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godofsexdrugsandrocknroll · 3 years

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Kali took Blake's hentai out of her room and is now openly watching it in the living room, with Blake and other people still in the house.

The point where Kali should feel ashamed of what she’d done? Come and past - probably right around the time that the animated wolf faunus with the light gray hair, gray wolf ears and large, equally light gray eyes tried to speak around the length of cock pistoning in her mouth with little regard to the fact that this was the woman’s mouth and not, in fact, the pussy, that the human male was pounding relentlessly with spit flying everywhere.

“Iff shfo glurff muffar!” Indeed.

But truly, who could blame her? After years of dealing with her daughters absence, suddenly having Blake willing to live with them was a new experience and one she probably wasn’t dealing the best with. After all, most mothers wouldn’t dream of snooping the way she did. But for all that Blake Belladonna, one of the eight 24 year old “Heroes of Remnant”, inspired awe and hope in the people of Remnant and even more in the faunus community, well...Kali remembered the little girl who’d once seen a package of fruit snacks with red gummy fish, promptly ripped it open and devoured the bag before rolling on the floor, spitting chunks of the fruity treat while disgustedly proclaiming “cherry flavored!” over and over again.

Charismatic, impassioned leader of the Faunus Civil Rights Coalition or not, there was a distance between mother and daughter created by the latter’s 12 year absence in her mothers life.

They tried of course, but Blake was used to her freedom and Kali was a creature of habit, perpetually uncaring of what many called “the line” but still desperately trying to reconnect with her daughter.

So the fact that Kali scoped out the usual spots for teenage contraband when she cleaned her daughters room really shouldn’t come as a surprise. Ghira certainly hadn’t been when Kali had, giggly as she approached, revealed the contents of a lock box Blake hid under piles of increasingly tiny and intricate undergarments. Granted it was just old photos of them together, a cheap plastic ring with a cartoonish lion heard stretching down to the knuckle and pieces of fabric that smelled of the two of them rather than anything else, but it was the thought that mattered.

She of course neglected to mention to Ghira where she had found it, amidst of a sea of panties, thongs and even a g-string or two. Where she was curious, Ghira would have been ill.

So she’d kept snooping, impressed not just at the collection of underthings her daughter owned (and very amused that her own predilection for the sexier, the better had been passed onto Blake), but at the false bottom that had been discovered and...well, novelty might be the right word for things like the crotchless panties she found there.

Then she’d found other things. A collection of muscle magazines hidden carefully behind a dresser that had seen use judging by the crinkled paper, but not recently given the finger shaped spots on the otherwise dusty covers. Lube carefully stacked behind her books.

A chest full of devices, from dildos to wands to toys and more than a few strap ons. And while Kali was surprised at the amount, she was less so when she remembered that her daughter was in a relationship with a rather...well, the polite term would be ‘generously well endowed’ blonde who was openly vulgar about what the two of them got up to behind doors; when it was just Yang (said blonde) and Blake, in what they thought was the privacy of an empty room.

The collection of nearly three dozen cases advertising Mistralian hentai hidden in a crawl space however had thrown Kali for a loop. And, well, you know what they say about curiosity and cats.

And so Kali stared wide eyed at the covers depicting cutesy anime girls, most of them faunus, in various poses and stages of undress. There was Faunus Fuck Frenzy, vol. 32 - where apparently three faunus best friends were captured in a jungle and fucked into full blown ahegao faces by tribal looking, human natives if the cover was anything to go by.

Watashi no kōkō no tōnamentoāku - a dog faunus with short brown hair, floppy bloodhound ears and breasts the size of beach balls in nothing but a pair of spandex shorts and biceps, abs that were intimidating in their intensity...but was covered forehead to navel in semen, the bodies of unconscious teenage boys and their cocks of varying size left defeated on the ground in the cover’s background.

Others, too. One where the blue haired bluebird faunus was a loli and surrounded by leering men. Another where a golden haired, golden eyed snake faunus had her faunus feature, her exceptionally long forked tongue, wrapped around a penis that was closer to the size of arm and was bulging with veins with her curvaceous body on all fours. A bushy tailed squirrel faunus bound, gagged in a contortionist’s nightmare with the shadow of a grinning man behind her.

By the time Kali saw it - it being what she was watching now, a lonely single faunus mother checking out a sex club while her children were being babysat - it was too late. Blake had arrived with her girlfriend Yang, Kali’s personal assistant, the ex-terrorist Ilia, Yang’s sister Ruby and her not-a-boyfriend Oscar Pine and the blonde, suit clad boyfriend of the Schnee heiress, Jaune Arc.

So Kali had used the kind of speed that made her a popular choice for stealth missions back when she was in the White Fang and put every single case back in the crawlspace and had all but teleported into the living room, smiling and nodding as Blake mentioned that the group was going to go discuss something-something-faunus-something-something-SDC-something-something-if-you’d-make-us-some-dinner-that-would-be-lovely-thank-you-love-you-bye.

Kali’s breathing had returned to normal even if her heart still pounded and she’d pulled Amongst Sheep from behind her back and stared at the lonely MILF, stunned at her daughter’s kinkiness. There’d been exactly 41 films in the crawlspace and aside from the muscular bloodhound faunus who’d apparently fucked her way through at least 11 different teenage boys to claim some sort of victory, each and every cover seemed to depict faunus getting dicked down by human males. Or the occasional female, sometimes simply female and other times with a dick dangling between their thighs. The faunus in question seemed to love it and almost seemed subservient to the ones doing the fucking.

While Kali was amused at her daughters apparent kink especially in light of her place as a faunus rights spokeswoman of great fame, there was a much larger problem. Staring at them all had made her unquestionably horny to the point of wetness. But Blake, her girlfriend and her friends were home. Ghira was in the kitchen just two rooms away, making a large meal for their guests happily after she asked him to do so. There were workers in the back of the house, rebuilding their back wall after Ghira had hip tossed an assassin of the rapidly dwindling White Fang remnants through it last week.

A reasonable, sane woman would have hid it and enjoyed it in the privacy of her own room later that night. Maybe give Ghira a ride while she watched it after convincing him she rented it over the scrollnet for added fun. But the idea of watching it in her living room, a living room that was open to all of the house with no doors, her husband far enough away to know she was watching something but not what and her daughter, her friends only a single floor up? With her room right above the living room?

The disc was in, Kali’s legs were spread after removing her hakama and her modest breasts were exposed to the warm air, her fingers immediately tracing her slick folds.

The plot had gone from 0 to 60 in what seemed like record time (but was probably only 20 minutes or so), the mother surrounded by horny human men while her fellow faunus were in various poses of submission. The mother partaking in the orgy and rapidly spiraling from a stereotypically sweet woman with the kind of body only art could give, to a sex crazed lunatic thanking her “master” for fucking her mouth even as her makeup ran, her dump truck of a rear was being molested by a faceless human behind her and her gargantuan tits bounced from the force of the careless facefucking all while she squealed, even as the humans made crude and rather disparaging remarks about faunus women.

Ghira: [From the kitchen] Enjoying yourself, dear?

Kali’s breath hitched as her fingers pushed in deep and she grinned, curling them as a jolt ran up her spine as the wolf faunus - Lupa, she remembered - squealed once more, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunks at the deluge of jizz firing impossibly from the human.

Kali: Oh of course, darling! There’s a program about human-faunus interactions that’s just fascinating!

She heard no response but could practically hear her husbands indulgent chuckle. As Lupa now hoarsely begged for the man who’d been fucking her mouth to “shut his stupid dog right back up!” the floor creaked and someone moved around a bit. Kali bit her lip, eyes catching the closed window and the worker carrying tools by. Her left hand had since been massaging her right tit for some time now and she tweaked the brownish nipple on her olive skinned titty, moaning harshly as Lupa suddenly screeched! The man who’d been squeezing her cheeks had pushed her face down into a puddle of spit and spunk and forced himself in an ass that not even she could compete with! She watched as the warbling moans of the anime MILF grew in intensity.

Kali: [Sputtering] And now we’re even getting to see a faunus tribe and how they survived in the Grimmlands!

Ghira: [From the kitchen] That’s nice dear.

Kali: So nice! Really Ghira, you would not believe some of their customs!

Or her own, at this point throwing any concern of being caught out of her mind. The floor had creaked as if someone had tossed themselves on Blake’s bed, likely Blake herself after hashing out a particularly tough point. The thought of Ghira finding her was exciting, of her husband’s disbelief that she’d be so bold. One of the workers? Well, Ghira would likely punish her for giving them such a show but the idea of teasing them so cruelly, knowing that they would remember this for quite some time but never be able to do more than furiously jack their cocks off to the memory of it and just how hard Ghira would give it to her, pushing her face in a pillow as he flattened her exceptional cheeks with his angry downstrokes. Blake and her friends? As a third finger entered her lightly squelching pussy - as Lupa followed an order and lapped up at the puddle as her nearly yoga ball sized cheeks rippled in constant motion - and her palm started slapping against her clit, she squealed at the sudden increase in pleasure.

Blake would be beyond humiliated. At her shameless mother, at her own filthy little secret being discovered by anyone other than perhaps Yang. Not to mention that both Oscar and Jaune would commit this site to their memory banks, perhaps even as their flush faced friends lambasted them for their obvious erections!

The floor creaked more, as if they were moving and Kali twisted her nipple, watching as the MILF on screen started wailing from the anal assault, the man having both hands in her grey hair and pulling her head back. As the animation gave way to the light grey eyes rolling towards her nose as her tongue flopped out, Lupa’s face got steadily redder. In return Kali gasped at the mixture of pleasure and pain coming from her right tit, using her left hand to awkwardly do the same to her left and moaning as a shadow passed the window behind their television.

Ghira: [From the kitchen] Dear? Is something wrong?

Kali couldn’t help it. The thought of being caught was too good, the knowledge that this was what her daughter liked - something so disrespectful, base and diametrically opposed to her own beliefs - and the way she was handling her own body made her let out a louder groan.

Lupa: [Television] “...myself that day, lost the woman who put her children first... to big. Fat. Yummy. Human. COCK!!!! AIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!”

Kali: Oh no, Ghira! Just a quote from another bigot!

Kali’s fingers were now a blur, an eye on the window where no worker stood and an ear on her husbands response, the sound of a load of cum being pumped into an animated faunus whose face showed no signs of intellgence as a faceless human filled her anus with his release, squeezing each asscheek so aggressively he was clearly holding booty fat between his hands.

Ghira: [From the kitchen] You know how it is, freedom of speech. Is it at least handled...

She knew what he meant. Is the documentary at least attacking the negative opinion, showing how wrong it is?

Lupa: [Television] “--aaauuuuuwwwwsho good~” [giggling drunkenly]

She was close. Her heels clunked lightly against the table in front of her couch as she adjusted her legs, opening them wider as she now alternated between full thrusts and thumbing the clit, beneath her thick patch of black pubic hair. The scene changed several times, to Lupa’s ankles and wrists bound as a man pumped her full of cum. Another where a group of university aged humans were busily raining down an amount of cum only possible in hentai as Lupa serviced two cocks, one with her mouth and the other with her hand. A married couple sandwiching Lupa between them with Lupa’s cheeks being squished by the human taking her in doggy, excess ass fat bunching up as Lupa screamed into the man’s wife, her hairy human cunt. Another where Lupa sat on the counter of a sandwhich shop as an older, balding man stood between her legs as her eyes fluttered and the slick sound of her sex, of unexpected squirting. One final scene showing Lupa lying upon her shoulders, legs spread in a perfect split as a muscled man fucked down into her as she screamed “Master!” over and over.

To a final scene where a school bus pulled away and Lupa, in a white turtleneck and nothing more, leaned around a corner and had a warm, motherly smile on her face.

Kali: [Strained] Absolutely, Ghira!

Her palm made heavy clopping noises as she fingerblasted herself to that warm motherly smile staying in place...but only because it had frozen there, drool leaking from the corners of Lupa’s mouth as her eyes were all but rolled back in her skull as a random human steadily slammed into her from behind, the only sounds being the wolf’s cheeks clapping and the wet plap! of semen pouring from her currently-being-fucked pussy.

Human: [Television] Take it all, Ms. Lupa!

And then the abnornal sound of jizz being pumped into the drooling faunus and her dripping pussy, Lupa’s eyes gone pure white as they rolled back into her skull and an overlay of the action inside her happening; a sea of thick white swirling inside her and then a flash of light from an egg indicating pregnancy.

Between the two workers clearly arguing over tools outside their window but clearly not seeing her, being in conversation with Ghira and the threat of being found out, Kali felt it build.

Several things happened at once. Lupa showed up on the screen staring down at a human baby with brown hair and her eyes, before turning away smiling softly. She entered a room where an unfamiliar human sat on her bed, a member that nearly reached his own chest pointing towards the ceiling. Lupa dropped to all fours and fastened a chain to a black leather collar she was wearing, muttering “master” over and over again as she crawled forth.

Kali scraped three fingers against her g-spot and ground her palm against her clit and exploded in release.

Kali: No doubt, it’s marvelously done!

Her pitch considerably higher as she lost her fingers to the repeatedly clenching hole, knees shaking as her orgasm crashed through her like waves upon the beach.

Blake: [Shocked] Mo-ther! [Strangled] No Yang, don’t look!

Ruby: [Stammering] Y-y-y-you either, O-oscar!

Ilia: Why must the world be so cruel!?

Jaune: Mad that another hot cat faunus is taken?

Blake: [Squeals] Jaune!

Ilia: Yes!

Blake: [Squeaks] Ilia!

Yang: I mean, can you blame ‘em? I can see where you got it from, babe.

Blake: [Squeaks, chokes, growls] Stopitstopitstopit!

Jaune: [To Ilia] Same.

Blake: Butwhatno--NO! You have Weiss!

Jaune: Appreciating the view is not cheating.

Ruby: Yes it is!

Jaune: I am happy in my relationship with my fiancée. I will never cheat on my fiancée but I have no control over Blake’s mom fingerbanging herself to...whoa.

Yang: [To Blake] Heh, told you it was a bad idea to keep those here! Ooh, is that Amongst Sheep!? [Respectfully] She’s got good taste.

Oscar: Blake watches hentai?

Ruby: A-ack! Y-y-you saw!? Dammit Oscar!

Ilia: [Fumbling]

Blake: Wha-no-it’snot--

Kali breathed heavily, removing her digits from her pussy and feeling much better and with a glance at her sticky fingers, cleaned them with a quick schlup! of a noise.

Blake: AAAHH! Mother, no!

Kali: [Exhausted] Sorry sweetheart. But that collection of yours, oh my.

Jaune: [To Ruby] Okay, now I’m feeling a little guilty.

Ruby: You should!

Ilia: [Stops fumbling] Collection? She has more?

Blake: Moth--

Kali: Over forty.

Ilia: And they’re all... [gestures]

Kali: Except for one with a female dog faunus.

Yang: That’s mine. [Blake screeches in horror] Blake wanted me to ‘expand my horizons’ or something. I think Blakey just wanted me to be a perv too.

Oscar: Wait. Dog faunus? Watashi no kōkō no tōnamentoāku with Tawni Bumpus as Rei-chan’s seiyuu?

Yang: Heh. Yeah, you’ve seen it?

Ruby: Wha--

Oscar: Have you seen Tawni Bumpus?

Jaune: And now I’m uncomfortable.

Yang: Chow-Chow faunus, right?

Oscar: Yup. She’s -- a-ah... [trails off in embarassment and fear for his life at Ruby’s glare]

Yang: [Snorts] Has an ass that makes the Bellabooty look like Weiss in comparison?

Jaune: [Eyes narrow] I’m letting her know you said that, top heavy.

Yang: [Flinches, irritated] I’m sending you a picture of her. She’s got cake for days, Arc.

Oscar: Well, a-ah, the point is Tawni is very p-pretty [panics] b-b-but not as pretty as Ruby and she really does have a captivating voice.

Jaune: [Staring squintily at Yang, speaks at Oscar] Riii~iight.

Blake: Alright, stop! No more talking about my porn!

Ruby: Ah, so the degenerate admits it!

Ilia: Huh. I mean I can see Yang, maybe. But Blake?

Yang: One, rude. Two, it’s a power dynamic thing. She doesn’t really want to be treated like an animal and collared by humans all the time, but sometimes she’s in the mood and I’ll put on the strap and the things that’llmmmphh!!!

Blake: [Hands on Yang’s mouth, panting, red faced] No. More.

Kali: [Covering her chest back up, crosses legs] Dear, it’s perfectly understandable. You’re a powerful young woman with not just skill unmatched in the sword but your Shadow Clones were key in your final battle with Salem! It’s perfectly understandable wanting to surrender yourself to a strong girl like Yang! You trust her and really, Lupa’s descent into a plaything was as masterfully done as it was--

Blake then ran away screaming, hands over her face and seconds later a door slammed. Yang winces.

Kali: Perhaps that was a bit too much for her.

Ruby: [Eyes narrowed] She just discovered her mom’s a superfreak.

Kali opened her mouth, saw that despite the time passed that both Oscar and Jaune were not looking directly at her and were both at full mast. Ilia was quietly cursing at her scroll phone, which the chameleon had been aiming in her direction prior to making herself decent. Clearly cursing her poor reaction time and missing a photo op.

Kali: Hmm. I suppose that might be a fair assessment.

Ruby: [Angles her body to hide Oscar’s boner] You got problems, lady.

Kali gave a nonchalant shrug, still feeling too good to give 100% to caring.

Jaune: [Claps hands] Well, not that this hasn’t been just a blast, but I think I should go tell Weiss exactly what happened here before somebody [glares at Ruby who glares back] texts her.

Yang: [Scratching her head, staring at the stairs] Heh, you just want Weiss to “punish” you. Never met a guy so ready for a girl standing five foot nothing to take him to poundtown in the Amazon position.

Jaune: [Reddens] Then clearly you have no idea how hot Weiss is when she’s mad.

Yang: [Blinks] Huh. All that time spent around Nora and me’s doing you good, Jaune.

Jaune said nothing and turned away. Oscar was trying to engage a depressed Ilia in conversation while avoiding Ruby’s death glare, the reaper herself irritated at her “not-a-boyfriend” being a pervert. Yang stood contemplating how to handle Blake and Kali just sighed, uncrossing her legs and wincing at the stickiness and the slight sound of it as she stood. As she clapped her hands lightly, intending to try and make this better, it happened. A platter of spaghetti and meatballs hit the floor.

Ghira: What in the garlic-oregano-noodley fuck is going on here!?

The room froze. Kali gave her husband a sheepish little smile, standing with her kimono top done up poorly and missing her hakama pants, shapely legs on display. Ilia had reaimed her phone at Kali’s legs even as Oscar had a hand up to block the view, his other over his stiffy. Yang’s mouth hung open in shock and Jaune had frozen, his own hands dropping to hide evidence of his own hard on. His daughter was conspicuously absent.

The most damning thing was the menu screen on the teleivsion, showing clips of Mistralian hentai that wasn’t exactly kind to faunus. Jaune spoke first.

Jaune: [Urgently] Yeet me out the house Xiao Long and I won’t tell Weiss about the crack you made on her ass!

A flash of white aura protecting the Arc occurred and Yang grabbed him by the arm and threw him through the wall. Ruby grabbed Oscar’s hand at the same time and the two disappeared into a swirl of roses out the same hole, a distant “ouch” being heard as they likely collided with Jaune. Yang was halfway up the stairs and Ilia stood frozen, scroll aimed at Kali’s legs. Ghira glared and Ilia eeped. She glanced at Kali who gave a smirk that was unapologetic and much to Ilia’s dismay, sexy.

Kali: It’s exactly what it looks like, darling. [Purrs] Is my big strong husband going to spank his naughty wife?

Ilia’s scream of terror was muffled as Ghira’s hand clasped around her face and then faded into the distance as she was chucked from the Belladonna household.

Jaune: [Barely audible] Dammit, stop running into me! Respect the healer!

Ilia: [Barely audible groaning]

Ghira: You will explain yourself, wife.

Kali: [Flutters eyelashes, purposely ignores him] Will you promise to spank me if I don’t?

Ghira growled, angry at the situation but knowing he’d get nothing out of her now and with a grunt, threw his laughing wife over his shoulder and stomped grumpily to his room. Really, he loved this woman to pieces but why did she find it so enjoyable to test his every last nerve!? He ignored the frantic sound of what sounded like his daughter opening her secound floor window and muttering something about “not again” and threw his smirking wife on the bed, growling as he ripped his armor, his clothing off.

On the ground floor, a rhino faunus and his crocodile faunus friend gaped at the hole in the front of the house.

Rhino Faunus: Oh, what in the actual shit is this!?

Crocodile Faunus: Rich people, man. Rich people.

#rwby #smut #kali belladonna #ghira belladonna #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #ruby rose #oscar pine #ilia amitola #jaune arc #this is what happens when you let a drunk type #what's crack-a-lackin'#idek #a christmas story

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akitokihojo · 3 years

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Monster - Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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The responsibility is ours.

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

“Again?” She shuddered resentfully.

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

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

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

Her.

Anyone of her kind, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but -“

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

“Kagome -“

“And then what?”

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

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

“That person isn’t my sister.”

“What if it’s mom?”

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

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

“Kagome!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This isn’t routine.”

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

“If they -“

“No.”

“But, they’ll -“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready.” Kagome breathed.

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

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

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

“Hold out your left hands, palms up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The responsibility is ours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She wasn’t dangerous!” Another testified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he still isn’t back!?”

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

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

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

“I am!” Kagome cried.

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know her!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She was a child!”

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

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

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

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

“Back off.”

“Let her go!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How else would you know who Kikyo is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold girl.” The demon complimented.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of sheer reaction, she gave a meager nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is that?”

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

“She’s a conjurer.” Kagome answered.

“Is she - is she a strong conjurer?”

“I think so.”

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

“N-no. Why would she?”

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

“That’s preposterous.” A man scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

And, it terrified her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on. Climb.”

-> | next chapter |

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zodiactalks · 3 years

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Love Life with Leo Woman & 5 Brutal Truths

Leo women are known for their charm, their animal magnetism, their ability to stand-out no matter what, and their goal-oriented personalities.

They're also known for being stubborn to the point of stupidity, for thinking very highly of themselves and for needing heaps and heaps of personal space, followed by lots of time for themselves.

They're enigmatic, they're self-assured, they're a force to be reckoned and, above else, they're incredibly easy to fall in love with.

After all, who can resist a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid of doing what she needs to do to get it?

If you're in love with a Leo woman, you're in for a treat, but to survive the experience, you need to know the following brutal truths.

