#* (&&. in character) just like the lightning deep in her blood ; bright and beautiful and just as dangerous .

[urbcsa]

      "" i never understood how you all can be under 5'5" - just grow longer bones ! ""

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 14

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 14 - This Venerable One is Married

The red veil was thin and hung in front of his eyes. Although he could still see things, he couldn't see them clearly. Chu Wanning had sullen eyebrows and a calm face and was brought to the flower hall by the ghost bridesmaid.

Looking up through the soft red, seeing the person standing there, the temperature of Chu Wanning's whole body suddenly dropped several degrees.

Mo Ran was also dumbfounded.

No. . . shouldn't it be Shi Mei who came out?

The "bride" in front of him had bright red makeup and his face is covered by tulle. Although his facial features were slightly blurred under the veil, it was still Chu Wanning's handsome and murderous face, just staring at him, his eyes filled with the intent to kill.

Mo Ran: ". . ."

He was at a loss at first, and then his expression gradually became extremely complicated. After all kinds of emotions cycled on his face, a strange silence settled between them. Chu Wanning looked at the other, the atmosphere becoming extremely embarrassing.

It happened that the golden boy and girl behind the two chuckled. They clapped their hands and began to sing.

"The water of the White Emperor, the waves are clear; the ghost mandarin ducks are greeted with flowers.

In the coffin, they lie in the same cave; before life, the intention is clear after death.

From now on, they will be together in the underworld, and the lonely souls will never leave each other."

The lyrics were eerie, but they were also full of lingering feelings.

If he could speak, there was only one word Mo Ran wanted to say.

--"Gross."

But he couldn't speak.

There is a pair of paper mâché men and women in front of the stage. Although they had no faces, they were dressed richly and gorgeously. They were slightly loose and bloated. It is supposed to refer to a person who has reached middle age in the main hall.

The official of the ceremony began to sing with a sloppy tone: "The bride is charming and shy, with low eyebrows and soft eyes, a red veil covering her face and delicate smile. Please come and let the groom lift the veil."

". . ." Mo Ran was originally very reluctant, but when he heard this, he went crazy holding back his laughter.

Hahahaha, the bride is charming and shy, ahahahahaha!

Chu Wanning's face was blue, and he closed his eyes while holding back his anger, as if this would make him deaf even with his ears.

The ghost bridesmaid laughed and handed Mo Ran a folding fan. "Fan" and "good" are pronounced the same, which means that the marriage is a good fate.

"Would the groom please lift the cover?"

Mo Ran held back his laughter, but he submitted. He held the fan handle to lift the light veil in front of Chu Wanning's eyes. His eyelashes smiled cheekily, going to look at Chu Wanning's expressive face.

As if feeling the sneering gaze of the other party, Chu Wanning, who had endured it for a while, did not hold back. He opened his eyes abruptly, a pair of eyes flashing with lightning, full of a sword-drawn, murderous aura.

His red gaze seemed to match his fiery red clothes. Although the intensity didn't lessen, the reddish ends of the eyes caused by anger and grievance had a unique romantic style.

Mo Ran looking at these eyes, unconsciously startled, and his smile instantly froze. The shizun in front of him was suddenly so similar to the one in his previous life that he almost forgot what day it was.

Even though it was only for a moment, it was enough to make Mo Ran break out in a cold sweat.

He had once done three vicious things to Chu Wanning:

Firstly, kill him. That is, make a fatal move against Chu Wanning.

Secondly, humiliating him, forcing Chu Wanning to have sex with him.

Thirdly. . .

Thirdly, it was the most painful thing he did in his previous life, and it was also the thing he regretted the most.

Of course, the emperor of the human realm wouldn't admit that he regretted something he had done, but he couldn't escape the internal suffering it brought in the end.

Damn it. Why did he think of that crazy past again and think of Chu Wanning from back then?

Mo Ran shook his head, biting his lip, trying to shake off that memory of Chu Wanning's face and re-assessing the person in front of him.

Chu Wanning has been staring at him with eyes that screamed "I'll kill you". Mo Ran didn't want to provoke this prick, so he had to pretend to play innocent with a helpless smile.

The official said: "Bride and bridegroom, perform the Rite of Washing."

The so-called "Rite of Washing" is that the newlyweds should dust and clean themselves before wiping and washing each other's hands.

The ghost bridegroom brought a porcelain jug filled with clean water and lifted the jug to ask the two of them to wash their hands. The washing water was followed by a basin underneath.

Chu Wanning's face was full of disgust, but he had to wash the other party after washing himself. Because Mo Ran was a little distracted, he looked quite restrained, silently washing his hands for Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning didn't have a good temper. He splashed Mo Ran with the whole pot and soaked half of his sleeves.

". . ."

Mo Ran stared at the wet half of his sleeves for a while. He didn't know where to look, but there was no expression on his face, only some subtle lustre flowing deep in those dark eyes.

He thought in a daze.

Chu Wanning hasn't changed, has never changed.

What he does, what he thinks, in his past life and in his present life, he was exactly the same, not changing a bit. . .

He slowly raised his head. For just a moment, he felt that he was standing on Life-Death Peak, standing in front of the Wushan Temple. Chu Wanning walked towards him from the bottom of the stretch of imperial steps, and the next moment he would kneel down on him in front of him. The noble head would fall to the ground, and his straight spine will be bent and humiliated. Chu Wanning would lie down in front of him and couldn't afford to worship.

"The Rite of Washing is complete."

The ghost bridesmaid suddenly sang a long song, snapping Mo Ran out of his thoughts.

He regained his senses abruptly and met Chu Wanning's eyes. The dark pupils gleamed with cold light, like a sabre covered with snow, which was truly frightening.

Mo Ran: ". . ."

...Uh, his previous life was his previous life after all. Thinking about Chu Wanning kneeling down to him was enough for this life. The price he would have to pay to make it happen was too great. . .

After the Rite of Washing ceremony, there is the Rite of Togetherness, and then the Rite of Drinking from Nuptial Cups.

The ghost bridesmaid sang slowly: "The couple will drink one cup of wine together, and from now on, in this world, they will never be separated."

The cups were crossed and then they worshipped the heavens together.

Chu Wanning seemed really close to going crazy. His slightly upturned slender phoenix eyes narrowed dangerously. After Mo Ran left, he would probably pound the Master of Ceremonies Ghost into the mud.

But he really couldn't look at Chu Wanning when he was like this.

Even if he took another look, he could fall back into those messy and dirty memories, and he wouldn't be able to drag himself back out.

"The first bow—— kneel to the heavens——"

He thought that even if this was all improved, Chu Wanning was too arrogant and stubborn to kneel, but he did not expect that he would need to in order to complete this set of steps. He twitched his eyebrows and closed his eyes, but he still knelt down, and the two of them bowed together.

"The second bow—— kneel to the family——"

Come on, just kneel towards those two faceless paper men, they can also be called the family.

"The third bow - kneel - to each other -"

Chu Wanning's eyes were half-lidded. Without even looking at Mo Ran, he turned around, taking a gulp and rapidly knelt down, clenching his teeth together.

Unexpectedly, the two were really out of sync. They got too close and banged their heads together.

Chu Wanning sucked in a breath of pain, clutching his forehead. He raised his moist eyes and staring fiercely at Mo Weiyu who also rubbed his forehead.

". . ." Mo Ran felt he had to say: "I'm sorry."

Chu Wanning didn't say anything. He grimaced and rolled his eyes.

Then there was the Rite of Binding Hair. The official sang: "Binding hair as husband and wife, the love between them is clear." The ghost bridesmaid handed over the golden scissors and Mo Ran couldn't help but shrink back, lest Chu Wanning be displeased and stab himself to death. Chu Wanning seemed to have this intention, but in the end, he only cut of a piece of each other's hair. He put them into the pouch presented by the golden boy and girl and they were put away by the "bride" Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran was tempted to ask him, you won't use my hair to curse me in a rage, take out the villain, right?

The tribute officer sang: "The Rite - is complete -"

Both were relieved and got up from the ground. Unexpectedly, the official yelled leisurely at the next moment:

"The time has come to send the bride to the bridal chamber——"

What. The. Hell!!!

Mo Ran froze instantly.

A mouthful of old blood almost spewed out!

What a joke. If he dared to sleep with Chu Wanning, this wedding was going to be a real fucking marriage! If he should die beneath a peony flower*, he would still be charming as a ghost. . . No, the person he wanted in his two lifetimes was the untainted Shi Mei, not this cold-blooded devil Chu Waning who would tie up anyone who coveted him and throw them into the mud pond to humiliate them!!

(T/N: peony flower is a metaphor for a beautiful woman)

Is it too late to run away from the marriage?

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[thefairyletters]

I saw you rb a SaiSaku post and was curious if you had any fanfic recs for this rarepair?!

Do I have?!!!!! I am currently binging this ship so you couldn't have asked this at better time.

.

This pair is not a crack ship! Crack would mean they have not shared more than two words with each other. But SaiSaku interactions always bordered on romance and best friends who don't act like it. Not only Sakura was the first person to acknowledge Sai had human side to him and bonded with him over his painting, Sai was also the only person outside Sasuke (in part 1) to be able tell her fake smiles and he always understood her feelings better than other characters. Had Sakura ever only cared for good looks (something she don't) then with Sai she'd get that and so much more.

I have always considered SaiSaku as the next best thing after NaruSaku. They had too much potential as a couple. I am not bitter that InoSai became a thing but looking at them I only feel that "Ino didn't get Sasuke so she get his look-alike." Besides, Sai gave people nicknames that are opposites to what actually feels about them – Naruto as Dickless, Sakura as Hag/Ugly and Ino as Beautiful – which makes it worse. Both Ino and Sai deserve better than this. If Kishi has shown them together more often or had interactions between them similar to SaiSaku then I can understand why Ino is his light. I guess it is also SP's fault for showing them in different light. For all SP hates Sakura, they enjoy messing up with her fans by feeding them false hope.

Whenever I want to read something hilarious but deep, SaiSaku is my to-go couple. Usually angsty, or full bout of insults and punches. There's no in between with them.

. SaiSaku .

This list contains my favorite SaiSaku collection. I am not sure if you like SaiSaku only as romance ship but this list also contain stories that expands on SaiSaku friendship, something I absolutely adore.

.

Could Roses Bloom? : RiseoftheBlossom || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || GaaSaku, SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || Ongoing

Sai glanced downwards at his body, the sudden override of his thoughts causing his mind to blank. What did that mean? Had he been straying too close to a piece of information Danzo didn't want him to have or share? Or was it his mind's natural response to shutting down any form of emotion, even if it was just the slightest of inclination towards feeling something?

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, SaiSaku friendship, confused-over-his-feelings!Sai, slow burn, GaaSaku, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, angst with fluff

.

hello, bright eyes (been waiting on you) : mouseymightymarvellous || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

“look underneath the underneath,” except no one has ever really bothered to look at sakura and see her. and then there is a boy (isn’t there always). maybe they’re both just ghosts, making each other real.

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, confused-over-her-feelings!Sakura, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, Sai and Sakura who don't feel like they belong, angst with fluff, sad!Sai

.

Oh God That’s Heaven : blueberrysconesandfolkmusic || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

Sakura finds Sai sick, alone, and in desperate need of a hand that doesn't hurt.

Go for it if you like: boys who are bad at feelings, bleeding-heart!Sakura, sad-and-lonely!Sai, Sai and Sakura who are secretly best friends, Sai with PTSD, protective!team7

.

for everything blue and bright : sinemoras09 || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku, SasuSaku || Angst || One Shot

The five stages of human arousal.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, obsessed!Sakura, One-sided love, Unrequited-love-no-matter-how-you-look-at-it!SaiSaku, no-good-very-bad!Ending, pining!Sai, bittersweet lemon

.

A mess of me : Dovey || M || AO3 || Pre-Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Yandere Romance || Complete

In which Sai is a good ANBU agent with an unusual hobby, and Sakura grows up with a #1 fan rooting for her....even if she doesn't know it. Or: Sai starts stalking Sakura when they're both young to satisfy his curiousity about 'normalcy', gets attached, and eventually gets very frustrated that nobody else seems to notice her potential as a shinobi and takes matters into his own hands- and delights in being Sakura's prime source of validation because of it.

Go for it if you like: obsessed!Sai, manipulation, stalker!Sai, mentor!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, distraught!Kakashi, fluff, baby-Sai-stalking-baby-Sakura, abusive haruno household

.

There is sunshine on his forehead : amako || T || AO3 || Soulmate AU || SaiSaku but it's complicated || Angst, Hurt/Comfort || One Shot

Sakura is only three when she promises herself that Sasuke will die by her hand, whoever he is.

Go for it if you like: dysfunctional Team 7, Soulmate AU, Unrequited love feels, angst heavy, Sai and Sakura only want to belong, NaruSasu, NaruSaku but not really, betrayal heavy, no fluff only pain, SaiSaku, Team 7 taking Sakura for granted, Sakura is so done

.

In theory : nimblnymph || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Humor || One Shot

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Sai was about to learn that this theory applied to more than just physics. And that putting theory into practice sometimes gave unexpected results.

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, teacher!Sakura, student!Sai, Sai getting educated, Sakura educating Sai, Kisses, Sai being Sai, Sakura with patience of god

.

Loathing : i AM the Random Idiot || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Angst || One Shot

Define "hatred."

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, hurt!Sai, Angst, Onions, SakuSai bonding over mutual hate, love is overrated anyway

.

Bunk Mates : ice bitten || T || FFN || Shippuden || Team 7 || Humor, Friendship || One Shot

In which Sasuke and Naruto find out Sakura has been sleeping over at Sai's. Short stories surrounding Sakura, Sai, and the invasive people of Konoha.

Go for it if you like: sassy!Sai, protective!Team7, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, Perfect characterisation, Canon feels

.

Paint me with Colour : PeregrineFlight || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku|| Humor, Friendship || Incomplete

Sai and Sakura must travel to the Land of Lightning to retrieve something for the Daimyo, they have to travel as a married couple. Much to Naruto's amusement.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, pretend marriage, SaiSaku bonding over mission, fluffy angst, adorable!Sai

.

Forget Me Not : Joy-girl || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || Team 7 || Angst, Friendship || Complete

Sometimes it's easy to forget how important someone is when the person is always in the background – but Sakura's boys still remember. Glimpses of her importance from each member of her team.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, underappreciated Sakura, Team7 family, Family feels, sad!Sakura, protective!Team7 males, Sakura appreciation, SaiSaku bond, Team7Saku feels, avenger!Teammates

.

Add Me Colour : Cella N || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku || Drama, Romance || Complete

"All my life is white. Paint me. Add me colour."

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sakura, Sai being Sai, confused!Sakura, angst, poetic translation, colors

.

Euphemisms : Nymbis || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor, Romance || Complete(?)

Drabbles about Sai, Sakura, and their strange attempts at bonding.

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, Hilarious friendships, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches, Raunchy stuff

.

Ricochet : Strix 4 || T || FFN || Shippuden AU || Team 7 || Family, Drama || Complete(?)

Sometimes it's easy to see the familiar in the faces around you. Sometimes it sucks to figure out why.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, Team7 as family, Family feels, wise!Sakura, SaiSaku bond, Sai's place in team 7

.

Pick up lines : Demoneyes 14 || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor || One Shot

Ero sennin's pick up lines! Guaranteed to get the girl or your money back! Well... it would be more guaranteed if it hadn't fallen on his face in the library, but heck, Sai will try anything once! Maybe it will save him a beating from Sakura...

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches

.

.

Special mentions...

Study of the Heart : teresa

In an effort to become a better friend, Sai undertakes a study of love, not really understanding how difficult it could be, and how surprising.

.

The Blood of a Cherry Blossom : Slytherin Kunoichi

Originally, for Halloween, Sai hadn't decided what to go as, but once he glimpsed at the bleeding flesh on Sakura's neck, he suddenly had the urge to be a vampire…

.

Old Dogs, New Tricks : yuugiri

After an unprecedented turn of events, the Fifth Hokage has officially assigned Sakura Haruno the responsibility to make Sai recover what he had lost; his emotions. With a time limit of a month, will Sakura succeed in this mission?

.

Once More, With Feeling : Cynchick

Sakura didn't know what she was thinking when she showed up on his doorstep. 

.

Ink Me : Krickitat

Exploring the art of bod-modification Sakura takes a step into the unknown world of the exquisite pain of art.

.

The Uchiha Secret : Slytherin Kunoichi

Sasuke froze as he stared at Sai's eyes, which were identical to his Uchiha Sharingan eyes now: red with anger and black with hatred...One family secret could threaten and shake three lives forever. Bonds will be broken.

.

.

.

My babies don't get enough love in the world.

[sonoftatooine]

Whumpay 2021

DAY 9: GENTLE/BRUTAL

It’s a couple of days late but I started writing it dammit so I’ll finish it ha

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala

Warnings: Implied/referenced abuse, torture, neglect, blood and injury

Summary: Anakin doesn’t become a Jedi after the Battle of Naboo, but is instead snatched up by Palpatine and raised secretly as a Sith. Years later, known to the Galaxy at large by a Sith assassin in service of the Separatists, Darth Vader makes the decision to rescue Republic Senator Padmé Amidala from execution by the CIS. Injured in the escape, he is left at the mercy of Senator Amidala to treat his wounds.

***

“Stay still.”

The weight of the small, slim hand on his chest was so gentle compared to the usual touches that he was used to enduring that Vader half thought he was hallucinating it through the pain of the blaster wound in his shoulder, but it stilled him just as surely as his master's biting grip promising violent punishment should he not comply. Eyes which he knew to be a soft brown, but which the red lenses of his mask painted a deep black, stared down at him, and the face of Senator Padmé Amidala swam before him, pale and wan and worried. Her Force presence, which had been full of equal parts determination, suspicion, and confusion in the mad dash from the cell which had meant as her coffin, had lit up with a heady mix of fright and concern when he had run his saber through the last of their pursuers only to stagger and collapse to the ground as the pain in his shoulder that he had barely felt in the heat of the fight finally caught up with him. He could feel that concern now, wearing down his tired shields, with all the force and all of the gentleness of a wave roaring up to shore in the wind only to break softly over rough sand like a gentle caress.

“Vader, can you hear me?,” Padmé asked. Her voice was tight and distressed, and he felt a sharp spike of fear from her like a shard of ice through his heart. “I need to know if you're awake. I— You're losing blood. You have to stay awake—”

“I am...” Vader gritted his teeth against the burning pain in his shoulder. “I'm awake.”

Her relief felt like a cooling balm in the Force. It was baffling and pleasant and terrifying all at once, and when he tried to untangle the mess of emotions from one another, he found that he had no idea where one began and the other started. Why should she be relieved that he was awake when him being unconscious would surely have provided the perfect excuse to escape both his company and the Separatist-held space she had found herself in? Why would she be concerned for him in the first place? And what's more, why should he find himself reaching out to the sensation, wanting more, when he knew it was the very antithesis of what he should desire as a Sith?

You know why, said the small, snide voice in his head that had come over the years to sound very like his master's. His master who had always said, between vicious bouts of Force lightning that left his skin painted with a map of thin, spiderweb scars, that his biggest weakness was his need for attachment. It was like a leech bleeding him, Sidious claimed, and that all he did to him was to stem the flow that was draining his hatred, his resolve, to make him strong. Well, if his attachments had been comparable to open wounds, he thought, he had just ripped out his stitches. Rescuing one of Tyranus' prisoners meant for execution, killing his men all because of little more than a week's worth of memories from a past life? Damaging himself fighting against his own side to save a sworn enemy of the Sith? His master would be so angry, and his punishment—

“Good. That's good.” He was brought abruptly out of his spiralling thoughts by the sound of ripping fabric, and with a wince and a bitten down groan, he shifted to see where the noise was coming from. To his astonishment, he saw that Padmé was ripping off sections of her soft white cloak with an expression of fierce determination on her beautiful face.

“Wha—?,” he rasped, then tried again. “What...are you doing?”

Padmé didn't even pause from her task. Bundling up one of the strips into a ball, she leaned down and pressed it firmly against the entrance to his wound. He hissed at the contact, the sound too quiet to be picked up by his mask's vocoder.

“You're bleeding a lot,” she said by way of explanation. Even though her worry sung as loud and clear in the Force as ever, her voice was now as full of determination as the expression on her face. It reminded him of all those years ago when she returned to Naboo—full of her plan of action, ready to carry it out and damn anything or anyone that tried to stop her. “We need to keep pressure on the wound.”

I know that, Vader wanted to say. Of course he knew that. It was hardly the first time he had been hit by a blaster bolt. Nor was it as if he had never had to treat his own injuries. In fact, as long as it was not too far beyond his abilities to fix, his master demanded it—getting injured was a result of his own weakness, and it was only fair that he was forced to deal with the consequences of his own mistakes. What he did not understand about this, however, was why she was bothering to help him. You didn't show your enemies mercy, and you certainly didn't show them care. Her concern and relief had been strange enough without adding this to the mix, and really, he was starting to feel far too dizzy and faint to try and figure out the reasons behind it on his own. But he did not say any of this to her. Instead, what he said was:—

“You're ruining your cloak.”

Not for the first time, he was glad of his vocoder, for it transformed the pathetic almost-whimper the words came out as into the deep, unwavering tones that his enemies knew him by. Yet it didn't seem to make much difference to Padmé's reaction, as he felt a stab of shock in the Force, her lips parting in a soft 'o' and her brows turning upwards in a frown, before his senses were overwhelmed with a heavy, concerned sadness.

“You're hurt,” she said quietly, slowly, as if she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. “That's far more important than keeping my cloak intact.”

Oh. He didn't— He couldn't—

“Do you need that mask to breathe?” Padmé asked all of a sudden.

“I—what?” His brain, muddled and too full of fog to register what she was asking him, stalled.

“Vader,” Padmé repeated gently. “Do you need the mask to breathe?”

“No, it's— No.” The mask was to hide his identity, Sidious had claimed when he had first gifted it to him. He didn't see much point to it, personally, other than perhaps to hide his youth and to give him a more intimidating voice—at this point, not even his old friends on Tatooine would have been likely to recognise his face—but his master was always very insistent upon it, that he never remove it in front of enemies. But why would Padmé want to know? He didn't understand—

“Can you keep this—,” she nodded towards the cloth, stained dark with his blood, that she was holding against his wound, “—pressed against your shoulder while I take your mask off?”

His mind, still too sluggish and slow for his liking, had taken in the first part of her request long before he could take in the second, and by the time he had registered what she intended to do, he had already taken the rag from her hand and was pressing it down against his wound.

“No!,” he exclaimed, somewhat belated, as a sudden sharp panic stabbed through him. “You can't! You can't—”

Padmé frowned.

“Why?” she asked.

