#and the amount of children on a battlefield? did no one stop and say 'why are they on the battlefield?' not even Padmé the Senator for Good

[coruscanti-arabi]

live action clone wars ahsoka but it's the second war of geonosis and both her and barriss offee nearly die as child soldiers because i don't think people are as horrified as they should be about children being commanders on a battlefield, let alone how horrific it was she was placed in command of an entire air strike that went horribly wrong and lost most of the men under her command at 14, and also her being willing to give her life to destroy a factory of droids.

Please grasp the weight and gravity of the light hearted kids show because it could've easily became as heavy as Andor, if not heavier - and people seem to be forgetting the fact the Republic AND the Jedi Council were both sending these children into battle and most of them did die, particularly in Legends. This is the horror of war.

[abbythewritor]

"Fairness" OnePiece x Saitama reader, Seven.

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Leukemia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

Enjoy the seventh chapter, everyone :)

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"Fairness, huh?"

The area was tense; the war was still going on as you stared at the marine that was in front of you.

His eyes glared down at you, the cigars in his mouth puffing smoke as if you were fighting.

Your words a little bit ago struck an annoyance in his heart as a smirk formed his lips. "You have a big mouth, kid; what makes you think pirates deserve fairness?"

"Because they're human, just like the rest of us! Yes, they aren't good people in the world, but at least they have room to change instead of being executed for living their lives! No one should have to go through that! God's children deserve to be free!" His head tilted. "God's children? So you're religious? Don't make me laugh, Pirate." I clenched my fist again. "So what if I am?! Why does that bother you?! Aren't pirates not allowed to be religious?!" He sighed. "I'm not saying that. But, what pirates do is out of monstrosity and vulgarness; never seen a pirate in my life that believes in a God." "I'm not a pirate! I just want to help people have a fair second chance at life, just like my God did with me! Now move out of my way!!" I zoomed toward the marine, already close to him, as his eyes widened, forming smoke as my fist went through; my eyes widened with shock. "What the?" He grabbed my wrist, spinning me around and throwing me across the battlefield as I stumbled but slid on my feet.

Close to me, suddenly, I dodged his lines of smoke, and as his face appeared, I used one of his weapons to try and pin me down, but I grabbed one of them, which was close to my eye, and broke it with my hands.

His eyes widened, but attacked me with the same weapon with the other hand, my left easily caught his wrist, throwing him behind me, turning to face him.

Sliding on his feet, his teeth gritted while looking at me as I blankly looked at him. "Are you done using your toys?!" I asked, himself bolting forward, his hands forming into smoke as he got to me again quickly. I dodged to the left but kept dodging as he was quicker than before, making this fight more annoying than fun.

He tried to attack me in the air, his smoke allowing himself to try and spin-kick me, as I easily dodged, as he flew to me again, trying to kick my face but I ducked backward, barely avoiding it, as his teeth gritted.

Trying to see what part of his body isn't made of smoke, I punched his stomach when he died down his power, causing him to launch back pretty far.

Zooming to him quickly, he blocked my punch with smoke again, which my hand went through as he got a hold of me and turned me around, his foot slamming to my back as he had me pinned down, my arm behind, his hands grasping a good grip on them. "You strong, Kid, but inexperienced; you must do better than that to stop my devil fruit power."

The position I was in caused my cheeks to rise as I looked behind at his muscular form, his daring eyes looking down at me as he pressed harder, an un-godly inappropriate moan escaping my mouth as His eyes widened, a blush to his cheeks as he was confused on why I made that noise.

But he let his guard down, and I smirked, able to use my speed to get out of his hold, zooming at him as I was about to punch him from behind, in slow motion as he turned.

His eyes widened as I was a dark black, as it was like a blink of an eye when my fist went towards him, stopping just in front of his face, as a large gust of wind blew at him.

The force of the wind causes everyone on the battlefield to feel it, but they ignore it and keep fighting.

Once the wind stopped, his eyes widened to see I didn't punch him, as I gave him a small smile. "Well, sorry for letting your guard down; your power is cool, Marine guy; I knew you were expecting me to kill you, but I'm not like that. Like I said, everyone deserves fairness, so let's fight later, K?", I patted his shoulder while soon bolting away, causing his eyes to widen. "OI GET BACK HERE-" He paused when he turned, as the ocean behind him had a massive gap as if the sea was parted like a curtain.

*Pretend it's the ocean :)*

Not believing the gap of the ocean in front of him, his eyes were widened like saucers, as he turned to you running and catching up to Luffy, as that attack you did was nothing new to you at all.

All the bravery that was pent up inside of him left when no one was looking, as his knees hit the floor, his eyes looking at his hands as all of that training he did, all the preparation to be a marine, didn't matter when he faced someone so powerful, who didn't even look like it.

But that compliment you gave him about his power replayed in his head, and that moan you let out made him cough suddenly, his hands going to the floor, his face flushing red.

One of the Marines noticed and ran to him. "SMOKER-SAN!" He yelled, as you heard while running, looking back to him, who was trying to catch his breath as you smiled. 'Your strong smoker, don't use your cocky emotions to get the best of you.' I thought, turning back while continuing to run. 'I hope we will fight someday in the future, but my focus...is to save Ace-" My thoughts were interrupted by an explosion nearby as I turned to see Ivanka fighting the giant robot bear, and my eyes widened at her. "IVANKA!" I yelled as her feet slid, her head whipping up. "Y/n-chan! Go! I'm ok! Kuma! Move out of the way!!" I stopped beside her, looking at the giant man, then at a blonde man beside him. "You know these two?!" I asked as Ivanka sighed. "Kuma, yes, but he's not the same; he's acting strange, and the blonde one....." The blonde male chuckled, staring us two down with his sunglasses. "Seems you had recent interactions with Kuma..." He spoke to Ivanka and then pointed to Kuma. "But the Kuma you knew and this one aren't the same!!" I needed clarification on his statement. 'Not the same..? So...this guy wasn't like this before?' I thought this guy didn't look human; he looked dead than breathing.

"YOUR LYING! I BELIEVE THIS IS THE EATER OF THE PAW PAW FRUIT! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING KUMA?!" He didn't answer as her teeth gritted with anger. "H-he's pissing me off!! Although he has always been quiet!!" The blonde male glared at us again. "I told you that it's no use talking to him." I looked at the man. "Why not?" Your question made him look to you personally as his devilish smile grew, his tongue licking his lips. "Never thought I'd see a day where a cute girl like yourself could fight, especially with your size." Scoffing, my arms crossed. "Don't change the subject!" His head tilted, still smiling. "Oh? Why? I'm not allowed to talk to a cute girl like yourself-" "You obviously know something that happened to this Kuma person, so don't change the subject more and tell us what happened.." I firmly stated, which made him let out another laugh. "And what's the fun of that? I already told Ivanka here he's dead..." I was more confused. "Dead? But he's-" I finally realized something when I looked into Kuma's eyes, which had a hew-like glass.

GLASS?! Wait a minute...it all makes sense....because this Kuma isn't human at all.... It's A ROBOT!!

"Holy shit..." I spoke. "H-He's a robot.." Doflamingo laughed menacingly. "You are correct, firecracker. He Volunteered to be a part of the world government's guinipig....to build a humanized weapon, which is Kuma himself....first they did his legs...his arms....his torso...then...boom....he was brain dead." His evil chuckle made your fist clench as the government turned this used-to-be human into something man-made, as Kuma could have had a life; it's hard to believe that he wanted to become this. "But, I don't know what kind of deal he had with the government." He turned, walking away, towards a pile of bodies, which he sat right on top of, his leg on top of another, as he dug into his ear. "Only a few days ago, he still had his personality. But now, he doesn't even remember that he was born human, so he is no better than dead. He is a monster who fights as the Government tells him. He's Pasfifix 3-0!" Soon enough, the robot charged a laser toward us again, causing me to instantly duck; our eyes widened, as the same explosion that came out of Kizaru happened in the distance. As my eyes widened, Doflamingo was still holding his sadistic smirk.

As Ivanka raged out her anger, she charged at him, telling us to move forward, as I didn't want to leave her with this kind of emotion.

But, she turned, reassuring me that she'd be fine, as I sighed, bending and bolting.

As I ran, time slowed, as Doflamingo and I locked eyes, and he spoke something to me. "Watch out, cutie.....because many people on this battlefield have their eyes on you...." He let out a sadistic laugh, my heart racing when he licked his lips as I continued forward, his words affecting me slightly as I went to catch up with Luffy, who was way ahead of me.

Many of Ivanka ally's came with me, as we caught up to him, us heading more to the scaffold Ace was on.

Me and Luffy could power through marines easily, spreading them like explosions, scattering them like flies.

We were so close to the next area, and my heart raced with determination as I turned to Luffy. "We're getting closer, Luffy don't give up!" He turned to me, nodding. "Yeah! Let's continue forward, everyone!" They all yelled with agreement, as my eyes noticed something off in the distance.

A handsome man was seen in the smoke before us as I suddenly stopped. "EVERYONE WAIT!" I yelled as some of Ivanka's crew got sliced up with one stroke easily. I Luffy's eyes widened when they all plopped to the floor.

When the man became more clear, Luffy's eyes widened as Mihawk was in front of us, my face turning pink with how handsome he was, and how fully his chest and abs were exposed.

He looked so cool, his face severe and blank, his cloak blowing with the wind, as the sword he got out from his back was immense, shaped like a cross as it shined in the battlefield light. "Now, I wonder..." He spoke, his voice a mix of sass and huskiness, as he stared at us. "If fate decides to end the life of a child and strong women of the next generation here...though I hate to admit it to you, darling, your outfit is quite unique, I do like it." He looked at me now, as my heart raced with the color of my black and red outfit, just my Pajams I was fighting the monster with before I came here.'Why is he calling me darling..? He doesn't even know me?' I thought, but I liked it; I didn't want to seem rude to the man in our way, as a nervous smile planted on my lips. "A-Ah, thank you, you look cool yourself." I saw a small yet noticeable smile to me tug his lips. "Thank you, now to not make things...boring, I shall discuss matters at fourth, I won't let you two get past me....and since you seem stronger than young rabbits, I'll give you the privilege to be killed with Yohru..." He gripped the large swords tighter, and I felt excited, as this man seemed strong.

I turned to Luffy. "Luffy, go ahead, I'll fight this guy." His eyes widened. "N-No! This guy, you need to learn what he's capable of! My friend Zoro fought this guy! He almost died! Mihawk is the greatest swordsman on earth; if you fight him, you'll be dead-" I let out a chuckle, stopping Luffy's words as he was confused by my sudden cackle as I looked at Mihawk with a wild smirk. "Greatest swordsman, huh? Well, I guess I can't see him bear-handed now, huh? I'll be fine, Luffy; get to your brother." I picked up a simple metal pipe on the ground as Luffy understood my strength, and he smiled. "Right, be safe!" He soon left; as I sat back up, I flipped the pipe in my hands, and one of Mihawk's eyebrows rose. "A pipe? Darling, are you stupid?" I smirked more. "Maybe I am, but if Luffy says you are the greatest swordsman here...then..." My eyes glared up at him eagerly, my smirk never closing. "How could I pass up the offer to fight you?" Something with my cocky standards struck his heart, as excitement also flew through his veins, which made him smile. "Let's see how long you can last in this fight... a little rabbit." With that, I disappeared before his eyes. His eyes widened slightly as I was behind him, about to stick the back of his neck with the pipe, but he quickly sensed me as his sword and the metal clashed together, a large gust blasting out of us. Guessing he would predict that, I slid back on my feet, charging at him; as I began to attack, he blocked, as I performed many different sword combos, nothing like he'd ever seen.

As we kept clashing together, moving faster than the speed of light itself, the marines or pirates could keep up with our pace. as I hopped on many different kinds of pillars, flipping, as I was about to strike down on him with my pipe, before Yohru went above his head, preventing him from me striking. Our eyes locked, faces close to each other. "Those are some fighting skills little rabbit..." He spoke sassily, a tiny smirk forming his lips as I smirked back. "Guilty as charge, your not the only one with amazing sword training!" Pushing Yorhu and him down, I landed with a flip, my head whipping back up to him, as he was about to attack me again, until I blocked Yohru with my pipe again, as the sword was rather amost touching the tip of my nose.

Gritting my teeth, I used all my strength to push the sword off, causing Mihawk to loose his balance before my foot slammed right into his stomach, not to hard to not kill him, as he stumbled far back.

Sliding, he dug Yohru into the ground to catch him from going far, as he glanced up, some people holding shocked faces.

"S-She was able to hit Mihawk!"

"How?! He doesn't let any enemy pass him with Yohru! It's incredible to see him bleeding!!"

"It goes to show how strong this chick is, look! She's just holding a metal pipe!"

As the whispers and words grew, Mihawk's free hand slowly went to his lips, wiping the slight blood coming from his mouth, as he let out a chuckle, standing up while retrieving Yohru from the ground. "You managed to get a hit on me, little rabbit...but don't think that will save mercy for you!!" He bolted to me again, quicker, as my eyes widened, Yohru suddenly striking me, nocking me quite far back.

Luffy's eyes widened with shock. "Y/N!!!" He yelled, as I slammed into the wall, creating a large indent.

But, as people seemed for me to be dead, I was perfectly fine, as all the marks that were on me was dirt, which made their eyes widened when I got myself out of the hole, as I began to cough and catch my breath.

As my eyes glanced up, Mihawk was slowly walking to my, flipping Yohru easily with his hand. "You may have experience with sword fighting, little rabbit, but your demeanor, defense and attacks are still new, but I respect your bravery." I chuckled, getting up to my feet. "That's an honor...but don't think your words will change this fight..." He smirked more. "Oh no, it doesn't, so why don't you show me how powerful you are..." His words got me excited as he got in stance, as I did as well, as we bolted to each other, landing a super powerful blow, as our weapons clashed, the ground soon shaking.

Both going off each other, we went at a quick speed, attacking each other at different angels, none of us allowing each other to land a single blow, as from the clashes of our swords became quicker, faster and stronger, the wind grew more, causing everyone on the battle field to struggle to stand, even the Admirals.

As I slammed onto the floor, I dodged left, avoiding Yohru, as I dodged right, avoiding the sword again, until I clasped the blade with my hands, as the tip almost went to my eye, as I was able to crack it, as Mihawk eyes widened, as I chuckled while looking up at him. I knew this sword meant well to him, as I didn't want to destroy it.

Instead, I died down my strength, throwing the sword, and Mihawk at a great distance, as the man landed on his feet, but instead of his blank demeanour, it was shock, as he looked to Yohru who had a visible crack on the blade. 'No one has been able to crack Yohru...so...how..did she...'

This made his heart race, as he looked to me, walking to him, as my face was serious. "You may have a sharp stick, swordsman...but to me, those things are ineffective..." Stopping just a few feet from him, a dark aroama formed around me, powerful than anything he's ever seen. "If you want to keep fighting me, then fine...but, if you think a sword of yours will decide the fate of peoples future, then that's idiotic, and calling of false prophecy..." Mihawk chuckled. "False prophecy? What are you a mentalist?" I shook my head. "No, but, I know the truth, and to think you believe fate will end with Ace's blood on the floor is terrible, Ace didn't do anything wrong, he was just living his life." "And you think Pirates killing innocent people is considered living their lives?" My fist clenched. "i don't think anyone killing anybody is fair, even if some do deserve it, but Ace didn't he didn't even kill anybody. He was just seeking revenge to a crew member that did share a fate, by a pirate who does deserve to be killed. Let me ask you a question, why do you wear that cross? What does that thing symbolize to you?" Your question made him shrug. "It looks unique, it's a symbol of strength and peace-" "Then why do you wear it, thinking Pirates deserve to die when you don't know the true cause?! Do you think that symbol is meant for fear or your opponents, or do you see yourself as a higher power? Because let me tell you something buddy, if you mock the true meaning behind that necklace of yours, then your fate prophecy's are at shit, because there is no such thing as fate....." Mihawk's head tilted with confusion, not understanding your anger. "Then what exists, little rabbit? Why do you defend the problems that are infesting this world, when you don't know anything about them neither? Is it, because you believe in a higher power, I assume?" "It doesn't matter if there's pirates, Marines, or just regular people, if people are in act of sinning against the true meanings of life, no matter how the upper power sees it, everyone will be punished by their actions, no matter how kind anyone sees themselves as...so what if I believe in a higher power, stronger and bigger than anyone else, I'd rather die knowing where I'd be, rather than not knowing if I will live or suffered for eternity. So you have no...NO RIGHT!! TO WEAR THAT NECKLACE!" I snapped to him, my voice booming out of anger again, which made him chuckle. "So you are religious, it makes you quite cute, but, what if your God, your Massiah, the prophets written in the book, are all false? What if I kill you now, little rabbit, to let you see where you end up?" He held up Yohru to the sky, as my teeth gritted from his words a bright blue energy surrounding his sword, as he slashed it down, a large amount of large energy coming out in a line, heading to me.

I didn't move, as anger from his words came through me, as I bolted to the light, my hand going out in front of me, as it was supposed to slash me, but instead, the light went around me,spreading out as I blocked it easily.

It was like a huge wall of energy, the size of the wall of china, as little old me was right in the middle, not a scratch on me what so ever.

As the blast died down, all that Mihawk saw of me was smoke coming off my hands, my head tilting. "What was that?" His eyes widened with shock. "Was that supposed to kill me? Man, I thought you were the strongest swordsman in the world." I blankly stated, causing a drip of sweat to fall on his face. 'S-She blocked that...with no problem...that attack could slice through a whole mountain, and there is not a scratch on little rabbit at all!' Putting the hand Yohru was in down, his teeth gritted with annoyance and defeat, as he underestimated my power again.

As my head tilted more, my eyes slightly widened with shock as he knelt in front of me, as if I was going to finish the fight. "Well done, little Rabbit...your strength surpasses me...now you can do your worst..." My eyes widened with shock, as I realised what he was expecting, he was thinking that I needed to kill him, because of this duel.

His actions caused me to sigh, as I walked closer. "Stand up." He was shocked with my words, as he looked up at me, too see my hand to him. I was smiling gently, my wig to seemingly be off as he was shocked, my beauty shining in with the little light left that was poking through the smoke of the battlefield, his heart racing. "Your strong." I stated, smiling wilder. "I was lucky enough to fight someone with the same amount of strength, don't think our tie means that I should kill you, we're all still technically human here, we should learn from our defeats and grow stronger." Not saying anything, my words made Mihawk to smile, his hands grabbing my own as I helped him up. As he was incredible taller than me, which slightly made my heart race, he gently grasped my hands, looking down at my eyes with full respect. "You are quite right, little rabbit, your God seems quite determined to keep you alive, I apologized if I angered you in any sort of way." I giggled. "Angered me? Well, the things you said made me a little imitated, but that's a lesson learned right? Respect other peoples beliefs, it's what makes the world a better place, right?" He nodded. "Yes, you are right." I smile more. "good! Glad we are in agreement, now I think you have changed your aspect on which side you are on, so are you going to let me pass and rescue Ace? Or are you going to be a stuck up and be on the marines side still?" He chuckled from my words. "I say little rabbit, to be truthful, I usually work alone, but, the marines offered me a position that my mind then couldn't pass down, but now, that you defeated me, showed me that neither sides matter, I tend to fight on my own terms. So, to answer your question more little rabbit, out of respect, I won't attack you, but it won't stop me from attacking your allies from getting to Ace." I respected that Answer, as I acted without thinking, as I hugged him which made him freeze. "Thank you!" I stated happily, as I pulled away. "Your a good person sir, and I know your skills will be needed for this world!" Your compliments made his heart warm, as he smiled gently to you. "Thank you little Rabbit, go now, before I change my mind." I nod, and bowed with respect, as I ran passed him, continuing with my path to Ace, as Marines were shocked with his actions, not believing how quickly he switched sides, as they went after me, about to shoot me until Mihawk simply gazed to them, slicing the Marines in a blink of an eye before they could pull the trigger, as his gaze turned back to his harsh form. Other marines were scared, looking to him, as he clutched Yohru more with his hands. "Don't be idiotic thinking I'd let you face her, just be lucky that you'll be taken down by me instead." Gritting their teeth, the soldiers charged to him, as I was smiling while looking back at him, knowing that I made a new ally.