#1. They're stupidly stubborn.

While they might call it determined, the truth is that Leo women are simply stubborn.

What's the difference, you ask? It's actually quite simple.

A determined woman will do anything she needs to do to achieve her goals, while a stubborn woman will try her best to prove you wrong, even if you're in the right, and she ends up looking like a fool.

Leo women are both.

They're determined when it comes to their professional life, their family life, and their goals. They're hard workers, they're patient, they're go-getters, and they're capable of achieving truly amazing things, but they're also stubborn.

Leo women can choose absurdly petty hills to die on out of sheer stubbornness. They're capable of undoing hours of hard work because it didn't go as they wanted it to, and they're capable of acting against their own best interests just to prove a point.

Do you know that phrase that goes "Cut the nose to spite the face"? That's Leo women at their worse.

The best way to deal with this?

Just let them be.

We don't mean roll over and accept you're wrong even if you're right. That's not going to help anyone; no, we mean 'recognize that she'll be on the defensive and act accordingly.'

When arguing with her, avoid calling her names or making argument about her. Simply state your point as impersonally and calmly as possible.

Once they calm down, they'll listen, but the more you push them, the more they'll push back.

#2. They're ego-maniacs

There's no nice way of putting it. Leo women think way too highly of themselves.

To be fair, there's plenty to admire about them. Leos are naturally charming, have impeccable taste, and are incredibly committed to their goals, which means they're often successful at what they want to achieve.

However, they're prone to obsessing over their good traits and overlooking the bad, resulting in the kind of woman who thinks she can do no wrong.

Leos can, and do, react poorly to criticism, which they often interpret as personal attacks rather than the advice it sometimes is.

Their desire to be admired and praised can also lead them to be unnecessarily competitive and showy, always on the look-out for opportunities to show off their skills and their smarts.

Leo women's ego can also lead them to believe their own hype, resulting in an individual that isn't aware of their failures or misjudges their skills and abilities. Not a crime by any stretch of the imagination, but a trait that will rear its head over and over again in a relationship with a Leo.

Suffice it to say, if a Leo claims to be an expert at anything, take it with a grain of salt. The reality, and their perception, aren't always the same.

#3. They love to annoy.

We mean this in the most loving way possible.

Leos love to mess with people, teasing, pranking, and joking around as a way to show they care. Though not their most well-known trait, Leos are huge jokers, and they're often looking for ways to make other people laugh.

It's not hard to believe, really. Leos love to be liked and desire being the center of attention, and what better way to charm people than by making them laugh?

The thing about Leo women, though, is that their humor often derives from making fun of others. We don't mean that they like to mock others or bully people to get their kicks.

No, Leo prefers joking around their friends and families, but they often choose to do it by teasing them or making small, personal jabs in the name of good fun.

If you have a thick skin and enjoy sarcastic, even black humor, chances are you'll get along with them wonderfully. If you don't, then you'll want to talk about that with your Leo lover. Otherwise, she'll probably make fun of you in a way you won't like.

#4. They have no time for nonsense.

Some women are perfectly fine with tenderly helping others when they're having trouble; some women are more than okay with people who put their feelings first; some women believe that participation alone is enough of a reason to feel proud and happy.

Leo women believe precisely none of that.

Leo women are strong, sharp, stubborn, self-assured, and both willing and capable of eating the world whole. They have no time or patience for people who second-guess themselves, for those who aren't willing to go after what they want or for those who give up easily.

What's more, Leo women aren't care-takers.

Oh, they'll try to help you, and they'll always be pushing you to excel yourself and your own expectations, but sooner rather than later, they'll pull away and expect you to do things yourself, regardless if you're ready or not.

Because of this, Leo women can't tolerate clingy, insecure partners. They don't want to be with someone who needs to be continuously reassured, nor they want to share their life with someone who will expect them to take every big choice in the relationship.

Leo women want to date an equal, and if you want to be their equal, you have pretty big shoes to fill.

#5. They're super affectionate.

Leo women may be independent and may need their space. They may pursue their goals relentlessly and may sometimes appear distant and aloof.

However, Leo women care profoundly and love intensely, and that applies to family, friends, and lovers alike.

They're protective, playful, loyal, fun, and, more than anything else, motivating. They'll continuously try to improve the lives of their loved ones, either by pushing them to improve themselves or by taking things into their own hands.

Though they may appear self-centered, Leos are always aware of the people they love and those who have helped them. They give back, happily and generously, whenever they can, and though they may not check on their loved ones daily, they sure as hell think about them.

It may not be evident at first, but one of the biggest motivators for Leo's thirst for success is to provide for their family and their loved ones. Success for success's sake is rarely something that appeals to Leos; No, they want to be the best, so that they can ensure the people they care about are happy and well cared for.

Acts of services may not be every Leo woman's love language, but they tend to be up there amongst the most popular.

#leo #leowomen #leo woman #Leo zodiac #Leo love #leo traits #zodiac signs

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dog-day-morning · 3 years

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The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

#your financial transactions

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

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Honestly, it wasn’t as if Axa didn’t know how farfetched her whole story sounded, especially after listening to herself recount it aloud to a stranger. She was also self-aware enough to recognize that she and her companions probably came off as... eccentric, at best. So in the end, she couldn’t really blame the dwarf for being wary of her and her party– anyone would be– even though they had told her nothing but the truth.

It would certainly be a lot easier to convince the huntress of her sincerity, though, if the truth could stop being so gods damned bizarre as of late.

Axa couldn't help but feel like the more of her story she told, the more a liar she made herself look, and the older woman's guarded body language and skeptical expression weren't very encouraging in that regard. She was a mother, she'd told Axa at the camp that evening– five times over, although only three of her children lived yet– and Axa could tell she was a seasoned veteran of the child-rearing arts. She'd borne that accusatory, incredulous glare from her own mother ten thousand times, and it hadn't made any difference to her whether Axa was telling the truth or not either.

–Serpent's Wings, I don't want to hear it anymore! He's not some poor stray tom you rescued from the gutter! He's not even a proper priest, Axa; he's a strange, sick con man who was lucky enough to find a softhearted, foolish girl to–

She winced at the memory. Yes, thanks, Mama. Helpful as always.

Then there were all the things she wasn't telling anyone about yet, let alone this woman she'd just met. She wasn't concealing anything especially damning, just perfectly mundane, boring, everyday intensely painful and private experiences and memories, including some that might explain a few things about her current circumstances. But as usual, every time she was presented with an opportunity to clear the air, Axa just... clammed up instead. The Ordhjóma thing, for instance, had come up again in an otherwise pleasant dinnertime chat about the southern lights over Nasitaaq when Axa had accidentally brought up the time she had seen them in the White that Wends. She knew there was nothing inherently shady about it, but even just politely declining to elaborate on her time in the Land or to speak any Ordhjóma for her curious audience made her feel nervous and guilty, as though she were withholding evidence instead of simply keeping a private matter private. Mercifully, everyone seemed to let it go easily enough, but Axa strongly suspected Sagani still held it against her, doubtless as "proof" of her untrustworthy nature.

And if it wasn't what she said or didn't say making her appear suspect, it was the series of ludicrous coincidences that now passed for her everyday life. According to the Lady of Caed Nua's trusted local guide (the smoke-addled fool who'd nearly gotten his fingers bitten off by Sagani's fox), the cliffs from her vision of Persoq just so happened to be a few hours west of Defiance Bay. How convenient, then, that she and her crew were headed that way anyway, and how generous of them to offer Sagani a place in their traveling party. It was all the truth, of course, and intended in the spirit of benevolence– but all the same, it sounded like such an obvious contrivance that Axa had almost not wanted to say anything at all, to save them both the embarrassment.

But when the dwarf had accepted, had shrugged and sighed and told her to "lead the way," Axa had had to actively stop herself from shooting back, "Are you sure?" Even though it was perfectly understandable, Sagani's obvious reticence to trust her (especially while she was actively electing to travel with her anyway) still stung, and it frustrated Axa that she couldn't quite figure out how to not let it make things awkward during their long hike to the city. Each of the menfolk had approached her on his own at one time or another and inquired discreetly after her health and mood, each noting how unusually untalkative she was, and each time she found herself too stubborn to admit why. They were damn near crossing the bridge into the city proper by the time the orlan was finally tired of torturing herself about it, and she impulsively squeezed her left eye shut–

–Sometimes, with some kith, there just ain't nothin' for it but to just keep on livin' your truth, Lil' Blossom. Just let 'em be, and you just go on bein' true t' yourself. They’ll come 'round, with time... or they won't, 'n you cut 'em loose. But either way you're better off than y'were before, worryin' yourself sick about what some other blowhards think–

Wael had answered the spontaneous prayer with a promptness that had startled her almost as much as the answer itself. She hadn't thought about her father in some time, but the Lord of Mysteries had reached down into her mind and plucked out exactly the right memory for the situation. It was something he'd told her back when she was a little girl tormented or ignored by peers far crueler than the kith she was keeping company with now, and she had come to him for advice not on revenge, but on how to get them to like her. At the time, Axa had balked at essentially being told that sometimes there was nothing one could do about another's unfair opinions of them. But in time, she came to see the wisdom in his words, and she found that the less she tried to please others and the more she focused on cultivating her own identity and interests, the happier she was, in the end.

Good advice, Papa. ...Thank you, Eyeless One.

"Hey. ...You feelin' alright?" This time, it was Sagani herself who drew up next to the orlan, concern plain on her motherly face. Itumaak's nose brushed Axa's fingertips on her other side, the fox giving her a cursory sniff before returning to his mistress. "You've been pretty quiet these last few hours. Nervous, now that we've made it to the big city?" She nodded her head in the direction of the city gates, no more than a stone's throw away now.

Axa wondered, looking at Sagani's kind smile and knitted brow, how she ever could have thought the older woman had borne her any ill will. "Not really, no. I grew up in the second-largest city in the Plains, so tall buildings and busy streets don't faze me much. I've just been... lost in my head, I guess." She smiled back briefly before tilting her head just so, to obscure her face with her burgundy curls. Just in case.

"You're not still hung up on that priest we met on the road, are you?" Kana closed the distance between himself and the two women in a few broad steps, sensing that the tension in the group was dissipating now, positively famished for a good chat. "In truth, I still am, a bit. I certainly hope we don't meet any more of his kind beyond these gates!"

"Still feel like we kinda overdid it there," Edér piped up, picking at the bandaging on his fox-bitten fingers. "Sure, he was a weird, rude prick, but did we really have to beat 'im up?"

"He called Axa a vicious, unspeakable slur, Edér," Aloth huffed, clutching his grimoire close to his chest as the group passed over the long bridge into town. "Honestly, he's rather lucky he got away with his life."

Axa's first impulse was to glare at them in an attempt to silence their loose tongues, but instead she forced herself to look at Sagani's eyes, challenging her. Challenging herself. And in response, Sagani cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, clapped Axa gently on the back between her shoulders. "Now that sounds like a good story. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

...Very good advice, indeed, Axa thought, smiling back at the dwarf, as the party approached the gates of Defiance Bay.

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #making proooogreeeesssssss #i swear every new chapter is twice the length of the last #i will almost definitely fuck with this more later btw #thanks for reading! <3

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harlot-of-oblivion · 3 years

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🤠OC Questionnaire: Beretta🤠

a.k.a. Cowgirl Vampire Reader from the Tales of Miss Fortune series

Full name

Blythe Bale

Preferred name/nickname

Beretta

Generally referred to as

BB, Miss Fortune

Appearance

FACECLAIM: Here’s a portrait I made using Artbreeder:

(but @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate photoshopped her green eye!)

SEX: Female.

HEIGHT: 5’7

WEIGHT: A little hefty due to all the muscle.

BUILD: Toned and muscular thanks to years of fighting wars and winning battles.

HAIR: Long, course, and auburn brown. Her hair comes down past her shoulders. She usually wears it down but sometimes has it in a loose braid with her ever present gambler hat on her head.

SKIN: Brown. Smooth and hard but cool to the touch ever since her Embrace.

EYES: She has heterochromia iridis: her left is russet brown while her right eye is forest green. They always seem to sparkle with mischief and her green eye, also known as her “evil eye”, glows whenever the Beast stirs inside her. Short black eyelashes.

MOUTH: Small mouth with plump lips. Slightly crooked teeth that are perfectly white teeth with very prominent canines that can retract when not feeding.

NOSE: Small and rounded with a wide bridge and small nostrils.

HANDS: Small hands with medium nails that can extend into razor sharp claws at will. They used to be rough with callouses before her Embrace, but now they’re incredibly smooth and just a little soft.

FEET: Small with wide insoles and short toes. She doesn’t trim her toenails since they’ll just grow back the next night.

SCARS: She had a scar across her nose when she was alive, but it quickly healed and faded away after her Embrace.

CLOTHES: Her entire wardrobe just screams cowgirl: boot cut jeans, tons of Western style shirts, large belt buckle, long leather jackets, and a few gambler hats.

OTHER FEATURES: She has vampiric fangs and just an overall air of otherworldliness that everyone notices on a subconscious level.

OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: To be determined.

Speech

VOICECLAIM: To be determined.

ACCENT: She speaks with a very thick Southern drawl.

VERBAL TICS: She has a tendency to use “tsk” a lot when she’s annoyed.

LANGUAGE: She’s fluent in English, Spanish, Gaelic, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and Vietnamese along with some dead languages her Dame taught her.

ARTICULATION: She’s not the most eloquent when it comes to explaining things clearly, and she tends to go on storytelling tangents sometimes.

EDUCATION: She doesn’t use any long and fancy words since it’s more fun to cram a lot of words when she’s running her mouth off.

LAUGHTER: She has two types of laughter: joyful howling and malicious cackling. Her joyful laugh is loud and proud; it’s what you’re most likely to hear if you stay on her good side. Her malicious cackling sounds like death itself; only those who’ve earned her scorn hear its chilling timbre.

GRUMP: Not very often except for when she’s annoyed, letting out a few agitated hisses when she’s hungry.

BREATHING: She’ll let out the occasional humph and tends to sniff the air whenever she’s tracking by scent despite not needing to breathe.

Mannerisms

FACE: She has a very expressive face but knows how to hide her true feelings behind a disarming grin.

HANDS: She gestures a lot with her hands, especially when she’s welding guns since that always catches people off guard.

LEGS/FEET: She taps her feet and jiggles her leg as if she’s listening to some long forgotten song in her head.

EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: She’s prone to emotional outbursts whenever she’s on the verge of hunger or enters a fear frenzy. Lots of hissing, growling, and deathly screeching whenever this happens. But she also yips, yells, and yowls along with whatever mood strikes her at that moment.

HABITS: She randomly bursts into song whenever the mood strikes her, and she fiddles with her guns and whittling knife when she’s occupied with her thoughts. She also tips her hat a lot whenever she introduces herself or just as a general gesture of good will.

POSTURE: She tends to slump over a bit while standing, but she'll stand straight and steady whenever she’s shooting her guns.

WALKING POSTURE: She has a very distinctive swagger to her step that exudes casual confidence.

SITTING POSTURE: She crosses her legs and slouches in her seat.

PERSONAL SPACE: She doesn’t have much of a personal bubble, but has no problem letting someone know they’re not welcome within her space. She respects other people’s personal spaces, but has no problems getting into someone’s face when threatened.

SPACIAL AWARENESS: Her keen vampiric senses pick up even the most miniscule details, so she’s rarely taken by surprise.

OTHER: She likes to share very old Western sayings whenever the mood strikes her.

Health

DIET: Blood...mostly human blood, but she’s acquired a taste for demonic hybrid blood recently. She refuses to drink blood from the elderly, children, mages, and abhorrent mortals.

SLEEP: She doesn’t really sleep anymore...more like falling into a state of repose before the first crack of dawn. And she simply animates as soon as the sun dips below the horizon. She doesn’t have dreams while in this state per se; memories of past death and misfortune flash before her eyes repeatedly in the form of dreams.

EXERCISE: Not much since her muscles will never develop further than what they were when she died. And she can just buff herself with her blood if she needs a boost in strength and speed.

ACTIVITY: She’s a hard worker but tends to laze around until the very last second before getting to work. She only pushes herself past exhaustion if the task is of great importance.

CLEANLINESS: She bathes regularly, especially after certain bloody activities. She prefers a quick shower over soaking in the bath.

ODOUR: She faintly smells of leather, desert rose, and freshly dug earth.

MEDICINAL DRUGS: No.

NARCOTICS: No.

ADDICTIONS: Besides blood and death? No.

ILLNESS: Besides being a vampire? No.

INJURIES: No.

PARASITES: No.

OTHER: She must have blood every day or else risk succumbing to a hunger frenzy. In this state, she doesn’t care about keeping a low profile and she’ll feed without much thought about anyone’s safety. The only way to bring her out of this state is either waiting it out until she’s well fed, knocking her unconscious, or bestowing Final Death.

Personal

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT: Oh she’s an extrovert through and through! She doesn’t go out of her way to go unnoticed unlike most of her kind; the cowboy boots and gambler hat stay on no matter what! Loud and proud is her personal motto and anyone nearby will hear and see that for themselves.

OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: She’s a little bit of both; she always hopes for the best but knows that misfortune rears its ugly from time to time.

GENDER: Female.

SEXUALITY: She’s attracted to both men and women so long as they’re outgoing and have a good sense of humor. She prefers women more often than not but she’s had a few relationships with men in the past. And she’s not adverse to other supernatural beings even if it’s taboo within vampire society. She despises anyone who uses magic to manipulate others and will most likely dispose of them before they inflict even more suffering upon the world.

ROMANTIC: She’s not one for romance but won’t shy away from it either. And she enjoys romantic gestures though she’d never admit it out loud. She was married once before when she was alive but doesn’t plan on remarrying in her new life...and more children are off the table since she’s clinically dead.

MEMORY: She has a pretty good and very accurate memory, but the memories of her mortal life are starting to get a little fuzzy.

PLANNING: She’s more of a “act now, think later” kind of gal.

PENSIVE: She pretends to not brood over the past, but she’s guilty of reminiscing over old trials and tribulations that lead her to live such a dark life.

INTUITION: She’s honed her intuition over the years but it’s eerily accurate when death and misfortune are involved.

PROBLEM SOLVING: If they can be solved by shooting them to death then sure! But she’s not above asking for help if that doesn’t work.

GOALS: Her main goal in life is following death wherever it takes her and ridding the world of mages, witches, warlocks, and all other wielders of magic. Her short term goals are taking it easy in between and finding more customizations for her guns, Misery and Woe.

INSECURITIES: She doesn't have many insecurities...constantly being the bearer of misfortune takes a toll on her sometimes. But she hides it very well under her mischievous smirks and rowdy posturing. She rarely reveals her true nature unless forced since most mortals do not take very kindly to vampires.

ACHIEVEMENTS: She’s proud of her outlaw exploits as Miss Fortune and being well traveled even if it’s because her curse demands to dwell near copious amounts of death.

ANXIETY: Any notion of anyone figuring out her true nature. Fire and holy places make her really anxious. She’s also not fond of seeing children in distress.

OVERWHELMED: Not feeding enough causes a lot of stress.

SELF-HELP: She doesn’t until it becomes a nuisance. Then, she just tries to deal with it as quickly as possible.

COMFORTS: Hanging out at a bar with good music will always make her happy...even better with the right company to keep her entertained. She also likes to whittle whenever she needs peace and quiet.

BAD HABITS: Her constant paranoia is kind of like a bad habit.

PHILOSOPHY: She abandoned all her previous beliefs after her death, but she wasn’t really religious to begin with. She does pay proper respect to the Dark Mother of all Lillum whenever possible though.

TRIGGERS: Fire and terrified screams of children.

The Past

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: She had a very good relationship with her parents growing up; still has fond memories of helping her Ma with the chores and tending the horses with her Pa. Her relationship with the woman who Embraced her is not as warm though; very austere and aloof but she does show her caring side on rare occasions.

SCHOOL: She was homeschooled at her father’s ranch and she was a very bright kid.

ADOLESCENCE: It was difficult since her mother died before she could teach her about the changes in her body. And her father tried his best but he usually just let her figure it out on her own.

LEAVING HOME: She didn’t leave home until her father’s death. It was heartbreaking since she had to sell the ranch in order to provide for her daughter.

FURTHER EDUCATION: A higher education wasn’t available due to her social status, but she definitely broadened her horizons soon after her death.

FIRST JOB: Her first job was cooking and cleaning at local inns and bars. It wasn’t the best job nor was it as rewarding as her work on the ranch, but it paid for the roof over her head and food on her table while raising her daughter.

LIFE EVENTS: The birth of her daughter was one of the happiest moments of her life. She was forcefully recruited as a spy by a mage, which led to her eventual Embrace as a vampire. And being drawn to the Russian Revolution led to saving and Embracing a young woman.

WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: Her daughter was on the brink of death due to the meddling of a mage.

BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: She made a blood bond with her rowdy cowboy.

LESSONS: Those who wield magic bring nothing but trouble and should be dealt with immediately. Sometimes you get and sometimes you get got. If it doesn’t seem worth the effort then it probably isn’t.

LOOKING BACK: If she could replay her life and do something different, she would try her damnedest to keep her father’s ranch and raise her daughter in peace away from another man’s war.

Relationships

FAMILY: The only family she had growing up was her Ma and Pa. They made a living for themselves on her father’s ranch raising horses and tending to their own modest farm. She would’ve been an older sister but her mother and baby brother both died during childbirth.

Her Dame, the woman who Embraced her, is more like a strict tutor than a mother but that suits her fine. She’s much closer with her older “sister” and they traveled together often until going their separate ways. And she’s also close with her own “daughter” even though they bicker a lot about the dumbest things.

FRIENDSHIPS: It’s hard for her to keep many friends since she travels a lot but she doesn’t mind the occasional company from time to time. Anyone who doesn’t take life too seriously and can let loose is okay in her books. She can’t call anyone who falls under one of the codes of her clan a friend.

FRIENDS IN NEED: She lends them an ear every now and then but she usually distracts them with a good time drinking at the closet bar. She’ll sometimes offer some strange old sayings that sound like sage advice but otherwise will just let them vent before encouraging them to just drop their worries at the door while they drink their worries away.

NEEDING A FRIEND: She tends to deal with her problems on her own since she doesn’t have any close friends to confide in. The few friends she has made do worry about her often though but her carefree attitude convinces them to not pry into her private affairs.

ANNOYANCES: She usually deflects from arguments and disagreements with loud and rowdy humor.

ROMANCE: She lays it on thick with the flirting until one of them makes the first move. She looks for someone with good looks and wicked sense of humor...bonus if they tell great tales about their crazy exploits.