He should lie, he knew. He should make up some reason or other, but he couldn't—

“My master,” he said. “He's forbidden me— He will be angry if he finds out—”

Padmé's frown deepened at the mention of his master. The Force was once again flooded with that overwhelming sense of sadness.

“I don't think your master will be pleased with you saving my life either,” she pointed out, not unkindly. “Vader, please. You're losing blood and I can't tell how bad it is if I can't even see you underneath all of— I need to get that mask off you.”

As much as he wanted to, Vader couldn't argue with her logic on either count. He had already made his master incandescently angry by saving Padmé from the execution the Sith had had planned for her—after that, nothing would cool his ire, and keeping his face hidden would have seemed like a poor appeasement in comparison to his crime. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

He felt Padmé's relief in the Force for the second time that day, soft and bright as it was before. It was met with his own apprehension as she reached down, a frown of concentration upon her brow, trying to figure out how to release the helmet's mechanisms. All of a sudden, he was unsettled, not just on account of his master's orders, but by the realisation that Padmé would see his true face. The face that he had kept hidden from all except his master and Tyranus ever since he had been snatched from Naboo as a child. He felt very like that child now, trapped, helpless, caught in the horrible awareness of his own vulnerability—the same vulnerability that he had fought so hard to burn out of himself long ago. He— The mechanisms of the mask clicked and whirred, and the comforting, stifling black plastisteel was pulled away from his face and set on the ground beside him.

“Oh.” Though he could hear Padmé's voice, he could not quite make out her expression—he was still adjusting to the burst of light and colour his eyes had been assaulted with after the dull red of the mask's lenses. “Oh Force, you look pale. Are you usually that pale?”

Vader blinked. The brightness had faded to a more manageable level, and he could now see her face—the first time he had seen it in full colour since the Battle of Naboo, rather than in varying shades of red. She was as beautiful as he remembered, even drawn, white-faced, with dark, tired circles under her eyes, and her expression half one of open-mouthed shock, half one of fierce concern. He blinked again, trying to take in her words.

“I'm usually pale” he said, his words coming out as a soft croak. Years of isolation and darkness in the Works of Coruscant and the deep chambers of Sith temples had rid him of the golden tan his home planet had given him, turning his complexion a pallid white, save for the dark shadows painted beneath his eyes by just as long of fear and stress and lack of sleep. Combined with the limp tangle of curls atop his head and the yellow of his eyes, he was sure he must look quite the wretched sickly creature to her eyes. A far cry from the fearsome image his master had intended him to strike with his enemies.

“Right.” Padmé let out a breath, rubbing the back of her hand against her forehead. Then, before he had time to register what she was doing, she had brushed a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes and pressed the flat of her palm to his own brow. He jerked back in surprise—or at least he tried to. With his head already lying on the ground, it came out as nothing more than an odd little twitch. “You feel a bit cold. Really, I'm not qualified to deal with this kind of injury—especially not without bacta. We need to get you to a proper medic. Fast.”

“My ship,” Vader hissed out. “There's a med-droid and supplies on the ship.”

The ship that he had intended for them to escape in throughout their pursuit from Padmé's cell. It was not so far as to be a problem for two healthy, uninjured people to reach, but with him wounded and losing blood... Above him, Padmé seemed to have seen a hint of his thoughts upon his face, for she frowned.

“Do you think you can reach it?”

“Yes.” No. Perhaps. No, he could do it. He had done it before, pushed through far worse agonies and triumphed against the limitations of his body. He was a Sith—pain only served to fuel his power, give him focus.

Blood loss, however, a snide little voice in the back of his mind that he steadfastly ignored said amid a new wave of dizziness, is rather harder to turn into something useful.

“I'll...have to bind the wound” he said.

“Alright.” Once again, the presence of a solid plan seemed to fuel Padmé's determination as much as pain did his strength, burying her worries beneath a thick wall of resolve. She stripped off another length of fabric from her cloak, and he reached out his trembling flesh hand to take it. She shook her head.

“It will be easier if I do it.” He could still sense an undercurrent of fear beneath her determination. Fear that she would do something wrong, that she wouldn't be able to get him to a medic on time. Despite herself, it scared her in a way that he could not understand, no matter how he tried. “If you can just—”

“I can do it” Vader interrupted as she gestured for him to pull his hand still pressing the cloth to the wound away, so that she might access it. Despite his confusion at her concern, despite the knowledge that she was his enemy, that she didn't know to look upon him as anything but an enemy, he didn't think Padmé would hurt him. She had no active malice in her—not like his master, and the med-droids that followed his orders when he was dealt any serious damages that required attention beyond his own. But the instinct to recoil, to not let anyone near when he was so vulnerable was too strong. He pressed the cloth clutched in his mechno hand tighter to his shoulder, shying away from the reach of her fingers. Padmé frowned.

“Let me, please,” she murmured. “I can't help you if you don't let me.”

He didn't want to let her. He didn't want to let her—let anyone—near. Her worry felt sharp and jagged, like broken shards of transparisteel, and despite himself, he wanted to soothe it. She wouldn't hurt him. She was an enemy. She wouldn't. He sensed no cruelty from her, no desire to cause pain. She wouldn't— Slowly, reluctantly, he drew his hand back, and let her approach.

Padmé's fingers were soft and gentle as she pulled back the tattered fabric of his robe to get to the injury beneath, but he froze dead still at the touch nonetheless. Her concern spiked higher in the Force at the sight, but she didn't waste time in getting to work. The pressure from his hand against the wound was soon replaced by that of the rag tied tight about his shoulder. He couldn't quite hold back a quiet sound of discomfort as she accidentally jostled him tying the knot, and her Force presence gave an odd little flinch in apology.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

Vader blinked, confused.

“It's fine,” he said. Really, what was she apologising for? He couldn't remember having been treated so carefully since the days when his mother had treated his scrapes and bruises after he crashed his podracer, or after the worse of Watto's beatings. But no, he didn't want to think about his mother. He had shown enough weakness in front of his enemy for one day. “We should get to the ship.”

He tried to sit up—they had to get to the ship fast, before any reinforcements came looking for them—but his body seemed to have other ideas. His shoulder screamed in protest, but he barely noticed it through the fierce wave of dizziness that had suddenly overcome him. It was worse than the previous ones—nauseating, causing his vision to swim so violently that the world turned into a blur before him. When his vision finally sharpened again, he was lying on his back, and Padmé was bending over him, white-faced, one hand gripping his prosthetic tight where it lay against his stomach.

“I don't think we're going to get you to the ship,” she said shakily. “Perhaps I could bring it here. If I can get to it—I'll be faster—then I can fly it here and the med-droid can see you—”

“Why?”

It was the question Vader had been burning to ask ever since the injury had overwhelmed him. Why was she doing this? Why did she not take the opportunity to save herself when he would only slow her down? When he was her enemy, as far as she new, a Separatist assassin, a Sith, a danger to everything she had ever worked for and believed him? Padmé, however, didn't seem to understand him, for she frowned down at him in confusion.

“Why?” she echoed.

“Why...are you helping me?,” he insisted. “You...you could escape back to the Republic much easier if you left me.”

Padmé drew back sharply, though she did not let go of his hand.

“I'm not about to leave you here bleeding out on the ground when I can do something about it!” she exclaimed, indignant.

Vader frowned.

“I'm your enemy.”

“My enemy who just saved me from being killed,” Padmé retorted. “You got shot protecting me. That's more than just helping someone treat their wounds. You could have been killed! If anything, it should be me asking you why you chose to help me.”

Vader was silent. For what could he say? What could he tell her? That no matter how much his master tried, he had not been able to fully crush the affection that she had sparked in him when she had stepped into Watto's shop all those years ago and showed kindness to a little slave boy who had thought she was an angel? That despite her opposition to all his master and the Sith intended to achieve, the thought of her death rended his heart in two? He could barely even believe he was that boy most days; how could she possibly believe it? How could he reveal to her the monster that boy that had once risked his life to help her had become? Even if he had wanted to, he would not have been able to find the words. So he said nothing, focusing on the pain and the heady faintness so that he wouldn't have to think of her disappointment reverberating in the Force.

“Alright,” she sighed. “If you don't want to tell me, that's your choice. But whatever your reasons, you still saved my life. I'm not about to repay you by abandoning you. We're both getting away from here. Together.”

She spoke so fiercely that despite the pain from his wound, despite the blackness that threatened to encroach upon his vision every time he shifted, he could almost believe her. It was foolish, the kind of naïve idea he had once believed with all his heart, and a habit that his master had taken great pains to break him of. And yet— And yet, he wanted... He wanted— Padmé squeezed his hand tight. Though small, her grip was strong and steady, and her eyes shone with a fierce light.

“You saved me. Now I'm going to save you. No matter what.”

[txemrn]

The Missionary's Daughter

Ch. 1: "Meant to Live"

Need to catch up? Prologue: "It's Over"

Chapter Song Inspo: "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot

Series Song Inspo: "Changed by You" by Between the Trees

Pairings: Drake Walker x OC (Margot Hughes); Liam Rys x Riley Brooks

Series Warning: 🛑 for mature audiences only (🔞); series contains angst, language, NSFW🍋 material; trigger warning: heavy discussion/depiction of drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, religion, mental health; please be advised and exercise discretion

A/N: When I say that this took a village, it would be the understatement of the century! Huuuuuuuuge thank you to all of my amazing sweet writing sisters that encouraged me and helped me pull this together, but especially to @charlotteg234 for brainstorming and mapping this out with me, @kat-tia801 for doing the same, but then having to deal with me incessantly asking, "Does this sound right?" and @chemist-ana FOR GIFITNG ME MY FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD! It's SO beautiful, and it literally puts me in the mood to write about my Druggy Drake and Margot! Thank you so, so much, friend! Most of the characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry.

A palpable crackle ignites the sterile air of the staff locker room. To say she was ‘nervous’ is a painfully severe understatement to the jitters that spark from her fingertips. But, rather than dance chaotically like cut wires on pavement, she is lightning, mesmerizing, lighting up the sky with excitement and power.

***

Dressing for another Monday morning at her weekly volunteer job at the prestigious Cordonia Family OB/GYN, Margot Hughes swiftly shimmies a monogrammed ceil blue scrub top down her curves. Pulling her brilliant strands of autumn harvest into a high bun, she slips on her work clogs while nudging her locker closed with her knee.

Before leaving the changing area, she catches her visage in the mirror, the unflattering fluorescent lights casting more shadows onto her worried features. She can feel the rumble of her rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears; her chest constricts tightly as her breathing becomes shallow. Her eyes begin to sting with fear as the whites burn red, threatening with a glaze of tears.

Today is the day her entire life will change; everything she has ever wanted, everything that she has ever worked for will suddenly determine the course of her future in a single moment. Seeing the all-too-familiar terror in her eyes, Margot flutters her eyelids shut. Her fingers nervously trace along a simple chain around her neck until they finally grasp tightly to a dainty sterling silver charm: a cross.

“Take my anxieties, Lord,” she whispers with prayerful conviction, her sparkling blue eyes gracefully opening to look at her necklace. She exhales deeply. “Your will be done.” Margot stares at her reflection for a few more moments, focusing on her breathing to calm her restless heart. “You are strong, Margot. You've got this,” she affirms herself in a hushed tone, a bright smile breaking across her face. “This is your day--" suddenly overwhelmed with peace, a joyous smile paints across her face. Chuckling to herself, she glances upwards: “I'm counting on You.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, she eagerly exits the stillness of her thoughts, and joins the bustle of the morning's clinic appointments. Today is her day.

***

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

It’s her. His love.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Had she told Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

---

Pulling out a pen, Margot reaches across the counter to grab a patient’s clipboard--that is until Iris, the front desk manager grips her long, manicured nails to the other side of the particle wood. “Miss Mary-Margaret,” she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “do we know anything yet?” Margot chuckles, shaking her head. ���Child, you better come find me the moment you know!”

“Only if you promise to start calling me ‘Margot’” the young blonde jests, opening her client’s chart.

“How about I start calling you what we’ll all be calling you in just a few short years: ‘doctor’?” Rosy pink swirls splash across Margot’s face, warming her cheeks to the touch. She bows her head coyly at the mention of her dream becoming a reality. The thought that she will soon find out if a medical career is in her future makes the twenty-one-year-old’s heart leap with unbridled excitement.

For as long as she can remember, Margot has had a strong desire to serve and help other people. Much of that selfless attitude was instilled into her heart by her own parents. They were called to be Christian missionaries when Margot was only eight years old. After much planning, church fund-raising, and prayer, Roy and Mary Hughes left their comfortable home of Lafayette, Louisiana, and settled in the small Mediterranean country of Cordonia.

Many of their friends and family were shocked that the church would send them to such a beautiful area of the world. Typically missionaries humble themselves to serve the needy, the homeless, the lonely and the sick. They sacrifice the luxuries of home for the sake of loving humanity. They help people in war-torn countries, third-world countries, countries that don’t have electricity or running water. But, this country?

Cordonia itself is a lavish nation, rich in heritage and traditions. And funds. Thanks to the ideal weather conditions, the fruitful soil produces bountiful harvests and exquisite supplies for fine textiles that remain in high demand throughout the world. The Cordonian government, a monarchy, discovered a new opportunity to expand their wealth in the late 19th century: costly tariffs to international investors. Within the first ten years of increasing the taxes on exports, the national treasury was not only in the black, but their funds had exponentially increased every year. Farms were flourishing as the working class became larger, stronger.

But, the treasury began to dwindle quickly due to the extravagant demands of the royals. For the first time in the country's history, commoners were wealthier than some of the nobility. Disdain from the upper class quickly ensued until finally, in the early 20th century under the rule of William I, a new tax law was implemented to all of Cordonia: anyone involved with international exchange would have to pay into the treasury to handle such business.

Unfortunately, there were no limitations to this new tax law, and many farms floundered, property ownership being seized by the government. Families were uprooted; jobs were lost, and worse, assets were sold for even more money, filling the pockets of the greedy leaders. The people that once had a plethora of goods at their fingertips were now starving and unsheltered. And vengeful. The Cordonians were outraged by the gouging, many of them forming violent riots, banding together with outside influencers in hopes of overthrowing the government.

On the cusp of a civil war, King William I decided to rezone the country, providing a place for the displaced working class to claim safety and sanctuary, a place that would offer shelter, education, and more affordable options for goods. To appease the people even more, he named the project ‘the Core,’ paying homage to their greatest export, the Cordonian Ruby. It was also a way for him to forever express his gratitude for such a fruitful nation: they were the core reason the nation was thriving so richly.

Like many government-assisted programs, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show in the infrastructure. And with funding cuts over the years, the Core began to crumble, striking a sharp contrast from the rest of Cordonia. The Core, now often referred to as ‘the slums’, have become a breeding ground for crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is the blemish of Cordonia, its existence often not acknowledged amongst the elite.

But, according to the Hughes, ‘God saw the need’. They were sent to serve in the slums of Cordonia, starting up several free programs, including a nightly soup kitchen, afterschool programs to keep children out of trouble, and trade classes to help adults out of poverty. The people accepted the help and adapted quickly to the missionaries; but even more importantly, they embraced these Americans as their own, many of them forming important and lasting relationships with the Hughes.

But, still there was something missing, something that burdened the missionary’s oldest daughter: healthcare. Having good health and access to a doctor is still treated as a privilege in Cordonia, and time and time again, the curable were disabled or buried. A change needed to take place. And Margot, although unsure of how, knew she would devote her life in making it happen for the Cordonian people.

As she makes a few notes on her clipboard, an olive-complected arm stealthily reaches around Margot, gracefully grazing her sun-kissed skin before gently placing a cup of piping hot black coffee in front of her. Staring at the hand, she instantly knows who it is. And she titters, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tadd! Another coffee?” She grabs the coffee, twirling on the ball of her foot to face the clinic’s young ultrasound technician. "My tab must be over a hundred euros by now!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he chuckles, rocking on his feet. “Plus, I figured with your new gig at Bríki--” he jovially shrugs his shoulders.

“You figured what?” Margot playfully punches his shoulder. “That I could sneak you free coffee?” She gives a mischievous smile, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mr. Pavlis would appreciate me offering free drinks, especially since I haven’t even started yet--”

“That’s right!” Tadd eyes widen. “Today’s the day--!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to be nervous about today,” Margot’s voice becomes shaky, as she clenches her teeth in a forced smile.

“Hey,” Tadd’s voice turns into an endearing whisper. He shifts his head until his piercing jade eyes meet Margot’s baby blues. “You have nothing to worry about. We both know you did well on that American doctor test--"

"The MCAT," Margot stifles a laugh, rolling her eyes into an appreciative grin.

"Whatever," a crooked smile grows across Tadd's handsome features. "And as far as the coffee shop, you're a fast learner. And a hard worker. Plus, if they see what we all see in you--" he sighs, his gaze never breaking free from hers, "-- they're going to love you."

Margot looks down at her feet, hugging her clipboard tightly to her chest. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, she coyly looks back up at her dear friend. "Thanks, Tadd."

After a few silent moments of staring at each other, Tadd clears his throat. "So, um--" he starts, "have you heard anything yet? About the test?" Tadd changes the subject. Margot shakes her head as she takes a pull from her coffee. "Well, when you do, um, maybe we could, I mean, I thought we could--"

Suddenly an intercom buzzes overhead. "Thaddeus to exam room four. Thaddeus to exam room four."

Tadd furrows his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling before resting a kind half-smile back on Margot. "Duty calls," he nervously sighs as he bounds down the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he spins around to face Margot. "Hey, um, come find me! Before you leave at noon!" He finger-guns the air before returning to his pursuit.

Margot awkwardly finger-guns him back before smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Seriously, Margot?" she mutters to herself, turning her attention back to the central desk of the clinic; however, she realizes quickly that the attention is all on her.

"When are you two going to make it official, Miss Mary-Margaret?" Iris chokes in the midst of her belly laughs, nodding with other scrub-adorned coworkers.

Biting her bottom lip feeling her heart flutter, Margot straightens out her demeanor, becoming stoic. "I--I don't know what you're talking about--"

"Margot, isn't it obvious?" Chimes in a jolly intake nurse. "That boy loves you--!"

"Who? Tadd?" Margot feigns innocence. She fixes her attention to the chart as she scribbles down more notes. "It's not like that--I mean, we're not, um--" she sighs. "We're just friends--" An instant roar of laughter abrupts from the reception desk, making it impossible for Margot to hide her toothy-smile paired with her scrunched up nose.

"You say that now, baby girl--"

"That's right," chimes in another giggling co-worker, "friends for now!"

An older plump nurse places a tender hand on Margot’s hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Some of the best relationships come from friendships, moró. Give it time. Let the love grow," she winks at Margot.

Margot fidgets with her pen, delicately licking her bottom lip. She then tries to form words with her mouth, but no sound is heard. Her pink cheeks reveal she is flustered. She quickly closes up the chart, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. "Have a good day, ladies."

Hearing the squeals of her coworkers diminishing behind her, Margot quickly escapes into an empty exam room. Closing the door behind her, she leans against it, looking up at the textured ceiling tiles. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach bouncing through to her heart as her legs wiggle with weakness like gelatin.

The idea of 'falling in love' excites Margot, an idea she has dreamed about ever since she saw Baby meet Johnny. But, so far in her young life, she has never experienced it first hand, let alone a romantic hand- hold. Was this love? All she knew for sure was today was not the day to figure it out.

***

As soon as Riley’s name escapes his breathless moans of ecstasy, a searing sharp pain instantly ignites around his hardened girth. And Drake sees red.

"Fuck!" He lets out a guttural roar until no sound comes out of his mouth. He gnashes his teeth, trying to breathe through the agony, but only froths at the corners of his lips. The veins in his neck and his forehead protrude violently as streams of tears roll down his face. Petrified to move, his face turns a deep ruddy color. Before turning violet.

A sudden sensation of relief washes over him as the stabbing sensation fades to throbbing. Drake nervously looks down at his softening cock, relieved to see his member in one piece. "Goddamnit, Brooks," he pants furiously, "you fucking bit me--"

The brunette quickly tosses her curls out of her eyesight right before her fist meets Drake's jaw. "Oh, shit!" The cracking of the joints in his face echoes around the room. Drake starts to gently massage his chin. "You're not Riley--"

She climbs off of his body, standing her naked body in front of him. "No shit, Sherlock!" She slinks her short black spaghetti-strap dress over her dangerous curves before hastily grabbing her clear platform heels and racing out the door. "Fuck you, Drake Walker!"

***

A heartless, cocky laugh pours over the phone speaker. "Shit, Walker. Just--" the baritone voice trails back into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, Leo--" Drake warns, accidentally shifting his weight in bed, stirring a soreness to his recent injuries. "Ow!” he sucks air quickly between his gritted teeth, “fuck!" he whimpers to himself, adjusting the cold packs on his genitals.

"But you actually called her a different name, bro. A different name! With her mouth on your salami, your pocket rocket, on your--on your anaconda--" Leo's words fade back into cackles.

"As if you remember every goddamn hook-up’s name--"

"Dude," Leo interrupts, "if she's going to go all hungry, hungry hippo mid-blowie, I'm going to remember her name."

Drake scoffs. "Bullshit--"

"What? I'm serious, bro" Leo's voice becomes sincere. "All of these bitches we meet are looking for one thing--" he pauses dramatically for his wounded friend to finish his sentence; but the silence proves Drake is clueless as to where Leo was going with this. "A connection, Walker!" Leo's voice drips with conviction. "These women don't want to feel like they're disposable, even though--" he chuckles to himself, “let’s be honest: we’re doing them a favor--”

"--’A connection’, Leo" Drake interrupts, urging the conversation back on track.

"Right! ‘A connection," reaffirms Leo, circling back to his point. "Now, okay,” he knowingly titters, “I can’t remember all of these names--”

“Ha! See?” Drake barks.

“--Which is why--” Leo enunciates over Drake, “I use a single pet name. ‘Girl’.”

"'Girl'? That’s your trick? You call them 'girl'?" Drake raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Hear me out,” Leo continues. “If you call them something like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’, it can be seen as patronizing, that you’re clearly looking to smooth-talk your way into their pants--” Drake rolls his eyes, moving the phone to his other ear “--but now, calling them ‘girl’, I’m showing I want to be a friend, that I just simply want to connect. And then when you’re having your way with her, call her whatever the fuck you want as long as you finish the name with ‘girl’. Good girl. Dirty girl. Naughty girl. Sweet girl. Or in your case, hungry girl--”

Drake clears his throat, stifling a laugh. “--That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard--”

“Hey!” Leo interjects. “Who is wearing a bag of frozen peas on his one-eyed trouser snake?”

“Touché,” Drake sighs. “So, where are you right now?”

“With Jason up at his shop.”

“Who?” Drake lets out yawn, looking at his bedside alarm clock.

“Shit, Walker, you really were fucked up last night," Leo sighs. "Jason. You met him last night.” Leo’s voice lowers into a whisper. “He helped you get fucked up last night.”

