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sanctuary1988 · 17 days

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~ Veil Of Temptation |8| Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: strangers to lovers?, fluff, angst, TENSION (again), general vampire stuff (blood, biting, mentions of killing people), threats, mentions of illness, crying, power play, secrets, period typical misogyny, age gap (huge), dark romance, conflicting emotions, feelings of lingering and wishing for someone/something, historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 4.5k words

A/N: Welcome to chapter 8, darlings! Tagging @yumisventingmachine and @my-day6 because they are sweethearts who like this story! Thank you so much for the support this story is getting, and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, loves. Enjoy! 🫶🫶🫶

*A/N: There's a poem I wrote for this story that you'll find in this chapter, I do not allow for it to be used in any other media or to be reposted/translated.

The underground palace was a world of shadows and whispers, where every corner held secrets and every corridor whispered of ancient desires. It was the home of Gwi, the vampire lord that ruled over Goryeo, master of the night. And yet, that very same powerful vampire was pacing back and forth in his throne room as his mind was completely and utterly plagued with thoughts of you, his sweet flower.

He heard your laugh among his thoughts and saw your smile during his dreams. The roots of your existence were tangling around his heart and there was nothing he could do to stop it. For the first time in centuries, despite his grand power, he was left at your mercy. A cruel fate to face. A damnation he was willing to go through it all.

Gwi continued to pace around, his mind swimming with so many thoughts, so many desires it made his soul burn. The hands that had held you so tenderly last night clenched at his sides. Then there was the memory of your scent. Oh, that sweet scent, sweeter than honey. Addictive to him.

Yet his thoughts were not allowed to wander that far as when he turned around, he saw you walking down the path that led to your room. Your eyes locked with his and you bowed down softly before entering the throne room, your steps were elegant. Calculated. And he marvelled at the way you existed. Like a true lady. Like his lady.

“My Lord.”

You curtsied the moment you stood in front of him and had you been looking at him you would have noticed the subtle smirk on his lips. He liked the way you respected him, you served him, you moved around him.

Without a word, you walked past him and toward the hallway opposite, where the library was at the very end of the hall. Gwi looked at you, his eyes turning crimson for a second before they returned to their usual chocolate colour that drowned you in its deepness. He followed you, silently so that you barely noticed him. If only it hadn’t been for his large shadow walking behind you, then you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was there.

He walked where you had walked, as if he were your guardian. Your protector. In a way, he was. His eyes ran down your figure, admiring your hair cascading down your back, the puffiness of your purple skirt as your steps made it trail down behind you with utter elegance.

“Did you finish reading your story?”

You hummed, remembering the tale that had left you heartbroken. You smiled softly as you turned to look at him over your shoulder.

“I did.”

“How was it?”

His attempt at small-talk made you chuckle softly and the sound was delightful to the vampire lord.

“It broke my heart.”

He frowned at your response, but he didn’t get to say anything else as you turned around and walked into the magnificent sanctuary of books, leaving him to trail behind you with a frown in his ethereal features.

“I don’t want you to read anything that will make you sad, petal. There are many books here, so choose something else.”

You turned around with a teasing look in your (e/c) eyes, you lifted an eyebrow at him with a subtle challenging energy that made a warm shiver run down his spine.

“Not every story has a happy ending, My Lord.”

“I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I am not sad.”

You gulped as he was now standing closer to you, the distance was shortening and your heart was racing. The tension was palpable and you wondered if he could hear just how fast your heart was beating inside your chest. Not knowing that, in fact, he could listen; making him narrow his eyes down at you.

“Your tears are like pearls, flower. They may hide beauty within but they are painful to witness.”

Your hands trembled next to you so you were forced to tangle them in front of you to stop them from shaking and from him to notice just how nervous he made you feel.

“I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

But instead of your response coming out sassy and strong, it came out in a soft and airy voice. Feeling as if your heart was about to explode as he took another step forward that you had to crane your neck up to keep the eye contact.

“Choose another book, sweet flower.”

His tone was as soft as yours. But just as deep as always. You were forced to break eye contact or else you feared you’d melt right then and then. You took a deep breath, your eyes focusing on the books on the shelves around you yet you could still feel his intense stare on you. It crawled on you like a vice grip, his eyes scanned yours as you pretended to read the titles of the many books and scrolls around you. Then they travelled to your lips, completely mesmerised by the way you softly bit your lower lips in feign concentration. You outstretched your hand and his eyes glued to it, so soft and delicate at the sight.

And he could testify to such softness, reminiscing those times where his larger palm had held yours. Oh, how jealous he was of the book you grabbed for it was graced by your silked touch. The temptation was there. To grab your hand and caress your precious skin. But he refrained himself. He had to.

Your scent lingered in the air. A scent so addictive to him that his eyes threatened to paint crimson with the passion of his desires. You walked around the magnificent sanctuary of books, completely unaware of the inner turmoil the vampire lord was facing as he sat at one of the tables and pretended to read.

If only you knew how much effect your mere presence was causing him you would have left in a hurry. In fear of his thoughts. In fear of his actions. Trembling for your life and cursing yourself for taking the deal he offered you ever so tantalisingly easy. But you didn't know. You lived in your sweet ignorance and crystalline innocence that Gwi envied so much.

“Have you read all these books, My Lord?”

He couldn't see you. But your voice carried your essence that he could picture you standing in front of him and gazing up at him with those eyes full of curiosity. He couldn’t see you but he could smell you. He knew you were standing behind him before you spoke another word. You walked in front of him and those expressive eyes of yours were looking at him expectantly.

“I have, yes.”

If possible, your eyes widened in surprise at his answer. You looked around the big place before you glanced back at the man sitting with a relaxed posture on one of the cushions on the ground.

“It must have taken you years to do so!”

Gwi nearly smiled at your voice laced with surprise and enthusiasm. But he was forced to suppress it for the need of your sweet blood was getting stronger the more you stood before him.

If only you knew…

He thought to himself as his eyes glanced back down at the book that was spread open on his lap. His eyes danced over the enchanting symbols as he pretended to read once more while in reality, his mind was plagued by thoughts of the sweet flower who stood next to him.

You sighed to yourself, walking away from the mysterious man who read in his own silent thoughts. You walked away from him, your mind pushing the thoughts of Gwi at the very back so that the little distance between you both wouldn’t make you want to rush back to his side. You had to occupy your mind and so you wandered around, your eyes scanning the different scrolls around you as you immersed yourself in the world he had presented to you in such a glorious way.

The vampire lord sighed to himself before he closed the book on his lap. He could hear your steps as you walked around the library, he could smell your delicious scent and he could nearly taste your sweet blood. He had to leave. Leave and feed on another so that his temptation wouldn’t end your life.

“Are you leaving, My Lord?”

His eyes closed as he tried to get his instincts under control. Your delicate voice was like an alluring siren’s song. Tempting him further. Almost as if you wanted to watch him fall into his primal urges. As if you knew how low he could fall if he were to stay a second longer in that room. In your presence.

“Go back to your room, petal.”

You clutched the book to your chest at his sudden harsh tone. It took you aback and you felt your heart racing within you. But even with his harshness and cold words he still called you with his term of endearment. He still called you “petal”. So, despite the darkness that had suddenly creeped up into his soul, he didn’t cast you out. He didn’t push you away. Or at least that was what you chose to think.

“Is everything alright, My Lord? Do you need anything?”

“Go to your room.”

He didn’t even look at you. And the coldness that he so suddenly was showing made your soul shiver with emotions that made your heart shake with uncertainty. You clutched the book tighter against your body as he walked away, not once looking back at you. Not once did he return to that man that held you dear. He transformed into a cold soul, a cold soul everyone else knew about. Not because he wasn’t that man, but because he hadn’t shown that face to you in particular.

You were left standing in the library alone with your heart in your throat as confusion clouded your mind like thick morning fog. You frowned to yourself, for you had not once seen Gwi this distant all of a sudden. Not during the time you had been serving him. Not since you took the deal he offered. And so, you worried over the handsome stranger that had begun to show you a world you were completely unaware of.

The vampire lord left his underground palace in a hurry. The sun had just set and the sky was tainting in beautiful hues of orange and pink as the darkness seemed to creep in while the moon began to rise. His hands trembled ever so subtly as he fought with himself to control his instincts.

Gwi hated it. He hated how easy it seemed for him to lose his composure. How easy you made it for him to lose his control. How hungry he got for your blood with your mere scent. And how desperate he had grown for your touch. A touch of a flower with very sharp thorns. He was sure if he were to grab you, he’d bleed. But the wound was worth the pleasure of having you.

So he fled into the night. Dusk had settled and he left the sanctuary of his underground palace to try and suppress his urges, to distract his instincts from your blood. Perhaps tasting that sweet drop of the essence of your life was a mistake. The first mistake he had made in decades. The mistake that was about to cost him his sanity. At least until he fed on some blood and he was able to quench his aggressive thirst.

Poisonous rose…

The vampire thought to himself as his fangs sank into the neck of one of the maidens in the palace. The blood was bitter with the fear of the woman who grew limp in his hold before she fell to the ground; dead.

He sighed to himself, licking his lips as the crimson blood tainted his lips and chin. It was bitter, salty even. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t good. But nothing could ever compare to your blood. Sweet and delicious. The thirst was still there, nagging at the back of his throat, making his fingers tingle with the need to grip someone before sucking them dry. And as he hunted for his next victim during his bloody rampage, Gwi was completely unaware what was happening at the underground palace.

You had found a mysterious book in the library, the one you had been clutching to your chest when Gwi dismissed you coldly. You had found it among a pile of forgotten and dusty books and your curiosity had gotten the best of you. Initially, you had approached him to ask the mysterious lord about said book but his harsh words had pushed you away. Had put a wall of ice around him and casted you out, leaving you with your worries and curiosity for the man that was now in possession of your life.

As obedient as ever, you walked back to your room and began reading the worn out book. The handwriting was beautiful. Elegantly so and intriguing on its own. And so you read. You lost yourself in the intricate words and charming rhymes of the poems that drowned the pages of the book you discovered in secrecy.

I have lived.

I have died.

I am cursed.

I was left out.

Punish my sins.

Reward my deeds.

I am drowning in blood.

Dying while being lost.

A sudden hope, like shiny glimmer

A cursed fate, like a vast sinner.

Don’t scream my name,

for my destiny arrived late.

I was gone when you were born.

I was alive when you died.

And I sang a song,

That was never known.

Your heartstrings were being pulled as you finished reading the sad poem. It wasn’t signed and you deeply wondered who had written such a heartbreaking masterpiece. Your eyes wandered around your room before they settled on the vase with the dead roses you had picked days ago. The sight itself was depressing. How something so beautiful had such a short life.

Closing the book, you stood up as you straightened up the purple skirt from your dress. Wanting to go out into the garden and pick more flowers to give some life to your room, the petals from the cherry blossom in your bedroom fell slowly just as melancholy wrapped your heart with a fierce grip.

“Lady (y/n)?”

You turned around at the mention of your name only to find a girl standing at the entrance of your room. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen years-old and you deeply wondered how she had found you.

“How did you get here?”

The girl gulped, looking around before her eyes returned to your figure as you watched her with utter curiosity.

“I was sent by Kim Soo-jin, she told me to give you this letter…”

You raised an eyebrow at her as you watched her take an envelope from her sleeve before she was handing it to you with both hands.

“It’s about your mother, My Lady.”

You were quick to walk to where she stood, nearly snatching the letter from her hands as worry filled your senses. With nervous eyes, you looked at the girl who was gazing up at you with big eyes.

“Thank you, let her know I received her letter. Leave now, and don’t let anyone see you.”

She nodded before bowing at you. The girl walked away and you were left with your heart in your throat as you ripped open the envelope. Kim Soo-jin was a loyal servant of your household. She had served your mother since before you were born, and that thought only made you worry further as your eyes danced over the inked paper and your heart raced within your chest.

Gwi walked back to the underground palace, his steps slow as he was still high off the blood he had drank. He had even lost count of how many people he had killed that night in order to quench his ravenous thirst. All because he didn’t want to hurt you. Because he didn’t want you to fear him. Because he didn’t want to kill you.

The torches illuminated the corridor as he walked toward the throne room. His mind was hazy, instincts under a thin layer of fog in his mind as he entered his palace. What he did not expect was to see you pacing back and forth in the throne room, you were nibbling at your thumb nail as you were lost in the pits of your mind with swirling thoughts.

You caught movement at the corner of your eye and stopped walking, turning to look at the entrance way of the magnificent room only to find Gwi standing there. Your eyes grew wide with horror as you saw his fine and elegant robes were tainted in blood. Your feet moved before you could comprehend what your body was doing and you approached him in a haste.

“My Lord, are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

If you had been looking at his eyes you would have noticed the way his cold gaze softened at your worry over him. Your eyes scanned him quickly, trying to see if he was hurt. Something about that thought made you desperate. It physically pained you to think of the possibility of him being injured in any way.

“I told you to stay in your room.”

His words came harsher than intended but in your worry-induced state, you did not flinch.

“You also once told me to never hide myself from you.”

In a moment of bravery, you looked up and your eyes met his. Dancing under emotions that were too thick to grasp, too liquid to understand. Too dense to acknowledge.

“I was worried, My Lord. I am worried. You left in such a hurry…”

But he walked past you just as the words died in your lips. You looked at him as he walked towards his throne, sitting down on the elegant place where the flickering candles sharpened his features and his eyes darkened as he looked at you with all his power swimming in his dark gaze.

“The blood… it’s not mine.

There weren’t enough words to describe the relief you felt upon hearing those words. However, it only spiked new questions. Deeper questions. Questions that would give you answers you feared with your whole being.

“Whose blood is it then?”

He clenched his jaw at your bold question that sounded timid. Afraid almost. Afraid of the answer you’d receive if he chose to respond with the truth.

“It doesn’t concern you, flower. What should be of your interest are my orders. I explicitly told you to stay in your room.”

You quickly lowered your gaze, feeling his eyes drowning your form as you flinched softly at his harsh tone. So cold. So distant. So inhuman.

“Forgive me but I have to talk to you about something.”

Silence hung in the air, the tension so thick you felt as if you couldn’t properly breathe. Suffocating. Toxic. But oh so addictive.

“Speak, then.”

You gulped, his words were snarled out, so deep and commanding you didn’t dare to look into his eyes for you knew your resolve could only be broken by his dark gaze. As dark as the night sky but also home of the most shiny stars.

“I received a letter from my family. My mother… She is gravely ill.”

Gwi felt something stir within him at the sound of your voice. For it suddenly was soft and delicate, it lost the fierceness with which you had first confronted him.

“And what do you propose, petal?”

He asked, his tone cold and distant despite the subtle heartache he felt at seeing your more submissive side. Your vulnerability displayed out for him to see so blatantly transparent. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions, your heart, your nerves that were wreaking havoc in your mind.

“I wish to visit her, to be by her side in these final moments. Please, My Lord, grant me permission to leave.”

His expression hardened with worry over your request. He gritted his teeth before the vampire lord stood up from his throne and walked down the stairs until he was standing in front of you while each step echoed ominously in the almost empty room.

“You may not be aware of this yet, flower, but the situation is not stable right now. There’s talk about a possible rebellion, unrest among the people. I cannot afford to have you leave now.”

Your heart broke as those words resonated across the walls. They were deep, both in meaning and in the tone in which they were spoken that they made a shiver run down your spine. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes that it pulled at his heartstrings to see such pearls of sadness gathered in your enchanting eyes.

“But she is my mother…”

So soft, so broken…

Gwi thought to himself as he drowned in your sadness. In what was going to become then your sorrow.

“I may never see her again if I don’t go now. Please, My Lord, I beg of you.”

His gaze softened, it became that tender look he gave you and you had already grown used to seeing in his dark eyes. But he shook his head ever so softly and the tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I understand your pain, sweet flower, but my duty is to protect you. I cannot let you go. I won’t risk it. It’s too dangerous.”

But was it really as dangerous as he spoke of? Were those words even true? Or was he simply being moved by his own selfish desires to keep you with him? For the first time in his long life, Gwi was scared of losing something. Of losing you. But perhaps that fear was already suffocating his precious flower with poisonous air.

You felt a wave of despair wash over you, threatening to pull you further into the pit of sorrow you did not want to live in. That you did not even want to experience in your life. You dropped to your knees before him, clutching at his robes in utter desperation. The weight of his negation too heavy to carry on.

“Please, My Lord. I’ll do anything. I will be careful and I’ll return as soon as possible. I-I just… Please, I just want to see her. To say goodbye.”

His heart shattered when your voice broke at the last sentence. Your tears rolled down your cheeks, dropping to the ground below as you fisted his robes that often trailed as he walked. He leaned down, his hand lifting your chin before your eyes met his in a sad dance of emotions that was nearly enough to make him accept. To surrender. Almost

“My decision is final. You will remain here, where it’s safe.”

His hand cupped your cheek, trying to wipe the tears that stained your soft skin only for more to roll down your face. You sighed in defeat, letting go of his robes as you slumped while you kneeled on the ground.

You felt betrayed. Harmed by the man who wanted to protect you. Casted aside by the one who had made you feel as his equal, as his precious flower. But overall, you felt utterly and irrevocably powerless. For you knew Gwi held immense power and you were no-one to defy him, no-one to disobey such an explicit command.

The vampire lord straightened up, looking down at you with a mix of sorrow and duty in his eyes. He knew just how much he was hurting you but his fear of losing you, his selfish desire of owning you was stronger. He wasn’t going to risk your safety, even if that meant denying your pure wish, your human wish of being with your dying mother. Even if it meant breaking your heart.

“My Lord… I understand your duty to protect me, but this… this is tearing me apart.”

You whispered, your voice filled with anguish as your eyes met his once more but this time, your gaze was not pleading nor defying his authority. It melted into surrender. He couldn’t bear to look into your big and sad eyes, filled with such sorrow. A sadness he had provoked so he turned around, closing his eyes at how weak your voice sounded. At all the pain and hurt he had caused with just a sentence that left his lips.

He looked back at you, his expression softer but still resolute. You still knelt on the ground, your dress puffing around you as tears rolled down your cheeks silently.

“I do this because I care about you, petal of mine. I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I can’t.”

You nodded, your heart breaking under the weight of his words. Of his power. It made you tremble and submit to his mercy for you had taken his hand when he had offered you the deal of ending your marriage. You belonged to him. He ruled over you and you accepted that.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Your voice was choked with emotions you weren’t able to voice out. You weren’t able to cry out and scream your frustration out. You weren’t able to be angry at him. You weren’t able to fight for your choice. Not now, not ever. Gwi turned around, not being able to see you so broken, so sad. And all because he was the reason for your bitter tears.

“Go back to your room, flower.”

He murmured before he walked away and left you in your sadness, in your solitude. He left you to drown in the sea of your silence. Your sobs were like poisoned arrows to his heart where the ice had already melted, making your pain his own burden to carry.

His actions were born from desperation. Yours, from love. Gwi was blinded by his instincts, his rawness when it came to forgotten emotions. A veil of temptation that crushed at him like a mountain of snow that buried his heart beneath. While you were left to wither away, like a flower poisoned by the fates. In a cruel and permanent way that left your soul and mind silently screaming for a way out of your own destiny.

What had changed for him to suddenly be so cold, you did not know. For your pain was greater with each passing second. And you were left wishing you could just disappear, for in ignorance there are no sins and in darkness there is no temptation.

May/16/2024

A/N: Thoughts? O.O

My inbox is open, darlings! Or feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts and inputs for the story! Take care, everyone 🫶

~ Masterpost

#sanctuary1988 #lee soo hyuk #kdrama #kdrama series #the scholar who walks the night #gwi #kactor #gwi x reader fluff #gwi x reader #gwi x reader angst #scholar who walks the night #lee soo hyuk characters #vampire #korean drama #korean actor #les pétals d'amour #vampire gwi

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spockandawe · 8 months

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Awkward gap until next meeting. So. Things i COULD make on short notice

Software manual book(s): Easy. Mindless. Boring, but useful. I have at least two more targets in my sights, but i also have three half-finished books just waiting for cricut titles.

Long transformers essay: the formatting from pdf...... all the images........... but WHAT IF

Ylpeys ja ennakkoluulo: Needs learning time in Affinity, unsure how long formatting will take. Possible, also something likely to tank my sleep schedule.

Thousand Autumns: current doc has long stretches of half-edited mtl. That's. That would be a big compromise. I don't like it, I think I'd rather wait

Coming Up With A Villain Reformation Strategy: No proofread? It'd be fast. Unsure what commitment proofreading would be.

Peerless Immortal Surrounded By Demonic Disciples: Same issue.

Single-volume mxtx: Maybe. If I'm repeating myself i want something novel tho

Yuwu: Maybe? Same proofreading question, but this was a really good translation

Raksura fic: mmmmmmmmmmaybeeeeee. It's still actively updating though, it feels a little silly to commit a second time knowing it'll immediately be dated 🤣

PoF: maybe! Wouldn't be bad to at least format some pages for illumination practice even if I can't do much there yet.

New box????? Mysterious and vague, brut boxes make me happy

Writing

Raksura fic: I could :X Okay but this depends on me chipping at some short vignettes and either getting a full set done or being confident i have momentum to continue as i post chapters. Momentum is a gamble, especially since this is a destination wedding with vacation activities.

Bwx/xl: old wip, unsure how satisfied i am. But there was PROGRESS. I might be able to slam it out

Return to tlj shipping? No wips in progress, but he usually comes easily to me.

Brand new raksura fic: i have kink brainstorming i could try to leverage, but I really, really can't tell how well writing will go right now

Cronch fic: Oh.... That might work, ill have to look at that.

Ye olde svsss aus: restore diet bingge to second person, see if more scenes shake out. This is close to being something I'm willing to just post, but it's not QUITE got enough connective tissue. Finishing is probably outside the scope of "short notice" tho

Transcription. Also not short notice, but pleasing bite-sized chunks.

Art

Raksura

Cloun?????

Bones

Fiber

Other baby blanket: I'm.... Unmotivated. Crochet make hand hurty

Tardigrade: hand hurty is acceptable if the result is stuffed tardigrade. I need to find my safety eyes, though

Starscream cross-stitch: DEFINITELY not short notice, but very satisfying

Embroidery embroidery: Probably want to wait for better health, so I don't get frustrated.

Steering wheel cover: yes, probably, but that's a kit and won't scratch the sammmmme creative urges

Spinning: god, probably wait for better health and new house

Long furby: maybe do this BEFORE the move, tbh. But mystery time investment.

New applique quilt: also not short notice. Need a subject too. I feel like I'd had something in mind, but I'm drawing a blank.

#crafts #notes to self

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lemonade-if · 2 years

Text

Sooooooo ik I keep talking about my MC and all, BUT I figured out some stuff for him that actually makes sense for his character, and I wanted to share! Of course most of this will probably have to be in the realm of headcanon, as of right now I'm not sure how much of this will be able to translate in game, but I figured you'd find it interesting anyway

This kinda talks a bit more about his insecurities and motivations as character so it could probably get a liiiiitttttle dark, but not too much, still ill leave it under the cut since it's a bit of a ramble anyway

Kaoru Tachibana is a very sentimental, selfless, and kind individual, he doesn't really know how to communicate with his peers or anyone for that matter, but nevertheless he's willing to stick out his neck for strangers typically for the sole purpose of helping them out. That being said, he still doesn't let people get too close to him, out of fear of either ruining the relationship or their life if he's feeling particularly paranoid, he's wholeheartedly believes he is nothing more than a parasite, and this stems from how he took his parents failing marriage.

Kaoru views himself as the reason his family fell apart, he knows that of his parents didn't have a baby then maybe they still would've been happy with their lives, instead of having to sacrifice everything for him. He came to this conclusion at a young age and decided the best way to help them was to try and fix their relationship, or at least, try and be a perfect son. Being the perfect son would often change in definition according to what school he got transfered too, one day he'd be a grade A student, next day he'd be one of the popular kids, and the next he'd be a star athlete, he threw his entire self into this and it often lead him to be utterly exhausted everyday of his life.

All the while he'd be trying to set his parents up together, sometimes in a parent trap kind of way, others just kinda acting as a wingman, or sometimes just trying to be a shoulder they can lean on. This was probably the last time he spent so much time with his parents, and the last time he'd try and talk to them. Because all of these efforts will have eventually failed, because they announce their getting a divorce.

He doesn't take it well.

