#now to sew up the sides and weave in the last few ends and it's done!
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The Way of Winter - Chapter 2
Joel Miller series
Reader insert (gender neutral, future chapters will likely read as female)
A/n: takes place at the end of episode 6 (spoilers if you haven't seen!). I took a few liberties with the location.
Taglist: @missdragon-1 @this--is--music @caravelofthesun @ishouldclean
Word count: 2,661 | Tags: slow burn | Warnings: none
“I thought you said you could save him!”
The girl’s shriek cut through the howl of the wind outside. You dabbed at the wound on Joel’s stomach with a rag soaked in vodka, trying to staunch the bleeding enough to see what you were stitching.
“I said I could stitch him,” you corrected her calmly. “Now hold the light still.”
The girl - she still hadn’t given you a name - held the kerosene lamp aloft over your shoulder next to Joel’s exposed stomach. You’d gathered his blood soaked shirt up around his armpits. His entire torso was stained with dried blood, his face so pale he looked almost corpse-like. He’d managed to stay semi-lucid for most of the ride home, but his condition had deteriorated fast within the last half hour. By the time you’d rode Rambo into the stable, Joel had been completely unconscious, his pulse faint and fluttering. It had taken all of your remaining strength to haul him in and splay him across your kitchen table. The cabin around you looked half-destroyed, dishware spread across the floor amidst dribbles of Joel’s blood.
“Isn’t that going to save him?” the girl asked, her voice rising in pitch.
“We’re about to find out,” you replied, threading the fishing line you’d soaked in alcohol through the end of a fishhook and knotting it. You were far from a doctor, although you’d stitched enough of your own wounds to know that these supplies would get the job done. With a deep breath in, you pinched the flesh near the ragged edges of Joel’s stab wound enough to pierce it with the fish hook. He moaned softly, his body tensing reactively to the pain, although he didn’t wake up fully. The light above your shoulder wavered slightly, and you heard a damp splat as the girl vomited on the floor next to your feet. You ignored her, pulling the fishing line through the wound until the knotted end snagged on his skin. You worked quickly, the fish hook weaving in and out of his skin as you knitted opposite sides of the wound together like a corset, stopping every fifteen or twenty seconds to dab away the blood. The sewing went faster as more of the wound closed up. You tied off the loose end, giving the wound an appraising look. It was crude, and would most certainly leave a scar, although the stitches seemed to be holding appropriately and the bleeding was visibly lessened.
You let out a shaky exhale and wiped the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.
“Is he going to be ok?”
You turned to the girl. She looked ghostly in the harsh light of the kerosene lamp, her eyes wide as silver dollars as she waited for a reply. You felt exhaustion and the fading jitters of adrenaline wearing on you, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the lamp, placing it down on the table next to Joel’s head.
“I don’t know,” you replied, standing and walking over to the potbelly stove in the center of the room. Earlier that day, you’d filled four massive tubs with water from the deep basin sink in the kitchen and let the cold water heat next to the ever-roaring stove that heated the cabin. On especially cold nights like this, you had to rely on the basins for your washing, drinking, and cooking water instead of using the sink and risk freezing the pipes. You plunged your hands into a basin of pleasantly lukewarm water, scrubbing Joel’s blood from your knuckles and from under your fingernails.
Grabbing a clean, dry towel from the overhead clothes line that spanned the width of your cabin, you dunked it in the same basin, wringing it out before returning to the table where Joel lay on his back. He was still as pale as freshly driven snow, but his breathing seemed to have slowed and evened. You used the fresh, damp towel to sponge his torso clean, redunking it in the same now-bloodied water basin you’d washed your hands in. The girl watched you warily in the dim light.
“How’d you learn to do that?” she asked quietly, nodding in the direction of your crude medical handiwork.
“Necessity. Like I said, anyone who lives out here has to figure stuff like that out for themselves.” You unbuttoned Joel’s shirt and shimmied one of his arms out of it, then the next. You tossed the balled up shirt into the water basin, making a mental note to add salt to the water to help wash out the stains.
“There’s a sweatshirt in the top drawer over by the bed,” you called over your shoulder. “Pull it out for me, would you?” You heard the dull sound of wood-on-wood as the girl opened the chest of drawers where you kept your meager collection of clothing. A few seconds later, she appeared next to you, the dark sweatshirt in her hands. You took it from her, and with her help slid Joel’s head through the neck opening and his arms through the sleeves.
“Alright, we gotta move him.” She raised her eyebrows at you in surprise.
“We can’t let him sleep here?” she asked, looking around the small cabin.
“No. He needs to stay warm, I want to keep him close to the fire tonight. Besides, if he rolls over, this is a lot farther to fall than the cot. Just pull the cot over here, we can get him down onto that and then slide it over the floor.”
The girl moved quickly, dragging the camping cot you used as a bed over from its usual corner of the cabin next to the kitchen table. She peeled back the four layers of blankets and sheets you slept with to the innermost layer, shedding the pillow from the head of the cot to the ground so as to give you both the broadest space possible to work with. The cot had a ground clearance of only a few inches, a drop of almost two and a half feet from the table where the unconscious and newly sewn Joel lay like a pile of bricks. Your arms were already screaming from the strain of trying to keep him in the saddle, and you knew that your young companion wouldn’t be able to lift a full-grown man’s weight.
She noticed your eyes calculating the drop from the table to the cot.
“We could tip him into it?” she offered.
You exhaled slowly, considering the options. You couldn’t risk bending him at the waist and popping his stitches, otherwise it would be a relatively simple operation that could be done in stages. Even though you didn’t think tipping the table and letting him roll down into the cot was a great solution, it was about the best you could do. After a moment, you nodded. You moved the seating bench you’d used to stitch Joel up out of the way, replacing it with the cot. The girl circled to the opposite side of the table, her hands poised on the edge as if ready to push.
“You come over here, help keep him still and give him a soft landing.” She obliged, switching spots with you.
“Ready?” you asked her. She nodded solemnly. You threw your weight against the edge of the kitchen table. You could feel every muscle up and down your back screaming in protest as the table slowly rose up on one side. Joel’s limp form began to slide slowly across the smooth, wood surface. The girl braced his descent with her hands, guiding him as gently as possible towards the cot. You continued to push against the table, willing your muscles to put one last push in before you let them rest. With a gentle thud, Joel rolled off the table and landed squarely in the center of the cot. You caught the table before it tipped over on top of him and guided it back down to the ground. Its surface was stained with blood and the floor around it was littered with bloody rags, your bait and tackle box, and a half-empty bottle of vodka. The place looked like a battlefield medic station, and you supposed in reality it wasn’t all that different.
From the other side of the table, you watched as the girl gently situated Joel’s head on your pillow, pulling the covers back over his body. Her actions were tender and gentle.
“You sure Joel isn’t your dad?” you asked. She shot you a withering glare.
“He’s not,” she muttered sullenly. Once she was satisfied with the quality of his sleeping arrangements, you moved two of the water basins away from the edge of the stove and helped her drag the cot with him in it next to the cabin’s only heat source. When the cot was in its final position, the two of you sat back on the floor, panting with exhaustion.
You motioned in the direction of the only chair you had in the cabin - an old fabric recliner you’d covered with multiple blankets to make up for its sagging cushions.
“You can sleep there,” you offered.
The girl’s eyes traveled gratefully to the chair back to you.
“What about you?”
You motioned to the floor on the opposite side of the stove. There weren’t any other soft surfaces to find in the small, one-room cabin.
“Who’s going to take watch?” she asked as she wearily stumbled in the direction of the chair.
“Watch? What do you think we need to watch for out here exactly?”
She looked at you with those dark, mistrustful eyes, and you got the distinct impression that those eyes had seen much more than her age implied.
“For people.” There was a hollowness in her reply that made your skin crawl.
You stood and grabbed a few spare towels from the clothesline, folding them into a neat stack that you took over to the cleared space on the floor opposite the stove from Joel. You paused before laying down to add a few logs from the dried woodpile to the stove. When you finally did lay down on the floor, you could feel a shadow of the coming morning’s aches in your shoulders.
“I’ve lived here alone for six years,” you told the girl, sensing from the way her eyes bored holes in the side of your skull that she wasn’t going to let the matter drop so easily. “We don’t need a watch.”
You let your eyes flutter close as you willed your wrenched-up muscles to relax. The girl didn’t answer you, but in a few breaths you heard the chair creak as her weight settled in it. Aside from the merry cackling of the fresh logs popping in the stove, you let the rhythm of two sets of breathing carry you off to a fitful sleep.
**read chapter 3 here
let me know if you'd like to be tagged
if you like this series, check out my Joel Miller masterlist for other works
#joel miller#joel miller last of us#joel miller imagine#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal last of us#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x you#hbo last of us#way of winter series
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15 People, 15 Questions
I was tagged by @thehiddenbaroness Thank you!!!
1. Are you named after anyone?
My first name no, but my middle name is from my great grandma on my mothers side. It means "light" which I like.
2. When was the last time you cried?
I had a stress cry at work two days ago lol, we had a no call no show and I was there 6 hours later than scheduled.
3. Do you have kids?
No and no thank you.
4. What sports do you play/have you played?
None unfortunately, I was homeschooled so team sports werent really a thing. I recently tried rock climbing and really liked it, and I really want to take dance classes of all sorts!
5. Do you use sarcasm?
I would never.
6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?
I think i notice how people sound first, i like voices and I recently realized I have some aphantasia anyways, faces are hard for me. I think second I notice clothing, not in a snobby way but in a textile nerd way!
7. What’s your eye color?
Hazel.
8. Scary movies or happy endings?
Both at the same time! I’m a big fan of movies like crimson peak (mostly for the costuming though).
9. Any talents?
I’m a decent singer and a pretty good cook and baker. I don’t know if I would say any of those are talents, but they’re things I've practiced a lot.
10. Where were you born?
in the state of Wisconsin, USA.
11. What are your hobbies?
Textile arts mostly! Crochet, knit, embroidery, Tunisian crochet, hand sewing. I’d love to pick up weaving, spinning, and quilting, but I have limited space. I do also like a good hike, usually with my dog. I play some video games, more now that I graduated, and I read almost everyday!
12. Do you have any pets?3! A dog a cat and a hamster :D I love them all, they keep life interesting.
13. How tall are you?
Five foot six on a good day, when I’m not slouching lol.
14. Favorite subject in school?
English I think, with science as a close second.
15. Dream job?I just graduated with my nursing degree and I think right now my dream is to get experience in that field. Eventually the dream is to work as a wound care nurse, but like part time? So I can have hobbies like, gardening and owning chickens, because I have always wanted chickens.
No pressure, those of you who I'm tagging! Just something to perhaps fill an idle few minutes. Sending all of you hugs, forehead kisses, and high-fives per your preference :P
@morwensnonsense @cosmiccoincidence @highempressofdirt @icameoutonthetardis @bitchterra @rainstorm-banshee @guppiesforsale @officialgleamstar @maryellencarter @callmebliss @mercedesdfu @kai-eats @omgpoindexter @bythebyandbithebi @curlyhairedbooklover @boldlyygo @fulgurite-and-petrichor
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You can find the pattern here: { Odile, the dragon...}
I want to share some changes I made for my dragon.
1. I used a 1.5 mm hook, 12 mm safety eyes, and 55% cotton, 45% acrylic yarn.
2. With dragon’s face I did the following:
- added whites to his eyes with a leftover white yarn;
- embroidered nostrils with darker color;
- indented the nose because, without it, the dragon reminded me of a cow.
3. Now let’s talk about the pattern itself:
- When I crocheted a body, it said to press the opening with my fingers and crochet together with sc. My last stitch was located in the middle of the dragon’s back. If I’d done what was said in the pattern, I would’ve connected only half of the stitches. Because of this, I crocheted a few slip stitches to move my yarn from the middle to the side.
- When we pressed the opening of the ears with our fingers and crocheted 6 sc through both sides, the pattern later says to curve the ears to sew them to the head. Instead, I pressed 6 sc we just made together once again, crocheting 3 sc through both sides.
- I crocheted wings from separate details, which I later connected to add a dark green border. If you want to do the same, you need to crochet the following:
Make 4, using the color of your choice (it’s creamy white in my case)…
Note: we’ll be working not in rounds, but from side to side.
1. Make 2 chain stitches. Crochet 4 sc in the second chain from the hook
2. 3 sc
3. 3 inc (6)
4. 6 sc
5. (1 sc, inc) x 3 times (9)
6. 9 sc
7. (2 sc, inc) x 3 times (12)
8. 12 sc
9. (3 sc, inc) x 3 times (15)
10. 15 sc
We have four details for the wings: for the two of them, you should cut the yarn off and weave the ends, while for the other two, do not cut the yarn because we’ll continue working with them.
Take one half with cut-off yarn and one with yarn still attached. Hold them together so that the wrong sides touch each other while the right ones face outward. From there on, we’ll be crocheting through both details:
11. 5 sc, 1 picot stitch on top of the previous stitch, 5 sc, another picot stitch on top of the previous stitch, 5 sc.
Cut the yarn off and weave the ends. Your wing is supposed to be connected only at the bottom.
Picot stitch = chain 3. Then crochet one sc on the first of those stitches (third chain from hook). Continue with the following stitches.
Now, we’ll be working with dark green yarn. Connect your yarn to the side where we just finished crocheting, and make sc through both halves along the two remaining sides. You should have 10 sc moving up, 3 sc in the top point, and 10 sc moving down, 23 sc in total. Cut the yarn off, leaving a long tail for sewing wings to the body.
You can also embroider lines with a dark green color, similar to the one in my photo.
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Operation Stash-Down
This post was originally published on my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2024/01/operation-stash-down.html
***
Last month, I spent a week thoroughly cleaning and reorganising my workroom so that I could actually get to all the shelves, and not have my back to the door. I even made space to fit a skinny bookshelf (I can finally have all my books out where I can reach them. It's been more than seven years since that last happened).
Last week, I watched one of my favourite YouTubers issue their now-annual "January is for working on The Pile" challenge. I considered my Piles (what a phrase) and decided this was an excellent use for the rest of January. I went through the mending pile, adding and subtracting as necessary, and updated the running list I keep of the things in there (it's the only way to stop things from disappearing into the aether). I tidied up the cabbage patch, taking the opportunity to go through a few boxes that were stored outside the workroom and sort their contents into piles.
Yesterday, I looked around my workroom (it had once again gone from clean and tidy with actual floor space, to One Big Trip Hazard within half a day), and decided that I have too much bloody stuff.
This was almost completely clear twelve hours ago. L-R, T-B: for coleslaw (green), cabbage once deconstructed (yellow), actual recycling (blue), and rag rug bits (red).
More specifically, I have too many supplies. Despite spending the last two years cleaning and decluttering and KonMari-ing and making a concerted effort to start with what I have before I go shopping for new stuff, I still have overflow.
There's an entire garage shelf in what is technically the spare bedroom (in reality it's my partner's room - they have their own place, but I have air conditioning and they don't) full of knitting yarn, embroidery supplies, and fleeces. There's more fleeces and some sewing notions on top of a bookshelf, and a couple more boxes of knitting yarn on a different bookshelf. To top it all off, there's a whopping monster of a raw wool fleece in the back room.
And, to be clear, this is all stuff left after multiple decluttering rounds. This is all stuff that I absolutely fucking love and have no desire whatsoever to part with. I just... haven't got around to using it yet.
Me when I go through my stash nowadays.
Even though I buy 95+% of my supplies second-hand (between the guild and the plethora of local op shops, I'm remarkably spoiled), I'm still not using things as fast as I'm capable of buying them. Saving things from landfill to repurpose later only works if I actually use the things I'm saving. (Yes, I still need this reminder. Frequently.)
Thus were the seeds from which Operation Stash-down was born.
The Goal
I want to fit all my fibre supplies in my workroom. Every. Single. Thing.
That means all the:
knitting yarn
fabric (stash AND scraps)
embroidery supplies
sewing notions
fleece
weaving, sewing, and spinning tools
leatherworking tools and supplies
whatever other random fibre-related gubbins I pick up along the way
The only exception is for things that need a more controlled climate than my workroom. It's on the western side of the house, with a window in said western wall, and it regularly gets above 30ºC in there during summer. So if I end up with any dyes or other heat-sensitive chemicals, I'll have to find a cooler spot for them.
The Plan
Donating, giving away, and selling things are all options. But that hasn't made a much of a dent the last six times I went through The Stash, so I'm not counting on it doing much this time, either. No, the thing I need to concentrate on right now is using the stash.
So instead of my current "shop the stash then go buy what I need when I don't have it in there", my standard needs to shift to "ONLY use stash things, and if they won't work with what I've planned, change the plan".
