#do i find him highly unlikeable and would kill him without ever regretting it? yes

[eyepatchoflove]

lestat being both french and italian explains everything, because there is actually nothing wrong with him, he's just like that.

[snowflakesnsundry]

UNTIL DUST CHAPTER 88: At The Current's Edge

Word Count: 4,170

Summary: A hangover, a visitor, and some swimming

Warnings: Story is Rated R. 

            By the time he arrived, he was two days late. You had begun to hope the Captain had forgotten to send anyone at all; but it would have been foolish to think Baldur capable of leaving you unsupervised for more than an hour's time.

            You weren’t Loki- but that meant little when it came to a bitter man’s trust.

            When he arrived, you were half asleep- still trying to cope with the consequences of the night before. It had been eons since you had suffered a hangover- and it made you no less bitter to see Loki without one.

Upon first opening your eyes you nearly leapt out of your skin; suddenly finding yourself confronted with a man where you had expected a woman. He lay on his back, stretched out across the bed- ankles crossed over one another, and hands over his stomach. His eyes were trained on a cube floating mid air above him, his fingers lifting and moving ever so slightly as he changed about the parts of his puzzle.

Rolling onto your side, you watched him for a moment.“I can’t believe you bought one.” Your voice was deeply uncooperative-low, groggy, and a tad worse for wear after your night of catching up.

A thin smile slipped across his face as he shifted his eyes to you. “Technically I bought two-both the ones we used.”

You frowned looking up at the thing. You could have sworn the one he had challenged you with was simpler- this one was leagues more intricate than you would have ever considered attempting; and if you were honest, you felt that it had to have been a very different color.

“Is that the same one?”

“No, it is not.”

“So you bought three then.” It was not a question, but a warning- one you knew wouldn’t bother him in the slightest.

Loki rolled his eyes and the cube dropped promptly into his hand. “A ridiculous question.” Twisting his fingers, the item disappeared in a light shimmer of green. “How did you sleep?” He asked, rolling over onto his side. “Because it does not look like you slept well.”

You groaned. “That bad, is it?”

“Worse than your imagining, I would bargain.”

You gave a faint sobbing noise as you pulled the pillow from under your head and placed it firmly over your own face.

“I shall never drink again in my life.” The pillow muffled your voice quite a bit, but he heard you all the same. With a laugh he shifted closer to you, lifting the pillow up and out of the way.

“Liar.”

“It has never done me any good-at this rate it will be the thing to kill me.”

“I find that highly unlikely.”

“You’re not a witch- you can’t see the future.”

“I suppose not, but-” casting the pillow across the room, he quickly wrapped you in his arm, pulling you close against him. “-I promise that, at the very least, I will do my best to ensure something so silly as drink is not listed on your epitaph.”

A contented hum rolled in your chest as he pressed his lips against your neck. “I trust you will- frankly you’re already done so before.”

“Hmm-what an optimistic way of remembering it.” He muttered into your skin. You laughed, but almost immediately regretted it. Every inch of your head voiced its distain of sound, light, and movement in general. When your laugh morphed into a whimper, it only seemed to amuse Loki all the more.

“Poor little one.” he cooed, brushing his fingers along the side of your face.

“Do not mock me- I am suffering, Loki.” Rolling towards him, you buried your face into his chest. Though you had not anticipated how soothing his cold skin would feel against your aching head, you were more than pleased with the result, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep him held tight.

Hand cradling the back of your head, Loki kept you close-stifling his laugh so as not to move you too much. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Good.” He replied, twirling his fingers into your hair. “Although I could fix the whole thing for you, if you like.”

            You peered up at him with narrowed eyes.

            “I assure you, it’s true.” Loki pressed against your shoulder, letting your back fall against the bed. “I cannot begin to tell you the number of times my brother-or one of his friends- managed to drink themselves into some sort of trouble; bringing the rest of us with them.” His fingers delicately brushed the hair from your forehead, setting it in place against the sheets. “I never really set out to learn how, but I sort of…picked it up, by accident.”

            “That is not entirely comforting.”

            “Nor will it be entirely comfortable. But it will fix the problem.” The frown on his face was a bit more than apologetic- or was enough to make you wince.

            “That bad?”

            “I suppose it’s all relative…”

            With an agonized groan you pressed your head back against his chest and placed his hand across the back of your neck. “I think I will wait it out- this will do well enough for now.”

            Gently, he enveloped you-his fingers curling delicately around the back of your neck, shifting every now and then to ensure no spot was neglected. The rise and fall of his chest became nearly imperceptible as he leveled his breathing, and as he ensured that you were still well covered, the ensuing silence let your thoughts vanish beneath the rhythm of his heart. “Thank you-” you muttered. “-I imagine this would have been quite a miserable morning had you not come.”

            “I am delighted to know I am irreplaceable as an ice pack.” He teased.

            “Mmm-and imagine, I would never been so lucky had I not thrown something at you.”

            “Your pen- yes, I remember.” He replied dryly. “Although I would not generally advise throwing things at royalty.”

            “Unless asked to.”

            “Who in the royal family would possibly ask you to do such a thing?”

-Cont on AO3-

[shuunkan-art]

Chainsaw Man AU!!! Details are a little fraught with spoilers so I shall...put them under the cut.

tw: character death, mild gore

I didn't think too hard about this but yes. Zhongli as Makima would maybe be what it would be like if Zhongli was never able to walk amongst humans and was always revered, held high above others, and was completely unable to find any kind of relationship with equal standing. I gather he could have gotten a really skewed view of right vs wrong. BUT I also see him as having still had nothing but good intentions for others, and so genuinely believing what he is doing is right while silently lamenting that he cannot understand others or be understood.

Xiao as Denji, well, Xiao's always been an extremely grateful, extremely loyal person. I figure if he had the same background as Denji, he'd have latched onto Zhongli pretty quickly and without question. The difference this has from canon is that I think canon Xiao probably wasn't a kid when he was saved. Tho iirc there's nothing in canon that really states this so take that with a grain of salt, but I think he should be a lot older than Denji was at least. For Chainsaw Man, he'd be like, 16. When in the totality of your short shitty life there has only been one person to ever be kind to you and you have a disposition for loyalty, it might not be hard to treat them as god.

But, unlike Zhongli in this AU, Xiao does eventually interact with people he could call equals. I thought of this on the fly so don't kill me but I'm thinking Ganyu (as Aki, but she's the devil. I thought of her bc she's older than Xiao + seems to have found him hard to approach, at least initially. While she wouldn't have a hostile relationship with Xiao, I figure it would've been painfully awkward at first) and Chongyun (as Power, but he's the human devil hunter. Honestly? I just really think he'd make a great kouhai for Xiao //shot. Jokes aside, I guess it's highly likely it's him who Xiao initially has a bad relationship with in this AU).

Long story short, I think interactions with them, ironically a devil and a devil hunter, would have made Xiao more human. Eventually maybe he starts to question how Zhongli does things etc. but doesn't actually start rebelling (it's hard to reverse smth like an imprinting process probably) until Ganyu and Chongyun die. In Ganyu's case, she's likely also just as loyal to Zhongli and willingly, perhaps with some regrets, dies. In Chongyun's case, he likely actually fights back and gets killed...ye. I’m so sorry I killed him off in this page.

I think that, even if Zhongli in this AU would have some extreme plans to achieve smth good, he's not immune to pain and does experience hardships of his own. Ganyu having to die for his plan would mean one less person who genuinely believes in him and not bc he's controlling them, for instance. And then Xiao, who's the only other one, actually moves away from him intentionally, after witnessing more than a couple horrors.

I have other thoughts like Hu Tao being Reze, since she's someone Xiao can somewhat relate to (given he understands her humor). She's also pretty playful and I figure would be a good candidate overall for Reze's role but it's not rly part of this page-

Anyway, that’s all...

[scope-dogg]

Knight’s and Magic: Final Thoughts

Isekai anime have been very popular in recent years, and 2017′s Knight’s and Magic was one of many cashing in on that trend, with the added twist of being a mecha series. However, what many may not realise is that the Isekai genre of anime was originally born out of the mecha genre, with the first Isekai anime arguably being the 1983 classic Aura Battler Dunbine by Yoshiyuki Tomino. While Isekai has split off and diversified into its own extremely prolific and popular genre, mecha has kept a foothold within it, and subsequently some of the greatest mecha shows have been fantasy-themed, with great titles like Magic Knight Rayearth and The Vision of Escaflowne following in Dunbine’s footsteps over the years, so really Knight’s and Magic should be viewed rather as the continuation of a fairly long tradition of fantasy mecha rather than Isekai but with robots. Adapted from the early volumes of a currently ongoing manga by the same name, it’s a short series, but one with high production values, superb mechanical design and entertaining action. It’s also a series that I ultimately simply cannot stand.

The plot setup is that Tsubasa Kurata is an unassuming but highly talented programmer working in contemporary Japan - or at least he is until he’s killed in a road traffic accident. As he dies, he has but one regret - that he’ll no longer be able to live with his hobby of building plastic model kits of giant anime robots. As is often the case with such a setup, he finds himself reborn into a fantasy kingdom called Fremevilla as the son of nobles called Ernesti Echavalier. However, to his joy, he finds out that the main weapon for fighting back against these monsters is the Silhouette Knight, a kind of gigantic magic-powered mecha. Thus, he devotes himself to the art of learning everything there is about these machines and one day building and piloting one of his very own.

There’s nothing really wrong with this premise, but Knight’s and Magic is flawed in how one-track it is. The show’s really only about one thing - how robots are cool. Of course, I agree that robots are cool. Knight’s and Magic’s lineup of robots in particular is very cool, both in their form and unique functions. However, anyone who’s actually a fan of the mecha genre knows that just having cool robots isn’t enough to carry a show - you have to have compelling characters and interesting narratives. The all-too-frequently trotted-out line of “[x mecha show] is actually good, unlike the rest of the genre, because it focuses on the characters instead of just the robots” is probably the single most effective thing you can say if you want to piss off a mecha fan, because that sentence describes literally every mecha show that was ever worth a damn, even going back to the genre’s roots in the 70s. However, it arguably doesn’t really describe Knight’s and Magic. The series’ creators come off as just as obsessed with robots as its main character, and it comes at the expense of the characters and setting. Each new episode comes with a cool new robot or a cool upgrade for an existing one, but practically none of them feature development of the setting or its characters. Fremevilla and its neighbours never come off as anything more than “generic fantasy kingdom”, the supporting cast are all cut from extremely generic-feeling moulds, and Ernesti never undergoes any growth or exhibits any notable character traits beyond “likes robots.”

Now, there have been several characters in mecha anime who are in large part defined by their dedication to giant robots as an ideal, or simply to their aesthetic, and some of these are truly excellent characters. For instance, Gai Daigoji from Nadesico, Akagi Shunsuke from Dai-Guard, Noa Izumi from Patlabor, Sei Iori from Gundam Build Fighters, or the Super Robot Wars Original character Ryusei Date. The difference between all of these and Ernesti is that being fans of robots isn’t the only thing that makes them relatable or endearing characters, whereas in Ernesti’s case it’s basically the only thing that defines his personality. It also doesn’t help that he’s perhaps the biggest Mary Sue main character that I’ve seen in a mecha anime. His gimmick is that his past-life experience as a programmer also makes him profoundly adept at magic, and that he’s a genius Silhouette Knight designer. He’s always totally successful at everything he tries and everyone loves and respects him for his accomplishments. Ironically, it’s this that makes him an unlikable character for the viewer, because, again, he has no real admirable qualities beyond liking robots and being good at making and using them. It’s a character’s struggles and tribulations that ultimately make them truly sympathetic, and Ernesti is never really challenged until right at the very end of the series, and ultimately that challenge only feels like a mild speed bump for him. This results in a series that despite all its cool robots and flashy battles is fundamentally dead as a story at its core.

However, all of this simply describes a series that I would find boring and mediocre rather than one I actively disliked in a serious way. However, this is arguably the first series I’ve watched since Gundam Seed Destiny that really ground my gears quite badly, and it all boils down to one specific moment in the show’s narrative. To explain why, I need to diverge from my usual review format and spoil not only this show, but also it’s forefather, the original mecha Isekai, Aura Battler Dunbine. I really don’t think spoilers for the former is anything to worry about but spoiling the latter is probably more of an offense. As such, the remainder of this review is below this spoiler cut:

Dunbine is not everyone’s cut of tea. It’s old, has bad animation, it’s long-winded and has a sometimes confused and scrambled narrative in accordance with some of Tomino’s worst habits. However, it was also a work of great imagination that really delivered on communicating a valuable message in some engaging ways. It’s a message that Knight’s and Magic cheerfully and infuriatingly tramples all over. Let me explain.