See, what this means to Kaoru, is that everything he did accumulated to nothing, he realized that in his attempts to hold the standards he held in what it meant to be 'perfect', in the face of inevitable failure he realized he didn't know anything about himself. He didn't even know his favorite color, He can't even remember the last time he had a genuine relationship with friends, the only thing he does for himself is when the arguing and stress becomes too much, he sneaks out of the house to go and indulge in his art, which he refuses to tell his parents he is an artist.

Kaoru is going to this new 'permanent' school not knowing who he is, not knowing how to make genuine long lasting bonds with people, and more or less broken from the inevitable failure that was his life. So in an attempt to find whatever scraps of him are left, he decide to take on a persona that resembled the last time he felt true to himself, when he was a wild child so to speak.

He then isolated himself from his parents and sneaks out a lot more often now, doesn't really try in his classes anymore, and definitely tries to make himself more or less unapproachable by the student body. Which leaves us with the Kaoru we know today! A weird, loner, art kid who isn't afraid to antagonize people, and isn't afraid to take the fall for people.

Now, ik the way I probably explained things made it seem like a bigger thing than it was, a teenage boy who took his parents divorce WAY too hard and became a delinquent isn't really special or anything, and even with high marks in his past school career he isn't op or anything. But that is how Kaoru views the whole thing and his little amount of GOOD coping mechanisms don't really help that. Which is to say he isn't being over dramatic or anything, this is pretty rough shit for a kid to go through, and he is valid in what he feels I think.

Regardless, I hope this was a interesting read! It's at least my take of the story premise and I'm pretty excited to see how this will go! Even if some of what I talked about may have to change as time goes on but that's also pretty cool too

#MCs #Submissions #Thank you for sharing!!#Kaoru Tachibana #I really enjoyed all the thought and detail you put into his backstory!!#Some of it was quite relatable...#Big MC Energy

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nikadoesanart · 3 years

Note

Ello. So uh I'll get straight to the point...

Did Dazai's plan include Akutagawa's death? Like did he send him off knowing that he'll sacrifice his life for Atsushi when worst comes to worst?

I have theorized that he has zero empathy for Akutagawa, and I also think that he knows that he's sickly and dying and so he's making use of him before his time's up.

So I'd also like to think of how he'll react when he sees vampire Akutagawa, and if he'll feel genuinehuman emotions when he sees his development...if he lives.

(This actually my first ask so thank you anon!) also please note that I wrote this a week before ch 95 released

I don’t think Dazai intended for Akutagawa to die. I do think there’s a very good chance that he accounted for the very real possibility of Aku, and possibly Atsushi as well, getting severely injured when fighting Fukuchi at a minimum, if not dying at worst. After all, look at all of his military accomplishments. I’m couldn’t really say with confidence if I think Dazai did or did not know of the possibility of a vampire outbreak before hand, or if he knows of it yet. After all, we haven’t seen him or Dostoyevsky in a hot minute (this was written a week before ch 95 lol) so who knows what they’re chatting about now. I do think he accounted for the overall result of SSKK vs Fukuchi, as Atsushi was able to meet up with Ango afterwards fairly quickly. In terms of if he knew Aku would sacrifice himself for Atsushi, I think it’s more likely that he placed his bets on Aku willing to go to such extremes to show his growth to Dazai. Aku provided a chance for Atsushi to escape, which gives the ADA another chance to stop Kamui and the DOA. In essence, the sacrifice was for the sake of protecting Yokohama and later, the world (ideally).

I definitely agree that Dazai is by no means the most empathetic character in bsd. I do like to believe though that meeting and befriending Oda caused him to at least gain some sympathy. After all, he did tell Aku in Dark Era that, had Odasaku been the one to find and take in Akutagawa, he would have been having a much better time. Even if he doesn’t seem to feel (or at least express) guilt, he is certainly aware of the cruelty he is enacting, especially when compared to the likes of Oda.

I also agree in believing that Dazai must’ve known of Aku’s illness. Even if he didn’t sneak a look at Mori’s files or if Mori didn’t tell him (I say Mori because he is a doctor, and a very good one at that so it makes sense imo for him to have the files and even to look after some of his subordinates to some extent, plus he is the leader so it just makes sense for him to know and have this info imo), I very much think that Dazai is capable of deducing such a thing. Especially since Aku is his direct subordinate and he is very attentive to details. I don’t think Dazai’s perspective now is to make use of Aku while he’s still alive. After all, in past joint missions he’d drop a hint or clue knowing that it had the right incentive for Aku to act. Dazai certainly knows how to make use of everyone in optimal ways, but I do think that he does care at least a bit about Aku’s growth now. After all, he did mention that he took in Atsushi because he realized the potential in the strength that would later become SSKK.

Ch 37, p 33-34, translation by DazaiScans (tysm @chazukekani with the citation help)

I’m also really curious as to how Dazai will react to everything that has happened since Atsushi and Ranpo got on the ship with Fukuchi. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s trying to keep himself composed or focus on distracting Dostoyevsky when possible, since the first one of them to break can very much hinder their own side. Hopefully we see our two prisoners soonish (maybe by ch 100? Idk, I’m just throwing numbers into the void, don’t quote me on character comebacks lol). I also do both think and hope that there is some way to overcome the effects or at least the control aspect of the vampirism without dying. After all, why did Asagiri deem it necessary for Fukuchi to point out the importance of Tachihara’s ability to dealing with the vampirism?

Anyway, thank you again for the ask anon! Hopefully I didn’t miss anything in your ask and I’d love for this to turn into a discussion in the replies and reblogs >.<

Also again I wrote this a week before ch 95 so seeing Fyodor and Dazai so soon is almost a little funny to me lol

#bsd #bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs #bsd spoilers #bsd theories #bungo stray dogs #wrote this before bsd ch 95 lmaoo #bsd Dazai #bsd akutagawa

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-35 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19 ♦️ ♦️ 7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Court Hallway

After the trial ended, I did not leave immediately. Rather, I waited in the hallway for Hang Jiahe.

Soon, she walked over, guarded by two bailiffs.

MC: Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: What are you doing here? Are you going to laugh at me?

Hang Jiahe: Are you happy to have beat me?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. I came to tell you something.

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: Actually… this examination report…

I took out that last examination report again.

MC: Due to time and technical limits, we currently do not have the identification results.

MC: When I showed it in court, I just wanted to add psychological pressure onto you.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe froze for a few seconds, but she then responded quickly.

Hang Jiahe: You tricked me… you tricked me… hahahahahahaha!

She suddenly burst into sharp laughter.

Hang Jiahe: I didn’t lose… I didn’t lose…

Hang Jiahe: I still got my revenge!

MC: …

MC: Miss Hang, can I ask you something?

Hang Jiahe: What do you want to say?

MC: You said in court that Qi Yu tried to hold Hang Fei back “that night”.

MC: But you still murdered her out of hate for her bystander position, correct?

Hang Jiahe: Yes, I hated her for being a coward, hated her for being too scared to resist Hang Fei, hated her for looking on for so many years without lifting a finger!

Hang Jiahe: She knew during those years what Hang Fei was doing to me, so why didn’t she save me?

MC: …

Hang Jiahe: Then… did you know that Hang Fei had also been abusing Qi Yu during those years?

Hang Jiahe: I did. How could she not have been beaten, with how cowardly she was?

MC: Then do you know why she was beaten?

Hang Jiahe: Why?

MC: …

I took out my phone and opened a video featuring Qi Yu’s abuse. That small woman was lying weakly on the floor, passively enduring the man’s punches and kicks. But she kept mumbling something –

“Don’t hurt Jiahe… and those children… stop it…”

Hang Jiahe: What…

MC: Miss Hang, did Qi Yu never do anything during all those times you were abused?

MC: Are you sure that every time, she chose to be a bystander, rather than being forced into her position?

MC: Did you know that Qi Yu said those words in each of the videos she was beaten in?

Hang Jiahe: I…

Hang Jiahe froze for a second, but then she immediately reacted.

Hang Jiahe: So what, then? What do you want to say?

Hang Jiahe: That I misunderstood her? That I shouldn’t have killed her? Then does all the pain I suffered for so many years even matter?

Hang Jiahe: You want me to absolve her? To forgive her?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I mean.

MC: I am not you. I have not endured your suffering, so I cannot request for you to forgive anyone.

MC: I haven’t seen what happened during those years, so I cannot judge whether Qi Yu was actively or passively making her decisions.

MC: And I definitely can’t carelessly determine whether she sinned or not.

I stopped for a moment and looked at Hang Jiahe’s gloves.

In her mind, she probably was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès – someone who had been wronged and could only get revenge for herself. She believed herself as intelligent and as lucky as Edmond, that she would ultimately be the winner. But…

MC: But even Edmond would figure out the situation before his revenge and repay his benefactors.

MC: I’m telling you this, only because I hope you’ll understand what sorts of people you sent away.

MC: I hope you understand that there have been people who intended to treat you kindly.

Hang Jiahe: …

MC: Also, Miss Hang, I can guess why you were not willing to ask for help from the police.

MC: In that sort of situation, you may have thought that you couldn’t rely on the outside world to go against them.

MC: But even so, me, Captain Morgan, and many, many people still have to do something.

I flipped further into the examination report.

MC: Even if Hang Fei is gone, the things he’s done will not disappear with him.

MC: This is the report we’ve created. Captain Morgan’s already sent it to upper management and applied for international cooperation.

MC: Miss Hang, we will bring you the justice you deserve for the pain you’ve experienced.

MC: As for the last few people, I promise that they will receive the punishment they deserve.

MC: So, for the rest of your life, please don’t live in hate.

MC: You’ve already stayed in the darkness for long enough. Please try to take a step forward.

MC: Doesn’t it say that in your beloved “The Count of Monte Cristo”?

MC: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

MC: Miss Hang, if possible, please try it.

MC: Perhaps the light you’ve always been searching for isn’t too far away.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe: Ha… ha… hahahahaha!

Hang Jiahe broke into sudden, sharp laughter. It sounded like a heartrending sob was woven in it, as it resounded in the empty hallway, melting into the rain.

Amid the grey deluge of rain, specks of light leaked through. Maybe the downpour would finally end this time.

Not long after, Simon’s homicide case opened trial, and Wang Chunchong was deemed the murderer. Xingrui Estates declared that they would be depriving Xu Yin of her position and removing her from the family. Only Tyson received the weakest blow, as the evidence for instigation of murder was insufficient. However, lots of people online were saying that they hoped he would “succumb to the demon of illness as soon as possible”.

Thus, the homicide case of the couple in Yaofu Community came to an end.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After the Hang Jiahe case concluded, the NXX investigation team met up at the base again for discussion.

MC: That’s how the Hang Jiahe case went.

Marius: Thanks for your hard work!

Artem: Thanks for your hard work. You did excellently.

Luke and Vyn nodded at me.

MC: Thanks, everyone.

MC: Enough about me – how’s everyone else’s investigation?

Artem: I’ve already updated Tyson’s case file. I haven’t found any new clues for now.

Marius: I followed what Wang Chunchong said and investigated that guy named Xiao Ren, but…

Marius: I haven’t found anything for now.

Luke: You also found out about Xiao Ren?

Marius: Huh?

Vyn: What a coincidence. I, too, found out about him.

MC: !!!

Luke: Marius, what information do you have on Xiao Ren right now?

Marius: Mainly what Wang Chunchong told me before.

Marius sighed.

Marius: According to Wang Chunchong, Xiao Ren is linked to Heirson’s raw materials purchases.

Marius: Tyson held Xiao Ren to very high regard, and keeps his occupational information on severe confidential status.

Marius: All in all, this person seems pretty mysterious.

Marius: What about you, Luke? What did you find?

Luke: The aunties in the group told me that Zhao Fei kept looking for someone called “Xiao Ren”.

Luke: I suspect that Tyson brought up this person in the recording that he sent him.

Marius: That’s possible. Wang Chunchong also heard Tyson bring up Xiao Ren, so there should be some sort of link between them.

Artem: Luke, that’s not all the information that the assistive team provided you, is it?

Luke: Yep, that’s not all.

Luke: First, the workers in Heirson where the abnormalities appeared were mostly on the production front lines, so what they touch the most are the products.

Vyn: They probably mixed in their developed illegal drugs into the products, resulting in infection.

Luke: That’s right.

Luke: Secondly, about Zhao Fei…

Luke ripped out a page from his notebook and placed it on the table.

Artem: These names are…

Luke: When I was questioning these ten people about Zhao Fei, their reactions were a bit abnormal. I suspect that…

Luke: They’re the ones hiding Zhao Fei.

MC: What about you, then, Dr. Richter? You just said that you also found out about Xiao Ren.

Vyn: I spoke with half of the 20 special respondents and noticed that it was the same doctor in charge of their examinations.

Vyn: And that person is named “Xiao Ren”.

Vyn: So I suspect that this person knows many secrets regarding Heirson’s experimental data.

MC: If so, this Xiao Ren person knows about where raw materials come from and can deal with the experimental data…

MC: If we can find him, we might be able to patch up the missing part in our evidence chain against Heirson.

Marius: So this Xiao Ren is going to be our investigative focal point from now on?

Luke: Leave it to me, then. I’m the best when it comes to finding people.

Artem: Then leave Zhao Fei to me. I just happen to have something I want to confirm with him.

Vyn: I have only met with the special patients. I will continue to meet with the remaining bunch.

Vyn: Marius, what are your plans?

Marius: Me? I plan to go see Hang Jiahe.

Marius: She wanted to find reporters in the past to drop major news about Heirson, and she’s now in jail…

Marius: We should find out what this news is.

MC: Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that!

Marius: So, jiejie, want to come with me to see Hang Jiahe? After all, only the two of us know her the best.

MC: Uh…

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Luke: Marius, do you really need someone to accompany you just to go see someone?

Marius: I’m not going to see a typical person, am I? I’m going to see someone who might give us an important clue.

Marius: It makes sense to be a little more cautious and bring someone else.

Luke: Then just bring your assistant. If anything else, then bring some recording equipment.

Luke: Convenient, and it can record in real time.

MC: …

Right after, Artem spoke.

Artem: Zhao Fei’s case was ours to begin with, and now that we have clues…

Artem: MC, let’s finish it off, alright?

MC: Lawyer Wing…

Vyn: I may be overstepping, but…

Vyn stepped in just before Artem could speak again.

Vyn: May I trouble you to go with me next?

Vyn: There’s a special patient that I need your assistance with.

Faced with their “eager” eyes, I was very sure that –

The investigation team seriously needs to recruit a new member!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼ CHAPTER 7 END ✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #zuo ran #xia yan #mo yi #marius von hagen #artem wing #luke pearce #vyn richter #未定事件簿 #feels bad for hjh :'(

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ninjakitten1699 · 3 years

Text

More Oni headcanons that I wanted to add on

to @ambrosial-tea post but I forgot until now!

There are different tribes of Oni as stated in the last post. Aka Oni (Red), Ao Oni (Blue), Shiro Oni (Pale/White), and our Kuro Oni (Black/Dark).

We don’t know too much of the Dark Oni we got but we do know that Oni were originally intended to be guardians between Material Plane and Spirit World when the two began overlapping (possibly The Grasslands/Departed, and Cursed Realm before they began separating). Put a tribe of Oni on the Material Plane for a couple years and they’d splinter into subraces of Oni and become more corrupted by the years. Dark Oni became one of the tribes corrupted.

Aka Oni are the most common type of Oni with their dark red colors, large size, and toughness. They’re slightly bigger than the rest of their kin, more violent, unfocused, and pursue immediate satisfaction, disregarding long drawn out plots and schemes. They’re mostly known for strength too.

Ao Oni are known for their unnatural cunning and aptitude for magic, smaller than their red kin but larger than pale, and have different shades of dark blue. They’re the ones you’d catch calculating and meticulously pursuing lofty goals like power and knowledge.

Shiro Oni are known for their aloofness and connections to the spirit realm. They’re the smallest of the main three tribes and the fewest of members. They vary from pale white to light gray. (They may as well adopt other Oni who share their colors and hopefully teach them their ideals.) Pale Oni would rather keep things in balance between the material plane and spirit world as the ancient Oni intended. They guard their locations but will adventure for artifacts of the spirit world and mend balance. If we take that into account perhaps they are another reason why Realm travel is difficult to Oni who try to cross through the any of the realms involving afterlives.

While Oni have no concept of gender since they have both reproductive organs, they also have no concept of sexualities either. Honestly they just didn’t have a name for it when one didn’t feel the need to have sex or when another felt more attracted to the same sex aspects of their partner. (If anything, their type of relationships or way of thinking would be looked up upon because they felt closer to their spirituality and their true selves.) Again they sometimes don’t mate for reproduction but just for the vibes of their partner.

They probably didn’t have a name for having multiple partners at the time either. If one Oni wanted to be a part of what the other two had and they were content with the feel of them, then it was okay. Plus more hands to help raise the cub personally. (Essentially that’s what PolyGarm would basically be. They make Garm happy, they’re happy with him, and Lloyd would basically have more than two parents. At this point Lloyd would just have more dads and Koko is just the one good mom he deserves.)

The second Oni learn what kisses are and how they work, they find it just as addictive as they do with other acts of affection.

Oni are more closer to their family than they are to strangers because in most Oni’s belief, strangers brought suffering to the family. In turn they displayed their family’s name first before their own, showing pride in them and hoping to intimidate any strangers with ill intent towards them.

Speaking of Oni names, they don’t usually have any but when they do their names would be what positive traits the parents wish the child to take on. For example, a son could have “Akihiko”. “Aki” meaning “bright” and “hiko” meaning “boy/prince”. They could want him to be someone brighter than they ever hoped for. For a daughter, “Asuna” with “asu” meaning “tomorrow” and “na” to “greens” or “apple tree”. Maybe the parents are hoping the Oni daughter would lead them to a more plentiful day. And then there’s the family names. The most famous ones are “Hideyoshi” and “Ishikawa”. We’ve heard of these names and the history behind them, I wouldn’t want to come across any of their descendants that carry their name with honor.

Ironically “Harumi” is actually a name for a female Oni in some home brewing lore. One of her meanings is “govern/rule” and “beauty”. Goes to show how far she would take her name literally.

Shiro Oni/Pale Oni don’t have names, but it’s because they don’t want to be too close to the material plane while they guard the spirit realms. They would refer to themselves and each other as “that/this one” instead like how gargoyles in the old days would. If they come up with names, it’s for the sake of working with others on the material plane, but even then it only happens when they really trust the people around them.

Oni have a large appetite that could put the Pythor and the Anacondrai to shame. They could honestly compete against the Great Devourer and other wyrms.

An Oni’s pair of horns are a sign of honor. No pair of horns are alike, not even the closest siblings’ horns look the same. They all have their differences. Their horn length is their pride. Having them sawed off is quite literally shameful to the owner of them but they did do something to deserve it.

It’s possible that some Oni were confused at Garm’s horns not being there at first but they hear about the first time they grew out of his head he quite literally broke them off and bled for a good long while to the point of passing out. (Blood vessels actually go throughout the antlers/horns in animals which is why they aren’t busted right off easily. Why wouldn’t they to Oni horns?) Come to find out it was the FSM’s hate for Oni that made Garm hate himself and how he looked so Garm had them filed down to his scalp or small enough to hide in his hair. It honestly almost hurts the Oni’s look on the FSM even more but hey who hasn’t he hurt? It takes a couple more decades and some therapy before he finally let’s go of his internalized self hatred and trauma that he grows out his horns and finally has pride in himself like most Oni already do.

So it’s not uncommon for Oni to live among other races, whether secretly or not, due to their shapeshifting abilities, however sometimes they’re immediately shunned when their true form slips out. Unless they proved otherwise to the most accepting of inhabitants, they’re allowed to stay. By then they’d have a hybrid appearance with their horns out, either out of their kindness to ease the others’ fear of them or for their own personal benefit.

Oni that do live on their own choose to live in the wilderness or in the mountains. If living in society but still wanting some sort of solitude, they’d either be closer to the outskirts or deep in the downtown where you’d either have to ask directions to specific people to find them or already know where they are. Hence Mistaké with her small tea shop and Wu being able find her.

As stated before Oni have no problems with Half-Oni at all. They’re just welcoming another cub into the pack and it’s just the fact that they are a child of an Oni who fell in love with another humanoid. Although there are some cases of Oni being chased out by the other race with their cub in their arms and they just run until they find the closest tribe. They’d be welcomed into the tribe and the cub is basically adopted by them.

Again half Oni isn’t a problem to them, but they do have a problem with any particular wizards experimenting on Oni breeding with any other humanoids. The know it’s not the parents’ fault neither is the cub’s. If neither parent want nothing to do with them, then the half Oni cub is taken off of their hands by another Oni who was grieving at a loss of a cub (or the realization they couldn’t have any) or a pairing who wouldn’t mind another. The cub won’t have a terrible environment, the parents won’t have to unwillingly interact with the child until they resolve their own issues or they wish to visit and see them grow.

Meanwhile, those wizards will never know peace again until the day they die, even other tribes, who they could be at war with, will catch wind of what happen and help in taking them out. By the time those wizards die, even the Pale Oni who have no ties with Omega or any other tribes won’t be forgiving to them. They won’t do anything too harmful to them, but they will lead them to the terrible part of the Cursed Realm and those wizards proceed to stay there until they fade out of existence entirely.

Enough angst there and let’s go back to fluff. I bet Oni would love dice. Like not even for games but for the click-clack sound. (“Lloyd. They’re metal dice. You cannot have—.” “Shiny sparkly metal bits make pretty sounds! :D” “Garmadon please tell your son not— Not you too!” “Wha~ It does sound pretty.”)

Y’all know how like adult lions play with their babies? They pretend to be hurt and that the cub is super strong to help build up their confidence. Hear me out, Oni do that too. Big goddamn Omega really be taking hits from tiny little cubs, Mistaké be playing with little Garmadon and playing dead on him, then Garm just does the same thing for little Lloyd. (“Koko, sweetie, help. It’s the battle of the century in here. Help, save me. He’s too powerful!” “*tiny war cry*”)

Someone makes a baby Oni cry one time and boy it’s absolutely over. It’s on sight for that person. I’m telling you On Sight!

Oni can purr loud enough to the point where it rumbles in them like a motor and that’s how cubs feel their parents’ purring. Then there’s baby Oni just babbling and the adult Oni just pretend to have a whole conversation with them. Don’t get me started on them playing soft flute music to help the toddler Oni sleep.

We probably only got a few words out of Omega when they first appeared because we were hearing them through human ears. Lloyd’s Oni brain would click on and translates what he knows while Garm in full Oni form can get full sentences out of Omega.

Oni are willing to learn a different language if it helps others understand them and their intentions. Now let’s just think of Lloyd connecting to his Oni side of the family (since let’s face it, the Oni are going to be around longer than most of his friends are) through teaching them sign language.

They also try to teach him their Oni tongue but he can only grasp a few words at a time easily. When he finally learns the language, next thing you know he’s going to be cursing and only Oni will understand. Some (aka Mistaké) want to scold him and others (*cough*Garmadon*cough*) find it hilarious.

Garmadon’s Oni-Dragon hybrid brain wants him to decorate his significant others and now I think of Oni just sharing the precious items they hoard with their mate. Wait till they figure out they can make jewelry and have their significant other wear it.

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

Text

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 4

Masterlist 🌿 (check for previous chapters) / Playlist

In this chapter, the reader fully joins Eivor’s clan and takes part in the celebrations before the raid. Talking with Eda does not go as planned.

Content Warnings for food & alcohol, mentions of physical abuse, lesbophobia, light smut and vomit.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart

The Sting of Rejection

You had already slept for a few hours when Eivor returned from her council meeting late at night. Even though she tried to be quiet and not to wake you, you were awake as soon as you heard her steps on the path outside.

Birna had curled up in your arms and raised her head when the warrior entered, not moving from her warm and comfortable spot. You remained still, your eyes closed as you listened to the woman’s movements. Her fur coat fell to the ground almost inaudibly, the wood of her trunk creaked quietly as she sat down to take off her boots, her leather pants rustled when she pulled them off and threw them in a corner.

Then you finally felt her motions, too as she lifted a corner of the quilt covering you and slipped in the bed, immediately scooting close to you. She gave Birna a few gentle strokes until the cat started to purr softly and Eivor lowered her head next to yours with a satisfied sigh. She smelled like beer and smoked meat, accompanied by that faint, wonderful scent of tree bark.

You must have stirred because Eivor lifted her head again, whispering: “Little bird… there are good news for you.”

Careful not to disturb Birna, you turned slightly and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She smiled.