Looking forwards, I ran faster, determined to save ace more, as my eyes glanced in front of me. 'Don't worry Ace, I might not think Fate is real....but...'

'Myself, or the higher power won't let you die, that's a promise!!'

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Author: WHEW! Another chapter done! Man, I feel like this sucked more than the other ones, I love Mihawk, so writing this chapter was really fun. The fighting styles might of not been good, but I hope you enjoyed it at least.

[rvby]

a never-ending dream

i knew he wasn't well. he never had been. but that was all normal. that was our normal.

i didn't know anything else. i didn't know anyone else but him.

it wasn't his fault, of course. he did the best he could. but still, i knew, as i have always known, that he wasn't well.

he would tell you, like he told me, that he wasn't very good with children.

he would tell me this, with his head lowered and his eyes stuck to the floor, guilt flooding the room, as if i had any other choice at all.

i didn't. i knew that. he knew that, too, even if he wished i might have.

so it didn't matter very much if he was good with children or if he wasn't. i was his burden and he was mine. and we were each other's in that way for a very long time.

i asked him, once, what he thought of this burden. what he thought of days spent exhausting himself on the battlefield, just to come home and have to tend to me.

i don't know why i asked. perhaps i was greedy, hoping to come to some truth of our existence that he had so adamantly refused to reveal to me before then. but can you blame me, for wanting to know what i was worth?

my brother has never been so eloquent of a man. his schooling was little more than whatever he had picked up along the way, lessons taught out of necessity more than interest. but still, for me, he tried to speak.

i wish i had been more grateful, then.

he told me that day, with his gun still in his hands, that he came home to me every time because no one else was there to do it.

my brother is not an eloquent man. i know this. i knew this. and yet, it struck me then that i must have been as much of a burden upon him as i thought i might be.

it is the same responsibility a parent has to a child, for the sake of continuing the cycle of life. nothing more, i thought, than what was natural.

still, there existed that difference between us and that nature that he always hated to speak about: that we weren't related at all.

he owed me nothing more than he owed every other war orphan he's seen along his journeys. he's seen them dead and alive, in the same sorry state across every border. and yet, i was the one he chose to save.

something, then, must have made me special. but no amount of asking would tell me what. what made me worth saving compared to every other starving child we would pass? what would keep him from returning me to that same place he rescued me from, having given up on whatever it was he saw in me that i couldn't even know?

`she sighs, languidly.` yes, i couldn't know. he would never tell me. my brother was many things. secretive is another. it was only another norm in our lives that i wasn't allowed to question.

of course, that didn't stop me. all i had back then was my curiosity and a drive to learn. secrets only led to more questions, and eventually we both had enough of it all, the back and forth of knowing and not knowing.

my brother may not have been the most learned man, but he was clever. and though he says he isn't so good with children, i imagine he must have been, to raise me as he did.

he told me- no, that's not right. he challenged me, with words that have driven me to this very day: to "use that brain of mine to find out."

he told me to, to one day ask him, when i was finally sure of the conclusion i came to, what it is that made me special. why he chose me and no one else to save. and he said that he'd let me know, then, if i was right or wrong.

`she lets out a small huff of a scoff, one bordering a laugh.` you can imagine i was far too impatient to wait to be sure. i'd come up with one idea after the next, just on the off-chance that i might be right, accidentally. for a time, it was all i'd think about. some fantastical reason why i must have been special.

`she glances aside.` i suppose i never did stop thinking about it. i wonder if he knew what he was doing, telling me that all those years ago. i wonder if he'd remembered it still, as we got older.

i had hoped we'd have more time. that i'd get my degree and i'd lead the research to bring me back to my past, so that i could tell him one day that i knew why he decided to look after me. so that i could hear him tell me i'm right. that after all the years he'd been my brother, he could finally tell me at least this one truth of myself, for the both of us.

...i was naive, to think those days could go on forever, dreaming of a past i never had. but that's all i really had, isn't it? dreams. dreams of the past. of the future.

he was good with children, i think, to an extent. if not, then at least he was good with me. he knew what it would take to keep me alive in the middle of a war, helpless as i was. he knew what it would take to keep me going beyond that, too.

he gave me hope and a dream. a reason to push myself past the mere point of survival.

he gave me everything.

everything he didn't have to give.

everything he didn't even have for himself.

i wanted to give something back to him, eventually. proof that it was all worth it. that i was worth it all. but war is never so kind as to give you something as meaningful as time, no matter the weight of your hope or your dreams.

in the end, we ran out of time. as i had always feared, he left, never to return, and i could never ask him again what made me special to him. what responsibility he owed to me to raise me higher than he could have ever managed for himself.

it was a choice, yes, but a continuous one. one he could have abandoned at any time. no longer is it merely a question of why he chose me, but of why he continued to choose me.

was it something i earned? was it something i was given? ...and why did he choose to leave now?

`she pauses, now, to sit up again. swapping the legs that were crossed and readjusting her position. maintaining for herself a dignity in spite of her words.` children often lack control of their surroundings. they create meaning in things and in places that, in reality, may hold no correlation at all.

in my position, i did the same. there was no other way to withstand the fear of living out there, waiting for our chance to escape.

`bitterly, she corrects herself.` for my chance to escape. i suppose i was the only one looking to escape that hell he'd always return to.

some of it makes sense, in hindsight, the things that i'd do. studying as hard as i could so he could have news to return to, as if the simple lessons i had learned were worth returning for.

others, of course, weren't so rational, in ways children are prone to. superstitions, formed from a desperation for survival.

one i remember notably was always leaving a bite leftover from my meals while frank was gone. i told myself that if there was food leftover, then he must come home to finish it for me. `she scoffs at her own admittance. the embarrassment of innocence.` it left him worried that i wasn't eating. he didn't understand that i was doing it for him. it got to the point where i was leaving more than just a bite, as if doing so meant he'd return sooner, until there were times i was afraid to eat at all.

i can imagine why he'd think he wasn't so good with children. he made me cry when he told me he wouldn't come back unless i made sure to finish all my food the next time he left. there was nothing else he could have said to me, then, to ease my fears. he only did the best he could.

`again, she sighs. wistfully now.` he wasn't well. i knew that. but neither was i.

no, i'm still...

`her foot taps slightly as she dwells on her childhood regrets.`

i only wish i knew... if i knew it was going to be our last chance speaking, i would have asked again, why?

`despite it, a small smile, soft and fond picks at the edges of her lips.` but he must have known not to. he was always clever like that. it's a way for him to tell me to keep dreaming.

to keep dreaming until i can ask him one last time.

[ why, after all that time, did you finally have to leave for good? ]

[terrence-silver]

With the topic of children being brought up, why didn’t terry just have children before ck. I understand why he didn’t in the 80’s cause he was young and not worrying about that but there was over a 30 year gap between kk3 and ck. He is rich and sought over so he could have children with some model or actress, did he not just want to be tied down to another person he didn’t care for?

I think perpetual bachelorhood appealed to him.

Simple as.

I think he coveted having all that money for himself and just as generously giving it when he saw fit, to whoever he saw fit, for whatever reason. I think he coveted freedom, the fun of it, power, having a megamansion atop of LA all for his own needs and all the other revenue he owned. Running Dynatox however he saw fit. Having a collection of cars. Franchising out into Cobra Kai. Playing dress up and going down among the ordinary people disguised as something else just for the entertainment of it. I think he loved the leisure of it, the ability to not give any explanations to anyone, disappear for months having revenge on some random teenager and nobody asking why, sending his war buddy on a trip to Tahiti and nobody questioning that either along with a slur of other downright outlandish decisions that proved to be infinitely fun for Terry, of course. I think he loved fucking around, being a playboy, being carefree, being the desired single Beverly Hills billionaire nobody can really have, spending his middays in a sauna or a jacuzzi, drinking, indulging in vices, doing coke, training himself rigorously, dedicating himself to Tang Soo Do, doing whatever, and being the master of his own life. Like, no way Terry didn't adore living like that --- like a bit of an overgrown teenager in a playhouse with an unlimited budget, in the company of other teenage henchmen at his beck and call, which stands as a bit of a testimony that the war stunted something in him through trauma. He came home from Vietnam and he had the whole world on his plate and my god, was he going to feast, baby! Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't gorge after returning from a cage? From the jungle? The battlefield?

It was the 80's, prosperity was abound, and he thought he'd never get old.

The decade was inherently such where it is easy to think all of this will last forever.

Terry's own personality is such where he has a bit of a god complex and the possible belief that if he wills away the passage of time, time will simply obey and stop and that he will always remain at his prime due to the fact he, unlike most nobodies out there, takes care of himself excellently. Turns out, that wasn't the case. Everyone ages and in Terry's own words The one thing you can't buy back is your youth.

Children come with responsibility and I don't think he wanted any back then, mainly because he was a bit of a child at heart too, indulging in childish retaliations, childish vendettas, childishly evil impulses and being a bit like a kid himself. Outright. Furthermore, he didn't want to be tied to someone and controlled through them, especially when the amount of care he had for all his potentially slurry of glossy jet-set candidates was subpar or none at all, because Terry Silver doesn't really give out genuine love and devotion all that easily (and we can count John Kreese as the one true friend he had in all this time, which says a lot) and I figure there was never someone he clicked with enough to decide upon a leap as big as matrimony, procreation and progeny. He never felt himself understood. Seen enough for it. His trauma and all the things he's experienced in the army effectively separating and alienating him from all the very class of people he was born into, making him into a sort of exotic Other. A fact riddled with sensitivity and downright vulnerability he might've covered up with other more cynical conclusions like the idea of him thinking in the fashion of every rich Yuppie man; didn't want to be taken to court and profited off of after some divorce case comes his way, being the ever practical, cynical business tycoon at heart. The truth is merely that I think Terry, for all the options in the world in partners never found one he was truly compatible with after decades of self-indulgences and by the time he realized this and matured into understanding it, he was an old man and it was possibly too late.

Therein lies the inherent tragedy of him; that I think his wealth, power, connections and worldliness offered him all the crème de la crème opportunities in the world to find someone and form a family if need be just for its own sake in the style of most every other man of wealth and status, but that it also offered him very few real connection with people.

Something confirmed in Season 4 of Cobra Kai.

Terry's rich. Has rich, very surface-level company surrounding him.

Yet none of them even know him or care to know him, nor does he care sharing.

And due to that, he's more alone than ever before and stayed alone by design.

[recoiloperated]

Long under the cut

It was awful, Talisman thought.

Him and the dozen or so other heroes had been losing ground for hours, the creatively named "Necrolord" (gee, I wonder what his power is) just kept raising the dead and flinging their corpses at them. A few C class heroes had been killed already, and more than a few "retired" had shown up when if became obvious that you were losing, and badly, the fresh infusion had slowed, but not stopped the horde. Saberina had even shown up... She had *just* given birth to her first kid just a few weeks ago.

Jack had said her husband nearly went feral when she left, and it had taken a significant amount of effort to get him and their daughter aboard the Oracle for safety with everyone else's spouses. You could fight better when you weren't worried about your husband or wife...

Talisman flinched as another hero was grabbed and pulled under, his cries as the horde tore him apart reduced the already waning hope of the heroes...

They weren't going to win, talisman thought. This bastard had figured out exactly when the living infinite was going to be off defending Earth in the tournament, and had planned probably for years for this moment... No way the first S class villain sense flamberge would just suddenly arise and massacre a whole city so conveniently when there was no one left who could actually stop him...

Talisman gripped his hand cannon tighter, his ability to manipulate probability meant he never missed, not unless the target could actively defend themselves like flamberge, or were just immune to the effects of his bullets like Luke.

He knew he had riddled the villain with several magazines, but the bullets seemed to have no effect on him. And each member of the horde took several headshots to kill. Just when he thought it could not possibly get any worse, the overpowered twobit discount human necronomicon pulled back and started laughing, "Why, look at what we have here if it isn't the original, Flamberge! Come to join the consortium's final defeat?" Talisman turned in horror to watch the brightly colored Landskenecht themed super villain in all his over-the-top glory, his eponymous, nearly 6 ft long flametongued great sword slung jauntily across one shoulder as he swaggered up from behind us. He didn't say a word until he was standing between all of us and necrolord... Then his mouth opened and the horrible brazen bell of his voice rung out-

****

Those those bastards! I told Luke he should let me come clean to the rest, Now all of those idiots, mine beautiful bride, the love of my life, the mother of my daughter included. I had handed Emily off to Luke's wife Tiffany, the instant I realized where I was, and I almost grabbed that rat bastard jack as he teleported down to the battlefield with MY WIFE.

THAT WAS FINE! ABSOLUTELY FINE! I'LL JUST GET THERE MYSELF.

I absolutely tore through Oracle station, I had given Luke both my sword and my old costume. They had to be around here somewhere. Probably his room. It took me a couple of minutes to find, You would think the most powerful, nay immortal superhero of all time would live in some glorious manor aboard his private space station, but no. Luke had to be this little thing called humble and contrite. So he lived in a simple, little apartment that was actually smaller than the one my wife and I had. If I hadn't known him for so many years, I would have assumed it was some kind of affectational false modesty. Unfortunately, he was just legitimately a really good guy...

I did feel kind of guilty breaking in, but not extremely. Mother of my children endangered, You know.

Actually, that's not the best way to think about it... Yeah, Minerva was definitely in mortal danger, but this lunatic had killed tens of thousand in minutes and was rolling directly towards a major metropolitan area with millions...

As much as I loved my wife, I don't think she would forgive me if I sacrificed them for her, and I don't think I could forgive myself either...

I shook myself from my reverie and looked around.

Spartan, adorned with only pictures of his wife and children, comfortable but not fancy furniture with indistinct food stains. That said they probably were second hand? This man is flying around defending Earth from horrors beyond imagination, with a multi-trillion dollar space station, sitting on a goodwill couch from 1991, playing video games on an a GameCube.

But I don't have infinite time to think about how utterly ridiculous. Friend is, the benefits of my powers are many faceted, and it has applications very far from heeheehoohoo sword go shing!

I altered the walls, roof, and floors refractive index to make them invisible briefly, and he has a secret lair. That's more on brand from *the* Overpowered superhero. I grabbed the hidden lever and it swung open, walls covered in monitors, all tuned to various news outlets, other cameras that appear to be from consortium drones or spy satellites recorded as well.

You could tell how bad it was by the fact that the news helicopters were so far away. You could really only see the approximate colors of the superheroes outfits, my own wife in her blazing white and blue glinted at the very front, hewing like a mad woman...

For the briefest moment, my heart was in my throat with mixed terror and pride.

But then the devious side of me started picking up clues. Whoever this Mook was, he might be an S class in power but his tactics sucked. He was trying some kind of lion versus antelope tactic where he tried tried to target the weakest heroes first, which if you don't have the power to take on, the more powerful ones head on is a good call. But this guy could have easily rolled over Talisman by sheer for some bodys. Luck only goes so far, and the minute the good luck charm dies, everyone else would fold like a camp chair. What an idiot! I relaxed a little, but not too much. I still needed my gear...

Of course, Luke was far too humble for a trophy room. So I found my old costume and my sword in a rubbermaid under bed storage container, the label was handwritten.

I had almost forgotten exactly how garish and brightly colored my red, gold, and blue outfit was. I wish I had spent the money to get something different just in case something like this happened. But I need to stress exactly how rare S class metahumans are, two in a generation is virtually unheard of, three has never happened in recorded history- and I wanted to use money that I had actually earned to buy my new gear, I wasn't going to dip into my villain slush fund. I was using that for better things at the moment.

I was leaving in full regalia whenever Tiffany showed up holding my little Emily, eyes wide in shock and terror.

"Keep my baby girl safe" I said as I slipped around her.

See, getting onto Oracle station was really hard. Technically I could have just zipped through the wall, but that would leave a flamberge shaped hole in it, and while Oracle station had an impressive self-reparability, I didn't want to do that much damage. I also didn't want to terrify anyone else.

So I used the same trick on myself that I had used on the walls, changing the refractive index of my skin, blood, muscle, and organs to match that of air.

I slid through the corridors looking for one of the airlocks, again. It didn't exactly take me long. Oracle station is very well designed, and has many ways to escape during an emergency.

In this case I just needed to take a walk.

See, currently the only person in the entire universe actually knows the full extent of my power is Luke. I kept pretty strictly to physical feats, or things that could be passed off as physical feats as flamberge, but but aside from invisibility, seeing through walls, and melting locks? Technically I could also fly. And considering that I can alter the material property of air and myself, I can fly at supersonic speeds completely silent. Or in this case, reenter the the atmosphere without a fireball. Holding my breath was interesting. Even with my ability to flawlessly seal my lips and breathe carbon dioxide... Your body still thinks it's wrong to not breathe for so long- I wonder how Luke does it?

I traded momentum for mass and plummeted towards the northwest United States at the speed of a meteor, using my power to slide silently and invisibly towards the location of the battle, the spare few minutes of my drop were nerve wracking. I had no information on what was happening, or if anyone had been injured or killed...

Finally, I landed softly behind the heroes lines. I took the quarter second needed to flex the air between me and the news choppers, and slid back into the visible spectrum.

The reaction wasn't instant, I lagged behind. So the horde of zombies was centrally controlled. Good to know. The brain was even kind enough to show himself. "Why, look at what we have here if it isn't the original, Flamberge! Come to join the consortium's final defeat?" It took a lot of skill to make the air muffle his voice. Most people thought I was dead, I liked it that way.

I strode past the line of horrified heroes and threw out my chest, altering my vocal cords, diaphragm and the air I was exhaling to get my old trademark voice, "My, aren't you a confident one." My voice sang out, like thousands of brass bells. "And why Should I join forces with you?"

He answered with a stereotypical cackle- like- he actually said "Muahahaha!" Really. You can't make this up.

He went on some big monologue about the corruption of the Consortium, how they were the real evil, Ect. Ect. I didn't listen.

I pulled a bottle out, took a drink, passed it to my wife casually, checked a watch I wasn't wearing, tested the edge of my sword with my thumb, and poured some fake gravel out of my boot while he prattled on and on and on. True believer villains were so predictable and dumb. And dangerous.

After he finally finished I glanced up and tilted my head at him. "I'm sorry, you kind of lost me after you actually said 'muahahahaha'. Could you repeat that?" For a second I thought he might actually do it. Like a full five seconds, silver sky above. He was full of himself. Instead he pointed at me and did the one thing that was worse. He said "Join me and together we can rule this planet as" -he paused, I assume to think of something to take the place of 'father and son' I waved my hand at him, getting him to pause "Child," I said, dropping my brazen tone for a disappointed father's "if I wanted to rule this planet I would. I don't, even if I did, my wife would kill me." He's spluttered for a second. "Did you retire for a woman?" His voice cracked. "Don't be ridiculous." I said "i met her a few years after I retired. I retired because the only way to stay active would have meant becoming something I really didn't want to be. See, I mostly did the whole super villain thing because I was a stupid, edgy teenager with superpowers." I shrugged.

"So if you're not here to help me, then what? Do you just want to watch me crush them?"

"Oh, I'm here to help. Just not you." And I moved.

*****

Talisman heard him say it, but it took longer to process than it really should have, by the time he fully comprehended what it just happened- Flamberge had already closed with the necromancer and hit him with a mighty blow, sending him tumbling, nearby a dozen zombies exploded.

"Fall back" he said, his voice hoarse and thin. "I don't think there's much we can do here anymore."