MARITAL PROBLEMS: She tried to be open about any problems with her lover but sometimes the old habit of deflecting with humor crops up. But a good ol’ fashioned fight (depends on her mood if it's verbal or physical) or a few rounds in the bedroom usually loosens her tongue.

ADVERSARIES: Anyone who takes themselves way too seriously.

ENEMIES: Anyone who embodies the very reason why her clan exists is instantly her enemy by default.

STRANGERS: She’s respectful enough to strangers but has no problem telling them to back off if they step on her toes too much.

FUN STUFF: She likes to hangout at bars even though she can’t drink anymore. She also likes to go horseback riding in the middle of the night but doesn’t mind joyriding on a motorcycle either.

DATING: It doesn’t matter what they’re doing so long as she’s with her lover. She still likes to be wined and dined too...just in a more vampiric sense now.

BEST FRIEND: Her crow could be counted as her best friend...mostly because she doesn’t have any real friends.

LOVE: Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter who somehow wrangled her undead heart.

WORST ENEMY: There currently isn’t anyone who she considers her worst enemy...yet.

RESPECT: Depends on the person. She had no respect for anyone who breaks the codes of her clan and shows no mercy when dealing with them.

Interactions

MINGLING: She’s quite the mingler and gets along well with others.

COMFORT LEVELS: She’s great at striking up random conversations among strangers and friends. And she has no problem shooing them away with a harsh glare if they make her uncomfortable.

PHYSICAL: She can be a little touchy-feely from time to time, usually in the form of pats on the back or shoulder. She only shares hugs with people she sees as a good friend.

GROUPS: She’s comfortable hanging out in a big group since there’s a greater chance for some rowdy fun.

OPENNESS: She’s open to an extent...she won’t talk about anything personal with others unless they prove to be trustworthy.

GENEROSITY: She usually makes her gifts and only buys treats if she couldn’t find a good piece of wood for whittling. She’d only lend money to a friend if she trusts them to not waste it. And she gets excited when someone buys gifts for her but it always comes with a reminder that they really don’t have to waste their hard earned money on a lazy bitch like her.

JEALOUSY: She’s usually not the jealous type but her dark nature rears its head and sometimes...and a jealous vampire is very dangerous. She usually deals with it by just plain ignoring it while going for a ride in the night.

TEMPER: She can be patient up to a point before getting worked up when it starts to grate on her nerves.

EMPATHY: She’s able to empathize with another person’s feelings since some of her vampiric abilities allows her to read their emotional state.

AFFECTION: She shows affection by giving one of whittled woodworks with all the charming compliments. She also likes to snuggle and nuzzle their neck with a soft purr if they're really close.

DISTASTE: She’ll outright tell someone she dislikes them to their face. She’s been known to stare at them while using her Evil Eye if she REALLY doesn’t like them.

ETIQUETTE: She can be very polite in social situations so long as everyone else plays nice, but she has no problem being rude if someone insults her.

RESPONSIBILITY: She’ll begrudgingly admit when she’s wrong and will try to correct it to the best of her abilities.

SELF ESTEEM: She sticks up for herself no matter who’s giving her a hard time. Her Dame taught her to never appear weak in the eyes of men since they always seek to tear down strong women.

CONFIDENCE: She doesn’t give a damn what others think of her.

HONESTY: She always speaks her mind honestly even if it might upset someone.

LEADER OR FOLLOWER: She’s more of a lone wanderer but has no problem slipping into either roll when the situation calls for it

PARTY TRICKS: She’s real quick with her guns, loves to whittle wood into a work of art in no time flat, and she can also sing surprisingly well.

PRAISE: She loves receiving compliments.

FAILURES: Her lazy and laid back attitude as well as her boisterous hollering can be a tad annoying to some people.

CRITICISM: She can take criticism so long as it’s helpful with just a little bit of back talk.

INSULTS: It depends on who’s insulting her. She usually just laughs it off before biting back with some of her own insults with her venomous stare.

EMBARRASSMENT: She’s not easily embarrassed but if it does happen, she’ll straight up hide her face with the brim of her gambler hat before making a quick exit.

FLIRTING: She can be real flirty for two reasons: scoring a meal or genuine attraction.

ATTENTION SPAN: She has great concentration and can hold it for an exorbitant amount of time so long as she’s fed beforehand.

SITUATIONS: Some of her vampiric abilities can deal with difficult social situations, but she’d rather just talk it out if possible.

Life

CAREER: She's a wandering mercenary who specializes in neutralizing mages and witches. It’s a well paying job with high risks but she derives joy from it.

PROMOTION: She’s quite happy with her current position.

BOSS: She’s her own boss.

DUTY: She’s a specialized tracker who shoots down bitches.

TECH: She’s adequate at using modern technology but prefers to not rely on it too much.

POLITICS: Not very political unless a mage is involved...then she’ll fucking kill them.

COMBAT SKILLS: She’s an expert with firearms and is very experienced with fighting hand to hand.

HOME: She doesn’t stay in one place for too long, so she really doesn’t have a home.

DAILY LIFE: She goes through her day-to-day tasks with her usually laid back attitude. Going out and doing a couple of jobs helps her relieve some stress.

INDEPENDENCE: Very independent since striking out on her own after selling her father’s ranch.

COOKING: She was a decent cook when she was alive but she hasn’t tried cooking after her death since all food tastes like ashes now. She does have a keen palate for blood though and can tell you all the complex notes hidden within.

BUILDING: She’s great putting together furniture, mending clothes, and just all around basic DIY.

CLEANING: She really doesn’t have a place she calls home, but she would be terrible at keeping up chores if she did.

SHOPPING: She’s not one for shopping sprees, only going to the store when it’s absolutely necessary.

DRIVING: She can drive if she has too but prefers riding on horseback instead.

FINANCES: She’s financially stable but doesn’t trust banks to keep her well earned funds safe. And she doesn’t really have to worry about paying bills since she has no home.

MARRIAGE: She was married a long time ago for a short time but now she’s single, and she doesn’t plan on getting married again.

KIDS: She had one daughter when she was alive.

PETS: She has a crow named Catha. She also tries to get a horse whenever she’s outside city limits.

DEPENDANTS: She has a vampiric daughter but she’s old enough to be out on her own.

LAW: Oooooh yes, she’s broken a lot of laws during her time as cowgirl and still continues to do so for various reasons.

COURT: She’s never been to court.

PRISON: She’s broken into prison a few times to free some friends but she’s never been an inmate herself.

TRAVELLING: She’s very well traveled but every day is a holiday to her.

MEDICAL: She doesn’t need conventional medical attention anymore thanks to her vampiric nature.

ILLNESS: She has PTSD and suffers from bouts of paranoia.

WORRIES: She worries about her daughter from time to time.

PEACE: She doesn’t mind peace and quiet when she’s in the mood but she prefers the hustle and bustle of people and great music over straight up silence.

PARTYING: She can never say no to a lively party!

HOBBIES: She likes to whittle wood into intricate pieces of art, usually in the form of lil statues and knick knacks.

#beretta #cowgirl vampire reader #OC questionnaire #Tales of Miss Fortune #YEEHAW! 🌹🤠🌹#harlot writes #harlot speaks

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essaysfromthedeep · 3 years

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Wash, rinse, repeat.

A little bit about being Southern, gay, and estranged.

CW: Suicide mention

Where I am now is exactly why I didn’t want to come out in the first place. I was terrified as a teenager that I would have to leave my family behind to be happy. It turned out to be true.

I figured out when I was 17 that I was attracted to girls. I had a boyfriend. It wasn’t going well. It wasn’t his fault, of course. I tried and tried to be okay with dating him, but I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt three months in that I didn’t feel the same way about him. I just didn’t know why for another few months. Or I didn’t want to admit why. I’m not sure the distinction matters at this point.

I remember which class I was sitting in the first time I wrote down “I think I like girls.” It was almost lunch time, I had no friends in there and no one was paying any attention to me. I put it in a journal I later burned. It was terrifying and imprinted itself on my memory. It was also a truth I couldn’t outrun any more.

I wasn’t expecting that coming out would be so similar to the stages of grief. I remember being so angry. I tried to kill myself. An expression of anger, fear, and disappointment.

I tried to kill myself on Valentine’s day because my boyfriend so desperately wanted to spend time with me, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I knew exactly where I’d rather be and why. I couldn’t take it any more.

I took, what I thought to be at the time, a lot of pills, and drank, what I thought to be at the time, a lot of alcohol. And laid down to go to sleep. I started feeling very ill and couldn’t fall asleep. I remember praying. “Okay God, if I survive this, it means you want me to be gay. And if I don’t well, I guess I’ll find out if you’re going to send me to hell for it.”

I threw up all night. The next day I felt like death warmed over, but I was alive. Now came the hard part, figuring out how to be gay. It took me 6 more years to come out in any kind of public way. I told my closest friends in high school, but that didn’t go so well. I came out as bisexual. Which, I am not. But I couldn’t be a full on lesbian yet.I wasn’t ready to give up.

I was still desperately hoping some boy would come along and fix me. Someone, anyone! That they would love me enough somehow and, even though I would never feel the same way about them, that it would be enough. It didn’t work out.

My first few years of being out to myself were full of this kind of bargaining. “I’ll just be alone forever and that will be fine. I don’t need a relationship.” I had resolved to stay in the small, rural town I had grown up in and just be the person my family wanted me to be. But the idea of being forced to be alone became unbearable. I had finally let go of some of my self hatred and honestly I wanted so badly to hit on women. Being a lesbian sounded amazing, if I could just figure out how to do it!

In college it still took awhile for me to come out, again.

I was technically bisexual at that point, so the assumption was this was a phase. I was so tired of the implication that I’d just eventually like a dude! I knew I wouldn’t. I kept pretending. Latching on to dudes left and right because I assumed (rightly) that there was more to lose when I let everyone know there would be no more men for me.

I tried to date exactly one guy in college. Attempting to be the person he wanted me to be was like cutting off parts of myself. I kept trying to make myself into something that I wasn’t to make men happy, when I was already pretty sure that I wasn’t at all interested in men or making them happy. I ‘broke up’ with him after four days.

I wish I could say that was the end of my misadventures with men, but it wasn’t. It was the last time I tried to date one. Everything else was just drunken mistakes in an attempt to try to make myself into a straight girl.

I finally gave it all up when I was 23. I had been fighting and fighting and fighting for years. I slept with one woman and it’s honestly laughable to me at this point that I ever thought I was straight.

That’s the only reason I decided to come out to my family at all.

After stumbling upon the (finally sober) realization, that I was decidedly uninterested in men, I realized that I would need to tell my family.

I didn’t want to, but I’m a terrible liar. And honestly, I was so tired of being afraid of them. To be clear though, when I came out I was still terrified of them. My timing could have probably been better, but that’s not how life is.

I decided to come out the weekend I graduated from college. I was sure, certain, in fact, that it would be alright. We would be riding the high from my accomplishment (2 degrees!) and they would love me regardless. I would tell them and then we would have a nice Christmas.

I have not been to a Christmas with my family since then.

I graduated right about the same time as all that Duck Dynasty nonsense where that guy said really homophobic stuff in GQ back in 2013. Well, my sister spent the entire weekend talking about it. Agreeing with him. Being angry because the show got dropped. “Gay people need to learn their place.” I could still direct you to the booth we were sitting at in Steak’n’Shake when she said that. There are some things that just stick with you. All gay people were going to hell anyway, why should it matter that he said it! And how dare A&E cancel them!

I left after that. Saying I was tired and didn’t want to go back to the mall. I had some friends to hang out with. Whatever excuses I could come up with. Really I went to my apartment and talked with my girlfriend for hours and hours about what I should do. I didn’t feel safe going home with them at that point. My family isn’t known for solving these kind of disagreements peacefully. And my family disagreed with my existence. What’s a girl to do? I ran away with my girlfriend for Christmas.

And this is where the Southern part of my story starts rearing its ugly head. My girlfriends parents were not sure about hosting me. I should be at home with my family. I didn’t know how to tell them, I didn’t feel safe with my family.

There’s this stigma about not being in touch with your family. Like it’s some kind of easy choice to cut them off. I already knew what my family thought of me, why am I required to open myself up to further abuse? Why am I required to submit myself to them for in-person derangement.

After the fact, when we were discussing it my mother said to me “Were you scared I was going to shoot you?” And yes. I was. That’s the thing. I know how my mother reacts. I react in similar fashions sometimes. A blind rage. You can’t see anything but your anger. I felt I was taking my life in my hands if I went home and came out. And who would know if they killed me and buried me in the back yard? Who would care? There are lots of pig farms in Arkansas. There are lots of places to hide a body.

Perhaps this is horrifying for me to say, but it was a natural conclusion for me. There are many people where I’m from who would have understood why my family did it. A jury of their peers wouldn’t convict them.

After that we tried for a few years, but the problem is I wanted it all.

I can read my parents like a book. They were so uncomfortable in my presence.

Growing up my father only referred to gay men as faggots. I had only ever heard gay used as a slur until I was in high school at least. It definitely wasn’t truly de-stigmatized for me until I was in college.

And about three years after I came out to my parents, I was tired of being tolerated. I didn’t want them to think I was disgusting. I wanted them to be able to look at me. I wanted them to be able to say the word gay and it not be a slur. And so I confronted them about it.

And my mom told me that she can only accept my relationships that are ‘biblical.’ She will never accept my marriage. And so I decided that I wasn’t going to live my life in pieces, and I told her to contact me when she could accept me for everything that I am, and that includes being a lesbian.

And now I don’t know what to do.

My family always made it very clear that if you didn’t talk to them in life, you shouldn’t show up at their funerals. I don’t know whether to grieve now, later, or both. I assume both makes the most sense.

This is excruciating, but it’s still better than sitting across the table from my mother and seeing the disgust in her eyes. The fear. Knowing that she thinks there’s something wrong with me.

My mother’s love is conditional. She loves in the hope that it will make me change. That I will repent and be born again, again. That it can save me. That she can make me straight.

After being the ‘sinner’ that’s been ‘loved’ for so many years, I have to say it feels less like love and more like coercion.

I feel like I’ve chosen the lesser of two evils. Trying to maintain contact with my family is destabilizing. So I’ll live with the guilt and the shame of not talking to the people who conceived me. I’m not sure what I continue to owe them though.

My mother left me a voicemail last week. She claims she doesn’t know what she’s done to “upset me.” She thinks I’m just punishing her because I’m mad. I’m not mad. I’m painfully aware of how little there is left of me for her to love. I won’t change. Why do I have to expose myself to her obvious disdain? What obligations do I owe her?

She brought me into this world, but the truth is she doesn’t want me. She wants whatever version she keeps of me in her head.

It’s much harder to love people as they are. And what I am now is so far removed from what she wants, I just don’t see why I have to keep trying. She isn’t going to meet me halfway, and I have to give up everything I am.

There’s no voice I can turn my mother to that teachers her to love me. The people my mother respects hate me. They teach I’m the reason why Jesus will soon return and wipe people like me from the face of the Earth and put us in hell where we belong.

I’ve heard “Blood is thicker than water” so often that I can’t help but feel like the asshole in this situation. Oh, what I’m doing to my poor mother! Have we considered what she’s done to me?

I’ve always been aware of how tenuous my relationship with my parents was. I knew there were parts of me they could never love. I’ve been keeping secrets since I was a child, hoping that I could be good enough one day that they’d like every piece of me. I’d settle for like, I think.

I grieve for my childhood. I wonder, often, what it’s like for kids who’s parents love them unconditionally. It’s difficult knowing that is something I will never experience.

I can’t blame my mother for it. I don’t think it was something she was ever capable of. It’s about as useful as being mad at the rain. There’s nothing I can do to change it.

I always want these kinds of things to have a lesson. I would like to wrap it up nice and tidy, but this is all messy ends and unfinished work.

The anger has run out of me and all that was left to do was this. Hollow myself out so the pain and sadness can’t grow and fester until they try to kill me again. You face them, you name them, you find a way to get up the next morning. You do things that make you happy. You wait for them to make you happy again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

#lgbtq #southern culture #suicide mention cw #cw suicide mention #writing #mine #wlw #lesbian #gay

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Friday, January 8, 2021

Spending the pandemic talking to yourself? If you live alone, you’re not alone (Washington Post) One bleak pandemic day in November, Aisha Tyler caught herself vacuuming the inside of her freezer. Then she scolded herself. Yes, out loud. Sometimes the Los Angeles-based actress will tell herself to “snap out of it.” On brighter days, she’ll congratulate herself on what a good job she’s doing and call for a celebration. Humans leave little unspoken, and this past year, as many of us have avoided social events and worked from home alone, we’ve been forced to talk out loud to the only person still around to listen: ourselves. Sure, it may take the form of bantering with our pets, scolding the politicians on TV or cajoling our malfunctioning printers, but that’s really just another way of hearing our own voice, helping us discern what exactly is going on inside that head of ours. What’s going on here? Charles Fernyhough, a psychology professor at Durham University and author of “The Voices Within: The History and Science of How We Talk to Ourselves,” says research shows people talk out loud more when under stress or facing cognitive challenges. It was praying aloud that kept 44-year-old April Harris going during her 32 days in quarantine with a deep cough at the California Institution for Women in Chino, Calif.—not just self-encouragements like “I can do this” and “You got this, April,” but repeated declarations like “by His stripes, I am healed.” “I would pray for our country and for a cure to this virus,” she says in an email from the prison, where she has spent 24 years but had never previously talked out loud to herself. “Now I pray that I am covered by His blood, not wanting to endure that again. I pray for the women who are in isolation now.”

Here’s Why Car Thefts Are Soaring (Hint: Check Your Cup Holder) (NYT) After years of declines, car thefts appear to be surging in cities and suburbs all over the country. The spree, which has been exacerbated by the pandemic, does not appear to be the work of sophisticated crime rings, the police say. Instead, this new wave of car thefts seems to stem from a combination of simple carelessness and the same technological advancement that once made stealing cars nearly impossible: the key fob. The broad adoption of keyless ignitions that began in the late 1990s ushered in a dark era for car thieves. New cars had engine immobilizers that only a microchip in the key fob could unlock, and vehicle thefts quickly plummeted. Technology, it seemed, had largely solved the problem of stolen vehicles. Until people started leaving their fobs sitting in their cup holders. Now, the police say forgotten fobs and keyless technology have contributed to soaring stolen car cases. In Hartford, the police have traced the surge to teenagers joyriding in from the suburbs. In Los Angeles, stolen cars reappear so frequently that the police believe thieves are using them like Ubers. And in New York City, a related but different problem has emerged as more drivers leave their cars running to make pit stops and deliveries during the pandemic, making their cars easy targets for thieves who can simply drive away, even without a fob.

Canadian compensation (CBC) Based on companies that trade on the TSX, in 2019 the average total compensation for the 100 best-paid CEOs of Canadian corporations was $10.8 million, while the average annual salary for a worker in Canada was $53,482 the same year. That means top CEO pay is about 202 times that of the average Canadian worker, which is actually down from the 227 observed the previous year. It also means that at 11:17 a.m. on Monday, the average CEO had already made the annual salary of a typical worker.

An unimaginable moment in America (AP) To see it unspool—to watch the jumbled images ricochet, live, across the world’s endless screens—was, as an American, a struggle to believe your eyes. But there it was, in the capital city of the United States in early January 2021: a real-time breaking and entering the likes of which the republic has never seen. The U.S. Capitol was overrun by violent supporters of Donald Trump, who exhorted them to march on the domed building as lawmakers inside carried out their constitutional duty by certifying his electoral defeat. The proceedings were quickly abandoned as the selfie-snapping mob smashed windows, marched through hallways and rummaged through lawmakers’ desks. Fourteen days before Joe Biden is set to be inaugurated on the very same site, elected officials sheltered in place in their own building. Agents barricaded themselves inside congressional chambers, guns drawn. The stars and stripes—soaring over public property—was lowered, then replaced as a blue Trump flag ascended. In one of the day’s most indelible images, a hoodie-clad trespasser sat in a chair overlooking the Senate floor—minutes after it had been vacated by Trump’s own vice president, Mike Pence—waving his fist in front of a thick, ornate curtain designed to summon the trappings of democracy. The United States on Wednesday seemed at risk of becoming the very kind of country it has so often insisted it was helping: a fragile democracy.

World reacts to US mob (AP) Amid the global outrage at the storming of the U.S. Capitol building by angry supporters of President Donald Trump was a persistent strain of glee from those who have long resented the perceived American tendency to chastise other countries for less-than-perfect adherence to democratic ideals. In China, which has had constant friction with the Trump administration over trade, military and political issues, people were scathing in their criticism of Trump and his supporters, citing both his failure to control the coronavirus pandemic and the mob action in Washington. The Communist Youth League ran a photo montage of the violence at the Capitol on its Twitter-like Weibo microblog with the caption: “On the sixth, the U.S. Congress, a most beautiful site to behold.” That appeared to mock House Speaker Nancy Pelosi for her June 2019 comments in praise of sometimes violent antigovernment protests in Hong Kong. Iran, another country that faces routine U.S. criticism over violations of human rights and democratic values, jumped on the insurrection as proof of American hypocrisy. The semiofficial Fars news agency called the United States a “fragmented democracy,” while Iran’s pro-government Twitter accounts gloated, circulating photos of the mobs with hashtags that included #DownfalloftheUS. “The beauty of democracy?” with a shrug emoji was the reaction tweeted by Bashir Ahmad, a personal assistant to the president of Nigeria, which has seen several coups since independence—including one led decades ago by President Muhammadu Buhari, who most recently entered the office via a vote. Venezuela, which is under U.S. sanctions, said the events in Washington show that the U.S. “is suffering what it has generated in other countries with its politics of aggression.” Several countries, both allies and antagonists of America, issued travel warnings to their citizens.

America the exceptional? (Foreign Policy) It’s not easy to say how much the storming of the Capitol will contribute to the decline in the reputation of the United States abroad. That’s because that decline has already been so steep: A Gallup poll of 29 countries in 2020 found that 20 already had approval ratings of U.S. leadership that are at new lows or that tie the previous record lows.