“You are now one of us. Mine.” She watched your face attentively for a reaction. You closed your eyes and swallowed. So it was decided.

“Are you happy?” Eivor asked, drawing her fingertips over your healthy cheek.

“Yes, I am,” you answered, turning back around and scooting back against her.

“Mmhh. We’ll talk in the morn.” She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close, then you both drifted off to sleep.

You were woken by Birna's demanding meows at the door. She had not left the hut since yesterday and was probably hungry and in need of a quiet corner. Eivor grunted, then she untangled herself from your limbs and cursed in her mother tongue when she stumbled over her clothes on her way to let the cat out.

“You won’t like it outside, little lady. The snow has stayed,” she grumbled as she opened the door. Indeed, Birna was not amused at the prospect of stepping into the cold, wet powder that painted the village in beautiful white and whirled into the room as soon as the door stood ajar. You pulled the blanket over your head to escape the stinging cold air, listening to Eivor and Birna bicker about the cat’s options for the day.

It really sounded like they were having a conversation, one that ended with Birna leaving with a last, angry cry and Eivor shutting the door with a thankful sigh. She let herself fall back on the bed and crawled under the covers. You stuck your head out.

“So, I’m one of you now?”

Eivor needed a moment to process your question, then she sat up and nodded.

“The council was thankful for your offer to help us prepare the raid and accepted your proposal. You’re going to come with me later so you can have another look at the map and tell us everything you know. In return, you will receive a wooden bangle declaring you part of this clan and my personal servant as soon as we return.”

You sat up as well and leaned against the headboard, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as you tried to find the right words.

“I am very grateful for your trust. I know it normally does not come easy,” you said. “May I ask something else of you?”

The blonde raised her eyebrows with a questioning look.

“My- the people who came with me. How are they?”

“Oh, they are all well.” Eivor got up and started putting on her clothes. “Three of them have decided to stay with us freely and work in the stables and the longhouse. Two have yet to decide and your lady friend is refusing to speak to us. I hear she is eating, at least.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You were not the only one to change sides. You were fairly sure you knew who had taken up work in the village; the two remaining prisoners were probably the squires to Lord William. They had endured harsh treatment at his hands, but he had promised them a future as knights and held them in higher regard than his own daughters. It made sense that Eda was not willing to speak or change her mind. She blamed Eivor for the death of her entire family.

“Eivor?”

“Yes, little bird?”

“Do you think I could have a word with Eda? Maybe I can reason with her,” you suggested, holding your breath as you waited for her reaction. She considered it for a moment, then she shrugged and put on her coat.

“I guess it would do no harm. You can speak with her before we meet the others in the map room, maybe she will tell you something helpful.” She turned around. “Do you want to join me in the longhouse for breakfast?”

The question surprised you, but she was right. You were healing fast, and there was no reason for you to stay in bed any longer. You agreed and swung your legs out of bed, slipped into your wooden clogs and put on your new coat over the linen tunic. Hopefully, you would be able to acquire some more fitting and functional clothes soon, but now was not the time to worry about looks. Your face was still swollen and blue anyway, your bruises now starting to fade to green at the edges.

You quickly rubbed the salve Valka had given you on your tender cheek, then Eivor held the door open for you and you stepped outside into the snow. The air was hard and cold, but clear and when it filled your lungs, you could feel it chase out the last remains of smoke and illness. Walking down to the longhouse, two dogs ran toward you and circled you with excited barks and wagging tails, apparently delighted to see Eivor. She laughed and chased them around for a bit, then she told them she had other things to do and they let her be and ran off towards the stables.

When you entered the longhouse, Eivor was immediately greeted by cheers and excited comments regarding the coming raid. She smiled and acknowledged everyone’s words before leading you to a side part of the house. There was a fireplace in the center of the area, a hole in the roof directing the smoke outside. A kettle and a metal grid were hung over the fire and an old woman was stirring porridge with a gigantic wooden spoon. You both stepped closer.

“Sfáva, dette er Y/N,” Eivor introduced you, gently placing a hand between your shoulder blades. “She is from Williamsburg and has decided to join us. She is a cook, too."

The old woman slowly came closer, squinting her eyes at you until her face was almost directly beneath yours. Then she suddenly gave you a warm, almost toothless smile, deepening the crows’ feet around her eyes and stretching the leathery, weatherbeaten skin on her cheeks.

“Velkommen, Y/N,” she croaked and took your hand, patting it lightly. She chattered something in Eivor’s direction and the warrior translated: “She’s glad to have you here and hopes you can show her some English cooking. She does not speak your language, but she understands a few words and can grasp your meaning if you speak slowly. Our tongues are not too different.”

You smiled back at Sfáva, gently squeezing her hand.

“I’m honored to work by your side, Sfavá.”

The old cook let out a delighted laugh at your proper pronunciation of her name and gestured for you to take a wooden bowl. You and Eivor both took bowls and spoons from a table and Sfavá filled them with porridge. Eivor loaded up her meal with several sausages from the grill, to which you passed.

“I’m afraid we can’t eat together. My place is up there” - she mentioned to the table at the back of the room, standing orthogonal to the rest of the tables - “with my brother. I see your old companions have found themselves over there, maybe you would like to join them?” She motioned over to where the three men that had been released as well sat and ate their breakfast.

You nodded and wished the warrior a good morning, then you walked over and sat down with the others. Aelfric and Hal had been the stable masters back at Williamsburg and were excited about the variety of horses and possibilities here. Eivor had apparently put a lot of money and work into the stables, making them a much more enjoyable place than the dark, moldy ramshackle hut William’s old mares had spent their days in. Lewin was also content with his situation; he had joined the butcher and his son in preparing meat for winter.

They were all happy to see you, thanking you for your quick thinking and cautious behavior during and after the attack. Lewin was even convinced they owed you their lives. While they went on discussing the possibilities of hunting at this time of the year, you stared into your porridge and tried to find the words and the courage for a conversation with Eda.

What could you say that would explain to her your disloyalty to her name, your treachery to England, your betrayal against her after everything you had gone through together? How could you ever change her mind or her situation, what were your possibilities in this? Would she stay locked into a cell for the rest of her life? What would the Vikings do with her if she was nothing but a nuisance?

The others took their leave and you were still none the wiser. Absorbed in your thoughts, you let your gaze wander through the long hall. Your eyes finally got caught on the she-wolf at the elevated warriors’ table. She was deep in conversation with Sigmund and tapping her finger on the table as she made her point to him. He seemed to agree with everything she was saying, consistently nodding his head as he devoured his sausages.

Suddenly, Eivor caught your gaze and while she kept talking, her finger stayed pressed to the wooden tabletop. You could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face as she turned back to her brother to ask him something. Shaking your head, you got up and brought your empty bowl back to Sfáva’s side table.

Even though her eyesight seemed to be terrible, she immediately recognized you and repeated your name with a joyful fondness in her voice that made your heart swell in your chest. What a wonderful woman.

As you wandered around the hall to collect the dirty bowls people had left on the tables, you felt someone’s eyes on you. Smiling to yourself, you relished at the feeling a little bit longer before turning around to return Eivor’s look. To your surprise, she had stood up and turned her back to you, speaking with someone behind the table.

Slightly bewildered, you finished your round and carried the stash of bowls and spoons back to the cooking area. Just as you turned to ask Sfáva where you should wash the dishes, you saw something blue in the corner of your eye. You looked up and had to force yourself to keep your composure as you saw Randvi leaning against a wooden pillar across the hall and watching you from afar, her arms crossed and her face smooth and expressionless.

She did not move or look away when you saw her, standing perfectly still and continuing to look at you as you finally lowered your gaze and asked Sfáva about your tasks for the day. The old Viking explained her wishes to you with a mix of slow Norwegian and sign language, making it clear you should wash the bowls outside in a big trough and bring her another few sacks of flour. You felt uneasy as you left the longhouse to do your washing up, still followed by Randvi’s piercing gaze.

Eivor caught you outside, glad you had already settled in with your new work and thrilled for the raid. She was practically buzzing with excitement and her restlessness made you laugh, taking your mind off the strange moment with Randvi.

“What are you laughing at, eh? You are looking at a proud drengr, not a jester!” she exclaimed, furrowing her brows in feigned outrage and making you laugh even harder.

“You remind me of Eda and Delia on the eve before Christmas. They were so excited for the next morning, they could barely sleep.” Your gaze lost itself in the dirty water in the trough before you. You had some good memories with the two girls. They had been so innocent and happy. A hand on the small of your back drew you back to the present. Eivor had stepped closer.

“I will sleep like a bear in winter so long as you lie by my side,” she said quietly.

Her words and touch sent chills up your spine. Before you could reply, Eivor stepped back.

“But first, we will plan our glorious raid. And then we will celebrate. Oh Y/N, you will love it. Mead and food and great songs - we will be in good spirits tonight. And tomorrow will be even better!” Her eyes lit up at the thought of the joy and glory to come. “I need to look at a few things in the stables. Take this time to speak with your friend. I will come and get you when it is time to meet over the map.”

You watched her as she walked away, a spring in her step as she headed for the wooden building at the far end of the village. The dishes were clean, so you took them back inside and left them on the table for Sfáva. She was deep in conversation with two other Norse women when you filled another bowl with porridge and two sausages and quietly made your way to the cell in the back of the longhouse.

Eda sat on the floor where you had left her last. Her dress was dusty and stained, her hair was matted and her face looked grey and old. Dag, who was keeping watch again, let you in with a grumble and sat back down on his chair. Eda refused to look at you as you knelt down before her and offered her the food.

“Eda, please. You must eat. You look like death itself.”

“I don’t fear death,” she mumbled, still staring at her hands, “I fear traitors and backstabbing snakes.”

Her words knocked the air out of your lungs. You had not expected her to be this hostile. What now?

“I do not claim to know the pain you feel and the losses you are bearing. I am simply trying to live with dignity instead of wasting away,” you explained, tears welling up in your eyes. “Do you not see my face? Were you not there when I learned I was worth nothing at Williamsburg, nothing but dirt on your father’s shoe? Eivor has offered me a place in this world. She-”

“You and your precious Eivor!” Eda snapped, her gaze now burning right through your head and her face screwed up into a hateful grimace. “You fell to your knees the second you saw her, begging for her to take you. I will not be lulled into submission by a filthy little sapphic whore!”

This blow hurt worse than William’s fist. There was nothing left to say. You put the bowl down next to her, then you stood up and left the cell. Dag gave you a strange look when he locked the door again.

Just as you rounded the corner, you bumped into Eivor. She knew something was wrong right away, pulling you into her warm embrace and letting you cry into her chest for a long moment until she pulled back and lowered her head to look at you.

“What is it, my little bird? Will your friend neither soften nor think clearly?”

You just nodded and pressed your lips together, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Eivor turned to look over her shoulder for a moment, then she pulled you into an alcove.

“You stay here and collect yourself. I will tell them you got held up and will be there soon.” She pulled you in for a last, quick hug, then she vanished from sight.

You took a few deep breaths and slapped your chest and torso, trying to fully return to the present, to your body, and to your rational thoughts. If Eda wanted nothing more to do with you, so be it. You had other things to worry about now.

When you entered the map room there were five men waiting for you alongside Eivor and Randvi. One of them was Sigurd, Eivor’s brother and the official chief of her clan, even though you felt like a lot of people cared for Eivor more strongly. You had just found out today that he was also Randvi’s husband. The other four you had seen before but you did not know their names.

Eivor looked up from the map first, smiling widely and rounding the table to introduce you.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She was the cook at Williamsburg and has visited Fort Winton several times. She will tell us all she knows about the area and the castle.”

“What happened to your face, Y/N?” One of the warriors gave word to what everyone was thinking. You straightened up, trying to brace yourself against Randvi’s icy expression.

“Thank you for this opportunity to make myself useful here. My cheek made acquaintance with Lord William’s fist the day of your attack, but I am healing now and he is not, that is all that matters. And I have you to thank for it.”

Your answer seemed to satisfy everyone and you got to work. You spent the next hours telling them about every path and entrance to the castle you knew of, every person working there when you last visited, and everything about the Stewart that had taken over the shire. You even drew a plan of the order of the buildings and the rooms you knew of.

The Viking warriors warmed up to you quickly when they realized how much valuable knowledge you were giving them and even Randvi seemed to forget her hostility toward you after a while. The group even allowed you to stay for their debates on the right strategy, taking all your comments into consideration and thanking you for your help. Eivor reminded you at some point that you were still injured and told you to go back to the hut, put on the salve, and lay down. She would pick you up later for the feast.

Birna was already waiting for you at the door, mortally offended at having spent the day outside in the snow. She weaseled through the first crack in the door and was even more distraught when the fireplace was dead and the bed cold. You apologized sincerely and lit a fire to make Valka’s wonderful brew while you gently applied her salve to your healing cheek.

While your tea was steeping, you curled up with Birna and poured your heart out to her about Eda. She was a wonderful listener, snuggling up to you when you started crying and supporting your distraught words with agreeing meows. It was heartbreaking - the one friend you still had left did not want to be your friend anymore. You were all alone here. You had to admit that the Norse people were extremely welcoming to you and that Eivor would probably be very offended to hear you call yourself alone after two nights in her arms, but still. You were lonely. After you had drunk a cup of your herb infusion, you laid down, pulled Birna into your arms and cried yourself to sleep while the white cat silently watched over you.

A light grasp on your shoulder woke you and you opened your eyes to find Eivor crouching down before you, smiling softly at you. It was already dark outside and you had trouble finding your grasp on reality for a moment. Was it the next day? No. The feast.

Your mouth was dry and your eyelids felt heavy from crying. Eivor softly brushed the hair out of your face with her fingers.

“Good evening, little bird. Can I interest you in some excellent boar meat and warm mead?”

Birna answered in your stead, crying out as she stretched her little body on top of you. Eivor’s expression became even softer.

“For you, little lady, I have something special.” She took a small balled up bundle from her pocket and opened the stained cloth to reveal some fresh innards, probably taken from the boar. She placed the cloth on the ground in front of the fireplace and Birna jumped down from the bed to have her own royal feast.

You got up and followed the cat's example in stretching your limbs, feeling Eivor’s eyes on you as you put on your shoes and cloak and tried to comb your hair with your fingers. The blonde was next to you at once, holding your hands still.

“Wait. Let me.”

She opened her wooden chest and produced a beautiful wide-tooth comb. It was made from some kind of bone or fang. The warrior stood behind you and gently pulled all your hair back towards her. Then she began combing it out, starting at the bottom of each strand and carefully moving upwards, taking out any knots or dirt. Her fingers touched your scalp every time she took a new strand of hair, sending lightning down your spine and making the hair on your neck stand up.

“That’s better. I can braid it for you, too, if you’d like that,” Eivor said behind you. You brushed a hand over your long hair and felt its smoothness. You had never been allowed to wear your hair down at Williamsburg, always having to put it up in a knot and wear a bonnet or at least a cap. Today you had seen so many Viking women proudly wearing their hair down, some with intricate little braids and beads in theirs.

“I’d like that, yes,” you whispered, scared your voice would betray you. Every day, every hour here felt like a step closer to freedom and happiness.

“Sit down on the bed.” The blonde gently guided you to sit at the foot of the mattress so she could stand next to you. Then she began taking hair from your healthy side and braiding it along the hairline around your ear and down the back of your neck. She stepped around you to look at her work from the front.

“I think that is all you need. You’re beautiful.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, almost making its way onto your tongue. Your fingers followed the path of the small braid, admiring the perfect work of the warrior’s calloused hands. How peculiar, that these rough hands that wielded swords and axes bigger than your head could also be so gentle and precise.

A knock on the door tore you out of your reverie. It was Valka who wanted to take a look at your face and pick you both up for the feast. She was satisfied with your healing process and delighted to see Birna, having a little chat with the cat on the bed. You had to keep yourself from laughing when the thought of Birna being the true queen of this clan entered your head. She probably felt that the same way. The white cat was adored by everyone, and her demands were followed without question.

As the three of you made your way down to the longhouse, you could already hear loud singing and laughter. People were stumbling outside to relieve themselves in the bushes and others were just arriving, all being greeted with loud cheers and big jugs of mead. The same happened to you when you entered the great hall. A few warriors rushed to your side, greeting Eivor and paying you compliments and thanks for your help that day. Enthusiasm saturated the air like a humid day, filling everyone with joy and confidence for tomorrow.

Valka was quick to take the jug of ale from your hands and gave it to someone else who swore his love to her in return. She just smiled and pulled you towards the kitchen area. You had already lost Eivor in the mass of warriors jeering and singing praise to Odin. At the hearth fire, you met Sfáva sitting on a bench and enjoying a massive pitcher of mead. She cried out in joy when she saw you and hugged Valka tightly in greeting before squeezing your hands and grinning her almost toothless smile at you.

Valka asked you to stay with the older woman for a while and help her with the food; then you saw her talk to a red-haired woman and vanish in a dark corner with her. Maybe that was the woman she had spoken about with Eivor before? You wished her the best of luck.

There was not too much to do. The boar was on a spit over the great fire in the main hall and the men were responsible for cutting down the meat for everyone. You were grilling sausages and vegetables on the side and helping the boys open new barrels of ale that were consistently emptied within the hour.

Eivor came by soon, asking for more variety on her plate. It was obvious that she had already had enough mead to kill a boar, slightly swaying when she walked and getting extremely close when she tried to talk to you over the noise in the hall. Her face was red and radiating heat, her eyes had a drunk glisten to them and her laugh was rougher and dirtier than during the day. You were glad she was enjoying herself, although you could not help but wonder if this was the best idea considering her plans for tomorrow.

You spent some time outside cleaning plates at the trough and getting fresh air when you suddenly heard a noise around the corner. You debated for a moment whether you should risk a look but your curiosity got the best of you. As you stuck your head around the edge of the house, you weren’t immediately sure what you saw before you.

Two figures were leaning against the wall in close embrace, chuckling and mumbling sweet nothings to each other. As a cloud finally freed the moon and its light shone down on your village, you made out Valka’s golden headdress and the silhouette of the red-haired woman she had talked to earlier. Apparently, she had gotten lucky. You quietly moved back to your plates and smiled to yourself. Valka was a wonderful person, giving and loving and always putting others’ needs above hers. Eivor had spoken very highly of her trusted friend. She deserved to be happy.

When you came back inside and put the plates back on the sideboard in the cooking area, you noticed Eivor sitting at the front table surrounded by her men. And oh - there was Randvi sitting next to her. The two of them were leaning toward each other, their heads almost touching as they laughed about something Sigurd had said. It seemed that they had talked about their difficulties and made up.

You let yourself fall on the bench next to Sfáva and she patted your thigh, holding out her pitcher to signal it was empty. With a sigh, you got up to get her more mead and made yourself a plate of vegetables from the grid, seeing as you had not eaten since breakfast. Sfáva noticed you had not taken any meat and insisted you go get some boar meat. Upon the realization that she would not let you sit down again until you had tried the boar, you slowly went over to the big fire, hoping no one would notice you. The warrior there cut you a generous piece and you were almost back in your dark corner when someone called your name. God, no.

Aelfric, Hal, and Lewin were sitting at a table with some other stable boys and young maids. You gave Sváfa an apologetic wave which she answered with a loud, heartfelt laugh, then you made your way to your old companions. The boar was better than you had expected and you really were terribly hungry, wolfing down your food at an indecent speed and even going back for another portion. The others were talking about the two squires still sat in the cell; they were sure they would come around by the next morning. Who would really prefer the cold ground over these celebrations and the wonderful food that was shared fairly between everyone?

Looking over to the table at the back of the hall you could see Eivor and her friends conversing loudly, laughing and slapping each other's backs. At one point Dag danced on the table, but he soon lost his footing and went down in a wave of plates, jugs, rattling metal, and the yells of his fellow warriors. You stared at Eivor for a while, hoping she would return your gaze, but she was completely immersed in her conversation and never even looked up from her table. You finished your meal quietly, listening to the others talking about a new dice game they had learned and about a filly at the stable that was born in late autumn, a strange and dangerous time for newborns in the animal world. Together, they were sure they would get it through the winter safe.

Later you returned to Sfáva and leaned against the wall opposite her, warming yourself up by the fire and keeping an eye on Eivor, who was apparently in another drinking contest with one of her men. Randvi had her hands on Eivor’s shoulders and was cheering her on. A small figure stepped next to you, crossing her arms and following your gaze. Valka had returned.

You made no attempt to hide your feelings, you knew she had already seen through you. The healer put an arm around your waist and shook you slightly, looking up at you with a sympathetic expression.

“I know you saw us, Y/N.” The words took a moment for you to grasp their meaning, then you turned to Valka in surprise.

“Oh God, I swear I will keep your secret. I am a master at keeping my mouth shut.”

The smaller woman had to smile at your nervous reaction.

“I trust you. I am glad it was you that caught us and not someone else.”

“May I ask…” you hesitated, “what is going on between you?”

Valka turned her head to look at the singing warriors in the hall. There was a pain in her eyes that felt just too familiar.

“She is married. It was not her choice, but her father’s way of forging an alliance. Her husband is one of the hunters and away most of the time. When he beat her badly the first time, she came to me.”

The silence between you was heavy with meaning. When she began to speak again, her words grabbed your feet and pulled on them, getting heavier and heavier until you began to wonder why the earth had not opened underneath you and swallowed you whole.

“I know you wonder what happened between Eivor and Randvi. It is neither my place nor my ability to tell you everything, but I will say this, for fairness’s sake and because I think you already know in your heart. There was once love between them. Whether it still lives on, I cannot tell. But Eivor has told me that she is ready to leave this bond behind her because she feels something new, something far deeper and more intensive is coming. That is why she has pursued you. She felt something deeper the moment she met you.”

Valka turned to you and you fought to at least turn your feet so you could face her. Everything was spinning around you. The dark-haired woman gently placed her hands on either side of your neck and looked deep into your eyes.

“Follow your heart, Y/N. The gods will lead you. They have decided your destiny long before you were born.”

After recommending you should get some sleep, Valka left you frozen in place and dizzy. The noise that filled the room was now nothing but a single loud booming voice threatening to split your head. You needed to get some air. Maybe your bed was really the best idea.

You looked around for Eivor, but she had vanished from sight. It did not matter, you would find your way into her arms later one way or another. You said your goodbyes to Sfáva and the other servants, then you finally exited the longhouse and inhaled the cool night air.

Rounding the corner toward your hut, you were suddenly startled by a noise that sounded like an animal crying out. Maybe a cat? You tiptoed around the dark cottage to your right and suddenly stopped dead in your tracks.

Your heart dropped to your feet and all the blood left your face.

Eivor had pressed her brother's wife to the wooden wall and was kissing her passionately while her hands explored Randvi’s body under her tunic. They were so immersed that they had not heard you coming. You could not move, your feet suddenly weighing you down like boulders again.

The blonde’s knee was between the other woman’s legs and Randvi spread them for her lover, moaning into her mouth. As Eivor started attacking her neck with kisses, the auburn-haired woman opened her eyes and looked directly at you. The surprise in her gaze was almost unnoticeable, fading quickly to be replaced by malicious pleasure as she continued to stare at you while whining Eivor’s name and burying her fingers in the warrior’s hair.

Finally, your muscles started to work again. You turned on the spot and quietly made your way to Eivor’s hut. You felt sick. Closing the door behind you, you kicked your shoes under the bed and threw your coat into the corner. The cat on Eivor's pillow just gave you a questioning look.

“Oh Birna, if only you knew.” You threw yourself on the bed next to her, then you started bawling for the second time today. You cried until there was not a single tear left and you felt completely empty inside. Then you scooted close to the edge of the bed, turning your back to Eivor’s side, and tried to fall asleep.

Even though you fell into a state of absence, sleep would not come. Dread filled you when you heard teps at the door. But before Eivor could enter, you heard her cough and retch, probably throwing up into the thorny bushes a few steps from the door. A slight feeling of righteousness overcame you but it quickly disappeared again, leaving only misery and desperation.

When the warrior finally entered, you could hear her stumble through the room and curse under her breath as she hit her foot on the bed frame. She seemed to only take off her coat and let it fall to the floor before lying down next to you and falling asleep in an instant. A part of you had still hoped for her arms around you, despite everything. Now you could hear her ragged breathing and smell the smoke and alcohol on her hair and breath.

The tears came again and you silently cried into your pillow while the warrior slept soundly next to you, oblivious to your sorrow. Only Birna proved her loyalty to you by getting up from Eivor’s side of the bed and rolling up in the crook of your bent knees.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you were woken the next morning by another salve of mumbled curses. It was still grey outside, dawn had only just begun. You stayed completely still and listened to Eivor dress herself and collect her weapons and shield from her trunk.