How does this translate to actual, practical projects for the year?
Longer warps, and more of them on the floor loom. Lately I've been defaulting to inkle bands, because they're 1) fun, 2) fast, and 3) easy to do in all sorts of cool colour combinations. But they don't use a lot of material - I could weave nothing but narrow wares for the rest of my life and still have yarn left over. And I want to start weaving clothing yardage anyway, so this is a good kick in the pants to actually do it.
Stop putting off those patchwork projects. I have a couple of big ideas I've been procrastinating on for a few years now. Sure, they'll probably take multiple years each to finish, and I'm not sure if I even have enough scrap for one of them (a crazy patchwork coat from all the wrap scrap I've been holding onto), but I won't know unless I actually take the time to start working on them.
Scour more fleece. Out of all the spinning stash, the raw fleeces take up by far the most room. Prepping them to spin might not reduce their volume by much, but actually being able to spin them sure will. (Unfortunately, this strategy will require equipment purchasing. My hand cards aren't fine enough to use with some of the fleeces I have.)
Obviously just doing any project at all will help reduce stash levels, too. Some of the things on my list will make a bigger impact than others, though, and I'm going to try to focus on doing those first. (After I've started to reduce the current WIPs, of course. My 2024 goals are still in effect.)
If all goes to plan, I'll update every few months with progress. Maybe even before and after pictures.
***
If you like my stuff, please consider throwing me a few dollars on my Ko-Fi in support.
#stash busting#I haven't even approached SABLE with any of it#I know because I weighed all the knitting yarn once and divided it by my average weekly knitting. I have ~5 year's worth of knitting yarn#Same with fabric. Even if I hand stitched everything for the rest of my life I'd still only have 5-8 years of supplies#No idea about the spinning and weaving stuff though. I just know that it's not SABLE
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I am in a not very creative mood right now. So the best thing to do is to finish off some projects that have been lying around for quite some time and "only" require the last steps, e.g. sewing seams and weaving in ends. This top has been hibernating since last summer - only missing a few more rows and the finishing bits. So today I took it out again and I will seam up the sides ... . #knitters #knitting #knit #knittingandsoon #knittingaddict #instaknit #knittersofravelry #knittersgonnaknit #knittersofinstagram #nevernotknitting #tricot #instatricot #loveknitting #knitlove #stricken #instastrick #strikning #breien #örgü #iamarealknitter #strikking #yarnlove #ravelrydesigner #knitstagram #tejido #編み物 #Вязание https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf1mekaIWke/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#knitters#knitting#knit#knittingandsoon#knittingaddict#instaknit#knittersofravelry#knittersgonnaknit#knittersofinstagram#nevernotknitting#tricot#instatricot#loveknitting#knitlove#stricken#instastrick#strikning#breien#örgü#iamarealknitter#strikking#yarnlove#ravelrydesigner#knitstagram#tejido#編み物#вязание
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Today was an alright day. I ended the day exhausted but not for any real reason. I thought I slept okay. And I woke up feeling pretty good. I tried very hard to be positive today.
I woke up and got dressed. I felt fine but I didn't love my outfit. No particular reason. I just felt uncomfy. The material is a little thick so it might just have been that. And after packing a little lunch, James made me a sandwich and I headed out.
I got to camp before 830 and I got everything set up and ready. Theme was already done and the clay stuff was ready already so I was pretty chill.
I did some packing. Putting things in my car that had to come home. I made great progress. It's still hard because I get overwhelmed. But overall it was going great.
I took a little rest in my hammock. The blue one outside had a little tear in the seam and thankfully I caught it before it became an issue. I sewed that and reenforced the whole side so I knew I would be good to go and chill until my group got there.
All my groups today were lovely. They made really fun pieces and I got to just chill and bead my flag and work on my shield painting. I enjoyed my coworkers company and there were lots of laughs. It was a good time. I really enjoyed hanging out with Candela and Lucia, who want to try candy corn now that a child made one in clay. I told James to pick some up for them. A very divisive candy for sure.
The weather was really nice too. Not as cool as yesterday but still nice. I really enjoyed being outside and I'm glad that the summer can end with good weather.
At lunch I would walk up to the pool house to bake the kids pieces and have my leftover quesadilla. And overall that was great. I got the oven set up, I put on a timer, had my food and waited. The real issue was I could not find the oven mitt that used to be in there. Thankfully I found a rag I could use and the temp was 265 so it wasn't bad to hold.
I got everything sorted and would go and deliver one groups, I left the others at the pool because that made more sense for the other groups. I hope everyone goes and gets their pieces.
I had one more group. They were using model magic so no baking required. The you gest campers and just so sweet. We did had some tears because of dropped clay or having trouble staining the clay with markers. But they did a great job and we're just so cute. And when they were done they played with my toys. And were not mean about my little plastic furbies like the older kids had been this morning.
I know they aren't being mean to me but the constant making fun of the furbies does hurt my feelings. Being told to my face over and over that they are creepy and weird does make me feel a little sick inside. Like I only brought them down because some kids asked to play with them last week and were really nice. So the group this morning being really mean hurt me a little. I know it doesn't matter but still.
I said good he to my last group and spent the next hour packing and cleaning. I really lost s lot of steam when my stomach started to hurt. But I was having a good time getting everything put away. I hope to finish most of it tomorrow. But it is a work in progress.
I went to the office next to drop off a few things. Let them know I was heading out. Then felt very guilty about wishing early but I still would go. I was out of energy. I did stop in the feild to chat with Laura and Karl, from last summer, who is here to help for the week. It was really nice to see him! We talked until his group had to head to their next program.
I finished up some stuff in the building. And then I headed home.
I had a scare while driving home because someone tried to weave through traffic while I was changing lanes and that rattled me a little. But I got back here and was okay. Still feeling guilty but James said it was okay. They came down and helped me bring in the stuff I had brought home.
I got things put away. And then all the energy I had stored to come home. Left me. I was just exhausted. I laid in the couch. James made me a hot dog. We shared a piece of cake. And I watched videos until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. I went to bed.
I slept poorly the whole time. I woke up and was sad that I had slept. But I was okay. I would put some stuff away. I watched my fish. I couldn't find 3 of the ghost shrimp in the living room tank. I am wondering if Bruce. Ate them?? He's so giant I wouldn't be surprised.
Eventually I took a shower. James and me sat in my studio and figured out a better way of pinning the edging of the felt banner. I did not sew it anymore tonight but progress is being made.
I hope tomorrow is fun. I hope I have lots of energy and things are great. For you as well. Goodnight everyone. Take care of each other.
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How To Knit A Contrast Color Fuzzy Heart Sweater In Just 5 Easy Steps
If this is interesting to you, why not contrast color fuzzy hearts knit sweater.
Winter is coming, and what better way to show your love for your boo than with a fuzzy heart sweater? Whether you’re a couple or just want to keep your partner warm all winter, knitting a contrast color fuzzy heart sweater is the perfect way to do it. Here are five easy steps to knitting a fuzzy heart sweater in just 5 minutes: 1) Cast on 120 stitches. 2) Knit every stitch (knit each row), making sure that you knit the stitches in the front and the back of the loop simultaneously. 3) When you reach the end of the row, increase (k2tog) one stitch by knitting it together with the previous stitch. You now have 130 stitches. 4) Repeat steps 2 and 3 until the sweater measures 18 inches from shoulder to end of ribbing. 5) Bind off loosely using a basic bind off method like pattern binding off or Kitchener stitch. Congratulations, you have now finished your fuzzy heart sweater!
How to Knit the Rib Pattern
The Rib Pattern is a very simple and common knitting pattern. It creates a cozy, textured sweater that is perfect for cold weather. This pattern is worked from the bottom up in one piece, so it’s easy to follow and understand.
To begin, cast on 86 stitches using the long-tail method. Join for working in the round, being careful not to twist the stitches.
Work 8 rounds of stockinette stitch, then begin working the rib pattern. Each round starts with a k1 row followed by p1 rows. You will work every other round in reverse (p1, k1, p2), and at the end of each row you will knit two stitches together (k2tog). The exception to this rule is the first and last round of the ribbing; these rounds are worked as normal.
When you get to the end of your ribbing, work two rows of garter stitch before finishing off your sweater. Weave in all of your ends securely, then congratulate yourself on a job well done!
How to Make the Eyelet Border
There are a few different ways to make the eyelet border on this fuzzy heart sweater. You could simply join the stitches for the border before you start knitting as shown in the photos, or you could do a grafting loop (a technique used when joining two pieces of knitting) and then weave in the ends. We recommend grafting loop because it's less likely to create holes in your knitting.
1. Grafting Loop: This is a technique used when joining two pieces of knitting. To do a grafting loop, hold one piece of knitting between your thumb and first 2 fingers and insert the other end into the first stitch on the working needle. Poke it underneath so that it forms a "Y" shape, then pull both strands through the stitch.
How to Sew the Fuzzy Heart Assemble
If you're looking for a quick and easy project to de-stress, then this fuzzy heart sweater is perfect for you! The pattern is simple to follow, and only requires basic knitting skills. You will need:
1 ball of yarn in each of 2 colors (A light color and a darker color)
A set of size 6 knitting needles
Coordinating thread
Scissors
The pattern is as follows:
1. Cast on 24 stitches with the light color yarn. Leave a long tail for later.
2. Knit 8 rows with the light color yarn. Switch to the dark color yarn and knit 8 more rows.
3. Thread the long tail from step 1 through both stitches at the end of row 8 on the dark color needle, and pull tight. This completes one side of the heart shape. Repeat steps 2-3 for the other side of the heart shape.
4. Sew together each side of the heart shape using a seam allowance of 1 inch (2.5 cm). Weave in all ends securely.
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So I had an idea that the Elven royalty of Valinor would apprentice in the houses of a Vala and I mostly talked about how Maedhros would be a student of Nienna, but now im thinking about the other Finweians
For the House of Feanor, him, Nerdanel, Curufin, and Tyelpe would obvisiouly be students of Aule, which is a house that teaches curiosity, cleverness, perseverance, and initiative. But mostly allows a place for Elves to master the craft of choice
Maedhros is obviously a student of Nienna, which is all about pity, forgivness, hope, and endurance
Maglor, i was humming and hawing but decided he would be a student of Irmo, but a really poor one in the traditional sense of learning the traits the Vala teaches. Instead he spends his time in Lorien learning Songs and how to master the power of the Music around him. Here he learns how to make his voice a weapon, and also learn a few healing songs as well that he could teach Elrond later
Celegorm and Ambarussa are also, rather obviously, members of Orome Hunting Party. Celegorm is the most devout of all the Feanorians, and there was serious worry that he would choose to stay with Orome once his apprenticeship was done, and while he did end up returning home, he did spend lots of time within the forest, with Huan and the young twins at his side
Caranthir, i had trouble with him. While my mind says that he would be a student of Aule to further his craft (weaving and sewing) but my heart says that he would go the path no Elf has before, and become a student of Mandos. Working alongside the Vala of the dead, of punishment and judgment would really just go with his vibe as the "Dark Finwe" and his characteristics of being quick to judge others and having scorn for those he views as people who dont appreciate life (mortals and Elves who are blase about their gift of life or dont appreciate the beauty of the world and material things, because you cant take those with you when you die) Also in many mythos the god of death is often rich, which is something Caranthir is as well. Mostly I think he would just learn how to do paperwork really well in Mandos' Halls, and that the Oath would have scared him so much at the threat of being cast into the Void for failing
For the House of Fingolfin, I think Fingolfin himself was a student of Tulkas. For I think he would have learned a lot from the Vala that is slow to anger but also slow to forgive. He's also steadfast, strong, and i love the idea that as Fingolfin faced down Morgoth, he laughed at him just as Tulkas did, which frightened Morgoth enough that he could land his seven blows
Anaire and Argon, I think, were were traditional Noldor and were students of Aule, but not for smithing. I think that Anaire was fond of papermaking and paper based artwork. The origami flowers she could make would look so real, and when her family left Valinor she gave her husband and childern each one. None survived the First Age, the last one (Turgon's) burning in Sirion during the Third Kinslaying. Argon, I like to think, was fond of woodworking. Since he was so impulsive and bouncy, he would often whittle as he sat somewhere, making these cute little figurines.
Fingon was, again obviously, a favoured student of Manwe for his valor, his forgiveness, his leadership, and for the songs and poems he would write and ask for opinions. He wrote many love poems in his youth with Maedhros as the subject, which I think helped endear the Vala towards Fingon's plea when he saved Maedhros
Turgon was a favoured student of Ulmo, for he loved those around him just as fiercely as the Vala loved the children of Iluvatar, and he kept himself isolated within his kingdom from his peers just as Ulmo stays in the waters away from the Valar
Idril would have been to young to become an apprentice when her family left Valinor, but she would be thinking of joining Ulmo, just like her dad
Whereas Aredhel was a student of Orome, and while she wasn't as fond of the hunting part (she still enjoyed it but not to the level of her Fenorian cousins) she mostly enjoyed the freedom and the riding. Her white dress as much of a beacon against evil as Oromes white horse Nahar was, and her laughter was loud and would ring through the woods to banish evil just like Valaroma
For the House of Finarfin, He, Finrod, and Angrod were all students of Ulmo (odd for Finarfin who is a child of Noldor and Vanyar, but considered normal for his children, who were part Teleri) and the traits of the Vala showed differently in each of them. Finrod showcased Ulmo's love and care for all living beings, Finarfin had his wisdom and common sense, and Angrod had his temper, dark and deep and slow to forgive. All of them were also more isolated from their other cousins, or siblings. By staying behind in Valinor, by settling within a cave city, or leaving for the North with his brother, leaving the rest of his family behind for human companions.
Orodreth wouldn't have been old enough to become an apprentice when his family left Valinor, just like Idril, but if he had stayed he would become a student of Aule to further his enjoyment of painting with oils and charcoal
Aegnor, I think would be like his mother Earwen and serve the Vala Vana. He has a love for beauty and all living things, and fights with the passion of fire, of the sun that Vana created from her grief, in his eyes.
Galadriel, in turn, would be a true student of Irmo (something that she always lorded over Maglor) and was gifted with the power of visions of future. She loves her secret gardens and was always working in the backround of her family's drama. But, she would sometimes lose herself in her visions of the future and the glory of the past and she would need to be grounded by those around her to be in the present. It was also why Celebrimbor would gift his favourite aunt with the Elfstone, something to help her not get lost withing the dreams of the past by allowing her to stay and appreciate the beauty of the present.
For the rest of the family members, Findis would have been a student of Yavanna, Irime would be a student of Tulkas, and Indis was a studnet of Manwe, something that helped her marry Finwe after the death of his first wife, for if there is one thing Manwe is, its being a sucker for people in love.
#silmarillion#valar#lotr#feanorians#fingon#aredhel#turgon#finarfin#fingolfin#galadriel#maglor#celegorm#curufin#caranthir#ehhhh everyone basically#amber rambles
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A Series of Break Ins
bucky x black female reader
Summary: Someone breaks into your apartment
Warnings: break ins, lil bit of violence, wounds + blood
Words: 1617
A/N: Inspiration from @write-it-motherfuckers ( prompt is in bold somewhere below) :) some wonderful stuff on that blog
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January.
You lived in an old building in a shitty part of town. The loft kind that was once an office or a factory or something. Lots of windows. Terrible heat bill in the winter. You heard gunshots and fighting frequently. It wasn’t your dream home. No, your windows faced a manufacturing building with no windows. From your fire escape, if you stretched really far, you could cross the alley and touch the building. You only did that once though because the fire escape was rickety and not very safe.
That particular night, you were coming home from a mediocre date with a guy named Marcus. Usually you’d take a cab home, but your budget was tight this month. So you weaved through the alleys, the cold and the dark making you more jumpy than usual. You just wanna be home, with your warm fuzzy socks on and a glass of wine.
Your anxiety settles once you make it into your building. You take the steps two a time to your third floor studio. You open your door, shutting it quickly and leaning back against it.
That’s when the hairs on your arm stand up. Your eyes shoot open and your breath catches. Your kitchen light is on. You know it was not on when you left earlier. In your kitchen sits your first aid kit dumped out on the table.
You grab the baseball bat you keep next to the door and check every crevice of your home. Nothing.
You return to the kitchen, hesitantly. Next to the first aid kit is a napkin with a note: Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll replace everything I used. Thanks. - BB
You just looked at the note and blinked. Who the fuck had been in your apartment?!
The next day there’s a package outside your door containing the promised replacements from the stranger. There’s another note: Sorry again. -BB
You’re not quite sure what to do. Call the police? And say what- someone broke in, left no trace and then replaced what they stole? They would think you’re crazy.