‘The power of life and death is in the tongue,’ Senate chaplain says (NYT) “We deplore the desecration of the United States Capitol building, the shedding of innocent blood, the loss of life, and the quagmire of dysfunction that threaten our democracy.” Those words, spoken by Barry C. Black, the Senate chaplain, resounded through the government chamber in the early hours of Thursday, as he declaratively closed a joint session of Congress marred by violence with a prayer. A Seventh-day Adventist minister and former Navy rear admiral known for his penchant for brightly colored bow ties, Mr. Black has been the Senate’s official clergyman for nearly two decades. His prayers in the chambers have long been laced with rebukes for the infighting of the lawmakers surrounding him, and his words have often served as a conscience check for those on both sides of the aisle. That was never more true than on Thursday morning, as he warned lawmakers that their words could have great consequences. “These tragedies have reminded us that words matter, and that the power of life and death is in the tongue,” he said. “We have been warned that eternal vigilance continues to be freedom’s price.” His prayer also urged new unity in the face of the deep divisions among lawmakers and within the country, driving home a need to “see in each other a common humanity.”

Twitter, Facebook muzzle Trump amid Capitol violence (AP) In an unprecedented step, Facebook and Twitter suspended President Donald Trump from posting to their platforms Wednesday following the storming of the U.S. Capitol by his supporters. Twitter locked Trump out of his account for 12 hours and said that future violations by Trump could result in a permanent suspension. The company required the removal of three of Trump’s tweets. Facebook and Instagram, which Facebook owns, followed up in the evening, announcing that Trump wouldn’t be able to post for 24 hours following two violations of its policies. Facebook later said that Trump would be banned indefinitely.

Indian farmers take to their tractors (Quartz) On the other side of the world, a protest of a different kind is taking place in Delhi, as farmers who oppose India’s newly passed agricultural laws plan to march into the city with 2,500 tractor trolleys today. It’s the latest action in nearly two months of demonstrations that have grabbed headlines globally for their scale, but also for their inventiveness—some of the tractors have previously doubled as screens for movie viewing as protesters dug in for the long haul. The latest round of talks between the government and farmers is scheduled for tomorrow. If the two sides can’t agree on a path forward, farmers’ union leaders say a tractor rally and nationwide protests will start on Jan. 26, when the country celebrates Republic Day.

With Mass Arrests, Beijing Exerts an Increasingly Heavy Hand in Hong Kong (NYT) They descended before dawn, 1,000 police officers fanning out across Hong Kong to the homes and offices of opposition lawmakers, activists and lawyers. They whisked many off in police cars, often without telling relatives or friends where they were being taken. Within a few hours on Wednesday, the Hong Kong police had arrested 53 people, searched 76 places and frozen $200,000 of assets in connection with an informal primary for the pro-democracy camp—all under the auspices of Beijing’s new national security law. In one swoop, the authorities rounded up not only some of the most aggressive critics of the Hong Kong government but also little-known figures who had campaigned on far less political issues, in one of the most forceful shows of power in the Chinese Communist Party’s continuing crackdown on the city. The message was clear: Beijing is in charge. The mass arrests signaled that the central Chinese government, which once wielded its power over Hong Kong with a degree of discretion, is increasingly determined to openly impose its will on the city. In the months since the law took effect, Beijing and the Beijing-backed Hong Kong leadership have moved quickly to stamp out even the smallest hint of opposition in the Chinese territory, where the streets once surged with huge anti-government protests. And they have shattered any pretense of democracy in Hong Kong’s political system.

Japan declares emergency for Tokyo area as cases spike (AP) Japan declared a state of emergency in Tokyo and three nearby areas on Thursday as coronavirus cases continue to surge, hitting a daily record of 2,447 in the capital. Prime Minister Yoshihide Suga issued the declaration at the government task force for the coronavirus. It lasts from Friday until Feb. 7, and centers around asking restaurants and bars to close at 8 p.m. and people to stay home and not mingle in crowds.

The next catastrophe has already been predicted (Les Echos via Worldcrunch) The epidemic surprised us, but it was predictable. In the risk report regularly published by the World Economic Forum (WEF) for its annual Davos summit, infectious diseases were listed every year as one of the 10 biggest threats. The report’s description of a virus spreading uncontrolled around the world was exactly what played out in 2020. There were frequent discussions at Davos about this type of danger. For example, in 2016, after the damage caused by Ebola, the general director of the World Health Organization, Margaret Chan, sounded the alarm about the next pandemic. Jim Yong Kim, president of the World Bank, drew a parallel with the Spanish Flu, evoking the risk of an illness that killed 30 million people. Bill Gates, the founder of Microsoft-cum-health philanthropist, insisted on the necessity of training teams in public health management and logistics. If this health crisis is causing so much suffering, it’s because we refused to seriously prepare for it. We didn’t follow the advice of the philosopher and engineer Jean-Pierre Dupuy, who pushes us to think about catastrophe to prevent it from happening. The time has therefore come to think about the next global catastrophes—the less predictable ones.

#headlines #news

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stahlop · 5 years

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I Get Knocked Down (but I get up again) (1/1)

I've rated this M for some overall dark themes. There is no smut whatsoever.

This was inspired by an interview I heard Sophia Bush do about how her parents met.

Thanks to the @cspupstravaganza event! I had a lot of fun working on this.

And thanks to @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta and to @thisonesatellite for being my cheerleader behind the scenes.

Rated: M (for mature themes, no smut)

Or read on Ao3.

Summary: Emma thinks her new neighbor is hot. Like really hot. Now if she could just get her Great Dane to stop knocking him down every time she sees him.

It started with a dog.

A dog that didn’t start out as her dog. Emma Swan is much more a cat person. But when her friend Lily needs a dog sitter for her Great Dane, Maleficent, while she goes to a meeting with an agent in LA, Emma can’t refuse. LA is only an hour away from their little seaside town of Storybrooke. It won’t be a big deal.

Until Lily doesn’t come home. The agent wants her now. She’s going to get her big break. She’s going to have to live in an apartment the agency puts her up in, and there are absolutely no dogs allowed. Especially Great Danes.

So now she is stuck with Maleficent (Mal for short), who, despite being named for a Disney villain, is the sweetest dog ever. Emma considers giving her to a shelter for about one second, but Mal’s sweet doggy face just doesn’t let her. The fact that she is the size of a pony is the issue, considering Emma lives in a small bungalow with an equally small backyard. Luckily she owns it and doesn’t have to worry about pet restrictions. And after doing some research, Emma discovers that Great Danes actually do quite well in small houses and don’t need much exercise. Which is good since Emma prefers the gym to running.

Emma’s had Mal for a month when he moves in behind her. Now, the bungalow does have a fence, but considering Mal’s size, she easily looks over it when on her hind legs. Which could be quite scary for people walking in the alley. Or for people living behind her. The second he moves in Mal becomes moody. Every time he’s in his yard she starts barking and whining non-stop. Not to mention the absolutely girly shriek he gives the first time he sees Mal’s head peek over the fence.

“Bloody hell!” he yells after the shriek subsides. Emma, giggles at the sound he makes, and rushes over to the fence. It is short enough that it comes up to her shoulders so she can see her new backyard neighbor across the alleyway. “What the hell is that?”

“Sorry!” Emma says as she sees her new neighbor flat on his back in his yard (he has a much lower fence so she can see into his yard perfectly). It’s as if Mal’s barks had enough force to knock him down. And then her jaw drops.

Emma isn’t sure what she expected from her new neighbor, but it wasn’t this gorgeous guy, picking himself up off the ground, before her. His black jeans hugging his ass and his gray Henley hugging his muscular arms just right. Emma notices that he wears several rings on his right hand and a chain with several charms around his neck. But his face. Oh god! That face. Emma is in no way, shape, or form a poet, but she’s pretty sure inspiration would come from the beauty that is his face, and the wonderfully disheveled hair and scruff all around his chin and upper lip. Emma starts to feel tingly in her lower extremities. She hasn’t felt this turned on since...well it’s been awhile.

The new neighbor sees her peeking over the fence and makes his way over. He smiles the moment he sees Emma’s head over the fence instead of Mal’s.

“Sorry about that,” Emma says as he makes his way across the alley and toward her fence. She notices the heavy eyebrows and the guyliner as he crosses over. God he is hot! “Mal likes to freak out the neighbors,” she says giving a shy smile.

Hot neighbor raises an eyebrow making the tingly sensation even worse. Get a grip, Emma! she thinks to herself. Just because he makes her all hot and bothered doesn’t mean he is interested in her.

“Mal?” he asks hesitantly. Emma thinks she detects a British accent.

“My dog, that scared you,” Emma says, biting her lip to suppress another giggle about to emerge when she thinks about his reaction to her dog.

“That was a dog?” he asks incredulously. Yep, definitely British. “Oh, thank god! I thought it was some kind of demon come to take me to hell.” Emma almost bursts out laughing.

“Nope,” Emma shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her, “just a very large Great Dane.” He reaches the fence and slowly peers over it to see Mal, now sunbathing in the backyard. “Sorry for such a scary introduction to the neighborhood. Mal’s still getting used to it here. I’ve just recently acquired her. My name’s Emma, by the way. Emma Swan.” She lifts her right hand over the fence to shake his and hopefully also get an introduction.

“Mal?” he asks instead of giving his name or shaking her hand.

“Short for Maleficent. I think it was the ears that earned her the name from her former owner. She kind of looks like she has horns.” Emma explains, remembering how bad she felt for the dog when Lily saddled her with the name. Especially since she is not evil in the least.

“Ah, I see,” hot neighbor responds. He studies Mal for a few moments before finally continuing with, “Killian Jones.” He lifts his right hand to shake for his introduction, which is a little awkward since it is the same hand Emma held out. The sleeve of his shirt lifts up and she can just make out a large heart tattoo with a woman’s name in it. Emma drops his hand awkwardly. Of course hot neigh -- Killian -- has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

“Well, Swan, I must be getting back. Lots to unpack. I’ll see you around,” he says with a grin.

“Of course,” Emma says, a little flustered. She really likes the way he’s calling her Swan. “Um, if you’re interested in a beer sometime, let me know. I can show you some great bars around here.” She grins, and then hoping she isn’t sending the wrong message, “ You being new and all.”

He looks up, surprised, but then his face breaks into a gorgeous smile.

“I’d like that, love. I’ll let you know when I have a free moment.” And with that he crosses the alley back into his own yard.

________________________________________________________________

It’s a few days before Emma sees Killian Jones again. She knows when he is out in his yard because of Mal’s incessant barking. Her bark sounds different whenever it’s Killian. More high pitched and whiney. Not the deep bark she associates with Mal when she barks at the mailman or the garbage collectors. She says hi over the fence and he says hi back, but otherwise, they haven’t had much interaction. And it isn’t like Emma is waiting around for Killian to get back to her about getting a beer. She’s been staking out some high end hotels and restaurants for a glimpse of her client’s wife getting it on with someone other than her client, without getting kicked out of said establishments for hiding out and taking pictures. One of the dilemmas of being a private investigator.

Emma hasn’t taken Mal out for a proper walk in weeks because of this job, so she feels it is about time. She puts on some workout gear, pulls her hair back into a messy ponytail, grabs Mal’s leash and sets out for a walk.

It is glorious to be outside in the cool California afternoon. Emma takes in deep breaths of the salty, ocean air (she only lives a few blocks away from the shore). She misses just being able to walk around and take in the gorgeous scenery of the town she lives in.

She sets a relaxing pace with Mal. Emma is thankful that Mal is not the type of dog to be curious and run after every little thing that catches her attention. Emma would probably end up with a dislocated shoulder otherwise. And, because of Mal’s size, Emma is usually free of men who try to hit on women with dogs. That is, except for Walsh.

Walsh used to be the owner of a posh furniture shop in LA proper, but decided to open up a beach shop on the boardwalk for ‘kitschy beach chairs’. LA is apparently too modern to buy antique furniture. No matter what time of day it is, he always seems to be at the shop, and he always tries to talk to her and ask her out, despite her repeatedly turning him down, and that Mal starts growling whenever they get anywhere near the vicinity of his shop. He gives her the creeps.

Emma attempts to come up with an excuse for Walsh about why she can’t talk to him today when she feels a sharp tug on Mal’s leash. It’s pretty much all the warning she gets when Mal starts running full speed and barking at some intended target.

“Mal! Stop!” Emma screams at the 100 pound dog. Luckily, previous years working in the bail bonds business helps her keep her balance while running and not dragged down the boardwalk by Mal. She tries to pull on the leash, but Mal’s will is much stronger. Emma has no idea where Mal is heading but she has to drop the leash or risk injury to herself.

But before she can let go, Mal finds her target, rears back on her hind legs, and pins it to the ground.

Pins him to the ground.

Oh dear lord.

“Oh my god! Mal get off! Killian! Are you okay?”

Killian is sprawled out on the boardwalk with Mal’s front paws on his chest. Mal is alternatively giving off her higher pitched whine-bark and licking Killian’s face. He looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and Emma is sure Mal’s body weight isn’t helping matters in the breathing department.

She pulls with all her might and finally manages to get her large dog off of Killian. Emma ties Mal to a nearby bike rack that is built into the ground. Mal seems happy with the outcome. She barks a few more times at Killian before flopping unceremoniously onto the wooden walkway.

“Shit! Are you okay? Do you need a hand getting up?” Emma asks holding out both her hands. By this point, Killian’s managed to start breathing normally again although he still seems a bit dazed. “Here, let me just…” She reaches down to grab his hands, but realizes that his left arm does not, in fact, have a hand at the end of it.

“Always need a hand, love,” Killian jokes. He tries to laugh about it, but ends up wheezing, his lungs still not getting all the required oxygen. Emma walks him over to a nearby bench.

“I am so sorry,” Emma says sitting him down and dusting him off. “She’s never gone after anyone like that before, at least, not since I’ve had her. Lily always said she was always real well behaved.” Killian quirks an eyebrow at that. God, he has such beautiful blue eyes. She just wants to drown in them.

“I think my life just passed before my eyes, Swan,” Killian says, but she can tell he says it in jest.

“Again, I am so sorry.” Emma says. She briefly looks past Killian to check on Mal, who is still lying contently on the boardwalk.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian says looking at her earnestly. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you came to own such a creature. From what I’ve glimpsed, you seem more like someone who would own a feline, maybe a small dog, definitely not that monstrosity.” He grins at that so she knows he isn’t insulting Mal or herself.

“Oh.” She smiles. “Well, I kind of, inherited her? I was pet sitting her for my former best friend, Lily, who I mentioned earlier, when she skipped town and left everything behind, including her dog. And, well, I kind of know what it’s like to be left behind. So now she’s mine!” Emma says in mock enthusiasm and she realizes how much of herself she has revealed in that statement.

“Yeah,” He is staring straight into her eyes now, practically into her soul. “I get that, the left behind part.” He reaches for a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail and pushes it back behind her ear. Despite the nice weather, Emma shivers. The tingle in her nether regions is also definitely back.

He has a girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Her mind keeps yelling at her. Emma suddenly feels very naked in her fitted yoga pants and tank top.

“Um,” Emma stands up suddenly. “I should probably take Mal home before she decides to attack anymore unsuspecting boardwalk patrons.” She gets up quickly and is about to head toward Mal when Killian gently grabs her wrist.

“Would you like to grab that beer tonight?” He flashes a smile that she is pretty sure would make her melt right on the spot despite the cool temperature.

“I…” HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!!! She gives her best smile, preparing to let him down easy, but instead what comes out of her mouth is, “Sure, I’d love to.”

________________________________________________________________

Skinny jeans, white sweater, brown knee-high boots.

Emma checks her image in the mirror. She curled her hair just a touch, and put on just a little bit of makeup. Just what she wears on a normal basis. She is not dressing for Killian, nope, not at all.

Killian is coming over to pick her up and they are going to walk over to a local bar that Emma frequents. Just two neighbors getting to know each other. Yep, that is all it --

Emma’s thoughts are interrupted by Mal’s barking. The bark she now recognizes as the one she uses for Killian. And then she hears Mal running and then a whump. And then-

“Bloody hell!”

Shit!

She told Killian the door would be open and to just come in.

Emma rushes out of her bedroom to see Killian pinned against the door by Mal. Her tail is wagging and she is licking the crap out of Killian’s face.

“Mal!” Emma shouts. Mal looks over at her, gives a huff of annoyance before licking Killian one last time, and heads off to another part of the bungalow.

“I am so sorry. I have no idea why she keeps attacking you,” Emma says. She leads him over to the couch. “Are you hurt? Did she hurt you? Let me get you a washcloth to get all that slobber off your face.” She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a warm, damp kitchen towel.

“No worries, Swan. I actually think she rather fancies me,” he says, a warm smile coming over his face as he rubs the towel over it. “But she may have knocked some of the handsome out of me,” he cheekily says.

“I don’t think even she’s that powerful.” Emma jokes grabbing the towel and laying it on the kitchen counter to put in the laundry basket later.

“Ah, so you think I’m handsome.” Killian smirks at her when she walks back over to the couch. Emma immediately starts to blush. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire.

“Well, I can see why Mal fancies you. She probably confused your scruff as dog fur or something.” That is so lame. Really Emma? He laughs at her joke anyway, staring into her green eyes. Suddenly, there’s an awkwardness permeating the air. Killian’s hand goes to scratch a spot behind his ear, a nervous tick if Emma’s ever seen one. Emma’s about to just haul off and kiss him when she notices the tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. That stops her cold in her tracks.

“Um, maybe we should just forget going out tonight, and you should just go back home,” she says regretfully. Killian looks bewildered at the break in the tension. He shakes his head as if seeing Emma for the first time and his eyes question hers.

“Did I do…” Killian’s expression is one of confusion, but his features are schooled very quickly. Emma isn’t even sure if she actually saw the confused look or if she’s just imagining it. She doesn’t know him well enough to know his expressions yet. But she’s almost positive that he does not want to leave.

Killian gets up slowly. He takes his time, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in his pants and pulling his sleeve down. He doesn’t even glance at the tattoo when he shakes his arm to get the right sleeve down, but he does look defeated when pulling the sleeve over his wrist where his arm ends. He looks resigned as he heads toward the door.

The second Killian’s hand clicks the door handle, Mal comes running out, ready to attack Killian again. He anticipates it this time though, and moves quickly to the side so that Mal smacks herself right into the door with a loud thud and ends up sprawled out over the floor.

“Mal!” Emma groans. She swears she’s said Mal’s name more in the past few days since Killian moved in than she has the entire time she’s had her. Mal looks confused when she picks herself up and Emma can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She whines as she walks over to Emma and puts her head in her lap.

“Aww, did someone hurt herself?” Emma says in a baby voice while petting Mal’s head. Mal just looks at her and huffs.

Killian looks at the insane situation that has just occurred in front of him and realizes something. “Swan, I don’t think Mal wants me to leave,” he says, slowly walking over to Mal and petting her backside. Mal’s tail starts going full force.

Emma stares at Mal with a questioning expression. Mal stares back at Emma with her patented ‘it wasn’t me’ look before she lets out a whine, licks Killian’s hand one more time, and then runs off toward the back of the house. What the hell?

“Do you still want me to go?” Killian asks, a hint of longing shining in his eyes. Emma shakes her head. He turns to Emma to ask another question but she cuts him off before he can even get a word out.

“Tell me about your tattoo,” she says states plainly. Killian sinks into the couch, his face going pale.

“That’s not usually something I talk about without a few drinks in me, love.”

Emma holds up her hand to keep him from continuing. She gets up and walks over to the fridge and comes back with some local IPA that she bought from some Artisanal Beer festival she had gone to recently. She pops the tops and hands one to Killian before she settles herself back onto the couch. He takes a swig, puts the beer bottle on the end table, and uses his stump to push his sleeve back.

It is an intricately drawn tattoo and absolutely stunning. A blood red heart takes up Killian’s entire wrist. The name Milah is written in beautiful script in the middle. A blade pierces the top of the heart. Killian reaches back for his beer before he begins to speak.

“Her name was Milah,” he begins. Emma does not miss the fact that he uses the word ‘was’. ”and she was an amazing woman. She was my brother’s neighbor. I met her when I had some leave from the Royal Navy. I thought I’d surprise Liam, but he was with his girlfriend, now wife. Milah took pity on me and showed me where the spare key was. I guess she recognized me from my pictures in Liam’s house. She was older than me. I was 25, she was 32, same age I am now,” he gives a small chuckle at that, as if he just realizes what that means. He takes another swig before continuing.

“Milah was like a ray of sunshine. I was beginning to get disillusioned with the Navy. Liam had been in it as well and had always talked about it as if it were the best job ever. He’d gone into the private sector when he met Elsa. I had been debating it, which is why I was wanting to see Liam. Milah was in a bad marriage. She’d married too young to someone she didn’t really know well. He was controlling. Wouldn’t let her work. Isolated her from family and friends. Typical abuser.” Emma nods understanding. She’s dealt with many abusers in her past and line of work. “She was an artist. Beautiful watercolors. I have some hanging in my place.” Killian stops to take a breath. Emma places her hand on his. She wants to let him know that he is safe.

“She had a child. She wouldn’t leave even if she could, because she refused to let her son grow up with only his father. She wanted to shield him. He was only six when we got involved. Eventually, her husband found out. He threw her out of the house, told her not to come back for the boy if family wasn’t important to her. She had no job, no means of support, no place to live, and no money to hire a lawyer. We came up with a plan, a stupid plan, to take her son, get married, and go to the base. Her husband wouldn’t have been able to follow us there.” He is taking more sips of his beer, almost after every sentence. Emma squeezes his hand. Killian looks into her eyes and sees there is no judgement there. She has had her own dragons to slay.

“We planned it for the middle of the night. Bae wouldn’t be home during the day because of school, and we’d discovered that her husband had told the school that she was not permitted to pick Bae up. He had hired a full-time ‘nanny’ to watch him while he was at work.” He shakes his head. Emma isn’t sure if it’s from the memory or the absolute absurdity of it all. “We snuck in around midnight. Bae always kept his window open. He was scared when we woke him, but he hated his father. He was perfectly willing to come with us. Milah and I tried to be quiet, but her husband heard us. I’m not sure if he knew what was going on or if he truly thought we were burgling the place, either way, he came in with a knife.” Killian closes his eyes, the memories overwhelming him.

‘I’m still not clear on why he had a knife instead of a gun, maybe he was afraid that a stray bullet would kill or hurt Bae. What I do know is that he immediately went after Milah. I managed to block the first strike, but he cut straight into my wrist. Cut several tendons and broke several bones with the force of it. A centimeter over and I would have bled out according to the surgeon. I was lucky I only lost the hand.” He rubs his hand over the stump. “After I was out of commission, he went for Milah again. Stabbed her in the heart. She didn’t stand a chance. The ‘nanny’ must have heard all the commotion and had called the police. They shot him dead.” Tears were pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes. Emma brings his hand back to hers and kisses it. Killian smiles at her, letting her know he’s okay.