In Knight’s and Magic, the show’s hero is an outsider who enters into a fantasy world and uses his real-world knowledge to bring about a revolution in technology. This also happens to be the chief descriptor for a major character in Dunbine too.

However, this isn’t the description of the show’s protagonist, Show Zama.

It’s the description of the show’s villain, Shot Weapon.

Shot Weapon is the creator of the Aura Convertor, the technology that powers the show’s mecha, the Aura Battlers, and other weapons besides. The introduction of this technology destroys the peace of Dunbine’s world, Byston Well, and causes it to descend into anarchy and bloodshed. However, the real devastation doesn’t occur until Shot’s creations are transported back into our world, where they inflict destruction almost beyond imagining. Ultimately, Shot Weapon’s actions condemn him to a punishment of being forced to live forever in Byston Well in a state of eternal suffering, like Cain after murdering his brother Abel. Dunbine’s ultimate, most crucial message is that those who manufacture weapons and spread death are to be condemned.

Knight’s and Magic gave itself the exact same opportunity to deal with this exact same theme. The show’s final arc is that a kingdom called Zaloudek has accumulated vast military power and used it to invade its neighours. We get to see as they descend into a neighbouring kingdom, slaughter its just and rightful rulers and install themselves as tyrants. Now, enter Ernesti and his friends at the conquered kingdom’s borders. At this point he’s achieved his aim of creating his own unique robot called the Ikaruga, and in its first battle effortlessly dispatches the Zaloudek soldiers guarding the border. In the aftermath, he examines the wreckage of a destroyed Zaloudek Silhouette Knight. He and everyone else see the obvious - this machine, the Tyranto is based on Ernesti’s designs. Previously, one of the prototype Knights he’d constructed in an earlier arc was stolen by a mysterious foreign agent, and now it’s become clear what happened to it. The source of the military strength that’s fuelling Zaloudek’s ambitions of conquest are the new technologies that he created, reverse engineered from the stolen mecha. As he looks upon the wreck of the Tyranto, the show is presented with a unique opportunity to do something that it’s thus far not done - challenge its protagonist with the consequences of his actions. Sure, Ernesti is not exactly the same as Shot Weapon - he only wanted to create robots because he thought they were cool, while Shot Weapon wanted power. However, in this case the end result has been the same - death, destruction and oppression. Ernesti has a chance to think about whether the things he’s done are right and acknowledge that he’s at least somewhat responsible for the disaster that’s played out, even if it’s just to acknowledge that he has a duty to set things right by beating Zaloudek. This is an opportunity for him to grow as a character for the first time.

The show swerves this opportunity without flinching.

Sure, Ernesti does liberate the kingdom in the end, but it’s clear that it’s not as a result of any real moral calling. He just wanted to build more robots and fight with them. His motivation in the final battle is that he wants to destroy the enemy’s flying battleship because he’s worried that battleships might replace Silhouette Knights if he doesn’t. He remains a totally one-dimensional character right to the end.

As I said before, Ernesti’s obsession with cool robots arguably mirrors that of the creators of this show, if its myopic focus on them is anything to go by. Perhaps this seems extremely out of character for me to say, but this is an infantile obsession. Yes, I like giant robots, but I don’t like them so much that I miss the point. The core of not only the real robot genre that both Knight’s and Magic and Aura Battle Dunbine belong to despite the fantasy trappings of the show, but arguably of the mecha genre as a whole, is that technology can be a force of destruction and great evil when not used responsibly. Yes, the protagonist mecha in these shows are meant to be heroic, but only in their opposition to those who’d use technology as a tool of death and oppression. This is the core of the soul that makes mecha as a genre compelling. It’s a point that Knight’s and Magic completely misses and why it’s fundamentally a failure. It’s as if it’s trying to be what the mecha genre’s detractors try to paint it as.

That said, despite my misgivings there is entertainment to be found if you only want dumb action. But I’d highly encourage you to check out any alternative. If you want a fantasy mecha series, Dunbine, Escaflowne and Rayearth are all much more compelling stories than this - even ones I’m not so keen on like Panzer World Galient and Ryu Knight are fundamentally more interesting as stories than this. If you want a story with a mecha fanatic in the lead role, you’re much better off watching Patlabor or the chronically underrated Dai-Guard instead.

[pickalilywrites]

i'm still alive ^^

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

How to Be a Good Coworker

Erejean. Zombie Detective AU.

Chapter 4.

11442 words.

Read on Ao3!

For the past week, Eren has been bumming it out at Jean’s house. Every other day, he visits the basement in the bookstore Annie works at so that he and his friends can compare notes, but not much progress has been made in terms of finding his killer. While everyone else’s suspect lists remain empty at every meeting, Annie’s list manages to grow every time they see each other.

(“Are you just writing down the name of everyone in town that you can remember?” Armin asks her at one point after taking a closer look at her list.

“Yes,” Annie replies without blinking.)

Eren’s beginning to think that they’ll never find his murderer, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe his murder was a one-time thing and whoever killed him regretted their actions so much that they vowed never to kill again. Maybe they’re repenting for their sins right now. Maybe there isn’t a killer lurking in the town and turning people into zombies and they’re just doing all this extra work for nothing. Eren knows that the possibility of this is highly unlikely, but he honestly wants to shove all this business about his murderer in the back of his mind now that he has more pressing things to worry about.

After visiting his mother the other day, Eren’s phone has been blowing up every morning and night with texts from his mom. She’s always asking him how he’s doing, if he wants to visit soon, and what he had for breakfast or dinner. His answers are nearly always the same: fine, maybe when he finds the time, and just whatever Jean had gotten from his mom or a nearby restaurant. He always has to take pictures of Jean’s meals to send to his mom and assure her that he’s eating properly, although all the oil and spices make him want to gag. Even being near them makes him feel nauseous. Jean likes to point out that Eren’s choice in food isn’t any much better, but Eren begs to differ. The fact that the meat he eats isn’t loaded with any seasonings or extraneous flavors makes his food superior already, but Jean always rolls his eyes whenever Eren begins his rant on the greatness of raw meat.

Eren shreds into a piece of pork shoulder. It’s not his favorite cut of pork. Although the cut of pork might be more forgiving on Jean’s wallet, it’s tougher than Eren prefers. Maybe Jean doesn’t see a difference because he’s never thought about how different it is once the meat is cooked. Pork shoulder is similar to other cuts when they’re cooked. You could substitute it with pork butt or a pork leg and still get the same tenderness, but only if you braise it. When it’s uncooked, it’s tough as shit, Eren thinks as he gnaws on the meat in dissatisfaction. He’d rather be eating some pork belly right now with meat so fatty that it’s practically melting on his tongue. The thought of it makes Eren drool and the piece of meat in his mouth nearly falls out.

Someone knocks at the door and Eren freezes. Jean is already out for work. He’s too organized to leave anything at home, so there isn’t any reason for him to come back. Jean’s mother is even more organized and knows Jean’s schedule even better than Jean probably does, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to come here either.

Cautiously, Eren gets up from his seat and makes his way to the front door as quietly as possible. He doesn’t even breathe as he peers into the peephole, his cheek pressed against the door. He’s more than surprised when he sees Annie Leonhardt standing on the other side. Or maybe he shouldn’t be.

“Did you forget that I was supposed to pick you up today?” Annie grumbles as soon as Eren opens the door. She doesn’t even bother to say hello. Then again, Annie has never been one to waste time with meaningless greetings. She breezes past Eren and plops down on Jean’s couch, quite comfortable even though this isn’t even her apartment. When she sees Eren staring at her, she raises her eyebrows and gestures towards his half-eaten breakfast. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Finish your disgusting food. We have places to be.”

Eren sniffs and swings the door shut. It’s strong enough to shake the tiny apartment, but Annie doesn’t even flinch. “It’s not disgusting,” Eren mumbles as he shuffles over to the dining table. Hastily, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces when he sees traces of blood smeared across his skin. He really does need to listen to Jean about eating properly. It’s fine if it’s just Jean, but if it's Annie or any of their other friends, it’s embarrassing even if they also know about Eren’s condition.

The TV buzzes in the background as Annie flips through Jean’s Netflix account. Every once in a while she’ll smirk or snort at Jean’s choice in TV shows.

“Aren’t you invading his privacy?” Eren asks through a mouthful of pork shoulder. He nearly chokes trying to swallow it down. It’s as tough as shoe leather.

Annie points at Eren with the remote and gives him an icy stare. “Eren, we all know everything about each other. It’s the curse of being friends with you guys. I know every single anxious thought running through Armin’s mind at any given moment, I know you’re a zombie and all your weird zombie cravings, and I know just how much Reiner loves Bertholdt,” Annie says. “I’m pretty sure Jean doesn’t care that I’m browsing through his Netflix profile right now.”

Eren makes a face. Everything Annie has said is true, but it still feels wrong. It’s not like he can argue against Annie, though, so he shuts up, finishes the rest of his breakfast, and quickly washes his plate and utensils in the sink. Jean has said that he doesn’t mind if Eren just leaves his dirty plates in the sink, but it feels weird to have Jean wash plates smeared with blood that aren’t even his. Once he’s done, he slips into Jean’s room to change while Annie watches The Walking Dead, which feels kind of inconsiderate considering the circumstances.

“I’m ready,” Eren announces, stepping into the living room space. He’s dressed in black slacks and a mossy green turtleneck that covers his neck. Jean had done some quick shopping for Eren after work one day, so these clothes fit much better than the ones Eren had been borrowing from Jean. Eren has a tan peacoat thrown over his ensemble. He looks much nicer than he ever did for any of his internships back in college. Maybe he should let Jean pick his outfits for him more often.

Annie looks him over and frowns. “Aren’t you two awfully domestic?” she asks before clicking the TV off. She leans forward, elbows on her knees with her cheek resting in one hand. “Jean picked out some really nice clothes for you. You actually look better than you ever did when you were alive.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t think he’ll ever appreciate that joke. “How do you know he picked out these clothes?” Eren asks.

“Because you could never pick out clothes that look that good,” Annie replies. She ignores Eren, who’s spluttering and clearly offended, and shrugs on her coat. She wraps a fluffy white scarf (no doubt another one of Armin’s creations) around her neck and looks back at Eren. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to look after you all day.”

“I told you guys I didn’t need you to walk me to and from work,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles after Annie as she walks to the door.

“It’s more for the benefit of everyone else in town. You know, so you don’t eat them on accident,” Annie says. She says it casually, but Eren still winces. She gestures for Eren to follow her out the door. “Lock the door, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eren rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. He even gives the handle a little jiggle to make sure he’s locked the door properly. When he slips the keys into the pocket of his slacks, he looks up to see that Annie is already descending the stairs. “Wait for me!” he squawks.

Despite being the smallest out of their group of friends, Annie seems the least afraid of letting her guard down around Eren. Armin, of course, is always anxious and has always been that way since before Eren had become zombified. Reiner, despite his jokes, still visibly tenses around Eren if he gets too close and Jean is always watching Eren with a cautious eye. Annie, however, shows her back freely to Eren. Had it been anyone else, Eren would be touched, but he knows for a fact that Annie is only relaxed because she can easily take Eren down with her eyes closed even in his zombie form. In a way, it makes it a little easier for Eren to be around her than some of their other friends.

The walk to the news building is long and silent. It’s something that should be expected. Annie is not one for conversation even with her friends. Eren knows this quite well considering the fact that they’ve both known each other for nearly their entire lives. Still, it doesn’t stop Eren from trying to make conversation because there’s nothing more than awkward lulls of silence.