To your surprise, the warrior suddenly walked around to your side, crouched down, and lightly stroked your hair.

“Have a good day, my little bird. I will bring you honor and victory today,” she whispered, then she stood up and swiftly left the hut.

Let me know what you thought ❤️ (it’s okay if you hate me, I promise I’ll make it up to you in the next chapters)

#eivor x reader #lady eivor #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #eivor fanfiction #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #fluff #angst #im so sorry for the pain im putting you through #but it will be worth it in the end #never thought writing angst would be this much fun

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 3 years

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Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou Okita After Story Translation

This is my first post of the month, so I’ll start by asking you to please support me if you can through my ko-fi, and paypal or patreon which provides access to my hakuoki blog translations and early access to my postings. Also, please let me know if you have any hakuoki drama cds that you’d be willing to share that are on my Lookout List since i either do not have audio for those cds or do not have audio that I can share.... and if you are able to remove watermarks from a video, please contact me.

Finally done with all of what i refer to as these after stories. this is the last translation of what i have from the 「薄桜鬼真改華ノ章」ステラワース早期予約特典小冊子. did Souji’s last partly cuz he’s one of my least favourite routes (sorry but not sorry. also i won’t deny that my premier target audience for most of my translations for content that doesn’t come from one of the games is myself ;D), and well, i would categorize my thoughts as mostly angsty (there’s a reason why i mostly write angst lol) and didn’t exactly need more of it...

still, it’s kinda sad that it took me almost 2 years to finish translating all of what I could for these... but hey, i can’t help it if I get distracted by other stuff that i find more interesting.... ahahahaaaa....(excuse me as i go hide until next week’s translation lol).

also, in case someone doesn’t know, i’ve already translated the after stories for Saito, Hijikata, Yamazaki, Kazama, Hijikata, Harada, Heisuke and now Souji... and am unable to translate the others as I don’t have it in CN tho I can go scan the rest should someone want to translate the stories for Shinpachi, Sanan, Souma, Iba, or Sakamoto.

enjoy? maybe? lol?

Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou After Story Translation - Okita Souji

Translation by KumoriYami

(TN: just an fyi, Souji doesn't call Chizuru "Chizuru-chan" in this. checked the booklet just to be sure.)

The scene was in the mountains, they had been dyed bright red as the sun set in the West.

And the one looking over this scene, was the sword genius, former First Division Shinsengumi Captain, Okita Souji.

(Speaking of which, since childhood, I would always look into the direction of my hometown at dusk.)

While he thought this, the sound of frantic footsteps from further away, came closer.

As for who the sound of these footsteps belonged to, it was obvious. She was...... [It was her]

"——Souji-san! What are you doing here?

For the present Okita, this woman was more important than his own life, Yukimura Chizuru.

From the way she gasping from having run down the mountain path, she seemed quite anxious. When she found Okita was missing, she selflessly began to search for him.

Okita showed a look of ignorance and looked back at her.

"Asking me what I'm doing...... can't you tell after after looking? I'm watching the sunset.

He answered in a tranquil tone. Immediately this young woman lost her strength and fell to her knees.

"If you're doing that, please tell me first...... Just now, I couldn't find Souji-san, so I was very worried."

It seemed that her words were true. Because there was sweat on her slim neck, and her cheeks were bright red.

Seeing Chizuru like this, he felt full of tenderness/affection, and he couldn't but think of tightly embracing her small body.

On the other hand though, he also felt the urge to tease her so that he could see her troubled appearance.

(Even I feel that these days are/this day is quite boring. [can't tell if this is plural or not])

"Do you dislike not seeing me?"

"Of course, that's because Souji-san is a very special/important person to me."

There was no hesitation as Chizuru replied in this way. She was also very aware of how these words made Okita feel at ease.

"Good grief, are there really no problems? We just didn't see each other for a short amount of time."

His abrupt words made Chizuru look sad.

"……Please don't say such a thing."

Although she was well aware of what was going to happen, she didn't want think about it right now. Her innocent expression seemed to say this.

(This teasing seems to have been too much.)

As Okita thought this, he gently extended his hand.

"Come here, Chizuru."

After a short confused moment, the young woman grabbed Okita's hand. He firmly held her small hand, then pulled her small body into his embrace.

"Ah……"

She couldn't help but make a small sound and Okita hugged her. A sweet and floral fragrance emanated from her hair and neck.

He gently combed her hair, and both of their eyes coincidently found each other's. Those sincere eyes were staring straight into Okita's,

(How good would it be if we were always able to look at each other like this.)

This felt just like a dream. Before he he was in a relationship with her, the memories he had of when he lived alone....... were quite vague.

"Hey, Chizuru. Let me say one thing first."

Hearing Okita's words, she blinked at him in disbelief. Looking at her adorable expression, he opened his mouth.

"Even though I'll pass away one day, you can't/aren't allowed to follow me. Even if you're alone, you need to keep on living."

"…………"

Chizuru bit her lips.

Similarly to how Okita was unable to remember what happened when he lived by himself, she wasn't able able to imagine what would happen to her after losing Okita.

(If I was more considerate, I might say "after I die, live happily with someone else"......)

But it was impossible for him to give Chizuru to someone else. Even if he knew if doing that might make her happy.

Chizuru seemed to have understood what he really thought. "So what's your answer? Chizuru."

In the face of Okita's question, she sadly lowered her head——

"…………I know."

She responded with a depressed voice.

"Very good."

He muttered softly, then gently stroked Chizuru's cheeks.

There large eyes before him were now slightly moist. This expression indicated that she had a clear understanding of what was going to happen later.

For a good while, she quietly kept her eyes closed.

Okita put his lips against her slightly opened lips, and felt the slight warmth as they touched. Their was a dream-like kiss, almost as if it were a whisper that could not be heard unless it were attentively listened to.

Although he had kissed these lips multiple times, to the point where he couldn't remember, he also didn't know how many times he would be able to kiss these lips in days to come.

The lips that joined with his seemed to be shaking/trembling with grief. He was immediately able to tell that she was crying.

"……Don't cry. Because you're a strong child."

As he wiped the tears from the corner of the young woman's eyes, he gently reprimanded her.

But in fact, his heart felt happy because Chizuru shed tears for him.

(I didn't expect that in my lifetime/life, that I would actually meet a woman who would cry for me.)

Thinking back, this was an ill-fated relationship. Okita thought so.

(My life will not last for a long time.…… but it wasn't completely bad, because in the end, I was able to meet you like this. Maybe the purpose of my life was to meet you.)

Without even realizing it, the sun already set, and the nearby scenery was gradually coloured like the water. The two of them then set off on their way home alongside one other.

-end-

#hakuoki #hakuouki #Hakuoki Other Translation #Okita Souji #Yukimura Chizuru

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mellowchen0813 · 2 years

Text

Choices (Beelzeubub X Qin Shi Huang)

Record of Ragnarök

Beelzebub X Qin Shi Huang

Title: Choices (Part 11 / ??)

Written by: Hastings_Lex (Twitter: @ hastings_lex)

Translated by: Mellow (Twitter: @ mellowchen0813)

Word count: 2550 words

“This post is written before Qin make his official appearance in Chapter 55”

Warning: Slight Heteromorphic Play

(Since one of them is a Demon aka Lord of the Flies)

OOC | Bugs | parasitic description | some bloody scene | some misconceptions

Lex Hastings and I came to an agreement that interested parties who would like to read the NSFW chapters in the future have to "Support to Unlock" because even the Chinese readers did not get to preview the NSFW chapters from her side. I will upload the future NSFW chapters on my ko-fi, which I will provide the link when I have reached those NSFW chapters.

That's right, NSFW Chapters. There is more than 1 chapter of NSFW.

Viewer’s Description is Advised

Setting:

I added some sociopath related symptoms into both Beelzebub and Qin’s characteristics. Since Qin hasn’t made his formal appearance in the manga, most of his character was built according to Chinese History.

And in conclusion, as a sociopath myself, I can reasonably suspect that Qin is a crazy man.

If you are interested in finding out what is “High-Functioning Sociopath” is, feel free to do a small research on it, people with this illness couldn’t live long.

Beelzebub was known as the “Lord of the Flies” or “Prince of Demons”,

So, flies, maggots and diseases should be his Legend Noumenon.

(No wonder he appeared as a crazy researcher)

Flies are one of the largest groups of insects and have a huge variety of characteristics. Nonetheless, flies are very sensitive to the scent around them, which is a good tool to find a suitable food source that can be miles away from them.

To make sure the partner is pregnant with his child ONLY, the male fly will put a plug in the female’s body after sexual intercourse, so that no other competitors would be able to breed and pregnant the female fly.

Do you know some of the flies have rather big sperms??

So…hehe

If you are fine with the setting above, enjoy~

He loosened his hand and looked at the deformed petals in his palm. Suddenly, a breeze blew. The petals shook left and right and flew from his palm with the wind, slowly flying to a distance he couldn't see.

He raised his hand and touched the back of his neck and closed his eyes. He remembered the pain and cold despair when the blade cut through his neck, the unfinished things in his life and his hometown, the hand that Ying Zheng had handed out to him, and the laughter when they were playing together while they were young. Finally, he looked up and opened his eyes to see the broad blue sky, take a deep breath, show a calm smile, and think that it has been hundreds of years, and the things that have been cast can’t be done. Maybe it's time to let it go…

"I'm worried that someone only grows self-esteem and not his brain after such a long time."

Yan Dan's smile and a little relief, for a moment, because of Ying Zheng's words were deadlocked halfway, he turned his head slowly, raised his eyebrows and looked at the emperor in front of him. It felt so nostalgic to see the emperor's joking smile. It was almost no different from when he was a child, making people want to beat him. The prince shook his head mockingly for such a thought.

"Why do you always behave so mean?" Yet so convincing?

"It's very simple, because I'm the emperor."

A strong person, no matter good or bad, has not only strong power but also the understanding of how to use his power to convince others. As a leader, the first thing to conquer is his own heart, then he can have the opportunity to conquer others. All great people, both men and women, have their own unique charisma and thus can shake people's hearts because of their charm, letting people be willing to follow.

"Emperor... That's true. Hahaha"

These few words sum up everything. Those countless heavy pasts hidden under the glorious appearance are hidden within this sentence. He knows that what the emperor said is also true, but nevertheless, even if he has been dead for hundreds of years, it still feels harsh to hear.

Yan Dan showed Ying Zheng a very sincere smile, then before the emperor felt dangerous for that smile, the young man in front of him pulled his collar and dragged him towards the pool. The emperor seemed to be unable to escape from the fate of falling into the pool, he also grabbed the hands tightly holding his collar. There is no such phrase such as "loss out" in the emperor's dictionary, if he has no other option, he makes sure his enemy ends up the same as him.

The two young men dragged each other into the water together. Yan Dan laughed in surprise at this moment, along with falling into the pool, there were those past, future and flowing tears, but mixed with the pool water, it seemed that it never exist.

The Demon on one side was startled by the series of actions of the two and turned back to his usual self. Then he looked at the two young men who were probably royals trying to press each other into the water, pulling and moving to the shore, accompanied by something like…

"This is for you who decides to start the war with that Demon!" Yan Dan pulled the emperor's clothes and tried to trip him.

"If that useless geezer of yours would have behaved, will I even want to start a war?!" Ying Zheng turns around and directly clasps the Crown Prince's neck and pressed him into the pool.

The prince clamped one of the emperor's legs and twisted him so that the emperor lay in the pool. "Fuck you, are you crazy?! I lost my head for this!"

The emperor narrowed his eyes, grabbed Yan Danhui and threw him into the deep pool. "Those who lost their heads are not qualified to debate for themselves!"

… Something like two childish adults are creating unnecessary noises and fighting like two cats waving their paws aimlessly at each other. Beelzebub rubbed his temples for his superfluous worry, trying to convince himself that…

"When you accept a person, you should accept everything about him".

After throwing Yan Dan into the water, the emperor slowly walked to the shore and saw the Demon looking down at him, annoyed. Ying Zheng’s sight followed as the cat ears shook on Beelzebub's head. To be honest… that cat ears suites him very well. Then he reached out to the Demon and hint Beelzebub to pull him up. Beelzebub sighed and took Ying Zheng's hand to pull him ashore. At this moment, the emperor smiled at him, gorgeous like the sunrise, even the Demon was dazzled, and there goes the Demon, thrown into the pool too.

Most cats hate water. Ying Zheng smiled when he saw the Demon fall into the water, looking puzzled. This is a bit of revenge, for all his doubts and various bites on his body these days, he can sense some anxious emotions coming from the Demon himself. By meeting the people and events in the past, the Demon is using his method to let them face the forgotten past together, that disguise is like admitting a mistake, that’s unexpected.

The Demon got up from the pool and looked at the crown prince on one side. Yan Dan's alert look suddenly became clear after seeing the two fluffy ears shaking on Beelzebub’s head, and after he saw the scene of Ying Zheng pulling the Demon into the pool, his eyes were full of blatant ridicule. The Demon seemed to be able to read off something from the eyes of the crown prince: Such as “Pathetic”, “Funny” “Serves you right” and maybe other ridicule words. Beelzebub looked away and pressed the crown prince's head into the water again, and quickly moved to the shore.

The emperor who climbed ashore by himself heard splatters behind him, turned his head and looked at the Demon standing in the shade with his whole body wet. He looked gloomy. The cat ears on his head were dripping water. He looked a little embarrassed, but the culprit just smiled and stood up.

"It's fun, isn't it?"

"Yeah, It's fun."

The Demon said to the emperor with a foxy smile and twisted his neck to turn his ears back to normal. Then, in the emperor's slightly pitiful eyes, he gracefully snapped his fingers, a kindle of flame was formed between the Demon's beautiful fingers. The flame quickly spread all over the Demon’s body. Beelzebub stretched out his hand to the emperor, and Ying Zheng hold his hand without a thought.

The flame rolling on Beelzebub quickly spread to Ying Zheng along with their clasp hands, but it doesn’t feel hot at all. Instead, it was as warm as the Sun. The emperor looked at the flame on his body, the moisture on his clothes was gradually taken away by the flame. In the dazzling flame, he looked up at the Demon and slowly approached him with a little prank and temptation.

In the past, no matter how many events the Demon participated in it, only Beelzebub accompanied him to the end. All these times, he can go so far because he can always see the emperor’s heart and reality. Again and again, everyone has proved to him that people's hearts are always unreliable, not simply bewitched by the Demon, but their desire for power or fear of the emperor, so what the Demon was worried about was all nothing but nonsense in his eyes.

The Demon usually doesn’t behave in this manner. Even though it is a little cute, it is more suspicious behaving like this.

The emperor's inexplicable approach raised Beelzebub’s alertness and wanted to step back, but Ying Zheng caught the right moment. He pulled the Demon towards him along their clasped hands, fiercely pressed the back of his brain and bring Beelzebub closely to himself. Beelzebub had his eyes wide opened and felt the emperor’s breathe spread into his nostril and between his lips, the emperor jokingly kissed the demon, who was somewhat obtuse because of the surprise kiss, until Beelzebub's hand also wrapped around the back of Ying Zheng’s head. At the same time, they loosened their clasped hands just to get closer to each other.

Yan Dan, who managed to climb ashore, was shocked and speechless by the scene in front of him. He looked at his former good friend, who then turned into the cruel emperor Qin and the terrible Demon kissing in a fire, and the flames burned around them, burning lawns, grasses, trees, flowers and even spread to the pool like a response to the staggering emotions between them. He panicky retreated in until he almost fell into the pool again. Suddenly he noticed Ying Zheng’s vision: The fanaticism in his eyes was almost the same as that of the Demon.

His scalp felt numb and finally began to realize his mistakes. All along, he thought that the changes of his old friend were more or less affected by the Demon, thus he was so tyrannical. But now he realized that maybe everything that happened, Ying Zheng sees it in his eyes. Maybe all the behaviours of the Demon were acquiesced by the emperor. Maybe it was not the emperor but the Demon who was bewitched.

Ying Zheng stretched out his hands to clasp the Demon’s cheeks, and sort of provocatively bit his forked tongue tip, and his tongue wrapped around the rough surface and licked it. He felt the cold tongue was stirring in his mouth, with the unique sweetness of the Demon, and the forked tongue tip slowly licked into his throat bit by bit, with a slight of suffocating stimulation and pleasure, Beelzebub’s hand slowly touched down the centipede tattoo on his back. The emperor looked at the Demon’s black eyes like an abyss, showing his Desire for himself. It felt so heavy that almost crushed him, but gradually Ying Zheng's eyes also showed a thirst similar to the Demon.

Is he acting more and more like the Demon because he is too adapted to hell, or is he more and more like a human because he gets along with the emperor too long? Or maybe these gods or demons are not much different from humans? But it doesn't feel bad, just as they are getting closer and closer to each other.

Finally, they stopped before things went uncontrolled, and the flames around them subsided as they separate, but they still rubbed their cheeks against each other, completely ignoring the collapsing audience. As they were about to leave, the Demon glanced at the crown prince who had turned into a statue and said to Ying Zheng, "Is he all right?"

"If something happens, maybe..." Ying Zheng looked at it along with the Demon’s line of sight, looking at the already obtuse childhood friend and said, "… his brain is not as crazy as mine." then he pushed the crown prince back into the pool. Listening to the exclamation of his old friend who fell into the pool, the emperor laughed more and more brightly.

"Let's have a talk when we get back."

As far as a ruler is concerned, he knows very well what the consequences will be if the suspicions of both sides are let go for a long time. He doesn't believe in simple things that can make the Demon so anxious.

"... Yes."

The hesitant response and slightly low voice were a little heavy. Ying Zheng sighed and stopped moving as if he wanted to give comfort. He turned and touched Beelzebub's pale but beautiful face. Beelzebub nibbled the palm of the emperor's hand a few times, leaving Ying Zheng's temperature and smell between his lips and teeth. Being close to his palm makes his teeth itch unconsciously. But Ying Zheng's eyes and desires that are more and more like himself make him unable to take the bite.

There is no doubt that the desire and passion in the Demon’s eyes are transmitted to the emperor's heart bit by bit with the contact between the two. As human beings, no matter what we want at the beginning, we will have new desires once we get them. It is our nature to like the new and hates the old. No matter how hard we pursue a goal, we may abandon it after we get it. But at this moment, a dangerous thought that even the emperor felt incredible rushed through his mind. Ying Zheng looked at Beelzebub and thought,

I think I’m in love with this demon.

And I think I'll never feel the same way towards anyone or anything else, ever again.

－－－－－－－

＊

The flower language of the Chinaberry Tree has two meanings:

1. The cruel monarch is said to have originated from Yang Gang, the emperor of the Sui Dynasty

2. Look far away, hinting at a relationship that cannot end well or has results, so look far away and don't look back

Relationships could be brought in as family affection, love or friendship.

－

Yan Dan / Crown Prince Dan:

The crown prince of the state of Yan used to be a hostage with Ying Zheng when he was a child in the state of Zhao. While they were young, he is a good friend and a good elder brother of Ying Zheng. There is a saying "The teenager and Dan Huan". It refers to the friendship between Ying Zheng and Yan Dan, but later Ying Zheng became the emperor of Qin, and Yan Dan became the hostage of the state of Qin. Later, he fled and sent Jing Ke to assassinate Ying Zheng, which angered the Qin emperor and took down the state of Yan, which the emperor of Yan thought that offering Crown Prince Dan's head can save himself, so he cut off Yan Dan's head and gave it to Ying Zheng, but the state of Yan was destroyed after all.

－

Black cat setting for the Demon:

In my mind, the Demon's eyes are dark, but he will have a pair of green eyes if he turns into a cat. I was influenced by Shakespeare's “Othello”, one of which mentioned: “Green-eyed demons refer to monsters who are so jealous that they can almost eliminate human nature.”

(It also means that the Demon in the text is very jealous)

＊

－－－－－－－

OVA:

Ying Zheng: To be honest, I think you have great potential to be a cat.

Beelzebub: Hehe

Ying Zheng: So, come on, let me touch it again. If you don’t want to transform into a cat, a dog is fine as well.

Beelzebub: My king, isn’t there a proverb in your hometown called "Enough is enough"?

Ying Zheng: It doesn't matter. Are you going to transform or not?

Beelzebub: … Yes, I will.

Ying Zheng: (Afterwards) I think you have great potential to be a dog. It's so big and fluffy to touch.

Beelzebub: Do you want to get fucked by a dog?

Link to Next Chapter: Part 12

#ror qin shi huang #ror #shuumatsu no walkure #snv #record of ragnarok #ror beelzebub #snv beelzebub #snv qin shi huang #shuumatsu no valkyrie

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

A new us will begin (4/ 11)

word count: 9.8k

AO3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5 / part 6

content warnings: brief mention of blood, rat bites, illness, Major Character Death, feeling unloved, alcohol

Ahh Belletyn. The day when the town was decorated in bright colours, songs flew through the air like birds and almost-lovers that had been dancing around each other for months finally get so swept up in the festivities that they turned to their beloved and confessed their feelings. Truly, if there ever was a day to give inspiration to artists of all kinds, it was this.

Yarrow tightened his hold on his pencil as he let his eyes wander over the merriment before him, willing himself to find as much as a spark of inspiration.

When he put his pencil to the paper once more, he didn’t sketch the scene before him; the dancing couples, the decorations, not even the mouth-watering food.

As his pencil danced over the page of his sketchbook, it created what it always did: a pair of eyes. Even though he didn’t use his paint – he had them in his bag, of course, but using paint would have been a little impractical without a table and it took so long for them to dry – anyone who bothered to look at his sketch knew what colour they were supposed to be: the most piercing amber.

One time he had tried to change things up a little and colour them blue, the same shade as his own eyes, just to see if he would like the result. He hadn’t. Before that painting had even been finished, he had crumbled it up and tossed it to the side. It just hadn’t been right. It was yellow eyes or nothing.

Yarrow might not have been very creative when it came to coming up with new ideas, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew people scoffed at his inability to paint anything other than this. The thing was, he didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be confidence in his abilities as an artist. Or, well, perhaps he did care a little, but not for his lack of originality. He cared because somehow, this – painting – didn’t feel quite right. Just how the name he had given himself in the spur of a moment, seemed to be lacking something, though he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. He loved creating, so why wasn’t painting enough? He loved the sound of his name – at least the first half – and what it stood for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was lacking something. Something he was sure he would find if only he painted enough amber eyes.

So that’s what he did right now. Not paint, of course, but sketch. He kept sketching, sad eyes, eyes narrowed with focus or anger, eyes that crinkled at the sides with mirth. The changes were only miniscule. So small in fact, that he had been told multiple times that they all looked exactly the same, but Yarrow knew better. He knew there was a depth to these eyes, that other people could only dream of recognising.

It must have been hours until finally the tip of his pencil got dull enough that it would ruin his artwork if he continued sketching with it, and, clever as he was, Yarrow had forgotten to take a spare pencil or something to sharpen it with with him.

With a sigh, he put the pencil and the sketchbook into his bag and turned to watch lovers dance around the decorated pole that has been erected in the middle of the town square.

A strange sense of longing filled him, an inexplicable urge to approach someone to ask them for a dance. But he didn’t even know how to dance and there was no one in this town that liked him enough to accept such an offer out of anything other than pity and awkward politeness. Best to spare them that fate.

Still, Yarrow’s eyes wandered over those sitting to the side same as him. Most of them didn’t seem to mind sitting this dance out. They talked amongst themselves, drank wine or stole kisses from each other before leaving the festivities with giggles that were not nearly as subtle as they probably thought.

There was only one person other than Yarrow that stood out. A girl, barely twelve if Yarrow had to guess. She sat on the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her hands were tangling her hair into knots.

Yarrow’s brows knitted together. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the girl and sat on the floor next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, if a little awkwardly.

The girl sniffled and nodded unconvincingly.

“You know,” Yarrow said, leaning back a little, “when I was younger I always dreamed of going to this festival with the prettiest braids in my hair.”

The girl looked up and eyed him critically. “Is that why your hair’s so long?”

“It sure is.” It wasn’t. Yarrow just didn’t know how to cut it. Still, he shook his head to let his hair fly into his face. “But braiding my own hair is so hard and there’s no one around who could help me.”

He threw a side-glance at the girl, whose shoulders sagged at his words. “You tell me. My sister said she’d braid my hair but then she saw Jakub and left me behind.”