“I tried to get custody of Bae, knew it was what Milah would have wanted, but since we never got married I had no legal claim. He ended up with a distant relative. I couldn’t stay there after that. Because of the injury I was medically discharged from the Navy. I couldn’t stay at Liam’s, not when her ghost was haunting me next door. I ambled around for a few years, got the tattoo as a reminder, then got a call from an old Navy buddy of mine to stop wallowing and start living again. Said he had a bungalow for rent in California.” He pauses and gauges Emma’s face for any sign that she is not ready for what he’s about to say next. Killian takes a deep breath before his confession. “And I never thought I’d find someone again. Didn’t want to find someone again. I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, that is, until I met you. So here I am.” He finishes up by chugging the rest of his beer. Emma looks at him without an ounce of pity in her face. Yes, his story is sad and tugs at her heartstrings, but without it, he would not be the man sitting in front of her. The man she still really wants to know.

Killian looks up at her, not sure what to expect. She doesn’t say anything, just grabs his empty beer bottle, along with hers, and brings them into the kitchen. She grabs two whiskey glasses and pours an amber liquid into them. She comes back to the couch and hands one to him.

“Rum.” Emma explains. “I figure we both might need something stronger than beer.” Killian laughs at that. Tragic backstories usually didn’t make it into the romcom kind of story they’d been going down.

“I was raised in the foster system.” She begins. She rarely tells anyone her humble beginnings, especially not men she barely knows, but his honesty touches her and she knows that he knows she has had demons in the past as well. She knows he sees it in her eyes. Knows that he’s been able to read her like an open book ever since the talk on the boardwalk. Killian nods his head signaling that it’s okay for her to continue. “Never knew my parents. Never want to know my parents. They left me on the side of the road. I mean, what kind of people do that? Leave you on the side of the fucking road in just a baby blanket? I could have been run over!” She’s angry now. Killian wants to take her hand and console her, but he knows she needs to work through it on her own. She sips her drink and takes a breath. “I used to think that because my baby blanket was homemade and had my name on it that my parents must have cared. That the abandonment was some sort of accident. But then I noticed in the group homes how we would get personalized items donated to us. The one thing I thought had belonged to me may not have. I may have just been randomly wrapped in a blanket with someone else’s name.” Killian’s hand inches toward Emma’s. He doesn’t hold it like she had with him, but instead, rubs his thumb in small patterns on the back of her hand. It comforts her immensely.

‘When I was 16 I ran away from what was probably the best foster home I’d been in. The mom had wanted to adopt me, but because she was single and fostered several children, the state wouldn’t allow it. That was the last straw for me. I left, went up to Portland, and met Neal. I thought he was just about the greatest thing ever. He was older, 23 I think, he never actually said. But he was old enough to buy beer legally. He was also wanted for stealing a large amount of watches, like $100,000 worth of watches.” Emma grips Killian’s hand for support before she continues the next part of the story, her rum long gone.

“It was my idea, so I thought it was my fault. I volunteered to go get the watches from a locker at the bus depot. If they were looking for Neal, a young girl wouldn’t show up on their radar. I got them and, God, I was so proud of myself. Neal was going to sell them, get the money, and then we were going to go over to Canada and lay low. I had just turned 17. Neal gave me one of the watches as a belated birthday present. Told me to meet him over by some deserted fairgrounds where we would sleep sometimes.” Emma takes a breath. She sees that Killian knows exactly where this story is heading.

“It was a set-up. An anonymous tip had the cops all over me. I had one of the stolen watches around my wrist. They had video from the bus depot of me taking the watches from the locker. I thought it had to be a mistake. I couldn’t have been set up by the first person to ever love me. Happy birthday to me, right? I wouldn’t give Neal up. I still trusted him. Trusted that he would make things right somehow. I ended up in juvie for 11 months. And I was so fucking naive. Every visitor’s weekend I was convinced he’d come and see me somehow. Or he’d send a letter apologizing for what he’d done. But he never did. But you know who did? Sarah, my foster mom. The one I’d run away from in the first place. And she would send me letters letting me know I always had a place to stay when I was out. I was lucky to still be a minor when I got out. Sarah got custody of me, finally, and she helped me straighten out my life. I even changed my last name to match hers when I turned 18 since she’d always wanted me with her. So, at least one of my names is truly mine.” Emma stops to laugh as a memory pops into her head.

“Her favorite song was that Chumbawumba song. You remember that one? ‘I get knocked down, then I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.’” Killian nods. “She used to sing it all the time. That kind of became my mantra. And while it’s always been a figurative mantra for me, it seems like it could be a literal mantra for you with the way Mal’s been knocking you down.” Emma smiles. Killian still holds her hand and it comforts her, it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest like it should for two people who barely know each other. The cathartic release of their demons have bound them together in ways Emma didn’t know existed outside of movies.

Mal has snuck back in at some point. She lies next to the side of the couch, her head peeking out from around the corner. She notices Emma eyeing her and she edges out a little, asking permission with her face to come out all the way.

“Come on, Mal.” Emma says. Mal knows not to over do it. She would love to jump on top of them on the couch, but instead, satisfies herself by lying at Emma and Killian’s feet instead.

“So, apparently my dog likes you.” Emma says to Killian as she brings Mal’s face to her own and kisses her nose.

“Well, I like you too, Mal,” he says as he scratches behind her ears. He scoots forwards a bit and is right in Emma’s space. His blue eyes look right into hers when he adds, “And I like your owner as well.” The tingle turns into a full on swarm of butterflies in Emma’s stomach. She surges forward and attacks his lips. She desperately holds his shoulders bringing him closer to her. His lips glide along hers. He tugs on her lower lip as she moves her fingers to his hair and runs them through it. Killian wraps his blunted arm around her and brings the other to her chin. He pulls away slightly asking permission with his eyes to do a little more than kissing. Emma scoffs.

“Trying to be a gentleman?” She asks sarcastically.

“Swan, I’m always a gentleman.” Killian goes to kiss her again when a loud noise shatters the moment. Both Killian and Emma look down to see Mal yawning below them.

“Are we boring you, Mal? All that hard work to get me to stay and now you don’t want to watch the fruits of your labor?” Killian asks petting her head. Mal whines and puts her head under her paws.

He goes home promising to take her out properly the next night.

They don’t go out the next night.

They don’t leave her house for the next week.

Their engagement photos feature Mal pinning Killian to the ground as Emma helps him up.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615

#cspupstravaganza #cs au ff #cs au #dogs #great danes #killian keeps getting knocked down #neighbors au

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kureikakashikaiba · 4 years

Text

Naruto Fanfiction - KakaxSaku - Chapter 2: Eight years

- sequel to The First Kiss.

- Disclaimer: I don't own any Naruto characters, they all belong to Kishimoto-sensei.

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

8 years…

"How well do you know me?"

"Because I know you, so I left"

…

Eight years later…

He had travelled around the whole world for the second time, broke into the most remote and inaccessible places, hunted down every trait that could lead to her, but she was no where to be found. She just disappeared from this earth like a sheer illusion on desert or a fragile seven-colored bubble. Sometimes, he just wished that he had never smelled her scent, never touched her silky smooth skin, never looked into her eyes, never received that kiss and most importantly, never met her so he would in no way have to suffer the insane restless yearning that he had to endure for the last eight years.

The journey was protracted and tiring, in all actuality, exhausted. Needless to say, many times he had wandered his thoughts over the two simple words "give up" but since the earliest moment he could mesmerize things, these two words had not been recorded in his own dictionary. This was the reason why if Kakashi wanted to do something he gave his whole mind to it. He devoted his life, his youth and even sacrificed his own happiness to protect Konoha and made it stronger. For some other ninjas, they still chose to get married and had children but for Kakashi, from the time when he decided to become a ninja, he had also decided that the bachelor's life was the only option for him. Part of his verdict was rooted from a rational and justified cause that as a child, he suffered too much from the suicide of his father and in spite of being a very tough man, Kakashi was never so sure whether he could be a good father, who would not run away for his own good and make eternal scars in his child's soul. On the other hand, the rest of his decision was just rooted from a very irrational source: he just loved to be alone, to stay freely and unbendingly. Love was too complicated and painful as he never had a model figure to guide him through it and how to deal with it. The happy couples he met in his opinion were just born lucky that way and he was not exactly made from the same happy mould as they were, thus there was no way he could handle the complexities of women and their emotional demands.

The Copy Nin, after all, was still a man and being a man meant having a lot of sexual urges, especially when he was always slightly perverted in the first place. So ever since losing his virginity at the age of 14, he had decided to satisfy his primal needs with unbinding relationships and with countless strange women for his whole life. Sometimes, those relationships turned out to be longer than he expected, they were one-week stand, one-month stand but at the end, they all ended up the same as he predicted, which meant no tears, no heartrending farewell and no regret. While he mastered the art of the bedroom, he was still very immature in understanding women.

Then she came. Fourteen years younger than him, so annoying at first, but gradually grown up, becoming mature, attractive, resolute but still so delicate and fascinatingly unfathomable which confounded him to no end, Sakura had stamped an unforgettable mark in his heart. For him, she was the representative of what was the most feminine of a woman and what was the strongest of a kunoichi.

She seemed to understand him more than he did. She easily let him tell her his troubles, which also took him by surprise. No one could ever do that before. She never forced him to do anything or commit anything. With her, he was just himself; just Kakashi who was a liberal wind - no shapes, no bounds- just freely lived in his own way.

"Because Kakashi is Kakashi, so I like you"

She said quietly and raised her hand to gently tug the wind-blowing hair strands behind her ear, performing a so charming act effortlessly before his contemplating eye. The cherry flower petals were dancing merrily in the cool and unruly wind. She sat still, totally at ease by him on the large tree-trunk of the full-bloomed Sakura-tree. A perfect spring's afternoon.

Just like that, they quietly strolled down long peaceful roads of Konoha village even in winter's nights or summer's afternoons, enjoyed the uttermost silent comfort with each other. If she needed his warmth, she would show up on a rainy day.

And here came what he tried to evade all the time. Whether her decision to leave him was so right since she understood him all too well, she saw things in him that he could not see himself? And her decision to leave was the best for them after all.

But why was the necessity to worry about it since he'd already on the path to prove whatever reasons she may give wrong?

…

Sometimes he was frightened that may be she died some where and her body was already buried under countless layers of wintry dirt. This fear obsessed his dreams. In some awful nights, he reared up from a nightmare and felt so relieved that it was just dream.

The scene kept playing back many nights in eight year, not once let his soul rest:

She stood there between the door frame and the slowly-closing door, said her goodbye and then he witnessed himself rush to the door, open it and a hoarse scream tore from his throat when he saw her corpse dipping in blood, wide-opened eyes looked at him reproachfully.

Yet, regardless of all those frightening obsessions, some where in his heart, he just knew that she was still alive. It came without any reasons. It was just growing stronger every day and became a fulcrum for him to move on. Steadily, tenable walls were built up around it and protect it effectively from any other attackers, namely, depression and disappointment. It was hope – a vehement hope confirmed that the only love in the Copy Ninja's life could not easily wither as such. As long as she was Sakura, she could continue to live somewhere in this huge world, with strength and confidence – the same enormous power that had broken the frosty ice-walls around his heart into pieces. She was still alive, hiding some where to get away from him. Only this could explain why he – the illustrious Konoha's ninja, the number one tracker in the ninja world could not find her after all those years.

In several times when he nearly caught up with a glimpse of a roseate woman on roads or streets in a faraway country or found out a place accommodating her by the help of kind neighbours, she just vanished without leaving any clues. If she could sense his existence as clear as he could sense hers, it elucidated everything.

After nearly two year vainly waiting for her in Konoha, he appeared at the Hokage's tower and questioned Tsunade about Sakura's mission. With hesitance, Tsunade at last admitted that Sakura had completed her mission haft a year ago and now she worked as a freelance medic nin traveling around the world without a fixed home to help people in need. She did not state when she would come back to Konoha and Tsunade progressively believed that she did not have any intentions to come back to her hometown. After all, she no longer had any relatives here (her parents died three years ago) and her friends were no longer that important to keep her here.

This day was when Kakashi made the most significant decision in his life. Packing his luggage, he left Konoha to find Sakura. During the last two year, the reason he stayed back in Konoha and waited for her was just because he thought he deserved the punishment she put him through. He thought that one day she would change her mind and come back to him and forgive him. Nonetheless, he was wrong. She really wanted to completely evaporate from his life like early downpours before scorching summer's days in Konoha.

Was it the reason why she always came in rainy days? Cool and hasty. Come and Go for good…

No matter how many years had passed by, her "coolness" impression still carved in his senses, burned in his memory like an undying spell.

When the woman turned away, she would never look back…

Hoped that it was not truth, hoped that she still loved him after all those years…

…

"Sakura, come back here"

"No, the flowers look fresher here"

The name jerked Kakashi out of his preoccupied mind. "Sakura" – why on earth…?

He turned back in time to meet a pair of familiar emerald eyes stared at him curiously…

from below…

A tiny adorable girl with cherry tress, wide jade eyes, large forehead and red ribbon was looking straight to him with pure interest for a stranger – an exact miniature replica of Sakura. After a moment of astonishment, Kakashi immediately realized that who the mother of this girl was. There was only one thing left to concern… He really wanted to force the girl to show him where her mother was but he contained himself back. He may scare the little girl – he could wait for eight years – it did not make any senses if now, he could not wait a little longer…

- "Uncle, why do you wear a mask, don't you find it hard to breathe?"

Kiddie…

Chuckling amusingly, Kakashi kneeled down before the little girl and gently pressed his thumb and his index finger on her soft chubby cheek to slightly pinch it:

"I have hay-fever and there are so many flowers here"

He looked around the endless daisy field extending to the horizon before returning to the cute face. The girl frowned in meditation rather than annoyance because of the pinch and continued doubtfully:

"Mom said: don't believe masked men saying that they have hay-fever, it's the lamest excuse."

Kakashi's surprise caused by the little girl was instantly balanced by the subsequent confirmation. Sakura once said the same thing when she questioned him the reason why he wore his mask. Giving the girl another warm smile, Kakashi rubbed her head:

"Your mother seems to hate masked men, doesn't she?"

Rolling her pupils to the right thoughtfully and slightly twisted her brows, the girl answered:

"Not really, I don't think Mon can hate anyone, she was so gentle and kind, every body loves her, I saw her treated masked men carefully several times, mom doesn't hate them, I just think she doesn't feel at ease around them like with others"

This girl was very sensitive at her age, and the way she could use exact words to describe people's feeling signalled a very similar trait of Sakura.

"I really want to give her a huge bunch of daisies, she loves flowers – the girl continued to chirp" – well, there was no better chance - thought Kakashi triumphantly

"And you want to have the most beautiful ones, don't you? Let me help you, okay?"

"Really?" – a delightful and grateful glint appeared in the little girl's eyes, making Kakashi's liking to her increased tenfold. He really had to keep himself from embracing the little Sakura dearly – "I'm really worried that I can't hold them all"

The girl was really….

"Sakura, don't talk to stranger"

An irritated voice shouting from behind little Sakura made her to look back in disturbance. There came a little boy who was slightly taller than the girl with a very bright but annoyed face, raven eyes and unruly black hair.

- "Ne, Oni-chan, he's not a bad person. He's going to help me pick up flowers for mom."

- "Every one seems good people to you"

The boy retorted before looking at the masked man suspiciously and standing between her sister and Kakashi:

"Who are you? What do you want to do in Kazeyama?"

Insolence was palpable in his voice, which reminded Kakashi of a certain boy back in Konoha. Unfazed by the boy's intimidating attitude, Kakashi smiled back calmly:

"Is it a little impolite to ask people without introducing yourself?"

If he was also Sakura's child, Kakashi was sure that she taught him some manners, and he was not wrong. Though looking really bothered by the retort, the little boy answered:

"I'm Akamiya Isshiki – her twin older brother, and you?"

A lump rose suddenly in his throat along with a throbbing pain panged through his ribcage. The appearance of the boy just confirmed the fear that dimly materialized when he first saw Little Sakura…

So, she got married…

Judging from the boy's appearance – his father must be a handsome man with black lock.

Yeah, it was already eight years. That he did not move on did not mean she stayed the same…

She ran away from you, remember? What do you expect for?

Looking at the two beautiful and healthy kids, Kakashi partially divined that she must have a happy life all those years. Was it a suitable time to show up out of nowhere and interrupt her cozy family by an inconclusive love…of eight years ago…

She had a happy life, after all, you should be cheerful for that…

Making a mental note in his mind but fruitlessly preventing himself from growing sadness, Kakashi smiled at the twin with gloom visibly in his lone eyes:

"I'm Hatake Kakashi, Konoha's Ninja"

The sadness in his eyes seemed struck the little siblings deeply as the boy looked no longer threatening and the girl moved to the front of her brother and reached to his knee, she looked sympathetically:

"Are you Mom's acquaintance? She always said she was Konoha's ninja. You look so sad, are you hurt somewhere? Do you want to find her to treat your wound?"

Yeah, In a way it's true

"I'm your mom's old friend (actually old teacher and ex-lover). Tell me, Sakura-chan, does your mother live happily?"

"Yes, she does. She always smiles exc…"

"Sakura" – Isshiki cut his sister short before she tried to say more and he took her hand and warned her seriously:

"It's late Sakura, Mom will be worried, go home now."

"But I haven't picked any flowers for her "– the girl pouted sullenly, which really get to the little boy as he had to soften his voice:

"Flowers can wait for tomorrow, I'll help you to pick them, okay?"

The two kids really reminded Kakashi of younger Sakura and Naruto or Sasuke, the two boys and even he could not be really immune to her cute pout every time she wanted something.

Being a good girl, little Sakura did not want to disobey her brother and quickly nodded after a bright grin:

"Okay"

Then she turned to Kakashi:

"Do you want to meet Mom? She's finished her job at this time".

"Sakura, I think Mom is exhausted now, visitor may make her more fatigued, don't you think?"

The boy interrupted his little sister's offer to Kakashi curtly, expressing clearly that he did not like strangers approaching his mom. Kakashi quite get used to this type of possessiveness of younger boys towards his mom and his sister. He laughed quietly and rubbed both of the two's heads:

"I'm sure she's living happily as long as both of you around her. Okay, let her rest. I'm leaving now. Bye kids, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Uncle Hatake"

Little Sakura smiled gladly before being tugged along by Isshiki. Kakashi looked at the children moving towards the town's direction then made his move to follow them. He needed to confirm things before leaving forever – at least he had to make sure that Sakura's husband was a good man – a man truly deserved her.

To his amazement, the twin performed a really high-level of chakra control at such an early age to jump over trees and house roofs to reach their home located at a very far end of the large town. During their journey, the boy always made observance and left chakra signpost to detect any following, which made Kakashi have to mask his chakra carefully. "Such a keen sense for a ninja" – thought he.

The twin stopped at a small and tidy flat with wooden fence around it – a traditional type. Hiding cautiously behind a large tree-trunk, Kakashi palpitated when the girl called out cheerfully:

"Mom, we're home"

"Hi, mom"

The boy's voice followed with less eagerness but not less affection.

"Hi, honey, how's school today?"

Right at the moment the tender voice ringing through his ear like a Christmas's bell, Kakashi felt his heart thumping violently against his chest and a tsunami of affection flooding his mind…

Eight years…

It had been eight-year since he last heard her sweet tone – which at all times brought tingling sensations to his inner mind every time she whispered loving words to his ears when they were wrapping in each other's limbs.

Eight-year since she said her last farewell and her voice that day still haunted him now…

Then she appeared from the open gate – charming and still gorgeously young – his Sakura – his 27-year-old Sakura … Her face was glowing under the yellowish-reddish twilights, she looked so beautiful and happy, not a single tingle of trouble marred her perfect features.

Hugging her two angels in her arms, she paid attention lovingly to what the little birds were chirping about (actually little Sakura was talking most of the time and Isshiki just nodded and answered tersely).

True to the girl's saying, Sakura smiled all the time, real and sweet smile which melt his heart from inside. Myriads of emotions overflowed Kakashi's mind when he saw her again: bliss, delight, worry, anguish, infuriation, but most prominently, love.

Deep and mad love – unchanged after so many years…

He already knew that he was, indeed, a stoic man. He could be very changeable when it came to women, but once he fell in love, it was love for life.

"We met a very strange masked man today, Mom"

Kakashi held his breath and he could sense Sakura's face tensed a little as her daughter mentioned the strange man:

"He said he was your old friend"

"Yeah, he said he's a Konoha's ninja"

Isshiki added enthusiastically – the idea of meeting a ninja seemed to be really intriguing to the boy- at this point Kakashi had to admit that he did a very good job to conceal his true feeling. Still managing a smile but a bit forcefully, Sakura asked:

"How does he look like, dear?"

"He looked really weird" – Isshiki hurried

"Not really, I think he's kinda good, he intended to help me pick up flowers for you" – Sakura answered

"Yeah, plus his look is really suspicious "– Isshiki barged in – "he wears a head-band look like yours and pulls it over his left eye, he is tall and his hair was silvery"

"Yes" – Sakura nodded in agreement – "his hair looks just like Onii-chan's hair before you forced him to dye it."

The comment was a kill-strike to Kakashi. His shattering mind received the news as if a thunderstorm had struck his ears and reeling through his already chaotic head. His analytical mind was whirling with thousands of thoughts and he soon realized Sakura's façade was pale and sweaty. She was panicked from inside. It seemed to take her a moment to register the news when her son urged:

"Mom, can I have my silver hair back? I like it much better; black hair is so common, every one have it. Look at Sakura, she has your pink hair and she looks so special."

Sakura did not answer to that request from Isshiki, she instead told them with a hint of finality in her tone:

"Honey, go inside and take your bath, okay. I have a little business to do I will be back soon."

"Yes, Mom"

The twin chorused and docilely went inside the house probably because they both detected the sternness in their mother’s voice. Their mother carefully closed the gate behind them.

Then she did not have to wait long for her guest to appear. Kakashi gently hopped off the tree-trunk, landed on the ground before the gate then faced her after letting out a long sigh:

"Long time no see, Sakura"

"You, too, long time no see, Kakashi"

She said calmly but he knew it was just a pretence. Her tensed look gave her away. Eight years…she left him and just a few minutes earlier he knew that he was the father of her two children. Even though he desperately wanted to dash to where she stood and embrace her in his strong arms, his now infuriated mind contained him back.

He could never imagine his sweet Sakura could turn out to be this cruel and heartless. She went away when she was pregnant and totally bereft fatherhood of him. Was he so terrible that she could not entrust him with their children? Was he that irresponsible that she'd rather go away than let him know she was bearing his kids? Did she think that he would have copped out of his responsibilities with their children? He felt like being cheated and betrayed.