Jack took a few minutes to move everyone up to the Oracle.

Someone got a monitor setup broadcasting from one of the spy satellites while caduceus looked us all over. Flamberge wasn't really visible, in his place. Was a humanoid glare, wrapped entirely in bright white light battling the necromancer while they both flew through the air. Talisman looked over at the others, they were all white as sheets. Everyone knew that flamberge wasn't supposed to be able to fly. So, either all of their intelligence was wrong, or that wasn't flamberge at all...

******

This guy was actually pushing me, like, I was actually needing to try. Not hard, it's just I have never really had to try.

The first thing he did after I hit him was float up into the air and start cackling about how I couldn't fly.

I have to admit, the look on his face as I ran up an invisible staircase to Hit him was 100% worth it.

As the rest of the heroes finished their retreat, I noticed that one of the helicopters was starting to get a little bit bold. It was going to see through the blurring lens I had in a couple of seconds... I needed something different- I thought wasn't too hard. Emissivity and reflectivity are both material properties, a quick alteration of my skin and clothes had me reflecting enough light to dazzle the cameras.

It's also caused Captain cliche to recoil in pain...

You know, a necromancer attacking in Washington State under heavy cloud cover...

Probably should have expected light to hurt them. He's so cliche. He's actually injured by radiant damage. Wow.

I redoubled my attack, now staggered and burned by the light, it was almost farcically easy. I had him on the ropes, each blow dropping hundreds of his thralls as I burned through his reserves. But then he got desperate.

******

The bolt of black lightning caught whoever the hell that was in the chest and drove them to the ground hard enough to make a crater.

Talisman looked at the barely recovered heroes- "we might need to go ba-" he tried to say, before one of the surviving D classes pointed and shouted "look!"

******

ow Ow OW! My limbs felt like electric fire and my heart beat like a drum. I'm pretty sure if I hadn't made myself like adamantine that would have fried me. I drug myself out of the hole I had dug with my face and glared at the bastard.

The light I was reflecting - a dim amount from an overcast sky - made him smoulder. What was I doing messing around hitting him with a *sword.*

I held my blade up and focused....

******

Talisman watched the clouds disappear as the individual raised their sword and everything but a single line on the screen go pitch black. only for the auto gate to slowly filter down the image, a single beam of pure silver light blazed down, hundreds, then thousands of burning zombies and a single, black form slowly burning away again and again- then nothing.

Just a large, glowing crater where the Villain had been. "Who the hell is this guy"

******

I staggered out of the crater, not because I was weak or hurt, but because lava is shockingly both sticky and slippery. I got half way up before thinking "oh, I can just fly..."

Habits are hard to break.

The helicopters were now coming in much closer, but that wasn't an issue, I was still glowing.

I turned and looked at the approaching choppers, waved, and left at in a single, instant acceleration to hypersonic speeds.

I went home first, a shower and a change of clothes, then I jumped up to the Oracle.

It had been about ten, maybe fifteen minutes since I wrapped up. They were still all in the med bay, a loud argument about who exactly had just helped them was basically all the talking happening, and almost everyone was in on it, those that weren't were staring dumbfounded at the news replays of the end of the fight, pundits already spewing conjecture about who the hell I was.

Except my wife, she was sitting on a bed, Emily in her lap, the small silver flask she had given me for our anniversary in her hands.

I walked over to her and hugged her, she was stiff at first, then she returned the hug, I felt her hand slide the flask back into my pocket as she nuzzled into me. "We can talk about it later" I whispered to her.

I felt her nod against me.

In your time as a hero you fought many enemies and made many friends. As you are fighting your strongest opponent yet you are on the brink of defeat, when unexpected backup arrives. You thought your friends came to your aid, but are surprised to find your past enemies fighting by your side.

[asmodeuscouncil]

Warning: This story starts off with a doomed battlefield

A man lies on the battlefield. His side tore open like he had been mistaken for a seal by a shark. His hands were nowhere near the wound as if he was choosing instead to accept his fate. A sad smile on his face as he thinks with his last few minutes of how wonderful it would be to be home. Though this man wasn't the only one. There were people scattered all around this seemingly endless battlefield. Some were trying to stop their bleeding. Some were crying as they thought of their children. Some laughed as if they were finally free. All of them however were unaware that this wouldn't be the last time a war like this would be fought. Though that didn't stop what they did next. As if they all had the same thought the battlefield started to become illuminated.

It was as if the battlefield had become the starry sky above them as from almost every person a ball of light exited from their bodies. Some white, some black, some blue, any color that the human eye could perceive and some that it couldn't. Though it was only like that for a second before every light swelled in size. Soon the entire field disappeared. All that was left was a crater that was soon filled in by water.

A piercing voice then disturbed the quiet somber peace that had descended in the wake of that emotional scene.

“And that class is how the Great Lake Serenity was formed. Thanks to the sacrifice of those that day other than the lake becoming one of the most important water reservoirs. They also successfully warded off… well we can’t find records of what exactly they were warding off. However it is being looked into.” With that said the teacher presses a button and the scene shatters. Our implants all beep as a chorus of different voices announce the end of the fully immersive lesson.

“With that, I wish you all the best in your aptitude tests. I hope all of you get something that will change your lives for the better” With those words almost as if by divine timing the bell rang signifying the first day of whatever comes next. Though that did not concern me much.

“Hey Pensworth! What are you hoping for?” A friendly voice says as if this was a question they asked everyday. Well he does. Mostly because I've not given him a clear answer. I mean how could I? There are too many options and way too many things that I want to be chosen for! I know for certain though that I want to create something.

It has always been a fascination of mine, just the process of creation. Carvers chipping away at the wood to make sculptures. Metal workers taking glowing metal and forming it into rings, silverware, and weaponry. Potters shaping clay into plates, cups, pots, and more. No matter how the process goes or what is being made, it just draws me in.

“As long as I can make something I don't really care what I get.” The same answer I've always given him. Though recently I've been seeing more and more things about Writers that has made me curious as to what it would be like to be one. It is one of the more mysterious things in our society. Just like with our last lesson there are some things that we don't know… or at least our teachers don't teach us. Well at least that's what some of the more paranoid of us think. Truth be told I see where they are coming from but at the same time I don't want to be the one missing if they end up being right. For now I'm more focused on trying to think of how to stop Andrew from bugging me about what I hope I get until we get to the auditorium.

As we walk through the halls with Andrew and I talking as we go. I can't help but notice the amount of people going into the auditorium. It's almost like they’ve pulled every student from the three closest schools to take the aptitude test with us. Thankfully though our auditorium is big enough to handle all of those people with enough room to have a row or two of seats between each school. It honestly made me wonder why they were doing the aptitude tests this way. Soon Andrew, myself, and our entire school filed in. There was some noise from people talking about the other schools being there but that was quickly shut up by the teachers. The same was occurring with the other schools with varying levels of success.

A loud noise of someone clearing their throat echoed across the auditorium. Somehow silencing everyone, no matter what school they came from. It became so silent you could hear a pin drop. In that resulting silence was one sound, slow purposeful steps and the occasional thud of a cane hitting the wood of the auditorium stage. By the time I had turned to look at the person who had walked up on the stage he had already started talking.

“Welcome everyone,I would first like to thank all your teachers for their continued hard work in keeping the next generation ready for their test as well as teaching them what they needed to know. However they sadly won't come with you into the next part of your life as you go from here to wherever your life leads. With that said I will start calling up students from the farthest school and slowly make our way down the list until my own school finishes their test” The person took a pause and in this pause I took a moment to observe them. When I finally did, I immediately knew that it was the principal of our school. I had seen his portrait outside of his office whenever I would go past to get to my classes. His hair of black with stripes of gray, the stern face, the gold handled ebony wood cane and his signature ordinary suit all coming together to a somehow harmonious result that makes everyone look up to him.

It didn't take long before the teachers hoisted the testing apparatus up onto the stage. The large cylinder of steel took four teachers working together to even get it close to the stage so it could be hoisted up by a teacher using the crane installed for it. Its sleek design left all of its contents to the imagination. The only thing on the outside even suggesting there was something inside being the sunken in handle on the side closest to the principal. It made sense as to why the adults had jokingly called it the tube now.

“Now then, in the tube is going to be a series of tests done. Don't worry all you will have to do is stay as still as you can. The machine will do the rest for you. It even cleans itself afterwards to make sure it lives up to the highest standard of cleanliness at all times. But that's besides the point. Since no one here except the teachers know the specifics, I shall explain two things. One, this test will not be like the ones you have been doing in class. Two, the results of this test will have only one thing different for everyone. If there is a question mark, a star, or an exclamation next to the job you are assigned. If you get nothing beside your result, you are to go back to where your school is seated before following your principal or teacher to another room. More will be explained there” The principal looked around the auditorium before he started calling the names of students up so they could take their test. Everyone in attendance kept quiet for the man who was calmly calling their names. After all, who knew if he was able to influence their score and what job they would get. It didn't take long to see how the result would be displayed live as the top half of the tube lit up and showed the person’s name, age, and what job they were assigned in a list. Slowly though as the results were released one by one it seemed as if the principal wasn't getting worried at the amount of marks someone had next to their name as they exited the machine.It seemed as if he was relieved that so many people were coming out with such markings. Especially because it was a person for every 15-20 that went in.

Though that wasn’t what I was thinking at that point in time. I was more focused on my upcoming test and what it would assign me since I had no idea what I want to do myself. I knew I wanted something to do with creating something but I had no idea what exactly. Is that even how the test worked in the first place? Did it take what you wanted to do into account? After all, nobody has really talked about what goes on inside of the testing chamber. For all i know it could just be something jabbed into whoever is taking the test and somehow they get a result off of that. A shiver takes over my body for a moment as I imagine that. Really need to learn how to reign in my brain a bit. Though I was forced to stop worrying about anything else as I heard my name be called up onto the stage.

I don't know if it's because at this point I wasn't fully conscious of my legs walking as my brain was thinking faster and faster as I walked up the stairs and onto the stage or if my brain had just shut off whatever else was going on in my mind. I swear it felt like it took only a second for me to arrive in front of the metal cylinder that would change my life. Oh…how innocently I thought that had meant then. The cylinder opened itself up and I walked in.

The cylinder shut itself behind me after I was fully inside. It was pitch black for a moment before it started slowly brightening up. It wasn't long before i heard a disembodied voice speak to me>

“Welcome to your test! As well as congratulations on your first step into maturity. To start you’ll feel a slight pinch as your implant is checked to make sure it is cleaned and ready for the first half of your test.” AS soon as the machine stopped speaking I did feel a slight pinch but that is probably because I always cleaned my implant. My parents always told me to properly clean it every day since it would make my test easier. Though they didn't tell me much more than that. I always wondered if they just wanted me to be surprised or if they couldnt for some reason. Though I wasn't able to think more about that as the machine spoke once more.

“Proceeding to the first process of your test.” I felt something sticking itself into my implant but it didn't take too long before it left. “First process completed, proceeding to the second process”

Suddenly it felt like everything became sluggish and my own body was far too slow, like years had passed as I brought my hand up to my face. Even the sensation of my cheek in the palm of my hand was running ahead of the motion of me moving my thumb across it. “Second process completed now proceeding to third process. Only one process remains after” With that the machine whirred to life and soon i was standing there like i had just gotten out of the shower. Arms popped out of the walls and started sticking things to my body without much time for me to even process it. Though it's not like I could with how slow my body was responding to my thoughts at the moment as slow as it was.

A cool sensation then started spreading across my body starting from everything the machine had put on me. Even my brain felt like it was being cooled down and forced to calm down as well as slow down. My thoughts that were previously bouncing everywhere were moving towards a new sensation. It was hard to describe. It felt like an ever changing ball of water was suddenly present in the middle of my chest and linked up to something similar in my skull. As fast as the feeling came it went however. The machine’s arms coming back and taking off whatever it had put on my body. It also put on what felt like an exact match of my old clothes.

“Final process initiated. You will now see a series of questions please answer them as quickly and honestly” A screen then popped up in front of my eyes. I won't bore you with telling you what exactly the questions were as even I started to get tired by the end of them. Once I had finished the test the machine once more opened itself up. Before I had even taken my last step out my principal had a look of astonishment on his face as he looked at my results.

Arthur Pensworth. 19. Writer★.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here. 

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield… 

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over. 

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes... 

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up… 

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory. 

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!! 

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus 

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub 

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night… 

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor 

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑 

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully… 

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

[smallraindrops-blog]

To Have And To Hold

Hypnos x female!reader

Word count: 2k

Part One

Warning:War, dead people and children, Ares ( let be real, that guy is a warning all on his own) kissing and sexual themes, no beta

The shade that came in the library was polite but clearly overwhelmed from their work. They handed over the letter quickly and gave a bow before hurrying out.

You pushed aside your own paperwork, "Lady Athena?" You asked out loud to no one but yourself. You typically only get letters from your sisters or parents.

You carefully opened it, a sense of dread unfolded in your chest.

'Dear Y/N.

I wish I was writing to you in better times. Unfortunately, I must keep this letter short. I'm in need of your help, desperately.

I can explain more when I see you. When you reach the surface, call for me.

Athena'

You ran out the library, uncaring about leaving scrolls on the tables.

You made it to the East wing and you glanced to Achilles, only to see empty space. You paused for a second then you heard it, crying and countless voices together begging and yelling.

What in the world...

"Silent!" Hades boomed and a harsh bark followed. The house quieted down, only soft sobs remained.

You walked in slowly and couldn't stop the gasp. You had never seen so many shades all in one place and you even saw some standing in the Styx.

You saw Achilles in front of Hades' desk, facing the crowd. His normally kind face was cold and his grip on the spear was tight.

Hades stood up, "Silent." He repeated. Queen Persephone and Zagreus stood next to Hades, both their faces unable to hide the worries they felt.

"Thanatos, please continue."

"Lord Ares has gone mad with war lust. Hermes nor I can keep up with the amount of dead. And as I speak, Ares and Eris are tearing through another city." Thanatos' tone was hard and flat.

You swallowed, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"What has Zeus done to step in?" Hades asked warily.

"He has yet to do so, lord Hades." Thanatos replied.

Hades opened his mouth but a shade broke past the group. "Please, you have to help us! They will follow us even in death, it won't ever stop!"

"Didn't I tell you to be silent!? And Ares can't come here, no matter how hard he tries."

The shade shook their head, "No, not him-" the other shades joined, all begging and more crying started.

"Be quiet, all of you!"

Zagreus spoke up, "Wait, we should hear them out, Father."

"No. We have bigger problems." Hades rubbed his forehead."Thanatos, give this letter to Hermes. The sooner we can put Ares and his friend down the better."

There was a moment of silence after Thanatos vanished.

You took a shaky breath, and looked around to find Hypnos. You heard him speak in his cheerful voice before you saw him, "Well, alrighty. That sure was something, huh? Line up! Come on everyone, and mind the little ones."

He wasn't in his usual spot but a little past Hades' desk along with Dusa and several workers shades. You walked over, "Hypnos."

He looked up at your voice, his eyes widened in alarm. He dropped the quill and paper he was holding. "How much of that did you see?" He whispered.

"Enough." You whispered back. "I got a letter from Athena, they need my help."

"What?" He asked in a strangled whisper. You showed him the letter. He read the letter once, his face blank.

You waited for a response, frowning at his unreadable face.

Then he folded up the letter calmly as he met your gaze, "No. Absolutely not. I will not allow you to go." He said softly.

"Hypnos!" You replied, no longer staying quiet. "You have no right to tell me what to do." You reached for the letter but he held it out of reach.

"Blood and Darkness." Hades cursed. "We do not need your marital disputes in the great hall especially now. Leave."

You flushed, realizing you could feel eyes on you. Hypnos grabbed your arm gently, "Oh of course, Lord Hades. Don't worry, I will be back shortly after I handle this." Hypnos said pleasantly, " What was the saying? Happy wife, happy life? But hey why am I telling you? You know all about that."

Hades glared down at the both of you and you desperately wished for a hole to swallow you whole.

Before you could apologize for Hypnos' lack of tact, he vanished you along with him.

You looked around, trying to push away the nausea. Thankfully he had chosen to reappear just outside of your bedchambers.

You turned on him, "For blood's sake what was that about Hypnos?"

"Can we talk in your chambers? Or the library, whichever one you want." He asked, sounding guilty.

Good, you thought viciously.

"Oh so I do get a say in something then? Or will you be 'handling' that too?" You snapped at him. You pushed out your door, not bothering to invite Hypnos in. You stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed.

Hypnos closed the door behind him quietly. "I'm sorry but Lady Athena will have to do without your help if it means you have to go to the surface. I cannot let you go up there."

"That is my decision, not yours." You shook your head. "I have to go."

"Didn't you hear how Ares has gone mad? That guy is crazy on a good day, let alone whatever is happening now." Even with the guilty look on his face, Hypnos shook his head. "You have never even seen a war, have you? It's not a pretty sight."

"We don't even know what she needs help with, I doubt I will be anywhere near a battlefield. She knows I'm not a warrior."

"The fact you have to even be on the surface is too much." Hypnos floated over to you but didn't touch you, his hands spread out. "War isn't predictable. One person's decision can cost other people's their lives, well beyond the battlefields. And it never ever ends up the way leaders plan for it to."

You stayed quiet, looking down at the ground. You couldn't get your mind off the letter even with Hypnos’ reasoning. Athena wouldn't ask for anything unless she truly needed it.

"Y/N, please look at me." Hypnos lifted your chin up, your eyes flicked toward his before you made yourself look away.

"I would give you anything if it made you happy, you know that." Hypnos spoke carefully. "You can help Lady Athena, I'm not saying you can't but you need to do it from here. There is no point in risking your safety."

Hypnos waited for you to respond only to sigh when you shook your head, too upset to speak.

"Send a letter to Athena, and I will help out too, love. Okay?" Hypnos' eyes studied your face.

"Can't you just come with me?" You asked, hating how your voice cracked at the end. "If you're so worried."

"No, I am needed here and I'm doubtful I would be a welcomed face." Hypnos gave a slight grin, "Besides, I already won the last war when I got you as my wife."

he looked at you so softly, it made you blush. You pulled away, you will not let Hypnos sweet talk you. “Oh, yes. Just remind me of another time I was mad at you. That will work out for you.”

“I-i just-“ Hypnos chuckled but he was clearly unamused. “Obviously I have a case of foot in mouth. Y/N, I just want you to be safe. Am I wrong to want my wife to be safe?”

You glared at him, “Well obviously not, Hypnos. Don’t play that game with me.”

Hypnos glared back, both of you silently glaring at each other. Hypnos broke first and rubbed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. You resisted the urge to walk over and smooth away the weight you could see on him.

When Hypnos looked back at you, you didn’t expect the serious look in his face, “Just promise me something.”

“What?” You watched him warily, not used to this reaction from him.

“You won’t try to leave without me. If- and that is a very big if by the way, we have to go up to help whoever, you won’t go where I can’t keep an eye on you.” Hypnos said, his golden eyes stayed on your face.

“I’m not a child, Hypnos.” You muttered.

“I know that. But you have never been in a war and I have and I know how ugly it gets. I hope I am overreacting, really I am.” Hypnos came closer again, “Just promise me. Please.”

“I-i but.. Fine. Okay, I promise.” You said. You glanced at Hypnos and upon seeing the relief on his face, you turned away, guilt

“Just… give me some alone time, okay?” You said, unable to hide how upset you were.

He was quiet for a few minutes. “Alright. I will have tonight’s dinner sent for you. I will check in on you later, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, staring at the wall. "Thank you."

Hypnos looked at you a moment, a hand reached up for a second before falling back down, before he left.

You pushed down the guilt you felt, Hypnos was the one in the wrong for not helping you.

You paced around the room, biting your lip nervously as you tried to think.

