Luckily, the blights were snatched right out of their battles with the champions, who were beaten and shaken but still alive.
However, thanks to his new allies, Ganon starts to win. Just when the princesses think they’re about to die, the divine beasts - which are under the control of the champions after the blights left - strike, finishing off the Calamity. Naturally Ganon has a few tricks up his sleeve and transforms into Dark Beast Ganon, moving to Hyrule Field. By Hylia’s (late) divine grace, Tetra and Zelda are teleported to the field as well, alongside Sheik, surprisingly. He’d just set Link up in the shrine before getting pulled here. Zelda is able to summon the Bow of Light, which becomes his weapon.
Together, the three of them are able to take out the dark beast. Zelda creates weak points, while Tetra and Sheik shoot them with Master Sword beams and light arrows, respectively. (Maybe Tetra DID die, but her health was restored by a fairy, or she’s at full health for some other reason.) So now Ganon is dead. Castle town is in shambles, and multiple people are dead, including the king. But don’t worry - Urbosa quickly makes herself the new parental figure of the triplets.
Hyrule is rebuilt. The people celebrate the defeat of the calamity, and the guardians are restored to their former abilities. Tetra becomes the new Champion of Hyrule Castle, wielding the Master Sword and the Sheikah Slate. For an extra happy ending, maybe she and Mipha formally become a couple. Sheik pioneers work on improving ancient and modern technology, showing a special interest in ways to reverse aging. After many years, Queen Zelda’s son, Daphnes Link Hyrule, becomes the ruler after her reign ends.
And so, the people of Hyrule live happily ever after.
... and 100 years later, Link wakes up.
#legend of zelda#link#zelda#zelda au#the triplets#featuring low effort doodles#breath of the wild#botw#botw 2
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Go is not like chess. Chess is a battle, Go is a war. Go is played by laying stones on the intersections of lines that form the board, or Goban’s, grid – these are called Moku and represent 1 territory. The two players take opposing sides and unlike chess in Go black goes first but white is awarded a ½ moku handicap, because Go is a game of skill players can be awarded up to twenty stones handicap, and it can be played on three sizes of board. A master might play with a neophyte in a game called Shidou-Go where the point is not to win but to teach. Go is unique in this.
Play falls into two forms, Gote and Sente, or aggressive and defensive play, it is generally the player who stays in Gote (aggressive) longest who wins the game.
When the board is full (the other way to win is if the other play concedes due to a lack of territory and being unable to catch up) the moku are marked with stones to make them easier to count, the person with the most moku wins.
However, again unlike Chess, Go presents the possibility of the Divine Move, sometimes called The Hand of God, a move so out of left field and amazing it turns the game around and takes a player from Sente to Gote. A divine move is considered so rare that professional Go players might go their whole lifetime without one being played – not that they might not see it played against them, but it won’t even be played in their lifetime. Yet a Divine Move might not win the game, it just turns the game from crushing defeat to offer a hope. Understanding Go and how it’s played it becomes apparent how very rare it is.
Now, like Chess, Go is rarely played with the move at hand, it’s played as many moves ahead as is possible and between two equals in skill it’s the one how plays that one move more that wins. It becomes a matter of if I move here, he’ll move there, which mean I can move there and he’ll move there and I can then capture that territory for example. A reactionary player will get crushed – speaking from experience.
So the idea that Stiles was sat at that Goban playing against the Nogitsune was ludicrous, where a child who knows the moves could possibly beat a chess grand master it wouldn’t happen with Go, and it was a full sized board.
I can’t look at the board and say who was winning, I can’t look at finished games and tell you who won without counting off the stones, and until the game is considered complete it can go either way in the placement of a single stone. It’s not like Chess at all in that, so although people could look at the chess board and point out the errant pieces we cannot simply do that with Go, so the point becomes not the moves that are played but who is playing them.