“Oh! Right, right,” Drake rubs his head, “that was--wow, that shit was--”

“Good, right?” Leo finishes. “Hey, come join us at his shop. We’ve got coffee, and he’s got some new, um, product he’d love to show you--”

“Oh, Leo, I don’t know--” Drake removes the melting bag of vegetables from his lap. Gently lifting up on the waistband of his boxers, carefully inspecting his bruised parts.

“Does Liam have you working today?”

“No, no, it’s not that--” Drake hesitates.

“Oh!” Leo knowingly exclaims. “Does Riley have you working today?” He begins to chuckle. “You might need to let her know that you’re currently indisposed for --”

“Leo--” Drake warns.

“Then what's the hold up?"

Drake glances over at the mirror affixed to his antique dresser, but he doesn't recognize his own reflection. There's an emptiness in eyes, an inexplicable turmoil overcoming the man he once was. How did everything get so complicated? How did he get to such a place that it's better to be absent in life than to live it?

She was just a friend--at least that's what he convinced himself when Riley Brooks first caught his eye. Beautiful. Extremely witty with a fight he had never seen before. When they first kissed, he swore it was a mistake. Hormones. It had been so long since he had touched the delicate petals of a woman's lips.

But, this wasn't just any woman. It was her. And he soon would find himself wrapped up in her bedsheets, wrapped around her finger, wrapped in an awful web of lies.

And, all of his transgressions were against him, his very best friend, the man he regards as closer than a brother, his closest ally and confidant. Normally, Drake would turn to Liam in a heartbeat with any troubles, but this? How could he? How could he talk to Liam about his own devastation when the truth would devastate Liam?

It's been four days since that fateful night of Liam's coronation, four days since the love of Drake's life walked away from him, forcing his hand into harboring secrets from the crowned prince. It's been four days since Drake heard his own voice in his head, four days since he's been sober enough to even think. Even though he deemed the temporary escape necessary, the sudden twinge of discomfort in his groin makes him realize that taking another hit right now is the absolute last thing he needs.

"I think I better stay put," Drake answers, combing his fingers through his disheveled tresses.

"Suit yourself," Leo jovially retorts. "If you need any oxy for your boo-boo, hit me up--Oh, and Drake?"

“Hrmmm?”

"Her name is Whitney."

"What?"

"Jaws? You know, the bitch who chewed on your Moby Dick?" Drake sighs heavily, regretting that he ever told Leo what had happened. "Her name is Whitney."

Drake furrows his eyebrows. "Now, how do you remember her name--?"

"Oh, bro, you don't forget WAP Whitney--oh shit, you probably haven't gotten a good look at your sheets this morning, have you?"

With a grunt, Drake ends the call. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He carefully gets up, waddling to grab his clothes before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

In the middle of splashing his face with cold, soapy water, Drake's phone rings. Grabbing a hand towel he carefully saunters back to his room, answering the call without hesitation. "Just let it go, Leo--”

"Drake?"

An icy chill shoots down Drake’s spine, freezing him in his steps. He knows that melodic voice anywhere, a voice that reminds him of early morning sunrises and late night silver moonlit paths. “H-hey, Riley,” he stutters, caught off guard. A brief awkward stillness falls over the conversation. “How are you--?”

“I miss you, Drake,” she interrupts.

Drake’s vision suddenly begins to spin as the air in the room becomes stagnant. Stiffening his bottom lip in anger, his breathing quickens as he reaches out carefully to brace himself against the wall.

“Drake?”

“I’m here,” he chokes out. “What do you want, Brooks?” He can hear the tears in her voice, but he wills himself not to care, he wills himself to not even ask.

“Drake, I think I made a mistake--”

“No,” Drake barks out, “no, you can’t do this to me--”

“Drake, please,” Riley sobs, “I’m on my way to the doctor--”

“The doctor?” Drake’s tone suddenly changes. “Are you okay? Is everything with--um, you know--” he slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand, “--okay?”

“Yes--” she sniffles, “--no. I just, I can’t do this alone, Drake. I can’t do this--”

“Riley--” he roughly says her name to grab her attention, “you made your decision: you chose Liam. You want to raise our baby--my baby with him--”

“Don’t you think I want to have this baby with you? That’s all I can even think about Drake,” she takes a moment to calm down her shaking voice. “I love you, Drake. I want a life with you. I want you to be there when this baby is born, when this baby needs his or her father--when this baby needs you--”

“Riley--” Drake exhales with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, “--but Liam--”

“I know, Drake. I know--” Riley takes a deep breath, “Can we just talk? In person? Just so we can figure this out? I can come over there--”

“Brooks, I--” Drake stumbles over his words as he runs his fingers over his coarse, overgrown stubble. Of course, he wants her to come over. And to stay. But, has anything changed? Liam just proposed, and she made it clear what her intentions were. But, still, it’s possible she had a change of heart, and this was a second chance he may never get again. He sighs heavily. “Sure. Okay."

After finishing his impromptu conversation with Riley, Drake realizes he needs to make another phone call. He scrolls through his call history, and clicks the green send button.

"Did you change your mind, Evander Holyfield?"

"Funny, Leo," Drake sarcastically responds. "So, yeah, um, what's the address to the shop?"

***

“Does that--does that say what I think it says?” Margot nervously stammers. "I think I saw my score--oh gosh!"

“Here. Let me look--”

Margot quickly covers the computer screen with her hands, "No, Mrs. Iris!” Margot squeals. “I’m not ready--I’m not ready for this!”

“Child, you have been ready for this for months. Now, if you don’t get your hands out of the way--"

"What's with all the commotion?" A few technicians and nurses pile into the room, each giving an endearing rub to Margot’s back. Everyone begins craning their necks to see the computer, covered by Margot's arms. "Is it time? Have they posted the scores?"

"They sure have!" answers Iris before turning to Margot. She tucks several blonde wisps behind Margot’s ear before putting her finger under her chin. "C'mon, baby," she smiles encouragingly, "it's more fun celebrating than worrying."

"I'm--" Margot takes a deep breath, biting back her tears, "--I'm so scared--"

"--and the Lord knew you would be, baby." Iris wrinkles her nose at Margot, her voice becoming stronger. "That's why He called you to be courageous. C'mon."

Margot bites her lip, slowly nodding her head. Feeling the storm brew in her eyes as the weight of the world sits on her chest, she carefully peels back her hands. Her eyes scale the black and white on the screen, but nothing seems to make sense. A burst of silence overwhelms her hearing, time standing perfectly still. Her only company is the beating of her heart.

Take my anxieties...

You have nothing to worry about…

Your will be done…

Be courageous...

Like suddenly breaking through the surface for air, an abrupt roar of cheers fill the room, shaking Margot from her trance. "Our baby girl got a 519!" screams a tearful Iris, pulling Margot from her seat and into a tight embrace. Other coworkers join in, creating a giant group hug.

Margot remains speechless, shocked by her score. She always knew she was an excellent student, studying hard all through school and excelling in her classes. When it came to the MCAT, she was confident she would score better than average, a score of 500. But, to even be noticed by top medical schools, she needed to score in the top 5%, a score 517 or greater.

News swept like wildfire through the clinic, and shortly thereafter, Tadd and some other technicians filed into the breakroom with a decorative chocolate cake and punch in tow. "I knew you could do it!" Tadd cheers victoriously, offering a chaste hug to Margot. "Dr. Hughes," he swipes his hand in the air as if to paint an imaginary portrait. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I still don't understand why you put yourself through all of that," mentions an older phlebotomist. "Cordonia has a medical school right down the road--"

"Because Margot wants to go to one of the best medical schools in the world," interrupts a deeply demanding, yet sincere voice. “To Harvard. Like me.”

"Dr. Ramirez," Margot smiles brightly, jumping up to greet her mentor with a hug.

"That is, you are still looking at my alma mater for medical school--"

"Yes ma'am!" Margot's eyes light up with the thought that her dream of going to Harvard Medical School is becoming her reality. "It would be such an honor to go there, let alone to follow in your footsteps."

Dr. Ramirez pulls Margot in for another tight hug. "My word, Mary-Margaret, 519?" she presses her cheek to Margot's, "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," Margot warmly responds, "thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me so much with my studies and research--"

"You know I did that for selfish reasons, right?" The practitioner stifles a smile while Margot squints her eyes with suspicion. "Cordonia needs more female physicians, and more importantly, physicians that will make a difference in its healthcare," she grips tightly to Margot’s hand, "for everyone. I believe you will lead this country in a health care reformation."

"I don't know what to say," Margot clears her throat as she fights back the tears. "I hope I make you proud--"

"You already do." Dr. Ramirez gently touches Margot's cheek lovingly before turning to exit the room.

"Oh!" Margot quickly chases after the obstetrician, “can I talk to you? Privately?” With a nod, Dr. Ramirez leads Margot into a quiet corner. “I know my work-study ends in two weeks--”

“I know. Don’t remind me, Margot--”

“Well, I was wondering,” Margot chews on the side of her mouth, fidgeting with her fingers, “if by any chance I could possibly stay on?”

“Oh, Margot, I wish I could. Unfortunately with budget cuts--”

Margot shakes her head. “No, no, Dr. Ramirez, I meant if I could stay on, shadowing my usual Monday and Thursday mornings, I mean, if that’s alright. Learn more? Keep up my skills?”

“You want to continue volunteering with us?” The doctor gives an inquisitive look. “Don’t you want to get a job to earn money before you move to the states next year?”

“I already got that covered,” Margot assuredly answers. “I just got a job at Bríki, the coffee shop past the square--”

“Oh my gosh,” Dr. Ramirez’s eyes light up. “Does Aleksi still own that place?”

“Mr. Pavlis? Yes! Him and his son run it together, I believe--”

“They have the best coffee,” she energetically smiles, “now I have another reason to stop by.” She kindly places her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Of course, you can stay on as a volunteer. Whenever you want, however much you want. It is a pleasure to have you around.” With a squeeze of her arm, Dr. Ramirez turns to go to her next appointment, but stops halfway down the hall. “Oh, Margot? My nurse stepped away to make an important phone call. Do you mind escorting my next patient to the exam room?”

Margot dutifully nods with a grin. She twirls around, bounding for the front desk to grab the chart of Dr. Ramirez’s next patient, a new patient. After making a few small notes, Margot opens the door to call her back.

“Brooks? Riley Brooks?”

*****

Tags: (this is my original tag list for this series; if you wanted to be added or removed, please let me know!) @alyssalauren @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovingchoices14 @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @sweatyrysconnoisseur @taniasethi @tessa-liam @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @thegreentwin @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

[happi-tree]

Sixteen

Hello, lovebirds! Here’s a bit of fic that I wrote inspired by @shima-draws‘ BNHA Distortion Link AU from Nexus’ POV! Check out her blog for more info about it. I’ll put the fic under a read more, so continue on if you’re interested! TW for blood and vague, semi-graphic descriptions of corpses.

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when his world is ripped out from underneath his feet. 

He awakens to silence - not the peaceful quiet of early mornings that he has become long accustomed to, but to a sheer and utter absence of sound. Not a whisper of birdsong, not a single utterance of cacophony caused by the morning commute traffic in Musutafu. The quiet is eerie, anticipatory, waiting to be shattered, and Izuku gets the distinct feeling that he’s the final character in some horror flick. 

His alarm clock blares “The morning is here!” again in a robotic facsimile of All Might’s voice. Izuku startles, badly, slamming his hand down on the alarm to silence it. A breeze outside grows in intensity, slamming into the walls. The ticking of clocks, the groaning of a house in its death throes, and the rushing of blood in Izuku’s ears are the only sounds now. 

Something is very wrong.

Izuku picks his way across the room to his window, lifting the blinds, and nearly retches at what he sees.

The streets aren’t clogged with cars or buses; the sidewalks are vacant of pedestrians. Instead, the concrete is dyed red with blood, puddles of it seeping into potholes, into gutters. Bodies, for as long as the eye can see, line the walkways and the asphalt at irregular intervals, their eyes unseeing, their mouths open in shock, their forms contorted and still in pools of burgundy-ebony. Newly deceased, the analytic, detached part of Izuku’s brain observes, noting the absence of stench and lack of buzzing flies. 

As much as Izuku desperately wants this to be some horrible nightmare, he knows deep in his bones that this is all too terribly real.

And then he looks up.

Up to the sky, where his fated enemy is silhouetted against the soot-stained crimson of dawn, wreathed in clouds of smoke like the angel of death incarnate. But Izuku knows that this man is far from angelic - there is no mercy in these deaths, no just judgement present in any fiber in his body as he hovers, gloatingly, backlit by the red-orange sun. 

All for One, in all his age, has never been a creature of compassion.

With the taste of bile and ash in his mouth, Izuku frantically grabs his hoodie from where it lays across the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. Throwing open his closet door, he pulls on the boots of his Hero costume, barely managing to fumble their laces into a proper knot and swiping his gloves from where they sit draped over his tool belt. 

One for All rockets to the surface of his skin within milliseconds, his racing heartbeat and heightened anxiety calling the Quirk to activation in record time, and Izuku breaks down the front door of his house, sprinting into the streets of the world on its final day with eight souls singing across the lightning in his veins.

It is not enough.

-

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when he opens his eyes to the Beyond for the first time. 

The confusion only lasts for a few moments before memories - billions of them, thoughts that are not his, were never meant to be his - shove themselves into his still-growing mind, flooding his neurons until they threaten to combust. All at once, Izuku knows where he is. Izuku knows what happened to his world; rather, the world that was once his.

Now, Izuku knows everything, and it is with absolute, mind-numbing certainty that he knows that his universe is gone.

He is the sole survivor, the lone occupant of this plane of in-betweens, where both nothing and everything is real. He feels at once impossibly heavy and weightless, power sitting leaden in his bloodstream, pulsating in time with his paradoxically-beating heart, countless lives weighted and compressed upon his mind, their taste like copper on his tongue. 

Tears flow freely from his eyes, saline globules suspended in the not-air of the Beyond as he weeps and as he feels. Seven billion lifetimes of emotions flash through his mind’s eye like an old film reel, impossibly fast, impossibly hard to differentiate. Love and heartbreak and joy and sorrow and anger and contentment and longing and desperation and too many other feelings to name overcome him, and Izuku cries out, his strangled voice the only sound amidst the deep shifting colors of the void, utterly human and utterly alone. 

Even heroes need to cry, sometimes, Todoroki’s voice seems to whisper to him, and Izuku’s body wrenches with the force of his sobbing, clinging to himself and wishing beyond anything for the phantom comfort of a friendly hand upon his shoulders. 

How can I ever call myself a Hero when I failed my entire universe?

After a time - perhaps seconds, perhaps centuries - Izuku’s cries pitter out, and he straightens enough that his feet find contact with something solid. Opening his eyes once more, he finds that his tears, spheres of liquified crystal, lay suspended across the not-space, twinkling like so many stars. For all the pain that they had caused him, Izuku finds beauty in their sorrow, trying not to tear up again as he thinks of the shifting constellations of his homeland, their lights forever extinguished. 

The memories threaten to overturn his mind again, but Izuku holds firm, pushes past the grief and the sorrow. He is the sole occupant of the Beyond, the Nexus, a realm that oversees every universe, every timeline. The weight of countless worlds rests on his shoulders now, and Izuku cannot allow himself to crumble beneath it any longer. Infinite power - so much that the feeble, human part of his mind can scarcely begin to comprehend its beginning or its end - resides in his soul, stitched into the fabric of his being. 

<If I could not be the Hero my own world needed,> Izuku speaks into the void, curling his hands into fists, <maybe I can be the Hero that the rest of them deserve.>

So many lives are in need of protection, in need of saving. And now, here I am, with the power to look after every single one of them. What kind of Hero would I be if I didn’t use this power to help them? For the first time in a long time, Izuku laughs - a hollow, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

<Plus ultra.> Izuku says to the unspeaking, unblinking void. He cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and then gets to work overseeing the multiverse. 

-

Midoriya Izuku is still 16 years old when he feels the first disturbance in the Beyond. 

The new presence feels scarcely like a blip on his radar, as quick and meaningless as the blink of an eye. But after centuries and centuries of absolutely nothing, a spark of excitement - an emotion almost foreign to him, now - makes itself known in the cavity of his chest, bright and white-hot. Alongside it, an equally strange feeling: hope. 

The fabric of the Beyond bends itself around him, malleable and fluid as it bows to his whims and carries him to the source of the disturbance.

Izuku watches as a corner of his world blurs green. A figure, human, falling endlessly, glitching in and out between this plane and the one to which they belong. Reaching out with his mind, Izuku nearly reels back in shock with what he discovers.

Because the figure trapped between realms is him.

Well, one of him, Izuku should say. Across the multiverse are countless Midoriya Izukus. For whatever reason, this one seems to have gotten himself into a bit of trouble.

A constant for all Izukus, getting into trouble, he muses as his other semi-conscious self falls infinitely. 

Probing further, it looks like this particular Izuku is from a world quite similar to his own. Time slows, solid in his grasp, to allow him to decipher the teal of his Hero outfit, bits of blood scattered across his freckles from a previous fight. Clearly, this Izuku had no intention of coming here, and is likely feeling very out of sorts. How he got here in the first place is a wonder, but not for long.

Memories of his double flash through his mind. The patrol assignment. Uraraka, Todoroki, Ojirou, Shigaraki, Kurogiri’s faces come to mind in consecutive flashes, and his knees nearly buckle at the sight of their familiarity. One for All activating in tandem with Kurogiri’s portal, disturbingly reminiscent of the moment that ripped the fabric of his homeland apart.

Ah, there it is.

Izuku’s power comes to grasp the connection tethering his doppelgänger to the Beyond, and he hears a gasp. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. Not that Izuku has ever seen this happen before, but he has the sinking feeling that shoving his other self back into his own universe will not erase the connection entirely. There’s something wild about it, unstable. Dangerous.

Izuku walks closer to his double’s side, time grinding to a halt.

<I’m sorry for this, but you’ll likely see more of me,> he says to himself, taking in the other Izuku’s gaping expression and wide eyes, imprinting the familiar lines of his Hero suit into his vision alongside the spattering of freckles and the smears of dirt. 

<For now, though, I’ll try to get you home. You’re doing so well, you know. I’ve been watching.>

Gently, Izuku presses a fingertip to his doppelgänger’s forehead and watches as he reappears through the tear into his own timeline.

A universe away, provisional Hero Deku returns to his friends with shaking hands, a phantom warmth between his brows, and an odd feeling of recognition in his chest.

-

Nexus is 16 years old when he sees the sky again for the first time in millennia. 

[icanshouyoutheworld]

For my request, can you write a one-shot featuring Toshinko in a Little Mermaid AU please? You can decide on their roles and if you want to include other bnha characters in the AU. What do you think?

Hi! I know this might be a little different to what you had in mind, it does deviate from the original plot a little, but the ending of this oneshot was a picture I just couldn’t get out of my head and I thought it would be really nice to write

I hope you enjoy it anyways! :)

Word count: 2.7k

The first time she saw him, she thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was also the only man, human man, she’d ever seen. Humans really were the strangest things. But she was fascinated by him, fascinated by his legs. Not only were they so very interesting to look at after having been surrounded by other merpeople her whole life, but they were so long and strong and carried him with purpose. 

Prince Toshinori, that was his name. The humans were celebrating his birthday, firing bright explosions of light into the sky. It was beautiful. Inko wanted to stay with her head out of water watching the sky above forever, she wanted to watch the human prince on the deck of his ship forever. There was just something about it, something she couldn’t quite place. She was drawn to him not only out of curiosity, but something more that pulled in her stomach and made her heart fill with light. 

But the splendor didn’t last.

The sky rumbled like gods clashing, the clouds turned a deep, murky, grey and water began to cascade from above. Lightning flashed around the ship, illuminating it in a frightening glow before it suddenly burst into flames. 

Inko’s heart was pounding in her chest, she’d never seen anything like it. She didn’t know whether to help, whether she could help, or whether to swim away and leave them to their fates. The ocean would not be kind to humans, but that was not something she could change. 

“Put the fire out!” She heard someone yell, but it was too late. The boat careened to the side and crashed into a large outcropping of rocks with a terrible crash. Inko gasped and swam backwards out of instinct, trying to avoid the falling rubble, the splintering planks and the prince’s heavy gifts splashing into the water below. 

Where was the prince? Inko thought, panicked. She craned her neck out of the waves, desperate to try and glimpse him, confident that in the commotion no one would think to notice her. 

People were lowering smaller boats into the water, and Inko watched as they swayed and shuddered, as people lowered themselves down into them and began to row away to the safety of shore. But the prince wasn’t there. Frantically, she looked for him, wishing she had legs so that she could climb up and see for herself, when she heard him shout. She wasn’t sure what he said, his voice was drowned out by the crashing of the waves, the lightning, the thunder, it was terrifying to watch and Inko felt utterly helpless.

She watched as the prince grappled to save people, rushing them all to the boats before himself. Whilst she admired his selflessness she couldn’t help the fright rising up in her as the final boat began to lower and the prince ran back into the flames crying out that there was still someone trapped inside. 

The prince reemerged, not with a person at all, but with a hairy, four-legged creature. He carried it in his arms as it panted and whined in distress, and Inko allowed herself to feel relieved as he lowered it into the last boat. His blonde hair was sooty and ash-covered and fell into his eyes as he leaned over. The people in the boat below raised their arms to take the animal and then did the same for their prince.

“Oh, thank you,” Inko sighed, her hand on her chest. Thankful that the crew, the prince, would all get out alive.

That was when the boat exploded. 

Inko was thrown back under the water with the sheer force of it, the resounding boom echoing in her ears even when the ocean rushed back over her head to mute and muffle the sound. 

Before she could even register what she was doing, she was swimming frantically towards where the prince’s body had plummeted into the sea. Even in the violence of the storm, she was still a strong and confident swimmer. It was in her blood, it was who she was, and she could fight the sea on equal terms. Or at least it felt that way, with the adrenaline coursing through her.

Inko spotted the prince’s body and sped up as fast as she could, racing to get to him, desperate to get him to the surface before it was too late. She opened her arms as she grew nearer, frightened by how limp he was as she wrapped her arms around his waist as best she could and began to haul him upwards. 

It was so dark she could barely see him, there was no light in the sky, and she felt it was a miracle she’d managed to spot him. Even the vibrant glow of his hair had been dulled. He didn’t belong in these stormy waters. 

The prince was so much taller up close, his body felt like it was twice the length of hers and, if it wasn’t for the adrenaline, Inko wasn’t sure that she’d have been able to carry him to safety. But she managed. Gasping and heaving, she broke the surface; he didn’t stir. 

He didn’t stir when they reached land, either, when she lay him down on the damp sand of the beach. 

“Please,” Inko whispered, placing a hand on his cheek when his head lolled to the side. “Come on.”