“So, do you have any leads?” Eren asks. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He wonders if he should have put on gloves to hide how ugly and boney his fingers are. Maybe he’ll ask Armin to knit him some mittens. “It’s pretty hard for me to investigate myself since we’re trying to limit the amount of time I’m outside, but if you have anything …”

“I have many leads,” Annie replies. She turns her head slightly to face Eren and it makes it a little easier to hear her, although her voice is still muffled by her scarf. Almost the entire lower half of her face is covered by the scarf. Only her icy blue eyes and light blonde hair peeks out. “In fact, it might delight you to know that my list of suspects has only grown longer.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that Eren has to not let out a huge sigh. “I thought Armin specifically told you to stop adding names to that list,” Eren says. He reaches up to rub his eyes tiredly. “I think he told you to shorten that list and focus on people that might have actually wanted to kill me. Or turn me into a zombie.” For a brief moment, he wonders if those two things are the same.

Annie shakes her head. “You two are gravely underestimating the number of people in this town that would have wanted to kill you at least once in their lives,” Annie says with a cluck of her tongue. “It would be a disservice to our investigation to shorten that list. Besides, isn’t it better to leave every stone unturned?”

Eren eyes her wearily. He’s far too tired to argue with her. He strongly suspects that Annie isn’t taking this investigation seriously if she’s just writing down anyone’s name that comes to mind. Maybe he should be glad that she’s enjoying this in some sick, twisted way. At least someone’s having fun.

“Annie!” someone calls. It surprises Eren and it seems Annie too by the way she jumps slightly at the voice. When they turn around, they see a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails bundled up in a puffy winter coat that makes her look twice her size. When the girl smiles, she looks just like Reiner. “Are you coming to play?”

“Hi, Gabi!” Annie says. Her tone is much brighter than it usually is. She casually steps in front of Eren so that she’s now between him and the young girl. Crouching down slightly, Annie reaches out to pat Gabi on the head. “Nope. I’m just walking with my friend today. I’ll come visit you and Reiner at school if I have time, though.”

The young girl looks slightly disappointed and sticks her lower lip out in a pout. It’s been a while since Eren has seen Reiner’s niece. She’s grown quite a bit. She’s grown taller since the last time Eren’s seen her and her cheeks are nice and plump. The cold has made them look even rounder and rosier, and Eren thinks about how soft and smooth her skin looks. She reminds him a little bit of a newborn calf with her large eyes and young flesh. If he dug his teeth into her skin, he bet it would be like biting into cream and taste just like …

“Eren …?” the child asks. She’s staring up at him with those large brown eyes of hers.

Even with Annie standing firmly between them, Eren gulps nervously. Before he can open his mouth and say “hello,” a loud voice interrupts from behind.

“Gabi! Come give your Uncle Reiner a hug!” Reiner’s voice booms. It startles Eren, nearly making him fall backward. When the zombie turns to see Reiner, Reiner is holding open his arms for his niece, who gladly jumps into them. Reiner scoops Gabi up easily and spins her around, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Uncle Reiner!” Gabi squeals, giggling as Reiner gives her more kisses before putting her down behind him. She’s safely behind the wired gate of the kindergarten. She’s too busy smiling and giggling to notice the tense smile on her uncle’s face.

“Go play with the other kids before class starts, Gabi,” Reiner says. He gives her a pat on the head and watches as she runs off. When he turns back to Eren and Annie, he has a stern look on his face. It’s the kind of expression teachers and principals wore whenever Eren had been caught for causing trouble. Seeing it on Reiner’s face is just as bad. “You brought a zombie near my school?”

Unlike Eren, Annie doesn’t seem as ashamed. Maybe it’s because she never frequented the principal’s office as much as Eren had. “It was the closest way to the newspaper company,” Annie says, “and I had it handled. If Eren even started to lunge for Gabi, I was going to kill him.”

Eren squeaks.

“Gee, thanks,” Reiner says with a roll of his eyes. He leans against the gate, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “I’d appreciate it if you took Eren on a different route on his way to work, though. As much as I know you could kill Eren with a single blow, I don’t want my students to watch you kill him if they happen to be around.”

Annie thinks for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip, and then nods. “I’ll take him a different way starting tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Reiner sighs. His face relaxes into a bright smile that’s just a little bit apologetic, although Eren is really the one that should be apologizing. Reiner reaches out to clap Eren on the back a little too roughly. “Congrats on the job, Eren. Are you excited for work?”

“Ah, I suppose,” Eren mumbles. He fidgets with the edge of his sleeves. “I mean, I like the idea of earning money so I can stop mooching off Jean.”

“You should mooch off of him,” Reiner says with a grin. “He’s your boyfriend. Shouldn’t you enjoy the fact that he’s spending money on you?”

Eren knows he’s only joking but he can feel his face redden anyway. “It’s not like it’s for real. He only did that so our moms wouldn’t be suspicious about why I’m living with him instead of returning home.”

“Still,” Reiner says with a dreamy sigh, “kind of romantic, don’t you think? It’s like a fake dating trope in real life, and you know how that ends.”

“This is real life, Reiner,” Eren reminds him.

Reiner dismisses Eren with a wave of his hand. “Things that happen in fiction can happen in real life!” Reiner says. “And even if it isn’t real, don’t you think it’s quite touching that Jean would fake date you just to keep people from discovering your secret?” He gestures to all of Eren, which makes the zombie feel dirty somehow.

“It’s just because he’s my friend,” Eren says.

“I would never pretend to date you,” Annie tells Eren, “for any reason.”

“... thanks, Annie.” Eren clears his throat and steers the conversation back to its original topic. “It’s just … impractical to have Jean earn money for both of us, especially since I’ll be living with him for the foreseeable future. It only makes sense that I get a job and this one seems perfect for me, although I don’t know why Jean doesn’t want me to work there.”

“Because he wants to be your sugar daddy,” Reiner says at the same time Annie says, “Because of Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren shoots Reiner a glare and then turns to Annie, whose frown is deeper than usual. “What’s the deal with Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. “Did they date or something? I asked Jean the other day, but he was acting funny.” To be honest, the thought of Jean dating Mikasa makes Eren feel weird. On one hand, it makes perfect sense if they dated and that’s why Jean feels awkward about Eren working with her. On the other hand, Eren finds that doesn’t particularly like the idea of Jean dating Mikasa, but he can’t exactly say why.

Both Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“It’s because she’s the worst,” Annie says, which only gives Eren more questions than answers.

The zombie opens his mouth and then closes it. He points at Annie, waggling his finger around her. “Okay, what’s the deal with you and Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. Eren raises an eyebrow curiously. “Did you date her?”

“No, God! Don’t be disgusting. It’s nothing!” Annie says, throwing her hands up. “There’s no deal with me and Mikasa. I just don’t like her! Do I need a reason to dislike someone? Can’t I just dislike them for no reason?”

Eren frowns. It’s not that Annie needs a reason to dislike someone. She hates a majority of people she meets for no real reason. Sometimes there are reasons, but they’re often trivial: someone breathing too hard, someone blinking too much, someone smiling too often. Eren would definitely believe in Annie disliking someone for no reason, but the way she vehemently dislikes Mikasa makes it difficult for Eren to believe that it’s for no particular reason.

“It’s because Mikasa called Mina cute once,” Reiner says. He leans with his shoulder against the wired fence and it creaks slightly from his weight. Even as Annie shoots the schoolteacher a glare, Reiner just smiles back with a lopsided grin, clearly amused. “Mina giggled and Annie was furious for the rest of the night. She’s still mad.”

“That’s not it!” Annie splutters, throwing her hands up. It’s comical how she looks when she’s fuming and bundled up so tightly like a fluffy bundle of yarn. Well, it would be funny if Annie were a less terrifying person. “Why do I have to like her just because everyone else does? I just think she’s overrated, she and her stupid sword and bobbed haircut!”

“You know, most people would consider those things very cool,” Reiner says.

“I don’t!” Annie snaps.

“Okay, so I understand why Annie dislikes her, sort of,” Eren says. He’s mostly lying. Like Reiner, he also finds Mikasa’s sword and bobbed hair very cool. In fact, he finds Mikasa similar to Annie because they are both terrifying but very cool, but it’s not something he wants to say out loud. “But what about Jean? As far as I know, Jean doesn’t have an irrational dislike of swords or bobbed hair.” He ignores Annie, who shoots him a death glare that probably would have killed him if he weren’t already dead.

Reiner’s eyes turn skyward as he thinks. “Mmm, I’m not sure if Jean dislikes her. Isn’t it more that he doesn’t want you to get too friendly with Mikasa?” he asks.

“Well, I guess,” Eren says. Now that he thinks of it, there wasn’t any particular malice in Jean’s voice when he spoke about Mikasa. The makeup artist sounded more irritated than angry. “But why wouldn’t he want me to meet Mikasa?”

Reiner thinks some more. He must think of something because his expression brightens and he says, “Maybe it’s because -”

At that moment, Annie coughs loudly. It’s a fake cough, Eren knows, because Annie has never gotten sick in her entire life. When the zombie turns to look at her, she’s shaking her head with a dark expression on her face but she abruptly stops when she sees Eren watching.

“Why did you do that?” Eren asks.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything,” Annie says, feigning innocence. She grabs Eren a little too tightly around the wrist and tugs him towards her. To Reiner, she says, “Okay, we should let you attend to your students now. Let’s go, Eren.”

Reiner looks as if he’s about to say something else but glances down at his watch and notices that he’s about two minutes late. He bids both Eren and Annie goodbye before rushing towards the classroom and ushering his students inside so that they can begin class. Eren and Annie watch until Reiner has rounded every last kindergartner into his room and shuts the door.

“You know, I may not know why you did that, but I will find out,” Eren says, pointing a finger at Annie.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure it’ll go well considering how far you’re getting along investigating your own murder,” Annie says, looking down at Eren’s finger amusedly. She turns her back and begins walking down the sidewalk again. She doesn’t wait to see if Eren is following her, but the zombie does pad along after her after a few beats. “I’m sure you will find out about Mikasa eventually, but I will warn you: you won’t like it.”

“Why? Because you don’t like her?” Eren snorts. With his long legs, it’s quite easy to catch up to Annie. “Is it because we’re friends and you expect me to hate everyone you hate? I hope you know how tiring that is considering how many people you hate.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Please, I can hate everyone just fine without your help,” she tells him. She walks with her hands held behind her back, her pace slow and relaxed like she’s not in a hurry. Eren wonders if she’s purposely taking her time so that she can come to work late. “I’m just telling you now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It sounds ominous and makes Mikasa seem more mysterious than Eren’s first impression of the newcomer. He could ask more questions, but he knows that Annie probably won’t give him a satisfying answer or if she’ll even answer at all. He’s not sure what Annie’s warning is or how helpful it is. What could Mikasa possibly have done to make Eren dislike her when he didn’t even know her prior to becoming a zombie? Maybe if Eren discovered Mikasa was the person responsible for turning him into a zombie, Annie’s warning would make perfect sense but the thought of that just makes Eren snort because there’s just no way. In the end, he decides that it’s just Annie’s dislike of Mikasa that’s causing the blonde to make such negative claims about the journalist.

The two of them end up at the gate of the newspaper building. It feels a little embarrassing for Annie to have walked him the entire way there. It’s like she’s dropped him off at kindergarten, but Eren knows he shouldn’t complain.

“Thanks for walking me here,” Eren mumbles, his feet shuffling on the ground.

“No worries,” Annie says. Her hands are folded across her chest and she looks reluctant to leave him, but Eren doesn’t know if it’s because she’s genuinely concerned about him or because she doesn’t want to go to work. He highly suspects it’s the latter reason. Annie tosses her head so that her bangs are no longer in her eyes and she frowns when she sees the figure standing at the front of the building. “Ugh, your coworker is waiting to greet you, I see. Better not keep her waiting but … just try not to be her friend. Just … be her coworker and keep things professional.”

Weird advice, Eren thinks. “Uhh, okay,” he laughs. He gives Annie an awkward salute and begins to walk towards Mikasa. “I’ll do that. Have a good day, Annie!”

He expects her to leave immediately, but he’s surprised that she watches him until he and Mikasa enter the building.

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

Being introduced into his new workplace is … strange, to say the least. It’s strange because Mikasa introduces Eren to people who he’s known his whole life, people who had invited him to work with them after they found out he graduated with a degree in journalism but Eren had turned them down in the hopes that something better would soon come his way. Something better never did, but these people still smile at him and welcome him to the office because it’s easier to do that than hold a grudge against someone in a small town.