Now when Derek rebuilt the chessboard he had seen in Stiles’ bedroom Peter distinctly said “chess was Stiles’ game” and he was right. Stiles admitted in 3a that he could play chess (badly, it was his father’s game) and Go is a game that takes years to master. When Noshiko tried to teach Kira Go Mr Yukimura was able to immediately tell who was who by the style of play and Kira was playing against the Nogitsune – her mother.
And that was the final piece I needed, the Divine Move I needed to process the information.
Noshiko is the Nogitsune, she always was.
A nogitsune is not necessarily evil, it can’t be, it’s not subject to our morality. It is a trickster and vampiric in nature, feeding on chaos, but the only thing that separates a nogitsune from a kitsune is the affiliation to O-Inari. A nogitsune is a free kitsune. Now, a nogitsune is a trickster and because it’s tricks don’t share our morality they might seem needlessly cruel. The old example is if you asked a kitsune (or nogitsune) to make you richer than Bill Gates it would bankrupt Bill Gates so you had more money than him. If a kitsune affiliated with a family saw that the family were poor it would steal money not understanding that this was wrong.
Noshiko, in her flashback, incites the riot. Satomi, the wolf lady, tells her that her mischief will end badly but she does it anyway. When the riot happens it gets out of control and Rhys is immolated and Noshiko herself is shot. On the way to death she begs her ancestors to send a powerful Nogitsune but there is no evidence that they did, she merely assumed that they did. Instead Void showed up.
It’s quite obvious in retrospect, when the Nogitsune appeared to Stiles it begged him for permission to possess him, but there was no way that it could possess Rhys the same way, it needed permission which Noshiko knew because she offered it to the spirits of her ancestors. So it couldn’t have been a Nogitsune that possessed Rhys, also look at it’s actions, it didn’t play pranks or get even, it slaughtered everyone who came near.
There are many shows I would discount it as bad writing but not Teen Wolf, so I just looked more closely.
I knew by that point there was a second possessing force, Void, so it was easy to make the leap that Void possessed Rhys, but Void was antagonistic to Noshiko, after all she had trapped it, and this explained why she summoned the Oni to destroy it. We knew it couldn’t be a Nogitsune that was possessing Stiles because of how easily it destroyed the Oni and how easily the Oni had killed the Nogitsune before in Chris’ flashback – therefore it had to be something else and something more powerful – ergo Void.
But, we had seen the Nogitsune ask for and gain possession, not once but twice, so we knew that Stiles WAS possessed by the Nogitsune and that the Nogitsune for reasons was appearing as Rhys (looking exactly like the Batman Villain Hush, a character who works primarily on misdirection btw)
If we turn our attention back to Noshiko we find inconsistencies, she said she was 900 years old which means she would have 9 Kaiken, she had spaces for 9 in the book but we actually only see 8, the original five Oni, the two she summoned to replace those who were killed and the Kaiken that Void uses to take control of the Oni. So where was the ninth?
I think she used it to summon the Nogitsune that possessed Stiles, adoppelgänger form of herself to possess Stiles and she did it to defeat Void.
This is where Go becomes important. When Scott and Lydia entered the dreamscape they saw Stiles sitting on the Nemeton playing Go with the Nogitsune, but we’ve already proved Stiles couldn’t play Go against a master, it wouldn’t be a competition, so we have to make the assumption it wasn’t Stiles that was playing Go, that means it was Void.
The Nogitsune appeared at the coyote den when Stiles went missing, and this is a good example of the Nogitsune fighting Void. Void wants despair, and by taking Stiles to the coyote den Stiles was meant to die, by alerting Scott and setting up a manhunt it was meant to show them fail. It was only luck that Rafael McCall found him, it wasn’t planned that way, we know that because the Nogitsune asked for possession his exact words “we’re trying to save your life, Stiles.”
Now imagine for a moment that Agent McCall had not found him in time, imagine the despair that would have wreaked the town, Scott, Derek, the sheriff would all have lost hope. The brain scans happened before the Nogitsune took possession in the machine, and the cable was doctored before then. If the Nogitsune HAD possession it wouldn’t have needed permission.