And, like a miracle, he spluttered awake. He coughed, spat up sea water, and then took in his surroundings. Inko sighed, laughed, and beamed straight at him when he turned to look straight at her, forgetting for a moment that she didn’t belong on land with him.

“Who are you?” The prince asked, sounding gravelly and a little awestruck. His hair had been flattened by the ocean and it was stuck to his face in strings. Inko watched the water droplets roll off his skin again and again, only to be replaced with raindrops from the quieting storm. She was beginning to feel a little breathless, and with a jolt she realised it wasn’t because of him.

Her father was going to kill her. If the surface didn’t take her first, that was. 

Inko, wide-eyed, didn’t answer the prince. Instead, she dived back into the water and left him to his confusion. She’d shown him too much. She’d gotten too entranced by him. Her father had told her time and time again not to show herself to humans, not to go anywhere near the surface. It wasn’t like she listened most of the time anyways, but still. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this might have been too far.

She also couldn’t shake the prince’s beautiful eyes from her mind, his voice, his face, his hair. The way he’d felt in her arms. 

She needed to see him again.

The second time she saw him, she was human. Or thereabouts. Though she’s mute, having traded her voice to the witch Toga for her legs. Inko considers it a fair trade. 

She hasn’t been able to keep her mind off the prince since she saw him on the boat, since she rescued him. But it had been one thing to keep him in her mind, and quite another entirely to be standing on human legs before him.

“Hello,” the prince said, looking a little startled to have found her here. Inko was wrapped in the fabric from a sail that had been scrambled in the shipwreck on the rocks, she’s vaguely aware that this wasn’t what most humans probably did for clothing but she reckoned it couldn’t be a far cry.

Inko opened her mouth to reply, she wanted to tell him anything and everything. She wanted to tell him how lovely she found him, she wanted to ask if he recognised her. Though she could make no sound. Ah. This would be far harder than she thought it would be. Her chest was bursting with all the unspoken words, her thoughts were whizzing a mile a minute, and she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

She waved to him, unable to fight the smile. The prince furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and then waved back to her, looking a little unsure. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, stepping towards her. Inko tried to step forwards to meet him, but she really was unused to how these human legs operated and she stumbled clumsily forwards. Prince Toshinori rushed to catch her in his arms, but she slipped through them and fell forwards into his waist. He’s so tall she barely reached his chest. “Woah there,” he said.

Inko looked up at him, beaming. She didn’t know how else to communicate with him.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked.

Inko gestured to her throat, shaking her head and then making an X with her arms. The prince seemed confused, and then understanding lit up his eyes.

“You can’t speak?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking down at her. He placed a large hand over each of her bare shoulders and stepped slightly away, putting a little space between them so that he could properly look down and take her in. His hands were so warm and kind, Inko thought.

She nodded in confirmation. 

“What a terrible thing!” He said sincerely, distressed over her lack of voice in a way that made Inko’s stomach flutter. “Have you anywhere to go?”

Inko shook her head, looking sheepishly down. She hadn’t thought this part through. All she’d wanted to do was get to the surface, all she’d wanted was to see him. Now she was here, she didn’t know what else to do. Other than try and get that kiss, of course. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, forget that.

“Come to my palace,” the prince urged. Inko couldn’t help the way her eyes lit up. Who was she to deny that? “I’ll see to it that you’re looked after.” He smiled warmly down at her, and Inko hoped she wasn’t imagining the softness in his eyes. 

The third time she saw the prince was the following morning. She bathed and slept at the palace, comfortable and warm and marveling over the irony of bathing when she’d spent all her life in what could be considered as the largest bath on the planet. She supposed it was strange to think of her home like that. 

The prince had taken her by the hand and shown her through the town and Inko had been enthralled by it all. She just loved all of these human pleasures, she loved the walking, the festivals, the beautiful clothing. She loved how her green hair looked dry and soft and flowing, the way it was picked up by the breeze. She loved the way the prince’s hand felt in her own.

As evening began to dawn, the prince invited her into a boat. Nothing like the one she’d seen him in originally, the one she’d rescued him from.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The town?” He said gently as he rowed them through the still, glittering water. 

Inko nodded, it was beautiful, he was right. But she was more distracted by him. The water was reflecting off his face, casting lovely rays of light across his skin and illuminating his eyes just often enough to keep her addicted. She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d fallen for him. In the space of a week he’d taken her heart and given her opportunities she could only dream of before. 

Toga could keep her voice if that was the cost it took to stay by the prince’s side. 

The prince was quiet, he seemed to be contemplating something. His gaze flickered to her and then away. Then back again. It stuck that time. He met her eyes with a tenderness she’d never seen before. He looked at her like she was the only thing worth looking at. 

He rowed them through the opening of some willow trees, which fell closed behind them and trapped them in a blissful little piece of heaven. They were secluded here, tucked away from all eyes, though Inko could distantly hear singing. She wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t think she could if she tried. Her heart was pounding, her hands were shaking, she was so overcome with love she didn’t know what to do with it all.

Prince Toshinori lowered the oars, not looking away from her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said to her. He leaned forwards, taking her hands in his. “Of course, my kingdom is grand, this river is a sight to behold. But nothing, absolutely nothing, is quite so lovely as you are.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed the most gentle kiss to it. 

Inko so badly wanted to tell him how she loved him. She wanted to shout it from every rooftop he’d shown her this morning, it felt like the words were bursting out her chest. She hoped to every deity she knew of that he was looking at her and seeing exactly what she wanted him to. That he was seeing just how dear to her he was.

“Do you feel the same?” The prince asked. And although he hadn’t asked any direct question Inko knew what he meant, she could feel it in her heart, and she nodded, once, before he took her face in his hands and held it softly. She stilled, her pulse thrumming, and stared into his kind eyes. He smiled and closed them for a moment as he drew his face nearer. 

“I don’t even know your name,” he laughed under his breath. She wanted to laugh with him, but it made no noise. She wished she could tell him, she wished she could give that piece of herself to him. 

Prince Toshinori shook his head, leaning even closer, enough that Inko could feel him breathing against her face. He was waiting for confirmation, she realised, and it made her heart sing that he would be so considerate - but there was no need. Not right now. 

Inko pushed forwards, enough that her lips just brushed his, and allowed him to close the final distance. For such a gentle kiss Inko found it was the most electric thing she’d ever felt. It was warm, comforting, chaste, but electric. It set her nerves on fire, made her head spin, and she pushed closer to him, placing a hand on his knee and ignoring the way the boat rocked.

Suddenly, Inko felt a heat in her throat. Unrelated to the kiss. It felt as though a sudden weight had been lifted. It was almost as though… Oh. True love’s kiss. Right. Her voice!

Inko pulled quickly away from the prince, likely too quickly if the flash of hurt across his features was anything to go by. His lips stayed parted, but his eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes filled with confusion.

“Inko,” she rushed out, before he could get the wrong idea. She kept one hand on his knee, the other around her throat. His hands were still cradling her face. “My name is Inko.”

“You can talk?” He asked, seeming unsure. 

“It was a curse - I mean, the witch she - I traded it for legs but - it was true love’s kiss, don’t you see!” Inko stumbled through the attempted explanation but found that no matter what she said it didn’t quite sound right. None of it would really make much sense. Perhaps she should have lied and told him she had been suffering a sore throat.

“I…” his voice trailed off. He made to lower his hands, but Inko lifted her own to hold them to her face.

“I love you,” she said. “I can explain everything, I promise. Do you trust me?”

He watched her closely, trying to make out if she was lying, but he must have sensed the truth for he leaned in closely once again.

“I trust you,” he whispered. “I’m really going to need an explanation for all of this. I mean - a witch?” He broke off and shook his head. “But - nevermind. I have never felt anything for anyone as I feel for you. I think - I mean, I’m sure. I love you too.”

“I feel the same way,” Inko told him, leaning in for another kiss. His hand pushed up into her hair and she sighed happily. 

“Inko,” he said, trying the weight of her name on his tongue.

She had so much to tell him, so much to explain, she had no idea if he’d believe her. 

But for now, this was more than enough. 

[thejudgingtrash]

🌳

Thank you for sending me a prompt :D This one shot it definitely not proofread, so I'm sorry about that.

I tried to do something different aside from Percabeth for once - Ruegard! Also tw: character death

Thorns and Roses

Silena looked at her. “Clarisse…” she mumbled.

“No. Please don’t,” Clarisse cried. Tears clouded her vision and her last moments with her.

“I’m so sorry.”

It took a mere split second for Clarisse to fall deep for her. It was a lazy glance to the side of the arena, when she saw her smile and wink. The encouraging wave of her hand that rose as Clarisse slammed Percy with her magical spear.

But that was all that it took, many summers ago. It was all that Clarisse little hardened heart needed. Clarisse La Rue, formally bully exterior, now nothing but a shell of destruction and failure.

She was truly her father’s creation. Her looks, her wit, her sharpened senses, her rage. All came from him unfortunately. But with the looks came the bad. The legitimate children of Zeus and Hera were cursed, no one wanted to admit it. They lacked in tact, they lacked in grace. Their status was only high lightened by their status and birth rights.

The captivating beauty of one Silena Beauregard was all that made Clarisse nearly forget those facts. Those pesky thoughts that had haunted her ever since she was a child. A child of Ares who had the greatest honor and the greatest displeasure of actually meeting her father.

The minute the son of Poseidon stepped into the camp; everyone knew. He looked like a younger and smaller version of his father; most people just played the indifferent card aside from that annoying Athena girl. Had Annabeth owned the medical tool kit from the Apollo cabin, she would have dissected Percy as if he were an insect. But no. Percy was successful with retrieving the lightning bolt and found out that one of the most beloved and prominent campers was a traitor. It was a wonder that Luke never bothered to try to recruit from the Ares cabin. With Clarisse on his side, it would have been a stroll through the parks, waging war against Olympus. Not only that, Percy had the nerve to humiliate her father for all to see. The Ares cabin had been the laughing stock for a whole year.

Then the sea rat stole her mission and final chance to shine and marked Clarisse’s downfall. Disgust. That was what her father breathed the few times she had seen him and pleaded for his advice. Strategizing wasn’t the strength of the legitimate war children. It was blood lust, destruction, interruption. And just like that he had wiped the Iris message with his hand, closing their call.

Clarisse La Rue, the biggest failure on Mount Olympus. But she was different. Silena, who greeted her every day. Silena who asked how she was feeling. It was Silena who was nurturing and caring. She who clearly sought her out and bonded with Clarisse. The campers saw it and yet they didn’t. Clarisse turned from the loud and brash leader of the cabin into a more solemn version of herself.

Love and war. Thorns and roses. They were opposites, but who was about to say they would attract each other? Love was pure and soft. It made you swoon and see the world through different lenses. War was the other side of the spectrum. It tore apart, it hurt, it caused pain. It would leave scars for eternity as love stood by its side to caress it. Ares and Aphrodite. Two forces not to be reckoned with. The beauty of a rose was always accompanied by the pain of its thorns.

“I want to see Charlie. See… Charlie…” coughed Silena. Blood sticked to her torn lips.

“I’m in love,” Silena had giggled back then. She tried to bite the smile down that came through anyways. Just like always.

Clarisse could hear her own heart beat louder with every new tact. It was beating to the rhythm of anticipation. She licked her lips and tried not to nervously touch her dull hair. I love you too.

“It’s Charlie, Charles Beckendorf.” Silena admitted, her blue eyes shining as bright as a thousand stars. Then she smiled again and broke Clarisse’s heart into tiny pieces.

It was the greatest irony of them all that a child of Hephaestus stole the heart of the daughter of Aphrodite all while the mighty speechless fruit of Ares could do nothing but sit there and watch. The gods must have a feast with that gossip on Mount Olympus.

O gods, why did you shoot Clarisse with the arrow of love? Eros, how could you? Didn’t she suffer enough shame and humiliation? It wasn’t that Clarisse was angry or disappointed. She was truly as happy for Silena as Silena was in love. She wanted to see her flower bloom and see her smile every day. If it meant that it was Charles who captured that precious place so be it.

But it was… Jealousy? No, Clarisse didn’t want to steal Silena away from Beckendorf. They deserved each other. Despite the children of Hephaestus being mental twins to the children of Ares, both with their and non-conforming looks, their strength and the cautious glances the other campers threw into their direction, Clarisse didn’t wish her cousin any harm. Beckendorf was shy around Silena and even if watching them share small kisses here and there caused Clarisse’s stomach to drop. She wanted Silena to blossom.

It was envy. If Clarisse could switch parts with Beckendorf she would do so in a heartbeat. He was polite and quite popular even if he wasn’t aware of it. While most of Hephaestus’ creations had a harsh tone to them, Beckendorf was truly one of his best to rise. The heart of a fighter and the smarts that could beat any quantum computer. And he beat Clarisse too, when it came to Silena Beauregard’s heart.

Clarisse tried to branch out, meet new people even in camp. She tried to keep an eye out for any other possible romantic partner, alas to no success. She was no dainty small girl which others seemed to prefer. She had her height and her muscles in her arm that beat most mortal men. No chance for her witty and empathetic personality to shine through.

Clarisse was no child of Aphrodite. She couldn’t smell emotions on a whim, but her father’s powers gave her a similar skillset. She could sense whenever something wasn’t right and it started months ago before the Battle of Manhattan. Silena was distant. Her hair was less shiny and her eyes as dull as the calm seas. She couldn’t look her in the eyes. She was distracted, looked to the side.

Something was off with her, no matter how much positivity the daughter of Aphrodite used to cover her tracks. Clarisse could tell, but she was tactful enough to not pry. Oh, had she pried back then. She had seen the signs, why didn’t she step up and say something? The difference between desperation and the calm before the storm was so small.

Silena ran away from Clarisse as if she had been hit by the arrow of hatred. The beauty could tell that she was unable to deceive her dearest friend. So, she stopped talking to her at all, avoiding her on every occasion. No more boy trouble, no more talks, no more sneaking off to the beach, no more laying down and watching the stars. Well, Silena watched the stars. Clarisse could only see her.

The manipulation of the Aphrodite cabin never worked on the children of Ares. They saw clear through lies and deception. In war every moment counted. You needed to be one with your environment. You needed to know your opponent. Was he stronger than you? Did he have more men? Was he able to do things you could never do? Would he risk things you would never do?

Avoidance was clearly the better tactic. Silena had learned a lot from Annabeth and the other children of Athena back in those days.

The moment Clarisse’s heart began to break forever was when it turned out that Silena had been the spy for the cursed Castellan boy. That he was. A naïve boy who thought that whining and throwing a fit on the ground would cause change. As the son of one of the master manipulators on Mount Olympus, Luke should have seen Kronos’ betrayal a mile away. But he was a broken and cursed boy like all of them, a kid in college and the Titan Lord cracked him like a walnut. No one in camp could have resisted, not even the strongest children like Percy, Thalia and Nico.

But why her? Why Silena? What did he do to Clarisse’s sweet Silena? What did he do that made her lights go out forever? What did he do to let her die like that? She deserved the death of a warrior, not the death of being the traitor’s second-class shadow.

Silena had chosen her in the end. Her, poor Clarisse La Rue. Like Patroclus and Achilles back then, millennia ago. She chose to disguise herself as Clarisse. The greatest deception, a war tactic of its own.

How had Achilles overcome his loss? How did he mourn? With agony. With the most destructive pain. With anger. Was he ever reunited with his lover? Clarisse did not know the answer. All she saw was her rose wilting on the dirty grounds of Manhattan.

The poison tore Silena’s face apart, the sad reminder of her being was slowly decaying. The shell of her being. The pain that she left in Clarisse’s heart. Silena had coughed and Clarisse knew it was time for Thanatos to put an end and for Hermes to bring her to the other side. She knew it, yet didn’t want to face the truth. It would break her already broken heart.

“Why did you do this?” whimpered Clarisse. “Why did you, you silly girl?”

But Clarisse knew why. It was like always – Silena did it out of love. Both for Beckendorf and for her. Her last moment was dedicated to the both of them.

The last red petal fell. It was just like that. One last breath and her life force was gone, the eyes dull and an ash gray layer covered her. The teary blue eyes. It was no picture for the gods yet something Clarisse would never forget. Of that she was certain. Silena’s black hair was framing her body like a dark halo. They were putting down roots on the cold and hard concrete. The final whispers of an escaped nymph making peace with the situation.

A piercing cry haltered all movements. Monsters and men alike. It echoed through the streets and drowned out all the noise from the battle grounds. Today they would die. Rage covered every inch of her body. The movements were robotic as if a parasite had taken over her, but it truly was the devastation that manifested itself within Clarisse’s mind.

She had killed that fucking drakon just like it killed one of the most precious people on earth. She never had the chance to hell her that she loved her dearly and sincerely. Deep down Clarisse knew that Silena knew the entire time. But she never had the guts to say it to her face, rejection be damned. To be freed of the burden and speak her truth. Clear her consciousness and her mind.

She was shaking with pain and desperation. Every muscle, every thought burned and hurt. Clarisse channeled all the ugliness of war. All of her strength just for her. She who had just left this plane of existance.

Clarisse had lost her.

The thorns had lost their beauty.

And they would all pay for it.

I hope the Apollon and Daphne theme shone through ^^ lmk what you think!!

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part one

“and that’s sailor, our resident mermaid, shell collector, surfer chick, and all-around ray of sunshine. she’s always down for a kegger at the boneyard so she can show off her dance moves; they’re not the best but she doesn’t let that stop her from getting down. her mom owns the surf shop on the beach, that’s how jj and i met her when we bought our first boards when we were ten. she’s been part of the crew ever since.” ~john b routledge

pogue sailor flynn just wants to have a great time with her friends this summer and try to ignore the fact that her flight-risk dad took off again to gamble his life (and her family's savings) away in atlantic city, leaving her with a mom who doesn't know how to cope. between surfing at the beach and cruising around on the hms pogue for hours, it's easy to keep her mind off her shitty home life. what isn't so easy though, is trying to deny her feelings for her best friend, jj.

summary: the pogues hit the beach for a day of sand, surf, and shells. sailor commandeers a hat, willingly participates in cardio, makes bank, and has a heart-to-heart with jj.

word count: 4k+ 

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn) 

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment, swearing, fluff, a lot of flirting 

a/n: hi there! i’ve had this little plot bunny in my head for a few weeks now and it wouldn’t leave me alone so here we are! this is the first piece of writing i’ve posted in a very long time so i apologize in advance if it’s terrible. i’m planning on this whole thing being at least eight to ten parts so get ready for the long haul! i actually split this into two parts cause my word count was insane and way too long for one post lmao. let me know what you guys think! title comes from “glitter & crimson” by all time low. also this is unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes.

another quick thing: i tried writing this with sailor as an unnamed or y/n reader but it just wasn’t the best. i adore fleshing out characters and i had so many good ideas for her backstory and personality that she kind of just wrote herself and i went with it. i hope you all enjoy reading about sailor as much as i enjoyed writing her!

~Masterlist~

part two | part three | part four | playlist

gif credit goes to @heapass​

part one: catching waves

The beach has always been special to Sailor; the soothing crash of waves against the shore, the warmth of sand under her feet, the comforting feeling of salt drying on her skin. It’s where her mother taught her to surf, where her father taught her to dive, where her friends taught her that family didn’t always mean having shared blood. It’s her home, her place, her safe haven. Nothing is more perfect than a day at the beach with the pogues, her board, and a bucket for shells. 

Today is shaping up to be one of those days. The weather’s balmy, the water’s clear, and most importantly, she hasn’t seen these many perfect shells in quite awhile. Sailor reaches out and grabs the delicate golden scotch bonnet from the ocean floor, inspecting it closely for any cracks or holes. When she finds none, she smiles and runs her fingers over its smooth surface, marveling at the way the sun’s rays filter through the water and make the entire shell shine brilliantly. Although she sells most of the shells she finds at her mom’s surf shop (or gifts them to her friends), this one’s going to be proudly displayed on the shelf in her room. 

She scans the sand for her next target before pushing off from the floor and heading to the surface where Kiara floats on her board, legs dangling in the water as she watches the rest of their group surf. 

“Kie, check this out! It’s a scotch bonnet!” She exclaims, placing the shell beside the half full bucket in front of her friend. Resting both arms on the board, she lets herself take a quick breather as the other girl gently picks up her treasure and turns it over in her hands. 

“Holy shit, how do you always find the good ones?” She asks, gently putting it into the bucket with the others as Sailor shrugs, tucking a wet strand of red hair behind her ear. 

“You guys always say I’m part mermaid, so...” Kiara rolls her eyes and splashes her friend, who just laughs. “Are you done now? We can’t let the guys have all the fun.” 

“Almost, there’s a gorgeous whelk down there that I have to have. Be right back!”

She dives before the dark haired girl can reply, swimming down twenty feet to where she spotted the shell. When she was younger, she used to find the pressure on her ears a bit painful but now she hardly notices, instead focusing on the muffled sound of the waves above. Down here it’s just her and the water: peaceful, quiet, and oh so beautiful, infinitely stretching out in front of her. It used to scare her, the vastness of the deep ocean, the secrets lurking in its depths, the unknown. Now, it brings her comfort. Inspiration. Hope.

She plucks the shell from the sand and heads back the the surface, where three more boards have joined Kiara’s. She swims straight under Pope’s, knowing he’s the most ticklish of the group, and runs the tip of the whelk along the sole of his foot. His yell is so loud she can hear it clear as day under the water and she laughs bubbles as his board wobbles before he topples over with a splash. The other three are still laughing as she surfaces beside her fallen friend and feigns shock.

“What happened? Did he touch a fish again?”

“Oh ha fucking ha. So funny.” Pope deadpans but he’s smiling as Sailor holds his board steady so he can climb back on. “I’m surprised you actually touched my foot, Miss Feet Are Disgusting.”

“First off, smelly, dirty feet are gross. And second, I didn’t,” She replies, pulling herself onto JJ’s board without warning and laughing as he nearly falls off just as Pope had. She sticks her tongue out at him as he shoots her a mock glare and shifts closer to he for balance, their knees knocking together.

“This did, here.” She holds the shell out to Pope, who inspects it like Kiara had done earlier and nods in approval before passing it off to John B.

“It’s...nice, right? It’s a good one?” He asks as he hands it over to Kiara. She meets Sailor’s eyes and shakes her head, mouthing ‘boys’ while carefully placing the whelk in the bucket.

“Seriously, JB-”

“Whoa, wait! I don’t get to see it?” JJ pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and Sailor fixes him with a flat look.

“I seem to remember that you, like a damn child, dropped and broke the last one I let you hold.”

John B laughs so hard he nearly falls off his board while Pope and Kiara glance at each other and hide matching snickers behind their hands. JJ has the decency to look embarrassed as he pleads with her and she tells herself that the slight flush creeping up the back of his neck is just from too much time in the sun, nothing more.