"You don't seem to surprise, seeing me again, after eight years?" – He said with deadly calmness

"Indeed, I've been surprised all those time, Kakashi" – she looked straight at him with a pair of strong-willed eyes – "I'd never thought that you would chase after me when I left, and you did not give up after eight years…"

She was cold, estranged and so faraway as if she was not there in front of him within only a-few-elbow-distance. Acrimoniously, he realized that eight years had created a huge gap between them. She was gone together with the innocent Sakura who once were in love with him, regardless of everything. Now, in those jade orbs, he could only see a woman who was much more reserved, unruffled and indifferent. He chuckled humorlessly:

- "I never thought I was this unreliable to you, Sakura, really, you went away without saying anything, yeah, I could understand that" – he breathed hard – "It was my fault. I was too stupid and persistent to realize my true feeling and I…had let you down. But…I don't get it, am I so terrible to you that you couldn't tell me you were pregnant?"

- "Because I know you Kakashi" – She replied curtly and gave him a sad smile that almost melted his anger, made him realize that he was never quite immune to her hurt face. She did not cry but her smile touched his heart more than any tears – "I know how you hate being tied down with someone else. I know how you want to live with no strings attached. I know how you're scare of being a married man and being a father. Even though I knew that characters of yours, I could never prevent myself from falling so hard for you. I just became more pathetic each day when I saw you and could not collect my courage to confess to you. I was so afraid of being turned down once again but still could not take my eyes off you. I knew that you would never love me if I was just the plain, boring Sakura who you never considered more than a former student. And day by day, my desire for you was just growing stronger; it exceeded my self-control until I decided to give myself a chance. I did not want to live in regret for once for not having the man I loved in my life. So I propositioned you to be my sex mate. I really thought I could have tricked you with the idea that I came to you purely for sex, so I never kissed you, I was afraid that your kiss would blow my cover. But then it's just got out of my control. I became greedier and hungrier. I wanted you to love me not just physically but emotionally. I wanted you to consider me as the only woman in this world, didn't see any one else rather than me. I knew I was selfish and ridiculous but I can't help it. I could never be that important to you since when I first came to you, it was just because I could intrigue you with the idea of amazing carnal relationship. And I found myself in a foolish dilemma. I loved the way you acted so carefree, and I hated if anyone tried to tie you down, but at the same time, I just wanted to keep you for myself only. Gradually, I just hated myself more when we were together, I felt so happy but at the same time I felt so depressing thinking that I could not have you all. I really did not know what to do at that time when that man died and you suddenly appeared at the hospital. I was so stunned but blissful more than ever. This was the first time you initiated to come to me, to console me on your own. I became more confused but in my soul, there was a light of hope. There was a tiny hope that my love may not be one-sized but mutual. Then I went on that mission to clarify my thoughts and decided to confess my feelings for you, at that time, I found out about my pregnancy."

With that Sakura tried to contain her heavy sigh and looked at him still with a pair of mirror-talking eyes, conveying too many unsaid emotions. Kakashi had said nothing during her revelation but he looked as if he was dead right there. A manifestation of amazement, self-reproaching and wistfulness was visible in his eyes. He was blaming himself for being so oblivious to her predicaments and insensitive to her feelings. At last he found his voice with a great deal of hesitation:

"I don't know, I… why could I be that stupid? I didn't even recognize what I had put you through all that time…But why don't give me a chance Sakura?"

"I gave you a chance, Kakashi"

She snorted out a deep, sad laugh, for once, the calm surface seemed to be erupted. She looked at him wearily:

- "I waited for you three weeks, if you remembered, I waited for you to come, at least explained to me what happened that night, even the reasons were fake, the excuses were lame, I could still tolerate it, at least you consider my feelings. – her eyes could no longer bore into him and she was biting her lower lip hard to restrain her on-the-verge emotions –" I thought finally, we could end our inconclusive affair and move to a new stage. After the day you came to solace me in the hospital, I really hoped that you actually had something for me rather than lusts. With that, I at least felt sure enough to tell you of our child since I knew that it may be hard for you at first to know that you were going to be a father. I knew you were totally clueless when it came to children and paternal responsibilities. But time could help us and you would get use to it like you at last recognized there was something more between us than just sex. But I was wrong. I waited, day after day. Only three weeks but for me it seemed to be eternity. And you didn't come, you didn't bother to come. You were too used to having me found you, come to you instead of doing likewise. Then they returned. All of my uncertainties, doubts, fears returned, flooded my mind, awash my rationality, I was facing my biggest suspicion : "that's I'm no good for you, I'm nothing more special than other women you took to your bed" and if I revealed my pregnancy, I felt like trying to force you to do things you did not want to. Then all that left to me at that time were "leaving". I thought it was for the best, I could forget you, I could bring up my child and you didn't have to be tied down with a woman and a child you did not expect. But I couldn't help being with you that one last time, giving you that kiss…

Tears threatened to fall on her lower lids, her slim shoulders were on strain to get hold of her emotion. To his surprise, she once again contained her tears.

It suddenly crossed his mind: "How long did I saw her last crying?"

Probably, too long ago…

Heaving a heavy sigh through his ribcage, closing his eyes tightly and slightly shook his head, Kakashi said quietly:

"I'm sorry"

Then he took a few steps to move forwards to Sakura before she threatened him:

"Don't come near Kakashi…"

He was stopped mid way when reality struck him hard that his Sakura was no longer Haruno Sakura, she was Akamiya Sakura - someone else's wife. Ignored the tight tug at his stomach, he continued:

“I've got it Sakura, but don't hold a grudge on me; I've already paid the prize, haven't I?”

He smiled sadly at her, the smile that for all time made her knee weak, eight year was long, but her emotion, it did not die as she had thought…

"Eight years, I think I understand all you had to endure now Sakura…"

He ended his talk with a sad smile, which seemed to upset and amaze Sakura to no end as she stared at him unblinkingly before pinching her brows together in an apparent expression of grief.

He's still the old Kakashi – the old cool Copy Ninja who could penetrate so deep into her heart with only a few or very few words…

Her first tear could no longer be held back

It reached the end of her cheek in a wink , completed its smooth sliding motion….

The first tear he saw in eight years….

"Why do you find me, Kakashi? – She questioned quietly but a pending outburst was bubbling under the ostensible composure features – Why do you do this to me? After all those years, you don't even let me rest – her voice was shaking – why don't you just give up and forget about me and let me live in a false delusion that I was your victim and I was right when I left you? Why do you come to prove that all I have done was wrong, and selfish and cruel? Why don't you keep on rubbing off every thing troublesome to you like me and move on with your phlegmatic way of living? I hate you Kakashi, I hate you so much because even it hurts to hate you, but it's still much better than realizing that I still love you after all…"

It came without warning.

After a few thunders echoing from a distance, the dusk sky was heavy with grey clouds and the downpour fell down. It rained fast and thick to beat monotonous sounds on the house’s roofs. It sent chilliness and brooding to the two ex-lovers. It rained like these old days…

They just stood there, gazed at each other and made no move. Their eyes were exchanging millions of stories and emotions they could not say in the last eight years until their vision was blurred, until both of them could not distinguish between rain water and tear anymore.

In a nick of time, the eight-year-distance between them suddenly vanished. Eight year was damned long but it was just as fugitive as a delusion in this very moment since every thing was just returning to its starting point with all those familiar but at the same time unfamiliar sentiments rousing in their hearts…She was just like these days, dripping wet in her see-through shirt; drops of water following her pink strands managed their way to her cheeks, her nose-bridge and her neck; her eyes were also unchanged – still burningly green with eccentric mix of a woman and a young girl. Be it a woman, those orbs showed the warm glint of lenience, tolerance and sophistication. Be it a girl, they expressed ingenuousness, delicate hope and pure longing for an unrequited love.

She was his Sakura…no doubt and forever be…

Kakashi did not remember exactly how they closed their gap, how he was once again wrapping his arms around her body in a so tight hug that his life would be doomed if he ever had to let her go again, how she was also using all her strength and her small arms to hold him close and how she pressed her face to his chests to subdue bitter choked cries…

He suddenly found the answer to the question he kept on asking countless of time on his head: "Why does she always come in rainy day?" It came with extremely clarity that he blamed his ignorance for not seeing it any sooner… Why could he not know it? It's all clear now…

"Rain is the best way to hide her tears.She just did not want him to know how hurt she was, how weak she was all these times, being with him but not actually having him"

There was no need for talking anymore…both of them totally apprehended that their love had been through the greatest challenge since it was perfectly right to be together like this…unless.....

"Sakura"

A trailed-off voice, turning up out of no where, broke into the two lover's private space. Undoing herself from Kakashi’s embrace, Sakura looked at the handsome man with black hair holding a large bamboo umbrella, she murmured in surprise:

- "Tatsuya, you come home early?"

- "Yeah"

The man moved his gaze to Kakashi with curiosity, even his face was calm, Kakashi still detected a small disillusionment in his eyes.

…

Kakashi had seen the ring on her hand right at the moment he saw her, but he ignored it…Now it was simmering under the well-lit room and looked so fitting with the one on the man's hand.

"Where are Sakura and Isshiki?" – the man named Tatsuya asked with concern

"They are in their room, playing board games – Sakura answered with a light smile – "wait a few minutes, I had prepared the dinner, just need to warm the dishes up now."

"No need to hurry, change your clothes Sakura, or you'll catch a cold" – Tatsuya said gently.

"Yeah, you're right" – Sakura replied and looked to Kakashi's direction hesitantly

Seeming to guess her intention, Tatsuya spoke:

"Just go changing, I will give him the towel and some clothes, I guess his clothes are all wet now."

Directing his look to Kakashi's package, Tatsuya smiled understandingly. "This man seemed to be a good guy". Nodding her head lightly, Sakura went upstairs to her room. The man disappeared in the bathroom for a few second and returned the dining room to hand a large towel over to Kakashi:

- "Here dry your hair first"

"Thanks"

"No need to, just thing to do, right?"

The man smiled and Kakashi nodded lightly "yeah" but "it's not right" after all, he was standing in his ex-lover's house and in front of her husband. The awkwardness seemed so tangible. The man continued:

"I'll go to get you some clothes"

"No, thanks, I can deal with that"

Quickly performing a jutsu, Kakashi dried all his clothes. The idea of wearing her husband's clothes was worse and odder. Tatsuya seemed not to be so impressed:

"Yeah, I forget, you're a ninja, right?"

Kakashi just smiled back at him and tugged down his mask. He used the towel to permeate rainwater on his face then put it over his disarrayed tress. The black-haired man looked stunned for a brief moment as he saw Kakashi's face:

"You are really Isshiki's father, aren't you? He's a spitting image of you, I mean, if he has his silver hair back."

Kakashi found it a little bit surprised when her husband could calmly mention this. "Does he feel any hostility towards his wife's ex-lover?" "Like what I'm feeling now".

"Daddy" – there came a twittering voice of none other than the little Sakura as she ran towards Tatsuya in glee

"Hi, princess"

The man opened his arm wide as Sakura hopped over to hug his neck tight in her tiny arms:

"I miss you so much, dad"

"I miss you too, princess" – Tatsuya pecked her forehead and her cheek as she pecked his cheek – "I bring some presents for you, princess, guess what?"

Looking thoughtfully for a moment, Sakura was thrilled to speak with excitement simmering in her eyes:

"Is it a cat, Dad?"

Tatsuya laughed merrily before rubbing her head and said:

"You're so smart, princess, I can never surprise you"

"Hi, Dad, how are you?"

Isshiki appeared at the foot of the stairs, followed by Sakura, he looked much nonchalant than little Sakura but his joy when seeing Tatsuya went unhidden. Compared to his guarded manner towards his real father, Kakashi felt somewhat lost. What is more, the way little Sakura cheeping merrily to Tatsuya roused what was so-called jealousy in his mind. Now, when he mulled over Isshiki's composed face and silently replaced his son's black hair with silver one, he took in the amazing likeness between him and the boy.

"Onii-chan, dad bought a kitty for me."

"And a sharp kunai for you, Isshiki" – Tatsuya added before handing over a box with mew mew sounds inside to Sakura and a small bag containing the kunai to Isshiki.

Sakura opened the box with care to reveal a tiny kitten with snow-white fur and wide blue eyes. The girl held the kitten with greatest gentleness and whispered in utter blissful amazement:

"Wow, look at her, she is so beautiful, thanks dad, I love you"

"You'll take well care of it, won't you honey" – Sakura reminded her daughter gently before looking at Tatsuya gratefully – "she wouldn't stop talking about it, thanks, you don't really need to…"

"No, I'm glad seeing her happy" – Tatsuya cut short gently before moving to Isshiki who had just finished unwrapping the paper around his kunai – a very sharp one with high quality – Kakashi was sure about it just by a glance at it.

"What do you think, Isshiki?"

"It's perfect" – the boy said sincerely and his confidence seemed to grow as he held it in his hand and stirred it skillfully around his fingers – "I really like it, thanks Dad."

Looking at the family scene, surrounded by cozy atmosphere, Kakashi felt so wide off the mark. He was just like an outsider – a stain on a perfect picture – in Sakura's life now. Even when she was still in love with him, it was too late now. She got married and had a good husband; the twin loved him like their real father. What was he doing here? Destroying their happiness or what?

He was late for three weeks that year

He was late for eight years now…

"Is he your friend … oh, no, he's the man on the field" – little Sakura looked at Kakashi surprisingly before putting a hand over her mouth to conceal the shock – "he isn't wearing his mask, he looks so handsome, why does he wear a mask anyway?"

"What are you doing here?" – Isshiki narrowed his eyes at Kakashi, causing Kakashi chortle inside, he resembled him so much, back when he was a boy, he was also not easy to trust anyone, unlike little Sakura, who was as gullible as her mother.

"Isshiki, it is a proper way to greet the senior?"

Still with gentle but firm tone, Sakura tipped her son off. Kakashi held up his hand smile tolerantly:

"It's ok, I'm used to being suspected by people, It's my appearance I guess , secretive"

"Well, why don't you all sit down to eat dinner? I'm sure you all hungry, right? Dinner will be in minutes"

Sakura suggested while the two men looking knowingly at her and moved to sit down by the kitchen's table.

…

"She's not my wife, indeed. Our marriage was fake. Sakura appeared at Kazeyama one and a half year ago with the two kids. At that time, she wanted to rent a house and I was so glad to hire her one. It was so conspicuous that I actually fell for her right at the moment I saw her. Shortly after that, we became close friends and I loved the twin. She was a talented, compassionate and gorgeous medic that her fame rapidly increased and people here all loved and respected her. Countless men wanted to marry her and they did not concern about the fact that she had two kids. Amongst them, there were some well-off lords but she turned down every one. However, those men just didn't give up easily and they even promised her of large edifices and prosperous life. When things got out of hand, I suggested that she should pretend to marry some one else to end all those complications. Sakura, at that time, was, certainly, worried that the twin's life will be affected so she agreed with my plan. I must admit I played a little dirty trick, apart from the fact that I indeed wanted to help her out, I wanted to gradually persuade her to fall in love with me. For a thirty-two year-old man, suddenly having a family was indescribably precious gift. I thought at least, my fortune really came but I was wrong. In her heart, there was some one else. Though I never asked her about it, I knew the man she loved must be the father of the twin because she never mentioned him, not once. If remembering him still hurt her so much, this meant she was still in love deeply."

Exhaling briefly, Tatsuya smiled sadly and turned to regard Kakashi who was leaning on the column supporting the house roof of the balcony with hand shoving deep in his pant's pocket. Half of his face was hidden in darkness and the other half was shone dimly by light of the crescent moon, making the unfathomable man seem to be more enigmatic. He kept silence the whole time Tatsuya went over the story.

"I always know that this day would come anyway, the man she truly loves will show up at the door and take her away"

"You made me feel real bad, Akamiya-san"

Kakashi at last voiced his thought after a gloomy smirk

"I could never be this selfless, you do everything you can for her, and I show up, take her away, kinda like a villain, hn?"

"You don't have to feel that bad, Hatake-san" – Tatsuya slightly shook his head and heaved a long sigh – "I'm not a gallant protagonist either, I had proposed to her twice, and each time she turned me down, I told myself that someday, I could chase your image away from her mind since I always thought that you must be a real stupid jerk when losing her, and some days she will realize that I'm a much better guy than you, patience is my nature and I'm confident with that, but today…" – he paused for a moment while throwing his vision to the faraway dark horizon – "I admit I was defeated, by you. I'm not sure whether I can go around the world to search for her in eight years. Whatever mistake you did in the past, you make it up now. You truly treasure her and I'm far more relieved when she at least fell in love with a decent guy who deserves her" – Tatsuya raised his chin to look at the sky and let out a hard breath.

"Yeah, you're right" – moving from his position and leisurely leaned his elbow on the bar of the balcony, Kakashi smiled to a seemingly curious façade then continued: "I'm a jerk for losing her once, and I'm spending every single day for the rest of my life paying for that. Akamiya-san…"

Offering his right hand to Tatsuya, which the raven-haired man took with no hesitance, Kakashi smiled amicably:

"Thank you for taking care of her and the twin all the time, you're a really a good guy, to tell the truth, you're the only one who could put me through one thing I never expected to experience – Jealousy – and if I find her later, you really launch a big threat"

"Really?" – Tatsuya responded incredulously and actually found it amusing – "This guy is really something" – "I should be glad about it, shouldn't I?"

Then the two men laughed out loud, as if something enormous had just been lifted off their chest.

"So you're coming back to Konoha with her and the twin soon?"

"We still don't discuss that, it's all up to her, I guess.”

Shoving his hands deep in his pocket, looking up the sky, Kakashi inhaled the cool night air then continued:

"It would take the kids a long time to accept me"

"Don't worry, blood is thicker than water, they'll understand"

…...

6 years later…

"Congratulation, princess, You become a jounin, the same rank as me and your mother now"

Kakashi lifted his daughter from the floor and winged her around proudly, the girl chortled merrily before hearing an exasperating comment:

"Don't do that pop, she's a jounin now, at least treat her like one"

Looking at his prissy son, Kakashi feigned hurt:

"I know, you're all grown up now and don't need this old man anymore, but I just want to congratulate you on such a significant event as this, can't you two grant my wish?"

"Onii-chan, stop bullying Dad, why do you always that strict to him"

13-year-old- Sakura pouted sulkily at her elder brother why soothing her father

"No, you should stop that, Kakashi; don't you feel it ridiculous to do so, giving our kids false impression of their father?"

Sakura appeared from the kitchen door with a 6-month-year-old baby on her hand and looked askew at her husband. Although she was scolding him, her amused facial expression told a different story:

"Congratulation both of you, Isshiki, why don't you cheer up a little? It's quite an achievement, you know, honey?"

"Uchiha Sakiko activated her second level of Sharingan at the last stage and she looked quite smug with that?" – Isshiki blurted out irritatingly, making Kakashi and Sakura exchanged a knowing look

"Rivalry, huh, it never stops"

#kakashi hatake #kakaxsaku #kakashi x sakura #kakashi and sakura #hatake kakashi #kakashi #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #sakura #naruto fanfiction #naruto fan character #naruto fandom

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skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Soliloquy Chapter 4:

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Otherwise, you can read the new chapter below. Enjoy!

Notes: I continue to be humbled by your support and kindness! The comments I continue to receive and the warm reception that the community has given me make me feel warm and fuzzy inside! A special shout out to SkylarMorgan1899 on Tumblr for keeping me going through a long night of writing by giving me someone who I know is always happy when I make something new. You're the best and this chapter is for you! Looking at you too, Mallovarwen! You guys rock!

Chapter Four: Deviation

The silence that lingered in the space between them held a physical presence. In a way, it was like hitting a reset switch on their entire interaction, stopping everyone dead in their tracks. Vergil and Magnolia raged a silent but passive battle, some conflict unknown to Nero holding their collective silent attention. As the young devil hunter straightened out his coat and realigned his stance, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on here. What had gone on here in the past to lead to this moment? Vergil shifted his sheathed blade into his off-hand and craned his head slightly to the left, beckoning the answer to an unasked question. Magnolia sighed as her hands flopped uselessly to her sides and Nero could tell at that moment that the woman standing before them meant no further harm.

“... Soul Scrying is a bit closer to Necromancy than I tend to lean and you know that.” She said tiredly, her voice almost a whisper. Or perhaps she was actually whispering. Nero did possess better hearing than the average person, after all. It was entirely possible.

Vergil took a step forward, seemingly more relaxed now that she wasn’t doing whatever she had done mere moments ago. Things seemed to escalate wildly and unpredictably into left field with the eldest Son of Sparda in play, and he was becoming more and more aware of this. The woman before him showed her age at that moment, a lifetime of unsaid worries displaying in her body language. She and Vergil both shared a predilection for aging extraordinarily well, but in the simple act of shifting her center of balance and slumping more to one side against the railing of her front steps, she aged a decade in an instant. Vergil approached the bottom of the steps, resting his hand on the first segment of the wrought iron railing. He then looked up at her, the state of calm calculation that was often so closely associated with him fully returning for the first time since it had abandoned him in the underworld with Dante earlier that day.

“If I wanted a Necromancer, I wouldn’t have come here,” Vergil stated in a very matter of fact way, belying deeper emotions,” Although I do not know the extent of my request at this moment, I can’t imagine that it extends past your limitations.”

“And those limitations are there for a reason,” She replied as she folded her arms across her chest. Nero caught a glimpse of what seemed to be tattooed skin ascending her arms as her baggy sleeves exposed a small portion of lower arms. “It isn’t often that someone goes looking into the beyond without plans to take something from it.”

Nero heard her words, but he was too focused on the markings on her arms. There seemed to be symbols of some sort mixed in between what seemed to be a crescent moon and an eye on each arm respectively. Although distinctly different from V’s tattoos, Nero couldn’t help but wonder if they functioned in a similar way. Then again, he had no idea how the mysterious devil summoner’s powers worked for that matter, so he couldn’t exactly compare them beyond noting the obvious fact that they were both attached to the bodies of beings with questionable abilities. And what was this talk of Necromancy and Alchemy? Wasn’t that what that idiot Agnus had been up to back at the Order of the Sword?

“I am more than aware of the fact that someone cannot bring something back that is fully claimed by powers outside of our control,” Vergil stated almost solemnly,” But I am also aware that your ancestors have had dealings with souls that span every possible segment of reality. And that they kept meticulous records.”