This is when they start playing Go, the Nogitsune and Void are playing against each other, using Stiles as their Goban.
Possessed Stiles went to see Mr Yukimura and caused a fly to go inside Mr Yukimura forcing Noshiko to go to the school to expel it. This meant that Noshiko told Scott in front of Mr Yukimura who urged her to be more honest. But the point of it from Void’s perspective was simple – the sword was broken and couldn't be used to defeat him this time. This would cause despair.
This then became the Nogitsune’s move. The Nogitsune knew Kira was a thunder kitsune and could reforge the sword, thus preventing Void’s move and setting up an attack of his own, but it had it’s downsides, Nogitsune knew that Noshiko, seeing the photo, would go to the basement and take the Kaiken with her – thus revealing the Kaiken to Void. Ie the move that Void had put in play to get the Kaiken directly was thwarted but everything was in place for it to get it another way.
But with Nogitsune still in control when Noshiko appeared in the basement it used the Kaiken to expel the flies seemingly working for Void but preventing it taking the Oni that early.
And although Void could control a corpse – possibly part of it’s idea for killing Stiles – because it controlled Rhys, Nogitsune could create a double so when Scott and Lydia faced it at the nemeton in the dreamscape it did that – which of them made that move I don’t know because it helped both of them – but it meant that the Shugendo scroll suddenly applied. A fox could possess a wolf, but the fox’s fake body was entirely that of a fox and it couldn’t sustain the bite.
But look at how Nogitsune acted in the dreamscape, it drove Lydia to the double doors- it pushed her to the solution. The same thing happened in the illusion with Stiles, in pressing Stiles to kill himself it gave him the sword’s reflection allowing him to see that it was an illusion – all without revealing to Void it was working to SAVE Stiles.
That was the Divine Move, not that Stiles overcame the illusion, but that the nogitsune managed to play void to the point where it could both be captured and destroyed. The nogitsune’s false body was susceptible to the sword meaning that Void could not maintain it and the sword expelled it, and it did it all without revealing to Void that it was antagonistic.
Void wasn’t affected by the bite – but the Nogitsune’s own body was.
Nogitsune wouldn’t be affected by the sword – but Void was.
It had to be both or Void wouldn’t have tried to escape to be caught in the jar. The victor of the game wasn’t Void who threw aside the pieces in the dreamscape, but Nogitsune who played that many more moves ahead. Nogitsune sacrificed the Oni to get the flies out of Stiles, Nogitsune who led Stiles and Lydia to save themselves. Nogitsune who played consistently in Gote was revealed to be leading Void into the moves it needed to gain final victory.
A divine move indeed.
And the biggest hint that Noshiko was the Nogitsune was in her interactions with possessed Stiles, and possessed Stiles’ own words. Noshiko recognised Void in the hospital and spoke of it’s choice of host and how it wouldn’t stop her, this was just after Nogitsune had been given possession. It could be argued that she knew because of the killing on the Oni but why wait until afterwards to confront him. Noshiko could play Go. Noshiko was nice to unpossessed Stiles. So we had a kitsune of indeterminate type who had both a vendetta against the force that killed Rhys and could play Go – and then Stiles’ own words – you can’t trust a fox, they’ll trick you every time. It’s unclear if it was Nogitsune speaking here but it is clear that it wasn’t really aimed at Scott at all. If it was Nogitsune it was telling Scott that it would defeat Void and if it was Void it was telling Scott it couldn’t trust Nogitsune – but in reality it was the warning that the fox would always come out triumphant – and that is the moral of Japanese Fox myths = you don’t mess with foxes they always win.
The Go game was between Noshiko – Nogitsune and Void, Nogitsune tricked Void and defeated it by showing Stiles how to defeat it and creating the fake body.