“Hey, I said I was sorry for that and I meant it! I swear I’ll be more careful, please, Sail?”

Trying her best to ignore the little thrill she feels at the sound of her nickname coming from his mouth, she relents with a sigh, “Fine, on one condition.”

He looks at her expectantly as she holds up one finger and points at the black hat turned backwards on his head.

“Gimme that, I can feel my scalp burning as we speak.”

“Holy shit, you’re such a fucking ginger,” He laughs but pulls the cap off anyway, running a hand through his blond hair before fixing it on her head properly, the bill facing forward and giving her eyes a much needed break from the bright summer sun. She only hopes her face feels hot as he lays one hand on her knee and holds the other out to Kiara, palm up. “Fork it over, Kie.”

Kiara hands it to him with a roll of her eyes and then fixes Sailor with a pointed look that the redhead pretends not to see; instead, she watches JJ carefully turn the shell over in his hand before holding it aloft, like Rafiki held Simba in The Lion King.

“Listen up, class- especially you,” He says, the hand resting against her leg pointing at John B, who looks affronted at being called out, much to the amusement of the rest of the group, “This here is a lightning whelk and yes, JB, as a matter of fact, it’s a great one. No holes, minimal damage, and defined markings. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

He passes the shell to Kiara with a satisfied grin as everyone sits in stunned silence, just bobbing up and down with the waves until Pope finally says, “Damn. Better watch out, Sailor! We’ve got a new shell expert in town.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not giving up the crown that easily.” As the others burst into laughter, she turns to JJ and pokes him in the side, asking, “Since when you know so much?”

The look he gives her is all mock offense, but his blue eyes are soft as he says, “I always listen when you talk, you know.”

His answer catches her so off-guard that she tries and fails to form a coherent reply as her face flushes before settling on giving him a sweet smile, which he returns with a playful tug on one of the tiny braids in her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Kiara staring at them with a devious smirk on her face and she knows she’ll be hearing about this later.

“Enough shell talk- no offense, Sail,” John B says, steering his board toward the waves. “We’ve got surfing to do.”

Sailor waves her hand dismissively then reaches over and grabs the bucket from Kiara. “None taken, I’m just gonna drop these off at the shop real quick and I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with,” JJ says, popping up onto his knees and turning his board toward the shore. “After all,” He yells toward the rest of the pogues over his shoulder, “you guys need all the practice you can get!” He winks at Sailor and she laughs as she turns to face forward, pulling her legs onto the board and placing the bucket in her lap while the other three flip him off in perfect unison.

The two teenagers paddle toward the beach together and catch a small wave that shoots them straight to shore. JJ holds the board steady as she hops off and then touches his shoulder in thanks before they walk toward where Sailor’s own board is propped in the warm sand with their things. She puts the bucket down and kneels beside it, carefully digging through the haul to find the scotch bonnet.

“There you are, gorgeous.”

“I didn’t go anywhere, babe.”

She snorts at JJ’s quip but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up from wrapping the shell in a small towel and placing it in her backpack (she does blush though, and hopes he doesn’t notice.). As she stands to pull on her shorts, the redhead can’t help but glance at the lightning whelk, sitting pretty in the sand where she put it while looking for the bonnet. It really is beautiful, a ten out of ten as JJ put it, and damn it, she just can’t let it go to some touron who won’t appreciate it. So before she can change her mind, she kneels again to wrap it in another towel and gently nestles it alongside the other shell.

“Chop chop, time’s a wastin.’“ He says, grabbing the bucket with one hand and holding the other out to her; she rolls her eyes but takes it anyway and lets him pull her to her feet, muttering, “Jesus, you’re impatient.”

“It’s all part of the charm. Come on, race ya!” After a quick squeeze to her hand, he drops it and takes off running toward the shop without warning, leaving Sailor scrambling to catch up as she yells, “If you break those shells you’re buying them, Maybank!”

The duo weaves through the crowd of tourons and natives alike, ignoring the dirty looks thrown their way as they run by, kicking sand up in their wake. Fifty feet ahead stands The Sandbar Surf Shop in all its salt-weathered, sun-bleached glory, all but two of the rental boards gone from the stand out front. Alison sits on a stool with one of them on her lap as she waxes it, the boom box resting on the floor beside her blasting The Beach Boys as usual. She looks up in surprise as Sailor bounds onto the deck and slaps her hand against the shop’s door a few seconds before JJ does, both teenagers out of breath.

“Sweet victory!” The redhead shouts, sending a quick wave toward Alison, who returns it with an amused smile and watches the blond roll his eyes, holding the shell bucket close to his chest like a football.

“Victory my ass! I saw you jump over that cooler and that’s cheating.”

“Oh, I cheated? Who gave himself a head start? Oh yeah, you!”

Alison returns the now waxed board to the rack and wipes her hands on a spare rag. “Sounds like you both cheated, so no one wins.” She says with a shrug, chuckling to herself as they both stutter excuses and follow the older redheaded girl into the shop, empty sans for a young boy browsing the display of shells.

“I’ll get your mom.” She says to Sailor before heading through the beaded curtain to the back room and she’s grateful. She doesn’t think she has the strength to go back there anymore.

“I was carrying extra weight,” JJ says, placing the bucket onto the old surfboard-turned-counter and then leaning his back against it, “so I think the head start was justified.”

Sailor props her chin in her hand and drums her fingers along the board’s worn surface, her eyebrow raised. “And I think my jump was justified considering I had some ground to make up from that head start so...”

“Agree to disagree.” They say together, sharing a quick smile before he picks a pair of heart shaped glasses from the stand and puts them on, looking at her over the neon pink frames as he asks in a high-pitched British accent, “What do you think, darling? Too much?”

“No, I think they’re quite dashing!” She bursts out laughing as he strikes a vogue pose, then spins and dramatically leans back against the counter. “Rock that pink.”

“Hell yeah, fuck gender norms!” He says loudly, both middle fingers raised toward the roof.

“In this house, we stan non-toxic masculinity-” she starts, but she’s interrupted by a stern voice from behind the counter that says, “If you’re not going to buy those, put ‘em back, kid.”

Sailor’s mother sweeps into view and stares pointedly at JJ, who hastily stands up straight and returns the glasses to their place on the display as Alison silently heads back outside, shooting both teens a small, awkward smile.

“Sorry, Mrs. Flynn.”

Sailor wants to tell him there’s nothing to apologize for, that he did nothing wrong, but she knows he already knows that, so instead she just scoots a little closer and presses her hip against his. His hand moves to rest on her lower back in thanks and her whole body feels the sparks from his touch.

“I-I found some good ones today, Mom.” She says, pulling shells from the bucket one by one and lining them up on the counter. “A few coquinas, some scallops, a whelk or two...”

She trails off when Carmen doesn’t respond and looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together anxiously as her mother inspects each shell. her face blank. JJ’s thumb starts to run tiny circles on her back and she concentrates on the feel of his ring, warm and soothing against her bare skin, instead of the fact that her mother hasn’t even glanced her way yet. She hasn’t looked her in the eye in almost three months.

The silence is thick in the air until Carmen finishes her evaluation and gives a small nod in her daughter’s direction. “Good job.” She says, heading to the register and pulling out some cash before counting out five twenties and holding them out to Sailor, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere over the teenager’s shoulder. She swallows thickly and takes the money with a near inaudible thank you, slipping it into her back pocket before grabbing the now empty bucket and nudging JJ toward the door with her hip.

As she’s about to cross the threshold she pauses with one hand on the door frame and turns back, asking, “Hey, Mom? Are...are you gonna come home tonight?”

Carmen’s brown eyes only meet her green ones for a split second before she looks away to fiddle with the register and Sailor can’t help feeling the dull stab of disappointment as she says, “Oh, um, I don’t think so. I’m pretty busy here with, uh, inventory, bookkeeping...”

(That stab used to be sharp as a knife, cutting her to the bone, but she’s almost gotten used to the pain.)

“Oh, right. Just...text me if you do, okay?” She takes one last look at her mother, bathed in the cool shadows of the shop that’s tearing her apart before turning and stepping back into the bright sunlight without another word, her throat tight. She’s not sure Carmen was even listening anymore.

“See ya later, brat.” Alison calls to her as she lets the screen door swing shut behind her with a slight bang. The older girl may not be related to her by blood but she’s most definitely Sailor’s honorary big sister, having babysat her for years in addition to working at the shop, so she waves to her with a small smile and a “bye, ho” before joining JJ on the beach.

The duo slowly starts walking along the water together, a stark contrast from their earlier mad dash and Sailor’s mind races with a million thoughts, most of them her hating herself for foolishly putting a scrap of faith in her mom once again.

“Whoa, you okay? That bucket’s not going anywhere, promise.” He says, pulling them to a stop with a gentle tug on her elbow and reaching down to take it from her clenched hand. She doesn’t even realize she was holding it that hard until she sees the little half moons pressed into her palm from her nails and she sighs, rubbing them away with her thumb.

Opening up has always been something Sailor struggles with, even with a friend group as close as the pogues. She’s the one who’s all sunshine and good vibes, the one everyone goes to for cheering up, the one that’s always...happy. She’s the friend who listens, the open ear, the trusted confidante. She knows all her friends struggles: John B’s fear of being abandoned that often keeps him up at night, Kiara’s terrible guilt over leaving her friends behind during her kook year, Pope’s feeling of drowning under his dad’s impossible expectations, JJ’s abusive household that has him convinced he’s not worthy of love. Every secret she holds close to her heart, guarding them with impenetrable walls that no one can break through.

The walls protecting her own secrets, though? They may be strong around the others but they crumble like sand when she’s alone with the boy standing beside her, his hand still holding her elbow as he starts drawing circles on her skin once again. Talking to JJ has always come easy to her, almost infuriatingly so, and she has no qualms about calling him her best friend. While the other pogues know she’s been having some problems at home with her flight-risk dad and indifferent mom, none of them know almost the full story like he does, just as none of them know exactly how horrible his father really is.

(She knows. She’s seen the aftermath far too often and has been there each time, cleaning cuts, soothing bruises, holding him in her arms and never wanting to let him go.)

“I just...don’t know what to do anymore.” She can feel him watching her as she talks and she avoids his gaze like her mother avoided hers, instead staring out at the ocean. In the distance, she sees one of their friends -Kiara, she thinks- drop in on a wave while the other two look on a little further away. “She won’t even look at me and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Hey, it’s not you, got it? God, you’re...perfect, Sail.” JJ says softly, so soft that the crashing surf nearly drowns the sound of his voice as the water washes over their bare feet. Sailor curses the fact that she blushes so easily because her whole face is on fire at his words, and she’s so distracted that she almost misses what he says next.

“Your mom’s always, uh, weird when your dad dips. It’ll be better when he comes back.”

Her heart clenches in her chest. If only it were that simple. She turns to face him and meets his eyes, blue as the ocean, open and honest, and sends him a smile that lacks its usual brightness. “I think you might be right, J. For once.”

His thumb stills on the crook of her elbow and she knows he knows she’s not telling him everything. She feels like she should say something, anything- apologize, explain herself, just tell him the damn truth- but before she can even open her mouth he says, “Listen, I get it.”

She can feel the hand on her arm start to slip away and she grabs it between both of hers, her voice tight as she says, “No, you listen. Today’s been...so perfect and I don’t wanna bring everyone down with my problems.”

“You know they won’t mind.”

(She does, but that’s beside the point.)

“I know they won’t, but I do.”

It’s her turn to run her thumb in circles on the back of his hand now as she continues, “I’ll tell you everything later, okay?”

“You don’t have to-” He starts but she smiles, genuine and bright this time, and cuts him off.

“I want to, J. And I will, promise.” Like a child, she holds her pinky out expectantly. He quickly glances down at her hand and then meets her eyes again before finally returning her smile, showing off that dimple that makes her heart skip a beat, and hooking his finger around hers.

“Come on, we’ve got waves to catch and friends to show up.” He says and just like that they’re back to normal. Sailor’s hyper aware of the fact that her pinky is still linked with JJ’s, but he doesn’t pull away as they start walking back to their things again and she can’t help but hold on a little tighter. She doesn’t think he notices until he walks a little closer, his shoulder brushing hers; out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile and feels herself mirroring him without a thought, her cheeks turning as red as her hair.

Talking with him may be the easiest thing to do for her, but flirting comes in a close second. It’s natural: the teasing, the casual touches, and especially the clothes stealing (a good fifth of her sweatshirts probably actually belong to him). He’s the biggest flirt she knows, with that bad boy swagger and killer smile that make all the giggling touron girls fall over themselves to get to him. She tells herself it’s fine, that she’s so not jealous, when he dances with them at keggers on the beach, whispering things in their ears that make them blush, taking their hands and leading them away to dark corners or the spare room at the Chateau. After all, there’s the one golden rule of their group: no pogue on pogue macking, so friends is all they’ll ever be, all they can be.

She tells herself she’s fine with it, really. Being his friend is better than being nothing at all, and she wouldn’t trade his friendship for the world. Deep down though, she’d give anything to kiss him again -the first time was when she was eleven and JJ had just turned twelve, awkward yet sweet, the day she first saw the full extent of his dad’s abuse- but she holds herself back, unwilling to ruin the relationship that means so much to her. And sometimes, like now, she thinks (hopes) that he’s holding back, too.

Their pinkies linger together when they come to a stop at their things, both holding on just a bit longer than what’s considered friendly before their hands drop away. Sailor feels his eyes on her as she pulls off her shorts, money still in the back pocket, and stuffs them in her bag.

(So she just might’ve taken them off a little bit -okay, a lot- slower because he was watching, sue her.)

“I hope you know this is mine, now.” She points to his hat before freeing her board from the sand and waiting for him to do the same, hand on her hip.

“It looks better on you, anyway. Here,” He says, taking a step closer and reaching up with one hand to turn the cap backwards. “Don’t want you to lose it.” His finger brushes along her jaw when he drops his arm and she feels her breath catch as she replies, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

JJ smiles at that, then nods toward the waves. “Race ya? I’ll play fair this time.”

“Nah, but I’m glad you can admit that you cheated!” She says, pausing for a second to laugh at the way his jaw drops before she takes off running and leaves him hurrying to catch up. “I’m proud of you!”

“I changed my mind, I want my hat back now, Flynn!” He yells after her and she just laughs harder as they splash into the ocean.

-

tagging some of my fave writers ❤: @pogue-writings​ @o-b-x​ @jjbabyouterbanks​ @heywards​ @obxsummer​ @jjmaybanky​

let me know what you think!

[urbcsa]

      and she is looking at you ! what do you do ?

[dokidokey]

by the moonlight

summary: As the future queen of your neighboring kingdom, Princess Y/N, in accordance to the queen’s dying wish to see her daughter be wed, is set to travel for the foreign lands of her betrothed where she meets her fate along the way.

pairings: kirishima eijirou x reader

prompt: “you promised me.” / kingdom au

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of blood, character death

word count: 2,680

note: this is my entry for the weekly sfw prompt from the @bnhabookclub discord server! it’s 11 AM here and I didn’t sleep at all so i’m so sorry if there are typos / grammatical errors. feel free to point them out so i can change it! i hope you like it!

Kirishima loves watching the way your hair catches the moonlight’s glow every night.

Though tonight there is a heavy. . . silence, or is it sadness, that hangs around your form, way heavier than the moon you are gazing upon. Your hands are folded atop the bridge’s wooden railings, your right pointer finger drumming a steady and soft rhythm on your hands.

You turn to him from behind and he does not miss the sparkle on the ivory petals of your kanzashi (hair stick). “The moon is lovely tonight, isn’t it?” You smile delicately at him, holding his gaze for a moment before dropping on the clear water of the lake reflecting the moon and stars.

It is indeed lovely. Almost full, and bright and glowing. Almost. . . like. . . you. Almost like you. The knight sees you in a very high and noble way that even the moon cannot compare. “It is, Your Majesty. I heard the full moon is tomorrow.”

He does not miss the way your eyebrow jumps subtly, lips parting as you breathe out an “oh?” and gaze back up at the moon.

“I. . .” You whisper and you hesitate, the weight of your words adding up to the pressure on your shoulders. “I won’t be able to look at the moon with you again,” you manage to voice out, as quiet as the wind that rustles the leaves of the sakura tree a few feet from where you stand.

Kirishima knows. He knows and his heart breaks at the thought. He’s been with you ever since you turned eighteen and the way his armored body had slammed against yours on that very first day is still fresh in his mind.

It was in late, rainy June when Kirishima had been let off by the Commander and the King, your father, after given the responsibility to escort you and be with you any time of the day. And Kirishima, upon given the heavy obligation to make sure the princess is safe, had sought after every corner of the royal palace just to be disappointed when he saw not even your shadow.

The rain that was once lightly falling when he started searching for you was now pouring down hard, his skin stinging as the raindrops made contact with it. Kirishima was drenched to the bone as he stood outside the gate of the palace. How he had gotten there looking for you, he did not know. One look to the  left then the right only to see no one, he turned back to make another round of searching for you.

That’s when an ordinarily dressed maiden slammed against his body so hard the woman ended up on the small puddle at his feet. Little did he know it was you until you pulled one dirty hand from the mud to wipe at your dress and rid your face of the salty rain.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You gasped, standing up only to fail and almost falling on your face.

“Your. . . Your Majes－?”

“Shh!” You’re quick to wave your hands on his face, almost slapping him in the process of your frantic state. “You didn’t see me! You don’t know me!”

The knight opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again as you fixed him with a pleasing stare. If that’s what the princess wants, who is he to deny her?

Like a normal townsfolk, Kirishima flashed you a smile, relaxing his stance, as if talking to an old friend he had not seen for years. He started the conversation about the news of the newly assigned knight of the princess, speaking to you normally, without an ounce of the frightening gap of your social statuses.

You’ve never liked your own personal royal knights before for they were too uptight. They made you feel like you were being held by the neck despite of your higher ranking than them. Kirishima was an exception though. You weren’t sure if your newly assigned protector was always that easy to sway or he was only giving you the pleasure of doing whatever you want because he respects your place as a princess.

A month after your quite unfortunate way of meeting Kirishima, the amount of your sneaking out into town had grown dramatically. At first you were skeptic of your knight’s easy hold on you but he had never failed to protect you from any harm, come what may. The sneaking into town turned into sleepless nights, an occasion often lived up to share quiet whispers and thoughts.

Kirishima was not aware when his heart started stuttering, fluttering, pattering against his chest, tattooing your name inside him with intricate memories － like how your smile rivaled the sun during that one summer day or how the stars almost died when your eyes twinkled because a lone cherry blossom petal was caught in Kirishima’s hair.

You, oh you were not better yourself. Unlike him, you knew exactly when your heart started beating his name. It was spring, four years ago, on your birthday. It was late in the morning, once again wearing a normal dress to sneak into town, and he was late. But Kirishima was never late because he always goes on and on about how he needs to be chivalrous to be worthy of standing by your side; and chivalrous means not being late.

It was not until you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see the knight in question, holding a bunch of freshly picked flowers.

“Happy birthday, Your Majesty,” he mumbled, eyes everywhere except yours and you took the flowers, pressing the colorful bunch on your face and to bystanders, it looked like a knight had just taken interest to a very fine lady.

You and him knew it was a lost cause. The stolen glances and the fleeting touches stayed as it was. Your love, although mutual, was something that can never be born because he was just a mere knight of a princess to be wedded to a king.

The news broke you and him. So much so that for days, there were no sleepless nights to stare at the moon but sleepless nights, away from each other, the same thoughts running on different minds.

And today is your last day of standing in the very grounds of your kingdom, two days away from being King Katsuki’s wife.

You’ve met him once on a royal gathering back when he was still a prince. To say the he was. . . polite would be a downright lie and rude too harsh. He was fine. Okay. Civil. After kissing your hand as a sign of respect － which looked like took a lot of toll on him － he didn’t acknowledge your presence for the rest of the night; except when he asked you to dance, which, if not for his father mentioning it, would not have happened.

The dance was all but awkward. Stiff. The opposite of everything you’ve shared with Kirishima. So when the dance was over, you snuck out again to gaze at the moon with Kirishima. You weren’t aware just how much the man was so captivated by you.

And up to now, as you take his hand to step inside the carriage that will forever take you away from him, he is as deep and as enamored as the first time on that rainy day.

You turn to him, a foot resting on the platform. “Tonight’s the full moon,” you smile at him. “You’ll watch it with me. . . right?”

You know he’ll say yes. You just want to prolong the lingering feel of his hands on yours.

“I’ll never miss it for the world, Your Majesty,” he responds quietly, shooting you a small smile as his heart aches.

“You promise?”

The aching in Kirishima’s heart intensifies. You and him are painfully aware that all it is is a broken promise. By tonight, you will be in the hands of another man Kirishima will never amount to. By tonight, you’re ought to forget his existence. He says it anyway.

“I promise.”

You finally step in, fingertips leaving a scar on his. As he closes the carriage door, he steals one last look of your face, something to remember you by before giving you off. Your eyes stared back at him as he closes the door.

There is a dozen knight divided in two lines in front of your carriage, another dozen with the same formation on the backside. Kirishima is on your right, the Commander on your left. The King and Queen will attend on the exact day of your marriage.

By the steady pace of your carriage, it seems you’ll reach the other kingdom by nighttime. After an hour or so, you’re asleep, head resting on the other side of the door. Kirishima sees this and suddenly it’s like Zeus himself brought down his lightning bolt straight to his heart as it thundered, seeing how peaceful and beautiful you are, eyelashes softly sitting on your cheeks.

You wake up to chaos and shouts and a certain knight frantically shaking you awake. You’re met with a panic-stricken Kirishima, taking your hand and pulling you out of the carriage, going straight to the woods. You don’t miss the body lying haphazardly near your carriage before you’re out of the scene.

There are screams of anguish in the distance and the sound of swords clanging fills the air. Kirishima has his hands on yours, the other holding his sword in front of him protectively.

“Kirishima!” You gasp, tripping on a lone branch on your way. “What－ what’s happening? Why－”

“We need to get you out of here,” he huffs, clearing an array of small branches with his arms to let you through. “We’ve been ambushed. And I’m certain they will go after you.”

Your heart is in your throat as you trudge along with him, hands painfully clutching each other. The thick foliage of the tall trees obscures your sight of the moon and it breaks your heart. It is true that you wanted to see the last full moon you’ll ever share with Kirishima. It is true, you know it in your heart. It is true but you don’t mean it like this; with both of your lives on the line.

You don’t know how long you two have been running. Your dress is all but ripped and you have no idea how much you almost tripped if it weren’t for Kirishima’s hold on you.

You come to a clearing with a lake a few feet away, reflecting the light of the moon. You tug at Kirishima’s hand and he halts, looking at you in question.

“I don’t think someone is following us,” you breathe heavily, “can we stop for a moment?”