Magnolia scoffed at the statement, seemingly somewhat amused. “Yes, well they took a much more liberal approach to the Trinity of Realities than I do. And that time has long since passed. But on that note,” she glanced from side to side as if to check for onlookers,” … This is a conversation better had inside over a cup of tea, don’t you think?”

Vergil paused for a moment before giving a single nod and starting up the steps. Nero started after him, realizing after a moment that the older man wasn’t going to politely ask him to come along. He seemed to expect him to be proactive and independent, even when he hadn’t the slightest clue what on earth he was getting himself into. But regardless, he hurriedly followed them through the threshold of the front door, catching up just as Vergil stepped through the doorway. This seemed to be a conversation they needed to have in private. Apparently, the entire neighborhood knowing what they were here for wasn’t something anyone was comfortable factoring into their plans. Understandable.

The just shy of middle-aged women showed them to their seats in the living room and then stepped out of the room into the kitchen. The narrow profile of the townhome made for a living space that wasn’t terribly over-furnished as it would make things claustrophobic, so the room consisted of two contemporary, almost mid-century modern chairs that were positioned with their backs to an open bay window. They faced the matching love seat across the room from them, a circular coffee table covered in pleasant-smelling herbs and candles spanning the space between them while a small arm table sat between the chairs covered in a few well-worn books. An open birdcage sat near the corner of the room between a large potted fern and the fireplace that didn’t seem to work since it was bricked up and a piece of framed minimalist art was leaned against it. All in all, it was a comfortable space.

Or at least it would have been if it didn’t force Nero and Vergil to sit so near to one another.

The second their bodies had made contact with the plush upholstering of the couch, both of them had migrated as far in either direction as they possibly could. Vergil opted to watch the hallway between the kitchen and the front door while Nero idly turned a sizable leaf over in his hand, taking care not to break it off of its host plant. Thankfully, Magnolia returned a moment later with a tray in hand. She sat it down amidst the plants and candles on the coffee table, removing the lid of the silver tray to display several croissants, various preserves, butter, teacups, and sugar cubes along with a small metal container that presumably contained some sort of dairy product. Everything seemed fresh, as though it had been made from scratch just moments ago. The mixture of smells was intoxicating.

“You're both lucky,” She let slip a small, genuine smile,” You caught me just after I made these. I like to treat myself in the evenings. Help yourself.”

Nero didn’t hesitate to go for one of the croissants. He wasn’t a tea person himself, but he imagined Kyrie would love this if she’d be present. Maybe he could bring her by sometime… “Thank you.”

Magnolia laughed as Nero completely skipped any toppings and helped himself to the buttery roll, nearly eating it in one large bite. “So, if I bake you more of these, can we call the incident with the stairs even, then?” She asked playfully. Nero didn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. He was keen on any agreement that got him quicker access to these delectable butter coated rolls. What the hell did she put in these? Liquid addiction?

Vergil watched their interaction absent-mindedly from over the cup of tea that he was in the process of fixing. Part of him couldn’t help but be slightly entertained by the younger man’s behavior when placated with treats. He was certainly more polite towards Magnolia than he was towards him, although that could have just been because he now knew she was powerful enough to throw him down a flight of stairs without even touching him. Still, their interaction affected him in a way that he could not place. Or maybe he had repressed it. Perhaps it reminded him of some long lost memory from a lifetime ago.

“Your bloodline traces itself back to Vigrid, does it not?” Vergil inquired, seemingly trying to remember something that he had forgotten.

Magnolia nodded. “Better than Noatun. Neither place is very ideal, but I’d like to stay as far from Fimbulventr as possible. Thankfully, I haven’t had reason to go to either place in my lifetime,” She turned to Nero, taking a sip of her tea,” Where are you from, then? I don’t get the impression you were reared in Capulet. Count yourself lucky!”

Nero shrugged nonchalantly and took a brief respite from suffocating himself with pastries to answer.” Fortuna Island.”

Both Vergil and Magnolia stared at him in blank, abject horror as if he had just cursed them and everything they stood for. Magnolia shot Vergil a glare and smacked him with her ceramic teaspoon, shaking her head in disappointment. “Don’t look so surprised! You’re supposed to be his father, after all! What on earth possessed you to raise him on that godforsaken island?!”

Vergil sat the now empty teacup down and sighed uncomfortably. “... I didn’t… If I had known Nero was there in the first place, I would have never-”

Seemingly mid-sentence, Vergil suddenly remembered that he was sitting next to Nero and he stopped, turning to make eye contact with him. There was something more to the look in his eyes that the younger man couldn’t quite place, but it held his attention regardless. “... I would have never left him there.”

Nero felt himself swallow hard in discomfort. Now he could place the look in his father’s eyes. It was regret. Sorrow even. And it wasn’t an emotion that he would have ever associated with his Vergil until this exact moment. Until the moment he had seen him express it, regardless of how subtle. Nero wound his fingers together and looked back down towards the tray of food on the table. He suddenly felt an intense, all-consuming desire to look anywhere but at the eldest Son of Sparda.

Vergil looked at him quietly for a moment before releasing a silent breath and turning back to Magnolia. The look of pain-filled comprehension in her face spoke volumes. “... What are you hoping to achieve by asking me to look into this for you, Vergil? I can’t change the past. You know that.”

He leaned across the space between them, illustrating his point a bit further by getting closer to her. “I remember reading something about the properties of some arcane timepiece used by your ancestors to offset time. It delayed the process of dying, even after death. You should know better than most that death does not make a soul irretrievable. It just makes it slightly more… difficult.”

Magnolia sat back as if to process Vergil’s words. She nodded to herself before taking a final sip of her tea and setting the cup back on her tray. Nero remained quiet, listening in as he idly consumed yet another croissant. He still hadn’t looked in their direction, however. She sighed and quietly laughed to herself at the preposterous situation she had somehow gotten herself into. “Admittedly, a soul hasn’t been fully processed until it has been claimed by an afterlife. Purgatorio isn’t the best at its job on a good day, and if this is one of your relatives, I can only guess they might... hit a hiccup processing the paperwork, so to speak. I doubt they’d notice if someone slipped out of the waiting room.”

Nero scoffed at the comment, unsure of why the mental image of being stuck in a waiting room in between heaven and hell was so amusing to him. Maybe it was how clinical and utterly boring it seemed. After all, he highly doubted that they had any magazines down there to read or anything. Or up there? Where the hell was Purgatorio in relation to the human realm? Could they go there? What even was it? “So you’re saying that we can, what, just call the underworld or whatever and just ask for someone’s soul? Is that how you got out of there?”

Vergil shook his head, not at all willing or ready to regale his son -or anyone for that matter- with exciting tales from that horrific chapter of his life. Magnolia stood up and gestured for the pair to follow her upstairs. They did as she requested, following her up two stories of dark stairs into the attic. On one of the last steps, Nero tripped, nearly falling backward down the stairs. Before he could catch himself, an unseen force braced him, pushing him forward where Vergil grabbed him by the front of his coat. The older devil slayer shook his head slightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were magnetically attracted to stairs, child.”

Nero pulled free, trying, and more or less succeeding in suppressing the chuckle he almost let loose. “You know what- it’s not funny!”

Vergil had turned away from him and the younger man could almost swear he had just seen Vergil snicker. No, that couldn’t be correct. Vergil didn’t have a sense of humor… did he? It was an almost unfathomably creepy prospect to the younger devil hunter, so he pushed it aside and decided to return to the matter at hand. He followed them up into the attic as a light flickered on and he was greeted to the sight of what seemed to be a workshop of some sort. Several windows that were inlaid into the back of the roof let in cool air and plants, bottles, beakers, Bunson burners, and books littered the space in neat piles. The plants were in small pots, some suspended on racks, and some hanging from the ceiling. Nero wandered aimlessly through the surprisingly spacious room, taking in the sights. “So um, did you catch me on the stairs just now? And what do ya do for a living, again?”

The middle-aged woman was in the process of climbing down from a step ladder with a large book in tow. She pushed aside several pieces of lab equipment and brushed the table clean before sitting the book down and opening it. She flipped through several pages, speed reading as she searched. “I’m an Apothecary. I sell herbal remedies for things like the common cold and stomach pain, mostly in the form of teas and water-soluble powders. And I see you noticed that I did that. I’m surprised. You couldn’t have seen me do that.”

Nero approached to get a better look at the book. “Yea, well I could feel it. Reminded me of when I fell down the stairs before, except that was a push instead of a pull.”

Magnolia nodded, impressed. “You catch on quicker than your father. Maybe you won’t make a mess of things quite as often, either. Shouldn’t be too hard, all things considered.”

Vergil shot her an unappreciative glance from across the room. He was examining another bookcase on the far side of the room, but unlike her, he didn’t require the step ladder to do so. Magnolia gestured towards the book in his hand. “I think it’s that one. That’s the one I’m searching for, right there. Bring it. Quickly!”

In the blink of an eye, Vergil had placed the book down on top of the already open book on the table. Magnolia barely paid his rapid movement any mind, but the same could not be said for Nero. Although he didn’t say anything, he still found himself wondering why Vergil had felt the need to use his teleporting ability to do that. Showoff.

After flipping through several pages of the book, she pointed towards one of the symbols. “This one. This is the one I need. I’ll ask that you stand back a ways, please. Thank you.”

With that, she proceeded to pick a few leaves off of several of the plants in the room. She pointed towards a few of the plants nearest to Vergil and Nero, instructing them as to how many leaves she needed and how best to handle the plants so as to not harm them or themselves. After gathering everything, she placed everything into a bowl and returned to the book, preparing the next step. She seemed to read several paragraphs before stopping for a moment to pour a clear liquid into the bowl and stir. “Terribly sorry, but which one of you is closest to the person we’re looking for? Biologically, that is.”

Nero and Vergil drew a blank, glancing at one another before turning back towards her. Nero shrugged dubiously. “Actually, I kinda think we’re about even there.”

A look of confusion crossed Magnolia’s face before she stopped and turned to stare at Vergil, disbelief clouding her large grey eyes. She then turned to Nero, noting the discomfort they seemed to both share. The brown-haired woman then shook her head, returning to the bowl. “... Vergil, what… what happened to this child?” Her voice was a pained whisper, her eyes betraying the worry she seemed to be trying to conceal.

Vergil shifted uncomfortably in place before sighing. Nero looked up at him tentatively. He needed this clarified as well. It had never been made clear how V had met his untimely end. Vergil seemed almost distant when he spoke as if the matter weighed heavily on him and he did not wish to speak of it. Now that the youngest descendent of Sparda thought about it, that was probably the case. Although he didn’t understand anything about their relationship (or if they even had one) he knew enough to be able to tell that this was a sensitive topic that Vergil seemed to want to avoid at all costs.

“... I split my soul into two parts and stored one half within him. During the remerging process he…” Vergil trailed off for a moment before letting out a displeased sigh,”... He turned to dust and was dissolved in the blast... unfortunately, he was completely destroyed.”

At that comment, Nero turned away from Vergil and folded his arms, peering out of the window. Somehow he had known that his father had been the source of what had been killing V. He could just feel it. After all, aside from being kinda frail, he had been fine for most of the time that he’d known him until suddenly, everything went downhill. But now he had conclusive proof and he wasn’t sure what he felt about it. It was too soon to come to conclusions, but he knew he wasn’t happy about it. But what had Vergil ever done that he was okay with? Helping destroy the Qliphoth? He had caused that, but at least he had fixed that in the end. His feelings towards the older man were complicated, to say the least, and at this moment in time, he didn’t really know how to feel about anything.

Magnolia stopped stirring and sat the bowl down in front of them both, gesturing towards the now dark green slurry. “Better to be safe than sorry then. I need a bit of blood from you both. I have to be sure. There is a knife behind you if you need it. I don’t know how clean it is since I use it for the plants, but still. It’s something.”

Before Nero could turn to look at the blade, Vergil had unsheathed Yamato and removed the glove on his off-hand. He then used the razor-sharp blade to slice open his palm, dripping a steady stream of blood into the mixture. Magnolia and Nero both stared at him, slightly concerned that he had gone mad. “I said a few drops, Vergil. Did I not say a few drops? I was very clear.”

She looked to Nero for a second opinion and he nodded, still slightly taken aback by his father’s lack of hesitation. Vergil gestured towards Nero. “Hold out your hand.”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “Look, you’ve already cut my ar-”

Vergil gave him a look that could cut stone, instantly silencing him. Nero smirked to himself. Good to know that he didn’t want her to know that. He would save that as a bargaining chip for later. He then removed the glove on his right hand and held up his arm. It wouldn’t be the first time he had been cut by Yamato’s blade. “Look, just don’t hack my hand off or I’m going to beat your crazy old ass to-”

Before he could finish his threat, Vergil was finished. A dull throb traveled up his arm as blood trickled down from his hand and onto his fingertips. Nero positioned his hand over the bowl and gave his palm a tight squeeze before he began to heal. Within seconds the wound had reclosed and magnolia had resumed stirring. She set the bowl down and reached over, yanking a hair from each of them in tandem. Nero rubbed his head in discomfort while Vergil shot her a look of absolute disdain. Magnolia snickered to herself. “Oh, come of it then! I know how touchy you are about your hair, so I wasn’t going to ask now, was I?!”

Vergil folded his arms, clearly done with her shit. “Is it ready or not, Magnolia?”

Magnolia added the hairs and gave the bowl a quick stir. Within seconds, the mixture glowed a vibrant red before turning black. Then it turned bright purple, a faint pulse flowing through the liquid. The woman poured the mixture into an hourglass-shaped vessel and turned it upside down. The once thick liquid seemed to come to a stand still, dripping slowly into the bottom compartment of the glass hourglass. With that, she stood back and she nodded, a pleased look on her face. Nero looked between her, Vergil, and the glass, his interest peaked.

“Good, we’ve done it!” She exclaimed almost gleefully. The two men looked at her blankly. More explanation was in order.

“How does it work,” Nero asked passively, reaching towards the glass container. Magnolia smacked his hand to reprimand him, causing him to curse under his breath and retract his hand. No touching. Duly noted.

“Magnolia...” Vergil was clearly running out of patience Either that, or the suspense was getting to him.

“How do I put this in a way that you lot will understand,” She said as she glanced between them and the glass. She snapped her fingers, a metaphorical lightbulb coming on in her head,” This hourglass works as a sort anchor. I was able to verify the integrity of the soul we were searching for. We have until this hourglass runs out to finish preparations. If we’re not ready by then, that’s it. I’d give us 72 hours, tops.”

Vergil nodded, seemingly absorbing the urgency of the task ahead of them. “What do you require then?”

She gestured towards the book, Vergil seemed to be able to read the pages, but they were written in a strange symbolic script that Nero couldn’t decipher. Magnolia flipped the page and pointed to one of the diagrams. “I’m going to need quite a bit more blood, a few more hairs from you for starters,” She gestured towards Vergil and he glared in distaste,” And I need an item close to the person who’s soul you are trying to invoke. That part is essential. This will not work without it. I cannot stress that fact enough. I trust you have something?”

Vergil shook his head and Magnolia groaned. Nero searched the inner compartments of his mind palace, trying to think of something. And then it hit him like a brick wall. “... I still have V’s book, Vergil.”

For one single solitary second, Vergil actually looked pleased. It was a fleeting thing that you’d miss if you blinked, but Nero caught it nonetheless. He turned to his son and nodded, internally glad that this was not something he needed to go mad trying to figure out. “Excellent. Where is it, then?”

Nero shifted uncomfortably. See, that was the catch, wasn’t it? “It’s at my place...In Fortuna.”

The eldest Son of Sparda Nodded, considering Nero’s statement. “It doesn’t take that long by car. The ferry ride is the issue.” Nero stated simply.

Vergil looked at Nero as though he had just told a joke. He tilted his head to the side and leaned in to look at his son closer. At that moment, he really took in their family resemblance. It was quite stark, wasn’t it? “We don’t need a ferry, child. Have you forgotten that we have wings?”

Nero smirked in remembrance. How had he forgotten that? He didn’t even need to be triggered to use his! Magnolia stepped forward and gestured towards the hourglass. “Well, however, you're getting there, be back here within 48 hours. I need that long to prepare everything. Hurry along, now. Go!”

Vergil begrudgingly nodded and headed towards the stairs with Nero in tow. They made their way down the stairs and out of the front door, taking the stairs two at a time. As they hurried along the dark street, the van came flying down the street, nearly crushing them both. Vergil briefly considered stabbing Nico but decided against it. She hadn’t done anything especially egregious to him quite yet. But she was indeed pushing it.

As the pare boarded the van, Nico turned to them looking for an update. “I was starting to think that she’d killed you both in there! What the hell took so long?!”

Nero flopped down in the passenger seat as Vergil headed towards the back of the van. After the ride here had nearly cost him his life, he wasn’t keen to ride in the front again. “Nico, I’m gonna have to explain all this another time. Right now, we’ve got to head back to the office and get Dante. He’s going to lose his shit when we tell him what we just did. But we gotta hurry.”

She nodded and floored the gas, sending the vehicle rocketing forward towards the intersection. “You don’t have to tell me twice!”

The van shot up the street at top speed, headed in the direction of Dante’s place. There was absolutely no time to lose. They couldn’t screw this up. There was too much at stake.

Thanks so much for reading this everyone! Again, I stayed up all night, so I hope I didn’t spell anything too wrong. If you see anything feel free to let me know. The next chapter comes out on Wednesday, May 13th, so stay posted! Things are about to get CRAZY!

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deepintoforestwego · 6 years

Text

Worth whole weight in gold

A girl is born.

She is nobody, nothing yet. Such an ordinary, simple origin, product of too common and simple origin. A young couple, three children more, the work accident, death, single mother looking on another hungry mouth and heart breaking as she realizes they can’t manage it, that baby deserves more, and leaves her in orphanage without looking back, wiping tears.

Bah. i know, I know, some of you are disappointed. Angry. Outraged. Where is blood, where is tragedy that was inevitable and so easily prevented, homes burning down to foundations? What beginning is that, so common and reasonable? But don’t worry, soon have Sudice measured and determined shape and length of her thread and it’s place in tapestry and put her on glorious path.

Three women come to her. Second is tall and thin and beautiful, face sharp, eyes sharper still, like surgeon’s scalpels. Her suit is as grey as storm-clouds and gloomy morning sky and great hurricanes, and she almost rises off ground from excitement. She is a witch, from line of cunning and peasants, helping their own with will and wisdom, and of thieves and liars, gaining their desires by money and nice clothes. A smart woman, mystery and science joined together, who knows ways of blood in all forms, as genes and bindings. But blood doesn’t matter here, only choice, as she coos over babes.

Third, by few seconds, is a wizard, short and stocky, handsome and muscled, her nose smashed to pieces, scars over brow and back, patches of too pale flesh set in tanned skin, long braid falling below hips, red and yellow and purple, blue and pink and white flowers bursting through it, big as fists, signs only she knows meaning and purpose of hanging over her clothes, over jewelry, and few tatooed in ink (and rare few carved into flesh). She delights in baby’s cooing, in each of her breaths, in her love’s soft smile upon serious face, and throws girl in air and catches her, and they go home.

(The First we all know, and ours line best, but it isn’t time to know what she was doing, though I think you can guess).

They do everything correct.

See, first forty days are most important. Because of health too, of course, because baby is most sensitive in that time, but there are more magical reasons for why. Forty days to arrive and forty days to depart, that is what soul needs, and that is time when baby is most vulnerable to curses and demons and all unseen things creeping below surface of world.

Spells, rituals and runes, everywhere. Knives and bullets and even bombs ( it has been years, and they have changed and found more stable work prospects, but once they were warriors and hunters and they shook a world slightly, and there are sorcerers and demons too arrogant or foolhardy or fearless to ignore those trembles-or to follow trail, try to devour those who will one day be songs, not bothering to remember that each word will be written with blood and ash and carried by wind itself. That each pathetic attempt they make only produces more and more reasons to whisper when they pass- no one got pass on them for years.

Well, one did, but that is expected. they are family, after all, and bit of rough housing is expected. She even healed them afterwards).

They do everything correct, every little custom and superstition that is just minor ritual, hidden spell, imbued with love and will and power. New mothers are like that, and they took two more girls too (of them we have spoken and will speak some other times). Well, what they can- many of rituals are focused on breastfeeding and birth mother. Still, there is money given to baby, and eggshells crashed in first bath, and more then month without leaving house, and red thread around wrists.

Girl si born mundane, ordinary human. But in house like that, steeped in magic and mystery, love and power, she could do nothing but become witch.

‘‘I don’t really like fairy tales.’‘ The little girl huffs, pushing away picture books, all same and stale and stupid. Tired old stories, all same scheme that makes no sense- why would somebody who was kind to fox be good king, why would girl with strange dress be a queen.

‘’See, I told you she won’t like them. She is sensible.’’ The mama, grey witch tells her wife, for she knows magic, but in sensible, reasonable way that can be studied and taken apart, and she has never been able to find herself in them as child, never able to find girls full of need for knowledge, anything other then prince.

‘‘That’s ok, we will find you some other books. But fairy tales can be very useful.’‘ The mummy, wizard says, fiddling with metal and screws, for she was never really fond of them, but she knows beauty that is found in language and history of them, especially those spread by peasants and people that know no origin of their tales, and she has walked the path they set out, fought and run and hid following clues set upon them by folktales.

‘‘Just as long as they don’t ruin the child. If she starts mixing and forgetting tales, she won’t live long enough to come of age.’‘ Whispers the hidden, banished woman, hair tangled and hands bloody, watching the scene in puddles of mud and icemelt water, cavern above her, the saline river below, so far away that they can almost forget her.

She is reared on love. Perhaps that is the best way. Love can nurture and strengthen, give somebody strength to light a candle against night, to fight and keep all that they treasure, to fight for others too. Not every hero needs to be mired in tragedy and loss, to continue standing despite everything that is taken from them. Not all lines and fates need to be founded in their Father’s blood across stones, their Mother’s revenges (and she will know the tragedy too, friends shattered under monsters, graves desecrated by the Lady, for hero has many enemies, and blood feuds never cease until we choke out each other, but that is tale for some other time).

She learns love, and duty, and what family means. Though they are all equally old, she takes on role of eldest child, the one that looks out and cares for rules and keeps cousins and sisters safe. From her mama she learns words and spine of steel, and how to keep her face and voice blank and neutral, and from her mummy she learns how to recognize and deal with imminent fights, how to use least she has to get the most. From them she learns how to hold herself without fear, and they distill in her strength they needed to bring about a coup.

But first of all, she never learns to be anything but herself. She is enough, she is correct and perfect in all ways she is. She carves her own life as she wants, bends what life gives her in what she needs and desires, and when things come to halt she does same for others. There is strength in that, an incredible power, in knowing who and what you are and never allowing anything to shake you, bend you in shape you could never accept. And then, you just extend that strength, that certainty to others.