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⧼ henrik holm, cis male, he/him / sometimes by gerry cinnamon + constellations of freckles twinking to life and framed by rosy sunburnt shoulders, the bittersweet sting of a bitten tongue and the singing of knuckles against brick, arran sweaters and beat up trainers scuffling against the boureen as you sing and shout to the sky and wait for an answer that never comes and you’re sure you’ll be going to hell with a wildflower in your lapel. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that SEAMUS FINNIGAN? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY FOUR year old half blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a BAR MAN AT THE HOG’S HEAD. i’ve heard they can be quite GREGARIOUS & CONTRITE, but i don’t know… they came off very SKEPTICAL & STAND-OFFISH in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it? [ niamh, 18, bst, she/her ]
tw for mentions of violence and domestic violence under the cut !
BIO !
seamus was born on a rainy day in june, and was known by his mother as the noisiest baby in leitrim. she was on her own, and found herself content to be so, because she had all she needed: her baby boy and her freedom.
seamus was born towards the end of the troubles and right on the border of north and south. they lived in a small wizarding community, and they’d mainly gone untouched by the muggle conflict, using magic to conceal themselves but as tensions rose and a tentative end was in sight, nancy finnigan began to question their safety. once the ink on the treaties was dry, she hoped they could go back to living a quiet life, but the violence was far from over, so in the best interests of her child, she packed the pair of them up and moved out west to the country, as far away from the border as possible.
young seamus loved the green fields and the wide open spaces, and seeing as their closest neighbour was about a mile away, they didn’t have to especially hide their magic, and they settled down amongst the muggles easily enough. the real problem came when it was time for seamus to go to hogwarts. where they lived, your business wasn’t just yours for long, and soon everyone had an opinion on you, and those opinions mattered. nancy knew exactly what would be said about them when her son, raised in a republican community right on the border, went to boarding school in england
it took months of sulking and moaning, but nancy finally agreed and let seamus go, under the guise that he was staying with his father’s family in scotland.
( as far as everyone else was concerned, martin finnegan was dead, but the fact of the matter was, martin nearny battered his wife when he found out about her magic and left her, pregnant and alone. )
he thrived in hogwarts. he shook the hand of every person he met and told jokes at the dinner table and revelled in the fact that he was surrounded by so many people like him. unfortunately though, while his magic had been strong at home, it seemed to fall flat at hogwarts, and often led to disasterous results. that’s because, when teaching him spells when his magic fist showed, nancy taught him them in gaelic, just like she had been, and her parents had been. his professors were astounded by his ability to ruin any spell he tried, and became something of a lost cause. the issue wasn’t with his ability, only that the magic he’d been performing since he was six was in another language altogether, and while conforming to the incantations used at hogwarts, the spells got lost in translation, resulting in him more often than not setting everything around him, and mainly himself, on fire.
he realised quickly that hogwarts was a dangerous place to be. his mother knew this too, and her anxieties were projected onto him, and he found himself taking far too much stock in the opinions of his mother and the daily prophet. now he recognises the guilt: she’d taken him away from one dangerous place and then, in her mind, shipped him off to another one. by his sixth year, he was convinced he wasn’t going to go back, that he’d keep his head down with his mum at home, but with the news becoming more and more grave everyday, part of him was giving into the calling to protect the wizarding world from dark magic.
his mind was made up for him, though, when voldemort made school compulsory for purebloods and halfbloods. while he knew deep down he’d always come back and fight, he ached for home. broken and bruised by the hands of the carrows, lying in the room of requirement at night with the other members of dumbledore’s army, he’d pull the sheets up over his head and mumble spells in gaelic, rubbing the claddagh ring on his finger as he felt his magic swell around him and prayed his mother was doing okay.
she found him, after the final battle, sitting amongst the rubble, and as soon as her arms closed around him he cried for hours or maybe days. he’d made it out, just barely, but he wasn’t a boy any more. he’d seen and done too much to be a boy any more, and he cried for the adolescence that was cut short and the friends he’d lost that should’ve grown old. he stayed dry eyed at all of the burials.