He looks hesitant as he scans your surroundings, eyes alight in panic, ears keen on any suspicious sound. He nods, much to his dismay, analyzing you as you immediately look up to the moon.

“Look,” you whisper, basking in the moonlight, “it’s the full moon, Kirishima.”

He turns to look but that’s when a swoosh zips past your ear, the sudden intake of breath of the man beside you startling you. You face him and there he is, hands shaking as it hovers over the wooden arrow impaled on his chest. Your hands fly to your mouth immediately, not believing what you’re seeing.

Kirishima looks up from the arrow to you and you see eyes so full of fear it scares you too. His mouth is agape and as a lone tear slowly cascades down his left cheek, another swoosh went and suddenly there are two arrows on his chest, blood slowly coloring his clothes in crimson.

He falls over and you catch him, a cry caught in your throat. “Kirishima!” You exclaim, horrified than you’ve ever been in your whole life as he clutches your arms, stuttering out what you cannot understand. “Oh God, we should have gone along, I’m so sorry,” you cry, gently lowering him down. “I’m so sorry, please please please, stay with me.”

“You need－” he coughs, “go away.” You shake your head through your tears, droplets dripping down Kirishima’s neck like the rain on the first day you met. “Go,” he chokes out, heaving in an inhale that stings so much he wishes he’s dead. You continue to just shake your head, the intricate swirls of your bun falling down like an avalanche on your shoulder.

Another swoosh cuts through the air.

The pain came late. You suppose your mind haven’t registered what had happened yet but it did not hurt. Not yet, at least － not until Kirishima gripped your hands so tight your knuckles almost cracked. It sings, it hurts. You feel so numb that it aches. A choked cry is ripped from your throat as you stare incredulously at the arrow piercing your chest, frighteningly identical to where the first arrow got Kirishima.

“No,” comes your stuttering breath, the searing pain on your chest intensifying, pulling out another cry of agony from you.

“Run,” your fallen hero croaks, letting go of your hand and trying to shove you away. “Get－ get help. You need to－ need to live.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

He chuckles, or more like gurgles, and there’s blood spilling from his mouth and coloring his cheek. “Always stubborn,” he manages to say, trembling hands reaching up to feel your hair. “Go on, Your Majesty,” he slurs, “run away.”

“No, no, you promised me,” you wheeze, pressing the back of his hands on your wet cheek. “Full moon－ with me.”

Kirishima gurgles out a sound short of a chuckle. “It’s so bright. . . Makes your hair shine.”

You sniffle, tears rushing down your cheeks like waterfalls. You clutch Kirishima’s hand tighter in yours when his eyes started to get drowsy, hoping your grip will keep him awake.

“Kirishima.” You whisper his name so softly, gently, delicately, and he knows this is the last time he will ever hear his name from your lips. The fear of you dying here, with him on your arms, saying his name like a prayer scares him to death so with the last of his energy, he tries to shove you away only to fail.

“Gotta live,” he mumbles, eyes rolling back that has you shrieking his name over and over. When he came into focus once again, everything was blurry.

The last of the zipping sound of an arrow pierces through the night and through your dress, blood immediately flowing down your lips and Kirishima’s heart breaks so bad he’s not crying from the pain anymore, but for you. His clothes become darker from the blood dripping out of your mouth. He hardly feels anything and he knows he’s got one foot on death but his hold on your hands never loosens nor his eyes ever left your face. The moon barely got his attention despite it’s gallant display.

And Kirishima － Kirishima loves watching the way your hair catches the moonlight. On his last breath, as everything around him darkens, you are the only thing he sees, along with the moonlight bouncing off your disheveled hair. Then there is nothing.

His eyes are unseeing as yours are blurry. You try shaking him awake, waiting for a cry of pain as his body jerks sloppily on your lap. His hands on yours are limp yet you don’t accept it. No. He’s not dead. He’s just. . .

“Kirishima,” you whisper one last time, to try to see if he will respond but your words are carried by the wind, mingling with the rustle of leaves. Your head spins and your breathe hitches. You close your eyes in disbelief as you lean your body against his, uncaring of the way the arrows dig deeper in your chest, thinking about how sure you were this morning that the promise you two made was as empty as the lines of colorful ceramics in your room but here you are, living up that very promise on the brink of death, and the other already gone.

[bethanyeliseart]

Rise of Skywalker, a movie I genuinely loved!

Ok so I've had almost a full day to think about my thoughts on Rise of Skywalker. Right from leaving the cinema, I knew that I loved this movie! Sure it had it's flaws but every single Star Wars movie does and I like to think the positives outweigh them. It had amazing cinematography, the adventure was there, and all the emotions that come with Star Wars.

SPOILERS AHEAD

I think first I'll talk about the flaws because I love ending things on a cheery note. First, Rose Tico was pushed to the sidelines and I wish we got to see more of her character arc. I think after seeing the backlash some fans had for Rose, JJ was afraid to have her in the spotlight. She could've done more. I would've liked to see her interact more with Finn even platonically. And interact with Rey.

Second, I'm a huge Anakin Skywalker fan so part of me feels like they disrespected his arc in this movie with Palpatine being back. I kinda felt like it was all for nothing. But then I did see some other reviews that said he brought balance for a long time, but balance isn't permanent. So that post brought me some peace on that, thanks to who wrote it (I can't remember who, sorry!).

Third, Ben Solo's death. So I'm not sure if I just hate it because I loved his character or if it really wasn't a good decision. Star Wars stuck to their algorithm of redeeming the villain but to only kill him seconds later. We already saw this with Anakin. Did we have to see it again? Then again it was really meaningful that he sacrificed himself for Rey. Maybe he's still alive somewhere, idk I'm in denial still.

Ok so now onto things I liked/loved which is a lot, but I'm not good with reviews so I might not name all!

First I must say that I loved Rey and Ben's relationship and chemistry. There isn't too much dialogue, but you can see how much they care for one another through expressions. Props to Adam Driver for conveying so much in just looks and actions. The way he looked when he found Rey's dead body was so heartbreaking. He looked so vulnerable.

Also the way Rey was so relieved to see Ben after he brought her back. She smiled like he was this bright light. And oh my, my heart fluttered when they kissed. It's probably just me being the huge romantic that I am, but that was one of my favorite parts. From the beginning they had a strong emotional connection. In TLJ we can see how strongly they feel for one another. Ben wants her to be by his side constantly and really opens up to her. Rey does the same. She let's her self open up about her past and desire to belong somewhere/someone to Ben. In my mind, the buildup was there. It saddens me that it had to be a tragic romance, but Star Wars always has that tragedy. Ben also showed that hope leads somewhere. Rey held onto hope that he would return to the light and he did. He was at peace when he died.

Second thing I loved was the trio of Rey, Finn, and Poe in this movie! We have been waiting to see them all in action together since TFA. And JJ did not disappoint. The banter between the three flowed nicely and was comedic. It felt like a family. It was also so nice to see Rey interacting with Poe! You can tell they have spent a lot of time with each other. For those who think Rey is alone, she has these two guys for her family.💛

The scene where all the ships showed up last minute gave me Endgame vibes and I loved it. Especially when the main theme started.

The entire be with me scene in the throne room was chilling and awestrucking! (wow that first part of that sentence just threw back to GoT😨) When Rey looks up into the sky and the lightning fades to the calm and serene stars I too felt so relaxed. The soft music was so lovely, John Williams never fails. Hearing the jedi voices was what had me smiling like an idiot, especially hearing Anakin's voice saying "Bring balance as I once did". (I guess that's proving that his arc wasn't completely ruined). I would've loved to see Hayden Christensen, but I appreciate that we got to hear his voice.

Was anyone else so surprised to see Han even as a memory? It's not even that I was surprised because of how it goes into the plot, because it makes perfect sense for Ben to look back and remember his last interaction with his father. His father would be the key in him returning to the light. It just surprised me because I did not expect Harrison Ford to show up on set of Star Wars ever again😂. It was a very nice and welcome surprise though. From the moment he killed Han, you could tell Ben felt regret and remorse. I also loved that Leia reached out to her son one last time, showing Ben that his family has not given up on him.

LEIA! It was so awesome to see her training as a jedi with a lightsaber! That flashback gave me so many chills. I loved how Leia continued to train Rey even though she knew she was related to Palpatine. It shows that Leia doesn't judge someone based off blood. Leia loved Rey and had faith in her. People can't help where they came from.

It was so sad to see Leia die but we all know it was going to happen. Chewie's reaction was so emotional and made me shed a tear. The galaxy will remember Princess Leia and Carrie Fisher forever.❤

The Ending

Overall, I loved the ending. Sure I'm still devastated that Ben is dead, but looking at the big picture it was good/satisfying.

People are saying that Rey didn't grieve Ben and she moved on too quick. I think she knows that he will always be with her because no one's ever really gone. He is one with the force. (Ngl, part of me likes to believe he is alive out there somewhere or waiting to come back).

Also as I said before Rey still has people she loves! Finn and Poe are still alive and there for her.

This is just the way I saw it, but I don't think Rey plans to stay on Tatooine very long/permanently. Rey didn't start and end the same way. She has a family now (Poe and Finn) and knows who she is. I think she went there to pay respect to the Skywalker family, it is where it all started with Shmi and her son, Anakin. She buried the lightsabers because they are no longer needed (her new lightsaber is beautiful btw) And don't hate me, but I don't mind her calling herself Rey Skywalker. She felt a deep connection to the family and both Luke and Leia took her under their wing. She doesn't care for/need the name Palpatine. It's not who she is. Which brings me to people being mad that Rey wasn't a nobody. I respect their reasons and everyone is entitled to their own opinions, but I don't think it hurt her character arc. Rey being related to the worst Star Wars villain and still not falling to his dark ways shows how strong she is! She defeated him and brought balance once again to the galaxy despite being his blood.

The ending shot was beautiful and was a perfect way to end the Skywalker saga. The binary sunset and theme was ethereal. It's how the movies started and it's how it ended.

Star Wars is tragic, romantic, and hopeful. This movie showed all of those things. We lost Ben but he felt love again with Rey. Hope was restored with him turning back to the light and Rey defying expectations of a Palpatine. Personally, I loved this movie so much and it did not let me down.

Feel free to add anything you liked about the movie!

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Pain (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: finally, a kakashi one shot. I've been trying so hard to write one but his character is so difficult for me, so deep and mysterious and im just an idiot. Tell me if this story is shit, lol. Anyway, Soulmate AU, kinda fluffy, kinda sad idk what to say about it. 

word count: 5000~

Part One/Part Two

“Trust me,” the boy whispered to me. “It’s going to be okay.”

His arms wound around me, as I dozed in and out of consciousness. Lightning struck every couple minutes, illuminating the area just enough up so I could see the carnage around us. Dead bodies, left and right, blood splattered on trees and shinobi crying over the bodies of their teammates and loved ones.

This war would show no mercy, it had taken someone from every clan, every household. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, lovers, friends. No one was safe from the storm reigning over the nations.

The rain had left me drenched, and I kept coughing on the water running up my nose and into my mouth. I felt like i was drowning in my own body, lungs filled with water, heart filled with pain. 

I could feel the burden on this boy’s shoulders as he panicked over my limp, bloodied form. I didn’t know why he was saving me, or how he even noticed my body among the dozens of others left among those battling for their lives. 

I didn’t have the strength to ask him, words absent from my mind and my tongue.

“I need to keep fighting. Where are the medics, for fucks sake,” my rescuer grumbled under his breath. Fire shot above our heads, and a girl screamed in pain behind us. I felt like I was going to pass out from not only pain but sheer fear. We were sitting there asking to be killed.

Quickly, he lifted me in his arms and ran deeper into the forest, farther away from the man with the flames. 

I tried to speak, but blood caught in my throat and had me spitting it down my neck and onto my shirt. I was at the complete disposal of this stranger.

“Kakashi!”

My teammate. His voice was unmistakable. “Is that Y/N? What- Jesus, that looks bad,” my friend exclaimed as he approached my body. Suddenly my body was being handed off, and I gasped for air, more drops of blood coming up to taste on my tongue. 

“Gai, she needs to get to a medic; she’s your teammate right?” 

“Right away, Kakashi!” He turned on his heel and prepared to push off into a jump through the trees when he paused. “You don’t even know Y/N, what made you save her?”

“I don’t know. I just knew I couldn’t let her die,” the silver haired boy, whom I know knew as the famous Kakashi, trained by the fourth Hokage himself, paused, his eyes stuck on my face for a long minute. “She deserves to live, that’s all I know.” With those being the last words out of his mouth, the boy rushed into the trees, ready to fight another battle for our village. I knew who Kakashi was from the name, but I had never formally met him. He just saved me, and I didn't know whether to feel honored that he found me worth saving or ashamed that I was so weak I couldn't defend myself.

Gai carried me to the edge of the forest where a medic tent was set up. He rocked me softly in his arms as I choked on the mere air I was breathing in, and gasped when my chest felt too heavy to support itself. He was a friend, the best friend I’ve ever had, even if he was painfully unbearable at times. 

People even asked me, time and time again, is Might Gai your soulmate? No one can stand that kid, she must be his soulmate, poor girl. That’s what they would say. But no. We were friends. And Kakashi, was Gai’s sort-of-friend, but mostly he acted as an admirer.

He had mentioned Kakashi time and time again in secret. He would call him a hero, someone so talented and majestic, you would think he was talking about a seasoned shinobi like the Hokage. He felt challenged by his skill, but grateful for his help when he was being bullied. 

I guess, you could say Kakashi Hatake was my hero now too. Such a quiet guy, yet more noble than any one of us.

___________________________________

I don't normally show my soul mark, hidden away under my layers, resting on my shoulder blade. I show it to people when they ask, because it really doesn't matter if people see it or not. I know they aren't my soulmate.

I wasn’t surw who I was destined to be with. Over the years of being a shinobi, I encountered thousands of people, all of whom could have been the one, or not. I may have met them before and not known about it, but I highly doubt it. 

Kurenai told me when you meet your soulmate for the first time, it's such a distinct feeling that you can't miss it. You can't dismiss it as just a chill running through your body. As far as I can remember, I've never felt something like that: so significant that it would haunt me even today. I try not to dwell on the fact that I may never meet my soulmate, or that I've passed them by in another village or on a mission and will never see them again. 

I honestly try not to think about my soulmate at all. It's so hopeless and only brings people anxiety and paranoia. The people who go around asking to see every single person's mark are fools in my opinion.

Yes, I do think it would be nice to meet my soulmate and love them forever unconditionally, constantly having someone to hold and talk to. Yet...I can get so much shit done when I don't have to worry about some fate-forseen destiny. 

I laid in my bed, pillow over my face to drown out the sunlight and sounds of the birds chirping. I didn't have a mission today, and my team of Genin was out on a mission themselves for the next week. I had time to do absolutely nothing but sleep and relax. That is, if my fellow villagers would leave me alone for once.

But not today. I can't have one day off, can I?

"Rise and Shine, woman of the night! Half a day of youth has been wasted, my friend!" A loud bellowing voice called from outside my room. "If you don't wake up and open the door in 10 seconds, I will force the door down." Seriously…fuck Gai.

I rolled out of bed, threw on my robe lying on the floor and walked to the door. If it were anyone else, I could probably get away with staying in bed, but Gai doesn't lie when he makes threats, and I wasn't about to replace my door again.

The sun was so bright when I opened the door and peered out at my friend. eyes narrowed to avoid the sunlight. "Gai...why are you like this?" I put bluntly, stiff frown on my lips.

He frowned, shaking his head furiously. "Y/N, you are yet a single beautiful flower from the leaf village. You must not waste a single day of your youth, your prime time for action, adventure, and training," the man proclaimed, throwing his fist in the air dramatically. 

"Listen, I'm tired as all hell, but if you want me out of the house we can go get breakfast."

"Breakfast? It's past noon."

"Fine. Lunch, then." He nodded, begrudgingly. He was, as expected, disappointed that I didn't even know what time it was, and that I had skipped the most important meal of the day. I shut the door and changed into appropriate clothes, combed through my hair for a minute with my hair, and shoved some cash in my pocket for food.

We walked five blocks to sit down for ramen, and were greeted kindly by the owner and his daughter. 

"When is your next mission assigned?"

"Wednesday. Two days of peace."

"What about your team? Training?"

"On a c-rank. No kids, no responsibilities. What more could I ask for? I got 14 hours of sleep last night too."

His eyes widened, but what was he expecting? I wasn't exactly proactive when I didn't have to be, unlike his upbeat and always ready to fight lifestyle. Maybe he was right to always be prepared, since we can never know when someone will attack the village. We weren't prepared for when Orochimaru first attacked and our Hokage died, as well as hundreds of our shinobi. 

"Typical Y/N behavior. As long as you are safe from harm, I suppose it doesn't matter. Still, after this I'm running 100 laps around the village with Lee. You can join if you want."

"I'll pass this time. My calves are killing after my last mission." I sighed but felt a little calmer as my ramen was placed in front of me. I took one whiff of it and felt immensely better than before. I slouched in my seat a bit as I relaxed and practically inhaled some noodles. 

After I finished my ramen, I bid my farewell to Gai and headed back to my apartment. I guess today would be a good day to clean the mess that had been building up there for a few weeks. I went on missions so often, I just forgot to pick up in between them.

When I was walking up the stairs to my place, I noticed a particular silver haired shinobi leaning against my door, holding a small box in his hands.

“Kakashi!” I exclaimed, walking just a bit faster to get to him. He came to visit me sometimes, but it was quite rare. We usually met up in town or for a mission. “Back from your mission already?”

“Yep. Turned out to be a lot easier than we anticipated,” he replied, shifting on his feet, a movement noting nervousness. I stopped at my door, peering up at him brightly. It was always a pleasant surprise seeing him. After all, he was one of my favorite people.

I leaned on the opposite side of my door frame, my eyes shifting to the little box in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, just something I found while on the mission. It’s really no big deal.”

“You were in the Land of Snow. Barely anyone goes there; of course your little trinket is a big deal!” I laughed. He also laughed, but it was painfully awkward and tense. He still seemed pretty on edge, which I just brushed off as the aftermath of a mission. “Who’s it for?”

“Yeah, about that…” he trailed off, eyes turning down to the box. “It’s actually for you.”

My whole face lit up in flames at the thought of Kakashi getting a special present for me. I watched with the internal excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, my hands shaking just a bit by my sides. My friend lifted the box, and inside was the most magnificent crystal on a metallic chain. It was white with shimmering bits of blue and silver swirling around inside. 

Carefully, I reached out and touched it with the pads of my fingertips. “Kakashi, I don’t know what to say...It’s so beautiful.” My eyes lifted to look at his single eye. It seemed I had caught him staring, and he blinked quickly to cover it up. My cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. 

“The lady who sold it to me said that it holds a protective spirit inside. That’s probably just a cheap sales pitch, but I…” he mumbled, embarrassment creeping up his neck and ears, “Well, I thought you would like it.”

“Are you kidding? I love it. Kakashi, this is the nicest thing someone has ever bought for me. Must have cost you a fortune!” I protested as I further inspected the crystal. It was purely amazing. Truthfully, I didn’t think Kakashi had much taste either.

He shrugged. “Price doesn’t matter. What does matter is if you will wear it.”

“Of course.” Excitedly, I turned around and moved my hair out of the way of my neck. “Put it on for me, please.” I listened to him pick the chain and the clap of the box shutting and slipping into his pocket. His fingers slid against my neck, sending tiny shocks down my spine, and the cool crystal soon sat against my chest. His slim hands moved away from my skin, and I admittedly missed the feeling of his warmth on me.

As I turned, he hummed with approval. “Looks perfect on you, as I suspected.” 

“O-Oh. Well, thank you for getting it for me. Hopefully it actually works like the lady said.”

“Either way, you’ll always be safe.” He brushed off my comment coolly. “Trust me.”

I always did.

_________________________________

It was late into the night, but nerves kept me up once again. All this drama with Orochimaru, Sasuke, the Akatsuki. It was overwhelming. Tsunade was assigning me missions almost every day, my joints ached from running and fighting, and my chakra felt as if it was used up for the last time; I was so tired.

The streets were quiet except for a few restaurants still open to late night diners. My footsteps echoed on the ground as I walked along, dirt kicking up around my feet with every lazy step. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him, perched on the top of a water tower. His hair still flew up despite the wind persistently pushing it down. Kakashi Hatake, my friend and comrade. As always he looked almost majestic, especially in this moonlight. For some reason, I felt the urge to jump up there and be with him, a push towards the shinobi.

Silently, I bounced between buildings to get to where he was, talking up to where he sat. His nin-kin turned to me and nodded in greeting. 

“Sup, Y/N,” Pakkun said in his strangely deep voice for such a tiny dog. Sitting down beside the man, my eyes trailed over to where he was looking out all this time. Pain shot through my body at the sight of the memorial stone, glimmering in the darkness. 

I think every shinobi had their fair share of memories associated with the stone, whether it be family or friends. I sighed, my gaze shifting to the moon above us. 

Some things were just too painful to dwell on.

“Y/N.”

“Hey, Kakashi,” I began, rubbing over my knuckles with my thumb. “I was just on a walk, and it looked like you could use some company.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Pakkun rolled his eyes, but said nothing. After all, he knew his master could use all the human compassion he could find. “Been a tough night.”

I leaned forward a bit, swinging my legs off the edge of the water tower. It made me dizzy being this high up and looking down, but I enjoyed the rush it sent through my blood. My head tilted toward him, and I sighed. “Agreed. Too much to think about, huh?”

“Yep.”

“What’s on your mind then?”

“Currently?” His laugh was bitter as he said that word, shaking his head. His frustration rolled off his body in waves. “My student is a rogue ninja and my other students are going to get killed trying to find him.”

I nodded solemnly. My own squad was actually quite boring. They had talent, but not the same attachments or motivation as Kakashi’s students. His children fought with their all every single battle, always striving to be better than they were the day before. Hell, Sasuke went with a criminal to achieve his goals. I felt sorry for the guy. His kids weren’t normal.

“Naruto won’t give up, huh. Can’t see that happening, I gotta admit.”

“I was the one who taught them the importance of teamwork and bonds between them, but god dammit if I’m not worried about them,” he cursed. “I know they have the capability to defend themselves. Naruto and Sasuke are coming to the point where they could even surpass me, yet I feel obligated to protect him.”

Humming in agreement, I replied, “As you should. What kind of leader would you be if you just left them to be reckless?”

“I just...The thought of losing anyone else is…” His words trailed off, eyes trained on the memorial stone again. 

Tears pricked my eyes. My parents died in the war. I had been injured early on so I wasn’t there to see them die. I only heard about their deaths when the battle ended and their mutilated bodies were found among thousands of others. I didn’t know pain like this man, but I could understand death just like anyone else. Even the happiest people, like Gai, have struggled with loss more times than he would like to count.