You couldn't take the path Zagreus does, and you weren't sure if he would or could help you. You didn't have a boat and from the looks of it Charon wouldn't have space anyway.

And Cerberus was…

You groaned and covered your face.

You were efficiently trapped, the realization caused the fading anger at Hypnos to come roaring back.

You sat down on the bed when a knock came. "Y/N? C-can I come in?" Dusa's voice was normally a welcomed thing but right now you don't think you can stomach being around others.

But it wasn't Dusa' fault you told yourself.

You opened the door and she floated in. "Are you okay? I kinda saw what happened in the hall."

You shook your head and explained everything. You reached for the letter only to remember that Hypnos still had it. "Blood and darkness Hypnos." you muttered. You couldn't believe he was treating you like a child.

Dusa was quiet for a few moments. "Well actually, I might know a way. It is the same way Queen Persephone took to return here. She doesn't have to travel the same way everyone else does."

Hope lifted in your chest. "Do you know if Cerberus would be there?"

"Far as I know, he wouldn't be near there since Queen Persephone is here." Dusa frowned with worry, "But you know how dangerous it is, right? Meg told me stories about the last war and the kind of people she had to punish for their acts during it."

"I have to go. My family could be at risk. Can you cover for me? Just a little bit."

Dusa stared at you. "Just promise me you will be careful okay? And if anyone asks, even Hypnos, I won't lie okay?"

You hugged her. "Thank you!"

"Just please be careful." Dusa muttered.

~~

The snow was still there, unmarked and soft. You took a breath, the sharp, freezing air hurt your lungs but it felt amazing.

You weren’t sure if the hallway Queen Persephone took would work for you but thankfully it had just been an unusually long and winding hallway.

When you got back, you were planning on telling Zegreus about it. Let's see Hades do anything about that.

You watched the snowfall, gentle and pure, with a sigh. You tugged your travel cloak tighter, the last time you wore this was during your wedding.

It wasn't the same place you and Hypnos had gotten married. But seeing the snow brought memories. Of the fear, of how you almost stumbled over your vows, how Hypnos' hand holding yours was the only warm thing you could feel. Of the nervous yet serious look on his face when you both said the final vow…

You shook your head, finding your resolve. You glanced back at the opening, guilt rising in you.

And hurt.

You thought Hypnos would understand, it was your family. He was normally so big on family, bending over backward for his own family. You thought he would support you. You swallow and with one last look back, you step out into the snow.

It took you a moment but with the deepest breath you could take, you called for Athena.

Almost immediately, a warm golden light filled the field.

Athena was just tall and golden as you remembered. She didn't smile but she took your hands in her own, "Thank you. I must admit I was worried you wouldn't come."

You decided not to mention your disagreement with Hypnos as you tried to give a comforting smile.

"Of course, I am more than happy to help. But I am a bit lost on what I could offer for you." You watched her sighed and moved away.

"What I am about to ask of you is no small favor. If you wish to have no part of this, I will understand." Athena said gravely.

You nodded. "Let me decide."

After she studied your face for a moment, Athena spoke.

[lilhawkeye3]

Her Warrior

Rating: G+ ||| Word Count: 1.7k ||| Post Order 66 ||| AO3 Link

"Have you ever heard of Aayla Secura? ...she benefited the people of many worlds, and entered the folkloric cycles of several primitive cultures, where she often was merged with local historical figures or goddess-characters." (Legacy of the Force: Betrayal by Aaron Allston)

There's a bit of truth to every story. This one starts with CC-5052.

A/N: 😌✌🏽

CC-5052 didn’t give it much thought when he was assigned and shipped off to another outer core planet. Orders were orders, and he followed them.

Orders had said to execute Aayla, the General, the traitor Jedi, yet she had always treated them well. She had been a good leader, not like the others, not like what he heard of the Marines or of Umbara—

The headache came back. CC-5052 didn’t give it much thought.

———————

He knew there were others with headaches or fragmented memories. The first didn’t understand why order 66 had been followed. They were quickly sent off for medical checks to Kamino and reassigned.

Some had malfunctioning aggression inhibitors. They fought against the new nat born officers. They were sent on scouting missions or reassigned.

Some… some had headaches. Some of them complained of dread, or an ache behind their eyes. Some didn’t come back from the medbay. Some went to sleep in the barracks and didn’t wake up for their next shift.

A few turned their guns on themselves.

CC-5052 didn’t give that much thought either. It was safer not to.

———————

CC-5052 wondered if the change in environment for his deployment might reduce his headaches. Different planet, different atmospheric pressures, different stressors.

There are less soldiers that look like him on this mission. The number has been steadily dwindling. CC-5052 stays silent, so there won’t be a reason to decommission him.

The thoughts continue, but CC-5052 pushes them aside.

———————

The civilians of this planet don’t appreciate the Empire’s presence. This planet is just like every other CC-5052 has been deployed to in the past months. Another with rumors of a rebellious population, another that will not bow to the Empire’s might.

They’d ignored curfew warnings to huddle along the sides of the road that the stormtroopers now marched down. It was a show of force, and it seemed to be proving effective. CC-5052 took no joy in it– joy had no place – but he would ensure these citizens fell in line. He would not have the stain of failure on him or his squadron.

———————

The ignored curfews grow into assaults on isolated troopers. Rocks, trash, even food scraps. The people used anything they could get their hands on. CC-5052 didn’t see the point in increasing the amount of force on the majority of the perpetrators. Most of them were younglings. They weren’t innocent in the eyes of the Empire, but hurting them would only make the civilian population more volatile.

If ever asked for an opinion, CC-5052 would say a volatile population meant more room for error.

His superior officers would say that it meant for quicker use of force from their troops.

CC-5052 wasn’t asked, so he did as ordered.

———————

The first trooper murdered and left in an alley resulted in a riot, five dead civilians, and a dozen belligerents put into holding.

CC-5052 pulls a 36 hour shift and returns to the barracks with scuffed and dented armor, a damaged shoulder piece, and far fewer plasma rounds in his blaster than he had left with.

Two nights later, another trooper goes missing. This time, the investigation is led back to a group of street younglings who claimed to have been unfairly targeted by the newly recruited natborn and acted out of self-defense.

If CC-5052 was asked, he would believe the youngling’s account. One of them bore several fresh burn marks from a regulation blaster.

CC-5052 wasn’t asked.

When three of the younglings were arrested for treason and sentenced to death, the headaches returned.

———————

CC-5052 dreamed that night. He wasn’t certain when he’d last dreamt– or when he’d stopped.

It was dark, wherever he was. There was a body pressed against him, fingers in his hair while his thigh pressed up between strong legs. He could feel lips against his neck, breasts pressed against his chest, soft skin underneath his palms. They smelled of a sweet perfume– something from a flower on a planet he didn’t remember the name of– and when their lips met his again, they tasted of starlight.

His spine tingled with pleasure as warmth spread throughout him, and he bucked up against them, pushing them back against the wall so he could loom over them and tilt their chin up towards his face…

He found himself staring into sparkling hazel eyes. He knew those eyes. Those were hers, were–

———————

It was only years of training that kept CC-5052 from bolting upright as he suddenly awoke, skin flushed and heart racing faster than he could ever remember. He remained laid flat on his back for several more minutes, keeping still so he could force his vitals back to normal.

CC-5052 turns his face towards the wall and closes his eyes to try and get his migraine to subside.

———————

The migraine gets worse. CC-5052 alters his HUD to filter out brighter lights and dampen down on harsher sounds.

The days get longer, and the migraine gets worse.

———————

The riots continue to grow in size and fervor. Even the natborn officers know that reacting too strongly will cause a full-blown revolt. If that happens, the civilians won’t be the only ones being punished.

CC-5052’s head throbs in time with the chanting of the furious crowds below him in the city square.

———————

“Do you ever feel like what we’re doing here is wrong?” CT-2448 asks his bunkmate in the low of night.

CC-5052 remains silent despite the worsening pain behind his right eye. If he acknowledges the conversation, he’ll have to report them. Orders are orders are orders–

CC-5052 remains silent and listens.

“Does it matter?” Comes the weary response from CT-9357.

There are several heartbeats of quiet before the first trooper responds. “It used to.”

CC-5052 remains silent.

His migraine gets worse.

———————

The city glows a dusky orange the night it’s announced the younglings will be executed for treason against the Galactic Empire. The streets overflow with the fury of its people. CC-5052 and his fellow troopers are deployed.

The orders are to set blasters to kill.

CC-5052 fights through the increasing stabbing pain in his head and sets his to stun.

———————

He stumbles into a side street halfway through the night and tears his helmet off of his head, throwing it roughly to the ground. There are skirmishes echoing from deeper in the city, where he’d come from and been separated from his squad– his brothers, his mind supplies– are they even his brothers? So many have vanished, being replaced over the past few months.

Brothers. How had he forgotten that?

Orders are orders a good soldier follows orders–

He grips at his temple, staggering until his back hits a wall and he slides down to the soiled ground. The real battle is going on in his head, and everything else fades away in comparison.

Bly, a quiet voice whispers.

He whirls around, looking wildly for where it could’ve come from. There’s no one in sight, and yet he could’ve sworn the speaker was right next to him.

Just a bit further, Bly. A breeze caresses his cheek on an otherwise still night.

Who is Bly? He wants to shout his question, scream it to the sky. Why can he no longer tell up from down, right from wrong, orders are orders a good sold–

CC-5052 tries to rear his head one last time, but flowers and embers and starlight fill his nostrils without warning, and the constant agony behind his eye blows away like dust on the wind.

He’s not Bly– not yet, maybe not ever without Aa- without her– but he’s closer than he’s been in many, many months.

He’s not the Bly from before Felucia, but even the broken man he is now knows that this is wrong.

He won’t stand by and allow this to continue without doing anything.

———————

He left his helmet behind.

He would no longer act as the faceless will of a tyrant.

He let the cool air splash across the markings he chose to show the universe his love dedication belief in his general.

———————

Innocents in danger. A warm lekku brushes against his jaw as her soft but firm voice urges him onward. Go. Save them.

I believe in you.

———————

They’ll speak of this moment for generations afterwards: the man with the golden kiss of the Goddess on his cheeks, taking on an entire unit of stormtroopers ready to execute protesting younglings cornered in the town square.

They’ll speak of the Goddess who took the form of a blue twi’lek to guide him, hand pressed between his shoulder blades as if she were bestowing upon him a pair of wings.

They’ll speak of the scattered troopers that froze and murmured varying names: General, Aayla, Jedi, ghost– but particularly of the two troopers that tossed their helmets aside and gazed at her with reverence before springing into action, one shielding the children while the other took up second in command on the charge against the oppressors.

They’ll speak in hushed whispers of how when the fighting was over and the surviving troopers all removed their helmets to reveal the same face, that the Goddess had gifted Her Chosen warrior with the valor of an army but could not fit such power within only one body.

They’ll remember how Her Chosen checked over each and every child youngling before embracing each other and crying over brothers found again, while the one who alone bore her marks wandered off to the edge of the courtyard alone.

Only the most devout will learn of how the Goddess appeared to him in that moment, her glittering form bathing him in starlight in that darkened corner of the battlefield. The details of what passes between them is speculated but never known, for it was a sacred moment no one wished to blaspheme.

———————

“Aayla, I’m so sorry, I– please, tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this!”

Live. Her lips brushed against one golden tattoo. Love. She kissed the other marking.

“I can’t do that without you. We– we were going to do this together.”

I’m here. I’ll always be right beside you.

“Aayla…”

Go. Help your brothers. Protect and serve the innocent.

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

Never.

———————

...but they all tell of how Her Chosen fell to his knees before her, how she drew him into her arms before vanishing into stardust, gone in the blink of an eye.

[missinghan]

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language 

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales. 

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage. 

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is. 

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess. 

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time. 

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back. 

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school. 

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.  

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence. 

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield. 

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene. 

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers. 

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where? 

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck. 

“What’s your name?” 

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed. 

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform. 

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief. 

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care. 

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease. 

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.” 

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.” 

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly. 

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night. 

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom. 

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle. 

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you. 

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next. 

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world. 

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path. 

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat. 

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind. 

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail. 

“What the fuck?” 

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely. 

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less. 

Because that’s the least of his problem right now. 

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization. 

four. 

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that. 

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand. 

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground. 

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home. 

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager. 

Minho feels awful. 

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him. 

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice. 

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out. 

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up. 

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions. 

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?” 

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand. 

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously. 

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?” 

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.” 

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life. 

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld. 

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?” 

“It’s Lee Minho.” 

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five. 

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility. 

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here. 

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life. 

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much? 

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for. 

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too. 

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great. 

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one. 

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike. 

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes. 

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away. 

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor. 

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now. 

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave. 

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child. 

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his. 

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place. 

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then. 

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are. 

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself. 

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process. 

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words. 

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares. 

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in. 

You can only nod. “Yeah.” 

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest. 

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony. 

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists. 

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years. 

Nothing makes sense. 

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself. 

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break. 

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin. 

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms. 

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within. 

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear. 

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react. 

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about? 

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.” 

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done. 

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart. 

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?” 

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess. 

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection. 

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause. 

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars) Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader: Here to Stay a Little Longer

Author’s Note: In this fic, reader is a jedi who volunteers to care for an educate younglings in the order. Just wanted to say I know a few teachers and caretakers, and I just wanted to say the amount of respect I have for people who dedicate their time to little ones whether it be for a job or because their your own little ones!

    “Good work today.” 

    There was no stopping the affectionate smile that bloomed on your face as the youngling chirped in response to your affirmation.  You could sense his happiness at the lesson being over for the day.  He wanted to take a nap.

   “Me too, Grogu,” you sighed.  “Me too.”  He waddled over to you, and you lifted him into your arms.  Another jedi would be coming to take him back to the nursery for rest. 

   “___________?” a voice asked.

   “Hm?” you turned to see an elderly female jedi at the doorway to the training room.  “Oh, jedi Lilanou.  You are here to take Grogu back to his quarters?”

   “Yes, indeed,” she said with a smile, outstretching her hands.  They were weathered but ever so gentle as you transferred the tired baby to them.  He waved at you, and you laughed and waved back.  “Grogu will see you later this week for another training session.”

   “I will be expecting him.”  You nodded.  Grogu wasn’t quite like the other younglings.  He was more developed mentally for one so small, and he was much older than the others.  This meant he started training, but only a little since he was still a baby.  As Lilanou carried him away, you felt sadness creep its way into your feelings.  No doubt your attachment to the young one went beyond what it should.  You felt that way about most of the younglings you volunteered to look after and train before they became padawans and were assigned to mentors.  It was hard to let go when that time came, but the need for jedi to step up and help the next generation of younglings drew you in again and again.

   With the absence of Grogu, your afternoon was free.  The rumble in your stomach told you it was time for a meal.  You released a sigh and stepped out of the empty room into the vast halls.  Jedi walked to and fro, some in pairs while others had their noses in datapads.

   The sound of children’s laughter weighed your steps until you stopped altogether.  It was a collective laugh as if it was one shared by an entire class.  You started back on your way again before it rang out once more.  It was indeed a class that occupied one of the nearest training rooms, and from where you stood outside the doorway, you could hear Yoda’s voice instructing.

   “I’ll just stop in for a minute,” you said, grinning.  “Lunch can wait.”  As you approached, Yoda paused the lesson to meet your gaze.  As he greeted you, the younglings that were all seated in a semi-circle turned their heads to look in your direction.  Their faces lit up in recognition.

   “Ah, _________, how nice it is to see you,” Yoda said.  “Younglings, say ‘hello.’”

   “Hello!” they chorused.

   “Hello everyone!” you gave a nod of greeting before turning your gaze back to Yoda.  “I was just wondering if I could sit in on class today?  And maybe help if you need any assistance?”  It felt like a silly question to ask.  He was Yoda.  He’d been training many generations of younglings since long before you were born.  Nonetheless, his features softened as he motioned with his hand for you to enter.

   “Needing a lesson to refresh your memory, are you?” he joked in a good-natured way.  You chuckled as you took a seat on the far right of the semi-circle.

   “Something like that.”

   “Good, your timing is.”  He nodded.  “Discussing the process of constructing lightsabers, we are.  Perhaps, share with the class your experience, you could.”

   “That’s right,” you mused.  “Many of you are nearing that time.  Oh, yes Ganodi?”

   The Rodian girl lowered her hand, galaxy eyes averted shyly for a moment.  “Was it hard to build your lightsaber?”

   “It was a challenge,” you admitted.  “But it wasn’t meant to be easy.”  When you noticed her nervous expression, you added, “I’m sure you will do well.”

   “I’m excited to build mine!”  Petro exclaimed.  “I can’t wait!”

   “All in good time,” Yoda told the enthusiastic youngling.  “Anyway, back to our lesson, we should get....”

- - - - - - 

   After the class had been dismissed by Yoda, some of the younglings stuck around to talk.  Yoda walked over to you.  “Thank you for your help today.  Warms my heart, it does, to see your compassion and willingness to nurture the next generation of jedi.”

   You smiled.  “It warms my heart to see them so eager to learn.”

   After he left, you found yourself in the middle of a game of tag with the younglings in the classroom.  Katooni was “it”, and the rest of the group scattered.  She was fast for a youngling!  You raced past Byph, and he got tagged instead.

   “Sorry, Byph!”

   You were so captivated by the game that you hadn’t noticed a new presence.  “I thought I’d find you here.”  You skidded to a stop, looking over to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing at the doorway.  Your heart did flips at the sight of that smirk of his while he stood there with his arms folded across his chest.  He had left on a campaign weeks before, and his return to Coruscant was a surprise to you.

   You turned to the group, who didn’t seem to notice him.  “Give me one second, guys.”  They continued to run around, and you walked over to the jedi, out of breath.  “It’s good to see you.  How are things on the front?”

   “Well, we were successful,” he replied.  That smooth voice was like music to your ears.  As you listened to him describe the gist of the mission, your mind wandered to silly little things like his velvety hair that shone in the light or his soft blue eyes or the way his lip quirked when he spoke.  It was just so nice to see him, to be able to take it in that he was there.

   “Sounds like an interesting time.”

   “Oh, no.  Not interesting in the least,” he said sarcastically, the shine of amusement in his eyes.  “How have things been here?”

   “Same as ever.”  You smiled and nodded in the direction of the younglings playing their game.  “These ones keep me occupied.  It’s not fighting Separatist battle droids, but…”

   “It’s an important duty.  I can hardly think of a more noble endeavor,” he told you, eyes looking distant and warm as the younglings’ laughter carried.  “I myself hope to dedicate more time to the cause.  I haven’t been as involved as I’d like to be.”

   “Well, we could always use the help.  Besides, you have become a sort of legend around here.”

   Obi-Wan’s brow lifted curiously.  “Is that so?”

   “It is, and you have Anakin to thank for that.  He stops by every now and then and shares a story or two about his and your adventures on the battlefield.”

   “That sounds like Anakin,” he sighed.

   “He’s an inspiration to the younglings, as are you,” you paused.  “To me as well.”

   “Obi-Wan!”

  “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!”

   The group began to gather around the two of you, their eyes wide with admiration and curiosity.

   “Well hello there,” he said.  “I was beginning to think I’d gone unnoticed.”

   “Where’d you go? Did you fight Grievous?” Petro’s questions poured out quickly.

   “Was Anakin there?” Zatt asked, tipping his head to one side.  “He said he was going on a mission too.”

   “Alright, alright,” you laughed.  “Let’s not overwhelm him.”

   “I’ll tell you all about the mission another time,” Obi-Wan assured them.  “For now, you might want to run.”

   “What?  Why?”

   “Because it looks like Byph is still ‘it,’ and he’s sneaking up behind you.”