February.
After the break in you upped your security. You got a deadbolt, a door chain, and a magnetic sensor on your front door that rang and alerted your phone when set off.
You felt pretty good about your upgrade… until it happened again. You’d come home late from drinks with a friend unlocked the door, then the deadbolt.
The light in your kitchen was on again. You grabbed your bat immediately, ready to swing on whoever was dumb enought to break into your house yet again.
“Whoa, whoa ma’am. Please don’t--” but you did. Whack him that is. Three times. And then a black gloved hand stopped your swings dead and blue eyes lock with yours.
“Holy fucking shit. B. B! It was you. Fucking Bucky Barnes broke into my house!”
He nods and watches your face as it goes from rage to confusion and then back to rage. You let go of the bat and he puts it behind him. “Look, I am really sorry. I know this is probably terrifying--”
“Yeah ‘cause I thought you were a god damn serial killer--not an Avenger!” You plop down onto a kitchen chair.
Bucky stared at you amused. “This is not how I thought this would go…”
“Don’t you have some Avenger place you can go and get fixed up? Instead of breaking into civilian households?” you sigh irritatedly.
“No. For one I’m not an Avenger…. And uh, two… I got hurt doing something not necessarily sanctioned by the government.” Bucky looked up at the ceiling bashfully.
“My god, you’re doing vigilante shit,” you breathed out a laugh.
Bucky shrugged, “You could call it that.” He wrung his gloved hands together. “I should go… I’ll send you replacements for the stuff I used. ”
“Or you could just not break into my house.” Bucky chuckled, before climbing out the window. “You could use the door!’
The man has the audacity to laugh as he closes your window, “Thanks again, doll.”
You let out a groan, wondering why on earth he chose your apartment and why on earth you weren’t more pissed off about it.
March
You’re dead asleep when you hear a thud on the fire escape outside your window. Your heart thuds like a bass drum as scenarios of you being murdered flash through your head. A stabbing. A shooting. God, please not a strangling. Then there’s a persistent tapping. You pretend to still be asleep, holding your breath and not moving.
“I know you're awake. I need to .. uh utilize your first aid kit again. Please, doll.”
Relief hits you like a wave and you flick the light on and get out of bed. You open the window and Sergeant Barnes slips through the space, holding his flesh arm, but not really effectively stopping the blood.
The two of you stand there for a second, until you remember that you don’t sleep with pants on and awkwardly move around him to find a pair of shorts. You find him sitting at your kitchen table again, waiting for you to get the first aid kit, like he doesn’t have a goddamn metal arm on him.
“For fuck’s sake…” You pull it out from under the sink and set it in front of him with a thud. Bucky smirks sheepishly. “Did you get shot again?” you ask after a while. He nods once as he gets to work. “Aren’t you like... super?” He nods. “Won't it heal super fast?” He nodded once again. “So what’s the point of the first aid kit?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he sighs irritatedly.
You narrow your eyes, “Oh dear, am I inconveniencing you?”
He stops and looks up at you through his dark lashes. “Sorry. I’m being rude. What's your name anyway?”
You roll your eyes, but you tell him.
He cleans after himself and then stands. “Thank you again. Y/n.”
You ignore the lil shiver you get when he says your name, “Is this gonna be a regular thing Sargeant?”
Bucky flashed you a charming smile, “Do you want it to be, doll?”
You cross your arms and set you glare, “You have five seconds before I get my bat.”
Bucky let out a very boyish laugh before dramatically making his exit via the window again.
Over the next few days, you consider getting locks for the windows, but for some reason you just don’t.
Two weeks later, you open your door, arms full of groceries, and find Bucky sitting on the floor of your kitchen once more, first aid kit open in front of him. You’re not even surprised really.
“Ah, Hello again. We really need to stop meeting like this.”
You scoff, “Maybe we would, if you would sTOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!!” You toss your purse on the couch.
Bucky laughs and the winces and groans. It’s then that you realize he’s very pale in the face and his flesh hand isn’t gloved it’s just dark with blood.
You drop the groceries roughly on the table, “Shit Bucky. Are you-- You’re bleeding a lot!”
“I’m fine, doll.”
“I don’t think you are….” You panic, reaching for your phone, but remembering it’s deep in your purse across the room.
“You gotta-- you’re gonna have to sew it up, okay?”
“Let me just call an ambulance,” you get up to get your phone, but he grabs your wrist firmly.
“No. You can do this Y/n. I’ll walk you through it.” Something in his blue eyes assures you. You nod and Bucky has you cut his shirt off before he leads you through the cleaning of his wound. Your face felt hot at the sight of his beautiful broad chest, despite the mess around you. Bucky guided you, wincing and jaw ticking as you closed up his wound. By the end, your hands are red and sticky and you’re quite nauseous, but you didn’t care. The color was already back in his face and the sparkle back in his blue eyes. “You did good, doll.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” you say breathily. Bucky smiled fondly at you. You get up, wash your hands thoroughly and gently help Bucky up and to your couch. “You want something to eat? Let me get you some water.” You don’t wait for an answer before going to the kitchen. You bring him a bottle of water, a beer, and left over orange chicken from last night’s dinner- he inhaled all three while you cleaned and sanitized your kitchen floor.
“I should head out,” he stood up stiffly, favoring his wounded side. “I’m sorry about all this…” he gestured towards his wound and then to your kitchen. “It won't happen again. I’ll get my own first aid kit.”
You shrug, “You basically bought mine with as much as you use it.” You stick your hand out. “Phone.” Bucky eyes you warily before obeying. “How about next time you need to use my first aid kit, you just call first?”
Bucky smiles a lopsided, goofy smile, as you put your number in. “I think I can do that.”
Three days later, Bucky calls you around 7pm. Thirty minutes later there’s a knock at your door - not your window.
“What’s bleeding now--”
Instead of beat up and bleeding, Bucky stands before you in a black button up with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of take out. “Hey doll. I wanted to really apologize for everything and try to make it up to you,” he gives you a sheepish grin.
You can’t contain your own smile. “Well, orange chicken and flowers are a good start. Come in.”
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Everything Tag List
@thefridgeismybestie
@basically-introverted
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x you#james buchanan barnes#bucky x black!reader#bucky x poc!reader#mcu fanfiction#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fluff#bucky#bucky drabble
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honesty and promise me, part 10 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]
“If you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to leave you my keys.”
Annabeth looks at Piper from behind the loom, glaring through the threads. “Then you won’t come back to ten bolts of fabric.”
In fairness, it was sort of an empty threat. Piper has all the good stuff: the surger, the embroidery machine, the industrial sewing machines, plus a million sources for fabric that aren’t Annabeth’s stress weaving. Annabeth only has her own shitty sewing machine at home that she’d gotten for Christmas when she was fourteen.
Also, Piper wouldn’t actually lock her out. She needs those fabrics.
“Why don’t you just not go?” Annabeth says. “If you stay, I promise to tell you all the gritty details.” She’s joking, but the second she says it, she’s hit with a strange wave of desperation.
She wants to tell Piper all the gritty details. How she had giggled and smoozed and looked so pretty on Luke’s arm, tattoos and undercut and everything else so carefully concealed. She never wanted to tell Thalia the gritty details. The dirty ones, sure, particularly when the dirty things didn’t involve Thalia’s beloved younger cousin. But she had spent two years, two hard painful years, hiding vast swaths of herself from Thalia.
She thought of the night of the gala, of Thalia telling her family she knew Luke from college. NYU. They’d been actors together.
Annabeth hadn’t been the only one hiding things.
It had stung, in all sorts of ways.
Piper stares, narrowing her eyes. “How dare you tempt me into giving up my creative retreat for gossip.”
Annabeth shrugs. “It’s one or the other.”
The glare at each other, stubborn as all hell.
Piper throws up her hands. “Fine. Just make my fabric and call Leo if you’re having another crisis.”
The truth is, she will tell Piper. Eventually. She knows she will. It will probably be in eight months, when she gets back, when hopefully the shame of her false life and the devastation of losing Percy has lessened, but she will tell her. But eight months is a long time. “I do have other friends, you know.”
“Then call Luke. Or Thalia.”
It takes absolutely everything Annabeth has not to wince at the names.
She would never have told Thalia. Not really. Even things like this, even if it hadn’t involved her. Thalia wasn’t… good at relationship stuff. Not like Piper. And she never knew all of Annabeth’s romantic history--not like Piper did, anyway.
And it wasn’t just romantic relationships.
Annabeth might have been able to share her pain, and share her pain with Thalia, but it had, in many ways, only been a surface level thing. Thalia saw her pain after Annabeth’s mom had rescinded her approval of her life, but she'd taken Annabeth’s silence as the end of the matter, and responded to it by acting out, and arguably drinking too much.
But they never talked about her mother. They never talked about Thalia’s, either, and if there was something Annabeth learned from Hazel’s gala beyond how unfairly handsome Percy was going to look in thirty years, it was that there was a lot going on there.
It is a little hurtful on reflection. Making her feel less close to Thalia, but also less guilty about what she never said. And less willing to accept her reactions.
Her emotions have been all over the place the last few weeks.
Piper notices, because of course Piper notices, but she is an angel, and has known her for a long time, so she doesn’t badger her too much. She also doesn’t mention that Annabeth’s measurements all seem to be off. Not even to say something about beauty at every size or her well publicized efforts for diverse bodies in fashion.
But it was still nice to spend time with her. It felt like the old days, staying up too late making the next thing in fashion, and then passing out together, surrounded by bobbins and bagels, Gossip Girl playing on TV.
It did make Piper’s impending departure that much harder, though.
Two weeks into November, she meets Piper and Leo for dinner, and then sees Piper off to JFK for her eight-month creativity retreat in Oklahoma. “You know, like how you decided you couldn’t have a doorman for creative reasons,” she’d said with a raised eyebrow when Annabeth had questioned the move. Piper likes to treat the last two years of Annabeth’s life like some sort of creative exercise. Her dad had done that too, once, when she bothered to answer his call.
Not that she’s not doing anything other than helping Piper pick stitches, and sewing hemlines Piper is too important to deal with herself. She wishes that earlier estimation had been true.
Since the gala she’s been living on Uber Eats at Piper’s, unless she gets bullied home, in which case it's the same but less varied selection with more meat, so the night out with Piper and Leo the night before Piper’s flight feels like a radical departure from the norm. Even though they just go to dinner.
Which does not stop her from feeling hungover the next morning.
“You had half a glass of wine last night,” Leo points out from the door of her bathroom.
“I remember,” she agrees when it lets up for a moment.
“If you get me sick,” he says, “I’m sending you the doctor's bill.”
“Fair,” she chokes out.
Leo doesn’t hug her goodbye, but he does tell her he hopes she gets better before heading back to Boston.
Annabeth, hugging porcelain, wishes she could go with him.
She was very seriously considering it a few days later. Magnus would take pity on her and Alex was always fun to hang out with. Plus, they’d probably think she was too pathetic to be called on her shit. She only did not make plans to go up to Boston because on Wednesday Luke texted her: Already a shit week, brunch this weekend? And she knew if she ran off to Boston, she wouldn’t leave Magnus and Alex’s guest room until they forced the issue.
But it would be nice to talk to someone in New York City who doesn’t hate her guts, she thought.
So, on Sunday morning, she throws up the wonton soup she’d ordered in for dinner the night before, gurgles some mouthwash, uses the expensive concealer to hide the dark circles, and over does the mascara in hopes that she mostly looks awake.
“You look terrible,” are the first words Luke says to her.
“You have no idea how to talk to women,” she says, slumping down across from him.
“I do,” Luke says, “I just know not to bother with you.” But he frowns at her, taking her in. She’s broken out a Chanel jacket, but she isn’t sure when she last washed these jeans. A real winning combo, her.
“But really,” Luke says, “you look miserable. Is it about what happened on Halloween?”
She shrugs. It isn’t not that. Percy’s words still circle through her head, his sad, defeated face as he bemoaned the, how did he put it? All the rich girls who fucked him to make a point. Made all the worse because she believes them. Probably not the same points as those princesses, but… probably not as different as she would like.
She wonders if Europe is full of very wealthy aristocratic women who are all secretly and shamefully still in love with Percy Jackson. And Frank Zhang.
It makes her feel hollow and nauseous all at once.
But she’s been feeling nauseous for weeks now, so at least it's not a new feeling. If it keeps up, she’s going to have to go to the doctor soon.
She hates going to the doctor. It feels like cheating when she just goes and pays and knows other people can’t. She had once lied to Thalia about getting money for a side gig, and then given her two hundred bucks for a trip to the clinic. Now that Annabeth has spent many hours in his cousin’s apartment, and has heard Nico talk about his yearly income on top of the money his dad gives him, she’s not sure how it came down to her.
“Not really,” Annabeth says, “I mean, I still feel just as terrible, but that’s mostly the problem. I feel sick.”
“It's been three weeks.” Luke looks genuinely concerned. “What’s going on?”
“I’m exhausted and nauseous all the time,” she says, groaning at the thought. She was okay right at this moment, but she knew it could come back at the drop of a hat.
Luke frowned at her. “That’s all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I mean…” He looked at her, his eyes gazing lower, to her body. Luke had never really come on to her in any kind of real way. But she’s not sure he’s ever looked at her with less lust than he does right at that moment.
It is calculating. She’s gained some weight, she knows. But if Luke points it out, she’s going to kick him in the nuts with her steel toed boots. Or maybe make him explain himself and his relationship with Thalia.
“Annabeth,” Luke says, his voice lower, a frown on his face, “please don’t freak out.”
She can feel her heart pick up, just a bit. “That’s a terrible place to start.”
“Have you been feeling… emotionally volatile lately? Having a lot of mood swings?”
She frowns. She’d maybe been crying a little more than normal at sentimental hulu ads, but she always has a soft touch for that kind of thing, and she’s going through some stuff. “I don’t think you should ask a woman that.”
“You are really not going to like my next question, then.” He leans close and says, “Are your… breasts tender?”
“You’re right, I don’t like that question,” Annabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest. Even though they are. “I don’t know why you thought that, and how you knew.”
Luke looks at her with such pity, she feels like she’s suddenly eighteen years old again, and crying on his couch at the end of freshman year about the greatest heartbreak of her life. (It had moved to second place. Lucky it. The boy in that bar had only been theoretical, mostly.)
Luke reaches out, grasping one of her hands, and for a second, Annabeth is sure he is going to tell her that she’s dying.
“Have you considered you might be pregnant?”
She yanks her hand away. “I can’t be pregnant,” she says. “I haven’t had sex in weeks.”
“Have you had your period since then?” Luke asks.
“Not that it's any of your business,” she says, “but I haven’t had one in years.” They do talk about sex sometimes, but periods had long been off the Luke table.
Luke grimaces. “Well, you’ve been sexually active recently…”
“It’s been more than a month!”
“When did you start getting morning sickness?” Luke asks “You were throwing up at Halloween.”
“That wasn’t in the morning,” she snaps, “and I feel fine now.”
“You know morning sickness doesn’t just happen in the morning,” Luke says. “And with the rest of your symptoms, well--”
She shakes her head, glaring at Luke. His judgement would have been better than his patient mansplaining. “You think I don’t use birth control?”
Luke shrugs a little. “I mean… you’re… not great at things like daily medication. That’s what happened last time. And if a condom broke or you didn’t use one…”
Last time. Oh, last time. Last time had been the worst four hours of her life, in between realizing that she hadn’t been remembering her birth control pills every day, that her period was a few days late, and that she’d definitely been having unprotected sex with that boy in Luke’s cohort who was probably too old for her. Last time had been her having a panic attack on Luke’s Cambridge apartment couch while a very reluctant Leo was sent to buy a pregnancy test or twelve, and Piper reassuring her via speaker phone that it would be ok, while Luke rubbed her back and reminded her to breathe.
“I do remember what happened last time,” she says. “That’s why I got an IUD. Which, if you don’t know, from all your girlfriends' pregnancy scares, has the same failure rate as permanent sterilization, less than one percent. So…” So it would be okay. She couldn’t be pregnant. That’s why it had been okay for Percy and Annabeth to start fucking without a condom.
“When was the last time you got a new one?”
“August.” She says, thinking back. She was almost sure. “I remember because it was before the Eta thing--Leo called me to tell me about the ceremony while I was at the gyno.”
“So you were distracted and being a bad patient when they were trying to put it in?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
But she won’t give Luke, of all people, the satisfaction. “They are professionals. They should know what they’re doing, even if I was on the phone.”
Luke gives her his most disappointed dad face. It is worse than Annabeth’s own father. “You’re the one who always tells me I need to not make people’s jobs harder by being a bad client,” he quietly reminds her.
She fucking hates him.