Tentatively, my arm went to rest over his shoulders. He didn’t move away from my touch, leaning into my side just slightly. I almost didn’t notice the weight. This man needed touch and affection now more than ever. He was battling a war inside himself as another brewed around him every day. 

“I know, Kakashi.”

He kept silent. Pakkun sat in his lap calmly, his eyes shutting as he sunk deeper into thought. 

“Sometimes, I worry I’ll forget the faces of my parents who died during that battle. I-I can’t remember what color eyes my mom had, and sometimes I forget my dad had freckles or that one of his ears was just a little longer than the other. I know one day I won’t remember at all, and all my pictures burned in the wreckage…” I confided in the masked ninja, and he let out a long breath. “That’s the worst part for me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. I always remind myself that while I forget their faces, I will never forget how they made me feel. How happy I was when my father applauded me at graduation, and how my mother made me the best meals I’ve ever had. In that way, they are always with me.”

His situation ran deeper, I knew that. He killed his friend Rin, and he was forced to watch as his other teammate died being crushed by a boulder. He harboured the boy’s eye every day, acting as a constant reminder that he could only take when he should have saved him. Survivor’s guilt is written on his heart.

As I squeezed his shoulder just a bit tighter to my body, I added, “You owe it to your friends and family to keep living life to the fullest. Just like my parents, your loved ones live through you now.”

He sat calmly for a second, pondering on what I said. I stared out at Konoha, a small smile on my face. The death would always haunt me, but there were always positives, always something to drag a person out of a dark time. With effort, his guilt would lessen. I doubt it would happen that way, Kakashi being too stubborn to forgive himself, but the least we could do is try.

“You’re a good friend, y’know.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Kakashi. Always.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

______________________________________

The mission was turning out to be a big failure. Y/N had wasted away at her reserve of chakra, and Kakashi wasn’t fairing too much better. They would have been sent with more shinobi back up but Tsunade was running short on available ninja, not even a genin to help them. There was so much going on, and this fight was more chaotic than most.

A few hours before, Y/N and Kakashi noticed that enemy shinobi started following them, but from such a distance that it would be better to keep going for as long as they could to regain strength before engaging in combat. Only, they didn’t realize that there were enemies waiting for them as well. It seemed they walked right into a clever trap.

They weren’t prepared. Even the famous Kakashi was worn out from the strain of the mission earlier that day. Constantly, it seemed, they were being attacked. 

Regardless, they tried to put up the best fight they could. 

But it was futile.

After just 20 minutes of fighting, Y/N was at wits end. She had used up a big portion of her chakra an hour earlier to heal a villager. Her legs ached from running for hours, and her head spun with a migraine from head damage.  Before anyone could react, an already weakened kunoichi fell to the ground, half a dozen kunai sticking from her back from a sneak attack in the trees. Her shirt soaked up the blood oozing from her broken skin, and she barely had enough energy to cry out before her face hit the dirt hard. Just as Kakashi turned away from the enemy to see what had happened, one of the kunai, which was tagged, detonated.

Dust flew up in clouds around her as the flames went down. Her clothes were practically seared to the seams, and the awful smell of burnt flesh wafted into the forest around them. 

“Y/N!” Kakashi yelled at the sight of her body. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He pressed his hand to the ground and screamed for his summons to come and help him. Anyone that could protect Y/N while he finished this fight alone. His ninken appeared, and immediately they knew what to do. A few of them went to attack the person who was targeting Y/N, leaving the criminal merciless to their vicious nature, meanwhile the rest, including Pakkun ran over to her body, sizzling on the ground with smoke rising from the fabric of her shirt. 

With some  assistance now in place, Kakashi used the last bit of his chakra to take down the man in front of him, as well as the two to his right and left. Three shinobi down, as well as the one his ninken took down a few seconds ago. 

As he took a few breaths, trying to compose himself enough to think clearly, he caught sight of Y/N’s unmoving body, despite the efforts the dogs took to wake her up, to get her to simply twitch to show she was still alive. 

Nothing. 

His heart began to race with fear. This scene, it was all too familiar. His friends who had died before him, their broken and ruined bodies lying before him to only stare at. He felt helpless. Like years ago, she was near death and he desperately needed to keep her alive. The need inside of him was so strong he couldn’t think of anything else.

Kakashi fell to his knees next to her, quickly moving to yank the kunai from her back and toss them to the side. blood seeped into her blackened clothes and onto the grass below her. 

His hands hovered over her form anxiously, not knowing what to do next. He wasn’t a healer. She was the one with the medical ninjutsu up her sleeve. Pakkun noticed his frantic eyes, the way he held his breath as if time had stopped. 

“Not my Y/N. Not to her, please, Kami, please,” he begged.

“She’s breathing, Kakashi,” the dog assured, placing his paw onto his master’s arm. “The medcine, Kakashi, she needs the Hokage’s medicine.”

His brain took a moment to think, and soon after he rummaged through the remnants of Y/N’s side bag, searching for the salve Tsunade had given them as they left. “Fuck, why did this have to happen?” Harsh words cursed out under his breath as he cut through the fabric with a kunai to get a full look at the wounds on her back. Soot covered her skin, so he wiped them off the best he could.

One dark spot remained. Under her shoulder blade.

Maybe he should have moved faster, forgot about the black mark on her back, but he couldn’t help but rub away the rest of the dust and dirt to take a closer look. He’d never seen her soul mark. She’d never seen his. They were in places unseen by the casual eye. 

And after 20 years of not knowing, they matched. His soulmate. She was right in front of him this entire time. He always felt different toward the woman, in the kind of way they only talk about in romance novels. He never anticipated even meeting his soulmate, but knowing her for 20 years, loving her for this long...it felt surreal.

He pushed down his mask, touching the mark on his chin faintly. Pakkun eyed his master’s mark for a moment before turning to the girl’s. “Kakashi…”

“Shit, forget about that. Let’s just make sure she lives.”

He rubbed the salve onto her wounds, and her body started to shake. The wounds slowly closed, only leaving streaks of blood and dust on her skin. As he turned her body over, he noticed blood dripping from her forehead and wiped it away, pressing a piece of her shirt to the wound to keep pressure steady. 

“She won’t wake up for a while. It’s best to take her back to the village, Kakashi.”

He wordlessly nodded, lifting her into his arms and standing up, hugging her weak form to his chest. And so he started his walk back to the hidden leaf.

His whole body felt heavy, worry building up in his heart. They were meant to be together, souls intertwined by fate. He finally found the woman who would love him endlessly. He would be happy once again.

If only it was that easy…

____________________________________________

After being injured on the last mission, I was allowed to take a few weeks off to recover. Apparently, my wounds could have been fatal if not for the salve Tsunade gave us as it contained an antidote to their poisonous weapons. Kakashi did a good job, the nurses told me when I woke up in the crowded hospital room. They told me he saved my life.

“He was so worried about you, Y/N. He ran all the way here from the Land of Fire just to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, he was just about ready to cry when he handed you off to us,” the nurse told me, a small smile on her face. “He really cares about you, Miss Y/N.”

The nurses told me a lot of things while I was being healed. They loved to talk, and Kakashi was a man of much interest apparently. Even though I was in pain, they made it somewhat bearable to sit in the hospital for three days. 

Every week, I would go back for a follow up, just to make sure the poison hadn’t reemerged. My last appointment just happened to be with the Hokage herself, her expertise above all others. I worried something might be wrong, as my injuries seemed to be getting better, but needing the Hokage to perform an exam must mean something is wrong. Honestly, I was anxious. 

I settled onto the patient’s bench as the powerful woman walked into the room.

“Y/N. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good. No pain anymore.”

“Alright, well, I’ll listen to your vitals, check your blood stream and chakra flow, and hopefully you’ll be out of here in no time,” she told me, doing as she said she would. I laid on the bench and let her medical chakra flow through me, searching for abnormalities. 

After that, I sat up for her to check on my back, which was just about finished healing and scaring. Every shinobi has scars, and thankfully these are hidden under my shirt at all times. Big red welts sat there for a week to the point where it hurt to even wear a shirt because the fabric rubbed against them.

She lifted my shirt, her cold finger running along the healing wounds. Suddenly, her fingers stopped, right under my shoulder. 

“Well, that’s quite...shocking.”

 “Something wrong?” I piped up, peeking at her from over my shoulder. Her eyes were trained onto my back, eyes widened.

“No, it’s not a problem,” she lowered my shirt, and patted her hands together. “Good news is that you’re completely fine, no complications.”

“Bad news?”

“More good news, I suppose,” the woman told me, her lips quirking into a half grin. “Your necklace is gorgeous. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off it since you started wearing it, to be honest. Sakura told me Kakashi gave it to you.” She sighed, touching the crystal hanging close to my heart. 

With a smile, I nodded, eyeing the stone myself. “It’s one of my most prized possessions,” I gushed, heat returning to my cheeks as I thought about receiving the gift.

“Then I have some great news for you.” She let go of my necklace and stepped back a bit, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You and your beloved have the same soulmark. It seems Kakashi is your soulmate.”

My heart stopped beating in my chest for a second. Wide eyes met her neutral ones, and I opened my mouth to say something, but she beat me to it. “I’ve healed Kakashi time and time again, so I know his mark. It’s under his mask, so you would never get the chance to see it. Yet, it matches yours perfectly. Congratulations.”

“Lady Hokage, I-I...Thank you for telling me! This is all I’ve been wishing for for years. Meeting my soulmate, I’ve only ever thought about it in my dreams. I-I can’t believe it.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/N. You and Kakashi will have a mission in 2 days, I suggest you tell him sometime then, when you have time together,” she advised. I nodded gratefully.

She bid me a goodbye and shut the door as she left. My heart was still in overdrive as I processed what she had just told me.

I would just have to wait a few days and then I could tell him everything. It would be the best day of my life.

[owillofthewisps]

gaze upon my bones

notes: are you ever just doing something and then you’re like ‘oh! a lightning strike to the brain!’ and you drop everything to do something else? that’s kinda what this was. which means idk about the quality but hey!

playin’ real fast and loose with gods and oracles in the witcher verse here because, well - i can.

title is from rafferty’s ‘mausoleum’

i tagged everyone in my ‘all witcher’ taglist but if renfri ain’t for you just skip it!

rating: hard teen? (warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death [canon compliant], brief mention of implied child death, brief references to sex, angst i guess?)

pairing: renfri/fem reader

word count: 3.5k

knowing fate does not save you from it.

People so rarely want the truth of fate.

You learn to read your patrons early, divine their desires from the lilt of their lips (pulled pink between their teeth, curved quiet around a secret, laugh lines carved around an unsmiling mouth) and the way their hands flutter like moths against the silk of your cushions.  In the beginning, they come to you relentlessly, mindlessly, a river destined to spill into your ocean, to mingle with the salt of you.  They pour into your endless reservoir and they never want the truth of it.  

It is a hard lesson to learn, to swallow down the truth, but you never forget the prick of the mother’s blade against the soft curve of your belly and the way her sobs burned bright against your ear.  When you were a child, pressing your ear against a seashell gave you the music of the ocean.  If you returned to the coast now, you think, the shell would echo with her wails instead. 

They do not want the truth, and so you no longer give it to them.

Instead, you carry their fates somewhere deep inside.  You have been to war a thousand times, all without even knowing how to swing a sword.  Have felt a man’s skull split beneath your blade, felt the pulse of it resonate up into your arm.  Cradled a child as they sweat out a fever, held them for hours after they went limp in your arms. The first time you’d orgasmed, it had paled in comparison to the one you’d lived through the woman with hair that cascaded like fire against her freckled shoulders.  The first time you’d loved, it hadn’t been as ardently as the man with night-sky eyes, a vast dark gaze full of the tenderness of the guiding stars.  

A trickster god, you said to your mother, years ago now.  Hundreds of other people’s not-yet lifetimes ago.  Of all the gods you could choose.  

She hadn’t known the trick would weigh heavy on you and not her, but that is the way of the gods.  

(In your seventeenth summer, you give yourself to a forest goddess, let her priestesses drape you with ivy and fiddleheads still tightly furled.  You trace a finger over the curved stem of the fiddlehead and turn your face towards the forest canopy, letting the dappled sunlight shimmer over your skin.  It feels like a blessing.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness, slick white against velvet night, each tooth sharp with something unearthly, a knife’s blade of divinity.  They smile terribly, and you know what it is to be small.  

Very well, the teeth rumble, dark amusement apparent in the rockslide click-clack of them.  I suppose you are owed a trick of your own. 

You wake with winter spiraling down your spine, the chill spreading cool across your skin despite summer’s heated kiss.  The gooseflesh prickles like little thorns, the sensation rolling over you like a shroud.

You do not know if it was just a dream, and you do not want to know.

If the trickster god has let go of you, he has not taken back your sight, the way lives unspool over little flickers of smoke with you a captive audience to their play, and that is the cruelest trick of all.)

There is inherent trickery in fate, you know, and most of your patrons’ fates are blurred at the edges, still intangible, still changeable.  

Not Renfri’s.

She comes to the temple, hidden deep in the shadows of the woods, and you are entranced.  

She is incandescent with youth, supple and wild.  She reminds you of a waning moon.  Aglow with vigor, the type of beauty that makes you want to raise your face to her and bathe in her light.  But at her edges, a shadow that consumes, that edges closer to the heart of her.  

She settles at the edge of the cushion across from you.  Her legs are long, lean things, slender but heavy with muscle, and something in you aches to touch.  

There is a small streak of dirt smeared across her graceful neck.  Your sisters had offered her a bath, hands twisting nervously in their sleeves, and she had laughed, a low, clear noise. 

“Some things we can’t be cleaned of,” she’d said.  “I would see the oracle first.”

And so she came to you.

She slings her arm over her knee.  In the sunlight, her eyes are the color of a newborn fawn, tawny brown and beautiful, but she has none of the fawn’s timidity. 

“I’d thought of oracles as old,” Renfri says.

You quirk a brow.  “Come back in several decades and I will be.”

Her pink lips lift at the corners with something sweetly sly. “I’d also thought them dull, so you’ve proved me wrong twice over.”

You hum something soft.  

Renfri considers you, and you can feel her trying to split you at the seams, to open you to her curiosities.    

“Do you truly know what is fated?” she asks softly, and for the briefest moment, she is delicate. Her leather armor, worn and nicked where blades have floated too close, seems too big on her.  

More than I wish, you think.  “Only time can answer that,” you say instead.  “Would you like to know?”

She nods, and there is the snarl of a feral thing tucked between her teeth.  The wild uncurls in her, that dark edge of the moon spreading across her, seeping like a shadow just beneath her skin. 

You contemplate the small scars scattered like stars across her knuckles, the fine delicacy of the scar tissue, and the hard peaks of her knuckles beneath.  “Think of what fate you want to know,” you say.  “You may speak it aloud, if that pleases you, but hold it in your mind.”

Most close their eyes to bring their uncertainty out of the depths of themselves.

Not Renfri.

She meets your gaze, her hard eyes framed by the soft sweep of her chestnut waves, and though her face is blank stone, you can sense the bared teeth.  She is all coiled snake, sleekly muscled and ready to strike. 

“Hold out your hand.”

Renfri extends her hand.  Her fingers are fine-boned, sleek and slender, but her calluses scrape against your skin as you turn her hand over.  Her scars are small hills, and you trace the pad of your thumb over the raised skin without thought.

You have only a moment to register the warmth of her skin against your questing fingertips, and then her fate sweeps you away.

And it is terrible.

Blood swallows you like a tide, drags you deeper into a wash of violence that makes you tremble.  Bellies burst and split open against the cruel drive of a spike; symphonies of cracking bones. The heavy thud of a sword pushing through a skull. The smell of copper and rot and death.  An empty space inside, a void hungry for control, for taking back what is yours. 

And then, for the briefest breath, for a lightning strike of a moment: your own lips, curling up into something fond. A touch so light it reminds of the sun, intangible but felt anyway.  The woody, pungent scent of thyme mellowed by soft, sweet clover, soap and skin perfumed by the temple’s lush cloverbeds. 

Then there is laughter, a comfort of familiar men’s low voices flashing by too quick for words.  Blood blossoms and fades and rage so deep it winds up your throat like vines until you are choking on the breadth of it and then - 

Snowy hair gone silver with grime.  A voice like a landslide.  Warmth and wonder, heat in the hallowed embrace of the woods. Two swords, silver and steel, and the bite of a blade at your throat.  Pain spreading like a disease.  A gaping maw of hunger never filled. 

Renfri’s death pulls you out of her fate.  You pick carefully at the threads of her still wound around the needle of your mind, tease them out before they can be woven into you.  It takes more concentration than usual.

The breath you take is deep and slow; it washes the copper stink of blood out from your nose.  “Do you want to know your fate?” you ask Renfri.

She considers you.  She has eyes like the forest, deep brown and full of life.  “No,” Renfri says.  “Not yet.”

Your hand is still on hers, but she does not move. 

You are the one who pulls back.

Later, once Renfri rejoins her men, Maya brings you a skein of water.  She hums quietly as you drink deeply. “What did you see?” she asks.  “It is not like you to be so shaken.”

You wipe the water from your lips.  “Me,” you say.  “I saw me.”

Maya cups your cheek.  Her dark eyes are soft.  They have the sorrow of the winter forest in them, bleakly quiet.  She runs her thumb across your cheekbone, her touch feather light.  “Knowing fate is a dangerous thing,” she murmurs.

You wrap your hand around her wrist, let your fingers play across the delicacy of her skin. She smiles, slow and sweet, and pulls away gently.  

Maya settles next to you, her skirt flaring like an opening bloom.  She rests her head against your shoulder and hums quietly.

The two of you stay like that for a long, long time.

-

Renfri returns a scant month later.  

She is wild with delight, all bared teeth and feral joy.  There is a cut healing on her collarbone; the edges of it going pink with the promise of a scar.  Her chestnut hair is mussed by the wind.  It wisps around her face like smoke.  

She is achingly beautiful.  

Maya must tell her where to go, for she finds you sprawled in the cloverbed behind the temple.  She hunkers down next to you in one fluid motion.  You blink up at her.

“Renfri?”

She smiles.  “Oracle. You remember me.”  

How could I not, you don’t say.  Instead, you tell her your name and say: “You don’t need to call me oracle now.”

You push to your elbows as Renfri plops down into the clovers with you.  She’s feline in her grace, stretches her lithe form in the sunlight, tilting her face up towards the light.  You think of her grace as she prowls around the broad man in the market square. 

“Would you like to know your fate?” you ask.  It feels an odd thing, to ask it here, in the warmth of the sun with the clovers brushing against your skin, the sweet scent of them catching in the breeze.

“Why do you ask that?” Renfri says.  She peers at you, shading her eyes from the sun, the deep mahogany of them almost black in the shadows.  

“What?”

She sighs.  “Why do you ask if I’d like to know my fate, instead of just telling?”

You shift.  “People don’t always understand what it means,” you tell her.  “Sometimes knowing the end makes you lose the present.”

Renfri hums.  “I don’t think I could lose the present,” she says softly.  “Not until I’ve run my blade through Stregobor’s belly.” 

“You’d be surprised.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“About what?”

“Stregobor.”

You sigh.  “If you wanted to tell me, you would.”

“You can say it, you know,” Renfri tells you.  She’s watching you carefully, those dark eyes half-wild.  “You know the stories, even out here.”

“Do you want me to call you Shrike?” you ask.

She tilts her head.  The waves of her hair spill against the shore of her shoulders.  “No,” she says quietly.  “I don’t think I do.”

“Alright,” you say.

You fade into silence, listening to the creaking lullaby of the forest.  Renfri lies down next to you, her dark hair stark against the verdant green of the clovers.  She tugs at them with nimble fingers.  The snap of their stems sharpens their scent as it floats sweet around you.  

Eventually, she tells you about Stregobor.  

Eventually, you nudge closer to curl up by her side.

Eventually, she leaves, and you are left with nothing but the lingering scent of her - warm cloves and sword oil, and just beneath it, the copper tang of blood - and the choking feeling of a sob caught in your throat.

-

“Would you want to know your own fate?”

“No,” you tell Renfri as you separate a wild cherry from its stem.  You split the flesh of it between your fingers and pry the stone free.  The pit plinks into the wooden bowl, the sound of it oddly musical. Maya had pulled you both into the kitchen to help her when Renfri first arrived.  It hadn’t taken her long to disappear, but you can still feel her warning gaze prickling against your skin.

Renfri steals the cherry from you with nimble fingers and pops it into her mouth.  The carmine juice of it stains her pink lips dark.  You try not to stare.

“Why not?” she asks.

It takes a moment to understand what she’s asking about.  You pull your gaze away from the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her pale skin. 

“Sometimes you can know too much,” you tell her.

Renfri hums. She cuts off a sliver of a nearby apple with a small dagger, holds it to your lips.  You roll your eyes at her but pull the crisp slice from her blade, let the fruit’s flesh crunch under your teeth, sour and sweet in the same breath. She pulls back and sucks the juice from her fingers.  

Heat rises to your cheeks.

You busy yourself with the wild cherries, breaking them down with the easy precision of constant work.  The smell of them fills the air.  “Besides,” you say absently, working at a particularly stubborn pit, “it’s hard enough already, waiting for what I’ve seen come to pass.”

Renfri pauses.  “You’ve seen yourself in other’s fates?”

“Ah,” you say.  “Yes.”

“Many of them?”

“No,” you say carefully.  “Just one.”

“Oh,” Renfri says, and then she is working at the apple again, peeling its skin off in a long, curling ribbon.  She’s quiet, then, and she stays quiet. During the mid-day dinner, with Maya and the rest of the table sharing the low benches at the long table, she seems to find her chatter again.  

She leaves the same night.  Her men are itching to move on, and from what low chatter carries to you, they’ve caught wind of Stregobor for the first time since he fled Angren. The sun is just gaining the golden hue of the late afternoon when she saddles her horse.  Her men start ahead of her as she dallies at the door of the temple.

“Stay safe,” you tell her, even though you know that in the end, she cannot.  

Renfri nods, and the sun catches in her chestnut hair, paints it bright and dark all at once.  “The fate you saw yourself in,” she says quietly.  

Don’t, you want to say. Please.

“Yes?” you ask.

“It was mine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you say, and your ribs crack under the admission.

“I knew it,” Renfri breathes, and she tastes of cherry juice and a hint of spice bread.  She kisses you again, fervent, her callused hands rough against your cheeks, and you open to her.  Renfri softens against you.  She tastes of cherry juice and something tenderly sweet and fate - fate has not prepared you for this.  

She pulls away from you and rests her forehead against yours.  You breathe in her air and push it back out as your own.  Her eyes are mahogany in the afternoon light, tinted darker still by want.  

“I have to go,” she says.

“I know.”

“Soon,” Renfri says.  “I’ll be back soon.”

You push into her again, catch her lips with yours.  She pulls you close, one hand dropping low on your waist, her fingers dipping under the gap between your bodice and your skirt.  She is so warm against you.  