‘‘It is not the quest.’‘ She murmurs to herself, setting off to journey. Just a quick delegation to a hidden village of giants, to ask to borrow some of strange herbs they managed to harvest and grow, after centuries of people attempting so. Just a normal negotiation and maybe trade deal.

Raskovnik. Razkovniche, rozryw, earthern key, rainbow root. A simple garss, barely more then moss or weed, yet with power to break any chain, open every gate, unlock each lock, shatter every ward and binding spell, to reveal buried treasures. Capricious thing, sometimes found only on Kupala night, sometimes known only to animals. And giants managed to grow crops of it. Useful thing, that they wouldn’t reveal secret of, maybe not even trade, and would surely look onto her as possible thief.

The leader of giants has fingers longer then her, three heads and beard as big as house. A witch man himself, which isn’t very common among giants- magic is capricious and moody mistress, and just because he is giant doesn’t mean his magic is stronger then hers. Magic demands work and concentration and patience, and so it is just as hard for giant to light a candle or raise pebble when they are starting as it is for human and most don't bother- but those who do find great rewards

"It has not been long since we had been able to use Craft again, when humans denied it from us for thousands of lifetimes. I am not sure I can trust you that you will not turn on us again." Giant speaks, and woman hides her frustration, even as she expected this. Trust is not something humanity earned from demons, even more than other way.

"Your concerns are natural and reasonable. But our scientists just want to study it. And we could never take on you in this state. You freed yourselves before and would prevent further attacks." Flattery doesn't hurt, nor does knowledge that her family was central in that fight, that her mothers fought on frontlines, that her uncles began the conflict with setting off first spark, that her aunts toppled empires.

"Still, it was barely two decades since then. Meager knowledge and power is all we have to protect us, especially since Cataclysm brought down Middleworld." There is longing in his voice, thundering through hall like beginning of storm, feral thing almost sob. She doesn't know it, but she understands-to lose a home, a world in single night and be forced to run above, to hide in human world, in hollow trees and moving islands is pain nobody should know.

" I'm aware my reassurances don't mean a lot, but would you at least be open to negotiations? My people could give you books, equipment, whatever you may need." He knows her family. Knows how they gathered power, how they crawled up as high as they could, in mundane and magical worlds both. He knows of things they gathered, of battles her mothers led, of how Middleworld shook itself to pieces and cried rain as her uncle died, knows of bargains and paths hidden below salt and ice, shadows and sea.

" Perhaps. Maybe it could be arranged, if somebody underwent some trials of our choosing." And he heard of her, of how reasonable and dutiful she is, and fair, and unwilling to leave any in trouble. Loyal, and honest, dependable and not to be tricked.

" I will do it." She says, and her voice cuts like sword, and on her he sees golden glow of hero.

It turns out, there are horses on the island. Horses of same strange origin as giants, smallest and youngest of them as big as elephants, and the biggest... They were amazing sight, seeing all that giant muscle, those long manes, how they run trampling trees before them-and she was supposed to tame them.

There were also statues all over island, of humans and giants and other creatures, all living being turned into stone, trapped motionless and hard, that she was supposed to rescue.

And finally, a riddle.

‘‘It is not a quest.’‘ She said, in prayer.

The giant, it turns out, has a daughter. A beautiful maiden, really, with milky skin, braided pale gold hair and rosebud mouth. Slender as willow, of delicate, soft features and baby blue eyes, voice soft and pliant and warm as velvet, long eyelashes and calloused fingers. Dressed in loose, white skirts she spends her days spinning on a wheel, baking bread, helping old people walk and stay asleep, rocking babies, getting rid of weeds in garden. She is beautiful and sweet as sugar and incredible.

She could also stomp down on our hero like a bug, But instead she just smiles and offers to make her chambers, and our heroine can just stare dumbstruck and widely smile as she jumps on giant girl’s hand. It is incredible.

Even as she has to sleep in dollhouse.

The young giantess is head of house, as her mother is gone. It reminds our heroine, with her cropped hair and broad shoulders and build few dresses support of something her grandparents would have loved, a patriarchal idyll. Except not really.

All women have power and influence, even ones downtrodden, mocked, trapped. Words and wish for freedom and heart, there is always power and use and skill, no matter what kind. But here, power isn’t subtle or hidden. It is something open, respected and needed and beloved. Those who tend homes are just as respected as those who hunt or trade and reason with other creatures, no matter they a man or woman.

Giantess cooks for her cousins, prepares broths and bakes bread, brings all meals of day to table, and they kiss her hands in gratitude and clean after themselves.

She makes clothes out of hides and wool delivered by demons they trade with on tools made of entire woods, and her customers heap deers and wild goats in payment upon their doorstep.

She cares for young and old and sick, and they bring water to their home (it is hard to find such things, for in Middleworld there were places suited for their kind, with seas of freshwater and orchards high as mountains, with cattle big enough to feed them. But in human world, devoid of such natural magics, they must struggle to feed themselves through winters). it isn’t something she could stand, but it is incredible to watch this young woman manage her home as a queen.

Besides, just because she likes churning butter doesn’t mean she can’t shatter skull of anybody who angers her.

She helps giantess in kitchen often. It takes all strength of her muscles, but she brings eggs almost as tall as her, the spoon twice her height, forks that could be used as battering rams, napkins she could use as blankets or carpets. She rides on giantess’s shoulders, crawls through her long, beautiful hair, practices sword fighting with her needles.

‘‘I am sorry we aren’t same height.’‘ Says giantess, who must take care she doesn’t speak too loud, or drop her from great heights.

‘‘Don’t be-this way I can revel in each detail of your beauty.’‘ Answers heroine, and laughs when giantess blushes.

‘‘I am sorry I can’t really appreciate your cooking.’‘ says our heroine, watching loaves of bread bigger then houses, the flour falling off it, grey as her mama’s suits, crust brown as her mummy’s braid, enough flour to make a desert.

‘‘Don’t worry. I’d like if I could properly bite apple, or smell rose, or pick mushrooms.’‘ So many small things, that she can’t properly see or smell or taste, so faraway and unknown to her.

‘‘Your altar is as big as temples at my home.’‘She laughed, kneeling before candles and figurines of Mokosh as tall as towers, holding pendant of sickle and snowflake in her hands, as they prayed and gave offerings.

‘‘Your books are incredible.’‘ Giantess gasps as heroine reads to her from tiny notebook-books are rare with giants, for they spread knowledge by word and memory and mouth, for parchment and paper are hard to make, and carving words in mountains is harsh job. She dreams of learning to paint, and sculpt clay, and of sword fighting and becoming smith.

They will always remember their first kiss, a tiny peck on side of giantess’s cheek.

‘‘You know, I don’t really remember Middleworld. I was pretty young when we had to leave it, three I think. I remember air being clearer but weirder, taller trees, the cows and sky covered by mists. And those caverns and purple streams, you know.’‘ She sighed, a huff of air from her lungs that could have blown our heroine away, but missing that nostalgic shadow of weeping that crossed faces of most demons and many sorcerers.

‘‘ I don’t really miss it. I love it here, even if it is hard-everybody I know and love is here, and there is too many good memories even if life is hard, but I think I should have known it. Besides, that way I could have traveled. Or maybe I am just missing it by nature-they say it is ours after all.’‘ Her hair of pale gold flails around her head. Everybody knows how it works-Upperworld for humans, Middle for demons, Underworld for immortals.

‘‘I get it. My mama is still sad about her family manor and mines being passed to her brother. I saw them only few times in life and didn’t like them, but I never got chance to know them, why she loves them so much. And now they are gone.’‘ She thinks of mines, closed after stones claimed and buried their owners, now refuge for hundred undead. She thinks of family manor, razed by fire and water, glass flying, silk turned to ash, icons of saints burning burning as Lady walked through gates that tried to deny her for last time.

Giantess gave her a comb, a tiny thing made of driftwood, several teeth missing, brimming with tension that seemed ready to explode every moment, to reach outwards, above and below and part earth and sky in half. She threw it in front of horses, and wood remembered what it meant to live, and each tooth became a forest, tall and dark, and thorny, so horses couldn’t pass.

Giantess gave her a scarf, a lovely pale blue that seemed almost translucent, that sometimes turned silver or green, and that wiggled and tried to pass between her fingers. She threw it in front of horses, and it grew long and deep and wide, became bubbling river that they could not pass, but which was more delicious then wine.

Then, heroine asked giantess’s father to prick his finger by her needle, and let it rest in tiny bowl on which she inscribed name of their city. And then she went to threshold of each house, and spoke words her mothers taught her, did steps her mama showed her, stood with strength her mummy imparted on her, and called ancestors buried beneath, and snake housekeeper, that speaks for dead and watches over home, and usually leaves only when misfortune si to befall home and wipe it off from face of earth.

They rose from cracks in earth and stone, and she could not tell whether they were tiny or tall as trees, only that their bodies swirled and bent around her, and in their eyes she saw generations upon generation, and secrets, and love. And she bent them to her will, for hers was House of Snakes, and from each serpent she took a bit of spit, and mixed it with blood, then spilled in river and broke bowl into dust and threw it to wind.

Then she called back the forest unto comb, and horses bent their heads and knees to giants, and were as tame as little sheep. And so her first not-the-task was done.

‘‘They say, that spring of river that flows through our island is magical. That it draws water from beneath the land, from sea, or maybe from Middleworld, and that it has powers of healing and curse-breaking. But rusalkas guard it, and our kind is afraid of water, and it is deep enough for them to pull us underneath. Be careful please.’‘ There are tears at corners of her eyes, and she promises, yes of course don’t worry I will take all precautions, before rain can fall from her eyelids.

Water is trouble for most demons. They have magic knit in between their flesh and bones, and it is way of water to rue spells and magic, especially moving one, to brings chaos and twist spells in something else, bend them like paper.

( For some reason water reacts violatily with magic. Old wives’s tales say it doesn’t like magic, mama scoffs, for all people have fairy tales and all are equally foolish.

There are theories that all things have some inherent magical properties, and water has strong property of changing and twisting other workings, mummy tells her later, repeating words of old friends, gone in many strange ways.)

Rusalkas, brought from edge of death, know that well, and use it to their advantage. Water nourishes and defends them. People think they have nothing but charm and seduction, but water keeps them safe, and people think them dumb, pretty bimbos good for nothing, but all lakes and rivers are connected, and they know many secrets.

She follows clear, bubbling, cold river, not so long ago only one at island, to it’s source. A cave at shores of island, where one can almost glimpse illusions shielding island, almost brush against wards keeping it hidden from ships and satellites. Sand is fine and grounded, white with golden sheen, and dust dances in air as sunlight reflects on walls of cave as smooth as glass, and she can see shallow pool, blue tinted green, each fish and grain of sand and blade of seaweed visible, crystal foam softly kissing the shore, while near it water springs forth in small trickle, turning slowly in lazy river. She can almost feel magic brush against her, like bite on ear and grip on forearms, like brush of hair on cheek and hot humid breath at neck.

‘‘ Hello honey.’‘ Her auntie smiles long and thin, pale, wrinkled lips purple as in drowned, water brushing her legs yet leaving her dry as she sits in spring, and heroine takes step back, but slowly, not to offend her. her family are things thought to be stories of peasants and horror and children, and she and her kin edge on border of something resembling fairy tales, but Lady Widow has left it all behind so long ago to walk through trenches and abysses of glory, to become legend and myth and miracle. Often she remembers herself, and holds her mind tight and true, wraps and chains herself with reason and laws and customs and pins and buns and short, harsh, pricked words ‘‘ maybe you shouldn’t curse whole family with eternal hunger because somebody pushed you out of way’‘, but sometimes...

Sometimes, her voice sounds like faraway song, a wail of tides, and her hair falls like waterfall of ink and silver down her back, unbound and wild like waves themselves.

‘‘Greetings to you too, Auntie. And no, this isn’t quest.’‘ She says, and her Auntie laughs, as she gazes into surface of water, for she knows the way Story bends and shapes world, and knows road it’s actors must walk on, and she knows how long ago she set her family on that path.

‘‘Of course it is. It always is so with our family. Used to be all heroes, false and true, and poor single me, but now it’s all right with you kids. A hero and villain and mysterious donor to seek help from.

You, wielding reason and sword, came here for three tasks and to win heart of your donor, antagonist’s child- a giant’s daughter, classic! Good choice, you can forget her and have her fight evil witch for you. Would put you ahead of your cousin in terms of fun plot- did you know he is cheating on his girlfriend with her husband! And none of three knows!’‘ Our heroine gasped slightly at that. Their Auntie never meddled in whom they loved, or how, as long as it was healthy and loving- and insisted on being regularly fed plots of soap operas and tragic folk lyrical poems as tributes. She always had soft spot for making fantasies real, which is why big part of their teen years and puberty was spent watching Spanish telenovelas and Turkish melodramas she enjoyed to know what to avoid.

‘‘That is interesting information. Though I must say I don’t think either of us is villain or donor...’‘ She said, calculating in her head how to change topic of conversation and to figure out which cousin was in such predicament, when Auntie shook her head, yet veil from her eyes didn’t move a bit.

‘‘Oh? What of your sisters-one who keeps out of all conflicts and gives advice and secrets to all who bribe her, and one who would do anything and forgive everything for sake of our family and her strzyga lovers?’’ Sister who would be left alone with memories and bitterness beneath earth and forests, giving information and aid to monsters and champions both who pass her trials, and sister who would fill lakes with blood of innocents to prolong lives of three of them through centuries, until one day hero would come to Lady Widow who would give them sword and secret and send them off to deliver her girls to Winter Mother. But that was far away.

‘‘ And here are you, on second of your tasks. To retrieve a magical water of life to turn stone into flesh, and pass dangers while you are on it. Don’t worry, there are no rusalkas here anymore. I did nothing to them, they just run away.’‘ All lakes and rivers are bound, and all rusalkas remember Jagoda’s screams. And they fear Lady Widow, for they cannot stand her, and know not half of what she does, and she has all of theirs knowledge.

Rusalkas are children of lakes and rivers, fresh and always moving, never stopping. But all of it flows to the ocean,and Lady Widow was reared on hard ice and fishing boats, and in her blood is memory of chilly stagnation and sea salt.

‘‘So, would you then help me? As favor for family?’‘ She asks, hoping to focus her. Sometimes, Lady Widow, so tangled in legends and mysteries, born with foresight, would lose track of time and space and anything not cryptid enough to be understood without decades of research. And our heroine needed no prophecy.

‘‘Ah, but here family means nothing. You are heroine, with sword and reason and love, here to fulfill your second task and free stone unto life. I am maker of dark bargains and granter of wishes, sea witch and fairy godmother. I am thing you find on crossroads, that foolish men dream and desire and can never have, that soldiers sing about around fire before greatest battle, one whose secrets make kings and slay dragons. Are you sure you want to tangle with that?’‘ She asked, and rose to dance in water, her elder body moving graciously, in perfect ballet movements.

‘‘There are no more kings and no more dragons. World changed.’‘ At least in some ways. They all feared it, but Auntie would never part veil so much, would never reveal demons and sorcerers to world. they hoped so at least.

‘‘Yes, but it can change again, to times of glory and carnage. Middleworld was lost in a day, you know- it’s towers ground unto dust, it’s armies bowed and buried, it’s people banished to humanity by wood and water. It is just question of right moment when everything becomes ash and then Forest and then ice.. And then... then..‘‘ She spun around, sighing and singing, mumbling words in language her mama hated, that Lady Widow learnt first, before Englishand French and all other so called dignified, cultured words.

‘‘Auntie... Auntie, can you help me. Please.’‘ she asked, not pleading, but not showing irritation.

‘‘Hmmm. You sure I don’t want to tell you how your mama will die?’‘ Lady widow asked, twirling, but her tiny black hat never fell off.

‘‘I know you will kill her, and it will be bloody and petty and glorious, throne of bones and screams of children and all that. Please.’‘ She rambled off.

‘‘Perhaps, but not for now. And it might be illness, or drunk driver, or mines that claimed so many of her family, on both sides, or betrayal by best beloved ones who will take swords upon my words, and maybe Sun will war on the Moon with sage and eight sticks of fire with her, and darling girl of mine, should you go on quest once for me, I will give you way to change stone into living and clue for riddle.’‘ She stopped her dancing, and our heroine almost said finally, but she was too wise for that, and just nodded.

From somewhere, Lady Widow took a green plastic bottle, one they put carbonated water into, and ruby to close it. In she put water from spring, and strange powder, and then she bent down and touched neck of bottle with her lips.In but a second, world faded away, and only SHE was real, and everything was cold and brilliant, and our heroine felt fear turn her blood into ice, and that was good for otherwise her hands would try to tear out her heart as offering, and she bent under weight that tasted of salt and darkness.

‘‘ Rest is just a show, you know. It is all in the kiss- sprinkle it over statues, and they will feel it and think more is to come, and stone will turn to blood and bone, hoping I will grant them a half of touch more. Which is pity, because they will rot so fast, but their lives are theirs to use as they see fit. As for riddle- it will be one of classic twists, you know, tricks and hidden meanings and metaphors, requiring to think by heart.’‘ The she handed her niece bottle, and jumped in shallow spring and dived deeper then there was depth, in cold and dark that wasn’t there moments ago, and potion worked as she promised.

‘‘So girl, your final task-tell me what you think is greatest treasure of this island?’‘ Three heads ask at once, before gathered inhabitants, shortest of which are for three heads taller then her.

‘‘That is easy, sir. Greatest treasure on this island is without doubt your daughter.’‘ The answer is correct, and they don’t have time to congratulate her because they must keep young giantess from fainting.

There are adventures after, too. There are messages through magical stones and visits and spells that can make giantess as short as basketball player and human as tall as house. our heroine learns to climb on mountains in few steps and sew, and giantess learnt to paint and wield ax (sword didn’t work well enough, it turns out, but she tried). And finally, there is wedding.

Both families and all friends, gathered around statue of Mokosh, our heroine in her ceremonial armor, silver and lined with gold, her bride in white dress woven with wildflowers, demons of all shapes and forms laughing and dancing while dark haired witch with snakes around her officiates in name of Old Ones. Two processions are held, one as humans, other as giants, and there is lots of fight, but almost good natured about which goes first. It is eventually decided giant’s will be first since giantess will take up her wife’s surname, which makes her mama cry with happiness. ( No mention of dowry and bride price of course. Last time somebody joked about it Lady Widow called forth thousands of white cows from the sea to bride’s family and asked for adequate dowry).

‘‘So, my girl got herself a hero.’‘ Giant says, all three heads weeping, as Lady Widow sits on table next to him, and they all shrink from her, though her hair is bound tight.

‘‘Yes, though I’d say she herself is one. But rather fitting, married in right family- all wise and smart and trickster, theirs line is.’‘ So is our heroine’s mama, smart and good at fulfilling tasks to get help. Her mummy and uncle are strong and fearless and can take what they need, however they want it. Her other aunt is pretty and sly, charming thing, manipulating and binding people to her will. Their children are all like that- whether hero, monster or donor, they are strong and smart and charming and beloved, and even little kind (none of them like her hero, the fourth brother, the dead one, who wasn’t beautiful or respected or adored, but who would wade in darkness and deep woods for sake of lost strangers and what is right, who would feed animals and beggars, who would venture in deep water, beneath ice and salt and make bargain for which only he would bleed).

‘‘I heard of you, you know. Lady Widow. About feud and plans you have for this family. If it happens to involve my daughter somehow...’‘ Whispers like that reach whole world, of manipulations and poisons, of court feuds and blood spilled over asphalt, of curses and destroyed graves. They are children of their parents, by love and that is worse then blood, and price must be paid if they go on with their legacy, until only wizard with her flowers and braids is left spared, for friendship once treasured.

(This is what they all forget, heroes and monsters equally. Their parents are people, and they have their stories. They have sins and victories and memories and secrets, and legacy they wear has price).

‘‘She is my niece-in-law. I will love and protect her, see her wishes made true as much as possible, keep her safe and happy as much as I can, and bring damnation in all that dare harm her. And i will treat her same as all if she comes to beg and bargain, and should she harm my sweet niece or anybody else of our kin or invoke my enmity I will color my waters with her blood and make myself a bread out of her bones.’‘ She loves her nieces and nephews, almost as much as her own descendants. She is proud of fame that awaits them, fame that she gave to them as gift.

She fed them her milk, after all.

‘‘You can try. It would not take my daughter a lot to squish you down as a bug, or hack off that plotting little head of yours. She could gut you like fish before you would blink.’‘ Lady Widow smiles, and her teeth glint wide and sharp like icicles, like jaws of something from ocean’s depths, where sunlight never reaches.

‘‘You can try all of you together now if you want. I always said wedding is no good without some massacre, and it has been some time since I had such big targets to rend into dust.’‘ There they are like him, all so concerned about lives of others and laws and blood on carpet, but they don’t even know how to get rid of evidence properly. Truly, this family would be lost without her guidance.

She jumps down from table onto floor, glinting graciously as if on stag, her fingers barely touching cobblestones. Still she is proud of those children, and sets to job of making gifts, long life and status of idol and rows upon rows of failed enemies.

There is no need to bless them with long-lasting, eternally kept and simmering love. Seeds of it are already there, in their kiss, in hug that seems to be eternal, as if they are melding in one.

‘‘Lovely girls.’‘ Says the officiator, sipping her wine coated with pomegranate and roses, snakes whirling around her like necklace, hair as black as coal.

‘‘Yes, they are. Even if they are incredibly oblivious.’‘ At officiator’s amused, curious gaze, she hands her another glass and points at winking blonde rusalka gazing in her direction, and watches girl blush and stammer.

‘‘That was lovely story, Hans.’‘ The old woman says to man next to her, smelling of thunder and summer grass, her short hair white and brittle, her hands calloused from swords, while her wife stands beside her with her braid of pale gold.

‘‘I’m glad you love it so Aunts. I think they all figured out who we are talking about, with all snuggling and whispering you did.’‘ He smiles, sharp and white as icicles, as thing from depths, as his grandmother, and two of them giggle and go to woods, to their hidden cottage and their cats and friends, cottage that shifts it’s inner size in order to comply to them and their whims.

Cavern above her, the saline river below, so far away that they can almost forget her, Lady smiles scrying scene in icemelt puddle, and counts it as one of her wins.

A happy ending, ever after and forever.

#slavic folklore #urban fantasy #wlw #fairy tales #writeblr #gift for always amazing slavicafire

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