“That’s mean.” Yarrow waited a second before perking up, playing the part of someone who had just been struck by genius. “What do you say, I braid your hair? I might not know how to do my own hair, but I should be able to do yours.”

The girl’s eyes began to shine, but then her lips tilted down again. “I can’t do yours. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you, if you want. You can practice on me and then you’ll never need your sister to help you with that again.”

Without a hint of hesitation, the girl nodded and shifted so that her back was turned to Yarrow.

Carefully, he began untangling the knots the girl had put there earlier and began explaining what he was doing as he split the hair into sections and began to plait.

It felt strangely familiar. Yarrow had no sisters and no daughters – the gods knew he was too young for that and besides, he would make a terrible father – but something about teaching a child how to do things felt right. As if he had done it before. For a second, he thought he could almost remember a voice. A girl excitedly asking him to braid her hair back so it wouldn’t fall into her eyes while she learned how to sword fight.

No, that couldn’t be a memory. It was nothing more than a silly thought. He had always been a dreamer and the alcohol he had drunk earlier hadn’t helped slow his imagination.

“There, all done,” he finally said and pulled a pink flower out of an arrangement in a pot and put it into the braid.

The girl turned to him with a brilliant smile that Yarrow returned. For the briefest moment, he could almost believe that he would make a good father one day. Or maybe he would have made a good one in another life, when he could have actually provided for a child.

His smile dimmed a little and he turned to hide it. Soon though, his grin was back in full force, when the girl did her best to apply what she had learned and plait his hair. Yarrow didn’t need to look to know that his hair was now a mess resembling a bird’s nest.

Still, he bowed gracefully when the girl announced that she was done and thanked her. She giggled a little before running off to join the dancing.

He watched her with a strange melancholy, an echo of a thought, an impossible memory of watching a daughter grow up and leave her home. Maybe he was getting old after all. Or maybe he was just lonely.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, the dancing, the laughter, the clapping. Instead, he got lost in that fantasy of his, in which he had a family - a daughter, who would fly into his arms and tell him about all the things she had done that day, and a man, who would have been Yarrow’s lover, would ruffle her hair and look at Yarrow fondly, while the artist sang a song for the two of them.

No, not a song. The song. Yarrow wasn’t sure what that thought was supposed to mean, but in that daydream of his, he was close to understanding, so close! The beginning of the melody was already at the tip of his tongue, he could almost taste the notes, the words –

A different voice cut through the illusion of a memory and shattered it like a mirror. A different song.

Yarrow opened his eyes again and scowled at the minstrel that had dared to interrupt his dreaming. He wasn’t a bad singer. Yarrow might not know much about music, but he was pretty sure that he was actually pretty good. But the song…Something about it grated on Yarrow’s nerves.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong, and yet achingly familiar. There was something about it that Yarrow recognised, but it was twisted, whether by time, bad translations of a different language, or the minstrel’s own changes to it, Yarrow couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way. All he could think about was that this was wrong. This wasn’t how the song was meant to be sung. It wasn’t supposed to be danced to, it was supposed to be slow and soothing and speaking of love. It was supposed to be a lullaby. This…this wasn’t it. This was a cruel, mutated version of that song.

The minstrel didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He just let his voice soar higher in a way that was utterly unbefitting of that song.

Yarrow reeled back, eyes wide and his breath frozen in his lungs. That line…that section of the song…he knew it. Truly knew it.

It sounded far too much like the little melody he sometimes hummed while he was in deep concentration while painting.

He had never heard anyone else sing that line and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. All he knew was that an age-old ache settled into his chest, burning him from the inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

So he didn’t. He all but fled the festivities, but not before snatching one of the wine bottles and taking it with him.

He hadn’t even reached his home before he had gotten well and truly drunk. Not drunk enough to get rid of that inexplicable pain in his chest, but certainly drunk enough to make him stagger into the wrong alley, not caring that it was taking him farther from his home.

He didn’t want to go home. The small house he shared with an older woman and a couple that he barely had any contact with, wasn’t the home he was yearning for, even if he had no idea if such a place as a true home even existed for him or if it was yet another one of those cruel dreams of his.

It wasn’t until he reached the town’s inn that he stopped in his tracks, wrecking his brain what on earth he wanted here. He had never really been to an inn, never really needed to. After all, he had stayed in the same place all his life. Yet, it had felt as if something had pulled him here, as if the sight of an inn meant safe, not alone, home.

It didn’t, of course. Inns were the furthest one could have from a home. Yet Yarrow only shrugged and marched on, let his feet carry him where they would. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

The door to the inn was slightly ajar and coming from the inside, he would hear arguing. Something about someone being denied a room and something about too much coin and something about the alderman having made promises and something about bringing a head to him.

Maybe if Yarrow had been sober, he would have figured out what was going on, but as if was, he couldn’t be bothered to even try and make sense of what he heard. Instead, he left the angry voices behind and made his way to the stables instead. Even from afar, they smelled familiar, soothing in a way that dirty stables really weren’t supposed to. Maybe a pleasant side-effect from the wine. He’d have to try more of that later.

Before the stables, a horse was bound to a post. It eyed Yarrow distrustfully but with curiosity in its eyes.

A smile twitched around Yarrow’s lips.

“Sorry, don’t got any treats for you,” he said when he was close enough for the horse to nudge at his bag. “There’s only some art-stuff in there. Nothing you’d want to eat. And nothing that I’d allow you to eat. Even though you are beautiful.”

And she really was. Brown with a white stripe down her face. Yarrow cocked his head to the side. Actually, now that he thought about it, she looked utterly basic. In the midst of a group of horses, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. That didn’t change a thing about the certainty in Yarrow’s chest that she was the most special horse he had ever seen and that he would recognise her anywhere.

He came closer to pat her on the neck and –

“What in Melitele’s clapping arsecheeks is that?”

The horse only snorted at his undignified shriek, but he paid her no attention. He was too distracted by the blood-dripping something fastened to her saddle. It was disgusting. Yarrow should have jumped back. Any sane person would have run for the hills, but evidently, Yarrow wasn’t very sane, because he stepped closer to inspect the thing. It was a head. A monster’s head, but he had no idea what kind.

In the back of his head he could almost hear an annoyed but amused voice tell him the answer, but it was too faint to grasp and understand.

Yarrow swallowed and rounded the horse again until he came to the post that she was bound to. He scowled. The horse wasn’t supposed to be fastened to anything. She was smart enough to stay where she needed to wait for her owner and if there was danger, she wouldn’t be able to run away like this.

So Yarrow did the only logical thing. He freed the horse and lead it away.

Just as before, he had no idea where he was even going, but the horse didn’t seem to mind following him. She just kept nibbling at his hair and shirt.

Her trust filled Yarrow with irrational pride as if getting this horse, that he had known all but a handful of minutes, to like him was a great feat worthy of being one’s life’s work.

It wasn’t until the horse began throwing her head around nervously at sounds growing louder around them, that Jaskier realised that he had marched right back where he had come from: the town square where the celebrations were still in full swing.

Well, not for much longer.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before the first people started noticing the drunk and the horse he had stolen. More importantly, they noticed the gruesome thing the horse was carrying.

The minstrel from before ended his song in a terrified screech and the reels and jigs turned into people staggering backwards, stumbling into tables and crashing into flower pots.

Someone called for the city guards, people pointed and Yarrow, cursing him and all of his ancestors.

Their shouts and frantic movements didn’t make the situation any better. The horse grew more agitated by the minute, rearing up and making the chaos even worse. Try as he might, Yarrow had no chance of calming her.

“Roach!”

He turned to see a man run towards them. Yarrow’s line of sight was obscured by the nervous horse, allowing him only glimpses of the one who had shouted, but even so he knew that his face was a snarling grimace of fury that made Jaskier hide behind the horse.

Before the angry stranger could get to him, Yarrow was grabbed tightly by the arms and yanked back. He turned to see the city guards, who scowled down at him furiously. For a second, Yarrow almost wished the angry stranger had gotten to him first, but it wasn’t as if he could change anything about his fate.

At least as he was dragged away by the guards, he didn’t have to find his own way through the maze that was the town.

Surprisingly, this was the first time Yarrow ended up in a cell. Well, actually, it wasn’t all that surprising, considering, all he ever did was paint and stay out of other people’s way as much as he could. But the thought that he should have gotten into trouble earlier still didn’t leave the back of his mind.

When the guards threw him - actually threw him! - in the cell and shut the door with an overly dramatic bang, they probably meant for it to intimidate him. If that had really been their goal, they had missed it by a mile. Being thrown in prison was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Yarrow!

At least it was for all of five minutes. Then the boredom set in. Yarrow had heard of people that cried and raged in prison, of people who pleaded to see the light of day again. He had never heard of anyone who sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. Granted, that would make for a pretty terrible story and once he got out of here, he would definitely spin some tale about how dramatic his stay in the prison had been. Not that anyone would even ask him, but still. It was nice to fantasise about having someone who cared about him enough to ask about his whereabouts.

What else was he supposed to do other than lay around on the hard floor? The guards had taken his bag with the art supplies and even if he still had them with him, it would have been too dark to use them.

So of course, Yarrow perked up in excitement at the first sign of something happening. He heard the door to the cell next to his creak open and the grunt and rattling of chains as someone was shoved in before the door fell shut again.

Then it was quiet. The newcomer didn’t beg or shout to the heavens or curse the injustice. Yarrow had no way of knowing, but he liked to imagine that his new neighbour was throwing unimpressed glares at the door.

The thought made his mouth quirk up.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said loud enough that it might carry through the cracks in the wall. No reply. Louder he repeated what he had said.

“Stop shouting,” came a gruff voice. “I can hear you.”

Ah, so his new neighbour was a man and judging from his tone, one who was pissed off.

“So sorry.” Yarrow winced at his own voice. He barely recognised it himself, rough from alcohol and the dry air of the prison. Too much drink might have made him lose all sense of direction and change his voice, but most importantly, when he was drunk, Yarrow had the unfortunate habit of babbling. Well, maybe babbling was the wrong word. His manner of speaking became more like the imitation of a second-rate poet than of a loner who mainly spoke to himself while painting. “We don’t have to be strangers, of course. Not even mere acquaintances! I’d love for you to be my new friend instead and –“

“We’re not friends,” came the instant reply. “Fuck off.”

A grin spread across Yarrow’s lips. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s rather impossible.”

“Then shut up.”

Yarrow was quiet for all of ten seconds, then he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”

His new friend made no sound in reply. Yarrow’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He had hoped for at least a dismissive grunt. But no matter. Yarrow had more than enough practice talking to himself and what was the difference between doing that and talking to someone who didn’t reply?

So he took advantage of the fact that his friend wasn’t able to just leave and began talking about his paintings. One might think that there wasn’t that much to say about paintings that all showed the same thing, but once Yarrow began talking about different ways to use a brush, shading and line work, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know if his new friend was listening – unlikely – but it felt nice to be able to share his thoughts. It wasn’t often that anyone cared enough about him to let him talk that much. No one cared to get to know him. Speaking of which –

“My name is Yarrow, by the way.” He stumbled a bit over his own name, ending in an unfortunate slurring. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”

Yarrow’s grin widened. So his friend was listening after all. Granted, he had hoped he would get something other than insults out of him, but it wasn’t as if he would go anywhere. Yarrow had plenty of time to get his friend to properly speak to him.

“It’s my pen name. Well, artist’s name. I don’t really use pens all that often. Oh! And a yarrow is also a flower.”

His friend made a strange sound, something between choking and cursing. Yarrow furrowed his brow and glared at the wall as if his friend could see the expression.

“Hey, no need to react like that. I’ll have you know yarrows are beautiful. In fact, the whole reason why I stared painting is because I once saw a field of yarrows and they were just the most inspiring thing I had ever seen.”

His voice trailed off and his smile softened. It had been years ago and yet the image was still fresh in his mind. A field filled with the white flowers, and there, right in the middle, a just a couple of yellow ones. The combination of the colours had touched something inside him and his fingers had itched to put a pencil to his notebook and – he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had wanted to do, but an hour later, his notebook had been filled with pages upon pages of eyes and when he had gone home that day, he had purchased his first set of colour pigments to add that bit of yellow that his drawings had been missing.

Yarrow cocked his head to the side when his friend made no move to acknowledge anything he had just said.

“You know, normally, when someone gives you their name, you tell them yours in return.”

No reply. Big surprise there. Yarrow sighed and scooted over to the wall, leaning his head against it.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to show you my paintings and you’re going to give me a review. And I expect you to use actual words.”

“Don’t.”

“What are you in for anyway?” Yarrow tapped the floor with his knuckles, his smile turning a little dopey. “I’m here because I befriended a horse.”

A rustling of clothes was heard and steps coming closer to the wall Yarrow was leaning against.

“You’re the fucking idiot, who stole Roach?”

“Befriended her. And don’t you dare make fun of my name when your horse is called Roach.” He let out a quiet laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

For a moment he thought he was going to get no answer, but then his friend let out a resigned grunt.

“She’s my horse so they said I was to blame for the chaos you unleashed too.”

“Oh.” Guilt welled up in Yarrow. “Well, fret not. I’m sure interrupting a celebration and scaring some people isn’t that bad of a crime. They’ll probably let us go tomorrow. How about I’ll make it up to you then? Buy you a drink?”

His friend scoffed. “I think you should stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yarrow hummed in reply. “Yeah, probably. But I’d still love to get to know you. You know, without a wall between us.”

“Trust me, you don’t. And I don’t need a new friend.”

“Too late,” Yarrow said cheerily. He was sure his friend was able to hear his smile. “I have already decided I like you. So? Tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get released tomorrow.”

“What, why?” Yarrow sat up straighter. “What crime did you commit other than owning a horse?”

A long pause, then –

“I’m a witcher.” He said it like a death-sentence.

Yarrow waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never had much contact with witchers before other than the one that had passed through town when he’d still been a child and even then he hadn’t spoken a word with him. Out of all the people who formed opinions about witchers, Yarrow was probably the least suitable judge when it came to witchers, but throwing a man in prison just because he was a witcher? It sounded unfair.

“If…” Yarrow began tentatively, but broke off, not really sure what he even wanted to say. “If you’re right and I get released first, I can take care of Roach until you get out.”

The witcher let out a snort. “She’d bite your fingers off if you tried.”

“Ah, but she didn’t before.” A triumphant smirk accompanied his words. “Really, it wasn’t that hard to get her to like me. I just complimented her a little.”

His friend let out a snort and mumbled something that Yarrow couldn’t understand, but it sounded amused, so he doubled down.

“And what a gorgeous lady she is! Even more beautiful with flowers braided into her mane –“

“What?” His friend’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Yarrow rolled his eyes. “No need to get jealous. I’m sure you’re gorgeous too. If you let me see you in the light of day some time, I will compliment you too. I can do it now, if you want. You have the most beautiful voice and truly you eloquence is unparalleled.”

“That’s not-“ The witcher made a frustrated noise. “Roach didn’t have braids. There were no flowers.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess not.” Yarrow scratched his head, running his hand through the mess of a braid that girl had left there hours ago. “I could have sworn I’ve seen her like that before though.”

“I’ve never come here before,” the witcher said tightly.

“Must have been another horse then. It’s not as if brown horses are rare.” Yarrow pulled a face for the darkness to see. He hesitated. “But did Roach ever have a braided mane?”

“Stop asking,” came the harsh reply. “You’re drunk.”

His friend’s voice sounded strange. Strangled and on the verge of breaking. Desperate.

“That’s true,” Yarrow said, aiming for a cheerier tone. “But no less delightful for it. Unless of course you really think I’m annoying. In that case I promise you, I’m far better company when I’m sober. I talk less than, you might like me more like that. You should really give me a chance.”

His tone was teasing, but he knew he couldn’t hide the clinginess in it. He really wanted the man in the other cell to like him. Even separated by a wall and with that staggering conversation, Yarrow felt more comfortable with him than with most people he had known for years. He wanted – needed – to get to know him better. He needed to find out what would make him smile softly or throw his head back laughing. He needed to see if he would ever look at Yarrow with fondness or casually touch him as if they really were friends and not just strangers who Yarrow called friends because he knew that he had no one else to give that title to.

And still, Yarrow didn’t even know his name. And why would he? Yarrow was the reason why the witcher was in this cell right now. He had every right to want to get as far away from Yarrow as possible as soon as he got out. It would be a blessing for the witcher to have the annoying artist, who wouldn’t shut up and had only gotten him into trouble, off his hands.

Yarrow’s throat became tight and he had to clench his hands to fists to stop them from trembling, even if no one was around to see him break down over a stranger not liking him. It was irrational. He had been alone for practically his entire life and he’d managed just fine, hadn’t he? His eyes shouldn’t be burning at the thought of continuing life on his own. But damn it, he just wanted a friend.

For a long time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence, only interrupted by Yarrows shaky breathing as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice of the stranger, who wasn’t his friend, was quiet, tentative.

Yarrow sniffled and nodded nonsensically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked out and grimaced at how utterly unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears. He ran a hand down his face and grasped the first excuse he could find. “Just don’t like the dark.”

He expected silence. Maybe a scoff. Witchers probably didn’t mind the dark, what with going hunting in the dead of night or whatever it was they did. Either way, there was a good chance he had just made the witcher think he was pathetic and unlikable as well as whiny.

But no scoff came. No reprimand or dismissal.

Instead there was a sound Yarrow couldn’t place and then the darkness was illuminated. Not by much, but faint light came flickering through the cracks in the wall.

Yarrow let out a gasp and lifted a hand to let the dim light dance across it.

“This is incredible!” he whispered. “How did you do that? Did the guards not search you for flint stones?”

His friend – he gave him light! He must be a friend…right? – made a grumbling noise but this time it sounded almost shy.

“Witchers can make fire with signs. Magic.”

“Incredible,” Yarrow repeated, the awe in his tone as clear as day. After a brief pause, he added softly, “Thank you, my friend. This really means a lot.”

He could practically hear the witcher grit his teeth and shift uncomfortably, but his voice wasn’t cutting, when he replied, “Maybe I just wanted you to stop whining.”

Yarrow’s expression softened. “You know you could just accept when someone’s thanking you. It’s alright if you don’t want to be my friend, but you don’t have to make yourself belief that I don’t like you.”

Maybe it was just Yarrow’s imagination, but for a split second he was sure the light became a little bit brighter.

“Just try to go to sleep,” the witcher tried to grumble, but Yarrow knew, he was smiling. At least he hoped so. “Maybe when you wake up, it’s already time for you to get out.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Yarrow’s lips. “What if I prefer spending my precious hours in this lovely place talking to you?”

The witcher let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and made Yarrow’s heart speed up in his chest. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to –

“Just sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Fine.” Awkwardly, Yarrow laid down again, trying and failing to find the most comfortable part of the floor. At least he still had the hints of soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone on the other side of this wall who cared for him, even if just a little. “Will you let me have this light until I’m asleep?”

“I will.” The faceless voice was silent for a heartbeat, then so quiet that Yarrow almost couldn’t hear it, the witcher said, “And you’re welcome.”

Yarrow’s chest grew warm. He closed his eyes, wishing he had something to give the witcher in return. But he had no magic and the only thing he was good at was painting. He doubted the witcher would appreciate a painting, even if Yarrow had the means to give him one.

No, he had nothing. Nothing but…

A soft melody filled the air. It wasn’t much, just one line, repeated over and over again, but it was all he had to give. Perhaps it would soothe the witcher enough to let him forget for a little while the injustice he had been shown.

A strangled noise came from the other side of that wall. If Yarrow hadn't known any better he'd have said it sounded like a stifled sob. His chest clenched painfully and he raised his voice, putting as much comfort and gratefulness into it as he could.

It was strange singing for someone else and his heart beat frantically from the nerves, but at the same time it felt like pieces slotting together, as if this was what he had always been meant to do. As if his whole life had lead up to this: to singing a soft lullaby for the person who seemed to need a friend just as desperately as Yarrow did.

He wished he knew more of the song. He wanted to give all of it, every piece of affection and safety that surely was weaved through every word to the witcher.

A dull thud made Yarrow flinch. His voice broke as he sucked in a startled breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. "Did you just punch the wall?"

"How do you know that song?" The desperation in the Witcher's voice did nothing to lessen the sharp worry that pierced Yarrow's chest.

"I-I don't know. It's just a song." His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through hair until the agitation left the witcher. If only there wasn't this damned wall between them! "Are you alright?" He repeated, though he held out no hope for an answer. He didn't need one. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can stop singing of you want—"

"No! “ The sharp shout came so unexpected that Yarrow winced. Softer, the Witcher repeated, "No. Don't stop. Please."

There was something utterly wrong with that. The witcher shouldn't plead, shouldn't have to plead for something like this, for comfort and the reminder that he wasn't alone in this. And worse than that, something scratched at the back of Yarrow's mind, an inexplicable certainty that this witcher wouldn't beg for anything - other than his loved ones' lives.

That thought didn't make sense. There was no reason to think such a thing. Hell, just a few minutes ago, Yarrow had felt a bond between them because they were both lonely. As far as he knew, the witcher didn't even have any loved ones he could plead for. Or maybe he didn’t anymore.

Yarrow swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He could become a loved one. Maybe not now, maybe not in a month's time, but if the witcher gave him the chance, they could become something to each other that might come close to that.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick from the tightness in his throat, but the witcher didn't complain about his singing. Perhaps he was somewhere far away, with someone else, in his mind. Perhaps he was just pretending to be asleep. The light remained, even as Yarrow's song slowly faded and he drifted off. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that he wished it wasn’t sleep that was embracing him but a set of strong arms that made him feel protected and loved.

Pictures fluttered through Yarrow’s dreams, soft ones, lovely ones, ones that he hadn’t known he’d longed for. Or rather…it wasn’t pictures as much as feelings. He couldn’t really see the people he knew were with him. He couldn’t make out faces, eyes, bodies. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what those dream-figments were: a family. His family, one he had never had. He felt the certainty of it burning in his heart, filling him out and making him want to lift his voice in a song. He felt someone lying next to him, curled against him instead of being separated by a wall. He felt loved. He felt –

Being needed. Someone was calling his name. It came from far away, too faint to really make out the name, but he knew it was his. He had to go to the one calling him. He had to see who it was. He had to –

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dark surrounding him. Being plunged into this cold nothingness after having felt light and bright and like he belonged, was like being thrown into icy water.

He wanted to close his eyes again, force his mind to bring him back to that place he had just been in, to melt into the embrace of his dream-family again. He needed to see them again! He didn’t want to – couldn’t! – stay alone.

But there it was again. Not a call as he had thought in his dream, but a whisper. A sob. A name. Coming from the other side of a wall and unreachable for him.

“Jaskier…”

It wasn’t his name. Gods, he wished it had been his name. His chest ached with the unruly need to hear his own name being spoken like this, just once. With longing. With love. With unnameable things that no one would ever feel for him.

It wasn’t his name and none of the things, that clung to the deep voice, was meant for him, but he couldn’t help but yearn and imagine.

He turned towards the sound and was greeted by light. For the flicker of a moment, he almost thought it must be a campfire someone had set up to keep him warm. But no, that was ridiculous. Those weren’t smouldering flames. It was faint and distant in a way that reminded him that he was separated from the source of the light. It didn’t matter. The name might not have been spoken for him, but this light? This was just for him. Even though he had been asleep, the witcher had kept his promise. Maybe it was his way of reaching out, of making himself feel like there was some sort of connection between the two of them. Yarrow prayed that that was how he felt.

He scooted closer to the wall, desperate to breach the distance between them as much as he could. He reached out to press his hand against the cold stone, imagining that maybe the witcher on the other side was doing the same thing.

Instead of the wall, his hand met something soft and squishy. A squeak pierced the air and suddenly a sharp pain erupted in Yarrow’s hand.

He let out a sharp cry, bringing his hand to his chest as fast as he could. Blood tickled down, not much, but enough to churn his stomach.

He barely registered the taps of small claws on the floor as the something that had bitten him scurried away.

“Yarrow?” The alarmed way the witcher said his name was nothing like he had said this other name, but it still sent Yarrow’s heart aflutter. It was so full of concern that Yarrow was sure the witcher would never admit to.

“I’m fine,” Yarrow pressed through gritted teeth. “No, wait, actually, this fucking hurts.”

“What does?” The witcher’s voice was impatient and closer to the wall than it had been before. “What happened?”

“Something bit me. Probably a rat or something.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled “Fuck” that shouldn’t have sounded so endearing to Yarrow.