Mikasa shows him around the small box of an office, introducing him to everyone and laughing easily with them as if she’s the one that had grown up in this small town her whole life and not Eren. It makes Eren a little jealous and he wonders just how much he had missed while he was gone. Mikasa tells him a little bit about the articles they’ve covered in his absence — nothing interesting, just more missing visitors, some news about the pasta place on the street corner getting an honorable mention in a reputable food blog, and a cat that got repeatedly stuck in a tree for two weeks straight. There are, however, a few newspaper articles about Eren, but Mikasa quickly glosses over them as if to save Eren some embarrassment.

“And here’s your desk,” Mikasa says, gesturing to the cube next to hers. It’s a tiny thing, just four walls and a desk with a standard computer and a few cabinets to hold his things. It looks exactly like Mikasa’s. The only difference is that she has a few papers here and there, but her desk is strangely barren. Even their coworkers have a few knick-knacks or pictures to personalize their desks, but Mikasa’s is void of anything that would give a stranger a peek into her personal life. She’s either incredibly private, neat, or boring.

“Ah, thanks,” Eren says. He should probably be excited, but he feels a little tired looking at how dull his desk is. Maybe he should buy a plant to liven up his workspace.

“No problem. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Eren,” Mikasa says cheerfully. “Even if you did lie to me right when we met.”

A huge pang of guilt hits Eren in the chest. It makes him wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and he really is. There isn’t really any good explanation he can give to Mikasa for lying, but she hadn’t asked him about it when he had come in this morning either. Maybe Annie is completely wrong about Mikasa and Eren’s new coworker is just a really nice person who doesn’t care about strange falsehoods. “I … I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I just … was kind of nervous about returning here. It’s not like my current situation is exactly glamorous.”

Her brown eyes are warm when she smiles. They’re kind, understanding. “Hey, don’t worry. We all have our problems. Let’s just hope this is another good beginning for you and hope for the best,” Mikasa says to Eren. She gestures for Eren to follow her and they begin walking to the supply closet they had passed by earlier. Mikasa throws open the door and starts searching through its contents. Unfortunately, the whole thing is a mess. “I hope you don’t mind getting right down to business today. I’ve wanted to write this article forever, and it’s kind of perfect that you’re here now because you know the hills better than I do.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Eren says absentmindedly. He starts searching the closet alongside Mikasa, although he’s not exactly sure what they’re looking for. He shoves aside boxes of paper clips and sets a bunch of mismatched folders on the top shelf so that he can look through the shelves better. “What do you have in your article so far?” Eren asks mostly to make small talk, but he realizes that Mikasa might have information that could prove useful to Eren and his friends.

“Mmm, nothing substantial. Just what I told you the other day when we met — people are disappearing here, zombies appear, and your town seems to have an upsetting amount of occurrences compared to other locations that report zombie sightings,” Mikasa replies. She pauses for a minute, biting her lip as if she’s deciding if she should continue. After a moment, she says in a lowered voice, “It could be that … someone is creating zombies on purpose and their prime area of operation is this town.”

Eren blinks. It’s the very same hypothesis that Armin had proposed. If Mikasa thinks it’s a possibility too, maybe Eren and his friends are headed in the right direction.

“Oh, here it is,” Mikasa says. She plucks a camera out from behind boxes of pens and highlighters and plops it into Eren’s hands. She grins at him. “Are you ready for your first field investigation?”

Eren gulps and then nods. Working with Mikasa might bring him even closer to discovering the identity of his murderer and their motives. This job may have been a blessing in disguise.

“Ready,” Eren says.

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

The trek up the hills is a lot more difficult than Eren remembers. The hills are steeper, the path windier, and the winds chillier. He doesn’t remember it being this tiring walking up the hills even when he had been a child playing in the woods. He thinks it has to do with the fact that he’s lost quite a bit of muscle mass since becoming a zombie, which his many layers of clothing easily disguises. The camera around his neck hangs like a weight that only feels heavier and heavier with every step he takes.

Although Eren seems to be having a difficult time up the mountain, Mikasa seems fine. While Eren drags his feet, Mikasa takes each step as energetically as the last. She’s several steps ahead of him, and Eren’s sure she’ll disappear from view soon if she keeps that same pace. Every once in a while, she’ll turn around and smile at Eren, stopping so that he can catch up a little bit, but then take off again. Clearly, these two-second breaks that she takes are purely for Eren to catch up. Mikasa doesn’t need them to catch her breath at all.

“Have you seen a lot of zombies here since you’ve arrived?” Mikasa asks Eren as they continue up the hill. They’re nearing the top, but Mikasa isn’t the least bit breathless.

I see one every time I look in the mirror, so you could say I see one every day, Eren thinks, but he’s not stupid enough to say it out loud. He watches how Mikasa’s sword dangles from her hip. “I haven’t really … gone out a lot since I’ve come back,” Eren pants. At least he’s not lying. Eren’s been lying to everyone so much lately that he’s always relieved on the few occasions he can tell the truth.

“Mm,” Mikasa hums. For once, she slows her pace and lets Eren catch up to her so that they can walk side-by-side. “Ah, settling in does take time even if you’re returning home. You’ll probably see more zombies soon enough, so it’s probably good you haven’t been out much.”

If she only knew.

Eren wonders if he should put some more distance between himself and Mikasa. It’s always dangerous being around people, and Mikasa is the closest he’s been to a human without his friends around to hold him back. He can’t tell much about her body type — if she’s more lean muscle or if she has a good amount of fat underneath her skin — because he’s only seen her bundled under layers of clothes. He supposes he should be grateful to the chilly fall weather for that. Still, it makes him wonder what he’ll find if he peels back the layers of cotton and wool. Tough muscle like that of a deer? Soft, tender meat like that of a newborn calf? Succulent, juicy flesh like that of a fattened goose? Eren could dream about it all day, but the glimmer of Mikasa’s blade peeking out from its hilt always reminds him that it’s a bad idea.

The top of the hill gives them a decent view of the forest below, but the autumn foliage makes it difficult to see very much. Beyond that lies the town, quiet as it always is. It really is a nice place. If zombies weren’t popping up now and then, Eren would bet people aside from amateur detectives would come here just to experience how charming and quaint it is.

“I think we should go our separate ways here,” Mikasa says to Eren, which surprises him. “You should go and explore one side and take pictures of anything that you find interesting. I’ll let you know if I see anything on the other side. Sound good?”

It doesn’t sound good to Eren. It sounds weird. He thought they would be working on this whole zombie article together, and it makes him nervous that Mikasa would want to work separately. Maybe that’s just how she operates. Maybe she’s an independent collaborator. If so, Eren should just agree and do his best to take pictures. Mikasa doesn’t know him at all, and Eren does not plan on letting her know that he’s a terrible person to have on group projects. He’s going to be a good coworker and do his assigned work even if it means he has to do it alone.

“Sounds good!” Eren says cheerfully.

He had been enthusiastic about getting a job, but the work is a lot less exciting. Yes, Eren wants to find the reason why zombies are somehow drawn to this particular town as much as Mikasa does. Because of his situation, he’s probably even more motivated than Mikasa because finding the reason might also lead him to the person who had killed him and resurrected him as a zombie, but the work is admittedly demoralizing because it’s incredibly difficult to find evidence of zombies.

What is there to capture on camera that hasn’t been seen already? People in this town already know of zombies. They know what zombies do, and they’re hardly threatened. Some people even get dogs to chase zombies off their yard because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves and even a chihuahua does a decent enough job. The things zombies leave behind are even more boring.

Eren doesn’t know what to take pictures of. He takes a few shots of the forest, trying to remember what his professors had said about the rule of thirds and lighting and shutter speed during the few classes he had taken for his photography minor. There’s a picture he takes from a nearby stream that looks rather nice, almost like it can be hung in an office or put on a postcard, but it’s probably not remarkable enough for a local newspaper article about zombies.

Finding photographic evidence of a zombie is pointless though. The few pictures Eren does snap could just be grasping at straws: odd footprints that are dragged out across the dirt path, pieces of fabric caught on the branches of shrubbery, smears of blood against the trunk of a tree. There’s a possible non-zombie explanation for all of this though. The footprints could be from a tired hiker and not from a zombie. Both tend to drag their feet across the ground. The fabric could also be a hiker or maybe even a hunter whose clothes got stuck in a bush. The blood smear is a little more exciting, but it’s possible that it came from an injured animal or someone who fell during a hike. These photographs are so pathetic that Eren would rather lie and say he didn’t capture anything at all than show them to Mikasa.

Eren does entertain the thought of telling Mikasa he had managed to take no photographs. It would just be another small lie piled up on his ever-growing pile. Considering how many lies he’s told so far, adding another one shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it still makes him feel bad.

What makes things worse is that Mikasa has been nothing but nice to him. He still has no idea why Jean and Annie want him to stay away from Mikasa so much. From what he can tell, Mikasa is a decent person. She gave him his first job, didn’t say very much about him lying to her, and entrusted him to work with her on a project she’s excited about. Telling her that he didn’t get any work done wouldn’t feel bad just because he’d be lying to her again, but Eren would also feel like he let her down by helping her progress her work.

Eren frowns as he flips through the photos on his camera. He wonders if he should delete them. It’s probably what Jean and Annie would do since they’re so opposed to Mikasa, but what would Armin do?

Armin is a worrywart, first and foremost. Getting too involved with Mikasa and risking her knowing that Eren is actually a zombie is definitely something to avoid. Mikasa probably won’t hesitate to kill Eren if the sword swinging from her hip is anything to go by. But then again … Mikasa seems quite smart and driven from what Eren has seen of her. If she’s out to find the reason for the zombies cropping up in this town, then he does not doubt that she’ll find something and any information could prove useful in his own investigation into the matter. After careful consideration, Eren is quite certain that Armin would willingly work with Mikasa and only withhold the necessary details, like the fact that Eren is actually a zombie, but anything that helps Mikasa helps the greater good.

Eren turns his head and opens his mouth to call for Mikasa, but he hears her call his name first.

“Eren!” Mikasa’s voice rings loudly through the forest. It’s enough to make the birds take flight from the trees where they had previously rested, their wings fluttering as the trees shake and leaves rustle. “Eren, come here!”

“Coming!” Eren calls back. He follows her voice, which leads him off the path towards the other side of the hill. Eren wonders what she could have seen. He hopes it’s not another zombie. He doesn’t know what he would do if he came face-to-face with another one of his kind in his current state. For a brief moment, he thinks she might have seen the carcass of an unfortunate hiker that had stumbled across a zombie. The thought horrifies Eren, but the fact that his stomach growls from just the idea horrifies him even more.

As he gets closer, Eren’s steps become a little slower, a little more cautious. He really doesn’t want to see what Mikasa had stumbled upon. He closes his eyes. The zombie takes another tentative step, sniffing the air for anything unusual. The stench of rotting flesh doesn’t fill the air. The smell of sweet blood doesn’t waft to his nostrils. It really just smells like … the crisp fall air.

Eyes open now, Eren takes a few more steps and sees Mikasa with her back turned towards him. She’s looking at something, and Eren’s eyes slowly follow her gaze to … a large hole in the ground. It’s a very familiar hole, Eren realizes, because it’s the same one he dug when he had crawled out of the ground.

“It’s quite deep,” Mikasa murmurs. She drops down to inspect it closer, reaching down to touch the dirt. She gathers some in her hand and lets it fall from her fingers. “I would say .. six feet deep. That’s deep enough to bury a body.”

“Ah, do you really think so?” Eren asks. He kicks at the ground, knocking some dirt into the hole as if doing so would undo what he did. “It looks a little bit shallower than that. Maybe like … five feet and … six … inches?” He sounds like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t help. He’s afraid that Mikasa will somehow figure out the truth: that this hole isn’t just any hole, but an Eren-shaped hole that he had popped out of when he had come back from the dead. Granted, the shape isn’t anything like him. It’s all in his head. In reality, the hole is kind of a blob shape because he hadn’t been very neat when he had dug himself out.

“No, it’s deep deep,” Mikasa says. She stands up and brushes her hands off. The reporter takes a moment to observe the curious hole and then gestures at it. “Take a few pictures of this at different angles. We should probably report this, whatever this is.”

“Er, okay,” Eren says as he fumbles for his camera. It takes him far too long to focus the lens and find the right button to snap the pictures. “What do you think … what do you think this is?” he asks nervously.