But despite herself, she pulls out her phone, and begins googling misplaced IUDs and pregnancy.
They haven’t even ordered yet, but Luke is already standing up, probably based on the look on her face as she manages to fight through the dyslexia and figure out what it says. “Come on,” he says, helping her out of her chair, even though she’s not an invalid. She just might be pregnant.
She pushes that thought away as she follows Luke into a cab and then up to his apartment. He makes her some tea and hands her a banana while he goes to get her a pregnancy test, because Luke’s not quite shameless enough to have one at home. She waits for him in a living room straight out of American Psycho and reads up on IUD pregnancy complications online. Which she probably should not have done.
By the time Luke gets back, she is crying again. He’s gotten her 3 tests, which is very considerate of him, as she’s going to need them.
Walking into the bathroom, she’s shaking hard enough that she needs to brace herself on the wall. He lets her use the nice one off his bedroom, though it's not like she needs the jacuzzi tub.
When she’s done peeing, she sets a timer on her phone and sits on Luke’s bed. He tries to speak to her several times. She doesn’t respond.
It isn’t the longest ten minutes of her life, because the truth is, she knows.
She already knows.
When the alarm goes off, she shrugs off Luke’s arm and silently walks back into the bathroom.
Luke got a digital readout, because what else was he going to do. And so she looks at the little screen and just barely processes the word pregnant.
She doesn’t need to take the other tests. She doesn’t need confirmation or to be convinced.
She reaches down and pressed on her lower abdomen, lifting her shirt. She had noticed a slight change. But she’d also changed a lot of her daily routine lately, had eaten a lot more ice cream. Right now, she can’t see any kind of bump, not really, but she can see a shift. Something flat gone fuller.
Annabeth is pregnant.
Annabeth is pregnant with Percy’s baby.
Percy’s baby.
She bursts into tears all over again.
An eternity later, there is a knock on the door.
“Annabeth,” Luke calls, “can I come in?”
She manages to choke out a yes.
Luke finds her sitting on the edge of the tub. He looked at the test still sitting on the counter.
“Let me make a call,” he says, sitting next to her, resting a hand on her arm. “I know a doctor. He can get you a pill or maybe even see you if you need it. Probably today or tomorrow. We can get this all taken care of and then I’ll buy you ice cream and we can watch Legally Blonde, and you can complain about how it doesn’t accurately reflect the admissions process.”
Normally Annabeth would pre-complain, and point out that given Elle’s GPA, LSAT, and extracurricular activities, she would have been a shoe in for her program, and the movie was dismissive of her prior academic achievement. But she’s too busy parsing what Luke is saying.
He squeezes her hand in support. “It's going to be okay,” he says, sweetly.
“No.” She says. But not because it won’t be okay. “No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”
“It's okay,” Luke promises. “I would never judge you. And no one else would ever have to know. This isn’t something you have to do.”
“I know that,” Annabeth says. “I don’t have to do anything.” She detangles her hand from Luke’s and rests it on her stomach, where her uterus waits under her skin. “I want to do this.”
Luke looks at her hand. “Poseidon Olympianides’ son?” he asks. “That’s the father?”
She nods.
Blowing out a breath through his teeth, he sighs. “Well, you’ll be able to get some good child support out of him at least. That family is loaded.”
“Don’t say that,” she nearly screams, and Luke actually jerks back a little. “He doesn’t have any money. He’s his dad’s bastard kid,” she says, feeling a little bad about revealing his family history, but knowing that the word would spark something in Luke. “I don’t know if I’m even going to tell him.”
It feels like something cheap and shallow, trapping a man with a lie, then a baby.
She’s still crying and tentatively, Luke reaches out and wraps his arms around her, pulls her to him.
“Come on,” he says, pulling her up. “You still need ice cream and a movie.”
Annabeth cries. And she doesn’t fight him, but it feels so strange. Half way through her Caramel Sutra and the Legally Blonde proshot, she realizes what’s different.
For the first time since Percy walked out of her apartment without a good-bye kiss, Annabeth Chase is happy.
She’s pregnant with Percy Jackson’s baby.
She’s going to have Percy Jackson’s baby.
She’s not sure if she’s ever heard anything as wonderful in her entire life.
And if she’s going to be worthy of it, worthy of her baby, then she’s going to have to get her shit together.
#my fic#ballet au#pjo#pjo fic#percabeth#percabeth fic#darkmagyk#perseannabeth#goooooooooooooooooooood morning all!
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In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.
(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)
(first part) (previous part) (next part)
(word count: 3,960)
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Part Ten: Wilbur II
Wilbur wakes the morning of the election as President of L’Manberg, and he ends the evening of the election as President of L’Manberg, voted back into office by due democratic process.
There are things in between, of course. He reads out the results for all the SMP members to hear, as well as for those who have been following the event from different servers. He makes a speech, promises protection and safety for his citizens, promises renewed growth and prosperity and above all else, freedom from tyranny. He makes a good case for it all, he’s fairly sure, though he forgets the words that he speaks as soon as he leaves his podium.
There’s a bit of a celebration, after. Impromptu, unplanned, but those are the best kind. They all pitch in, scrounge up food and drink and games to play for when they get a bit tipsy, and it’s good.
He smiles through it.
He smiles when Tubbo claps him on the back, hooting and hollering. He smiles when Niki runs up to him and throws her arms around him in an embrace, even though she was running against him. He smiles when Eret sidles up to him, murmuring congratulations and briefly pressing his hand. He even smiles when a few citizens of the Greater SMP come to join in, Sapnap and Punz and Ponk and Karl. He smiles and smiles and smiles, and why shouldn’t he smile?
This is what he wanted. To know that his people continue to have faith in him, that they still believe him best for the job. To hold on to power, but to do it the right way. To be given full permission to assure the safety and freedom of those he loves, and the land that he has made.
The smile only slips twice.
Once: meeting Fundy’s eyes across the way. Fundy breaks his gaze just as quickly, glancing to the side, and he doesn’t come to speak with him. He’s not sure what to do about that. He’s not so blind as to not notice the tension that’s sprung into place between them lately, though he still can’t ascertain its origin. And it’s only gotten worse now, of course—but what did Fundy expect, that he would just let him commit voter fraud? He’s disappointed in his actions, and he can’t disguise that. Shouldn’t have to disguise that, because Fundy ought to know that wasn’t the right thing to do. But that means that his son steers clear of him. And he’ll admit that it hurts. Both for that, and for the fact that Fundy would do such a thing in the first place.
So the smile slips, when no one is looking.
But that is once, and twice comes now: Tommy bounding up to him, grin bright and wild, eyes shining with a light that he hasn’t seen there in—too long. Far, far too long. That light has been present all day, ever since he stepped up to the podium and announced the results, and Tommy let out a whoop and a holler and pumped his fist into the air like he was trying to punch the daylight from the sky, and it was so very Tommy that in that moment, he could feel nothing but relief. In general, Tommy’s seemed very relaxed. Celebratory, jubilant. As he should be.
And now, here he is, beaming, staring him in the face, gripping his arms. Eyes shining.
“How we feeling, big man?” he asks, loud and carefree, and it’s obvious from the way that he asks that he expects a certain kind of answer. Wilbur is more than happy to give it to him. He reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Tommy ducks away, but even that scowl doesn’t last for long.
“I’m on top of the world,” he says, and feels his own smile widen. For the first time in a while, he can look at Tommy and not feel pressing worry, not feel a tightness in his chest and a certainty in his bones that something is very, very wrong, that something has happened, and that in some way, he has failed. “We fucking did it, man.”
“We sure fucking did!” Tommy crows. “You and me, best fucking—best fucking day ever. We’re gonna make sure that L’Manberg’s the best country in the literal history of everything. And you’ll be the best president.”
“Of course I will,” he says. “That’s why they’ve elected me.”
Tommy nods sagely. Still grinning. Still bright-eyed. “It’s all going to be alright,” he says, voice lowering just a little. He sounds so very sincere. “Everything’s actually gonna be alright. You’re gonna do so great. You’re gonna do great, right?”
Of course he will. He will not settle for anything less. This duty has been entrusted to him once again, and he will not let his city fail, nor his people fall. He is the one they look to. He built this nation, and he must protect it. He will be great. He has more than just his own hopes riding on his back, and anything less than greatness is unacceptable, both for his own sake and for that of everyone else, for his own legacy and for the seeds planted in the present.
“We’re gonna do great,” he says. “You and I, and all of us.”
“Hell yeah,” Tommy says, and glances around him, at the celebration, still under full swing. Quackity has somehow obtained a stripper pole, and both Karl and Sapnap are looking on in great interest as he displays his talents in that area. Wilbur finds himself watching for a moment too long before tearing his gaze away. But Tommy doesn’t pay mind to any of that—which is good, because he is a child, a little baby man, and maybe he should go over to Quackity and talk about him toning it down, actually, while the minors are here—and instead brings his focus back around to him again.
“They all love you man, y’know?” Tommy says, voice going softer still. He finds his own expression gentling to match.
“They love this,” he agrees. “They love L’Manberg.”
“Because what’s not to love?” Tommy says, nodding in satisfaction. “Really, though, man. You’re gonna be alright. You’re gonna do great. No reason to worry about anything, y’know?”
“Okay, that’s a little concerning, coming from you,” he says. “Are there any shenanigans I should know about?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Tommy says, swatting at his arm. “I’m gonna go find where Tubbo got off to. But just, have a good night, yeah, Wil? You’ve really earned it. Future’s looking up.”
“I will,” he says. “And you too, Tommy, you’ve earned this just as much as I have. Maybe even more. Go have fun.” He pauses. “And if there do happen to be any shenanigans, let me know, would you? It’s been a while since I took part in any good old-fashioned shenanigans.”
Tommy casts him one last grin, brilliant as any sunrise he’s seen. And then, he’s off, weaving through everyone else. It’s good, that he’s happy. It’s been so long since he’s seemed truly happy. It gives Wilbur hope. Whatever damage was done to him that night, when he chose to give up his discs, maybe he really will bounce back. And he’s noticed that he and Tubbo have been closer again, so maybe that will help, too. Tommy will be okay.
Then, a wave of exhaustion hits him, apparently out of nowhere, and his smile slips.
He brings it up again in the next moment. But the fatigue remains—and he supposes it makes sense. It’s been a long, rather stressful day. Perhaps it’s time he turned it in.
Niki’s the first one he finds, and she smiles at his approach. There is still an air of tension about her—lingering frustration, he imagines, at the stunt Fundy tried to pull. He believes her when she says she was unaware. But she doesn’t seem to have any qualms about him, thank goodness, because he bears her no ill will for the incident. Or even Fundy—he is disappointed to be sure, but he doesn’t love his son any less. Nothing at all could make that happen. Perhaps he ought to make sure Fundy knows that.
Later, though. When they’ve both cooled down a bit.
“Hey, Wil,” she says. “Good party, huh?”
“It is,” he says. “I’m sort of beat, though, so I think I might go hit the hay, as it were. Just wanted to tell someone before I left, in case anyone wondered.”
“Okay,” she says, and her eyes pinch around the edges a little bit. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
She nods. “It’s been a long day,” she says, echoing his thoughts. “I’ll let everyone know, if they ask.” Her smile returns, full force, and she steps forward and takes his hand in hers. “Really, though, congratulations. I’m really proud of you. Anyone can see how much you care about this place, and that’s why they want you to keep leading it.”
His mouth has, unaccountably, gone slightly dry. “I do care,” he says. “But we all do. I mean, you literally made our flag. I don’t think I’ve told you enough how cool that is.”
“I wanted to,” she says simply, though she’s obviously pleased. “You don’t have to thank me for it. Every country should have a flag.”
“And every country should have someone who cares enough to sew it,” he says. “I’m glad it was you.”
“And I’m glad that this is you,” Niki replies, making a gesture toward the festivities around them, and the empty stage over to the side. Her eyes sharpen. “Even if I kind of wanted to be vice president. But you’re a good leader, Wilbur, and you’re a good man. A good friend. You deserve this. So go get some sleep, alright? Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting, and she rolls her eyes, pushing him away.
“Go on,” she insists, but there is laughter in her voice and a crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and she looks happy, too. Everyone looks very happy. Even Fundy seems to be involved in things by now, and Quackity, his fiercest competition, appears to be enjoying himself.
Everyone is happy. So is he. There’s no reason at all for him not to be.
He tells himself that he’s going to go get some sleep, but his feet take him back to his office, instead. It’s empty, cast in a dim haze until he switches on the light, and just like that, the darkness is gone. His eyes flit across his desk, his chair, his shelves, all the paperwork that he’s definitely going to have to deal with, now that he knows for sure that he will continue to lead. He also has a potted plant, though he can’t quite recall who gave it to him. Might have been Tubbo, but he’s not sure.
He doesn’t sit. He goes to the window, presses himself up against it close enough to see the outside rather than his own reflection in the glass. Torchlight flickers, illuminating the country before him, and the walls are looming giants in the deepening night. He can see the cluster of lights where the others are, too, and he can see their dancing shadows, glimpses of their faces, far away echoes of their laughter.
Maybe he ought to go back. Some part of him wants to. He’s not sure why he’s holding himself away.
It’s probably because he’s tired. Because he is. Tired. Very tired.
It has been a long day.
He watches for a moment longer, and then closes his curtains, shutting out the world beyond this room. He turns to his desk, then, and his paperwork, though he’s loath to actually work on anything tonight, despite the fact that there’s a million things he could be doing. Drafting a formal missive to Dream, for instance, in light of his official election to power. Ensuring continued good standings between their nations—because as little as he likes the man, he’s not going to provoke him again, if it can be helped.
Especially not with Tommy—the way that he is. Not until he’s gotten to the bottom of that, and probably not even after.
So, he should write to Dream. He should also write to Phil. Tell him about what’s been going on. He’s been considering asking for advice on the whole Tommy situation, actually—Phil’s old as balls, so maybe he might know what to do, or even what this could be about. It’s a long shot, of course, but it’s worth a try.
Except he doesn’t particularly want to do either of those things. Not at the moment. But then, that doesn’t leave him with a whole lot of options, so why did he come here in the first place if he didn’t intend to do something? He ought to go to bed, like he said he would.
But then—
“Hey, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and he looks up, blinking. Quackity’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. Somewhere along the line, he’s regained his clothes. “Knock, knock.”
“Quackity,” he says. “Good to see you. Here, come in, pull up a chair.”
Quackity quirks a brow, but that seems to be all the invitation he needs. He all but saunters in, grabbing one of the chairs and tugging it right up against the desk.
“I actually did want to speak with you at some point,” he continues.
“Then this works out, doesn’t it?” Quackity says. “I had the same idea. I figured we should clear the air or something like that. If it even needs clearing, I dunno. What do you think?”
“It certainly can’t hurt to talk,” he agrees.
“Right,” Quackity says. “Well, I guess I should start off by saying good job. Congrats on winning.” He smiles, and there’s something sharp in it, something of a challenge. Wilbur can’t say that he hates it; it’s good to be challenged, every now and then. And now, there’s less danger in it, his position secure. “Though I really gave you a run for your money, didn’t I? And Jack, of course.”
Jack’s name is added as an afterthought. He’s always had the impression that Quackity would rather have picked someone else for his running mate. But he left it fairly late, and by the time he decided that he definitely wanted one, there weren’t many people left to choose from. Tubbo wouldn’t have joined him, and Eret stayed out of the whole affair, and in terms of L’Manberg citizens, that pretty much just left Jack Manifold.
He wonders who Quackity would have chosen, if he’d had free reign of the SMP. Somehow, he’s glad that didn’t happen. Good foresight, on Tommy’s part, to add that restriction. And a good idea in general, too.
“You did,” he says with a nod. “It was a good showing. You were the one I was worried about, to be honest with you. If anyone could have beaten me, it would have been you.”
“You’re damn right,” Quackity answers. “We got close. But no cigar, I guess. There’s always next time.”
Next time. Next time.
Right. Elections are a fairly regular thing. He’ll have to do this again.
Right, no, that’s—fine. It’s fine. And it wouldn’t be for a while yet, so he doesn’t even have to think about it right now.
“But I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between us,” Quackity says. He leans back in his chair, tipping it so that only two legs rest on the floor, and he regards him. “I mean, I meant what I said on the campaign trail, and I still stand by it. I don’t know that you’re taking this country in the best direction, Wilbur. I don’t know that it’s not gonna—stagnate, under you, or that Dream won’t come up and declare war again. I meant all of that. But it’s not like I don’t like you as a person, and you’ve won fair and square, so I was hoping we could put our differences behind us. Let bygones be bygones and all that.”