he stayed to help clean up and then he went home, but for the first time in his life, the silence was deafening and the space was suffocating. he needed noise and crowds and signs of life. after a difficult conversation and his eighteenth birthday, he moved to hogsmeade. he felt the urge to be close to hogwarts, to see the rebuilt castle and new students in the village, just to confirm to himself that it was all over, that it happened and that it was done with. he took rooms at the hogs head and then one day found himself working there and never looked back.
he’s the closest to content he thinks he’ll ever be. he’s pulling pints and cracking jokes and screaming through the nightmares but he gets by, and when the neighbours at home ask nancy how her boy’s doing living with his father’s family she smiles and tells them he’s doing just fine.
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The deep influence of the A-bomb on anime and manga
by Frank Fuller
At the end of Katsuhiro Otomo’s dystopian Japanese anime film Akira, a throbbing, white mass begins to envelop Neo-Tokyo. Eventually, its swirling winds engulf the metropolis, swallowing it whole and leaving a skeleton of a city in its wake.
The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki – along with the firebombings of Tokyo – were traumatic experiences for the Japanese people. It’s no surprise that for years, the devastation remained at the forefront of their conscience, and that part of the healing process meant returning to this imagery in literature, in music and in art.
The finale of Akira is only one example of apocalyptic imagery in the anime and manga canon; a number of anime films and comics are rife with atomic bomb references, which appear in any number of forms, from the symbolic to the literal. The devastating aftereffects – orphaned kids, radiation sickness, a loss of national independence, the destruction of nature – would also influence the genre, giving rise to a unique (and arguably incomparable) form of comics and animated film.
The directors and artists who witnessed the devastation firsthand were at the forefront of this movement. Yet to this day – 70 years after the bombs – these themes continue to be explored by their successors.
An iconic filmmaker paves the way
We can see the lasting images of the firebombings and the atomic bombs in the works of artist and director Osamu Tezuka and his successor, Hayao Miyazaki. Both had witnessed the devastation of the bombings at the end of the war.
Osamu Tezuka would go on to influence scores of Japanese animators. Wikimedia Commons
The bomb became a particular obsession of Tezuka’s. His films and comics both address themes like coping with grief and the idea that nature, in all its beauty, can be compromised by man’s desire to conquer it.
His stories often have a young character who is orphaned by particular circumstances and must survive on his own. Two examples are Little Wansa, about a puppy who escapes from his new owners and spends the series looking for his mother; and Young Bear Cub, who gets lost in the wild and must find his own way back to his family.
Misuse of technology
The tensions of technology are apparent in the works of Tezuka and his successors. In Tezuka’s Astro Boy, a scientist attempts to fill the void left by his son’s death by creating a humanlike android named Astro Boy.
Astro Boy’s father, seeing that technology cannot replace his son completely, rejects his creation, who is then taken under the wing of another scientist. Astro Boy eventually finds his calling and becomes a superhero.
Astro Boy is one of many characters symbolizing the fusion of technology and nature, and the tension created by its capacity for both advancement and destruction. TNS Sofres/flickr, CC BY
Like Tezuka, the award-winning animator Hayao Miyazaki witnessed some of the American air raids as a child.
Miyazaki’s work often refers to the abuse of technology, and contains pleas for human restraint. In Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the radioactive mutants populate the land; at the beginning of the film, the narrator describes the strange, mutated state of Earth as a direct result of man’s misuse of nuclear technology.
In the postwar years, Japan grew into an economic superpower. Possessing a fascination with technology, the country became a world leader in the production of cars and electronics. Yet in characters like Astro Boy, we see some of the tensions of the modern age: the idea that technology can never replace humans, and that technology’s capacity for helping mankind is only equaled by its capacity to destroy it.
Orphans and mutants
There were also the aftereffects of the bombs, some of which are still felt today: children left parentless, others (even the unborn) left permanently crippled by radiation.