Mikasa gives him a smile. “Are you sure you want to hear? Fair warning: I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist,” Mikasa says.

“N-no,” Eren stammers. “I want to know.” It’s not really that he wants to know. He’s afraid of just what Mikasa knows, but he also needs to know what thoughts are floating around her head.

“I think this is where zombies come from,” Mikasa says simply. She kicks a little bit towards the hole. “I’ve been doing some research … I believe this is part of the process of turning people into zombies. I know people here don’t really think about it but … the pattern between missing persons and zombies that appear are striking. It’s not just the fact that zombies oftentimes wear the same clothing that was last seen on people who were reported missing, but the time frame between when people go missing to when they’re … zombies, I guess you could call them, is pretty consistent. It’s about a year.”

“A-a year?” Eren gulps. He hopes Mikasa doesn’t put two and two together. He hopes she hadn’t read the papers about him going missing in the local newspaper archives. He hopes she believes his lie about taking off suddenly without letting anybody in town know. He hopes she doesn’t remember the fact that he was gone for approximately a year.

“Mmm, yeah. A year,” Mikasa says with a nod. “I think these holes are … well, this is the first one I’ve seen, but maybe there are more like it.”

“You think there are more?” Eren asks. The thought makes sense. He doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“I think if we dig around we’ll find out, but I doubt the townspeople would be happy about digging up the hills just to find out if zombies pop out of the ground,” Mikasa laughs. She looks thoughtful again, her head slightly tilted as she continues to piece together points Eren can’t quite see yet. “I think maybe … the process of becoming a zombie requires that a person dies, be buried in the ground, and be reanimated. Maybe the reanimation steps are a bit more complicated. Maybe it’s something that happens before the body is buried and takes place while the … body is buried underground.”

It’s sounding awfully familiar. Eren should be thrilled. Some of these things Mikasa is bringing forth are the same things Armin had also said during their meetings. The one-year gap between missing persons reports and their corresponding zombie appearance is new, though. It’s definitely something he should mention at the next meeting or even bring up in the group chat, but Eren can’t help thinking that the more information Mikasa gathers about zombies, the closer she is to figuring out that Eren is a zombie too.

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

Thankfully, Eren and Mikasa don’t run into anything else interesting in the hills. It’s disappointing for Mikasa, but it’s a relief to Eren. It’s difficult to hide just how happy he is about how the day ended up. He was able to take some compelling (at least to Mikasa) pictures without giving himself away, and his zombie grave was interesting enough that he didn’t have to show Mikasa the other pathetic pictures he took earlier. Maybe the standards he has for himself are low, but Eren would say that he’s currently killing it at his new job.

“I honestly expect this piece to be rejected,” Mikasa confesses as they’re walking back to the office. “I think the evidence is compelling, but it does sound like a piece that belongs to one of those fake science newspapers.”

As dangerous as it is to have Mikasa discovering more about zombies and potentially finding out the truth about him, Eren knows discouraging her work only slows his own investigation so he gives her a small smile and says, “It’s zombies. Reanimated corpses that don’t have any business walking the earth. Anything you propose is going to sound ridiculous, but you have a better hypothesis than most people. I think it’s worth a shot to put it out there.”

Mikasa looks surprised for a second and then smiles. “Thanks, Eren. That’s very kind of you.”

The two walk together in silence, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath the soles of their boots. Mikasa doesn’t say much else as they return to the office. Occasionally, she’ll comment about the town — about a shop she finds particularly charming or a townsperson she bumped into the other day — and Eren will respond with an anecdote of his.

“I hope you had a good first day,” Mikasa says once they return to the office. She’s putting away her things, hiding them in the cabinets in her cubicle. Her desk is just as spotless as it was this morning. “I certainly had a good time working with you, Eren.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says. He feels relieved that he’s gone through his first day without anything happening. He can’t wait to come home and rub it in Jean’s face. “It was nice working with you too.” He wonders if he should put the camera away for tonight and think about editing the pictures tomorrow. He could just do it tonight. He probably won’t get overtime, but it might be good to do a little extra work these first few weeks to show Mikasa he’s serious about this job. Then again, he doesn’t want to seem too eager in case his coworkers take advantage of him in the future. With a frown, Eren tucks the camera in the cabinet underneath his desk. When he looks up, he sees Mikasa looking at him.

“Hey,” she says. The reporter is leaning against the walls that separate their cubes. “Do you want to grab dinner together tonight? My treat.”

“Er.” Eren squirms, uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to say no, but saying yes would just be … stupid even for him. It’s not like he can waltz into any restaurant and devour the same foods everyone else can. He’s about to shake his head and politely decline, but Mikasa is flipping through her phone.

“Is Korean barbecue good?” she asks. She raises her head, tilting it slightly as she awaits Eren’s answer. “There’s a place … well, I guess you know. If you’d rather go somewhere else, I’m open to it.”

“N-no,” Eren says, surprised. Korean barbecue sounds good. Perfect, even. “That sounds … I’d like to go. Let me just … I need to tell my friend. Boyfriend. He’s picking me up.” At that moment, his phone buzzes and he winces. He knows without looking that it’s Jean. They did agree to Jean picking him up, but he didn’t think Jean would be so … punctual.

Mikasa grins as Eren pulls out his phone. “Is he here already?” Mikasa asks. “You should invite him. I’ll invite my girlfriend too. She just happens to be in town this week.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Eren says hurriedly. He knows Jean would never agree to this. Not only is it a dinner with someone unaware of his true condition, but it’s a dinner with Mikasa of all people. Jean, for whatever reason, would absolutely hate this. “I’ll just tell him to, ah, go home without me. He probably wouldn’t want to eat with us -”

The doors to the office burst open and Jean storms in, the tail of his trench coat flapping behind him. The makeup artist pays no attention to the stares of Eren’s coworkers. He pauses for just a moment to scan the room and, upon spotting Eren, marches right up to the zombie’s cubicle.

“Eren, come on,” he says through gritted teeth. He sounds angry, but Eren can tell from Jean’s rigid stance and folded arms that the makeup artist is anxious. “I thought you said you would be out by now.”

“Ah, I invited him out to dinner,” Mikasa says from behind Jean. Jean turns to look at her, surprised, and Mikasa gives him a friendly wave that Jean doesn’t return. Jean might dislike Mikasa, but it seems like the feeling is one-sided. Mikasa taps Jean on the shoulder. “You can come with us if you’d like. It’s really my way of thanking Eren for joining the team and being such a good coworker on his first day. He’s really great. I’m looking forward to working with him long-term.”

“Y-you do?” Eren stammers. He didn’t think he did a very good job. To have Mikasa tell him that he did well makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He looks eagerly at Jean. “It’s fine if I have dinner with her just this once, right? Mikasa invited me and I did a good job today so …” His voice trails off. He expects Jean to say no. After all, he had warned Eren to avoid Mikasa as much as possible.

“Fine,” Jean finally says. When Eren looks at him, Jean’s shoulders are slumped in defeat. His eyebrows are still knit together and Eren can tell that Jean doesn’t like the idea one bit, but it doesn’t matter. Jean said he could go, so Eren is going to that dinner. “But I’m coming with you,” Jean says firmly.

Eren begins to whine. “You don’t have to babysit me,” he begins, but Jean isn’t listening.

“Yes, I do,” Jean replies. There’s something authoritative in his voice. It makes Eren’s toes curl and his cheeks flush, but it might be because Jean’s busily rewrapping the zombie’s scarf around his neck.

“Cute,” Mikasa says as she distractedly checks her phone. She taps something on it before tucking it back into the pocket of her coat. “Let’s head over then. My girlfriend said she’d meet us there.”

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

The meat at the barbecue house is much better than Eren remembers. It’s strange, but becoming a zombie has given him a much more refined palate when it comes to eating meat. He can tell if poultry is free-range with just a taste, if cows were fed more than just corn for their diet before they were slaughtered, and if pigs were allowed to roam and scavenge for food instead of just eating feed before they were turned to bacon. He tries to explain this to his friends at times, but they never really get it. To them, meat is just meat. Sometimes, Eren can’t believe he had once lived as ignorantly as them.

Mikasa sits across the table and observes as Jean feeds Eren another piece of barely cooked meat. She looks at him curiously. “You like your meat rare, Eren?” Her tone isn’t judgemental in the least, but it still makes Eren nervous.

“Y-yeah.” Eren forgets to chew the last piece of beef and accidentally swallows it too early. It gets stuck in his throat halfway and he starts to choke. He begins to pound on his chest to free his windpipe but a glass of water appears in front of him. Eren takes it and eagerly drinks it until the beef goes down.

“It’s a taste he acquired when he was traveling,” Jean says. Unlike Eren, he hasn’t eaten much. He’s eaten a few well-cooked pieces here and there, but he’s mostly been feeding Eren and ordering more food from the menu when their plates begin to empty.

“Ah, interesting,” Mikasa says as she nibbles on a piece of Hawaiian pork belly. Even though the meat glistens with fat, Eren can’t stand the sweet marinade that coats it and the pineapples that come with the slices of pork belly. It’s just too … sacrilegious to ruin a piece of meat like that. Eren doesn’t know how Mikasa is able to continuously eat piece after piece of that tainted pork belly.

Eren laughs nervously and puts his hands in his lap. He fiddles with the buttons on his coat. As much as he wants to shove the beef tongue that had just arrived into his mouth, he knows he shouldn’t. He needs to appear normal. He clears his throat. “When is your girlfriend coming?” Eren asks with a slight wince. He shouldn’t have eaten so much when Mikasa’s girlfriend hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Should be any minute,” Mikasa says. She puts a piece of meat on Jean’s plate and gestures for him to eat too. Jean, however, doesn’t even bother to crack a smile. “You guys should just eat up. She really won’t mind.”

Jean pushes the pork belly around his plate with his chopsticks. He doesn’t make any move to pick it up or eat it. “We might head out soon if you don’t mind. I have to be out early tomorrow and Eren likes to prep at night,” Jean says. He doesn’t make any eye contact with Mikasa. “We’ve had more than enough to eat already.”

A whine begins at the back of Eren’s throat but Jean subtly stomps on the zombie’s toes and the sound dies midway.

“Yeah, we should get going,” Eren squeaks as he hunches over in pain.

“Ah, alright then,” Mikasa says with a frown. She doesn’t notice that someone is walking up behind her and doesn’t notice until the person has thrown their arms around her waist. Mikasa looks up in surprise. “Historia!”

The name makes the blood freeze in Eren’s veins. He takes a better look at the woman who has thrown her arms around his new coworker and finds that it is indeed his ex-girlfriend. She still has the same large blue eyes and heart-shaped face, same petite frame and golden blonde hair, same pale pink lips and a cupid’s bow that looks as if it were sculpted by a god. There are things that are different about her since Eren had seen her last: her hair falls down to her shoulder blades instead of at her shoulders, her face is a bit thinner, and she wears an ensemble suited to that of a strict businesswoman when previously her wardrobe was hyper-feminine. It’s so … strange to bump into her like this.

Eren stumbles up from his seat in surprise. “Historia,” he says even as Jean is tugging at his sleeve and hissing at him to sit down. “What are you doing here?” He knows that his friends have mentioned Historia had given up on him after he had disappeared for a year, but he still feels the need to run a hand through his hair. He hopes his makeup hasn’t smudged and that he doesn’t look too unkempt.

Historia’s arms fall away from Mikasa’s waist and she looks at Eren. She doesn’t seem to recognize him at first, eyes narrowing at him as she tries to place exactly where she had seen him, and then her eyes widen in recognition. “Eren?” Her head turns towards Mikasa so quickly that Eren’s surprised that her neck hasn’t snapped. “You didn’t tell me Eren was your new coworker. Or that he came back to town.”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Mikasa says. She pulls out the chair beside her and gestures for Historia to take a seat. Once Historia sits down, Mikasa rubs gentle circles on the blonde’s lower back. “Aren’t you glad he’s alive?”

Eren falls back in his seat in shock, too stunned to pay attention to the conversation Mikasa is having with Historia. He lowers his head and mumbles to Jean, “What the fuck is Historia doing here?”

“I tried to warn you not to hang around Mikasa,” Jean says in a low voice so that only Eren can hear. His teeth are gritted together in a pained smile. “In case you haven’t connected the dots … Historia is the girlfriend Mikasa has been talking about.”