He’s heard everything that Quackity has to say on the matter of his leadership, and hearing it all again is a bit—irritating. But the honesty is refreshing, was then and still is now, and he’d rather these things be said to his face than whispered behind his back.
And also, there’s the fact that it’s Quackity. It was Tommy who convinced him to let him join in the first place, but the man’s grown on him, he’ll confess.
“I would have trusted you to lead,” he admits, and meets Quackity’s gaze squarely. “I disagree with you on quite a few matters, but I believe that you have L’Manberg’s best interests at heart. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s all water under the bridge.”
He speaks nothing but the truth. Quackity is—not precisely the vision he has in mind for L’Manberg’s future. But he cares about this place, that much is obvious. So if Quackity had won, he would have bowed out gracefully, would have established himself some property and entered a graceful retirement, at—at peace. Surely at peace, all of his questions answered and his guidance unneeded. His person no longer required.
His stomach turns, a gut-churning combination of longing and revulsion flooding him, impacting him so intensely that it’s a half-second scramble to make sure that none of it shows on his face, to lock everything back down again, to be interpreted later or forgotten about, depending on his mood.
“That’s great to hear,” Quackity says. “Friends?”
Quackity sticks out his hand.
“Friends,” he agrees, and takes it.
“Fantastic,” Quackity says. “I guess that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He gestures broadly, lips twitching upward. “Niki said you were gonna get some sleep, so I’d do that before she finds out you’re not.”
He can’t help but laugh, and Quackity stands. “I’ll take that under consideration,” he says. “Good night, Quackity.”
“Night, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and turns to go. But then, he stops in the doorway, looking back. “I just gotta ask, though, why all of this? Why have an election at all? Why risk losing? If you wanted to stay in charge, why not just stay in charge? No one would’ve questioned you, but instead, you put on all of this. Just to keep a position you ended up keeping anyway.”
Ah. His mind blanks for a moment, because he doesn’t know how to describe to Quackity the fact that people were already questioning him, if he didn’t pick up on that. But surely, he must have; Quackity himself built his entire campaign around questioning him. His right to lead, his capability, his intentions. And those sentiments could not have come from nowhere.
To be honest, he’s not certain that he has the words to explain it to himself, either.
“I could ask the same of you,” he says, “in regards to your running.”
Quackity stands there for a moment. And then tilts his head.
“I think we both know the answer to that, Wilbur,” he says, and his next smile is a wry thing. “See you tomorrow.”
And then, he’s gone.
And Wilbur does know.
He is not blind to Quackity’s desire for power. His desire to do something good with it, to be sure—he’s never caught any malice in his seeking. But what he seeks is power, and there is no mistaking that. Sometimes, Wilbur looks in his eyes and sees a reflection of himself. Paler, different, slanted, but a reflection nonetheless. He has heard the siren’s call of ambition and heard it well, and he recognizes that in Quackity, and Quackity recognizes it in him.
But it’s not just about power. Not for him, anyway. Or rather, it is power, to be sure, but it’s the power to keep safe. To protect. To be free. And to build something great, something that will outlive him, something that will make him worthy of the looks in people’s eyes when they meet his. That’s what it was about. And that’s why the election mattered.
Though for a moment, he lets himself picture it: retirement. A house, with plenty of room. Time to spare, for everyone and everything. A guitar, finally tuned again. A warm summer’s day, and a crisp autumn’s evening. No pressure, few responsibilities, and an hour or several to sit under his own vine and fig tree.
But he doesn’t think he’s made for things like that, really.
And even besides, these idle speculations don’t matter. Quackity didn’t win, and he remains president of this nation. There will be no quiet retirement, not yet. There is so much work that he has to do, and he can feel all those future tasks piling on his shoulders, weights stacking on his skin, clinging like barnacles on a weathered, abandoned pier.
And it’s all alright, because it’s what he wants.
Without this, where would he stand? With himself, and with the others? They all look to him for a reason, so what would happen if that reason were gone?
No. Best not to let his mind wander down that path.
His ambitions are realized. The elections are over. His people are happy, and they still want him. They still believe he can do right by them. They are celebrating his victory even now. Tommy was smiling, and there was none of that strange, terrifying darkness in his gaze.
He has everything he wants.
He checks his communicator, idly. There’s a few messages from people on the server, those who aren’t at the party. Most are congratulatory. There’s Dream, asking for a meeting already, but he anticipated that. There’s even a few messages from people off-world, and he raises an eyebrow at those—inter-server communication costs a pretty penny, so he’s a bit surprised that Technoblade put the effort in to send a message that just says lame. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. And Schlatt’s sent him some snarky congratulations, and he supposes he should answer him, since he went through the trouble. Though he’s not going to invite him, still, no matter how nice it might be to catch up. Not until he figures out what Tommy’s problem with him is, and whether it’s solvable.
But he types out a response to both, a quick Like you can talk, Potato Man to Techno and something a bit longer and properly sarcastic to Schlatt, wincing at the cost of shooting the messages through the void, across worlds, and then sets his communicator to the side. Stares at his desk, then at the covered window. He can still hear them.
He stopped smiling at some point. He doesn’t know when.
He picks up his pen, then sets it back down again. Drags a paper closer with his index finger, and then pushes it back. Slips his hand into his pocket to find his glasses, and then brings it out again, empty of everything but dust.
There’s work to do, and he should either get started or he should go to sleep, but his brain doesn’t seem to want to get the memo. So he sits.
He’s tired. That’s why he’s in this kind of mood. He’s tired, so he’ll just sit here until he feels ready to get some true rest, and it’ll all look better in the morning. Not that it doesn’t look good now.
But he is very tired.
#mcyt#dsmp#dream smp#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#quackity#nihachu#dsmp fic#/rp#cat writes fic#long post#time travel au#if this fic were divided into acts#this would mark the end of act 1 :)
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𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄
Peeta Mellark x male reader
We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.
Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE
Part two: Click here, bomburino tortilla pony horse.
Part three: You're here, my guy.
Part four: Click here, amigo
Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass
It didn't take long before I came home, my mother and brother was already dressed, and I was right, Kunal has been crying.
He immediately lightened up when he saw the bread, pushing the sleeves of my first reaping outfit (which was now his) back in order to munch on it.
"Don't worry, you only have your name once in the pile, you're safe," I reassured him, as I've done many times before.
I smiled, patting his head. My mother glanced at me, but I pretended to not notice. It's been long since we've talked, the last time was a disagreement, a petty one at that. About two years or so?
I honestly surpised myself, how can I go without talking to her for so long. . .?
Another trait my father passed on to me was a short temper, though I never lose my head and scream, but something about her words made me yell. Her face was full of shock when I did that, almost as if I've betrayed her.
"Don't be stupid like your father!" She told me.
My father isn't a stupid man, he was smart. Lady luck just wasn't on his side that day.
I took a bath, scrubbing the dirt and soot off myself. When I saw my clothing my heart stopped. It was my Father's.
It was simple, just as he liked. A white button up tunic, the hems made of elegant gold lace. The pants were loose, with garters securing on the hip and the hems, he never liked tight clothing, just like me.
My eyes went towards my mother, who simply nodded, "After you get dressed, sit down, won't you? Let me fix your hair," she said.
My mouth opened to protest, only to shut itself when she whispered a small, "please," My eyes softened, her voice sounded so guilty, she regretted her words, just as I did. She knew I could get chosen.
But I'm a coward, I don't like apologizing, something I inherited from her.
I nodded, and got dressed before I sat down, just as she told me. She began to braid tiny sections of my hair. I've never been good at it, really, It would always look messy when I did it. So I just looked messy everyday.
But her hands can do magic, it was like she was weaving silk, her hands full of grace and utmost care as she intertwined every strand of hair. I could feel her hand shake a little, as if scared with one wrong touch, I'd shatter like glass.
She used to sew clothing, make various artworks with whatever was in the house. Her hand was naturally delicate, soft to anything she makes contact with.
I bit my lip, none of us wanted to say it. We we're both thinking the same thing, though.
I never really liked cutting my hair, always kept it atleast neck length at best. I don't think short hair suits me at all, though it does get in the way while hunting from time to time.
Once she finished, without a word she pressed her chapped lips onto my forehead, she then walked away, leaving me with a pit of guilt in my stomach.
Such simple words, why can't I just say it?
I sighed, fixing my tunic and tucking it in, the garter snapping back, making me wince a little. It was stupid of me to let go.
I took a deep breath in, mustering all the courage I had to walk towards my brother, who has devoured the entire loaf. "Good?" I asked.
He nodded, a smile on his face, the crumbs falling down. I chuckled, wiping his mouth with my hand.
"You're like a bird, aren't you, little mocking jay?" I said, patting his head again.
He hummed, nodding aggressively, his hair bouncing up and down. I snickered, holding his head still with both my hands. I squished his cheeks together, making his lips form into a duck beak-shape. "Hey, Y/n,"
I rose my brows, humming. "I won't get chosen, won't I?" he asked. I sniffed, shaking my head as I linked our foreheads. "No, no you wont, Nal," I said. "If they call you, I won't let you go, alright?"
"You promise?"
"Of course,"
Soon it hit one in the afternoon, it was mandatory to attend this "festival", unless you're at death's door, that is. I found myself beside Gale, who patted my shoulder for reassurance.
Maybe it was obvious I'm stressed, tense. I'm not worried about myself, I'm more worried of them, especially Kunal. He's only twelve, yet he can still get chosen.
Some kind of festival this is.
I clenched my fists tighter, palms started to go white as I also clenched my jaw.
On the temporary stage stationed in front of the justice building was a podium, three chairs and two large bowls. The district is divided into two sections, jumbled across those two glass bowls, waiting to be picked up.
Twenty of them contained 'Y/n Greyback', one of them contained 'Kunal Greyback'.
There were also bright banners hung up, though I'm sure it was just there to taunt us, it sure worked for me. Everytime I look at it I start feel sick, hatred bubbling in my stomach.
The feeling of claustrophobia began to settle in as people piled into the square, the late comers having to just watch from a monitor instead.
"You alright?" Gale asked, nudging me. I gulped, sighing, "Course, I just —" I turned back, looking at my brother. "Worry of him,"
He gave me a sympathetic look, "He only has one entry, I'm sure he won't be picked," He said. Something I've been saying for such a long time, it didn't help settle my nerves.
"I know," I answered plainly.
We looked towards Katniss' place, beside her was Mardge, who gave me a curt smile and a wave. Out of politeness, I simply nodded back before turning back to the stage.
My hands grew colder each second, by two, when the mayor finally reached the stage, my hands were as cold as a corpse's.
Beside the mayor was Effie Trinket, District 12’s escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit. It looked quite ghastly.
Everyone murmured in worry, for whom was the empty third seat for?
The mayor stepped in front of the podium, beginning to tell the tale of Panem, how the twelve districts lost in the rebellion and now have to face punishment.
The Hunger games.
It was simple, each district would pick two "tributes" to this little game, and then they either kill like a hungry wolf or die like lost cattle.
I gulped, sweat forming on my forehead as I instinctively reached for the end of Gale's shirt. He held my hand, patting it a few times to let me know it would be alright.
He then began to read the victors in every hunger games. In the past seventy-four years, we have had exactly two.
Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair.
To say he's drunk would be an understatement.
The crowd responds with its token applause, but he’s confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.
The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.
Bright and bubbly as ever, she began to talk. I could feel my blood boiling upon hearing her obnoxious, Capitol accent. I tuned her out, gulping as my hands somehow grew even colder.
Please don't let it be my brother, anyone but him.
"Let's have the first pick, shall we?" She said, her voice at the end of the sentence practically sky rocketing up. She pulled a piece of paper from one of the Glass bowls.
My heart pounded, as if trying to escape my chest. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths in.
"Kunal Greyback,"
My heart stopped. Why couldn't it have been me? I had twenty, TWENTY entries.
I watched as my brother walked past me, his lip quivering, eyes glossy. Oh sweet, sweet Kunal, as delicate as a Lotus.
Kunal, the boy who gathers flowers every morning just for me.
Kunal, the boy who loves pulling on my braids.
Kunal, my dear innocent brother. Afraid of his own shadow.
I felt my own body move, launching myself forward. Gale called for my name, but I didn't care, no. I needed to get to my brother, I made a promise.
"NAL! NAL! NO!" I yelled, desperation evident in my voice as I pushed through the other people. "Y/n!" He screamed back.
Most of then gave me and my brother looks of sympathy, some gossiped. "Greyback," they'd whisper. "Another one bites the dust," they'd continue.
The peace keepers pushed me back, preventing me from reaching my brother.
No, not like this. He's still so young, he still wants to gather lilys by the front of our house, he still wants to create flower crowns for me to wear.
He still wants to breath, to live.
The mayor looked at me, recignizing me almost immediately. He didn't know me, no. Rather, he knew my father, the man he put under the execution block.
Oh mother, I'm sorry it had to be this way. It seems another one of your family members will die at the hands of the Capitol.
"I volunteer!" I gasped, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry.
"I volunteer as a tribute!"
Word count: 1.6k
Tags:
@nin3s
:v
#peeta mellark x reader#peeta mellark x male reader#peetamellark#male x male reader#x male reader#male reader#hunger games x reader#hunger games x male reader#hunger games ff#hunger games#katniss everdeen#gale hawthorne#peeta mellark#why are tags so difficult to fucking write#hello person looking at tags you should really get other hobbies#male reader insert#reader insert#long read#male reader series
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Sweater pattern!
I knit this sweater top down with raglan increases in the round. There are increases on the top of the sleeves to give it the volume with a ribbed cuff to give it a balloon shape. The neckband is added at the end by picking up the neckband stitches. I did knit this to be slightly cropped, so finish the hem where you feel comfortable. This pattern was made for my size. My chest is 35”, and the sweater measures 39” around the chest. It’s my first time making a pattern, so I’m not confident enough to suggest how to alter this for different sizes! I’ll update this as I learn more.
Gauge
10 stitches x 13 rows = 4x4” swatch (POST BLOCKING)
Needles
10mm circular
9mm circular
Materials
(Used in the finished pictures)
Miss Babs K2 yarn
2 skeins Naked (480 yd)
1 skeins Lacewing (240 yd)
1 skeins Moss (240 yd)
960 yd total
Any 3 color way in a bulky yarn should serve you well. I loved working with Miss Babs because of its color and strand consistency.
Stitches to Know
K - knit
K4B - knit 4 below
K2tog - knit 2 together
P - purl
P2tog - purl 2 together
KFB - knit front and back
M1R - make 1 right
M1L - make 1 left
M1P- make 1 purl wise
PM - place marker
Raglan
Increases are worked on the right side of the work, at each side of a raglan-st. The raglan-st is a normal stitch and is worked as k1 on the RS and p1 on the WS. I placed stitch markers to either side of the raglan stitches to keep track. The increases are worked as:
M1R: Using the left needle, pick up the loop between two stitches from the back, k1.
M1L: Using the left needle, pick up the loop between two stitches from the front, k1 tbl.
In the first row of the pattern I indicate this at raglan-st(M1L, PM, k, PM, M1R) for the left side and raglan-st(M1R, PM, K, PM, M1L) for the right side. Afterwards I refer to it as (M1L, K, M1R) or (M1R, K, M1L). Always ensure the markers are directly on either side of the knit stitch, not the increase.
Bubble stitch calls for multiples of 4+3, so I cast on 39 stitches on the 10mm needles. Do not join to knit in the round yet, because we first work a few rows flat to create the back.
Cast-On/Yoke
CAST ON: 39 stitches with Color 1 (for me its Naked)
WORKING FLAT
(WS) Row 1: P across
(RS) Row 2: k1, raglan-st(M1L, pm, k, pm, M1R), k8, M1L, raglan-st(M1L, pm, k, pm, M1R), k17, raglan-st(M1R, pm, k, pm, M1L), k8, raglan-st(M1R, pm, k, pm, M1L), k1
Row 3: P across
Row 4: k1, M1L, k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to last st, M1R, k1.
Row 5: P across
Row 6: k1, M1L, k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to last st, M1R, k1.
Row 7: P across
Row 8: k1, M1L, k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to last st, M1R, k1.
Row 9: P across
Row 10: k1, M1L, k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to last st, M1R, k1.
Row 11: P across
Row 12: k1, M1L, k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to last st, M1R, k1.
Row 13: P across
There should be 97 stitches on your needles
Join the work into a round on the next row
Row 14: k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to end of row.
cast on 6 new stitches at the end of the row. Join to continue knitting in the round, making sure that your work is not twisted.
Row 15: K to the first raglan-st. The beginning of the round is now moved to this point.
There should be 111 stitches on your needles.