   “Ahhh!”  They burst into laughter and screams as they scattered once more, leaving you and Obi-Wan chuckling.  One of the smaller younglings fell down in front of him.  He simply took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet.

   “Careful, little one.”  His warning was tender, and you watched the scene with heart thumping.  Obi-Wan was always good with younglings.  His kindly nature and humility made him quite popular. 

   He’d make a good parent, you thought.  Realizing where your mind was taking you, you shook your head.  That was hardly appropriate for one to think about a fellow jedi.  Romantic feelings were normal, but these were driving you to imagine a life with him outside the order.  You imagined a loving man with whom you could have your own children with.  The way he was gazing at you made you feel embarrassed, as if he sensed your thoughts.

   “___________?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Are you hungry?”

   You glanced down at your stomach as it gave another rumble.  Ah, right.  You skipped out on lunch to join the youngling class.  How embarrassing he heard that!  “Uh yeah, I missed lunch.”

   “I’m rather hungry myself,” he said.  “Shall we go get something together?”

   You nodded, smiling.  “We shall.”  You looked at the younglings.  “I’ll see you all soon.”

   “Okay, bye ___________!”

   “Bye Obi-Wan!”

   They headed out the door, their chatter echoing down the hall.  You walked alongside Obi-Wan on your way to get something to eat.  He was always pleasant company.  He walked with his hands folded behind his back and his gaze occasionally resting on you.  You had longed to see him again, but when the moment was finally there, you weren’t quite sure what to say.  Finally, you thought of something.

   “Did you need me for something?”

   “Pardon?”

   “You said you might find me there with the younglings,” you said.  “Does that mean you were looking for me?” 

   He opened his mouth as if he had a clever response, but his voice came out in a subtle stutter before he found the words. “I thought I’d pay you a visit since I arrived back on Coruscant.  I merely...wanted to see you.”

   “Oh, I see.”

   “Is that a problem?” The question wasn’t irritated.  His eyes searched you with genuine concern.  He had made it known that he sought you out for no reason in particular other than his enjoyment of your company, and he didn’t want this knowledge to make you uncomfortable.

   “No, no, not at all.”  You shook your head.  “I’m glad you did.  I’m pleased to see you.  It was only a few weeks, but it felt like so long.”  You went silent after that statement, unsure if you crossed a line either.  You were supposed to be a jedi free from attachment, and the last thing you wanted was Obi-Wan Kenobi to think you were needy.

   “I know exactly what you mean,” he muttered in agreement.  His eyes went to the floor in a way that suggested he had something on his mind.  The implication that he may have missed you too made you want to hide your face shyly, but you remained nonchalant.

   “When do you leave Coruscant again?”

   “Not for some time, I hope.  Like I said, I’d like to be more involved with training the next generation for a while.”  He glanced your way, eyes crinkling as he smiled.  “But my apologies, that means you’ll have to see more of me.  I know how much of a burden I am.”

   “Indeed.”  You returned the smile.  “How terrible.”

   The warmth between you two was unmistakable during the playful banter.  Part of you was thrilled that he would be around, that you wouldn’t have to say “goodbye” for a while.  The other part was worried what it might bring upon both of you.  If the two of you spent more time together with the younglings, it would do you no good as far as dismissing the attachment you had to him.  And what of the Council?  Would they take notice?

   Obi-Wan sat across from you at one of the long dining tables, and those doubts one-by-one went out the viewport.  He spoke about his mission away and then listened as you told him about some of your adventures on Coruscant.  Some involved your travels outside the jedi walls while others were about your daily struggles and victories with the little ones.  You told him of a youngling still in the nursery that ran off without their robes that you had to chase down and dress.  Fortunately the nursing droids had proper security so the youngling didn’t leave the nursery.  Obi-Wan’ laughter rang out clear as a bell as he tipped his head back at the outrageous tale.  Something fluttered in your chest as he lost himself in the humor for a moment before taking a breath and sighing.

   “Well it seems I have much to look forward to,” he chuckled.  “I recall once you said you wished you had some war stories to share, but it seems you do now.”

   “Some days it is a battle,” you agreed.

   “Believe me, I know.”  He gazed at you then, that glint in his eyes as he smiled tenderly.  You found yourself unable to look away.  It was like a magnet pulling you to him, and if there weren’t a table separating you, you might have even leaned in for a kiss.  It was like electricity crackling between you, and you had to force yourself to glance down at your now-empty tray.  The time working with Obi-Wan again would be interesting.  Even after only a few hours together, you felt that same pull that you fought for years.  You wondered how long you could go without giving in.  You wondered if he felt it as strongly as you did.  By the look flashing in his eyes as you leaned in ever so slightly to scoot out of your seat, you figured he might.

   An interesting time indeed. 

[hellowkatey]

Ghosts of the Past: the continuation

A continuation of what happens after Obi-Wan sees Nield twenty years after Melida/Daan. Anakin finds out his former master's rough apprenticeship beginnings, Obi-Wan faces some unexpected consequences of his past when Ahsoks gets hurt, and Nield addresses some regrets.

Read ch. 1 here | Read it all on AO3

Anakin is in the middle of combing droid parts and blaster dust out of his hair when there's a knock at his door. Considering Ahsoka is having a sleepover with Barriss, he just spoke to Padmé and she is at her apartment waiting for him, and Obi-Wan is supposed to be on a campaign, he has no idea who could be showing up at his door this late at night.

Watch it be a council member giving me some random task that'll ruin my night with Padmé.

The door buzzes open, and he's surprised to find it is indeed a council member ready to interrupt the night with his wife. The council member being Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hello to you, too, Anakin."

"Aren't you supposed to be in the middle of a battle?"

It looks like he's just walked off the battlefield. His robes are dirty and singed in places where blasters blew right through the material. He at least took off his armor, but from the dirt still smeared across his cheek, that's pretty much all he's done. Anakin's confusion quickly turns into concern. It's unlike Obi-Wan to show up anywhere looking rough for wear, even if it's just to see him. The knight's worry raises as he realizes his master grips a handle of Corellian whiskey in his right hand.

"Ended the battle early," he says distantly. His eyes are a little glassy and cheeks tinged pink. "Are you going to invite me in or do you want your dinner in the hallway?"

"Dinner?" Anakin looks to his former master's other hand and realizes he's also holding two bags of Dex's take-out. "Oh. Right, sorry," he steps back, and Obi-Wan strides into his apartment.

He's acting weird. That as much is obvious. Anakin tries to brush up against his master's shields to get a feel for his mood, but they're tighter than usual. Another red flag.

"The 212th was granted a week of leave before our next campaign," Obi-Wan explains, setting down the bottle and bags on Anakin's table. Anakin slips into his usual chair as Obi-Wan sets a bag of food in front of him. "Their's starts tomorrow, but Cody took over the debriefing so I could make it back early." Obi-Wan sits now, unwrapping his own burger. He stops when he realizes Anakin is still staring at him, food untouched. "What, do you not order a double burger and curly fries anymore?"

"What's going on?"

The Jedi Master raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Can I not come visit my former padawan?"

"Are you seriously going to act like you aren't being weird right now?"

"I'm acting as I normally do, Anakin."

"You left the front early and you started drinking without me. What's wrong, Obi-Wan?"

Anakin expects him to get defensive. Expects him to turn on Master Mode and lecture him about respect or whatever. But instead, Obi-Wan sighs and sets down his burger.

"I want to tell you a story, Anakin. A story that..." his eyes flicker to the bottle of whiskey, "requires a little bit of loosening up on my end."

Somehow him being honest is more worrisome than if he did get defensive and lie about it. So Anakin stops arguing with him, nods, and goes to the kitchen. He takes the moment to send his wife a quick message that he would probably not make it over for the night since Obi-Wan needs some company. Padmé will understand. Anakin returns with two cups, one with ice and the other with ice and some cola. He hands the one with only ice to Obi-Wan.

"You're freaking me out," Anakin says as he adds a small amount of the whiskey to his soda. How the hell can he drink this stuff straight?

His former master smiles. "No need to freak out."

"What is it about?"

"Well if you allow me to speak—"

"Okay, okay. Let's hope this story lives up to the suspense you've created."

Obi-Wan grimaces, taking a long swig of his drink before clearing his throat. "When you were a padawan, you used to always ask me about what missions I was going on when I was your age. Do you remember?"

Anakin leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, but you never actually told me."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No, I didn't, I know. I always felt bad about not telling you. You were quite the pouter. But I convinced myself that telling you about my early missions would do more harm than good."

"You're freaking me out again, Obi-Wan."

"Just listen. Before the war started, there was a rule that younglings had to be chosen by a Master by the age of thirteen. If not, the youngling was reassigned to one of the other Jedi corps."

"Okay..."

"In my case, I was assigned to the AgriCorps."

Anakin leans forward as disbelief courses through him. "Wait, wh—"

"I aged out," Obi-Wan interrupts, not meeting his eyes anymore. Instead, he stares out the window beyond Anakin. "Qui-Gon considered taking me as his padawan but decided against it. In his words, I had too much anger within me. So the Jedi reassigned me to the AgriCorps on Bandomeer."

Anger? Obi-Wan? "That doesn't make sense."

"It's what happened," Obi-Wan whispers. "I began as a Jedi farmer, and Qui-Gon coincidentally came to Bandomeer for unrelated Jedi business. That in itself is a long story, but I was captured and Qui-Gon came to save me. He then decided to train me."

"Obi-Wan why didn't you tell—"

"This is the preface of my story. So you understand the context of what happens later." Anakin leans back again, biting on the inside of his lip with nervous anticipation. If this is just the background, how bad can the actual story be? "So Qui-Gon and I did not start on a good note. He had no interest in training another student. His last padawan fell to the Dark Side... and was actually the one who captured me on Bandomeer. Needless to say, he was wary of me in the beginning."

"But he warmed up to you, right? You and Master Jinn were close when I met you guys."

Obi-Wan presses his lips into a thin line, finally looking Anakin in the eye again. "Eventually, yes. We found common ground and he grew to be like a father to me. But due to my actions, that did not happen for a few years."

He pauses, taking another sip of his drink, and then gesturing to the untouched Dex's bag. "Your food is going to get cold, you know."

"I know." Anakin ignores the food.

"We were sent on a mission to Melida/Daan," Obi-Wan continues. "It was a planet in the midst of a civil war. The Melida vs. the Daan. Or, so we believed. We were there to retrieve a Jedi that had failed to check-in. She was trying to negotiate peace between these groups, but we discovered it was not just the Melida and the Daan fighting one another. There was a third group. All the children from both sides had left their families and formed their own side. The Young, they called themselves, and their mission was to bring and end to this multi-generational war."

Anakin vaguely recognizes the name Melida/Daan from his history classes but remembers nothing else about it.

"We found the missing Jedi. She was hurt, so Qui-Gon was eager to return to the Temple. But the Young were pleading for our assistance. He told me we couldn't help them. I disagreed, and we had an argument. So he gave me an ultimatum. Either I come with him, or I stay to fight with the Young."

Anakin's eyes grow wide. "Master, you didn't—"

"I stayed."

"But he came back right? He dropped off his friend and came back to help you!"

The silence that falls over the room says what Obi-Wan doesn't. The Jedi Master resumes staring out of the window.

"I fought with the Young for nearly a year."

"How old were you?"

Anakin doesn't like the pause that comes before his master's answer. "Thirteen. Fourteen by the end."

"You were a kid," Anakin mutters in disbelief.

"I was, but... I was one of the eldest. There were seven-year-olds who were wielding blasters. Eleven-year-olds were dying in bombings. Friends that I loved dearly died in my arms, and other friends found ways to blame me for deaths I could not control." Anakin can see the tears brimming in his Master's eyes. His own hands are shaking.

"Qui-Gon did come, though, didn't he?"

"We were so close to peace, but we were only kids. Warfare and diplomacy require different types of decorum. I called the Jedi to help us finally end things. The council sent Qui-Gon."

Anakin deflates.

"We negotiated peace. This time I returned to the Temple with him, but he was not pleased with me. I had made almost all of his worst fears about taking another padawan come true."

"You didn't turn to the Dark Side or anything, though!"

"I left the Order, Anakin," Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath. "The council was reluctant to accept me back, but thank the Force they did. Qui-Gon on the other hand... He took me on a whim, and when I defied him it was like a slap in the face. I was placed on probation while he decided if he was going to continue as my master. Evidently, he eventually did forgive me, but it was a long, painful road."

Feeling constricted in his seat, Anakin stands, pacing into the living room. He's learned so much information so quickly. That his master almost wasn't a Jedi? Obi-Wan Kenobi, council member and Jedi Master was almost a farmer? Qui-Gon Jinn left his thirteen-year-old padawan in the middle of a war for a year?

It doesn't make sense yet he can feel his former master's anxious energy clouding the Force. He isn't lying. Anakin turns to the man waiting quietly for him to say something. Though he has so many questions, the first that pops out of his mouth is: "Why are you telling me this now?"

"We had a diplomat make an emergency repair stop on my flagship just before this last battle. A representative from what is now Melidaan."

"The... unified planet, then?"

He nods. "His name is Nield, and I fought alongside him in the war. It was the first time I'd seen him since. It was also the first time in years I'd really talked about the war out loud, and... I realized I've been ignoring this for almost twenty years now. I avoiding telling you because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me like Qui-Gon was—"

"Master! Disappointed in you? I would never—"

"You are so much like him, you know," Obi-Wan says with a wistful smile. The glossiness in his eyes is even more prominent as the alcohol starts to settle in.

"You think I'd leave you in a war zone?"

A soft smile appears on his master's face, "Technically you have. On a number of occasions, actually."

"Those were sanctioned abandonments."

Obi-Wan chuckles, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "You have all his best qualities, Anakin. And some of his more annoying ones, but I've chosen to forgive those."

The knight walks over to the window with his back to Obi-Wan, arms folded across his chest. He's still overwhelmed by this new information. Unsure of how to feel. Sympathetic? No, Obi-Wan hates it when people pity him. Angry? He has the right to be frustrated that Obi-Wan has been lying to him for years. Letting him believe that he was this perfect padawan with a perfect apprenticeship...

But the overwhelming emotion that is hitting Anakin is not pity or anger, but guilt. Because a part of Anakin has always held onto the secret belief that things would be different if Qui-Gon Jinn had lived. That Master Jinn would have understood him in a way that Obi-Wan just can't because he was model Jedi.

He's been wrong all this time.

Anakin is suddenly thrust back to a time when he himself was a padawan feeling the galaxy pull him in a different direction. He told Obi-Wan he was going to leave the Order after their mission. And Obi-Wan still stayed by his side. Still treated him the same and protected him. It was ultimately Obi-Wan's unconditional support that persuaded Anakin to stay with the Jedi. Would Qui-Gon have done the same for me?

For the last ten years, Anakin has told himself that Qui-Gon would have stayed by his side. Now, he isn't so sure.

"I'm sorry," Anakin finally says, slowly turning around. Obi-Wan is quick to rise from his seat and approach him.

"I did not tell you this so you pity me—"

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Obi-Wan falls silent. "And for all the times I pushed you away because I didn't think you understood what it was like to feel like a screw-up... Force, I was horrible sometimes! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

The Master steps closer, placing his hands on Anakin's shoulders. "I truly did not think it would help. Or that you would think I was discounting your feelings, and I would never want to do that."

"What about your feelings?" Obi-Wan swallows hard, obviously not expecting this sort of question. He squeezes Anakin's shoulders, smiling softly.

"I am still learning how to confront them. And this— confiding in you— is part of that process."

Anakin can't hold himself back anymore. He closes the gap between them, throwing his arms around Obi-Wan and hugging him tightly. And Obi-Wan does not hesitate to hug him back.

There was a time when Anakin was a young padawan when he believed his Master was the greatest Jedi who ever lived. Sith Killer with a silver tongue, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A valiant knight and an even better teacher. He's always looked up to Obi-Wan. Saw him as a father figure. Though that giddy feeling of pride for his Master faded as he grew, Anakin feels it now just as he did when he was ten. Obi-Wan is by no means the perfect Jedi he's always believed him to be, but Anakin prefers it that way. Somehow it makes him even better.

______

Waging battles in desolate landscapes was one thing, but when the fighting spreads to urban areas, Obi-Wan is always on edge. There is something fundamentally wrong with tearing through the middle of a city with tanks and cannons. It's so easy to distance oneself from the reality of war. Easy to see the tall buildings and duracrete streets as either cover or a tactical liability. Obi-Wan just sees family homes left vacant. Stores and restaurants ransacked and abandoned. The amount of desolation depends on the length and amount of resistance the locals put up against their Separatist occupation.

And this city has been under the thumb of the droid army since the beginning.

Tesha Prime was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nestled in the middle of Separatist-controlled planets, it stood no chance of maintaining its independence. It's estimated they were under secret occupation as early as the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo, but their pleas for assistance were stifled until recently.

Obi-Wan one came to Tesha Prime as a padawan. One of Qui-Gon's side missions-- he enjoyed their specialty textiles and made a detour to purchase a friend a throw blanket. Its capital of Taloona was a beautiful city, advanced in technology but maintained the vintage glamor and elegance of their Old Republic architecture. Walking the streets now, it pains his heart to see crumbled buildings and durasteel military structures taking over the once picturesque skyline. War has tainted the rich history of this planet. Basically erased it. As the Jedi General moves swiftly through the waves of droids, diverting blaster shots from his valiant soldiers trying to free this city, he cannot help but be reminded of Melida/Daan.

Melida/Daan was an urban planet much like Tesha Prime. Completely different in their architectural inspirations and cultures, but violence does not discriminate. Rubble looks the same no matter what it used to be. He remembers Melida/Daan in the hastily painted graffiti urging for resistance against their aggressors. In the sound of bombs causing duracrete walls to collapse. In the yells of pain and the shouts of orders as medic clones traverse the battlefield to pull their fallen brothers out.

Obi-Wan grimaces, biting on his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.

Seeing Nield and telling Cody and Anakin about his early exposure to war has brought about an unexpected consequence. Remembering. The nightmares of seeing Cerasi's murder and holding children as their life Forces faded away plagues his nights. Sometimes he will awake with a start, his first instinct to reach beside him where Nield used to sleep an arm's length away. When he doesn't feel a warm presence nearby, Obi-Wan begins to panic until he turns on the light and realizes he is not in the barracks of the Young, but in his quarters aboard his star destroyer. He's not thirteen, he's thirty-six.

Try as he might, though, the memories of his youth are not leaving him alone. He's been distracted by the flashes of Melida/Daan in battle before, but Taloona is messing with his mind more than usual. The city air smells the same. The wrecked streets feel the same beneath his boots. Obi-Wan is just thankful that his training allows him to shove his anxiety aside. He releases it into every moment of calm he can find. He must stay on his game for his men. For the people of Taloona and Tesha Prime.

But it's a shrill gasp of pain exploding through the Force that makes Obi-Wan tunnel. He whirls around from his place atop a fire escape and can see Ahsoka on street level with the 501st's battle route. Her eyes wide and arms wrapped around her chest as her knees buckle and she falls to the ground. The air leaves his lungs as though he's been punched.

"Ahsoka!" he yells as he leaps from the fourth story of the fire escape. The 501st has begun to regroup to compensate, Rex barreling through the crowd to reach her. Obi-Wan gets to her first, pulling himself between her and the front line and tucking her into his lap.

She's so small, he realizes. So young. Barely older than I was.

"You'll be okay," Obi-Wan says, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. He blinks and there's blood everywhere, dear Force, where did this blood come from?  He presses his hands to the center of her chest where the blood seems to be pouring out.

"Obi-Wan?" the voice calling his name is distant, but he ignores it. I need to stop the bleeding. He squeezes his eyes shut to keep himself from vomiting.

"Do you hear me? You'll be okay, Cerasi," he whispers.

"Master Obi-Wan?" Louder this time. Closer. A warm palm rests against his cheek and when he opens his eyes Ahsoka is staring up at him with deep concern laced in her features.