It all makes sense now, Eren thinks, why Jean had wanted Eren to avoid the field reporter so desperately. Whenever Eren had asked if Jean had dated Mikasa or had any romantic interest in her, Jean and his friends had vehemently denied it. Eren had thought they were lying to him but he realizes now that it was because they were telling the truth — and also hiding a more shocking secret about Mikasa from him. Eren would be angry, but he’s too stunned to feel anything but numb.

“Well, it’s good to see you, Eren. I’m relieved to see that you’re alright,” Historia says, but it’s as if she’s talking underwater. Eren can barely register what she’s saying.

“He went on a spontaneous trip, he said,” Mikasa explains as she begins to feed Historia a strip of pork belly that was still sizzling from the grill.

“Oh?” Historia sits closer to the edge of her seat. It looks as if she’s about to ask for details, but Jean is standing up and ushering Eren out of his seat.

“We’ll fill you up on the details another night, Historia. We have to head out right now, but it was nice meeting you.” Jean wraps an arm firmly around Eren’s waist and subtly guides him towards the exit. “Lovely seeing you as always. Let’s do this again sometime.” He doesn’t wait for the couple to respond before he hurries Eren out the door.

The only sound as they walk is the clomp of their boots against the sidewalk. Eren can’t begin to ask the questions running through his head. He knows that even if he did, Jean would be in no mood to answer them. This entire scenario is what Jean had been trying to avoid in the first place. Eren knows that Jean is just waiting for them to return home so the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “I told you so.” It comes as a total surprise when those aren’t the first words Jean says to him.

“Are you okay?” Jean asks as they make their way back.

“I’m … fine,” Eren says even though he isn’t remotely okay. He knows that his tone is far from convincing, but he doesn’t want to dive into this tonight. “Can we stop by the office? I want to grab my camera and edit some of my pictures tonight.”

“You don’t want to rest?” Jean asks. He leans forward and tries to get a better look at Eren’s face, but the zombie pulls his scarf over his face.

“I’m not that tired,” Eren mumbles into his scarf. That isn’t a lie, not really. He could sleep if he wanted, but he’d rather stare at the screen and click mindlessly, making minuscule edits to his photos that people will barely notice. It would help distract him from all the thoughts swirling through his head at least.

It’s been rough returning here. Everyone Eren runs into is a reminder of everything he’s missed since he disappeared. His friends seem perfectly content with living in their small town even though all Eren had ever talked about after college was finding a job in the big city and moving away. His mother looks older and smaller than he remembers even though she had stayed the same all his life. Even Historia had changed, moved on with someone else while Eren was buried in the ground. How had everyone continued to live while he was frozen six feet under?

“It’s not like I expected everyone to wait for me while I was gone. I know it’s not anyone’s fault,” Eren says when they reach the gates of the newspaper building. His hands are balled up in frustration. “But … you don’t know what it’s like to lose everything so suddenly and come back to see that everything has changed.”

Jean stops in his tracks and when Eren looks back he sees the makeup artist with a stunned expression on his face. “Eren,” Jean says. He almost seems … hurt. “We lost you. For an entire year.”

Eren doesn’t have a response to that. He fiddles with the end of his scarf uncomfortably and then ducks his head before hurrying into the office. Thankfully, Jean doesn’t follow him.

The office is empty when Eren flicks the lights on. He mumbles to himself as he walks down the row of cubicles, muttering about what a terrible night this has been. Just when he was feeling normal, Historia showed up and reminded him that he’s not normal and that he can never return to where he once was. He doesn’t even want to think about everything that could have been if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night: if he could have found a job outside of this town, if he could have moved into the city, if he and Historia could have still been together. It’s useless anyway.

Eren finds his empty cube and pulls open one of the drawers, riffling around its contents with one hand. Oddly, there are papers he doesn’t remember placing in his cabinet. He takes another look and realizes that it’s not his cube, but Mikasa’s that he’s wandered into. Their cubicles really look too similar because Eren’s is practically empty and Mikasa has no personal items on her desk to differentiate it from Eren’s.

The zombie is about to shut the drawer and grab his camera at his desk, but something in the back corner of the drawer catches his attention. Curious, Eren reaches for it and pulls out a cell phone. He thinks it’s strange because he distinctly remembers Mikasa using her phone at the restaurant earlier that night. He turns the phone in his hand and the thought that this phone is somehow familiar to him flashes through his mind. He glances at the screen and sees a crack on it that looks exactly like the one on his old phone. The phone he had lost when he had been murdered in the forest.

But how would Mikasa have my phone? Eren thinks. The idea is so bizarre that Eren is about to put the phone back where he had seen it, but then … Mikasa is new in town. She’s only been here for a year at most. Even if everyone else knows her … how well do they really know someone who has only been here a year?

Eren’s hands hover over the power button and, hands shaking, presses it down with his thumb. The screen lights up as it powers on and a few seconds later the lock screen appears. It’s a forest that looks exactly like a picture Eren took hiking once. That has to be a coincidence though. All forests look the same … right?

The phone asks for his fingerprint. Eren’s almost too scared to scan his finger. If it does turn out to be his phone, this only implies that his murderer is … But that’s impossible, Eren thinks. He hadn’t known Mikasa when he died. She would have no reason to kill him. He’s just being paranoid and he can prove that he’s just overthinking all of this strange coincidence with Mikasa and her phone that looks exactly like his old one if he just presses his index finger to the scanner and ...

It unlocks, much to Eren’s surprise. It has all of his old apps on there including Angry Birds which he stopped playing in high school and only kept installed for nostalgia. It’s his phone. And Mikasa had it. And there really isn’t any explanation for it except one.

“Eren?”

Eren drops the phone back into the drawer and slams it shut. When he turns around, he sees Mikasa walking towards him with a confused smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

Eren stands up and stumbles out of her cubicle. “Er, n-nothing!” Eren quickly goes to his cube and pretends to rifle through his few belongings before pulling his camera out of his drawer. “I just … changed my mind and wanted to work on some of my photos tonight. Just wanted to … be productive.”

“Oh, you’re so hardworking. I actually left some papers I wanted to look over tonight too,” Mikasa laughs as she goes into her own cubicle and pulls open the cabinet that Eren had gone through only a few minutes before. She frowns when she sees the phone out of place, but she shoves it back into the drawer and pulls out some papers instead. Mikasa shoves the papers into her bag and smiles at Eren. She doesn’t seem to see the perspiration forming on his forehead or his nervous, rigid stance. “Well, we should head home so we can rest. Don’t work too hard.”

“Haha, yeah,” Eren laughs, but it sounds so forced.

The two walk out together and Eren finds Jean chatting politely with Historia. While it might have bothered him earlier, Eren is too preoccupied with his new finding to pay any attention to his ex-girlfriend right now. He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he has to tell Jean something.

He hardly bids the two women goodbye, instead tugging his fake boyfriend by the sleeve and walking hastily towards their apartment.

“Eren, I know you’re upset, but that was really rude,” Jean hisses, but he allows Eren to pull at his sleeve and doesn’t pry the zombie’s hand off. Jean had attempted to wave goodbye, but it wasn’t enough to ward away the amused glances that Historia and Mikasa shot each other as the zombie and makeup artist hurried home.

“This is important!” Eren insists, still pulling Jean. “But I can’t tell you here.”

Jean only sighs and allows Eren to lead him to their apartment. At their quick pace, it only takes them a few minutes to get there and Jean sighs tiredly as soon as they’re inside.

The makeup artist shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. He begins to unbutton Eren’s coat too, but Eren doesn’t even move his shoulders back to make it easier for Jean to peel the coat off. “Can you …? Ugh,” Jean huffs as he moves Eren’s arms himself and pulls the coat off. “What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?”

“I think,” Eren says, tugging at the end of his scarf nervously. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Jean is busy trying to unwind the scarf around Eren’s neck but the zombie puts his hands firmly on Jean’s shoulders so that he has all of the makeup artist’s attention. “I think … I think Mikasa killed me.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.7}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

It was an odd feeling, to ready herself to face the people who had tortured her, even though she had been sitting in class with them all day. Robin felt slightly nauseous as she stood in Snape's office on Monday night, giving herself a mental push to go out into the classroom already. She'd even suggested herself that she would talk to them instead of letting Snape do the explaining… what had she been thinking?! But they had agreed last night that Robin would come to his office after dinner and then talk to her peers first, before Snape would be 'giving them the chance to reconsider their actions', as Dumbledore had so nicely put it. So that's what she had to follow through with now.

"You do realize that you do not have to do this, yes?" Snape asked with a risen eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at Robin doubtfully.

"I do have to. I'd regret it if I didn't, so let's just get this over with. I'm hoping for coffee and reading once the classroom is void of idiots again." She sighed, and opened the door at last to walk into the classroom with quite possibly the best neutral expression she'd ever been able to plaster onto her face. Snape followed behind her with the same scowl as always.

"Alright, if we're only here to apologise to jay, I might just as well go now." David groaned exaggeratedly and got up from his desk just as Robin reached the teacher's desk.

"Sit. Down." She ordered with a cutting tone and a glare that could have burnt a hole into the wall. David complied immediately, instinctively rather than consciously, which left him looking fairly irritated with himself. But he stayed sitting, and stayed quiet. The other students looked equally confused by the fact that they obviously felt intimidated by Robin, but she only thrived in their irritation as she spoke to address all seventeen people in the room. "You people are bumbling idiots, but not even you could be stupid enough not to know why you're here. What you really don't know is that it was left up to me to decide over your punishment."

Groans and sighs were heard from various people, whispering even, and Robin found herself able to shut them all up with one single glare. She felt mayorly proud of herself for that, but didn't let it slip past her facade as she continued. "My choice might surprise you and probably even make you laugh, but I do not expect you to understand it." She took a deep breath before she finally came to the point. "I forgive you. All of you. For what you wanted to do, and even for what you did. There will be no other punishment than that."

"... seriously?!" David frowned immediately, and most of the others also broke into doubtful whispers or simply snorted at her words.

"Seriously." Robin said sharply and luckily she got their attention even without having to fight for it. "Seeing as you have missed most of the results of your efforts however, we shall compensate for that unfortunate loss now. You'll get to experience first hand just how much your little prank scared me, and believe me, after that, my forgiveness will be punishment enough."

Without another word, Robin moved away from the front of the class and made room for what was to follow. Her part was done, over, finished. She really had forgiven them, on the outside at least, and the inside was slowly catching up as well.

"You should sit down." Snape said as he came to stand next to her, motioning to his desk behind them. "It will be entertaining to observe. In purely educational terms, of course."

Robin didn't need to be told twice and sat down on the edge of the table with a nod and a small smirk. One really had a great view over the entire class from here, and she still stood with her statement from a year prior about switching desks. Maybe she should sit in the chair at the desk instead of on the desk though… but Snape wasn't complaining and so she simply chose to observe the scene from up here.

He didn't waste a single word on them, only waited until all eyes were on him before casting the spell. Upon that, seventeen people at once flinched, yelped or cried out in pain. Alright, Robin hadn't been out for revenge, but her lips did turn upwards upon the sight. Maybe that was cruel… but she found the simultaneity of it highly amusing.

For multiple minutes, Robin observed the tormented faces in front of her with serene amusement. She could tell almost exactly at which point in her memory they currently were, and seeing their reactions in comparison to her own was actually quite fascinating. Almost all of them were in tears after a while, some people even straight out sobbing. It was great and scary at once, to see how her own emotions of the past were currently affecting other people. And yet, to Robin, the most fascinating thing wasn't watching the students suffer through the lowest moment in her life, but watching Snape make them do so. It was alluring and intimidating at once to know that he could compel such immense emotional reactions from so many people at once, and Robin found that her heart and mind agreed on the appropriateness to shamelessly stare for once. It was both impressive magic, and weirdly attractive after all.

A few minutes later however the sobs and yelps subsided, and the room fell silent once more as the display of Robin's memories came to an end. Finally she took interest in her classmates' expressions again, only to find that half of them were carefully avoiding her eye while the other half stared at her with teary eyes in return. Well, at least this entire ordeal had done something with them… but only time would tell what exactly that something was.