Renfri rides off into the distance.  There is a moment where she blocks out the sun, and it gleams at the edges of her, crowning her with light seeping around her shadowed edges.  An eclipse all your own.

Please, you think that night, as you tend to one of the patches of your goddess’s favored ferns. Let me be wrong, just once.

-

You trace a finger across the scar just beneath Renfri’s left breast, a little sickle moon of healed flesh.  Your touch is feather light.

Renfri laughs and catches your hand.  She brings it to her lips, presses a kiss to the pads of your fingers.  Her lips are swollen and red and hot beneath your touch.  You echo her with a kiss against the lean muscle of her belly.  

“What are you thinking of?” she asks softly.

“Nothing and everything,” you say.  She had come to the temple wearing a leather vest with a familiar pattern.  You could not strip her of it fast enough.

“Come now, oracle,” Renfri chides.  “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You crawl up and kiss her red, red lips.  She tastes of cherry juice and campfire smoke.  It’s a lazy, sweet kiss.  She cups the nape of your neck and urges you against her.  Renfri touches you with a reverence you’d never expected, her rough hands soft against your skin.  

Her hair is dark against your linens, the waves of it spread wide against your thin pillow.  She glitters with delight, but there is still something feral tucked into her lips.  She kisses you like a wild thing, sometimes, her deep brown eyes hazed until they are almost black, a velvet night to embrace you.  You curl into her side and stroke your fingers over her skin.

The two of you doze until Renfri murmurs: “Would you tell me my fate, if I asked?”

You think of blood, and how the sound of two swords scraping against each other reminds you of a mourning knell.  You think of Renfri’s teeth nipping against your neck like little knives, and her form molded soft against yours.  You press your face into her neck and she smells of thyme, wood and earth, your soap still lingering on her skin.  

She leaves tonight.  The two of you are hoarding every moment you can have, winding sinuous around time like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

“Do you want to know it?” you ask, tasting the salt of her skin on your lips.

Renfri traces the curve of your hip with a long finger.  You pull back enough to peek up at her, to see the way the fan of her lashes flutter over her skin.  She tips your chin up until you meet her eyes.

“No,” she says.  Her eyes glimmer and gleam like torchlight.

You think some quiet part of her already knows.

You press a kiss against the blade of her collarbone.  “Then I won’t,” you say.

The two of you stay entwined until Renfri has to leave.  The Arc Coast is not small, and there are many towns where Stregobor may be hiding, though there are whispers that he is in a sorcerer’s tower in one of the larger towns.  

Renfri’s goodbye kisses are always her hungriest ones.  

She casts a long shadow as she and her men ride off.  It glows around the edges, and you think again of an eclipse.

Not three evenings later, you dream.

There are teeth shining in the darkness.  Each tooth is sharp with power, all honed pale bone gleaming in the velvet cradle of the deep, deep night.  They are ghastly things, otherworldly, piercing through the veil. They do not smile, but you still feel small.  

It is a cruel trick, fate, the teeth say, all rumbling thunder crackling just overhead, splitting the sky with sound. The order of it brings comfort, but the knowing - the knowing is pain. I am sorry, child of mine.

When you wake, you are already crying. 

-

Years later, you step into a tavern and see a witcher with white, white hair tucked away at a table in the back.  His eyes glow sun-gold, and he is as handsome as you remember.  

You order a tankard of ale. Those amber eyes flicker towards you as you approach.  His face is stone, but his eyes are a warning all their own.  

“Thank you,” you say to Geralt of Rivia.  “For trying.”

The tankard makes a heavy noise against the pitted wood of the table.

From the deep grunt, he doesn’t understand, but you don’t need him to.  You still remember the look on his face as he skimmed Renfri’s own blade against the delicate skin of her neck.  The desolation of it, the crack in the very foundation of him.  You still know the touch of his arm against your back, how he cradled her as she fell. 

You had always known you were going to lose her. 

Knowing fate does not save you from it.

taglist: @whitewolfandthefox @hina-chans-stuff @witchernonsense @tutuwho @riviawitch3r @restingnurseface @consultingdetextive @ambivertomnivore @theunwantedomega @shewritesinthethirdperson

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Winning Pair

Word Count: 1,800+ (oneshot) [AO3]

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Characters/Pairing: Nara Shikamaru/Temari

Summary: Shikamaru has come to a decision. The only part left is how to make it memorable for the love of his life.

Written for the Leaves in the Wind ShikaTema zine.

~0~

Shikamaru was grateful to his teammates for many things. But Ino and Choji realizing from the few times they’d noticed him and Temari together that they were seeing each other, keeping track of when Temari was going to be hanging around Konoha, and casually informing Shikamaru so he could make time to meet her there...Well. That was a quiet but special mark of the bond they shared. 

And here he’d been, under the impression that they had been real subtle about their relationships, too. Neither were big on flashy displays of affection, but he figured that there was nothing he could hide from his oldest friends. He would have to find some way to actually acknowledge that and thank them for it, especially after this, because a week prior to today, they had informed him that Temari would be staying in Konoha for a couple days. For some diplomatic task or another on her brother’s behalf; Shikamaru hadn’t really cared much for those details. 

What was important to him was that he’d gotten plenty of time to plan in advance the move he wanted to make. Always a nice thing, in both shogi and life. Most of his free time this week had been spent alone in silence planning, eyes closed and fingers interlaced. Or sitting with his father, over tea or dinner or game, discussing the matter. He had considered going to all of his friends about it. After all, they would end up becoming involved one way or another (Ino and Choji certainly already knew of, or at least suspected, his intentions), and some of them were already knowledgeable, even successful, in the art of courting. But no: Nara men did it differently. He and Temari did it differently. 

So, Shikamaru waited. He planned. He fine-tuned the details, like an artisan filing out the tiniest parts of an intricate wooden design. Such as the cube puzzle in his hands right now, that he was fiddling with as he sat at the back of his home to wait. He glanced upward every so often to watch the sun, and to track its progressing arc across the sky.

This was good. Clear sky, barely a single cloud out there. Bright light and visibility. Only the slightest of breezes out to disturb the air, barely even strong enough to ruffle his hair. He would never have called himself the sort of man who had real refined taste or appreciation for great beauty; he supposed he was just like his father in that way. But even so, he couldn’t help but think that he couldn’t have made a more perfect day if he had made a damn checklist for it. He’d made backup plans, of course, in case of rain or lightning, but he was glad he didn’t have to rely on them. This fit better with the scene in his head.

His girl was always the strict and professional sort on the job, and so she was perfectly on time today. Right when the sun moved a little past the highest point of its arc, he looked up and all of a sudden there was Temari’s silhouette up in front of him. The pale rays of light glinted off her bared-teeth grin. 

“Hey there, handsome. Have you really been sitting around here with that thing all day?”

Shikamaru set the puzzle box aside on the planks next to him. “Waiting around, yeah. How’d your meeting go?”

Temari waved her hand dismissively. “Just fine, same as always. I’m more interested in you.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said, giving her a wolfish smirk, and received a half-hearted whap on the head with a closed fan for his trouble. 

“Not like that, smartass. Your friend Akimichi told me you wanted me to stop by because you wanted to spend quality time with me. Were those your words or his? Him I expect that kind of sappy stuff from, but you? Hell no.”

He nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from giving away his whole game with a quick and snarky, Oh, really? Temari was sharp, and she was better than any girl he’s ever met, up to and including both Ino and his own mother, at figuring out when he was up to something. Sappy stuff...Even she really had no clue what she was in for.

“Choji’s words,” he answered, standing up to look her directly in the eyes, the color of the sea in storm. He wondered if she could truly appreciate that the way he does, being from the desert and all. “I did have some plans in mind though, if you’re up for it...”

He stepped back and raised his hand in a non-hostile challenge stance. “How about a little sparring match? Since the courtyard’s all empty and there’s nobody here to bother.”

Temari tilted her head to the side, hand on her hip. She was trying to give him a skeptical look, but he could tell that she was trying not to laugh. “Really? That’s what you wanted me out here for? Some extra training?”

His smirk broadened. Exactly how he had predicted she would react. His next scripted line really would fit in perfectly. “So how about we make it a little more interesting than that?”

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s say...” He pretended to think about it for a moment. “Let’s say that if you win, I’ll give you a grand prize.”

“A grand prize, huh?” Temari snickered. “You’ve already got something in mind, don’t you?”

Yeah, nothing gets past you, hon.

“Maybe. You’ve got to win to find out, don’t you?”

“I guess I do. I’ll go easy on your house, if only for your parents’ sake, but don’t expect me to do the same for you, Shikamaru. Got it?”

He almost laughed. “I never would.”

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Temari was flying at him, the winds picking up a bit in the space around them. It wasn’t exactly his speed that Shikamaru prided himself on, but like any shinobi worth his salt, he was more than fast enough to dodge both her kicks and the strikes of her half-closed fan. When they would spar, their flashier or more destructive techniques were left to the spacier areas of Konoha, the training forests and the extensive wilderness inside the village borders, where a fallen tree or a few flying branches were of relatively little concern. 

(And there was that sole, memorable occasion where he had been the one to travel to Sunagakure and had to very quickly get used to walking and navigating on an endless field of shifting sand. He’d stomach the idea of moving out there if it was what Temari wanted, but all the same he certainly hoped it wasn’t.)

Here in the tiny, grassy arena of his courtyard, taijutsu was their default style of choice. It didn’t get Shikamaru’s blood pumping the way another kind of fight could, but then again, that had never been something he looked for. This way, he could truly appreciate the way his quick, short, and decisive movements clashed with Temari’s slower but stronger sweeping strikes, studying the minutiae between their styles in order to augment his existing tactics and let new ones form. Even better — he had been significantly surprised to realize that this came higher in his priorities — when they were this close to one another, he could take the split-seconds of calm to drink in every last part of his beloved.

He’d respected her strength first and foremost, when they had been children and she had been just an obstacle to his primary goal of finding someplace to sleep through the rest of the Chuunin Exams. Her smarts, always gleaming in those sharp eyes of hers, had come shortly after. A clever girl who could handle herself in battle and carry on a decent conversation after? Not the rarest gift, but still the most precious one. 

Not that he’d ever tell her so (he knew that even a genius couldn’t make it sound like a compliment), but he had noticed her beauty last. No...That didn’t sound right. He had always known that Temari was beautiful. More accurate was the sentiment that he had taken years to realize just how deeply her beauty struck his heart. 

There were her arms slinging around his shoulders or hugging his waist tightly from behind, never so lightly that he couldn’t feel the strength of her muscles. Her lips, so surprisingly gentle as they pressed against his own, or laid soft lines up his neck, when they were entwined together in bed. Her smile, which made something swell in his chest every time he saw it. It calmed him when his nerves were frayed, excited him when he was cold and flat, lifted him back up out of the deep waters of grief. It — she — was the most radiant thing he had ever seen. 

Even the sharp shock of her flesh on his, the muffled clang of thin mail, was more gratifying than it had ever been with any other person. What was that old saying that Naruto was so fond of? About how true warriors could understand each other’s feelings through the wordless exchange of blows? They weren’t trying to hurt each other, far from it. They were only becoming closer to one another.

So Shikamaru didn’t mind at all when one blindingly fast round sweep from Temari’s fan caught him in the backs of the knees, and sent him pitching backwards to the grass. He landed with a thump on his back, and there was only a short beat of silence and spinning blue sky above him before Temari was standing there instead. She planted a foot lightly on his chest and tipped his chin up with the end of her fan. Her smile was triumphant this time, and his heart skipped a beat. 

“Looks like I won, then. So what’s this grand prize I’ve earned?”

Shikamaru smirked, and gestured to himself. 

“How about this hand?” he said, and Temari tilted her head to the side, puzzled. 

“What? I’m not about to cut off your h —“ She blinked, a spark of realization in her eyes, and then burst out laughing. “You absolute sap! You don’t mean hand in marriage, do you?”

“Yeah, and if I did? Is that a prize you’re interested in?”

“You know, I’d say you’re giving yourself too much credit, but...I can’t seem to do that.” 

Temari stepped back, then reached down to pull Shikamaru up from the ground and into a quick but deep kiss. 

“Tell me, though,” she purred, her face still so close to his own. “Did you just let me win as part of a proposal setup?”

Shikamaru hummed noncommittally. “Did it seem that way to you?”

Temari snickered. “A kunoichi’s pride is nothing to toy with, Nara Shikamaru. Tell you what: you give me a rematch, with nothing on the line this time, and you’ll have yourself a fiancée.”

Shikamaru grinned. His girl’s fire was as strong as ever. “Deal.”

[lesetoilesfous]

“I might never get another chance to say this.” - for Fendersssss? 🥺

AAAAAH oh this is gonna break my heart. I can just tell. Thank you so much for the prompt!!! And for the OTP request, I love my boys :D

(If you’d like me to write you a da2, da:o or da:a fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Varric, Marian Hawke

Tags: idiots in love, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, near death experience

Rating: Mature

“I’m in love with you.” The mage is breathless, his face flecked with blood and his hair tangled and pulled free from its tie by the violence of battle. His golden eyes are dark in the shadow of the Deep Roads, and the air around him is thick with the metallic scent of magic. Fenris stares at him. Behind them, roaring red light slams into the cave walls. 

“What?”

Anders grins at him, wild and unrestrained, brave and foolish and bright. His hand tightens around his staff. His knuckles are grazed and bleeding. “I might never get another chance to say this. So. I’m in love with you. Just so you know.”

The roaring of the demonic magic behind them scrapes at Fenris’ ears. Then, suddenly, it’s gone, and Anders is turning and tumbling out from behind the pillar to throw a wave of ice at the rock wraith. For a moment Fenris is stunned still. Then he moves, hefting his sword and ignoring the burn of the muscles in his arms as he does so.

Hawke and Varric sprint out from behind their own pillar, and Fenris forces his attention from the tall, slender, stupid mage standing right in front of the blighted wraith in favour of focusing on his foe. He hefts his sword, and wonders not for the first time how in the Void they’re meant to defeat something made of magic and the mountain.

The battle is long and arduous, but they win. Hawke whoops when they do, and her shout echoes against the cavern ceiling. Fenris privately swears that if her shouting brings yet more ghouls down upon them, he will not speak to her for a week. Both she and Varric are distracted by the large, glittering pile of golden treasure in one corner of the cave. Fenris is of a mind to follow them, but he turns first to the mage.

Anders smiles at him, weakly, and Fenris wonders whether he had always been so pale. The mage is fair, yes, but now he’s white as a sheet. It makes his freckles and the blood splattered across his face stand out like spilled ink. Then Anders stumbles forward, and Fenris frowns, gaze falling to where his hand is pressed against his stomach. Anders looks down too, lifting his palm. It comes away a bright, crimson red. 

He manages a soft, “oh. That’s not good.” And then he’s swaying backwards, falling towards the unforgiving stone floor. 

Fenris lunges, barely catching the mage and lowering him gently onto the jagged rock. As he does, Anders whimpers, his body flinching around the ragged mess that has been made of his ribcage. Fenris stares and tries to stifle the panic racing through his chest. He leans forward, over Anders’ face. 

“Mage! Mage, you need to heal yourself.”

Anders looks up at him. His eyes are dark and golden and unseeing, and they skate over Fenris’ face and away, staring up at the distant stone ceiling. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I always...loved...the sky.”

His eyes flutter shut. Fenris stares, and breathes and tastes magic and blood. He sits forward and slaps the mage, briskly, once. It does nothing. Fighting a losing battle against his own panic, Fenris pulls a potion from his belt even as he shouts. “Hawke!” His voice breaks on his companion’s name and bounces against the stone walls, taunting him again and again with his weakness.

Fenris tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking, the way the lyrium in his body is burning, even as he gently slips a hand beneath Anders head and lifts it. The mage’s hair is thick and damp with sweat and blood, and it tickles against Fenris’ fingers. His head is heavy in his hand. 

Fenris uncorks the bottle with his thumb with practice ease, and presses the glass lip to Anders’ mouth. His lips are grey and pale, nothing like the pink flush with which they normally smile, and laugh, and flirt. (I’m in love with you.) 

Fenris tips the potion into Anders’ mouth, and the thick red liquid dribbles a little down his chin. The honey sweet taste of elfroot fills the air. Fenris discards the bottle, and it falls with a chink to the stone as he gently massages the mage’s throat.

“Oh, Anders.” Hawke’s voice is soft, and she crouches beside them. For once Fenris ignores her, watching Anders anxiously for any sign of response. Quietly, Varric joins them. Together they watch. 

In Fenris’ arms, Anders’ body seems even more slender than it had before. In uconsciousness, some of his years fall away, leaving him looking young and vulnerable and fair, out of place in this hive of demons and shadow. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. Fenris watches for any sign of a pulse jumping in his neck and cannot see it. He cannot find the courage to check.

Behind Hawke, Varric breaks the silence with a low murmur. “Come on, Blondie. Come on. Don’t give up now.”

Fenris’ hand tightens in Anders’ hair.

He doesn’t move.

(I might never get another chance to say this. So. I’m in love with you. Just so you know.)

Distantly, there’s the shrieking wail of some awful creature. Hawke shifts, looking over her shoulder. Tentatively, she breaks the quiet. “Fenris -”

Fenris moves, bending over Anders’ body and lifting it into his arms, pressing his limp, heavy head into his shoulder. He shakes his his head, and presses his face into Anders’ hair. The man smells of elfroot and blood, sweat and magic.

He doesn’t move.

The shrieking gets closer. Hawke gets to her feet. Fenris catches the movement of her head as she and Varric exchange a look. Then she turns back to him. “Fenris. I found a key. We need to -”

Fenris shakes his head again, and presses Anders’ body closer to his chest. “No.” The word is a demand and an argument and a prayer. The shrieking gets closer.

Varric sighs. “Broody, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Fenris shuts his eyes, and feels them burning behind his eyelids, even as tears begin to tickle down his cheeks. He cannot remember the last time he cried. 

“No.” He says again. The word falls into the heavy silence of the body in his arms, and the deep shadows of the cave around them. 

There’s a flash of blue light - flickering like lightning across Anders’ skin. Suddenly, his chest jerks, and he gasps. Fenris pulls back, and stares as racing blue sparks run across the ragged wound in Anders’ side, knitting it back together in a wave of magic. Anders chokes, and gasps again, and Fenris holds him, staring at him and not daring to hope, even as he braces to watch the man twist into some awful abomination.

But that doesn’t happen.

After a moment, Anders catchs his breath, and hangs his head. He lifts his hand to his hair, and his fingers are shaking. He stares down at where the wound in his side had been. “Thanks Justice.” The words are barely a whisper. Fenris tries to ignore the discomfort he feels at them. 

Then, at last, Anders seems to notice the position in which he finds himself. He stares up at Fenris. As he does he flushes pink, and colour returns to his freckled cheeks. Fenris grins, and Anders’ eyes fall to the tear tracks on his chin. His expression falls. Tentatively, slow enough that he would be easy to push away, Anders lifts his hand to Fenris’ face and brushes the moisture from his skin. His fingers are soft and cool. 

“How long was I out?”

Fenris hand curls into the heavy, stiff material of his ridiculous jacket at his back. “Long enough.” Understanding passes in Anders’ face then, and his features soften.

“Sorry I made you wait.”

Fenris nods, once. Anders stares at him for a moment longer, and then his mouth begins to curl into a smile. Fenris frowns at him. “What?”

Anders shrugs, and tilts his head meaningfully to Fenris’ arms around him. “Not that I don’t enjoy the lovers’ embrace, but weren’t we running for our lives half an hour ago?”

“It’s just as well someone remembers.” Hawke interrupts, then thumps Anders on the back hard enough for him to huff. Fenris glares at her, and she rolls her eyes at him before turning back to Anders. “Good to have you back. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Anders gives her a hesitant smile, and Hawke grins at him, honest and relieved, before fishing a heavy intricate veridium key out of her pack.

“We’ve found our ticket out of here. How do you feel about seeing the sky again?”

The yearning in Anders’ face then is almost painful to look at, and it’s enough to motivate Fenris to get to his feet. He carefully helps Anders stand too, ignoring the mage’s curious look as he lifts him (too easily - the mage should certainly be eating more for a man of his height and build.)

It’s at this point that Varric returns from scouting in the tunnels beyond them, stepping with disconcerting ease from the shadows. “Blondie, you’re alive! That’s great! Don’t do that again. This old dwarven heart can only take so much.” Anders chuckles, embarassed, and rubs the back of his head. Varric smiles at him warmly before turning to Hawke.

“We’re clear for now, but I wouldn’t recommend sticking around.”

Hawke laughs. “I’m inclined to agree.” She turns to Fenris and Anders. “Boys. Shall we?”

Both of them nod, moving to gather their packs. Anders bends stiffly for his, and Fenris picks it up for him and swings it over his own shoulder before the mage can protest. Anders looks like he’s going to, anyway, but he apparently sees something of the futility of that course of action in Fenris’ face, because he backs down with a rueful grin and slings his staff over his back instead.

Hawke slots the key into the great mechanism of the doors, and they grind and thunk with a teeth-jarring series of metal thuds. Slowly, screeching, the doors swing open. For the first time in over a fortnight, fresh air washes down the shadows of the tunnel and over their faces. 

Varric shuts his eyes. “Sweet Maker. Topside, I’ve missed you.” Together, he and Hawke step through the doors and into the earthen tunnel. 

Anders moves to follow them, eyes fixed on some distant point - the very faintest hint of a lightening in the dark that suggests distant sunlight. Fenris catches his hand, and Anders stops. Fenris watches him visibly resist the urge to pull away, choosing to listen to him instead of walking towards the freedom he so clearly desires. It gives him the courage to speak.

“I love you, too.”

Fenris swallows against the lump of it in his throat, and forces himself to meet Anders’ eyes. The mage is grinning at him, wide and open and boyish, and then he’s jumping forwards with far more energy than anyone has any right to when they had so recently been nearly dead, and kissing him. Fenris grunts, and catches him, and tastes elfroot on his tongue. For a moment, everything else fades away: the wraiths, and the tunnels, the stench of darkspawn and the weight of the dark.

Then there are broad hands pushing at the small of his back, and Anders is yelping, as Hawke tugs him away from Fenris by his ear whilst Varric shoves Fenris’ back. 

Hawke laughs. “Honeymoon on the surface, alright? I’m not watching you two become Darkspawn fodder so soon after you’ve finally come to your blighted senses.”

Apparently unperturbed by the hand on his ear, Anders lets himself be dragged. “So you’d be fine with us becoming Darkspawn fodder another time?”

Behind him, Varric chuckles. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, Broody.”

Together they walk into the earthen tunnel. Fenris feels the soil give a little beneath his feet. He looks at the chattering, bloodied, grinning man in front of him. “Yes. I think I do.” He makes no effort to hide his satisfaction. 

Without hesitation, Fenris follows his mage into the light.