She's awake? That can't be! The blaster shot... the blood... No, there is no blood. There never was. Ahsoka is lying in his arms, a scorch mark on the breastplate of her armor, but it didn't go all the way through. He blinks through the tears in his eyes. This is not Melida/Daan. I'm not there anymore. I'm thirty-six, and the war is over. This is the Clone Wars. Ahsoka is Anakin's padawan. I'm not thirteen. Melida/Daan is at peace. Nield is alive and well.

"General?" Another voice. He looks up and realizes he isn't alone. Captain Rex is giving Ahsoka a stim, glancing up at the High General every so often. Cody kneels next to his brother, more focused on Obi-Wan as reality slowly creeps back. Though he cannot see his face beneath his helmet, he can feel Cody's patient understanding. These men unfortunately know the look of someone lost in a time other than the present. And Cody is one of the few that knows exactly where his mind has gone.

"General Kenobi, are you alright?" Cody attempts to get his attention again. This time Obi-Wan nods, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

"Yes... of course," he looks down at Ahsoka who's hand slips from his cheek. It reminds him too much of the way Cerasi's hand dropped like dead weight as her heart stopped. He shakes away the memory. The stim is setting in, clearing the cloudiness of shock from her eyes. "Are you alright young one?"

"Yes, Master Kenobi, it just surprised me. It's a good thing I had on armor for this battle."

Obi-Wan swallows thickly. The Young never had real armor. On such small bodies and without adequate medical attention, nearly every hit was a lethal one. He smiles, slowly sitting her up. "A very good thing indeed."

The battle felt like it droned on for days. Perhaps because a rotation on Tesha Prime is thirty-four hours. Or because Obi-Wan completely immersed himself in the Force, letting his instincts take charge over his mind. Obviously, his mind was not to be trusted. He's just thankful his brief blur into the past didn't cause more of a scene.

Obi-Wan walks through the aftermath now. The shooting and the bombings have ceased, but sometimes silence isn't any better than the sounds of war. At least focusing on the battle kept his mind occupied. Now he buries himself in his cloak, tucking his hands away so nobody can see they're still shaking.

"Master Kenobi?" the voice is soft, unimposing. Obi-Wan turns to find Ahsoka standing a few paces away. She's out of the armor now and in her usual clothing. Like Obi-Wan, her cloak is draped around her as the night finally settles in to cool the heat of the day. Despite the scare from earlier, she looks unharmed.

But she looks younger than Obi-Wan usually notices her to be. Maybe it's the too-big cloak that swallows her lanky adolescent figure. Or the timidness on her face that is not characteristic of his grand padawan.

"Yes, Padawan? How are you feeling?"

She catches up to him and matches his pace. The Togruta shrugs.

"Tired. A little sore, but Kix says none of my ribs are broken. Just a little bruised."

"And Anakin, have you seen him yet?" Anakin took charge of the air raid, leaving Ahsoka to command the troops from the ground. Obi-Wan hasn't run into him yet, but he expects his former padawan to come looking for him once word gets around about Ahsoka's close call and Obi-Wan's... strong reaction.

Ahsoka shakes her head. "No, but he commed me. The fighters are just going to go back to the hangers. The battle went on for so long they need to refuel."

Obi-Wan pinches the hairs on his chin. "Of course, smart of him. No need to waste fuel to land and take off again," he glances over at the padawan with a playful smirk. "Though don't tell him I said he was smart. After the stunts he pulled in the air, the last thing he needs is an ego boost." The padawan chuckles softly, but her smile fades quickly. They walk in silence for a few moments before Obi-Wan rocks into her to nudge her to the side. "I can tell something is troubling you, young one."

"Master Kenobi... who is Cerasi?"

Obi-Wan's own smile disappears. "Where did you... hear that name?"

"You called me Cerasi... when I was shot. I didn't even realize it at first, but I remembered and... I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to tell me, I was just curious--"

"It's alright Ahsoka," he stops her rambling, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. They stop walking in the middle of a market square and he leads her to sit on the edge of a large fountain. It has long run dry and is half-decimated, but it is a place to stop. "Cerasi was a good friend of mine. And she... was hurt in a very similar way to you, but unfortunately, she did not have armor to protect her."

"So she's..."

Obi-Wan nods.

The padawan exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against the place the blaster would have hit her. "Were you... there when it happened?"

He nods. "I was."

Her hand rests over his and she squeezes his fingers. "I'm sorry about your friend, Master Kenobi."

"It was a long time ago. I'm not sure why I said her name."

"It happens. Sometimes I almost accidentally call you Master Skywalker. Or I call Anakin Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan smiles. "Oh, I bet he hates it when you do that."

"I keep telling him it's a compliment but he doesn't want to hear it."

They both laugh. Obi-Wan lets the peace and lightness of the moment settle around his body like a warm blanket. While he hates the fact that padawans are fighting in this war, he also loves their resilient presence. Ahsoka never fails to make him feel better, even when she isn't actively trying to.

"I'm glad you're okay, Ahsoka. Though I will be more insistent you wear that armor from now on. We can send your measurements to have you properly outfitted in gear that won't hinder your saber technique."

"But Master, then I won't have a good reason to not wear it."

"But it'll make your Grandmaster worry about you less."

Ahsoka sighs dramatically. "In that case, I guess I could learn to work around it."

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and tucks his hands back into the sleeves of his cloak. "I swear, you and Anakin are going to be the death of me one day."

"Not if you wear your armor, Master," she says with a wry smile. Ahsoka glances at her comm and stands.

"Is Anakin asking where you are?"

"Rex. I told him I'd help with the med evacs," her blue eyes flicker up. The universal silent plead for dismissal.

"Go on," the general nods.

"Are you sure you're okay, Master Kenobi? I can tell Rex I'm sitting with you."

He stands and places a hand on her shoulder. "I am. We can talk more after dinner."

Ahsoka smiles and takes off running back toward the evac zone. Her cloak billows behind her as she disappears around the corner. The Jedi Master exhales a deep breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

_______

Nield, two drinks already warm in his belly, walks into the quiet cantina with the perfect amount of confidence to get through what he's about to do. It doesn't take long for his gaze to rest on the two cloaked figures seated at the bar. Before he can convince himself otherwise, the diplomat crosses where the two men are seated.

When he ran into Obi-Wan Kenobi two standard months ago, Nield was shocked at how the scrawny Jedi had changed after so many years. While it should not have been a surprise— he himself had changed quite a bit as well— in his head, Obi-Wan was still a thirteen-year-old with a horrible haircut and a pretentious amount of self-importance. (Nield has been to enough therapy since his warring days to realize his hatred of the young Jedi was a lot of his own projection. It did not change the way his mind remembered the boy that was once his companion.)

But alas, Kenobi grew up into a Jedi Master and a High General. When they spoke those months ago, Nield congratulated him on achieving his Jedi rank. They spent many nights during the war talking about the people they wanted to become once the fighting was resolved. Nield remembered Obi-Wan's anxieties over whether or not he would try to return to the Order that left him behind.

He questioned the second rank he had achieved, though. High General of the Grand Army of the Republic. Nield wasn't questioning his qualifications— Kenobi was a natural-born leader, even as a kid. There was no doubt he excelled at his position. What he questioned was why. Why would he want to take on that role again?

That led to a much longer explanation. One that Nield walked away deciding the answer his old friend was avoiding was simply: I did not want to go to war again, I had to.

Obi-Wan, of course, had the same question for him. Travel the galaxy was his previous answer to the question: who do I want to be when I'm not fighting a damned civil war? It wasn't what he told the others of The Young, but a secret desire he confided in Obi-Wan while they chatted to keep one another awake on watches. Nield wanted to be a nomad. He wanted his home to be among the stars rather than a planet or civilization.

"And you became a representative for the very planet you wanted to put behind you forever," Obi-Wan had said with the same smugness Nield gave him.

"I do get to travel."

"I suppose. But it isn't living among the stars."

They ended the night with the conclusion that they both failed their childhood dreams in some ways. But what is adulthood, if not living to find things to regret?

For Nield, he ironically walked away from his reunion with Obi-Wan with new regrets. Which is what brings him to this random cantina on Keitrum.

He doesn't need to try and get the attention of the Jedi General— as he approaches, Obi-Wan Kenobi's stool swivels around. There's confusion in his tired eyes and furrowed brow, and then he relaxes, a small smile on his lips.

"What a surprise," he muses, causing his companion to also turn around. Nield recognizes the shaggy dark hair and piercing gaze of General Anakin Skywalker almost immediately. "What brings you to Keitrum, old friend?"

"Definitely not the same reasons as you," Nield says tightly, eyeing the armor they were keeping hidden beneath their billowing robes. Well-used armor, tainted with dried blood and oil stains. Obi-Wan is clad in a more complete ensemble of shoulder, chest, arm, and leg pieces, while the younger General appears to only sport the shoulder and chest armor. Oh, the false security of youth. They look as though they came straight from the battlefield to grab a celebratory drink. Nield suspects that is exactly the case.

"Friend of yours, Master?" Skywalker says, curious eyes flickering between the two of them.

"Something of the sort," Obi-Wan replies, leaning back so they can see one another. "Anakin, this is Nield, a Representative of Melidaan. I met him—"

"When you were part of The Young?" The wide-eyed General finishes, suddenly looking his age. Nield raises an eyebrow at Kenobi. So you told him after all.

"Yes, we... fought together."

"And against one another," Nield adds.

"Yes, that too, I suppose."

Nield settles down on the opposite side of Kenobi and listens as he explains to the young man the nature of their... history. Though Obi-Wan gives him a charitable amount of leeway and understanding for his actions, Nield can't help the guilt that builds as the story goes on.

Especially as Skywalker keeps looking his way with increasing outrage and obvious protectiveness over his former Master.

"...after Cerasi... died," Obi-Wan says in a softer voice. "we had very different approaches on how to proceed."

"You wanted revenge?" Anakin asks Nield with off-putting intensity. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"I was angry," he glances at Obi-Wan. "I thought about it a lot, though. How the people who killed her needed to pay. Obi-Wan had to help me get out of that mindset. It wasn't what she would have wanted."

Now it's Obi-Wan's turn to look surprised. They'd avoided recounting the specifics of the war when they last talked, and that's exactly what Nield regretted. He never got to tell Obi-Wan he's sorry for the way their friendship splintered back then. The war, the death— it changed him for the worse. It aged his soul, made his heart turn to stone. It took many, many years to come back from the shell of a person he became.

"We were kids," Obi-Wan whispers, a creak in his tone.

"I'm still sorry. You did nothing but help us when nobody else would. You were always one of us, no matter what I said as a punk kid. You were one of us, and honestly, the best of us. Your name still comes up among those of us that remain."

The Jedi Master stares at him for a long moment before staring down at his drink as he swirls it. Skywalker assumes being a wallflower, switching between fiddling with the commlink on his wrist and monitoring his Master's facial expressions.

"How many?"

"About half from when we last saw you." A moment of silence. Nield lets out a breath and then continues. "Not all gone, just not living on Melidaan anymore. They attended university. Traveled. Got married and moved away."

Neither say it, but he knows they both are thinking it. We fought so hard for a peaceful home. Leaving seemed like a dishonor to those who died with the dream of growing old on the land they left their family for.

But Obi-Wan left too. And Nield does not actually blame him nor anyone else for leaving.

"I hope they're well."

Skywalker's hand suddenly clasps Kenobi's shoulder. "Ahoska and the men are here. I'm gonna go tell them to put their drinks on your tab."

"Anakin, don't you dare, the accounting department was so angry with me last time!" he calls after him, but the young General has already disappeared into the thickening crowd. Obi-Wan sighs and looks back at Nield who can't help the amusement on his face.

"So that's Anakin Skywalker."

"In all his glory, yes."

"He reminds me of you as a kid."

"Oh Force, don't tell him that. I'll never hear the end of it."

Nield laughs. "I'm glad I got to meet him. Put a face to your stories."

"I take it meeting my former padawan is not the reason you have come out of your way to find me. Nor is this the coincidence you make it out to be."

"Perceptive as always. I just realized we skirted around the obvious when we last spoke. Pretended that I didn't alienate you from the Young after you devoted everything to help us."

"Like I said earlier, we were kids, Nield."

"And like I also said earlier, I'm sorry. That's why I wanted to see you again."

Obi-Wan smiles, holding out his hand. Nield shakes it. "I'm sorry too, old friend. I'm glad we got to see one another again because I needed to thank you. You and one of my officers convinced me to finally tell Anakin about the war."

"How'd he react?"

"Better than I anticipated. But now every free moment has turned into storytime."

Nield recalls the few fond moments of the war when Obi-Wan would sit in the center of the room and tell all the younger kids a bedtime story. An attempt to thwart the nightmares away. "You were always good at telling stories."

"Apparently so. I usually draw quite an audience."

"It helps though. Talking about it. Doesn't it?"

The Jedi General nods. "For the most part. Though I see our war everywhere, now."

"The dreams?" Nield asks. Obi-Wan frowns. That's a yes. "The war can't be helping. Every time a speeder backfired I thought I was..."

"Back there again," The Jedi finishes for him. "Yes... Our recent terrestrial battles have not been helping."

Nield cannot imagine what it must be like to be back in the middle of a warzone. The fact the galaxy is at war at all was enough of a trigger for the flashbacks to his youth. It's why he takes his duty as a representative so seriously. He will do anything and everything to keep his home away from this conflict.

But his friend does not have that luxury. Nield waits for Kenobi to meet his eyes again.

"It still affects me, too. Bad days come out of nowhere. No matter how many times people tell me 'recovery isn't linear' it still surprises me. But before I knew it, I had more good days than bad and even the bad days didn't compare to what they used to be. It'll get better, Obi-Wan. I promise you it will."

Obi-Wan holds his stare. He's harder to read now than when he was thirteen, but Nield can still recognize the look in the Jedi's eye when he trusts someone. Though Nield doesn't feel he deserves this trust, for Obi-Wan's sake he's glad he's willing to listen.

"I will remember that," the Jedi says softly. "Thank you."

Nield raises the drink that was placed before him at some point. Obi-Wan does the same. The words come tumbling out before he can think of anything else to say. "To our brothers and sisters in the trenches... and the pursuit of peace."

The chant feels acidic on his tongue.

"We fight for our future, and the lives those who have died deserved," Obi-Wan continues. He hasn't forgotten it either.

"To unity."

"To freedom."

"To the Young," they say together, voices barely carrying beyond the space between them. Their cups clink together, and for a moment they're back in the lookout station. Kenobi, Nield, Cerasi, and half a bottle of red wine they found when pillaging an abandoned home for supplies. They didn't actually drink the wine-- it was obviously rancid. But that cheer they made up between giggles and dares to taste the sour beverage became their battle cry.

He tries to sip his brew but it tastes like that damn expired wine. For some reason, that makes him smile. Somehow the moments Nield cherishes the most lie among the worst points of his life. Perhaps because Cerasi never made it past the war to record over the old memories with new ones. Perhaps because Obi-Wan disappeared before Nield could come to his senses.

But for some reason, he's been granted another chance. Nield isn't sure what he did to deserve such a gift, but he'll accept it. Kenobi sits next to him, washing away the bittersweet chant of their youth with a brew.

Another survivor, and now, a friend once again.

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

[sleepless-rain]

Seijoh’s graduation trip plans

Translator: Leo | Sleepless-rain | Leoppii Editor: Troy  Esaki | Kahluaplusmilk

“Continue on unwaveringly.”

Those were the words that Iwaizumi Hajime had said to Oikawa Tohru, who had stopped to turn back and look at him. It was fall at the time.

“You’re my partner and an utterly amazing setter.”

On this day, Aobajousai High School had lost in the semifinals at the Miyagi representative game of the spring volleyball tournament. And starting from that lost match, the third years were to retire.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa weren’t only the captain and vice-captain of the volleyball club.  They had been together through junior high school and elementary school, more than half of their lives—up until now— was spent together on the courts as partners.

Iwaizumi’s words were blunt, unembellished and held no lies.

“Even if this team changes, that will not change. When the time comes I will take you down.”

Oikawa straightened himself and accepted Iwaizumi’s words of passion and friendship head-on.

“…Bring it on.”

And this story takes place a few months later.

TRANSLATORS NOTE: Please do NOT repost this translation ANYWHERE. If I see the whole thing elsewhere I will stop translating novel chapters and delete this one as well. Sharing small snippets are okay but not the whole thing. Please link back to this tumblr post if you want to share it.

  “I want to eat curry… So how about India?” said Iwaizumi, wiping the sweat off with his arm.

“You serious?”

“The bar is suddenly set way too high.”

Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro grimace, sweat dripping from their chins.

It was followed by, “But I like naan.”

“I totally get you.”

“When you want to eat naan, you drop by the curry restaurant.”

“I don’t get you.”

A stream of consciousness about curry overlapped with one another until Hanamaki cut in, wringing out his towel, “But you know…Hawaii would be good. How about we go snorkeling?”

“That sounds good, ‘specially in this situation. Deciding between curry and the sea, the latter sounds far better,” Matsukawa answered, ceaselessly wiping his sweat and wringing out his towel.

Iwaizumi, who had suggested India clicked his tongue, “Tch.”

It was hot in here.

Actually, rather than hot it was boiling hot. Yearning for the cool blue sea over a curry filled with spices was no surprise.

As to why they were in a highly acclaimed sauna.

                                                            *** 

In their third year of high school, winter.

With no classes to attend and it being a long time since retiring from club activities, the former volleyball club third year members of Aobajousai High School, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa were left in a daze, and with so much free time they made their way around to various large bathhouses.

After making a big fuss over the electricity bath* with a waterfall feature* they headed into the sauna together. While sweating, the brainless discussion of “where would you go for your graduation trip? Assuming that money wasn’t an issue” blossomed: a way to occupy their free time.

“But you know I’d like to go to Las Vegas.”

“Because you want to gamble?”

“But it’s only fun if you actually have money.”

“Ah, there it is: the forbidden word,” Matsukawa pointed out in response to Iwaizumi’s frank reply, but he thoughtfully considered an alternative.

“If it isn’t a casino… there isn’t really any other place I’d want to go there. Okay then… hmmm, ah. Pandas. A tour of the panda’s homeland, China.”

“Well, if its pandas,” Hanamaki replied to Matsukawa’s panda suggestion, clapping his hands together. “Did you know there’s a whole tonne of pandas at the Wakayama Zoo? I saw it on TV recently.”

“Wakayama?”

“Oh, I bet you don’t know where Wakayama is, Iwaizumi.”

“Shut up.”

Wincing at Iwaizumi’s lack of affection, Hanamaki pulled himself together: “Anyway, even my towel has gotten hot so I think it’s about time to get out.”

“Same here, I can’t stand it anymore.” Matsukawa stood up, “What about you Iwaizumi?” he asked.

“I’m staying.”

“Okay, don’t push yourself.”

“Cold bath?”

“Cold bath.”

The two friends agreed whilst pushing open the heavy wooden door and exiting.

Left alone in the sauna, Iwaizumi crossed his arms, staring at the thermometer on the wall. There was nothing else to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, sweating buckets until he muttered, “Las Vegas, huh?” before taking his towel and violently wiping his face and his head. “I guess I really am a bit like a kaiju.” He said to himself, standing up and leaving the sauna drenched in sweat and in search of water.

                                                               ***

 After enjoying the baths and the sauna, the three tired boys found themselves in the large tatami room. Lined with tables and sitting cushions the room doubled as both a resting and a dining area.

An old fan swung its neck unsteadily, blowing a breeze in their direction. There seemed to be a TV somewhere in the room, as the sounds of the golf match commentary could be heard faintly. There were people watching the TV with a few beers, people lying down reading the comic books provided, and children playing the games they had brought.