"While Miss Mitchell, Professor Dumbledore and myself agreed to not give you any further punishment, I still will take fifteen house points from Slytherin for the incident. Each." Snape said after a moment, but nobody dared to complain anymore. Some people even gave small nods in return. "You are dismissed." As nobody made a move to get up, he added in a pointed hiss, "Get. Out."

Finally the very much shaken students jumped into action and shuffled towards the door without another word. Some glanced back at Robin, and she made an effort to return each and every glance absolutely neutrally. The sympathy she felt for their teary faces was minimal, and evenly weighted with the remaining hatred she felt for them in general. Maybe this was forgiveness after all, coming out of it more or less neutrally.

"Are you serious about taking 255 house points from Slytherin?" Robin finally asked, once the last person had left the room and even closed the door behind them. They really must be quite out of it after all.

"Reluctantly." He drawled and turned around to Robin at last, giving her a small glare immediately as their eyes met. "Get off my desk right now or I will take another fifteen points off."

Robin smirked to herself but obeyed and took a respectful step away from the piece of furniture. "I sincerely doubt that we even have that many points in the first place."

"Maybe you should make an effort to earn some then instead of losing them by sassing me." Snape raised his eyebrows at her in a manner that didn't do more than make Robin smirk even wider, while he now moved back towards his office.

"Well, you could give me house points for not killing myself after what they did, how about that?" She suggested with a mirroring expression as she followed behind him in a saunter.

"And here I was, thinking that my humor was inappropriately morbid." Snape replied in a subtle sigh and handed Robin her backpack with a roll of his eyes. "I could give you five points for shutting them up with a single glare, that was fairly... entertaining." Then he grabbed a stack of papers and students' notebooks from his desk, and they made their way back into the classroom. "Coffee?"

"Please." Robin smirked, and sat down at her own desk in the classroom while unpacking the homework due this week. It was good to be back to how things used to be. Well, almost used to be. Because before all of this, he had never been the first to make her coffee.

______________

In the remaining time before Christmas, things went back to normal indeed. Robin started to get more into a mentor role with her new roommates and helped them out with spells, tricks and general advice like she had promised to. In the evenings she went to the potions classroom to work and drink coffee with Snape, and soon she had more than made up for the week of not doing her homework and reading her borrowed books. Snape had actually been right in the beginning of the year, she was running out of books she hadn't read yet, and somehow she was both looking forward to and dreading that moment at the same time. But for now, Robin was happy in her bubble of studying and learning.

"Will you be staying here over the break again?" Snape asked with an inquiring expression that almost bordered on curiosity, and thereby pulled Robin out of her own mind. It was the evening before the Christmas break would begin, and while there hadn't really been any work for Robin to do, she still had come to the classroom for some reading and coffee time. And as it seemed, the potions professor didn't have too much work on his hands either.

"Yeah, I'll be here as always." Robin answered with a sigh and crossed her arms on her desk to lean on them and over her still opened book. "I will probably spend another year helping out in the greenhouse and the castle gardens… I still owe Hagrid after all. But if you have anything for me to do, I'll gladly postpone everything else."

"I will keep that in mind." He replied neutrally but with an obvious not-smirk, and leaned back in his chair with his coffee mug in his hands. "The castle should be significantly more crowded this year, unfortunately."

"Why's that?" Robin frowned and took a sip of her own coffee. It was the third already… and it was way after midnight. But she just couldn't bring herself to leave tonight.

"Your selective hearing is truly unsurpassed." Snape rolled his eyes, exaggeratedly of course, but chose to answer her question nonetheless. "The majority of students will choose to stay here this year to attend the new year's ball. Obviously."

Robin froze in her movement, and her frown deepened. She had heard people talking about a ball, about dresses and dates and dancing, but to be honest she had ignored it like all the talk about the quidditch parties before that. "There really is a new year's ball? Like… an official school event?"

"It was announced at the end of last term, and again at the beginning of this term. The headmaster addressed it in his speech."

"Well, I… usually read during those speeches." Robin admitted with a shrug while a subtle blush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. "But that explains why everyone is talking about dresses and dates these days."

"It is remarkable how you notice so much and yet so little." Snape sighed in pretended resignation. "Would you like a summary?"

"Please."

"There used to be a Christmas or Yule ball when the Triwizard Tournament took place, but the entire thing was banned by the ministry years ago. There have been voices ever since to bring the tournament back, at least in parts, and they have been getting louder in recent years. A new year's ball is supposed to appease them and suffocate some of the harsher demands for the entire tournament to be brought back."

"So it's a political thing?"

"You could say that."

"This surely isn't what Dumbledore said in his speech, is it?"

"It is what I say now."

"Then it is closer to the truth than what Dumbledore said." Robin smirked, and earned herself a small but harmless glare.

"The only absolute truth I can give you is that it will be a traditional dance." He stated in an entirely unimpressed manner that was more a statement about his thoughts on the issue than anything else.

"I kinda got that when you said 'ball'..." Robin huffed with a small smile. "But since it doesn't seem to be mandatory, I think I won't be attending."

"Why, pray tell, would you choose not to?"

"I just don't think it would be a good idea." She shrugged and observed how Snape frowned at her in consideration.  "I would only spoil other people’s fun by being there."

"I think you should attend." He finally said, and now it was for Robin to frown indeed. "This ball is an important event for the students, and it would be a pity if you missed out on it."

"So you wish for me to attend? Or do you demand it?" Robin asked with a quiet sigh and a half smile, caught between the dread for the event and the excitement that he wanted her to be there. For whatever reason, really.

"I would appreciate it if you did." He replied pointedly, and Robin nodded in return.

"Alright… I'll consider it."

"Good."

"Will you be attending?"

"Professor Dumbledore wishes for all professors to attend. As chaperones and for their own… enjoyment." Snape still didn't look all too interested in the event, but neither did he seem to be dreading it. Maybe Robin should seriously consider going to that ball… if he wished for her to go, her desperately stupid heart would leave her little other choice. Who knew… she might end up enjoying it more than she thought now.

"Speaking of enjoyment, would you like another coffee?" She asked in an attempt to change the topic, and decided to enjoy the now before she thought about the tomorrow.

"Do I even need to answer that?"

… … …

Just as planned, Robin spent her days helping out where she was needed, going from the greenhouse to the gardens and even to the forest with Hagrid. Her evenings remained the same as during term, but she actually got to write another set of labels for Snape on two nights between Christmas and new year's eve. They'd moved their coffee time to the laboratory for the instance, and while Robin was writing about five hundred labels for three different kinds of potions, Snape worked on making the substances and occasionally explained to Robin what exactly he was doing differently than the textbook suggested. It was amazing.

Only during the very last day of the year did Robin actually think about the ball again. She had already decided to attend the very night Snape had asked her to, seeing as the unruly emotional part of her mind didn't leave her a choice in the matter. But she hadn't wasted any more thought on it after that, and thus she found herself stuck with a bunch of questions and decisions a mere few hours before she would be expected to join the party in the great hall.

Both of her young roommates had gone home for the holidays, which was reasonable, considering that the years one to three weren't expected to go to the ball anyway. That left Robin alone in her room yet again, and also alone with the dreaded decision of what to wear. People were talking ball gowns, tuxedos and festive robes, but seeing as Robin hadn't had the time nor the mind to acquire either, she was left with her usual every-day wear. Before long, she decided to put on her usual black jeans and a black blouse, which however left her feeling just a bit too underdressed, and a bit too much like a waiter. Thus she spontaneously added a 'casual' white blazer she'd snatched from her mom, using every spell she could think of to make it look somewhat fitting to her slimmer form. Well… it wasn't pretty, but it was more festive than her usual school uniform and thus it would have to be good enough. She wasn't trying to impress after all, only to blend in.

And blending in she did, once she made her way into the intricately decorated hall, however more with the boys in their tuxedos and robes than with the girls in their colorful dresses. Well… she couldn't care less. Most tables were already taken by small groups of people, the remaining seats reserved for their friends, and thus Robin made her way to the very last empty table in the furthest corner of the room. At least she had her peace and quiet here, far away from the area reserved for dancing, and far away from anyone she knew. The festivities began, people celebrated the last night of the year, music flowed through the room… and Robin stayed sitting at her table, alone, observing the other students as they laughed and danced.

Honestly, it didn't surprise her at all that nobody made an effort to talk to her, for she made no effort to be anywhere near approachable in return. Observing the others was good enough to keep her from being bored, but she could've had that much in her room, or in the potions classroom, and the only truly amusing thing was watching the professors' despair about the students' inability to ballroom dance properly.

After a good two hours of more overall chatting than dancing, the music changed from entirely classical to more universally danceable, and the change was soon followed by students starting to take the dancefloor. Robin however still stayed in her corner, content with observing rather than participating, for there were too many people in the room for her to be comfortable anyway. She hated big events like this, where people constantly moved around in unorganized groups, and it honestly made her almost as anxious as the common room. Hopefully it would be midnight soon, so that she could leave in the knowledge that she had stayed for an appropriate length of time.

"May I?" Snape's deep voice made Robin jump as badly as it could, and her heart almost jumped out of her chest in return. Nobody had spoken to her in over seven hours, since she'd left the greenhouse, and she honestly hadn't been prepared for it now. Her head whipped around to see him standing to her right, and he motioned to the space next to her on the bench.

"Of course!" She managed to say, while her heartbeat slowly returned to the normal pace it had around him. Still too fast.

"You have been sitting here alone all evening." He remarked as he sat down at an appropriate distance, overlooking the room ahead just like Robin did. "I had not deemed it possible for anyone to be more miserable at this event than I am myself… then however I saw you."

Robin let out a humored huff in return. "Yeah, well, I can't say I'm having a ball."

"Funny." He replied in the most unimpressed tone, and Robin actually had to snort and then smile for real. As she glanced over to Snape next to her, there was absolutely no denying that he was at least somewhat humored as well. Her smile broadened.

"To be honest, I've been waiting for it to be an acceptable time to leave." She sighed and turned back towards the crowds on the other side of the room. "I'm feeling out of place."

"You certainly look out of place." His tone was unusually quiet, and followed by a small pause before he continued. "I would like to apologise."

"Apologise?" Robin turned to look at him with a surprised frown. "Whatever for?"

"Asking you to attend this event. I was under the impression that a night like this would be preferable to the last two new year's eves."

"Preferable for whom?"

"You, obviously."

"I was quite content in the last two years, actually." Robin shrugged with a small smile. "I'd even go as far as to say I was truly happy."

"I am sorry for asking you to come here tonight." He said instead of giving a direct response to what Robin had said, but she could tell he hadn't ignored it either.

"I'm not." She replied with another smile, one that hopefully was somewhat encouraging. "I mean yeah, I'm quite miserable, but you don't seem to be enjoying yourself either. With me attending this stupid event, you at least don't have to be miserable on your own."

"What if I would prefer to be miserable on my own?" Snape asked in a way that made it absolutely clear to Robin that he was merely trying to mess with her, and she had to smirk at his badly feigned scowl in return. He was insufferable, but actually pretty funny once one understood his humor, and the fact that he was replying with humor to her almost affectionate statement in the first place made her heart soar more than she could've guessed.

"Well, if you don't appreciate my company, you could always get up and leave." She stated with an innocent smile, and a tiny bit of fear that he might actually do just that.

"I could indeed." He replied, but stayed sitting right where he was, in calm observation of the hall ahead.

Robin couldn't keep the smile off her face as she followed his example and let her eyes travel over the dancing crowd as well. Sometimes one simply had to listen to what Snape didn't say in order to understand what he was trying to say. Why she enjoyed it so much though, that he wasn't ever making anything easy, she didn't know. But she didn't mind at all.

For the next hour they remained sitting next to each other on the bench in the corner of the hall, silently observing the ball rather than participating in it, and nobody paid them any more attention than an occasional passing glance. Robin could have laughed at how much more at ease she felt with him right next to her, and she had the vague idea that Snape knew that at least, if he did not even feel the same. He literally had no reason to sit with her other than either for her comfort or his own, and she appreciated that beyond measure.

"It will be midnight in thirty minutes." He finally spoke up after all this time without a word. "Which means there likely will be a significant rise in clamour very soon."

"Oh please no…" Robin groaned in return and briefly wondered if she should just retreat to her room already. But… would anyone at all be wishing the man next to her a happy new year if she was gone? The likeliness that 'no' was the answer to that question was heartbreaking enough, and Robin decided that she didn't want to find out. With a determined expression she rose to her feet. "Let's go then."