The work should be divided as: 1 raglan-st, 22 stitches (left sleeve), 1 raglan-st, 31 stitches (back), 1 raglan-st, 22 stitches (right sleeve), 1 raglan-st, 32 stitches (front).
Work in stockinette stitch in the round, while at the same time working raglan increases on every other round:
*(M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1L, K, M1R), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to marker, (M1R, K, M1L), k to end of row*
On the next round, k across all sts.*
Repeat from * to * a total of 6 times for 159 stitches.
Body
Place the 34 sleeve stitches on either side on hold while you knit the body. I placed mine slipped through leftover yarn to secure them while I worked the body.
Cast on 4 sts at each underarm (total 99 stitches), with your preferred in-row cast on method. The beginning of the round in now under the left arm. Place a marker in the
middle of the new sts at the left underarm to indicate the new beginning of round. This is the beginning of the bubble stitch pattern. This is the basic bubble stitch pattern:
**
Row 1: Knit across
Row 2: Knit across
Row 3: Knit across
Row 4: Knit across
Row 5: Knit across NOTE: when changing yarn color, do so after this row, before starting Row 6
Row 6: Knit 3, * Knit 4 Below, Knit 3 *
**
Work 3 repetitions in Color 1 (Naked)
Change to Color 2 (Lacewing) on the third repetition for row 6
Work 2 repetitions in Color 2 (Lacewing)
Change to Color 3 (Moss) on the second repetition for row six
Work 3 repetitions in Color 3 (Moss)
This gave me a slightly cropped look, which I was going for. If you want a longer sweater, I think adding a pattern repetition in Color 2 (for a total of 3 repetitions) will give the desired length. Try on the sweater to determine if the length is right for you, before beginning to work the bottom rib. Change to the 9 mm circular needles and work 5 rows in rib (k1, p1). Bind off in established rib pattern.
Neckband
RS facing, with the 8mm circular needles pick up and knit 69 stitches, starting at the
transition between back and sleeve. The number of stitches to be picked up corresponds to approximately picking up 1 stitch per stitch along the neckline. In the sloped part of the neckline, you pick up 1 stitch for every row, corresponding to 10 stitches at either side.
Work 6 rounds in k1, p2 rib (k1, p2) (69 stitches)
Work 1 round with *k1, p2tog* decreases until the end of the round (46 stitches)
Work 6 rounds in k1, p1 rib
Work 1 round with * K1, p1, M1P* increases until the end of the round (69 stitches)
Work 5 rounds in k1, p2 rib. Bind off loosely in established rib pattern.
Fold the neckband down so the seam and bound off edge line up together. I crocheted the two seams together using a single crochet, but you could also mattress seam or sew these two together.
Sleeves
Note that the sleeves are extra-long to give that voluminous look. They are knit using the Magic Loop technique.
Back to Color 1! Place the 34 sleeve stitches on hold for one of the sleeves back onto a 10mm circular needle. Pick up and knit the 4 stitches cast on at the underarm (total 38 stitches). The beginning of the round is in the middle of these 4 new stitches.
The first 27 rows should be worked in stockinette, adding a one stitch increase every other row
*Row 1: knit across
Row 2: k1, kfb, k across*
.
.
.
Row 27: knit across
There should be 47 stitches on your needles.
Refer to the body section for the bubble stitch pattern.
Work 3 bubble pattern repetitions in Color 1 (Naked)
Change to Color 2 (Lacewing) on the third repetition before row 6
Work 4 bubble pattern repetitions in Color 2 (Lacewing)
Change to Color 3 (Moss) on the second repetition before row six
Work 4 bubble pattern repetitions in Color 3 (Moss)
Change to 8 mm (magic loop or dpns). Next round: * k2tog, p2tog *, repeat from * to * until the end of the round (24 stitches). Work 5 rounds in a k1, p1 rib. Bind off in established rib pattern.
Work the other sleeve identically.
Finishing
Weave in the ends and block. I use Soak Wash for my knitted items because it’s no rinse.
Congrats on your new sweater!
#knitting#sweater#knitpattern#handknit#craftnotcrap#crafts#knitblr#knitwear#knitstagram#knittersgonnaknit#knittersoftheworld#knittersofravelry#topdown#raglan#cuffed
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Moving On
Also on AO3.
Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata.
Summary: Everyone was lying to her. Killing her with kindness. Shielding her from the pain they all know is coming. But now it was time for some hard-hitting truths. And from the most unlikely source. SasuHina.Post-war.
Prompt: Day 25: The Season of Grief.
Rated: T.
Words: 7,566.
Status: Complete.
Author note: Angst and Hinata POV as she slowly comes to the realisation that she can’t have the life she’d been planning for. The Season of Grief = The Five Stages of Grief. The grief of losing the love she used to have.
Warnings/tags: One-sided SasuSaku. One-sided NaruHina. Naruto/OC. Angst with denial, pining, and romantic existential crisis. But with a happy ending.
Thank-you so much @sasuhinamonth for hosting this. I'm later than I’d planned, sorry. Hope that’s okay. :)
“There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you.” – Unknown
.
Denial.
.
Life was a series of choices.
For example, Hinata Hyuuga could choose to accept the arranged marriage her father had planned for her, or she could refuse to sign on the dotted line and hold out for love. She chose the latter. She was sure that fourth cousin her father had in mind for her was a nice man, but she wasn’t interested. And after surviving the war and learning to defend herself better emotionally, the last thing she wanted was to regress into the dutiful daughter who never complained. She was finally in control of her own life.
And she was still waiting on Naruto-kun.
Hinata was tired of the sad looks her clansmen would give her when she rebuffed their advances. Centuries of marrying their third or fourth cousins had instilled it too deeply in them that they couldn’t live any other way. Naruto had taught her she could do better, and she was determined to do so.
All of her choices to move forward were the reason Hanabi had been named Clan Heiress. She was already being prepped for it before the war, but their father’s insistence on an arranged marriage was the final straw. Hinata had been officially removed from the running. She would’ve been concerned about being branded with the Branch’s Curse Seal if Naruto hadn’t been so vocal in his disagreement about the practice. The Leaf hero’s words resonated with the village, and Lord Hokage started negotiations to prevent further sealings. Kakashi had also made motions to have those who currently bore the juinjutsu to be released from it. It would take a few more years to fully circumvent it, as the seal hadn’t been designed to be removed, but it was a step forward for the clan. A hope for a better future.
Everything Neji had wanted.
Hinata couldn’t be happier. She only wished to share in that future with Naruto. He was her hero. And the love of her life. She just needed to be more patient with him. But it was frustrating some days. She tried to talk to him and only succeeded when they were alone. Around friends and in crowds, he was so distracted by everyone. One-on-one he became fidgety, but she just chalked that up to him not being very good with girls. He’d stopped asking Sakura out, and the two were nothing more than friends, and he hadn’t asked anyone out. He was just shy.
Hinata already had a plan in place to ask him out herself. She just needed to work up for her own confidence to do so. Someone had to get this relationship going. In the meantime, she daydreamed about how it was going to go. But her days were lonely right now. Waiting. Patiently. And never quite making that important step forward. She had her family and friends and teammates but wanted more.
Her heart could only take so much.
“I just need to be brave.”
Hinata wasn’t brave, emotionally. In dire moments and with important things and people on the line, she knew how to be brave. Adrenaline and determination got her a long way. But in the aftermath, she found herself succumbing to the fear of rejection and crippling shyness.
“Yes, you do.”
She started, realising she’d said that out loud, in front of her sister. She’d been so lost in her thoughts and forgotten where she was for a moment. Hanabi was sitting across from her, the low serving table between them, ignoring the servants as they poured the tea for her before turning to her older sister. Hinata’s sister was clutching a half-finished kimono to her lap and lazily sewing at the hem of it. For such a skilled fighter, her movements were surprisingly delicate.
This was a weekly thing for them. Every Sunday at lunch, when their father was too busy with clan duties to interrupt or overhear them, they would talk to each other about anything or anyone, and when the Hyuuga servants left, even gossip sometimes. Hanabi had been carrying that kimono around all week, taking her time with building on it. Hinata knew her sister well enough to know it was a project with no defined outcome. She was just adding to it at her own leisure. Who knew what it would look like when she was finally done?
Hinata delicately sipped at her tea as Hanabi continued to ignore her own; her eyes narrowing as she focused intensely on the needle and thread. Her sister had developed a habit of people watching, since the war ended. And her insight was far sharper than anyone that Hinata knew. It made her feel insignificant.
“Spoken to Naruto lately?”
Hinata nodded. It was a silent lie. But she could’ve easily ran into him a few days ago if she wanted to so she didn’t see the point in saying otherwise. He was very busy with missions and handling Sasuke. The Uchiha’s release from jail had come as no surprise, given who was Hokage now. Kakashi had always had unwavering faith that he’d return. Just as Naruto did. Sakura… Hinata had seen her waver. But she was more confident now than ever about their team returning as family. Hinata only hoped that when she started dating Naruto herself, that it didn’t upset their dynamic.
“You’re grieving.”
Hinata raised an eyebrow at that. ���What am I grieving?”
Her sister smiled. “Love.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Naruto-kun isn’t the smartest person,” Hanabi said. “And I think you know that.”
“He doesn’t have to be.”
Her sister smiled. Again. A knowing smile that Hinata didn’t appreciate. But she said nothing of it and returned to watching Hanabi’s expert hands as she weaved the thread in and out of the kimono. This was a hobby for the younger sister. They’d both learned how to sew traditional garments as well as fix them, when they were still barely able to fight. It was second nature to them both. But Hanabi found a kind of peace to the process that Hinata never could.
“Father wishes you to marry soon.”
“And you?”
Hanabi shook her head. “A few more years, perhaps. When I’m ready to begin training to take over the clan.”
She was still too young to learn everything. Given that Hiashi was nowhere near retiring, it didn’t serve any purpose to put her through those rigorous trials just yet. But Hinata was surprised their father wasn’t thinking about grandchildren yet. At least not from his heiress.
Hanabi put the kimono down and finally sipped at her tea. “How do you feel about Naruto-kun?”
“I love him?”
It was immediate and instinctive, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. Hanabi didn’t react to the questioning tone of her voice. She just gave her older sister a look that told her she was questioning her for more than just curiosity.
“Are you sure, Oneesan?”
She had convinced herself so thoroughly that it was going to happen. Hinata brushed at the hem of the sleeve of her Yukata. Was she? Did she?
Yes.
She still loved Naruto-kun. Of course, she did. She’d gone through too much to just suddenly stop caring about him. He was in her heart. Just like Neji still was.
Was.
“I asked him out.”
“What did he say?”
“He said ‘let’s go to Ichiraku’.” He also said, “that bum Sasuke can pay for mine this time,” but she didn’t see how that was relevant. It was a date. And only two people could go on a date at the same time.
Right?
“Will the rest of Team Kakashi be there?”
Hinata opened her mouth to answer then shut it, her eye twitching in annoyance. She calmed herself and shook her head. “Of course not.”
She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall. They normally took tea, and then lunch, all awhile talking of friends and goals. It was funny to her that they’d never done this until recently. What exactly was the point before now?
Hanabi placed her tea down, almost finished. “We should have the food brought in, before it gets cold.”
Hinata nodded mechanically and waited for the servants to finish setting the table before disappearing. They could not be overheard in this room by anyone who wasn’t already in it. The jutsu that allowed this privacy had been in place since long before either of them were born.
Hanabi started talking about a jutsu that their father wanted to teach them and Hinata calmly dug into her Udon noodles. Silence eventually fell until they were both done. After the servants retrieved the plates, Hanabi went right back to pressing and hemming the edges of the kimono in her hand.
“Sasuke-kun walked by the compound again this morning.”
“Hm?” Hinata sat up straighter at that.
“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Hanabi mused. “But not last week when you were staying over Sakura’s.”
For Ino’s surprise party sleepover. Which was Sakura’s idea.
Hinata hadn’t slept in her own bed for two nights. It was a first for her, for a long time.
“Sasuke-kun looks in here too. Like he’s searching for something. It’s a barely noticeable glance, but I’ve been staking out the gates.”
“Do you like him?” Hinata was surprised at her sister as well as the strange clenching of her gut.
Hanabi scoffed. “No. But ever since I first saw him watching you training with your team after he got out of prison, I’ve been noticing he does that with you a lot.”
Hinata scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably just plotting to kill you.” Hanabi ignored her sister’s worried expression. “Or wondering why you always look so sad these days.”
“I’m not sad.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
Hanabi set the unfinished kimono down and stared her sister straight in the eyes. “Do you love him?”
“Who?” Hinata hated how her voice rose a few octaves.
“Naruto-kun.”
“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”
She would wait for Naruto. For him to come to terms with what had happened and realise they were meant to be together. Hinata would be the quiet voice he can’t block out because he loves her so much. No matter that he had already had numerous occasions to prove it to her. Even someone as clueless as him couldn’t not know how she felt. She just needed to give him a push in the right direction.
That’s what I have to do.
And she went right on back to pretending she didn’t see the pitying look on her sister’s face.
.:.
Anger.
.
The restaurant was noisy by the time Hinata arrived, dressed up and twisting her fingers nervously. She looked up into the colourful lights that decorated the restaurant of choice. Night-time made this place come alive in a way that surprised patrons that saw it for the first time. This was also one of the newer restaurants that opened after the war. So many things had changed, and so fast and it felt like Konoha was quickly becoming a very different village. Kakashi had authorised integral changes and Hinata could see the village one day becoming as large as a city. She was kind of nervous about that. Their population was steadily growing too, even only a year out.
She sighed and stepped forward in the waiting line. Naruto had said he’d come about seven and it was only a few minutes before. Hinata had spent the last hour already dressed for this date. Her stomach had twisted, making her throw up twice, before that. The line moved again, and she found herself at the head of it faster than her nerves could handle.
It’s finally happening.
“May I help you?”
Hinata cleared her throat. “Party for two. Under the name Hinata Hyuuga.”
The server looked through her list and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, we were told that was a party of four.”
“A-are you sure?”
The woman turned the clipboard to show her. When Hinata had asked Naruto to make the arrangement, because she’d been called away by her father, she’d assumed he had made it just for the two of them. It was supposed to be a date… right? When the venue was changed from Ichiraku to The Sannin Sushi House she assumed this was finally going to be more intimate.
Hinata swallowed heavily. “I-I, uh. He must’ve made a mistake.”
The server nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t change your table. There aren’t any spare ones tonight.”
The sound of the other patrons hit her then, reminding her of how loud and full the restaurant was. She just nodded and Hinata went along with it, hiding her disappointment. They would just have to do with a larger table between them. A voice in the back of her head scoffed at her.
Who else is coming tonight?
Maybe Naruto had misheard her? She didn’t understand how he could have but it had to have been a mistake. She shook her head, chastising herself for worrying over something so trivial. She was stronger than this.
“Thank-you,” she bowed to the server. “Where is the table?”
Hinata followed the woman and settled into the chair that gave her the best view of the restaurant entrance. She was already on edge, with the change in her plans, and worried that something else might sneak up behind her if she wasn’t careful. All the courage she’d learned from Naruto-kun had boiled off and she needed to get a hold of herself.
“Dining alone, again?”
Hinata gave a start at the familiar voice. “Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.
Why is he here?
Did this mean Naruto had invited him too? No, that didn’t make any sense.
The Uchiha slid into the chair across from her. This was one of the non-self-serve restaurants that had popped up in Konoha in the last twelve months and as a result the space between them, under the table, was minimal. His foot accidentally brushed against hers and she started again.
“A-are you here–”
“Hm. Naruto said he’d pay this time if I turned up early.”
They got dinner together a lot, then? Hinata struggled not to lose the soft smile she’d plastered to her face. It was only natural that Naruto would make time for his former teammate who was also his best friend. This didn’t mean he was avoiding her.
Of course not. Why would I even think such a thing?
“W-where is Sakura-san?”
Sasuke picked up the menu in front of him and lazily perused it, not answering her question. He didn’t look over at her when she repeated the question and began tapping the table with the menu absentmindedly. She wondered what was going through his head. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.
“Why are you here?”
Now, he looked up at her. “There are no more free tables.”
Is he making fun of me?
She assumed he was a joking. He had to be. This was supposed to be just her and Naruto. Sasuke was ruining everything. She didn’t want to burst that out at him, but it did really feel like he was getting in the way deliberately. Hanabi’s words to her the other day about Sasuke following her around popped into her head, but that was ridiculous. Everyone knew he was dating Sakura, just like Hinata hoped to begin dating Naruto. Why else would Sakura be so adamant something was going to happen between them?
“He’s just shy, Hinata,” the pinkette had told her yesterday. “And we’re going out tomorrow night anyway.”