Everyone in this bathhouse resting area was relaxing and doing as they pleased. And as for these three boys, they were testing the limits of their stomachs.

Of course, it didn’t start off as such a vicious scene. It was meant to be a light meal but there was a reason as to why it turned into a bloodthirsty battle.

After getting out of the baths and slipping into the jinbei* resembling pajamas, the three ordered a light meal, curry, and ramen, while resting. The place ran on a self-serve system, where you went to get your food from the counter when the number buzzer you were given went off. However, the pork cutlet curry Matsukawa had ordered still hadn’t been called out.

“You two eat first, or it will get cold and soggy,” Matsukawa, who was lying on the ground reading manga, told Iwaizumi and Hanamaki who had gone and returned with their curry and ramen.

“Then I’ll dig in.”

“Sorry.”

Without holding back the two took their spoons and chopsticks in their hands and began eating.

“I knew it, curry is the best.”

“That’s not even Indian styled curry! You’re okay with that? ”

“Yeah, because it’s curry.”

The boys continued to talk at the table, and everything was still alright. The trouble was yet to come.

Slurping his ramen Hanamaki called out to Iwaizumi beside him, “You were in there for a real long time.”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi responded with the spoon still in his mouth.

“You know, in the sauna.” He replied.

“Oh that. Isn’t that amount of time normal?”

“Are you serious?”

Their conversation ended there. Both of them focusing on the curry and ramen before them. It was just a meaningless conversation however someone reacted unexpectedly.

“Normal, huh…?”

It was Matsukawa, lying on the tatami.

Matsukawa couldn’t let their conversation – Iwaizumi’s “normal” - slip from his ears.

 “‘Normal’ he said. Doesn’t that mean that the two of us that left earlier are weaker than normal?”

 At that moment his buzzer went off beeping.

Matsukawa got up, “Oh, it’s finally done.”

Hanamaki eyed him whilst sipping the ramen broth from his spoon and asked: “Yours is the only one that took so long, what did you order?”

“Me? Pork cutlet curry.”

“Oh, one of those things that take time to fry… wait, that’s not something you eat after getting out of the sauna!? Your stomach must be strong.”

Upon hearing that Matsukawa glanced at Iwaizumi who was drinking water. And as if he were waiting for it, a smug smile crossed his face, “You think so? Having pork cutlet curry is pretty normal.” He taunted, picking up the beeping number buzzer to get his pork cutlet curry, ambling towards the counter. Someone glared at the figure strangely overflowing with confidence.

“‘Normal’… you say?” It was Iwaizumi, spoon in hand. “Normal? Then me eating plain curry means I’m weaker than that?”

The golf commentary from the TV, the manga, the faint breeze blowing intermittently, the curry and ramen, all of it relaxing and warm. This heaven-like peace enveloping the resting and dining area unfolded into a sudden battlefield.  

Iwaizumi stuffed the remainder of his curry into his mouth vigorously before slowly standing up. “I’m going to get extra gyoza,” he said.

Taken aback by the sudden dangerous aura emanating from Iwaizumi, Hanamaki winced “S-sure…”. His hands stopped over his ramen, the atmosphere created by former ace Iwaizumi could have easily been mistaken for the middle of a match.

And soon after Matsukawa returned with his tray of curry.

“Huh, where’s Iwaizumi?”

“Mm? Oh- uh seems like he went to get some gyoza.”

“…I see.”

Seating himself leisurely onto a sitting cushion, Matsukawa took his spoon in his hand and sighed, “Facing off pork cutlet curry with gyoza, pathetic.”

“What? What are you talking about? Both of you have been acting really weird since a while ago! Is this some kind of inside-joke?”

Hanamaki put down his chopsticks without thinking and upon noticing change in Matsukawa’s attitude Iwaizumi had returned with a “hey.” The clear plastic container in his hand contained eight gyoza. On top of that, another box stuffed with 200grams of chicken karaage. Seeing the extra meat, Hanamaki just feigned a smile.

“Hey, I know you went to all the trouble of buying that but I’m full from the ramen, I can’t eat that.”

Iwaizumi didn’t even spare Hanamaki a glance, staring down unblinkingly at Matsukawa who was eating his cutlet leisurely in declaration of war, “All of it is mine.”

Matsukawa stared back, putting down his fork and rising to his feet to accept Iwaizumi’s challenge, “Bring it on.”

“What is it with you guys!? Matsukawa, why are you standing? Sit down!”

The downside of war is that there are always innocents who get dragged in. And without listening to the confused Hanamaki, the pointless battle began.

Thirty minutes had passed. After eating his pork cutlet curry, yakisoba, grilled onigiri, Matsukawa now sat with what he claimed ‘dessert’, slurping down tapioca filled milk tea.

An exhausted Hanamaki asked: “Isn’t tapioca made from some sort of potato, doesn’t that make this more of a food than a drink? Why are you eating little balls of potato after a meal?”

“Because they were selling it.”

“Even if you want to look cool drinking that, you don’t.”

“I’m not trying to look cool.”

“You are! I heard you when you said ‘pathetic’ and all that other stuff. ”

While Hanamaki and Matsukawa were going back and forth, Iwaizumi returned with another plate piled high with freshly made fries.

“Potatoes! More potatoes! Why are you both eating piles of potatoes!? It’s practically another meal! What’s with you two?! My stomach hurts just watching you. I’m begging you both, please stop!”

The bystander Hanamaki had given up and Matsukawa, who was probing for pearls with the end of his straw, and Iwaizumi, who was throwing a handful of fries into his mouth, stopped. They looked at each other and nodded.

“Let stop it here then since you’re insisting.”

“Right.”

“You’re pretty strong.”

“Same to you.”

Hanamaki glanced at the two shaking hands over the good showdown they had had, clutching his stomach and rolling on the tatami groaning, “The damage runs deep…”

Having mercy on Hanamaki, who suddenly gave in, and having come to terms with the power they both held, both of them turned back to the table. Instead of eating at top speed they ate at the pace they pleased, sipping tapioca and munching on fries. This peaceful scene is what you would have called a warriors break.

“I think I ate a bit too much.”

“It’s because we haven’t been exercising recently.”

“I guess so.”

“How about we show our faces at club practice tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

After eating and drinking until they were full, they leant against the wall, satisfied. It was a warm, comforting moment. Taking a hot bath, unwinding in the sauna, eating a good meal, the fan gently carrying a breeze towards them— It was a moment of bliss.

Eyes closed and exhaustion finally settling in, everything was disrupted by music playing loudly through the speakers in the resting area.

“Huh? Seems like something’s starting…” an almost asleep Hanamaki woke up, startled.

“Look at that…!” Eyes wide, he pointed out at the open area outside.

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa stood up to look over.

A low stage had been unknowingly set up, a group of elderly people who had just gotten out of the baths and enjoying a beer gathered around it, microphones held gleefully in their hands. The sound of unknown old men singing enka songs roared through the resting area.

“I didn’t think they’d have karaoke here.”

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“This blows.”

For these three high school boys with little life experience, and it was a little too early to be battling it out in enka songs. Slipping past the old men excited by songs of mountains and waterfalls, death and killing, the three boys shuffled out of the resting and dining area, leaving it all behind.

                                                              ***

Escaping the enka hell the three boys, wearing the indoor slippers, stumbled upon an arcade.

“Oh, they have the alligator game.*”

“Ready for the hunt.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cruel to hit their heads?”

“That crane game has a PS4 in it.”

“There’s no way you could win it.”

Familiar sounds and music filled the room. The three wandered aimlessly around the to all the old crane machines until Iwaizumi suddenly called out, “Oh! Let’s play this! Have a showdown!”

In front of the eager Iwaizumi was a punching bag machine. But Matsukawa wrinkled his brow at the effort of it all, “No way, I hate these power type games. You’re going to thrash us anyway Iwaizumi.”

“There’s no winning or losing in punching. It’s to test yourself.”

“You said showdown before.”

It seemed like they were about to break down into another fight but Hanamaki, blue-faced, cut in, “Sorry… but I… the moment I use any force I think I’ll have ramen spewing out of my mouth.”

“Don’t wanna see that.”

“If that’s the case, how about we head home? Since we’re tired.”

It was when the three went to check the time that they saw it.

“Oh.”

Hanamaki pointed to the back of the arcade.

“Damn, air hockey!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, it really is! Air hockey! Air hockey!”

At the back of the arcade was an air hockey machine, old and clunky like the rest of the machines.

“Oh crap! How long has it been since we played air hockey?”

“I haven’t played since junior high!”

“Hurry up, let’s play! How much is it?”

“I won’t lose!”

“Who versus who for the first game?”

Wanting to spew ramen from his mouth, whether someone was going to win or lose, all of that was forgotten as the three hurriedly rushed to stuff one hundred yen into the machine. And thus the first round of the air hockey tournament began.

                                                               ***

 “The bathhouse was unexpectedly interesting.”

“We’ve discovered a great place.”

“Right?”

They had eaten to their heart’s content, played around like children before heading into the baths once again to wash off the sweat. With satisfied faces, they headed home on the free shuttle.

“I didn’t even think it would be this interesting.”

“We spent all our money on the air hockey machine though.”

“We exchanged for so many coins.”

After reminiscing the day using only the words “sick”, “seriously”, and “fun” they eventually quieted down. Whether it was the swaying of the bus, the fatigue from the baths, their full stomachs, or the soft orange light of the setting sun filling the bus that had the three nodding off, no one was sure.

 Staring blankly out the window Iwaizumi mumbled, “... If only he had come.”

Upon hearing those words Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s eyes flew open, despite almost falling asleep.

“Huh, by ‘him’ you mean… Him?”

“If you say ‘him’ there’s no one but him.”

“Him… yeah him…”

The three of them exchanged glances nodding in agreement “Him”, “yeah him.” And bursting out into laugher but it only took a moment before they stopped.

“No, it’s better that he wasn’t here.”

“I guess.”

“It would be pretty wild if he were.”

“But he definitely would have stolen the microphone out of the old lady’s hands.”

“Gotta do a duet I guess.”

“And then he’d get a tonne of candy and mikan.”

“Definitely.”

Right in the middle of their heated talk about ‘him’, the phone in Iwaizumi’s pocket rang out.

“Hm?”

Iwaizumi glanced at the notification, letting out an “ugh” and leaning back, the other two asked what it was and Iwaizumi showed them his phone.

“It’s from him.”

It was a message from him – Oikawa Tohru.

“Really?”

“Hell, he might be hiding in here watching us.”

“Surveying us huh.”

Of course, it would have been unlikely, but perhaps it wasn’t with the person called Oikawa. You could say that he was mysterious, or rather incomprehensible, whichever it was he was inexplicably terrifying.

After looking around the windows and the bus to confirm that Oikawa wasn’t there, Hanamaki let out a sigh, “So what did he say?”

“He just asked ‘Whatcha doing?’ Doesn’t he have anything else to do?”

“Tell him we’re in Las Vegas, send ‘In Las Vegas now’.”

“Idiot.”

“That’s stupid.”

While they bantered they took a photo, bathed in the setting sun, and sent it a message along the lines of “Coming back from Las Vegas with Matsukawa and Hanamaki”. And a reply came back immediately, obviously addressed to all three of them.

“Here we go, ‘ Is this Las Vegas at Naruko Hot springs*?’. Why Naruko hot springs? Is it the kokeshi? ” Hanamaki laughed before his expression changed, “Wait how did he know we went to the baths? Is there a place called Las Vegas in Naruko?”

Both Matsukawa and Iwaizumi replied immediately with serious faces, “Of course not.”

“Oh but hot springs sound good too,” Matsukawa added, stretching in his seat.

“Hot springs, huh…That means table tennis and not air hockey.” As Iwaizumi smirked his phone rang again.

“No fair! I want to go!” came another message from Oikawa.

This time Hanamaki replied, “Air hockey warrior Iwaizumi was seriously something.” and a reply from Oikawa came immediately.

“He said, ‘I’d beat him no sweat’. What are you gonna do Iwaizumi?”

“As if I’d lose.” Iwaizumi replied casually, but his fighting spirit burned deep in his eyes.

“This is going to be serious.”

“Yeah.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa looked at one another.

Would there really be another round of the air hockey tournament? Who knows?

 The three of them thought about the days ahead of them on the swaying bus.

For the three years of high school, if not the years of elementary school and middle school, the boys that had spent more time bonding with their volleyball teammates than their parents or siblings, were now about to walk different paths. Away from their schools, their hometown.

 “God, I’m getting bus sick,” Matsukawa said blue-faced and Hanamaki laughed.

“You’re so weak… wait I don’t feel so good either.”

“Don’t look down, look outside!” Iwaizumi pointed, putting his phone away in his pocket.

“What are you going to do about Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, “You still haven’t replied to his ‘I’d beat him no sweat’ comment.”

“Just leave it.”

The other two laughed at the blunt reply.

“Amazing, he’s not even here and he managed to barge in.”

“His presence is too strong.”

“That’s why it’s a good thing he isn’t here with us.”

As they laughed amongst themselves the bus approached the station. They knew it well, this twilight town they always walked through together. The bus winded through, this small journey was almost coming to an end. As each small journey ends, the days slowly pass by. The match ends, retiring from club activities, graduating from high school.

The time to part ways will definitely come, but this won’t be a problem for them. The time spent together, the sweat and tears they shed, all of it is part of their bodies and souls. Along with the things that they built up together, their strength, technique, confidence, and trust, all these things make up their bodies. And each of them will walk a new path to a place they haven’t trekked.

As all roads are connected, although separated, for now, they will surely meet again. And so for the when they meet again so that they can hold their heads high and laugh, they will continue to take on each challenge.

 How about you?

Are you moving forward?

 A motivation that can only be gained from friends pushes them onwards through fatigue. If friends are what keeps one going when they’re apart, then not having them by their sides will be all right.

 “Continue on unwaveringly.”

That’s all they needed.

                                                               ***

  While the three began to head their separate ways home after hopping off the bus, Oikawa was hunched in the corner of the clubroom staring at his phone, “Why did they leave me on read? Damn it!!”

   TRANSLATION NOTES:

Electricity baths: Pretty much a bath that has panels running down the sides that shoot electrical pulses into the water. I’ve been in one and it’s kind of tingly at first but it feels kind of like a massage if you get used to it. It’s not all that common in Japan so even then it’s a sort of novelty to Japanese people.

Waterfall feature: I didn’t know how to translate this but it’s basically a pipe at a height where the hot water comes out. You can sit under it to hit your back and it’s basically like a waterfall/massage.

 Jinbei: Traditional Japanese top and bottoms. The kind you see babies wear to summer festivals (I guess like a two-piece, yukata top and pants). Made out of a thin material and made particularly for hot weather.

 Alligator game: in English, this game is Alligator hunt, but in Japanese, it’s called (ワニワニパニック) waniwani panicky, alligator panic, Matsukawa follows with a “What a panic” to finish Hanamaki’s sentence but I changed it a bit so English readers could get the reference.

Naruko hot springs: One of the most popular hot springs in Miyagi is also known for their wooden dolls, kokeshi. If you ever go to Miyagi, Naruko is beautiful in fall!!

As a small disclaimer:  I have taken some liberties in translation to make the  novel read smoothly. So please don’t quote specific words as canon. that being said I tried my best to stay faithful to the original.  For this reason I will not allow translations into another language using this as the base text. I apologise to anyone who is keen on sharing it in another language but please do so using the original Japanese text.

Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter please consider supporting Haikyuu and buying a copy of this novel (volume 11) ! I may consider doing more novel translations in the future!

I do have a Ko-fi so if you do feel like it, please donate!

[random-imagines-blog]

The Way Back {Faramir x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3057 Summary: Love can be found in the unlikeliest of places, such as in a war-torn city after a win.

You took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. It felt like you hadn’t had the time to breathe in days. It had been battle, after battle, after battle against Sauron and his forces, ending up in this, the grand battle outside of Gondor. But the enemy had finally been defeated, the last of the orcs crying back to Mordor. You removed your helmet and let your hair fly free in the breeze as the world seemed to catch it’s own breath back. There was still plenty to do, such as tend to the wounded, burn the bodies of the deceased, and begin plans to rebuild the city. There were many fallen on both sides, even though the battle had been won by yourself, and by Gondor. By Minas Tirith. You looked about you, savoring the moment of peace, before plunging yourself into even more work.

You regretted that you did not attend the last battle at Mordor, but you had a much more pressing issue of helping with Gondor. There was so much here that had to be done, and you put your faith in your three companions. Legolas, your younger brother, who looked so much like you with delicate elfin features, but was a killer with a bow. Gimli, the dwarf that you came to see as a friend and an annoyance in your life, almost like a grumpy old pet, but one who could swing an axe like it was no ones business. And Aragorn, your best friend, a fellow Ranger, who had returned from Mordor and would soon be crowned King. But for now, he left you to care for Eowyn, a woman that he had introduced you to, who had been hurt in the battle. As two female warriors, the two of you struck up a quick kinship. It had been you who had given her a horse to ride among the riders, before you went with your fellowship to hold the dead to their oaths. Your horse, one of the fastest in the world, and the envy of many of the riders, including her brother.

You sat with her in the healing wing, dabbing her forehead gently with a damp cloth.

“I’m barely moving enough to sweat, y/n, there’s no need for this,” She said, trying to wave you away with her injured hand. You shushed her, and put it back down to her side. She looked more fragile than you were used to seeing her. Before, you had seen it in her eyes that she was always ready for a fight, the inner beast in her wanting to come out and growl at the world. A true dragon in pretty colors.

“Would you rather me go and get one of the healers to do it for you? I feel they would not be as good company as I though...” You threatened, and she sighed and allowed you to go on with your blotting. You were not a healer, though you knew a couple of things. Like to constantly check your friend for fever, for the wounds that she had sustained were nasty. She may have stabbed the witch King in the face, but she paid the price for that.

“I don’t like feeling helpless like this. I want to help the healers - it is only a couple of wounds. But no, all they let me do is go for one walk a day among the garden, like I’m some sort of...”

“Woman?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Let us go on our walk then. Let them dare to stop us while we are together. They can try to bully one warrior, but two? I do not think them so foolish.” You took hold of Eowyn’s better hand, and helped her onto her feet. She was eager to be up, and there was a flounce to her step, almost girlish. Sometimes she lamented being a woman, but there was still some femininity to her.

Together you walked out of the healing wing, and out into the open air of Gondor. A lot had been ruined during the war, and was being rebuilt. There were footsoldiers still around, and were helping to guide the reconstruction process. Everyone was helping out - even children, who were spreading the mortar over the walls with their little hands. “Are you going to return to Rohan as soon as you are healed?” You asked Eowyn as you strolled arm in arm, avoiding the places where the most damage had been done.

“After Aragorn’s coronation,” She answered. “I see no sense in returning, just to turn around and come back in a couple of weeks. And with my brother constantly off with the Riders of Rohan, they are going to need a new leader.”

“I see,” You said, nodding. “I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle, Eowyn. He was a great man, as as I’m sure you knew. And he taught you well, you’ll take his place fantastically.”

“What about you? I remember your father wanted you to return to Mirkwood-”

You shook your head vehemently. “I too will be staying until the coronation. Legolas may be returning but I’m not so quick to leave the scene of one of the greatest battles that Middle Earth has ever known. I’m reluctant to go back...”

“Why?”

“I’m his heir, and he is getting older. I know that he wants me to take up the throne, but I am not Queen material, Eowyn. I belong on the battlefield. That’s where I feel the most comfortable! Not among the rich dresses and the gossip of elfen society,” You opened up to Eowyn, knowing that her, above anyone else, would understand how you feel. “Legolas is better suited as King than I ever would be as Queen. Were it I were born second rather than first...”

“Either way, it would be nice to have someone who is more sympathetic to humans on the throne,” Eowyn said, coming to a halt. You looked at her confused. “There he is - that is Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor.”