“Don’t worry.” Yarrow waved his uninjured hand through the air. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The witcher didn’t reply. It didn’t come as a surprise and really, Yarrow had no right to feel bitter disappointment well up in him. But after having had the witcher’s attention on him, having him call out his name – remember his name! – in a way that made Yarrow believe that the witcher truly cared about him and then being hit with this silence, was unbearable.

“Are you still there?” His voice was small and he was well aware that it was a nonsensical question, yet when a gruff grunt came from the witcher, it made his heart soar. He pressed the forehead against the wall, hoping it was somewhat close to where he had heard the witcher’s voice come from.

“I’m glad you’re there. Not glad that you’re in prison, of course, just…. I would have hated to be alone in here.”

Another grunt. Not agreement, but not quite dismissal either. A smile danced across Yarrow’s lips.

“You were worried about me.”

A snort. “I’ve seen the chaos that you can bring. I’d be an idiot not to be worried. Figures you’d get in trouble here too.” The witcher’s voice held no hint of humour. Then again, people said Yarrow’s paintings showed no emotions and he knew better than anyone that that couldn’t be more false.

“My dear witcher.” His smile turned into a full smirk. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yarrow lied. Well, maybe he really wouldn’t let it get to his head. But he would let this moment strike roots into his heart. He hesitated, praying this wasn’t crossing some line. “Does this make us friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You could though.” Yarrow held his breath as he waited for an answer. It had been too forward. He should have taken the dismissal for what it was and not pushed. Yet he hoped beyond hope that he would hear a smile in the witcher’s voice when the reply came.

It took unbearably long until the witcher spoke up again and when he did, a smile was the furthest thing one could imagine in his voice.

“No.” A broken, regretful sound that cut into Yarrow’s heart like a knife. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Yarrow sighed. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t want to keep pushing, didn’t want to annoy the witcher any more and clearly his words were distressing to him. Still, the words tumbled from his lips, “Because you don’t need to be my friend, but I would love to be yours, witcher.”

Another pause. Then, “Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt.” A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Yarrow’s chest as he tasted the name on his tongue. “I like that.”

A grunt, half amused, half sounding like an eye-roll.

Another silence settled over them, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it. After what felt like endless hours in which Yarrow let his eyes drift over the lit-up cracks in the stone, he lifted a hand and traced one of the cracks.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

Yarrow bit his lip. “Thank you.”

If Geralt were to ask him what exactly he was thanking him for, Yarrow wouldn’t have known what to say. Thank you for the light. For being here. For listening and talking. For trusting me with your name.

But Geralt didn’t ask. Instead, he just said “You’re welcome.”

This time, Yarrow had no doubt that there was a soft smile rivalling his own on his friend’s face.

Just as Geralt had predicted, Yarrow was released from his cell first. Not quite as soon as Yarrow had hoped, but what difference made one day more in prison? At least he got to spend it with his new friend. A friend who teased him mercilessly about his hangover, calling it his rightful punishment for trying to steal Roach.

Yarrow was quieter without and far less eloquent without the alcohol infusing him with bravery, but the witcher didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, he even encouraged Yarrow to talk more, as if he actually liked listening to his rants the day before.

When the guards eventually came to unlock his cell, Yarrow was stupidly close to insisting on staying right where he was until Geralt too was set free, but he didn’t have to see Geralt’s face to know he’d be scowling at him if he suggested such a thing.

As it were, Geralt didn’t make a single sound as Yarrow left, not even acknowledging that they were friends now that the guards could hear them.

Though that did shoot a pang of disappointment through Yarrow’s chest, he didn’t let that deter him. He wouldn’t leave his friend without at least saying goodbye. As he was lead through the corridor that lead to freedom, Yarrow threw one last glance over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see into the cell.

“See you around, Geralt.”

A choked noise was the last thing Yarrow heard from his friend.

Then he was free again. He didn’t feel like it. His bag was pressed into his hand. He’d rather hold Geralt’s hand in his.

He was told to go home. He’d rather turn back to his cell; at least in there he had known that he wasn’t alone.

Still, he left. His feet didn’t carry him to his home. It was almost ironic that he took the same route as he had two days ago, when he had been drunk and lonely.

Just as last time, the horse, Roach, was standing in front of the inn, though this time she wasn’t bound to anything. Maybe someone had brought her here, though judging from the way Geralt had talked about her, it was unlikely that she would follow just anyone – other than Yarrow of course, for whatever reason. She probably had trotted back here on her own, waiting for her owner to come back.

Yarrow’s heart clenched at the sight, but he let out a relieved breath. At least Geralt had one companion who was loyal to him like that. Perhaps…perhaps Yarrow could be such a companion too. Being forced to talk for lack of anyone else being there while sitting in a prison was one thing. Waiting for him on the outside world was something entirely different.

But someone had to take care of Roach and no one else was going to do it, most likely. A pang of displeasure passed through Yarrow when he realised that no one had bothered to take off Roach’s saddle. At least the disgusting trophy was gone, but other than that, no one had lifted a finger to make the horse comfortable in any way. Without hesitation, Yarrow reached for the bridle. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. For a second there, the motions almost felt familiar, as if he had done this a hundred times before. That moment of confidence didn’t last long. He started fumbling and cursing when he realised that he actually had no idea what he was doing. It took him forever, but somehow he managed to unsaddled the horse with clumsy fingers, shooting glares at everyone who snickered at him when the saddle almost fell onto him when he failed to lift it off her. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he’d never had to do something like this before and judging from the way she nosed at him, searching for something to eat, she hadn’t been taken care off at all these past days.

Staying here with her was totally selfless.

Yarrow couldn’t even convince himself of that.

He stayed with Roach to assure that Geralt wouldn’t leave without a trace, only leaving her side to buy something to munch on for both of them. As long as he was with her, Geralt wouldn’t be able to skip this town without meeting Yarrow at least once more.

So he stayed and waited. Waited a day that felt like forever. It was boring, almost as much as those first hours in the cell had been. Yarrow let out a huff. Talking to someone who didn’t want to talk to him had worked once. It might as well work a second time. At first talking to Roach wasn’t that different from talking to Geralt. Yarrow let out a snorting laugh that made passers-by give him dirty looks. Geralt would have probably taken it as a compliment being compared to his horse. Then again, Yarrow could dream all he wanted, even he couldn’t pretend that Roach listened to his words. Roach wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to. He didn’t need stimulating conversation; all he wanted was occasional rough grunts and snarky comments.

He gave up talking, taking up his sketchbook instead. The familiar weight of the pencil in his hand brought a calmness to his restless mind. He let the pencil dance over the pages, as it always had done, drew what he always had drawn. But for the first time since he had decided to become an artist, he hesitated when he reached for his colour palette. His fingers itched to colour the eyes that stared up at him from the page amber, but he couldn’t. Not yet. For once, he didn’t want to paint his fantasy’s eyes. He wanted to draw his eyes. Geralt’s, wanted more than anything to know what they looked like. So Yarrow snapped his sketchbook shut. He’d just have to wait until he met Geralt to finish this drawing. In a spur of the moment decision, Yarrow stuffed the sketchbook into Roach’s saddlebags. It was a silly idea, but perhaps if Geralt insisted on leaving without him, Yarrow could follow him with the excuse that he had forgotten his sketchbooks in the bags. It would be obvious how desperate he was, but he could live with that, if it meant getting to keep his friend a little while longer.

The extent to his pathetic need to see Geralt again became painfully obvious, as soon the sun began to set and made it impossible to keep drawing. He should have returned home. Instead, he rented a room at the inn for the first time in his life. It was an expanse he shouldn’t allow himself, not when he had a perfectly good home in this very town. But his home was too far away. If he left to sleep there, it might take him too long to get back in time to catch Geralt.

He waited another day, kept himself busy by putting braids in Roach’s mane. Smug satisfaction filled him when he was done. He couldn’t wait to gloat to Geralt how he had been right: Roach really did look gorgeous with braids. For lack of anything else to do, he began braiding her tail as well. Far too soon, the joints of his fingers started to ache and he had to shake his hands to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t work. This was ridiculous. Yarrow wasn’t nearly old enough to have aching joints yet. Maybe it was because he had slept on the hard floor in the cell. That couldn’t have been good for his body. He’d have thought that one night sleeping in a bed should have rectified that, but apparently he had been wrong. Be had to make sure to get some better sleep this night.

The next day, the ache wasn’t gone. In fact, it had gotten so much worse, to a point where his fingers ached too much to hold a pencil and his elbows protested any time he lifted his hands to stroke Roach’s nose or even just turn a page in his sketchbook. It made little difference. He wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing anyway, not when his head felt like it was bursting, the insistent hammering against his skull even worse than when he’d had his hangover. This would go away. Surely, if he just waited a couple of hours, or maybe even a day, this would go away.

The next morning came. Geralt didn’t. It was strange just how much Yarrow missed Geralt after only so short a time of knowing him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He knew it was inappropriate to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from imagining how Geralt’s arms might feel around him. He was sure Geralt’s body would be warm. He would never allow him to snuggle into him, of course, but maybe if Yarrow asked, Geralt would make the flames for him again to warm him?

He shouldn’t need to be kept warm. It was spring. The sun was shining bright in the sky and people were fanning themselves to get rid of the heat. So why was Jaskier so cold? He pressed against Roach, who begrudgingly tolerated him. She was warm. Not warm enough to keep him from shivering. If he was so cold, why was his hair plastered against his forehead and neck, drenched with sweat? When he rubbed his face, why did his trembling and aching hands meet burning skin? He wished Geralt was here. Maybe when Geralt had been worried about him back in the cell, he had had a reason for that. Maybe once he got out, he’d know what to do.

Another day. Always another day. How many other days would he have to wait until he could finally see Geralt?

He refused to allow himself the thought that maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. Such thoughts were poison, especially on a day like this, when the thought of getting to meet his friend was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in spite of how much his muscles ached and protested at every slight movement. His legs hurt with every step and he couldn’t even steady himself by holding onto things, though the reason for that must be the ugly swelling of his hand. A small amount of puss had dried on it overnight and the small puncture wounds from where the rat had bitten him almost a week ago was swollen and purplish red.

He should go see a healer. He needed to see a healer. It was the only right thing to do in a situation like this. For days he had ignored his pains. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to risk getting any worse. No, he wasn’t stupid. What he was instead was desperate.

If Geralt came to get Roach while Yarrow was gone, he would forever regret the moment he had decided to let a healer look at his hand. He could stay a little longer. It wasn’t just that he needed Geralt; he also knew in his heart that Geralt needed him too. The witcher couldn’t get out of the prison that he didn’t deserve to be in and go out into the world all alone again. Geralt needed him to be here. Just one more day. Yarrow would wait one more day. Surely, he would make it. The rat bite couldn’t have been that bad. What was a little headache and pain in his muscles? What did it matter that he couldn’t hold his pencils or brushes anymore because of the swelling and the shaking from the chill? One more day. Just one more.

He asked around. Everyone who passed him and tried to avoid eye contact so they wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring how Yarrow trembled and tried not to keep the bile from rising. He called out to each and every one of them. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set that a guard who had just finished his shift could give him an answer. Geralt was going to be released the next day.

Relief flooded Yarrow. Tomorrow. He could make it till tomorrow. He would get to meet his friend again. He would get to see him. He just….he needed to rest for a little. Just a couple of hours. Just until the world stopped spinning around him and his legs refused to buckle beneath him. If Geralt was about to be released tomorrow, Yarrow could go to his room for a little. He would be back before Geralt could miss him.

He barely made it up the stairs of the inn. Everything hurt. His muscles were ablaze. More than once, Yarrow had to lean against a wall to catch his breath and allow his legs a break. But he had to keep going. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get up again to make sure Geralt wouldn’t leave without him.

He fell against the door to his room, pushing it open with his body weight and stumbling into the room. He couldn’t catch himself. With a pained groan that was barely drowned out by the door falling shut again, he landed on the floor, too weak to catch the fall. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The bed was too far away. With an inhuman effort he tried to crawl across the room. He hadn’t made it more than a few feet before he collapsed. Again on the cold hard floor. Again alone.

He had to make it. He had to get to the bed so he could get back to Geralt. He had to get back to Geralt.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He might have been an artist, a dreamer, but even dreamers had to wake up and face the ugliness of reality some day.

His breath came shallow and he curled in on himself as if that could stop the ache in his body. His swollen hand was cradled against his chest, but this time, there was no soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, no voice showing that there was at least one person who cared that he was in pain.

He thought of the picture he had drawn days ago and how he would never know which colour the eyes should have been. It wasn’t a very nice thought to be his last. He’d rather think of the voice of his friend. Of his care.

He wished he could be there for Geralt. He should have hoped he wouldn’t become another Jaskier for Geralt; another name to whisper in the dark and mourn.

But he was selfish. In his last moments, Yarrow was just happy that he had someone to think about as he lay on the floor with rattling breath and fear in his heart.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #my writing #fic #geralt #jaskier #fanfic #witcher #witcher fic #so much for keeping this fic short #angst #mcd #major character death #illness #sickness

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sykilik101 · 3 years

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Tender

Cradling a bowl of water in one arm and a small towel in hand, Ash eased the flap of the tent open. Stepping inside, his gaze landed on his red-headed friend lying on her side, eyes closed and breathing softly. Beside her lay Pikachu, who shared both her pillow and blanket. Her hand rested on the small mouse, fingers wrapped around his back as if to pull him closer.

Tip-toeing towards the pair Ash knelt down, resting the bowl and cloth besides them. The evening rays peered through the tent, casting shadows of swaying branches over the sleeping duo. Misty’s eyelids tensed and her mouth pursed for a moment, her head adjusting before going still once more. Ash leaned forward silently, pressing the back of his fingers against her forehead. Her temperature was normal, the way it should be.

Were anyone else to take a look at her, they’d never even guess she’d felt sick in the first place.

Leaning back to sit on the ground, a swell of pride ballooned in Ash’s chest as he admired Pikachu’s sleeping form. Anytime someone in the group felt ill, Pikachu stayed by their side while the other two tended to them and the campsite. He had thought that he was the only one Pikachu would fall asleep with; however, Misty had clearly earned that privilege at some point.

And, if Misty’s hand on him was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

Following her hand up her arm and to her face, he studied the way her lips moved the tiniest bit with each breath. She almost didn’t resemble the girl who’d usually chastise him over every mistake, or argue with him whenever she was convinced she was right. A joyful calm wafted through him, replaying the concept of her as one of his best friends in his mind. It wasn’t just in the way they’d shared numerous experiences together and bonded over them, but in how she took the closeness he’d offered her and not only returned it to him, but to his best Pokémon partner.

His gaze ran back down to her hand, fond of the way her fingers rested among Pikachu’s fur. Pokémon were amazing at being in tune with how people felt; it was one of the many things he loved about them. The fact that Pikachu had so readily attached himself to Misty in the first few days of their journey stuck with him even to this day, though he wouldn’t so easily admit it. Ash’s friendships with Pikachu and Misty individually were obvious, but it was in moments like these that he was able to see their own friendship for himself.

When his hand moved to rest itself on Misty’s, he justified it to himself by saying that in doing so, it was as if he and Misty were caring for Pikachu together. In reality, though, his thoughts quickly turned to the warmth and softness of her skin. He’d held it before, as various darkened caves and foggy woods were witness to. In spite of that, he’d never taken a second to really notice how much he liked his thumb absentmindedly running over her knuckles.

Misty let out a hum, and the sudden, inexplicable thought that he’d caused it pulled at his heart. He smirked to himself at the way he’d expected to find her smiling, but he was willing to settle for the tint of rosiness on her cheeks. It was likely the effects of her still feeling unwell, but the color there sent some pink to his own. Pulling his hand from hers, the backs of his fingers trailed the softness of her jawline. His heartbeat began picking up, and as he ran his fingers in millimeters across her skin-

She’s pretty.

He gulped, strangely unafraid of the emotions starting to bubble up from his chest. His hand was frozen, but a curiosity took hold of him. It was hazy for a moment, but as he watched her the image of holding her cheek in his palm materialized in his head. She seemed so tired, in need of rest, in need of nurture. He placed the pads of his fingers against her cheek, his palm inching closer and closer-

Misty hummed again, her eyelids tightening as her lips pressed together. Ash snatched his hand away, his blood running cold in momentary fear. Everything else faded into the background as he watched her, his breath bated as he waited to see whether she’d wake up or not. Seconds inched by as Misty eventually relaxed, returning to her stillness. Ash heaved a small sigh of relief, his palm landing on his chest.

“Ash, food’s almost done!”

Brock’s distant voice stole his attention, turning his gaze to the flap of the tent. The evening’s dinner had been made with Misty’s sickness in mind, so a stew awaited them by the campfire. Though, in Misty’s condition, he’d probably end up having to help feed her, seeing as the food would be hot.

“Here you go. Don’t burn yourself.”

Memories of Stun Spore sickness, Salveyo weed tea, and a tender voice flashed through his mind. It was the first time Misty had really been the one to care for him in his time of illness. She’d done it a few more times since then, and he was always grateful for the care and kindness she’d show him.

“Don’t get used to it!”

He held back a chuckle, recalling that snippy tone and how opposite it was from the previous tenderness. His lips pursed as he dwelled on her words. If nothing else, she had been right. It was true that he wasn’t used to that behavior from her, but deep down he knew that when he really needed her, she’d be there to take care of him.

And to the best of his abilities, he’d always be there for her, too.

Bracing himself for any potential snappiness, he gently shook her shoulder. “Misty, wake up, dinner time.”

It only took four shakes before Misty scrunched up, a groan escaping her as her eyes slowly opened. Her brain hadn’t caught up to her hand on Pikachu right away, tenderly gripping his fur before reflexively easing up. This was enough to wake him, and seconds later he was sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Something indescribable swelled in Ash’s chest at seeing their post-sleep faces, but he opted to scratch Pikachu behind the ears in lieu of trying to decipher it.

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for watching over Misty. Do you mind telling Brock we’ll be out in a sec?”

“Pi-ka,” he nodded, giving himself a shake before leaping through the flap.

Ash smiled before scooting closer to Misty, finally placing the towel in the bowl. “How are you feeling?” he asked, wringing out the excess water.

She turned to lay on her back, putting the back of her hand against her forehead. “I still feel a little under the weather, but I should be fine by tomorrow.”

Ash nodded, folding the cloth into a small square. Nudging her hand out of the way he wiped at her face, strongly aware that he was using the same gentleness he’d used before. “That’s good to hear. Dinner should be done in a bit.”

“I can do this myself,” she mumbled drowsily, though she made no effort to stop him.

“I know.”

A few more wipes and another wringing of water later, the cloth rested on her forehead. She eased her gaze to his, growing a weary smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

In line with his previous impulses, his hand made its way into her hair. It was a bit more intimate than their normal friendship allowed, but she didn’t seem to mind. He wanted to call back to that feeling of nurture, of wanting to care for her, but his habits were strong and he instead just smirked. “I’ll wait until you feel better before I tell you not to get used to it.”

She closed her eyes, huffing with a smile before shaking her head. Ash didn’t know for certain, but maybe she felt the way he did; whenever they needed each other, they’d be there. They’d almost never brought it up aloud, but then, it didn’t seem necessary. It was kind of a given at this point, and he cherished that from the bottom of his heart.

When Misty’s hand landed on his, his body jolted the smallest bit. Her eyes stayed closed, though her smile remained. “Can you keep your hand there, just for a minute longer?”

Though a hoarse voice tried to disguise it, that former tenderness of hers returned. It tickled his ears in a way that brought about nostalgia and a deeper feeling he couldn’t describe that warmed his cheeks. It was the care he’d wanted to show her, but softer, kinder, harder to put into words. The way Misty eased into his touch, however, was a perfect translation to explain the moment to him, and he smiled.

“Sure, Misty.”

This is a gift for @miyatoriaka, since I’ve been a fan of hers for a gazillion years. It was also based on one of her drawings; if you wanna see the image that inspired it, behold: bit.ly/3sfWjHV

#pokeshipping #pokemon #ash ketchum #misty #ash x misty #fanfiction #fanfic #satokasu

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

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The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 6

When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.

So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock… doesn’t exactly know that.

links in the reblog

Marinette was starting to think that Hawkmoth had officially gone around the bend.

For months after the Miracle Queen attack, Hawkmoth and Mayura had hammered at the superheroes, both of them plus the regular akuma and a sentimonster showing up to the battles. The superheroes had struggled to adapt, sacrificing their free time and fun activities to find and train new allies to help them as needed and doubling up on Miraculous almost as often as not to have access to more powers. They had been managing- sometimes only by the skin of their teeth- but it was taking a lot of effort.

And then, all of a sudden, Mayura vanished, and Pavona took her place next to Hawkmoth.

The change by itself would have been odd enough even if Pavona was an equally good fighter as Mayura. But Pavona was a poor fighter and even worse strategist. Her sentimonsters were easier to fight than Mayura's, and her outfit- while fancy- was a piece of cake to grab onto, either to yank her backward (or sideways) out of an attack or to fling her several blocks away, away from the fight and out of their hair for several minutes while the supervillain picked herself back up and straightened her outfit out.

(The Ladyblog had had an absolute field day with how ridiculous and ill-suited for fighting Pavona's outfit was. Marinette had worried that it would make Pavona reconsider her transformation and choose something more practical, but either the supervillain was unaware of the Ladyblog or was just so generally inept that she wasn't willing to sacrifice fashion for practicality.)

In most cases, Marinette would have assumed that Pavona had stolen the Miraculous from Mayura, and that was the reason for the change. But it was obvious that Pavona wouldn't have been able to overpower Mayura to start with, and Hawkmoth had clearly been anticipating the change. Right now, her assumption was that something had happened to Mayura- maybe she had died in an accident or something, she didn't know- and Pavona was Hawkmoth's only choice for an ally.

To be honest, Marinette was of the opinion that Hawkmoth would have been better off fighting on his own. Pavona only seemed to get in the way, and then she had to be saved before the superheroes could grab for her Miraculous. Pavona hadn't come out on the battlefield again after one particularly idiotic blunder, but considering that Mayura hadn't returned and the Peacock's sentimonsters were still showing up, it was more than likely that Pavona was just sulking in a lair somewhere for a bit before trying battlefield fighting again.

And now, after weeks- no, months- of Hawkmoth going after the superheroes with increased ferocity, the attacks had suddenly stopped. There had been nothing for the past four days.

Not that Marinette was complaining! Being able to attend school without having to dash out was really nice. It was just odd, that was all.

"Oh, Lila's looking like she might be finally getting better! I'm glad, she was looking so ill at the end of last week!"

Marinette blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts and glancing over at Alya. "Hm?"

Alya nodded towards the front of the classroom, where Lila was straggling across the front of the classroom. "Lila caught a cold or something last week and she was so exhausted. She couldn't rest very well, since she's been pushing herself to get all of this work for her charities done before this deadline and there's been, like, so many emergencies that she's had to deal with all in a row. We've all been trying to help out so she won't get behind, but she's really been struggling. So I'm glad that she's feeling at least a little better now!"

For once, it was easy not to sigh in exasperation. Instead, Marinette frowned, glancing towards Lila as she headed for the back of the classroom.

The charities were a lie, of course. They always had been and always would be. Lila was too selfish and self-centered to even think about spending her time and money helping others. But the lie definitely got Lila a lot of (undeserved) admiration and offers for help. Mysteriously, Lila could never use the help with the charity directly- Marinette hadn't bothered to hear her excuses for that- but she could use the help when it came to things like homework. Normally, Marinette would assume that Lila had just wanted her classmates to offer to do all of her homework because she felt a little under the weather.

This time, though, Marinette had noticed that Lila seemed a bit under the weather, and it hadn't seemed faked. In fact, it had been pretty obvious once she looked a little closer that Lila had applied makeup to hide how bad she was feeling. And that was strange.

Sure, Lila seemed to have made a little bit of a recovery, but Marinette couldn't help but feel a bit curious about the whole situation. Downplaying her troubles wasn't Lila's style at all, and Marinette had to wonder what was going on. Because something had to be going on, unless Lila had gotten a personality transplant overnight.

(Considering that she was still lying about her charity work, Marinette doubted that.)

"I wonder if there's something going around," Adrien commented quietly to Marinette as Alya and Nino broke off into their own little conversation. "Nathalie was sick a couple weeks ago, and I've never seen her so drained. She's been getting better, but she still gets these little relapses sometimes." He glanced towards the back of the classroom, his brow furrowed. "Maybe Lila picked it up at one of the photoshoots or something."