For these reasons, a recurrent theme in anime films is the orphan who has to survive on his own without the help of adults (many of whom are portrayed as incompetent).
Akiyuki Nosaka relayed his personal experiences as a child during the war in the popular anime film Grave of the Fireflies, which tells the story of a young boy and his sister escaping from the air raids and the firebombings, scraping by on whatever rations they can find during last part of the war.
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The trailer for Grave of the Fireflies.
Meanwhile, there are often young, powerful female orphans or independent female youths in Hayao Miyazaki’s works, whether it’s in Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, or Castle in the Sky.
Likewise, in Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira, the adults are the ones who squabble: they jockey for power, and their lust for control of the strange, alien technology of Akira causes the atomic-bomb-like catastrophe at the end of the film. The teenaged characters, on the other hand, display common sense throughout the movie.
The message seems to be that adults can be reckless when man’s desire for power and ambition outweigh what is important on Earth. And the children, still untainted by the vices that overtake humanity in adulthood and innocent enough to the point of thinking rationally, are the ones who end up making the most practical decisions overall.
Many families were orphaned by the war, and the bomb as well, so a number of children were also mutated or affected by the bomb. In anime and manga, this is seen in the form of radioactive mutations or having some extraordinary powers, in addition to taking on more adult responsibilities at an early age.
A number of films feature characters who display special powers or abilities, with radiation often being the main cause. Several films exploring the idea of unusual events or experiments resulting in young persons having exceptional abilities include Inazuman in the comic of the same name and the character Ellis in the comic El Cazador de la Bruja (The Hunter of the Witch).
Additionally, the manga series Barefoot Gen tells the story of a family wiped out by the atomic bomb, with a young boy and his mother the only survivors. Author Keiji Nakazawa loosely based these comics on his own life: growing up, Nakazawa watched a sister die several weeks after birth from radiation sickness, and witnessed his mother’s health quickly deteriorate in the years after the war.
Death, rebirth and hope for the future
Osamu Tezuka believed that the atomic bomb acted as the epitome of man’s inherent capacity for destruction. Yet while Tezuka commonly referenced death and war, he also believed in the perseverance of mankind and its ability to begin anew.
In a number of his works, both a futuristic and historic Japan are seen, with the themes of death and rebirth being commonly used as plot devices to symbolize Japan’s (and the lives of many Japanese) wartime and postwar experiences, including the aftermath of its destruction after the bombs fell. But much like the Phoenix – the mythical bird that sets itself on fire at the time of its death, only to experience a rebirth – Tezuka’s Japan experiences a resurrection, which mirrors Japan’s real-life postwar ascension to world superpower.
In fact, Phoenix was the title of Tezuka’s most popular series, one that the artist considered his magnum opus. The work is a series of short stories dealing with man’s search for immortality (given or taken from the Phoenix, which represents the universe, by man’s drinking some of its blood); some characters appear several times in the stories, mostly from reincarnation, a common precept in Buddhism.
Other filmmakers have repurposed this theme. In Space Cruiser Yamato (also known as Star Blazers), an old Japanese warship is rebuilt into a powerful spaceship and sent off to save a planet Earth succumbing to radiation poisoning.
In essence, what we have seen is that the atomic bomb indeed affected Japan to the point that the works of Tezuka and later artists inspired by him reflect on the bomb’s effects on families, society and the national psyche. Much like the cycle of life, or the immortal Phoenix in Tezuka’s case, Japan was able to reinvent itself and come back strong as a powerful world player capable of starting anew, but with the idea that mankind must learn from its mistakes and avoid repeating history.
About The Author:
Frank Fuller is an Adjunct Professor of Political Science at Villanova University
This article is republished from our content partners over at The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.
#science fiction#moviees#anime#sci fi anime#science fiction and fantasy#japan#featured#animation#animated science fiction#AKIRA#grave of the fireflies#astro boy#nuclear energy#nuclear weapons
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