Tomorrow night is tonight, she reminded herself. So where is Sakura?
A waitress sidled up to their table, giving Sasuke a once over with her eyes before asking them for their orders.
“Pork Katsu Curry,” Sasuke said. “With a side of Kani Salad and Green Tea.”
“Certainly, handsome.” The waitress turned to Hinata. “And you, sweetie?”
Hinata felt very uncomfortable under the stare they were both giving her. It felt like she was on a date with Sasuke, not Naruto. She didn’t know how to handle this. It felt like the world had just tipped on its axis. When she was this uncomfortable, Hinata usually just caved to whatever was expected of her. But she didn’t want to keep doing that with the important things in her life. However, this was too public and sensitive a venue for her to start putting her foot down without repercussions. Saying anything about her disappointment and desire to get rid of them both would only make her regret it later.
She blinked heavily. Uh, right. They were still looking at her expectantly. Though Sasuke’s eyes were occasionally drifting off to the side like he was embarrassed, but he still looked more bored than anything.
“Miso Soup,” she said finally, going with something she knew well. Hinata wasn’t hungry enough for a side, but she didn’t want them to think she was angry with them. “And M-Moyashi Salad on the side.” She cleared her throat. “And just some water, please.”
The waitress read their orders back to them then winked. “That’ll be ready in a jiffy. You two lovebirds let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
Hinata’s skin flushed crimson and she lowered her gaze to the table, not daring to see Sasuke’s reaction to that.
“How long until Naruto-kun arrives, do you think?”
Sasuke glanced over at her and shrugged, then leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, now staring at her. It was making her uncomfortable, so she looked back down again. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Hinata entertained herself by counting the tassels on the edge of the tablecloth. Over and over again.
“You…”
Hinata looked up quickly as Sasuke trailed off, the look on his face suddenly uncertain. Before she could ask him what he was going to say, the waitress returned with their orders. She felt herself turning beet red, realising they’d been sitting like this for at least ten minutes. The waitress was eyeing them curiously, like one would a couple of bugs under a microscope.
“Thank-you,” they both said at the same time.
Hinata sighed deeply as the waitress bowed to them. She was eerily silent this time and moved away quickly.
“I think we unnerve her,” she said softly.
Sasuke glanced at the woman’s retreating back before digging into his food. For him, it was digging in. Hinata had been in many group outings with Team Kakashi since the war ended and Sasuke was allowed free reign of the village. He ate like a nobleman; picky and proper. Not at all like Naruto.
She sighed again and picked up the bowl with her Miso Soup. If he wasn’t going to turn up, she might as well enjoy the night air and good food. They ate in silence and Hinata slowly settled her nerves, finding the quiet between them a comfortable surprise. The loud noises in the restaurant didn’t bother her anymore and she proceeded to escape into her own little world, just thinking about things.
Her father had been asking her about her future lately, instead of telling her what it would entail. She was finally having conversations with him in which taking part meant that she could approach the subject matter honestly. He’d even stopped asking her about her love life. (His attempt at a marriage of convenience notwithstanding.) Hinata put her bowl down and glanced over at Sasuke. It seemed nobody had a handle on their love life lately.
“Are you…” She hesitated when Sasuke put down his spoon and she suddenly had his full attention. “Um. I thought you were coming here with Sakura-san on a date.” He shook his head. “She, uh, said so yesterday.”
Was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.
“Sakura…” he cocked his head to the side. “She has different ideas on what an invitation out with friends means.”
Hinata understood what he meant but frowned softly. Everyone knew that Sakura was obsessed with Sasuke and saw any attention from him as evidence of their undying love. A simple invitation with Team Kakashi could set her off on a soliloquy about star-crossed love. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t here. Her absence made even less sense than Naruto’s.
Sasuke sighed, obviously realising she wanted to know more. He sat back in his chair heavily.
“I… told her we were meeting at Ichiraku’s.”
“You…”
He told Sakura the wrong place on purpose. He had no intention of being honest with her. Was it a trick? Or just him being a douche? Hinata narrowed her eyes at Sasuke. A familiar feeling of annoyance rose up inside her and if she’d been paying attention to why this bothered her so much, she’d have realised Sasuke was giving Sakura the same kind of brush off that Naruto had done to Hinata.
But she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him either. She ground her teeth. “Take it from me, Sasuke-kun, you wouldn’t like someone you care about doing that to you.”
“Don’t call me Sasuke-kun.”
He hated honorifics.
“You have no idea.” He said it like he’d come to some kind of existential realisation.
“About what?”
“You’re quiet and shy and sweet to everyone. Always putting yourself down and picking up everyone else.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Sasuke continued, now leaning forward and pointing at her like he was her sensei, and she was a naughty genin who refused to listen.
“Despite having such a powerful dojutsu, you don’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. Naruto has obviously left you in the dirt, but you keep holding out hope he’ll come around.” She fidgeted as he continued to reprimand her. “Face it: he lied to you.”
“He was just trying to spare my feelings.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.
Sasuke scoffed. “By dragging the decision out.”
“What are you doing to S-Sakura-san?”
“That’s different,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve told her I’m not interested but she won’t take the hint.”
“Naruto-kun’s–”
“He’s a dobe. And he isn’t going to date you, no matter what you think.”
“How can you call him your friend and speak of him like this? I thought you cared–”
“I never said I cared about him.”
“I suppose you expect me to believe that?”
“I’m not the only one running away from the truth.”
“No, you’re perfect,” she said, spitting out the last word.
He smiled at that. Genuinely. Her frustration seemed to amuse him.
“Why are you saying these things to me?” She asked, clenching her fists and glaring openly at him.
“Because no-one else will,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Least of all the one person who should.”
But why did he have to be so rude about it?
He levelled her with the most intense non-glare stare she’d ever seen from him. “Kindness doesn’t seem to work on you.”
Damn. She’d asked that question out loud. Hinata couldn’t get a handle on the emotions bubbling up inside her. It was too painful. She’s waited for years. Held herself up high and given every inch of herself. But Sasuke knew Naruto better than she did. He said the blond had no intention of doing anything with her. He said that he was just a dobe who wasn’t telling her what she needed to hear. She was so furious now that Hinata couldn’t hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears.
How dare he?
“You are a low life.” Hinata could hardly believe the words were out of her mouth as she stood up, her body shaking with anger. Sasuke just stared back at her, not surprised or offended one bit. “Sakura-san could do so much better than you.”
“Tell her that.”
She desperately wanted to throw her untouched water at him. But she reigned in that emotion, not wanting to cause a scene that could get back to her father. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Instead, Hinata huffed, rifled in her purse and threw down just enough money to only pay for her own food. Naruto had apparently promised to pay for Sasuke, and he wasn’t here to do so. But that didn’t mean that she had to do it in his stead. Feeling quite unlike herself, she scowled at him before storming off.
Hinata didn’t see the genuine curiosity on his face at her actions. The small smile of interest she’d sparked. She could only see red. It would be hours before she could calm down enough to realise, he’d been right.
.:.
Bargaining.
.
If only she’d been stronger. And more forceful, like Sakura, then none of this would’ve happened. Her life had spiralled out of control. Before that dinner with Sasuke, Hinata could just go along and pretend that one day Naruto would ask her out for real, or at least take her asking seriously. He wasn’t in a relationship of his own, though – to her chagrin – his fangirls were still as stubborn as ever. And that lack of a relationship had given her hope.
Now she had all kinds of thoughts about what was really going on. And the truth was, that Sasuke was right. Naruto-kun wasn’t interested in her like that. It was still hard to grasp since she’d held onto it for so long and it didn’t feel real. They’d shared a moment during the war, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. She’d taken it as a declaration of love while he’d been talking about friendship. Granted, the kid of friendship you kill and die for, but friendship all the same.
I’m as bad as Sakura.
Or maybe only almost as bad as Sakura, since the pinkette was still talking Sasuke up to everyone. He’d made a scene the day after that dinner date (and she could admit that, although accidental, it had been a date), which should’ve put Sakura in her place. Hinata hadn’t seen either of them since then, so she didn’t know if it worked. But she had bigger fish to fry.
Hinata needed to regain control of this chaos she’d created. Maybe she was still in denial though, and it would explain why she’d deliberately made her way to Ichiraku’s, knowing he’d be there. He always was at lunchtime. Everyone knew that Naruto got up at nine o’clock, had breakfast (sometimes in his apartment and sometimes at Ichiraku’s), headed over to the training grounds where he’d work out (and sometimes spar, if any of his former teammates were available), then practically skip to Ichiraku’s for lunch. He’d spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour there, depending on how hungry he was and how many fangirls slowed him down. Then Naruto would promptly return to the training grounds for a few hours before tracking down his former teammates to see who wasn’t busy and then bug them until they either kicked him out or he got bored. If the sun hadn’t set yet he’d wander through the village, waving at people, being waved at, and stopping to talk to other Konoha Eleven members.
Sometimes he spent the late afternoon with Konohamaru and his friends. Then he’d go back to the training grounds and use the dark to hone his sensory skills. Naruto would go at it until he dropped, then drag his arse back home, eat, bathe, and finally sleep until morning.
His schedule was a little different sometimes, depending on his mood and available friends (Kakashi didn’t send him on many missions because he was too overpowered for most of them) but the lunchtime and when he started night-time training were like clockwork.
When he would find time to do the things he’d always gone on about, she didn’t know. But Hinata knew his current schedule because she was a stalker. It was obvious to her now. Nobody else followed him around like this. She wondered if he’d ever taken the time to notice. She needed to get a hold of this before she wasted her life away.
But Hinata couldn’t stop wondering what could’ve been if she’d approached Naruto right after the war instead of waiting for him to get into a routine of ignoring her. Maybe she’d have shown him just how right they were for each other. And he’d finally listen.
This was why she was walking toward the Ichiraku Ramen stand. It was why she stopped next to a stall of flowers and pretended to be interested in them as she watched the ramen stand in her peripherals. And why she didn’t move away the moment she realised he was on a date. Her stomach clenched, but it was a milder pain than she expected. Even so, it still threatened to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes to watch him with this girl.
Naruto was the only member of Team Kakashi at the stall. He stood outside, laughing and joking with someone that Hinata didn’t recognise. The girl was really pretty. With short auburn hair and a petite figure that her clothes highlighted, and her makeup complimented. What made Hinata realise it was a date was not only how the girl was dressed to the nines (Naruto, too, for him anyway), but also how he reciprocated when she ran her hand along his arm. He was blushing and trying to pull of the cool guy act. If this was just another fangirl, he wouldn’t put that much work into it, surely.
They talked and laughed a few minutes more before clasping hands and ducking under the flap to take their respective stools in Ichiraku.
Definitely a date.
Hinata let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned away from the flowers. The stall server was disappointed but quickly turned to another customer.
Story of my life.
A sudden flare of chakra had her spinning around and she found herself suddenly face to face with Sasuke Uchiha. Had he seen her stalking his friend? There was nothing but his usual aloof stare on his face as he silently appraised her. But she knew. He knew. And the shame of it made her body shake with both anger and humiliation. So, she did the only thing her body was willing to do in that moment.
Hinata ran away.
She took to the rooftops and pushed herself to her limit, trying to get away from Naruto. From Sasuke. Her tears dried on her face by the time she found herself at Team Eight’s old training ground. She wiped at them then found her favourite oak tree and sat down. Even under the shade, the sun was warm and comforting on her skin. She basked in it, closing her eyes.
This time, Hinata felt him arrive. But she didn’t feel childish enough to tell him to go away. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He looked radiant, with the curve of the blinding light almost silhouetting him. Sasuke moved forward to better block the rays and she lowered her arm.
“Why are you h-here?”
He moved out of the way of the sun and Hinata shaded her eyes quickly. Sasuke always did have a thing for being dramatic. She turned to look at him as he sat down on the grass next to her. He didn’t answer at first, staring up into the sun like it didn’t bother him at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Finally, he sighed.
“I told you so.”
The floodgates opened. She broke down. Hinata couldn’t stop it. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, her face in her knees as she cried. She wasn’t upset at him. Only herself. Hinata didn’t react when Sasuke shifted his bum to press his side against her and gave her a one-armed hug. Her head lolled to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to himself, but she didn’t relent on the tears. His hand was large and warm against her, making Hinata cry even more.
Eventually, she stopped shaking and sniffled heavily.
She hated that he could get over their argument so easily and yet she was still plagued with doubts about how she’d acted. How rude he’d been. Hinata gave herself a few silent moments to compose herself before sliding out of his grip and wiping her face. Hinata rose shakily to her feet and gave him a slight bow.
“Thank-you Uchiha-san. I can see myself home now. Good day.”
He watched silently as she walked away solemnly.
.:.
Depression.
.
She avoided every member of Team Kakashi for weeks. Hinata couldn���t avoid Kakashi forever however, as the Hokage called her in for a pep talk – his version, rather, which was to ask her if she wanted a mission outside of Konoha. “To get away for a while. You could treat it like a vacation.”
Did everyone know about her problems? Kakashi probably just knew because of the other members of his former team, but it felt like a spotlight was suddenly shining on her and the whole world had gathered to watch her humiliation. She understood his concern. Hinata would think less of him if he hadn’t been. But she couldn’t deal with being this exposed right now.
“No thank-you, Hokage-sama,” she’d said, bowing lower than usual. “I am expected to join father in a mission soon and it would be disrespectful of me to leave Konoha right now.”
He just stared back at her for a moment but eventually nodded his head slowly.
Naruto’s voice interrupted them, suddenly bouncing off the walls as if he was standing right there and making Hinata jumped. But the loud blond was actually just booming down the hall outside.
“Hang on,” Kakashi said, then stood and disappeared out of the room.
Hinata could hear them talking, and Naruto’s whining voice and something about Ichiraku. Naruto yelled out, “woo-hoo!”.
Lord Hokage is trying to get rid of him for me.
But it sounded like he was too excited to get the hint.
Hinata couldn’t stand the pity. The deep, painful feeling that churned in her gut and worked its way up through her body like acid reflux. Hinata stumbled slightly from the physical shock of it. Kakashi meant well and she understood this, but it just made her feel so small.
She couldn’t let people cover for her anymore. Hinata realised that was what people had been doing. Trying to help her by keeping them apart. But all that had done was blind her to the truth. She loved her friends, but this was not the way to moving on. She had to be braver than this. Steeling herself, Hinata pushed her shoulders back and pushed the doors open, leaving the Hokage's office. Kakashi looked surprised to see her come out. His former student went silent upon seeing her, then started fidgeting.
“Hinata…” Naruto trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.
But Hinata ignored him, her chin high and face resolutely forward. She would not give herself the opening to fall back into the comfort of lies. She would not regress. She was stronger than this, damnit! Nobody said anything else as she left the Hokage Tower. When she was out of sight, Hinata finally breathed, shaking her arms to release the tension. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
“I need to go home,” she said to herself, shivering. A storm was on its way, and she didn’t want to walk home soaking wet. She picked up the pace and quickly entered the front gates of the Hyuuga compound. The rain started pelting down the moment they closed behind her, and she sighed deeply. The guards nodded to her, and she smiled at them with all the warmth she could muster.
The grounds of the Hyuuga compound were beautiful no matter what time of year it was. Even in the moist air they came alive. Hinata walked through the covered walkways between the houses, mulling over what she’d just done.
I ignored Naruto-kun.
She’d never done that before. And she had no idea how to deal with it. A part of her wanted to break down again. The other was feeling light as air. Free. Hinata could feel the emotion building up inside her again so hurried into her room and slid the door closed, before anyone could see her. She carefully placed her sandals on the shoe rack and pulled a coat from her wardrobe. The temperature had plummeted, so she sent out her chakra to get the attention of a servant and had them bring her a hot chocolate. Once she found herself alone, she sat on the window seat of her study and stared out through the glass window at the rain below her, hugging the hot chocolate to herself as she took tentative sips.
She was just daydreaming about figures dancing in the rain when she spotted something.
A figure walking in the rain. It was definitely male, his hands in his pockets and exuding chakra from his body to keep the rain at bay. She could sense it faintly, even from this distance. It reminded her of that mission so long ago when she’d been encased in crystal and would’ve died if she hadn’t expelled chakra from her chakra points. It was an easy thing for a Hyuuga to do, but this person wasn’t a Hyuuga.
They paused and looked up toward her. She couldn’t see his face clearly because of how hard the rain was coming down but Hinata was sure now: it was Sasuke. Hanabi was right. She kept watching as he slowly turned away and continued walking. Had he seen her? Did she want him to? Did it even matter?
Yes. Yes. And emphatic yes.