"I hope it doesn't spread, then," Marinette said. She chanced a glance back at Lila, who was clearly half-heartedly engaging in conversation with a few of their classmates. "Being tired and miserable for over a week sounds miserable."

Miserable, and not very safe. Marinette had had to be Ladybug when she had a bit of a cold more than one time, with a stuffed nose and a sore throat, and that had been bad enough. It hadn't affected her fighting that much, she thought, but combine that with how being tired during late night and early-morning fights affected her...

"She probably shouldn't have been coming to school," Adrien added after a moment. "It's a bit odd that most of the time she's so eager to skip, but the one time when she actually has a legitimate excuse to stay home, she doesn't."

Marinette nodded, glancing backwards again. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

The lack of akumas continued for the rest of the week, and Marinette got to get caught up with- well, everything- for the first time in ages. She worried that Hawkmoth was planning something, of course, but there wasn't really much that she and Chat Noir could do about it besides patrolling every evening in search of trouble.

Well, patrolling and going over what little information they had about the Miraculous powers and potions, comparing notes about what Master Fu had taught them. Thankfully she had gotten copies of pretty much all of Master Fu's translations before he was caught, but she hadn't had the chance to go through all of them and truly figure out the extent of the information at her fingertips. She and Chat Noir had been finding hidden crannies- ones where they wouldn't get spotted and where they couldn't be overheard or snuck up on- and going over the notes, puzzling over cryptic clues and tossing ideas for interpretations back and forth. Maybe it was a nice change of pace from battling akumas (and it was definitely something that they had to do anyway), but it was also difficult and frustrating and slow-going. Things had to be interpreted and then sorted into some semblance of order so that they would be able to find the notes again when they needed them.

So by the time Saturday rolled around, marking a full week without the barest whisper of an akuma, Marinette was more than happy to set her schoolwork and the Miraculous notes aside (the latter locked up in a box that was both secure and hidden), bake a batch of cookies, and package them up with some rejected pastries from the bakery to bring to their class picnic at the park. It sounded like a great opportunity to relax and focus on something else for a change.

Their classmates trickled in, coming in pairs and trios, laden with food. Thankfully it looked like people had brought dishes instead of just treats this time, so they would have a proper meal instead of just sugar, sugar, and more sugar. It was a far cry from their first class picnic, where almost all of them ended up feeling a bit ill from the number of sweets that they had eaten.

Rose, bless her, had even brought salad. She had put in a fair amount of work, clearly, tossing in more veggies and croutons and bringing a container of homemade dressing to make it more interesting.

Everyone milled around, talking and relaxing in the warm sun. Marinette wandered between her classmates, chatting with pretty much everyone before gradually circling back around to hang with Alya, Nino, and Adrien again. Maybe she got to hang out with them most often, just by virtue of where they sat in class, but they were also her best friends. They could talk for forever about nothing in particular, and it was nice to have that.

Ten minutes after the bulk of their class had arrived, Lila finally showed up. And in typical Lila fashion, of course she had to make her entrance loud.

"Oh my god, you guys, you'll never guess what my mom did for me! It was so sweet of her!"

"Oh, what now?" Marinette grumbled as people started to flock towards Lila as though they were being drawn by a magnet. "Can't we go one day without her making up some ridiculous story to tell?"

"I'll go listen in," Adrien volunteered, placing one hand on her shoulder. "Just to see what she's up to. If you want to, uh..."

"I'll go organize things on the picnic table so that I don't have to listen to her," Marinette offered, picking up what he was going to say. It was obvious to anyone with eyes (and critical thinking skills) that listening to Lila blather on made Marinette's blood pressure rocket up. "And then, uh, do some cloud-watching?"

Adrien snorted. "Honestly, that sounds way more appealing than listening to Lila. Anything is, really, but..." He glanced towards the growing group around Lila. "I'd rather not have to hear about what Lila was saying and showing off secondhand, not when everyone believes everything she says."

Before Marinette could agree, Adrien had darted off, lingering on the edges of the group. He blended in pretty naturally, clearly going for a 'just-here-because-Nino-is' look and succeeding fairly well. Before anyone could notice that she wasn't joining the rest of the group, Marinette wandered off to rearrange the table and make it not quite so chaotic. Since Lila seemed to be settling in for a long story-telling session, Marinette took her sweet time in surveying everything that people had brought (Lila, she couldn't help but notice, had opted not to contribute) and figuring out the best way to arrange them. Shapes of containers had to be taken into consideration, of course, and then similar things- the salads, the chips- could be put together.

It made the table much neater and meant that nothing was in danger of falling off anymore.

Lila was still going strong with her stories, so Marinette turned her attention skyward for all of a minute (cloud-watching, it turned out, was not particularly interesting for an extended period of time) and then down to her phone. Finally, finally, Lila stopped talking and everyone broke up into their little friend groups. Marinette headed over to Adrien's side at once, something that was made much easier by the fact that Alya and Nino were still talking to Lila.

"So what's the latest nonsense?"

Adrien startled for a moment, then relaxed once he realized that it was Marinette next to him. "Oh, gosh. I don't know how, but Lila's come up with pictures to go along with her stories. She has selfies with Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Prince Ali, Ladybug..."

"She- what?" For once, Marinette was caught completely off guard. "She has photos? But none of those stories are true!"

"My guess is Photoshop. That, or she wanted to go low-tech, posters and life-sized print-outs." Adrien made a face, glancing around as he did to make sure that they weren't being overheard. "I don't know why she went all-in like that all of a sudden. Like, it didn't seem as though people were believing her any less than they were when she first showed up."

"Maybe she just wanted to head off that possibility before anyone caught on." Which was annoying, really. Marinette had just been about ready to try for another round of pointing out inconsistencies in Lila's stories to Alya, abet a more subtle round, and now that Lila had "evidence" to back up her claims...

Well, that made things a lot more difficult. She would have to abandon subtlety altogether and do something much more direct, like calling up Jagged Stone and having him come in or somehow approaching Lila as Ladybug when Alya was nearby and calling her out for the Photoshop.

She really should have just nipped the entire problem in the bud when Lila first showed up and gone to Alya's apartment to ask about the video of her "best friend" on the same day that it was posted, but it was a little too late to do that now.

"It makes me wonder if she's setting up to do something bigger," Adrien murmured, keeping his voice low. Maybe none of their classmates were lingering close by, but they didn't want to be overheard. "Then she would want to have a solid base. If she validates all of her previous lies, then she can tell a bigger one and not run as big of a risk of people doubting her."

Marinette nodded. Yeah, she was afraid of that, too. She also wouldn't be surprised if Lila decided to make up something about her to get rid of the dissenting voice for once and for all. If she tried, though, Marinette was ready.

There was a lock on her school bag, and another on her locker. Tikki had been told to keep an eye out and to destroy anything that Lila tried to plant. Marinette had even bought a recorder, in case she ever found herself alone with Lila and no witnesses again.

Of course, Lila might very well decide to take the approach of making Marinette look like the bad guy by bringing attention to the fact that she didn't believe any of Lila's stories, and then try to alienate her friends that way. Marinette wouldn't let that happen- she'd just use her connections to discredit Lila if it got that bad- but it wouldn't be particularly pleasant, either.

"Maybe she wants to skip again and the teachers are starting to doubt her," Marinette suggested, keeping her voice just as quiet as Adrien's. "So she's going more indirect this time by showing off her pictures to classmates but not the teacher- except no, it would make more sense than to show the photos off at school. Then she wouldn't have to depend on the teachers overhearing classmates just happening to mention the photos."

"True. Which suggests that whatever she's planning, it's more important that our classmates all believe her." Adrien sighed. "I miss the days before Lila showed up. I didn't feel like I had to keep an ear open to what was going on and what was being talked about all the time."

Marinette nodded. Yeah, things had been a lot more simple before Lila returned. Maybe she still had to deal with Chloe's nonsense, but at least Chloe hadn't been trying to frame her for things, just make her life difficult in typical bully fashion.

"I guess we'll find out what she's up to soon enough," Marinette said with a sigh. She wasn't looking forward to it. "I almost wish I could see the photos without Lila there. I bet there's something off about them that I'd be able to point out, but she's hardly going to hand over her phone and let me pick them apart."

Adrien perked up. "Oh! Lila sent her Ladybug photos to Alya to post on the Ladyblog. Maybe it's not all of the photos, but you could at least look over those ones."

Marinette grinned. That was a start, at least. Of course, she would have to be really careful when bringing up any problems with the photos because otherwise she wouldn't even get her friends to actually look at the issue before they jumped down her throat about how she was being so mean doubting poor Lila, but maybe she could pose any concerns as a question or something.

"Hey, Marinette, come check this out!"

"I'll wait here and if Nino and Alya got anything more out of Lila once they finish chatting with her," Adrien said when Marinette hesitated to respond, not fully willing to give up their discussion so early. He nudged her towards Max. "There'll be plenty of time to try to figure out what Lila's up to later."

Marinette nodded, stepping away from Adrien and heading across the grass towards Max. He was grinning, looking eager about something.

"I would love some feedback on some of my proposed designs for the akuma villains that I'll be rolling out as part of my upcoming game update," Max told Marinette as she drew closer. He pulled a folder out of his bag and opened it, pulling out a sheath of papers. "Both the villain costume design and the powers, really. I want to make them a bit less, ah, one-dimensional, I suppose. Less predictable. I had some ideas, but would definitely be open to any improvements before I code them all in."

Marinette perked up. Oh, that sounded interesting, and something that sounded loads more interesting than discussing Lila and her nonsense. "Sure! How many akumas are you thinking of adding?"

"I thought ten to fifteen in the next release, then maybe do regular releases after that on a more regular basis with five or so akumas per release, just to keep things fresh." Max adjusted his glasses, angling the paper stack so that Marinette could see the top design. "Of course, how long I can do that for depends on Hawkmoth making new akumas and not simply recycling powers over and over, but at the moment I have quite a list of supervillains that I could use."

"That sounds like a lot of work, but very cool," Marinette told him, accepting the top paper. She scanned the design, grinning when she noticed how well Max had done at getting the details right. "This is so cool! Was it hard getting all of the details?"

"Nathaniel assisted with the character modeling," Max told her, shuffling around so he could stand next to her and see the page as well. "Which really helped bring the characters to life."

"It's really fantastic!" Marinette glanced through the next few papers, impressed. It was a real step up from Max's original character designs, which had been detailed enough for people to be able to identify the characters but nowhere near this quality. He had focused less on the design and more on the coding for the actual play. "Have the old characters gotten the same design upgrade?"

"Yes, that was what the last update was. I wanted to make sure that everything was perfect and there wouldn't be any mismatch between the old characters and the new ones." Max shuffled a step closer. "So, what do you think about this character?"

Ten minutes of character review later, Marinette left Max scribbling down notes in the margins of his character pages and headed back across the park to where her friends were hanging out. Halfway there, she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of Lila's voice, loud and pointed and annoying.

"You missed out on seeing my pictures earlier," Lila said loudly, smugness coming across loud and clear in her voice. "Which is a pity, really. There were some really nice ones that my mom recovered off of my old phone. If you wanted, I could still show you a couple."

Marinette snorted at that. As if. "So you've taken up Photoshop as a hobby, I take it?" she asked, thoroughly unimpressed. "And I think I'll pass on looking at the photos. If I wanted to see something that wasn't real, I'd go watch an action hero movie. That would at least be enjoyable."

"You're just so certain that they're doctored," Lila sniffed, still insufferably smug. "Do you know how jealous that makes you sound? It's not a very attractive look on you at all."

Marinette had to roll her eyes at that. Jealous? Why on earth would she be jealous of Lila? "Puh-leeze. There was a photo of me and Jagged Stone on the cover of Metal Lord not even a year ago, and I've got actual selfies of me and Clara Nightingale on my phone from when she was doing her music video. I don't need Photoshop. Some of us actually have the connections that you pretend to have. If anyone is jealous, it's you."

With that, she turned on her heel and left before Lila could say anything else, continuing her journey towards Alya and Nino and Adrien. Alya was busily tapping away on her phone, clearly in Ladyblog article mode.

She would probably have the photos and whatever article she was writing up done by the evening and posted with the photos, and then Marinette could look at them. With any luck, there would be something obvious wrong with them, and maybe- maybe she could post under an anonymous name and bring up the fact that the photos were clearly faked then?

"Max sure looks serious about something," Adrien commented as Marinette returned, settling down on the grass between him and Alya. "I don't know anyone else who would bring a file folder to a picnic- well, anyone else our age, at least."

"He's gearing up to start work on a new release for his video game," Marinette told him. She was really excited to see it, actually. Hopefully she would actually have the time to play. "Or, well, he's started work, but he wanted to get some input on how to make it better. He has twenty new akumas lined up to create, and they all look fantastic!"

Adrien perked up. "Oh, cool! I saw that the graphics took a huge leap forward with the last release, which was really nice. Before, it was very, ah..." He tipped his head to one side, considering. "Very early-game-y? But now the graphics match the coding, which is nice. I know there was a huge spike in interest once that upgrade came through."

"As there should be!" There had been several akuma-and-superhero-themed games that had come out since she and Chat Noir hit the scene, but in Marinette's (completely unbiased) opinion, Max's was one of the best. "We were talking about the powers that the akumas get and how he's working on making them a little more realistic and less predictable. Thankfully he doesn't have to puzzle it out through trial and error for each akuma. Or, well, at least he really only had to do a bunch of puzzling for the first one, and then each one after that only needs a few small tweaks here and there."

"I can't wait for that to come out. Did Max say when he's expecting to have that ready to roll out?"

Marinette shook her head. She had asked too, but Max had said that there were way too many variables to promise anything yet. "I think he's still early on enough in the process that it's impossible to predict. Everything could go really smoothly..."

"...or the code could tie itself into knots and take weeks to find the issue," Adrien finished. "Ah, I suppose I could be patient."

"I wonder if Max would be interested in giving out some preview pictures before everything is ready to go," Nino chimed in. "I know Alya's mentioned his game on the Ladyblog before, but it never hurts to drum up some more interest. Right, babe?"

He got a vague grunt in response.

"Babe?"

"I think she's a bit focused at the moment," Adrien said with a laugh when Alya didn't respond again. "We'll bug her later. I think Max's game is a pretty cool thing to put on the Ladyblog."

"Though not as cool as Lila!" Nino exclaimed. "I mean, I guess her friendship with Ladybug is old news now, but Ladybug doesn't pose with civilians that often, not unless there's an event or something. And the pictures- Marinette, you missed that! Lila's mom got a specialist to recover a bunch of her photos from off of her old phone that got destroyed, and she was showing everyone. It was cool to get to see the inside of Prince Ali's palace! Like, there weren't a ton of pictures of the inside, just what we could see in the background of her photos with him, but still!"

"Hm," Marinette said, completely noncommittal. "Pity. I had to make sure that none of the food was going to fall off of the picnic table. It kind of looked like Kim might have arranged it last- there was a really precarious pile of stuff. One pan was hanging halfway off of the table and the only reason why it hadn't fallen yet was because something else was piled on top of the portion that was actually on the table."

Adrien laughed. "That sounds like Kim. And yet there was plenty of space on the table, it seems? Nothing is about to fall off now."

"Yeah, it was just that dishes were piled every which way and there were a lot of oddly-shaped gaps between..." Marinette trailed off, squinting across the park. Lila was headed towards Rose and Max and Juleka, but something seemed... off. She didn't seem entirely steady on her feet for a moment, half-stumbling before catching herself and continuing.

Huh. Was Lila still sick? She had seemed mostly fine at school on Friday, and for most of the rest of the week, too. Marinette would have guessed that Lila was just trying to get attention again, except that stumble was...muted. Almost like Lila was trying to hide it.

...maybe she just didn't want to take attention away from her faked photos? The attention from that was sure to be better than any attention that she could get from being sick, even if Lila had clearly enjoyed the attention that she had gotten during her- what? One, two, maybe three weeks of being sick?

That... that was a long time to be sick.

Marinette kept watching Lila as she sat down, almost immediately joining in the conversation. She seemed fine now, but Marinette was positive that she hadn't imagined that stumble.

"-lots of tasty dishes," Nino was saying, though Marinette had largely tuned him out. "A lot of things that I want to try. The pastries you brought look great- and did you see the quiches that Juleka brought? I heard she made them herself!"

He didn't get a response. Marinette was too busy watching Lila.

She had the feeling that something was off, and she didn't want to let her guard down until she figured out what.

Hawkmoth had been quiet lately. Lila had gotten photos that were either photoshopped or had been made in some other way. Maybe it was a stretch to say that the two were related, but there was a niggling feeling in Marinette's gut that there was some sort of connection.

Marinette had long since learned that her gut was usually not a great thing to ignore. If she sensed that something was wrong, she needed to investigate. Just sitting back and waiting for things to resolve themselves or for problems to show up wasn't enough, not anymore.

"You guys? The quiches?"

Marinette startled, pulling her gaze away from Lila and back towards Nino. Right. Investigating was important, but so was not being obvious about it. If Lila caught her staring, or one of her other classmates did, then Lila would no doubt go out of her way to be even more sneaky about whatever it was that she was up to.

That was fine. Marinette could hold a conversation and watch Lila unobtrusively at the same time. So she did. And what she noticed...

Well, Lila was definitely still sick. She had looked positively green as she picked up food from the table (following what might have been either an attempt to make people feel like they had to rush to assure her that she could take all the food she wanted or a stab at getting out of eating that backfired spectacularly- Marinette suspected that it was meant to be the latter) and not entirely steady on her feet as she headed back to the bench that she had been sitting on. She hadn't eaten until one of the other girls commented on it, instead just pushing her food around her plate, and, if Marinette's eyes were serving her correctly, Lila seemed to occasionally be swaying in place. Which... wasn't normal.

If it weren't for the faked photos, Marinette would say that Lila was just ill and wasn't up to- well, wasn't up to being up to something. But clearly she had had enough energy to put in the work to create the photos.

Unless- well, there was a possibility that Lila had been working on those photos gradually, over the course of several weeks, and just finished them recently. Several weeks of Photoshop work logically made more sense than a day or two, unless Hawkmoth was involved. Somehow.

...it wasn't a completely illogical thought, right? She was pretty sure that Lila had worked willingly with Hawkmoth before. She had been Akumatized and looked just like normal, at least for a bit. So it wasn't impossible.

...but then how did the cold fit in? And why on earth would Hawkmoth bother giving someone photoshopping powers?

Across the way, Lila swayed in her seat again. She was looking rather pale now, and Marinette wondered why she hadn't just gone home. It would have been easy enough for Lila to claim that she had just gotten an email requesting an urgent Skype meeting about pollution or something and then she could have left.

"Just like Mom and Nathalie," Adrien murmured, pulling her out of her thoughts. "That's so strange."

"Hmm?" Marinette blinked over at him, puzzled. "Who is?"

"Lila." Adrien tipped his head towards Lila, who was pushing herself to her feet to follow Rose. "I think I might have mentioned it once before. Nathalie was really ill just like Lila. She was all tired and ill and dizzy for the longest time before she started getting better, and then there were sometimes off days where she seemed just as sick as she had been before. Mom was like that too before she vanished. And I've never heard of a cold before that acted like that."

"Me either." Not that there weren't illnesses that behaved that way. They just weren't colds. Not an average, run-of-the-mill cold, anyway. "Nathalie got better though, right? So if Lila caught whatever she had- oh my god!"

Across the park, Lila had stumbled and then simply collapsed, hitting the ground hard enough- and in an awkward enough position- that it was pretty obvious that it was 100% not at all faked.

"LILA!" Rose shrieked, dashing back to her side. "Oh my god, can you hear me? Are you okay? What- what do we do?"

"Rose, take a deep breath," Marinette called, already shoving herself to her feet. She had gotten first aid training several months prior, just in case she ever needed it as Ladybug, and- well, she was pretty positive that she was the only one in the class with the training, which meant that she needed to take charge. No matter how much she disliked Lila- or how suspicious she was that Lila was up to something- she had to do the right thing. "Juleka, help Rose roll Lila onto her back so that she isn't all crumpled up like that. Alya, call for an ambulance."

"On it!"

Marinette dashed over as Rose and Juleka got Lila into a more comfortable position on the ground. Lila's skin was white as a sheet against her hair, so far beyond pale that it was really concerning.

At least she was breathing. Marinette could tell as much as she skidded to a stop by Lila's side.

Rose was practically in tears. "Is she going to be okay?"

"She's breathing, so she should be fine." As long as she kept breathing, at least. Marinette quickly scanned through her memories of what she had learned in her first aid class. Lila had been acting ill before, so they didn't need to worry about environmental threats to them, too. That also pretty much ruled out choking, and the fact that Lila hadn't been coughing or clutching at her throat (or eating) before confirmed that. She had just passed out, so watching after her while they waited for an ambulance to arrive should be pretty easy.

Now, as far as things that they could do went...

"We want to encourage blood flow to the head, since Lila fainted," Marinette told everyone, keeping a close eye on the slow rise and fall of Lila's chest. "If someone could find something to prop Lila's feet up a bit, that should help. And then I'm just going to make sure that her clothes aren't too tight, because tight clothes restrict blood flow."

Several people darted off to grab their backpacks or bags to prop Lila's feet up. Marinette watched them go for a moment, then turned her attention back to Lila.

Right. What she was meant to do if Lila's clothes were tight, Marinette wasn't sure, but if she could figure out how to defeat an akuma with a traffic cone, she was pretty positive that she could puzzle out how to help Lila.

Methodically, Marinette worked over Lila's body, scanning for anything that might be in need of loosening, pausing briefly partway through to help Nino prop up Lila's feet slightly before going back to her scan. Nothing in particular was sticking out, except for maybe Lila's scarf. Even that was pretty loose, though, not something that would be cutting off any blood or air.

Maybe she should still be removing it? That would probably be a good idea.

"Marinette," Tikki hissed suddenly from Marinette's collar. "I'm sensing something really odd near Lila's neck. Can you take off her scarf? I just- I want to check something out."

Marinette nodded as subtly as she could, not wanting to attract any attention from her audience, then carefully removed Lila's scarf. There was something hard hidden in the folds, and a quick glance down at Tikki confirmed that whatever it was that she had sensed was on the scarf itself.

Had- had she been right? Was Lila actually akumatized and Tikki had detected the akumatized object? Maybe she had been akumatized all week, and that was why she had seemed better. Then the sickness had gotten too much and gotten through the boost that the akuma gave.

Which... well, that made Marinette wonder just how sick Lila was if it was able to force its way through the boost that an akumatization usually gave.

Also, speaking of which, she had to get away soon, then, and purify the akuma before it peeled itself out of whatever was in the scarf. But she couldn't just step away from Lila unnoticed, not when she was the only one of her classmates who was trained in first aid. She would have to wait until the professionals arrived- and even then, she would probably have to brief them on what she had seen and done, even if she had seen the same thing as most of her classmates and hadn't really done much in terms of care.

...maybe she would get lucky and the cursed butterfly would stay in the brooch or whatever it was in the scarf until after Lila was turned over into far more capable hands. It was a long shot, but not completely impossible.

Maybe. Hopefully.

"Here comes the ambulance!" Nathaniel called from the corner of the park. He rushed back towards them. "Clear a path, clear a path!"

The next few minutes were a blur as everyone scrambled out of the way of the path and grabbed up stray bags, making way for the paramedics. They surrounded Lila, taking her vitals and moving her onto a stretcher when she didn't respond. There were questions to answer about what they had seen and what they had done and then Lila was being wheeled away towards the ambulance. The class swarmed towards the curb, watching the ambulance pull away anxiously, but Marinette held back. With everyone else's attention off of her, she glanced down at the scarf in her hands. No corrupted butterflies had fluttered free yet, so Marinette carefully unfolded the scarf to see what was inside.

The folds fell away, tumbling to the side, and the pin inside was exposed. It glinted brightly in the sun, and Marinette gasped.

Because that was no akumatized brooch. That was the Peacock Miraculous.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Wavering Peahen

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leiainhoth · 3 years

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Work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

Chapter summary: Din, Luke, Cobb and the rest of the caravan begin their journey to Mos Espa

...

The sun had set hours ago, and Din leant into the sways and dips of his bantha as they traversed the desert. It was late, and the sky was darkening, the deep blues and purples fading into a deeper blue Din hadn't a name for. The stars were blinding, hanging in clusters and constellations, so many of them Din had no need for light. The moons hung deep on the southern horizon, and Din turned his head as the light reflected on his companions, fixing his gaze on Luke as his golden hair glowed silver in the moonlight. Din quirked a smile, watching as Luke talked animately to Scoeeri Plebb, the woman whose bantha he had been following for the past few hours. The child was asleep, lulled by the constant movement and the lack of interesting things to eat. Din smiled, it was going to be a long journey, and the child would need his rest.