You followed her eyeline to see a man, leaning over one of the walls, looking out at the wreckage of the grounds that had been the battlefield. His hair was to his shoulders, a messy light brown - it was a look that many of the human men wore. Aragorn. Boromir -

Of course! This had been the brother that Boromir had mentioned to you during the nights when you two had watch together. But with some more burns upon him than Boromir had ever seen. You had heard of what had happened to him. His own father had tried to kill him.

“Shall we introduce ourselves?” You asked. Eowyn, who was far from timid even while she was wearing a gown rather than armor, nodded her approval.

You approached him together, which did not seem to intimidate him, for he gave you a surprising smile when you reached him. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your thoughts,” You said, pleasantly.

“Not at all,” He inisisted. “I always have time for two of our heroes.”

You beamed down at Eowyn, seeing the little flush on her cheeks. It was amazing seeing her talent be recognized. You were about to praise her even more, just to see if she could go as red as a rose, when one of the healers came running up, interrupting the mood. “You should be resting Lady Eowyn!” She chided.

“But...” Eowyn started, but then gave in rather easily. “Excuse me. I hurt my hand while killing the Witch King. I hope you understand my quick departure.”

You couldn’t stop grinning at her little amount of bragging. She deserved that much. Faramir bowed his head respectfully as the healer took Eowyn away, who was still complaining that she was fine. “Did you receive an injury while doing something important like killing a Witch King?” He asked.

“I stubbed my toe while taking down an Oliphaunt,” You shrugged, making him grin. You realized while he was doing so that he was actually pretty handsome .. for a human. He had a softer face than both Aragorn and Boromir, the only two humans that you could claim had been your friends. Or still were, in Aragorn’s case. He wasn’t as bristly. And he had very kind eyes. The race of men really was starting to grown on you.

-

Your father had come to Aragorn’s coronation. You had not expected him to. He very rarely left Mirkwood. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies had he ventured anywhere near this far. But the King returning to his throne was a grand deal, so you supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. You stood beside your brother in welcoming your dear friend to the throne, and had managed to position yourself in a way that let you look at the Steward. He stood with Eowyn, who had become as wonderful a friend to him as she had to you. A sister to the both of you, though she needed no more siblings - not with a gruff one like Eomer about.

“When are you going to tell father?” Legolas whispered after Aragorn had passed.

“Tell him what?” You hissed.

“About how you are in love with a human,” He said, smiling widely. You nudged him and he nearly fell into Gimli, but his elf-like reflexes stopped him from doing so. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Is that why you dressed up today? It is so weird to see you in a gown.”

“Can you please be quiet and enjoy our friend’s special day?” You asked in Elvish. Legolas did quiet down but you kept sneaking peeks over at Faramir. The two of you had gotten rather close in the last couple of months. And you might even think that you had given your heart over to the man, though it was very painful to think about. You would continue to remain youthful for many, many years, barely gaining a wrinkle while this man would grow old, wither, die. Life was cruel that way. Unbelievably cruel.

You saw eyes looking at you behind Faramir, and caught your father’s stern gaze. Your eyes widened, and like a child caught doing something bad, you immediately looked anywhere but your father, pretending to be distracted by the leaves, or the sweet little hobbits.

After the ceremony was a lovely party, which Aragorn did not attend because he went straight into his duties. You could say a lot of things about Aragorn, but not that he wasn’t dedicated to his work. You walked through the party, surprising a great number of people by wearing an intricate Elven gown for the occasion. Most of these people had only seen you in your fighting garb, which looked a great deal like Legolas’s. In fact, on more than one occasion, you had been mistaken for one another. Definitely not on this day, though.

You wandered, before Faramir’s hand lightly brushed against your arm, pulling you into conversation. “You look...” He said, gazing at you up and down, trying to find the words. You decided rather than waste time, you would finish his sentence for him.

“-like a beautiful Elven lady?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Faramir said with a grin. He looked bashful, an expression that became him. He could be the most cold, hardened warrior, but around you, he seemed to be a bit more of a bashful mess. It was a very endearing trait. And it was something that brought the warmth right out of you.

“Yes, my daughter is a very beautiful Elven lady,” Your father’s familiar voice said from you behind you. Your eyes said ‘Uh-oh’ faster than your mouth could, and you turned to see him standing there. The blonde hair that the whole family had was gleaming brightly in the sun light. “I’m stealing her for a moment from you, Steward.”

“Of course,” Faramir said with a nod. He walked away with his hands behind his back, having recovered very well from his injuries. You watched as he walked towards Eowyn, and they struck up a friendly conversation. Your two favorite humans - and yet it gave you a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you did not like. You were wary of them being close. You were fond of both of them and you would not be surprised if they became overly fond of one another.

“Is that him?” Your father asked, following your line of sight. You stopped staring, and turned back towards him to give him the respect that he both deserved and demanded.

“Is that whom?” You questioned, your eyebrow arching upwards.

“The human that has stolen your heart?” Your father’s steely gaze cut through you like a knife. So he knew. You looked behind him for Legolas, and once you had caught his eye, you gave him a glare. “Do not blame your brother like you are some sort of child. He didn’t tell me a thing. It is entirely obvious.”

“Do you think that he knows?” You asked, swallowing any denial that you might have had bubbling.

“Since he is an inferior human, I would suppose not.” Your father said, chin held high. “I was going to ask you to come back with me. Take your place as the ruler of Mirkwood. There is a lot of work to be done.”

The happiness that you had felt for Aragorn, and then the slight giddiness that you had around Faramir had dissipated entirely. You were back to the way that the elves usually were. Hard-browed. No emotion showing.

“I’m sure that there is,” You said, not excited at all about the prospect of returning to your home. “And you are sure that you want me to be doing it?”

“As the oldest, it is your duty. Female or not,” Your father said. But he wasn’t catching your eye - he continued to glance over at Faramir. “You have caught his attention most ardently. He will not stop looking in your direction. It almost reminds me of your mother.”

Your heart started to beat in your chest, but your expression did not change. Still, there was a little bit of hope shining through. You tried to catch your father’s eye, but he kept looking away, which was unusual. Usually, he enjoyed looking right into the eyes of the person that he was talking to. It was a power play. And now you were the one who was trying to be the one in power.

“Is there any way that we can postpone it, father?” You asked, trying to make yourself taller so that he could not avoid looking at you. “Just for a few decades? Hardly any time at all - and all of that work will still be waiting for me.”

“A couple of decades? So you can come back after your human lover dies, and take out your grief in your work like I had?” Thranduil asked, tutting. You have never heard him tut before. But you also knew that he had a point. You remembered how he had thrown himself into his duties as King when your mother had died. He hadn’t given himself the proper time to grieve, and his leadership was lack for that. “We’d better give it a century or two. I might be able to finish my own tasks in time for that.”

“Surely - you’re joking? This is the first joke that you make and you decide for it to be this?” You questioned, unable to take your father seriously at this moment. His expression had not changed at all. In fact, now, it looked a little bit angry.

“I do not joke.” He said, glaring at you. “I am trying to give you the opportunity to love.”

You tried to search for any sign of deceit in his eyes, but could find none. He even looked a little ... flustered? Uncomfortable at the idea of talking about love with his daughter? Either way, you weren’t going to pass this opportunity up. You clasped your hands in front of yourself and gave him a bow which he then returned, before sweeping himself away to talk to Legolas, which was always much less about emotions.

You walked back over to Faramir and Eowyn, and put your hand on Faramir’s arm like he had to you just moments before. “May I speak with you for a moment?” You asked him, looking over at Eowyn. The blonde woman gave you a knowing smile, and walked off to speak with Merry, whom she had grown fond of over the war. The Steward of Gondor looked at you, still with that soft grin that you enjoyed looking at so much.

“What is it?” He asked, the grin faltering slightly. You’ve never asked him to talk privately before, and he wondered if something was wrong. But you took that away from him with your own lips, which you softly pressed against his once you were sure you had a little bit of privacy. “My lady?” He questioned, after returning it.

“It is unconventional, but it appears that I’ve fallen for you, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

“You have?” He asked, bewildered, but then seemed to regain his senses rather quickly. “I thought you never would. I’ve already resigned myself to growing old by myself.”

“You don’t have to,” You said, taking hold of his rough and calloused hands, giving them a squeeze. “If you will have me, I’d like to be by your side as you grow into a handsome old man.”

“While you stay the same?” He asked, his voice going softer.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. There was no point in beating around the bush - he would grow old and you would stay exactly as you were. It would be quite some time before you started to look older than you already were.

“My beautiful wife,” Faramir said, leaning in for another kiss. You granted it happily.

[honestsycrets]

The Milkmaid VII: Bright Lights

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, harald & ivar (friend?ship)

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | reader finds her way while ivar argues with a dog. 

❛  tags | pregnancy themes, supernatural intervention, ivar being a bad dog owner, he’s a pet boy okay, just not today, angst, but not dark?, i’m not @lisinfleur 😂 

❛ sy’s notes | no really he argues with a dog. i was gonna post a gif of ivar on this but my 5B gifs are real s h i t t y. redo.

He should throw your stupid dog down a well. Maybe, if he were lucky, Mimir would shake the knowledge out of the damn thing. But no, instead, he has no more leads to go on than he originally had. The kings stand considering from which direction the dog came from.

“He came from behind the barn,” says Harald.

“He came from the barn,” Ivar scoffs, jerking his finger in the direction. “You think my slave was hiding away in some barn in the cold of night?”

“Maybe if she were hiding from you.”

“That is so helpful,” Ivar snaps at the other king. His men, deep in the woods, shout: there is nothing here! Ivar then turns to Harald with that knowing, all too cocky scowl. He hates it, when he is right. “Do you know what is back there? Brush. Woods and wolves.”

“I’m sure you know what is back there.”

Ivar leers back to the other king confident of his astringent purpose for saying that. Ivar grips his crutch, hobbling a bit closer. “What are you saying, hm?”

“I am saying these things have a way of recurring.”

These things, Harald suggested, is the death of royal children. His child, Freydis’s child, and now… Ivar holds Harald’s gaze for a stubborn few moments before he hisses, not bearing to waste his time with the old king.

“I don’t know why I brought you Harald,” Ivar walks away from the other kind. Harald, now dressed, follows Ivar toward the line of trees. “You have no faith in the gods, no faith in anything.”

“Here I am,” Harald’s expression smooths over from bunched up wrinkles to a state of relaxation, despite his companion’s jabs. After this many years, he became used to the constant jeer of kinds underestimating him. “Are we checking in the brush?”

“If we have to.”

The woods hold their own secrets. Deep in their hearth, past the arching trees and branches that nipped the sky, there had to be something. At the very least, all it could hold, is a vast amount of nothing. He has nothing to gain from continuing to deny Harald. They find themselves following Vala’s tiny steps that carry them deeper and deeper before they stop. Vala turns in a circle. Then sits.

Stupid dog.

“The dog doesn’t know,” Harald grumbles. “Look at him, he is confused.”

Ivar glares at the dog, wondering why, why hadn’t he picked a grown and well-trained dog. He had to pick this thing. Because you wanted him so much. He shouldn’t have let you pick the dog-- you knew good, domestic things. Things of war, protection, and-- this, not so much.

The pup scratches the grown, sniffing and turning, whining and whimpering. And Ivar wants nothing more than to boot him with the butt of his crutch. The dog yips and Ivar’s about had it. He whirls around-- and finds the dog sitting there looking right back at him.

Pest.

If he had been smart, he would have chosen a well-trained hound. But no-- because his heart is weak when it comes to the complaints of his woman, he chose a creature that was as useless as it was cute.

The sun disappeared behind the fjord. You were left with the chill of night as Kattegat’s temperature plummeted below comfortable levels. Too cold to move but too afraid to let the fire run out, you chucked remnants of wood you gathered into the dismal fire until there was nothing but scraps that the fire would snap apart, cracking into its dying breaths. With nothing else to give to the greedy flames, you fold your hands into your woolen dress and pray tight lipped prayers to Frigg.

A small light, barely a flicker, caught your attention out of your peripheral vision. At first you thought it was nothing, perhaps the flicker of an animal’s eyes. If you stayed very still, the wild beast would leave you be, or you so you hoped. It would be tragic, you thought, for the wolves to have two of Ivar’s children. You your legs in a little tighter and curl into the Asvaldr’s plump belly, even as he whines impatiently for your attention.

“Shh, what if it is a beast?” you smooth your hand over his muscular body. “We shouldn’t worry about it, morning will come soon enough.”

Despite your pleads, Asvaldr’s limbs flailed with his attempt to get up. When he does, he effectively thrusts you to the dirt floor. Your hand snaps to your stomach with precaution, resting on your hip. “Asvaldr what is it?”

It was then you saw it for what it was.

A whimsical bouncy flourish of light between the wall of thick trees over a prominent rock. You swing your legs around, using the ground to shove yourself up. Asvaldr clopped closer so that you might hold his reins to support your stance.

“A wisp?”

Asvaldr clops a closer, dragging you along with. It had been some time since you had seen one of these things. The bouncy lights that dragged you, so you heard, to your fate. You chase the wisps into the untraveled path of the forest that way, hanging onto your master’s horse, and praying to the gods the wisps path is a good one.

Well, chase is being kind, when you walk like that.

Ivar’s eyes chase the edges of old trees. They are tall, well grown, wild. All the good plants are wild and free to hold spirits that are just as wild and free. He moistens his cracked lips for the fifth time, debating--

Perhaps Harald had been right. Perhaps you wanted to run to get away from him. Everyone else shared that sentiment. Margrethe, ran from him. Freydis then-- she tried to run from him.

At least he took care of that one. He made sure she didn’t run.

“Ivar!” Harald paces until he finds something, lackadaisically whistling at Ivar. Ivar takes his crutch and jabs it into the hard dirt, carefully scaling the mountain side to where the other king was. He stood about the crispy remains that weren’t yet cool. “Ashes. She was here.”

The stupid little shit yips at his feet. They scan the surrounding area for clues that you had been there. Moist poignantly, he finds, is an overlooked trail leading away from the campsite. He realizes that there is something there-- better than a burnt out campsite or sweep of luck.

A bouncy red flame.

It held his attention for longer than it should have. “Thank the gods,” he finds himself raising the hammer of Thor to his lips, placing a kiss to it, before setting it back upon his sturdy chest.

In looking at Harald, he realized that the old man did not see what he saw. But it was there, jovial and light. “And where are you going?” Harald called out to him. Harald growls a half hearted response and disappears into the trees behind his so called friend. It had better been a lead.

“Come on, old man. You’re falling behind!”

Ivar believes in the ways of the gods and the norns. There is not a fate that lay before man that was not woven from their fingertips. From the strong standing trees to the ones that have collapsed and bore their craggly roots, the trees have an understanding with the nine worlds that humans did not. Humans unlike Ivar, whose faith was uncrackable.

He pressed down from the rolling hill down toward the fjord, scaling with a curse behind every step, because his crutch was complaining as he moved down the hillside. How he could walk the battlefield freely, like a titan, and now plummet to the ground with sand was beyond him. He breaks his fall on his elbows, and to his surprise, his bones don’t crack. He knows Harald is watching him agape as he hurries on his forearms.

“What are those?” Harald at last sees it with that dumb, lost expression splattered across his face. “Is there a Valkyrie here?”

“Do you see a Valkyrie?” he looks to the sky, then across the streaming waters that washed by, searching for the sight of a swan. There was none. He can’t help tease. “Perhaps its all that ale you’ve been drinking.”

Harald’s face is flat and free from a response, just the small, scoffing laugh as he looks about.

At least, Ivar knows, it isn’t in his head this time. Last time-- as it were -- was Freydis’s lies. At least now, here, he knows that Harald sees exactly what he sees. The wisps, fireballs of the norn’s might, leads down from Norway’s rise and drop to the lapsing waves of the water to the grainy shore.

“Hold this,” he hands the crutch he’s been crawling with to Harald.

The scouts he’s gathered fall in a defensive position around the kings. Harald stuffs the crutch under his arm, following Ivar, who now snakes over the ground toward the rocky bend of the beach like he’s fifteen again and innocent to the world despite the men around him. He can see his brother’s long bodies splashing in the cool water against the warm orange that reflected on the sun. Then Hvitserk and Ubbe would come with their spears and Ubbe would show him a feast of fish while Hvitserk had none. Sigurd would have one.

Nostalgia isn’t a good taste on his tongue. That boy-- the one who dreamed of being able to hunt with his big brothers? He’s not a boy he wants to know. He doesn’t want to know the boy that would have rathered slit his throat if only it wouldn’t destroy his mother. So he turns his head across from the still waters and looks toward the forest. At the banks of the waters, he recognizes a decrepit sight-- not from anything he’s ever seen, but something he’s always felt.

“As much as I hate to break up a good moment,” Harald kneels down, holding the crutch over his trousers, “We were hunting your very pregnant slave.”

“Shht,” Ivar snaps back to Harald. “Look there.”

“Look where?” He lurches then, grasping Harald’s wrinkled face and jerks it into the right direction across the waters. A long, grated sigh breaks free from his lips. The waters do not look deep, no. It strikes Harald as strange, as he knows he’s passed by here with his warships, and they’ve been deeper still than the crystal clear waters before. He turns toward his men to shrill something-- when he finds the only company they have is the cold chill of the sea.

Ivar looks back at him, reclining on the palms of his hands, before his head tilts-- and a shit eating smile makes its way up his face. He clicks his tongue like a man would after a lost animal.

“...I’m the donkey then.”

There is a cabin.

It is a thin looking thing that would make anyone question why it was still standing. It’s heavy brown wood stands, but it has clearly been burned by the crispness of its black edges. Someone did not want it to stand. But there it was, proudly displaying a shield that spun above the top of the double doors. Pure blood red with one lone symbol: a raven soars the expanse of the shield.

“This must be your father’s cabin,” Harald says, verging on a dry laughter. Ten years, and here he was, static in the same position he’s always been-- behind Ragnar’s legacy. He sets his hand over a twig like fence that reflects Ragnar and Lagertha’s condition prior to taking up raiding once again. Ivar cradles the crutch, using it like a horse’s bit, over Harald’s throat.

The farm’s gate is shaky at best. When he looks out to the fencing, he recognizes a wispy figure dashing into the gate. That handsome, cut jawline with curls. Inquisitive eyes free of any exhaustion. If he were asked, he knew it could never be.

But it looks like him. It’s his father’s whimsical young figure that dashes in, kissing the soft cheeks of a girl he’s never known, and a brother he wish he never had. Another figure stands at the gate; his energy wispy and white. Athelstan, he recognizes the name, not the body.

“So it seems. Have you been here before?”

The girl stops from watching her father and her brother. Harald pauses, helping Ivar off his sodden wet back, and onto the ground. Ivar upright, the crutch fit under his arm. He’s taller than he’s ever been. More handsome than he’s ever felt.

She offers her hand, and Ivar can’t help look up to it in question. The girl-- he’s never known her name. Only that she was at the midpoint between girlhood and crossing into womanhood.

“You’re my brother, Ivar. I am Gyda,” her voice, it’s softer than the waves that lapse the shoreline. “Have you come here to look for someone?”

“My w--” Ivar stops himself. “My slave. She’s with child.”

“I see.” She hovers there, transparent, but defined in features that paint her energy a rich gold. She was radiant. “I sent Baldur after you to help you find her.”

His heart catches in his throat. A quick glance around reveals nothing. There is no boy next to Harald and he. Harald, sensing the discomfort, glances around the farm to the cooing animals. To the handsome visage of Ragnar and Bjorn, ducking and weaving. Ivar recognizes a pang of longing across his friend’s face. Harald steps over the wooden gate.

“I don’t understand.”

She smiles. “My nephew.”

Somewhere, through the mist, he spots the fireball of light. Something in the deep of his mind reminds him of that cursed little soul: Baldur.

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