She had no idea why, but yes. Hinata wanted him to care enough to take the long way home that took him past the Hyuuga gates. He was the only one telling her the things she needed to hear. Even Hanabi’s questions weren’t as blunt as they should be. Sasuke was the only one not pitying her. She found she hated pity. She appreciated him so much in that moment. More than she’d appreciated him before.
Hinata swallowed heavily, palming her hand against the glass windowpane as his figure disappeared into the haze of the heavy rain.
“Sasuke.”
.:.
Acceptance.
.
All she felt now was exhaustion. She had just run a marathon and dragged herself through most of it, but eventually the energy would return. Her body would recover, and her mind would follow suit. She hoped. She had put so much of her energy into the life she’d imagined with Naruto.
Hinata was surprised she hadn’t snapped much earlier. Looking back, it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen.
He hadn’t left her for someone else. Because they’d never been an item. Her heart still wrenched at the thought of what might’ve been, but she was finally taking those steps to let him go. She had no business shoving him into her heart anyway. Hanabi told her, “You’re finally accepting your grief” when she told her and gave her the warmest hug she’d ever received. It almost made her break down again.
Then Hanabi asked her about Sasuke.
“Sasuke-kun?”
He looked up as she approached, seemingly surprised that she’d sought him out this time. Normally it was him hounding her. No, that wasn’t the right word. He didn’t hound her. He wasn’t some obsessed fanboy. She smiled at that. No, Sasuke was a good friend. She swallowed heavily at the weird sensation that sentence had induce in her gut.
Friend.
The word didn’t sound right either.
So, she’d tracked him down, only to find him in the Uchiha compound graveyard. She almost turned around and left right then, to give him privacy, but figured if he could interrupt her when she was doing something important then she could do the same.
“Hinata?”
He didn’t complain as she knelt next to him and offered a prayer to the headstone he was sitting in front of. It had his parents name on it. She closed her eyes and silently wished them well in the afterlife, then opened her eyes and turned to look at him.
“I was looking for you.”
“Obviously. Why?”
She smiled. “Why not?”
He scoffed, but she didn’t lose her smile. He stared back at her before finally relenting and offering up his own light smile. They both turned back to the headstone and silence reigned for a while. It was comfortable and companionable.
“I’m leaving Konoha.”
She was surprised. “Where will you go?”
“I have a mission.”
Hinata frowned. “Lord Hokage is letting you on missions outside the village?”
He pulled a face and she almost giggled. “Kakashi has little choice.”
This told Hinata that the mission was international. She was suddenly burning with curiosity, but held back because, likely, it was top-secret. And she wasn’t in the know on top-secret missions. The inner circle of the Hokage was always a tight, handful of people and this Hokage was no different. She had no doubt that the rest of his former team knew what he was going to be doing.
“It’s just politics,” he offered, sitting back on his bum now and pulling mindlessly at the grass. “Nobody but I can do it, apparently.”
He didn’t look happy about it. Hinata was quite enjoying his openness right now.
“And it’s for an indefinite amount of time.”
She nodded but he wasn’t paying her any mind. It wasn’t personal so she didn’t take it to heart. She wondered how long he’d be gone. If Hinata was honest with herself, she was going to miss him. Before he got involved with her problems, she wouldn’t have really cared either way. But things were different now. Every day since that evening, she’d seen him in the rain, she’d sat at her window and watched him walk by. Every time he stopped and looked up at her, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. Like he knew she was watching him too.
“What’s the mission?”
Why did I just ask that?
She’d held back because it wasn’t her place. Was she really this desperate to know all about him?
Sasuke stood slowly and stared down at her. “Agree to come with me first.”
“What?” She scrambled to her feet.
“Agree to come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He was serious. She frowned. “But Hokage-sama–”
“Kakashi already offered you an out. He won’t complain about you finally taking it.”
“I’m not approved for the mission.”
“You don’t have to be.” He stepped closer to her, and she felt rooted to the spot. His eyes were intense on hers and in the back of her mind she realised she was seeing a side to Sasuke that few ever did. It was intense. The way he looked at her would haunt her dreams if she said no.
She shivered. If I take too long to answer, will he beg?
His comment had a “they don’t have to know” vibe. Like they were runaways. Star-crossed lovers. She felt herself flush at the thought of that. The idea of going with him sounded exciting if not terrifying. But the idea of staying here, not knowing when she would see him again, was worse.
“You can return to Konoha anytime you want,” he added, stepping impossibly closer. “To whatever life you think you will have back here. Or you can come with me, do some good for the village without having to deal with all the shit you’ve been going through.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. His verbal acknowledgement of her problems seemed so out of character for him. But she was grateful and offered a small smile, which he quickly returned, also to her surprise.
Who is this man standing in front of me, asking me to basically run away with him?
It would be a huge undertaking and she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But suddenly, the rush of the unknown wasn’t so scary to her. It would be an adventure. One with purpose. And perhaps, she could find a little of herself out there. With him.
Hinata widened her smile and nodded. “Okay.”
He was full of surprises, because the next thing she knew, Sasuke’s hands were cupping her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he licked his lips before slowly moving in toward her. He was giving her time to pull away and change her mind. Hinata didn’t take it, closing her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers.
She should’ve seen this coming. This was why Sasuke had even bothered to give her the time of day. This was what all their little moments had been leading up to. This odd feeling of belonging was reciprocated.
I am so blind.
The taste of salt mixed in with the taste of him as she deepened the kiss. But for once, they were happy tears.
.:.
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THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY
What about a transgender fairy tale for Pride Month?
This variant is a English translation by Andrew Lang of a Romanian fairy tale called Ileana Sînziana. In this long, but fun tale, a powerful new Emperor wants in his court all the male heirs of the Emperors who he already dethroned. Knowing her father doesn't have any male heir, the youngest daughter of an old Emperor decides to dress as man and goes out in a journey.
In the end she is "cursed" to be a man, becoming Făt-Frumos, here translated as Fet-Fruners, a stock Romanian character in folk tales, a knight hero similar to Prince Charming. Făt-Frumos can be roughly translated as handsome infant or child or handsome boy.
Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.
Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.
One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.
Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.
At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father:
'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know.'
'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is not one of you a boy!'
'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'
'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave—that is all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'
'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It will not make matters worse if we know!'
'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'
'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father only shook his head sadly.
'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'
'Go then!' he said.
The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set aside enough things for a whole year—dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.
When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.
The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.
But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.
He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.
The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.
The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?'
The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.
But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'
The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I shall get the better of that wolf!'
'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one? You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered,
'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'
Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said,
'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'
'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.
Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.
The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'
'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.
'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'
'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme.'
'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'
So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.
Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully,
'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I will do it.'
'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as counsellor?'
'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your father, if you will only listen to what I say.'
'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'
'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.
The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.
A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.
Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.
The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.
The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a lion.
But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.
At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.
The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.
Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight. She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.
'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'
This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.
The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.
The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.
The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.
Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse.'
When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.
The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners! deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried, 'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, Sunlight.'
Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.
So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.
The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.
But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.
It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.
At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.
After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man. But the old woman was not convinced for all that.
She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world—some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones—and beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take Sunlight with her.
And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.
The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:
'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and—now that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it—I am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'
'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do.'
'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'
Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.
She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.
'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.
They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.
He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.
[Quick pause. This is a very funny trope that I keep finding in very old cross-dressing stories. The male characters find themselves mysteriously attracted to the female character pretending to be male. Think of Li Shang from Mulan.]
However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.
The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.
She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.
Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.
When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.
The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.
The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to be found—the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:
'Golden Hair. The fields are green,'
And that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.
When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly:
'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more kindly than all my other pages.'
Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in the place where you stand. Now go!'
In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.
At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'
On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.
'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'
'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.
The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the voyage began.
For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.
They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.
The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'
Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.
The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.
Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.
They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word, the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.
It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,' said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'
The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.
They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer—always, always—till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.
Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'
This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.
All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.
When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.
The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.
But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.
So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:
'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'
When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and said:
'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'
'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I am to bring you?'
'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them.'
The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she told her tale, and then said:
'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'
The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.
As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.
The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body. Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.
By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer—all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.
Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.
The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.
By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.
At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.
The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time.'
'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'
'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'
Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.
'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck.'
So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.
'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'
They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst—all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.
The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.
Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.
The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.
But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.
By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'
'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'
But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.
So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.
His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners before her, and addressed him thus:
'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water. And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'
'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!'
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I was working on requests but then I was like y’know what I should do? Flesh out and write down my Mayuri headcanons because I can not bear the weight of this obsession alone.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi Origin Headcanons (incomplete but long)
features: uuuuh not overly disturbing. One instance of suicide, experimentation on a fetus.
The woman who raised him was elegant, ambitious, and dutiful. But she was not a mother. The care she gave Mayuri was toward his talent for sewing—he had an eye for detail and a competitive nature that compelled her to pinch his cheek and smile at his handiwork. Always, she smiled at the fabric. Never at him.
When he was very young, they worked for the local theaters. His mother—she told him over and over she wasn’t his mother, but Mayuri wanted her to be so badly that, in the secret of his mind, he called her that—was sought after enough to be choosy. They followed the actors before pay. She taught him that money was fleeting, but talent was everlasting.
She gave him books on educational odds and ends. Some were not to keep, on loan from someone who owed her a favor. Others were his, taken from those steeped in debt but unwilling to strip his mother’s wonderful kimono from their back. His favorite were of the natural sciences. He so wanted to keep a book on Reishi that he tossed it in the fire pit when his mother demanded it back, not wanting anyone to have it if he couldn’t have his way. She smacked his head against the wall until he bled.
His mother loved to be obeyed. Conditions were what she valued over coin. It was as close to power as could be gotten by someone with so little to begin with. She watched rehearsals, was ‘gifted’ favored seats, and was given a voice when it came time to pick the next play.
He was urged to nurture his curiosity; it would suit him when his mother sent him off to be a soul reaper. She always said she would, even when his entire face became a wrinkle at the thought of fighting on and on for nothing he cared about. At least the actors had grace, built up by makeup, masks, and finery.
Mayuri wasn’t fond of the actors as a rule. Their egos and posturing annoyed him. In opposition, his mother’s eyes followed them endlessly. The exceptions to his ire tended to moonlight as jesters; they came and bid him ask his mother to dye their kimonos or to copy the latest en vogue brocade—but better. That was her specialty—brocades.
He was often bored and lonesome, so when the actors spoke to him, he spoke back despite the cool facade he gave them when with his mother, which was often. The room in which he wove and dyed fabric was often filled with his chatter, to himself. But silent when his mother was there, which was often.
Mayuri pushed limits like all children do, but with himself. How far could he poke a needle into his skin before it became unbearable? If he sewed an eye shut, would it fuse together? His mother seemed very occupied and payed him little attention, until she noticed that his eye was, indeed, fusing shut.
She had a real son by an actor most beloved for his roles as heroines and not long after they were called for by a 1st rukongai theater, where the actor could not follow. His mother accepted, gave her conditions, and stayed for a few last shows. Playing a woman determined to follow her lover in death, he gave a long, wailing speech and did not get back up after twisting the knife to his gut. His mother smiled, looking satisfied that he had done it as the audience leapt from the pits to crowd the dying body.
Thereafter, he seemed to leave his mother’s side for good. Even if his little brother was too young to weave and was bland to everyone including Mayuri, he had an eye for color. His mother wove, aided his brother with dyeing fabric, and told Mayuri it was time for him to do more. “You think it’s only fighting, but my sister became a soul reaper. And now she lives in the clouds, doing as she pleases. No-no, not dead. Just dead to me.”
Mayuri left for the academy before he could watch a 1st rukongai production, his spiritual pressure growing well under instruction. But he hated the large emphasis on battle. Strategy interested him, but his questions soured many teacher’s attitudes toward him.
So used to his hands always being at work at weaving, Mayuri began to tinker on things during class simply to help him think. He sat in the back as a thin courtesy, but was known to dissect animals during lectures. His row was often empty but for himself.
Reishi, again, became a large focal point for him and Mayuri had more than a single book at his disposal. Texts both aged and modern were poured through with hunger. If all living things contain Reishi, then could some form of reishi revive the dead? Could life be made of reishi not through natural processes? Could the essence of the soul exist if pried from the shell, would there be enough reishi to support that?
He understood the concern behind the meetings meant to discourage his questions and lines of study, but he resented them all and burned his theories for show, every wondering word fresh in his mind. His logic was sound, his questions legitimate, and his ability up to the task. How could a soul reaper do as they please in such an environment?
Mayuri went to his mother when he neared graduation, pausing his education, years having past with much frustration, at her call. She sought opportunities for him, now that she served nobles, and he hurried back at the illusion of freedom.
His brother still wore an expression as blank as unmarked paper, but he hugged Mayuri round the legs whenever he entered the room. His mother scolded him for it.
It was here that he once again turned his wondering in on himself. Skin opened and tested for the conditions that would allow regeneration. Could healing Kido be broken down into a liquid or pill? Was there an alternative to healing Kido? With few tools or funding, Mayuri found his conclusions compromised. His skin became scarred, but healed well enough under his skilled needlework to cause no harm.
Not that Mayuri was afraid of harm. It hurt immensely to experiment on himself, but he was greater than the academy would let him be and beneath the pain would be the glory of discovery. At times, he had his little brother do what he could physically not. It worked well—though young, his brother seemed largely unaffected and his needlework had improved enough that Mayuri did not scold him about it. Which was praise enough.
While serving the Shihōin family, his mother made sly introductions to several of the clansmen and one who was not. A soul reaper named Kisuke Urahara, a dear friend of the Shihōin princess , who seemed impressed with Mayuri’s work, but only enough to praise it. He was two faced and annoying and worst of all brilliant. Mayuri wanted the praise he got as much as he hated the man. He was too touchy, always patting his back or hair or shoulder.
Urahara’s words gave confidence to the clansmen, who worked out arrangements with his mother. Instead of paying in full for expensive kimonos and debt-inducing brocade, Mayuri would have funding and permissions. It was all unofficial, under the table, and unknown the clan head. The only ones on the line were he and his mother and Mayuri knew that meant he would take the blame, alone, if relations soured.
The work the two nobles loved best in the beginning were that of regeneration, which suited Mayuri enough since they also gave him freedom to do more. He, too, wished to complete his work in that area. It was, once again, when he wandered back into questions of artificial life—the limits of reishi and the ways to change reishi to break those limits—that he was warned by Urahara. “Any good mind wonders about life and death, Mayuri. But you’re not cute enough to break the rules! Maybe if you looked like your mom ❤️ Instead of an angry burlap dolly~! Good thing you’re a little genius in the making, huh?”
Begrudgingly, Mayuri took the condescending advice and kept his work that did not suit the nobles at a minimum and extremely private. His notes were few, coded, and progressing badly without workable experimentation. What the nobles wanted were likewise becoming more petty; looking to outdo the humans on this or best another clan on that. Unbearable, demeaning work considering the fewer freedoms they gave him—the funding was running out.
He became more restless. More reckless. The Shihōin family and his mother parted ways. Mayuri’s freedoms were gone. He stuck holes in his little brother’s forehead until his face was covered in blood. Made horns. Tore off his own ears. Made better ones. Dug out his own fingernails. Tried to carve himself into something better—someone above these circumstances. His mother sewed his skin shut wordlessly one night, the one he’d rid himself of his ears, and pinched his cheek like he was a toddler again.
So too did his approach to his appearance change. Like the actors and jesters of his earliest memories, he painted his skin white. Covered his eyes in a strip of black. Set his blue hair stiff and neat like a wig. Unique to him were the metal improvements that replaced his ears.
His little brother began to follow him everywhere after he was given horns, his mother once again occupied. One day, they found their mother dead together, murdered body tangled in a weaving loom.
Mad, for sure, Mayuri took her body to his lab, determined to find out as much as he could before discovered. His mother was unsalvageable, but the fetus within her could be something extraordinary. A third sibling. A first sister. A wonderful dream. Someone to take his mother’s place, but better. Always better—always striving to be more than before.
The data was invaluable even if it was coated in failure. Not that he had truly expected to breath life on the first try, but he had wished to not be caught. The Shihōin were famed for their leadership of the secret police, though, and caught he was. Even his most ingenious traps could not stop an entire force.
Unlawful tampering of a soul, theft of Shihōin funds and equipment, unlawful creation, and the murder of secret police, mother, and unborn sister. He was sentenced to the maggot’s nest, no access to anything but a cell. Too valuable of mind to be die, but too dangerous to be free.
Too valuable of mind to die. He always knew he was. It was nice to hear it, though.
#Mayuri Kurotsuchi#bleach imagines#don’t look at me oh my god#i have so much brain rot for this fucker#also of course I’m right about Akon because I will not leave him out of anything ever#his mom is like horrible but also such a bad bitch
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