He pulled a strip of jerky out of his belt and lifted his helmet to take a bite. He hadn't hesitated to take the rear of the caravan when they set out, letting Vanth and a Tusken by the name of A'Vor lead. He had taught Vanth the basics of the Tusken language that afternoon and told A'Vor that he could translate if need be. They seemed to get along well; the caravan had been moving in a steady north/northwest path for two hours, en route to Mos Espa. If all went well, they'd arrive in ten days' time.

Din was tired for other reasons, ones he wasn't able to put into words. He had taken Luke's hand in a moment of weakness; in the cantina when he thought he would lose Luke to this panic, he held him. Din wished he could offer more, come closer, bring Luke into his arms and rub his back the way he did for the child when he was afraid. It would be too much, too much too fast, and what if Luke refused? The jarring split would be worse than the pain of seeing Luke that way.

He had led, taken Luke back to the house after he calmed down some. He hadn't let go of Luke's hand, but the jetii didn't seem to mind. The baby settled against Din's chest, and with both hands occupied, he let Luke open the door and shut it carefully, letting the kid crawl out of his arms.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked again, and Luke shut his eyes, his body tense and still. Din wanted so badly to pull the man close to him, to feel his smaller body close to his own. He wanted to pat down that fluffy hair that never quite lay flat, to rub his thumbs up and down his arms like his mother had when Din was frightened. He wanted this and more but balked, not for reasons of his own. He wanted Luke to feel comfortable with him, safe with him. He couldn't have that if Din let his feelings get in the way.

Whoever Luke imagined Fett to be, whatever history they had together, it didn't make sense. Fett had called Luke an aruetti, an outsider, foreigner. Someone dangerous, someone with ill intentions. But Din didn't see that in Luke. The man was golden, bright as the sun. He was untainted, unbroken, his spirit filled to the brim with joy and contentment. Din wanted that, wanted him— this strange man in his life, this jetii he had known for less than a day. Something different, something off, something about him that drew Din in like a moth to a flame. Luke was a mystery, a man with incredible gifts, a jetii who had left his family and his home for the cries of a child on the planet below. The man who had stayed, certainly longer than Din expected him to, to train the baby in the ways of his people. It was a debt Din could never repay. It meant more to him than he had words to explain.

But it wasn't just a debt, now. The man was the first rays of dawn, the feeling of dew in the sand. He was bright, the burning light of the sun, and Din couldn't help but be drawn to his light, to orbit around his brightness, unwilling to admit he was being turned. He had made breakfast for the man with only a twinge of guilt, heating the leftover meal Cobb Vanth had prepared for them with careful attention. He thought back to how Luke fancied the blue pudding, and abandoning his own need for sustenance (surely he'd eat later), he dished out equal portions for Luke and Grogu, wanting desperately to feel useful. If he wasn't, if he was brash and uncaring, Luke would leave. He couldn't bear even the thought of it. The memory of his jetii after the battle on Tython stirred panic into his heart. The head wound was serious, much more severe than he was willing to admit to himself at the time. Bacta could only do so much; the rest would come with time. But the blood, there was so much of it, pooling and collecting in the creases of the man's nose, in his lips, dripping down his neck. It was on Din, too, and both blood and guilt dipped and flowed over his consciousness as he sat vigil over this stranger he didn't even know the name of. And why?

He had saved the child, of course, he had. Din and Fennec wouldn't have been able to on their own. The child would've died had Luke not interfered. But it was more than that, something Din couldn't admit to on pain of death, knowing, of course, that death might've been kinder. Din had held his jetii at arm's length, watching carefully, observing him always. Noticing when he sat and when he stood, what he ate, how he looked for permission before touching his son. Din appreciated it; the care and attention Luke showed for his child stirred something in his heart he thought had long ago calcified. Something close and desperate and warm, something Din had only ever felt with his parents and, more recently, with his son. Something eerily reminiscent of—of—

No, he told himself later that day, collecting the child's toys from the house. No, it's off the table. Forbidden. To love is to be known; this vessel is not mine to bear.

And more presently, the child needed him. Or so the excuse to himself went.

So instead, he watched, smiling as Luke did, observing as he swayed back and forth on his bantha. Din turned about, as he did every few minutes, his hand on his pulse rifle, taking care to protect those around him. But the desert was quiet, the sand still over the dunes, the stars hanging like crystals in the sky.

The saddle beneath Din dug uncomfortably into his shebs, and he wondered when Cobb was going to stop and make camp for the night. Din understood the Marshal's desire to leave as soon as they were able, but Din's nerves prickled as he watched the empty desert. Any number of dangers could be hiding in caves, ducked behind the dunes. The light was dim, but the stars and the moons, as well as the infrared setting on his HUD made it easy to see danger as they presented themselves. If they presented themselves.

Din rode in silence for some time, his eyes finding Luke as he laughed at something his companion said, his voice light and airy. Did the Jedi need to sleep? Din thought with amusement, something warm prickling in Din's chest as Luke leant forward and rested a hand on his bantha's side, speaking quietly to the animal.

Din forced his eyes onto the desert, his ears listening carefully to his companions. But he couldn't focus; Din only caught some of Luke and Scoeeri's words to one another and less of what Luke said to his bantha.

"What are you doing?" Scoeeri asked softly, and Din's head shot up, watching Luke carefully as he laughed, patting the shoulder of his bantha with what Din could only describe as affection.

"I'm speaking to him," Luke said.

Huh.

Din looked down at the child. "Can you do that too, kid?" Grogu didn't respond, looking up at his father with wide eyes, his fingers tangled in bantha fur. Din watched as Grogu gummed at the edge of his blanket. "Guess not,"

Din watched carefully as their caravan continued, smiling to himself as Vanth and A'Vod shared a laugh, nervous though it may be. His other companions, two humans and two Tuskens whose names Din hadn't caught spoke rode quietly, one behind the other. Perhaps things could change, even in a backwater desert like Tatooine.

"We'll stop here for the night," Vanth said with a laugh, and Din sighed in relief, pulling the child out of the saddlebag with a careful hand so he could see, settling the baby in his arms. Before them, the path was a gentle decline, the open maw of a cave protecting a small valley filled with scrub grass. Din watched as the others dismounted, laughing to himself as they walked away from their mounts with a bowlegged stance. Maybe his shebs wouldn't be the only ones aching tonight.

The baby cooed at the sight, suddenly wide awake as Din swung off the back of his bantha, laying a gentle hand on the creature's nose before leading it to the grass to graze.

"Mando," Vanth said, and Din looked up, watching as the others began to set up camp. Luke came close, suddenly looking so much younger than twenty-eight in the moonlight. He gestured for the child, and Din let the baby spill into Luke's arms without a second thought, walking towards Vanth with a barely contained smile on his lips.

"Anything to report?" Vanth asked, looking past Din into the desert behind. Vanth had picked a good stop to rest; the cave buttressed an embankment too high to climb, with the mouth of the cave being the only discernable entrance. There were ten of them in total, with eight bantha's and a speeder bike loaded with supplies to guard. It shouldn't be too much trouble.

"Nothing," Din said, trying to focus on Vanth, but failing, his eyes catching Luke speaking quietly to A'Vod's riduur, a swaddled baby he hadn't noticed held in her arms. Luke ran a hand over the child's head, Grogu peering curiously at the child from Luke's arms. "It's quiet,"

"Yes," Vanth said, clapping a hand on Din's shoulder. "Let's get some grub started, I'm starving,"

Din helped Vanth unload the gear, watching carefully as A'Vod and his companion (Din believed his name to be Cor, but he'd ask later) made a fire, setting a three-legged tripod with a dangling chain over the flames. Scoeeri and her brother Laele were busy over a pot, adding dried pieces of krayt dragon and a prickly vegetable Din couldn't identify with gentle hands. A'Vod gestured for Din, and he stood, following the man as he led him to the mouth of the cave. Instantly, the temperature dropped, their camp conversation fading to silence as they entered the cave.

That was when they found the water.

It was plentiful, flowing gently over stones, looking to be both clear and cold. Din smiled to himself, thanking A'Vod for his discernment (for surely he communicated to Vanth the need for water when they picked a place to stop. Water was precious on Tatooine, and Din felt honoured to have been entrusted with the knowledge).

Din signed thank you to A'Vod, who nodded in recognition, and Din followed as they walked to retrieve the empty water skins.

The camp settled into a steady rhythm, with the water from the cave, Scoeeri and Laele set the pot over the flames to cook. The bantha's grazed, and the children played, Luke and Varre watching and speaking quietly to one another. Din helped Vanth and Cor lead the bantha's to water and then unloaded the tents, setting them up for use.

They ate merrily, Din taking their food and the child away to the edge of the camp under the guise of keeping guard to eat on their own. The child was content to sit on Din's lap, the warm stew disappearing quickly as Grogu ate. Din took the rare opportunity to eat his food without hurrying, revelling in the silence of the desert wind around them. He drained his water skin and put his helmet, gathering the child and their dishes when he stopped short.

Luke was there, standing quietly beneath the ridge, looking happy and calm in the moonlight. His jetii'kad hung on his belt, and Din wasn't sure what to say at his sudden appearance.

"I was wondering if you'd like some company," Luke said, taking the empty bowls from Din's hands. "Scoeeri and I are almost done the washing up,"

"Oh," Din said, shuffling the baby to his other arm just for something to do, watching as Luke smiled at him and walked back down the ridge.

"Are you coming?"

Din grinned, looking down at the child with a leap in his heart, following Luke as he led them back to camp.

A'Vod and Varre's ad was older than Din initially thought, old enough to walk with help, and Din let Grogu down to play at Varre's direction, turning his attention to Luke and Scoeeri. Luke took Din's dishes and washed them, up to his elbows in soapy water, talking animately to both of them as he passed the dish to Scoeeri to rinse and dry. Din took the bowl as it was offered, looking at the neat pile of bowls and spoons sitting on a towel beside him and stacked the bowl with others.

Once the washing up was complete, Luke helped Din organize the cooking things into a crate intended for their use and tossed away the dishwater.

His companions were sitting and laughing around the fire when Luke and Din returned, and Din grinned as Grogu turned from his new friend and ran into Din's arms. Din nodded at Varre and signed his thanks, which Varre returned. Apparently, Grogu was welcome company.

"There you are," Luke said with a grin, running a finger along the child's ear. Grogu cooed, snuggling close into Din's arms. "Did you have fun with your friend?"

Din let his mind open as he looked carefully down at his son, feeling the thoughts and contentment of the baby wash over him. He was thrilled to have another child to play with.

"Yeah?" Luke said, looking down at the baby with affection. "That's good, then,"

"What's he saying?" Din asked, looking up to meet Luke's eye.

"Oh, nothing," Luke said with a secret smile, looking down at the baby. "Aren't we allowed to have secrets from your buir, Grogu?"

The baby warbled something incomprehensible and giggled, and Din smiled, rocking the baby back and forth. He didn't mind secrets, not between Luke and the baby. He was glad that the child had someone to talk to, pleased that he could understand the child's basic thoughts and emotions, content that if the baby had something important to tell him, he could do so.

Din looked over the baby and the fire to where the tents were pitched. He hadn't thought about it when they assembled them in the first place, but there were six; one for the siblings, for the married couple, for Cor and Vanth and Din and…

Oh.

The last two tents were close together, nearly touching. Almost as if…almost if...

Din blushed, blushed harder than he'd blushed in a long time. They had assumed, they had thought…and Din had given Vanth no reason not to believe that he and Luke that they were of one body. He hadn't thought about it; Din didn't give a second thought to what others thought of him. But one could've concluded, could've assumed that he and Luke were…

What? Together?

Close enough to sleep side by side? Riduure?

Din breathed steadily, forcing himself to stay calm. There were still two tents, still enough space for Din to relax and remove his armour for sleep. But they'd be so close, nothing but thin fabric separating them from one another.

Something in Din's heart leapt at the thought, a thought he hadn't given any power to since he was an ad in Nevarro. His face was his soul, giving someone else the power to see him…see him like that…

"Bedtime, I think," Cobb Vanth said from the other side of the fire, startling Din out of his thoughts. "A'Vor here volunteered for the first watch, Laele for the second. The rest of us better get some sleep before morning comes,"

Din retrieved his and the baby's supplies from their saddlebags and walked with unsteady feet towards his tent, very aware of Luke behind them, making similar preparations. But there was nothing else to do, nothing Din could do to delay this moment any further, so he turned, facing Luke with trepidation.

But his companion, if he noticed, didn't comment on Din's stiffness, taking a step forward with a smile.

"Goodnight, Grogu," Luke said softly, gripping the baby's hand in his own. "See you in the morning, little one,"

Din watched carefully, his breath catching as Luke's attention turned to him. The air turned, lifting into something sweet and anticipatory as Luke looked up, something in his eyes softening as they considered one another.

Luke took Din's hand and quickly squeezed it, the warmth of his hand almost too much for Din to bear. "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight, Luke,"

And Din watched with his heart in his throat as Luke entered his tent, unable to do the same. It was as if something had cracked and spilled open in Din's chest. Something warm and welcoming, a feeling of home he hadn't felt since his parents died.

Din smiled, looking down at Luke's tent before turning to his own and retiring for the night.

Continued

#dinluke #family bonding #din djarin/luke skywalker #force sensitive din djarin #found family #s2ep6 the tragedy fix it #my fic #din djarin x luke skywalker #cobb vanth #IJADIHIM-xXxVioletSkyxXx

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isisparker · 4 years

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My marvelous MPUB theorists, ever since I’ve realized a good bulk of us like theorizing and speculating what the heck is going on with this show, for my own benefit I compiled a timeline of the events that happened 500 years ago. I know they were told in flashbacks, but I thought it’d be more helpful in the order I believe that the events unfolded.

It’s pretty up to date with the latest episode, but since I also wanted to share it with you all, if I’m missing something please let me know and I’ll edit this! As the episodes reveal more and more, I’ll do my best to keep up and edit so this tells a more comprehensive story!

Weol Ju’s Past Life [updated: as of Episode 11*]

Weol Ju living her [best life] with her mom, both gifted shamans in their own right [Weol Ju deals with dreams while her mom, I believe, is more into future reading].

Weol Ju and her mother sometimes go to the caves where the Cinnabar, a sacred rock meant for both its healing abilities and chasing away evil spirits, resides.

Weol Ju’s mother is against Weol Ju using her gift. Tells her to see a matchmaker, advises her to get married [and essentially lead a normal life]. Weol Ju scoffs at that and says that she’s let fate bring her love and THAT’s when she’ll marry.

The Cinnabar takes human [female] form at night to visit the locals. On one of her nightly strolls, she comes across a handsome man and falls in love at first sight. *

The Queen prays to the Sacred Tree to help heal the Crown Prince.

The Court Lady approaches the Queen, telling her that there is a shaman that could possibly help the Crown Prince.

The Queen sends out a Royal Command to Weol Ju.

Weol Ju and the Queen meet. The Queen orders Weol Ju to read the Crown Prince’s dreams.

Weol Ju reads the Crown Prince’s dream and immediately tells the Queen what’s troubling him: vengeful spirits that the Royal Family had killed are haunting his dreams.

Weol Ju advises that the spirits need to be comforted instead of destroyed. She says that they should dig up the bodies in the woods, place them in graves where the sun hits [I’m assuming in an open field] and have a memorial for them.

The Queen needs a location for the bodies in the woods, so Weol Ju requests for a couple days with the Crown Prince [reading his dreams] so she can talk to the spirits and find out where they are buried.

The Queen gives her approval. States that to save the Crown Prince’s life, she’s willing to do anything. [probably not a big tidbit but who knows, this may be important motivation later on?]

The Cinnabar and her handsome suitor often meet at night and she offers pieces of the rock [herself]. He insists that he’ll keep on gifting these pieces of cinnabar stones to those that need healing. *

The first couple of nights Weol Ju spends in the Crown Prince’s dreams are restless and tense. She’s doing her job and comforting the souls.

The Crown Prince awakens during one of her sessions and asks for her to hear his story since she’s spent this entire time hearing the stories of all these spirits she’s been helping.

The Crown Prince admits to Weol Ju that he heard her voice from the start [of her healing him] and immediately fell in love.

The Crown Prince heals and [I’m assuming] they found the bodies of those vengeful ghosts and gave them a proper burial.

The Queen meets with Weol Ju. Weol Ju says she won’t enter the Crown Prince’s chambers anymore as she was able to comfort all the spirits that haunted the Crown Prince. The Queen agrees that the Crown Prince looks better and that he’s smiling now. The Queen expresses her gratitude on behalf of the Royal Family. She wants to compensate Weol Ju but Weol Ju doesn’t want anything for it as she’s happy to have helped.

The Queen won’t take no for an answer and delivers many gifts to Weol Ju.

Weol Ju looks bothered by having received all these gifts. Reason why? Because she and the Crown Prince started to fall in love with each other.

The Crown Prince seeks Weol Ju out and confesses his unwavering love to her. Weol Ju is hesitant as she thinks he’s just really grateful for her helping him.

The Crown Prince makes himself sincere and finds ways to see and spend time with her. Enter his childhood friend, Kim Won Hyung. He is also the handsome suitor that meets with the Cinnabar. The Crown Prince introduces his friend to Weol Ju. He also uses “hanging out with his childhood friend at night” as an excuse to see Weol Ju.

When Weol Ju leaves after every night she spends with the Crown Prince, Won Hyung walks her home. They inform the Crown Prince that they talk [teasing that Won Hyung shares stories about him to her].

The people in and around the palace start to notice the “dazed [besotted] look” on the Crown Prince’s face. People start speculating and gossiping. Talks about how much valuables she received from the Queen, how she probably seduced the Crown Prince, that he visits her every night. Overall opinion? Weol Ju had “bewitched” the Crown Prince.

Weol Ju’s mom overhears the rumors. She’s [rightly] bothered.

The Queen and her Court Lady speculate as to what is up with the Crown Prince now. The Court Lady thinks that maybe Weol Ju’s abilities had a side-effect.

The Queen summons Weol Ju. The Queen confronts Weol Ju for being involved with the Crown Prince. She warns Weol Ju to never set foot inside the palace again and that if she sees her again, she’ll be killed. The Queen also threatens Weol Ju’s mom as well.

Weol Ju starts to have a restless night as she contemplates what to do when the Crown Prince visits her [again].

She frets and wonders if he came alone, if anyone saw them, what was he doing here? She also tells him that if he keeps this up, he will get both herself and her mom in serious trouble.

The Crown Prince assures her that as his future role involves protecting a “whole kingdom”, he can, OF COURSE, protect the woman he loves. He asks her to trust him.

They embrace, him happily and, despite her still feeling troubled, she returns his embrace.

Following day, the Queen informs the Crown Prince that the arranged marriage they had planned for prior to when he had gotten ill is back on now that he’s healthy again. He is to marry Lord Kim Jin’s daughter. Lord Kim Jin is the father of Won Hyung. The Crown Prince starts to protest against it, but she tells him to have her [Weol Ju] disappear from his mind and if not, she [the Queen] will have her disappear for real.

Weol Ju’s mom has a premonition about Weol Ju being in danger.

Weol Ju’s mom talks to Weol Ju. Instructs her to not only dress like her mom but also head off to her uncle’s home in Suwon quickly [as time is running out] and to wear her hair up in a bun.

Weol Ju argues that if she wears her hair in a bun that people will talk because that particular hairstyle signifies her marital status [and she isn’t married, obviously].

Weol Ju’s mom point-blank tells her that there’s more to wedding than a marriage, like LOVE. [ accidentallyadramablog helped clarify in a reblog that Weol Ju’s mom let her daughter know that she knew about her loss of virginity. Netflix subs didn’t exactly make that translation clear. also I myself am not familiar with sageuks so thank you, lovely, for the additional commentary!]

Weol Ju is stunned that her mom basically confirmed she knew of her and the Crown Prince’s affair/relationship.

Weol Ju’s mom talks about the rumors that she knows her daughter is also aware of and that Weol Ju’s now in danger because of it and must seek safety by leaving. She can’t fathom doing this alone and without her mom.

Weol Ju’s mom gives her binyeo to hold onto and find comfort in. That she needs to hold tight and that it will eventually bring Weol Ju the person she desperately seeks. This seems more like a prophecy because she then asks Weol Ju if her advice has ever proven her wrong.

The [infamous] Night Weol Ju leaves, she walks past one of the spots she and the Crown Prince usually meet at. He's planning to give her a jade ring. She watches with longing and sadness, saying goodbye to him from afar.

Weol Ju walks away. She doesn’t see Won Hyung watching her leave.

Won Hyung enters Weol Ju’s house and kills Weol Ju’s mom and sets fire to her home. Unbeknowst to him, the Cinnabar [who has been getting some bad vibes off of him] witnesses him coming out of the house after having committed murder and arson. She decides to stop seeking him out. *

Weol Ju gets a bit outside of the village, at an overlook when she hears and sees a big fire raging at one of the houses.

Weol Ju runs back and realizes that it is HER HOUSE that is burning.

Weol Ju enters and sees her mom, dressed like Weol Ju [hair and all], dead. Weol Ju screams for help while holding her mother. No one comes.

Weol Ju runs to one of the local governor’s, pleading for help. She gets denied help.

Weol Ju runs into Won Hyung, who has blood on one of his arms. She sees the blood and he instantly explains that he had seen an assassin coming out of her house and ran after them. By the time he came back to her house, it was already burning.

She realizes that the assassin thought that her mother was her.

Won Hyung tells her that she has to leave this place quickly.

Weol Ju begs him to take her to the Crown Prince.

Won Hyung says that she can’t see the Crown Prince ever again. When she asks what he means, he explains that the Crown Prince is marrying a woman that the Queen had chosen for him. That the Crown Prince wanted to meet up with her [Weol Ju] one last time to tell of his upcoming marriage.

In a daze, Weol Ju [defeated, hurt, and angry] heads up to where the Sacred Tree and its alter is at. Weol Ju destroys the alter in a rage. She looks over at the village and curses everyone there. She proceeds to hang herself. She dies. A moment later, her binyeo falls from her hair and the ground below her feet breaks upon its impact. The tree crackles and bursts into flames because of her curse.

The spirit of the Sacred Tree [specifically its sorrow] mystically merges into the soul of Weol Ju/Crown Prince’s unborn son.

Won Hyung, notices that Cinnabar has been pulling away from him and seeing him less and less. He follows her one night and discovers where she [the Cinnabar stone] resides. He enters the cave with the plan to gather all the cinnabar stones and sell them to help him with his plan to overthrow the throne from the Crown Prince’s rule. The Cinnabar comes out of the stone and tries to stop him and discovers his true self and motivation. Won Hyung “kills” her. *

The Queen prepares the Crown Prince for his arranged marriage.

The Crown Prince, meanwhile, had discovered [too late] Won Hyung’s plan and the crimes he had committed to getting as far as he did, even making sure that his little sister marries into the Royal Family. He had planned to use the day of his wedding to Lord Kim Jin’s daughter, the day that he thinks his friend will believe his plan will finally come to fruition, as a way to trap him and make him pay for his deceit. *

The Day of the Crown Prince’s Wedding to Lord Kim Jin’s daughter begins with the Crown Prince immediately declaring treason on Won Hyung. Won Hyung denies the charges at first, but his pride and anger eventually have him admitting that he did plot an uprising with the many people he paid off for his loyalty and the weapons he amassed [the money he got for the cinnabar stones]. Most of all, he admitted that he killed Weol Ju’s mother and in doing so managed to rid Weol Ju.*

In a rage, the Crown Prince kills Won Hyung for his betrayal. * Yeom/Lord Kim Jin sided with the Crown Prince’s decision to execute his son.

Later that day, * the Crown Prince is seen, tired and worn, dragging a bloody sword up to where the skeleton of the Sacred Tree stands. He looks up at the burnt branches, defeated and heartbroken. He talks of how he failed Weol Ju and he promises to find her in the next life. That if he does, he’ll do a better job at protecting her. Even if he has to sacrifice his soul to make that happen.

Crown Prince, real name of Yi Hon, kills himself.

Updated from info revealed in Episode 11 - * Episode 12 **

#mystic pop up bar #weol ju's past life #long post

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