"What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?" He inquired while yet he got up as well and followed her through the room towards the doors, and Robin couldn't help the internal victory dance that followed upon his compliance.

"Getting away from the idiots before they go mad entirely. I thought you might appreciate that as well." She replied easily as they left the great hall behind and crossed through the wide hallway, heading towards the courtyard. As soon as they stepped out of the castle and into the arcades, Robin reduced her pace significantly and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was terribly cold without a jacket, but it was quiet and peaceful and that made it just perfect nonetheless. In more of a saunter, she continued walking to her preferred arch, then turned to look at Snape next to her. She hadn't exactly expected him to come with her so easily, but she also wasn't surprised. With a neutral if not yet again enigmatic expression, he walked past Robin to stand in his own arch a few steps to her right, and then turned to look out into the darkness beyond the castle.

"I would choose this over a ball and a crowd any time." Robin smiled to herself as she observed him for a short moment, then peered out into the night through her own arch as well. "I'd like to think that this is my very own new year's tradition. Being out here with the night and the silence… and you."

"I agree." He mused in return, and Robin closed her eyes with a silent sigh to simply let herself enjoy the moment. "While I generally do not care for traditions, I have to admit that I am rather fond of this particular one."

"You are more than welcome to share it." Robin smiled, and opened her eyes once more. It hadn't snowed this year, but the wind was biting nonetheless and she observed how it swayed the trees in the distance. "It's odd how far one can see from here, even in the dark. I believe I have only ever looked towards the courtyard before, never out in this direction at night."

"The view from the wooden bridge is even better. If one isn't too distracted by the height, the sight you have in the dark is quite worth it."

"Well… if the tradition only entails you and me and the night, maybe… we could go there next new year's." Robin suggested before she could come up with a good enough reason not to.

"Maybe we should indeed."

When silence took over, it carried along the calm comfort Robin had been hoping to find out here. The cold covered her skin in goosebumps, and the wind blew loose strands of hair into her face, but Robin was unshakably happy right where she was. She was in one of her favorite places in the school, at her favorite time of day, with her favorite person.

The noise from Hogsmeade reached them almost at the same time as the noise from inside the castle, and Robin took one last deep breath of calm before the silence would pass entirely. It was moments like this when life was beautiful and cruel at once.

"Happy new year." He was first to say it, and Robin moved out of her arch to stand next to him a second later. "If there even is such a thing at Hogwarts."

"Happy new year to you too." She returned with a sincere smile. "And I think besides the boggart, and Morgan, and my classmates, and almost dying, and attacking you with kitchen tools… the last year was actually quite successful."

"Peculiar take on reality, but I do admire your optimism."

Robin laughed at that and looked down at the ground for a moment before facing him again. "Well, at least I'm certain that whatever the year brings, it will not be boring either way."

"On that we can agree." He replied with a not-smirk, and Robin returned a real one as he added, "Do you plan on returning to the ball?"

"Not if it can be prevented." She scoffed at the mere thought of going back in there now. "If this is supposed to be a happy new year indeed, I won't set another foot into the great hall tonight."

"Does coffee and a conversation about inventing potions sound more appealing to you?"

"Now that would be a way to start the year off right." Robin grinned in return, and couldn't even be bothered to hide her excitement at the prospect. "Lead the way, professor."

"I regret making that suggestion already." He sighed with an exaggerated rolling of his eyes, but looked undoubtedly humored as they made their way back into the castle and towards the dungeons.

"Yeah, sure…" Robin snorted in amusement. "Does that mean I'll be making coffee first, then?"

"Obviously."

______________________________

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari Characters: Nara Shikamaru, Temari (Naruto), Yamanaka Ino, Sai (Naruto), Akimichi Chouji, Karui (Naruto), Nara Clan Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Romance, Eventual Smut, BAMF Nara Shikamaru, Explicit Language, Smut

Hello deers!  I absolutely love Mafia AU's so I got inspired to write one for ShikaTema.  It gets pretty steamy from the beginning and this theme will pretty much carry through the whole story.  Still, I hope that you enjoy it!

I’m going to be updating this post as I add new chapters. :D

Summary:

Money, power, and women were all at Shikamaru's fingertips as the head of the Nara Crime Family. He had all that he could wish for as he ruled his empire with an iron fist. An encounter with a troublesome blonde was enough for him to risk it all on one night.

Chapter 1:  Opening Move

Chapter 2:  Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 3:  Luck

Chapter 4: Castling

Chapter 5: Protecting the Queen

Chapter 6: Deflection

Chapter 7: En Passant

Chapter 8: Capture 

Chapter 9: Checkmate

*

**

Shikamaru’s midnight eyes surveyed the crash of sweaty bodies moving and pulsating to a heavy beat. He took a long drag of his cigarette overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and heavy bass. It wasn’t often that he made the trek out here.  Typically depending on his associates to check on their businesses.  His father told him though that it was important for the king to be seen by his people.  

For so long his family had to operate in the shadows.  That was no longer the case.  The Naras, Akimichis, and Yamanakas ruled this area.  Government officials, police officers, “powerful” people were all on their payroll.  Very few things happened in this city without them knowing.  Everyone knew who they were and they no longer tried to hide it.  

When he was younger he’d complained constantly that this was a drag. He never wanted to become the head of the Nara crime family.  It wasn’t his choice, it was his destiny.  Still, he grew into the role and had accomplished more than they’d ever dreamed. Their empire was now strong and vast. Power and money were his.  And yet there was an emptiness in his chest. 

He didn’t delight in the benefits of being an infamous crime boss. The club was far too loud. The women who threw themselves at him were too troublesome.  A lot of strings and losses came with power. And it was all becoming far too tiresome. 

His eyes continued to scan the room before they fell upon one person in the crowd. His heart began to beat wildly and an excited shiver ran through him. From where he stood he could tell she was a striking blonde but there was something different.  Like a beacon drawing him in. A feeling unlike he’d ever experienced before. 

He studied her for a while.  She was clearly a good worker never taking a minute to rest between drinks.  He typically didn’t involve himself in the day to day operations of their various businesses. He trusted his associates to do thorough background checks and to hire the best. Once he got a name he’d have to check through her file. 

Shikamaru became increasingly frustrated as she flirted and smiled at the club patrons.  They didn’t deserve her attention especially when all of his was on her. His hands clutched painfully around the balcony railing as he tried to keep his anger in check. 

Shikamaru called his security detail over.

“The blonde bartender, bring her to my office.”

“Yes sir.” 

Shikamaru continued to stare as she gazed up towards him with a confused glare. Part of him hoped that when they met she would bore him like the rest. She’d be good for a quick fuck and then he could send her on her way. The intellectual side of him knew that wouldn’t be the case. 

Temari took a deep breath as she followed the large man down the dimly lit hall.  

She’d only started working at the club for a few weeks now.  It was an easy enough job.  She was able to make a pretty decent amount of money, especially from tips.  It was amazing how easily these men opened up their wallets when a pretty girl smiled at them.  

She couldn’t imagine what she had done in such a short time to gain the interests of the Nara clan head. 

When she applied for the job she had already been well aware of who actually owned it.  Their family owned everything in this town. She wasn’t worried though.  What interest could they have in a regular bartender?  As far as she knew it was just a popular club with lines out the door on most nights.  It was a veritable pot of gold.  She needed the money for herself and her brothers. So whatever reason that Nara had for summoning her she knew that she needed to play nice. 

This was despite her natural inclinations.  She had to remain calm and quiet lest she enrages the infamous mob boss.  Their reign and crimes had been known far and wide and she didn’t want to be a victim of his anger. 

The room was small but well furnished.  Despite the fear in her bones it was warm and inviting.  

Temari looked up, finding him sitting in a large chair with a cigarette pressed between his lips.  She’d never known what he actually looked like but he was undeniably handsome.  Sharp features with a hint of darkness around him.  His hair was pulled back away from his face as his deep eyes studied her. The expensive well-fitting suit framed him perfectly. He seemed to be younger than her but his eyes held a lifetime of painful memories.   

The Nara wasn’t what she expected at all.  She’d imagine some sort of large overweight cartoonish figure that wore an obnoxious outfit.  This dark and dangerous man was like something out of her fantasy.

A delighted shiver ran through her. Unlike the fear she had experienced before there was a tinge of excitement and want.  

He placed his cigarette down in favor of leaning forward to stare at her, his chin resting against steepled fingers.  She could see dark swirls of a tattoo peeking from beneath the shirt cuffs. 

 “Your name?”  Even his cool voice was making her wet. 

“Temari, sir.”  Surprising her he grinned.  

“I have enough yes men in my life.  You are allowed to speak freely here, on my honor you will not be harmed for anything you say.”

“You mean your honor as a criminal-”  She bit her lip feeling her stomach drop.  Her father always told her that her mouth would get her in trouble. 

Surprising her yet again he chuckled in response.  “I have no shame in what I do or what my family has done.  Criminal might be an overestimation.  Your elected officials, police officers, those who are meant to uphold the law.  They are all under my command, so who is the greater criminal?  The one who knows the crimes that they commit or the ones that believe themselves to be above them?”

“I doubt that you came here to discuss ethics.”

He smirked at the response, this interaction so different from what he was familiar with.  He strode over, his shadow falling over her.  “Are you not afraid of me?”

There was now hardly any space between them and the once warm room felt far too hot. He was too close and she could smell the cigarette on his breath. “If you were going to kill me, it would have been done already.”  She replied breathlessly but instantly regretted it.  

Despite his promise, she knew that she should still watch her words. The self-preservation part of her was too slow to stop her mouth. Or perhaps she was becoming drunk off his intoxicating scent of pine trees and smoke. She took a deep inhale wanting to commit the smell to memory. 

“You’re sharp.”  Temari breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed to be amused by her.

“You have to be growing up the way that I did.  If you don’t mind, I am on the clock and the time that I am wasting here I could be making money.”  She needed to get away.  This devastatingly attractive man was doing something to her and she wouldn’t be able to take care of it till she got home. 

“How much do you typically make a night here?”

“On a good night $300.”

He pulled out a stack of bills from his pocket before placing it in her hand. “Here, there’s at least a grand.  Is it enough to stop you from trying to leave?”

Despite needing the money her arms crossed.  “I’m not some hired whore.”

“I never said that you were.  Seeing that I am technically your boss, I am just paying you for any lost wages.”  

“Do you always have something to say?”  

His lips curved into a grin.  “My mother always told me that my mouth would get me in trouble.”  For some reason imagining that this larger than life man had a nagging mother made him seem...normal.  

“So, why am I here?”  She prayed that it was for the same reason that she wanted. 

“I don’t quite know myself.  I saw you there and something just made me want to meet you.”  His fingers casually trailed over the length of her throat along to her shoulder.  Traveling over the skin her dress left exposed. Goosebumps erupted where his hands moved. He’d barely touched her and she was already soaked. 

“Why?”  She breathed as his hand came to take a possessive grip on her waist.  “I’m no one.”

“I highly doubt that.  Even speaking with you for just 5 minutes has shown me that you are really something quite special and I've learned to read people quite well.”  He replied as his face buried itself into her hair as he took a deep breath.  She smelled like an ocean breeze and it was disorienting.  

“Do you do this to all the women who work for you?”  Temari demanded trying to keep her wits about her.  

“Jealous?”  He asked as his fingers trailed beneath the hem of her dress.

“Of course not.”  She replied sharply trying to fight back a moan at his warm hands traveled to grab the swell of her ass. 

“Good, because you’re wrong.  This is the first time someone has ever interested me in this way.”  Flutters erupted in her stomach at the idea that she could have captured the attention of someone in his position.  

Taking her own chance, her hands moved up his chest to cross behind his head, her fingers playing with the stray hairs at his neck. Lust and want were pushing her. How long had it been since anyone had made her feel this way? Had anyone even come close? 

“So what now…”

His lips traced along her throat as he pulled her flush against his chest delighting in her gasp of shock.  She was surprised to feel how hard he was and had to still her hips from moving against him.  

“It’s up to you.”  His voice was hot and desperate against her skin.  “Because of the position that I am in I don't get to imagine tomorrows.  So all I ask is just for one night.”

“Just a night”  She panted as he continued to layer kisses along her skin from her shoulder towards her exposed cleavage.  

His tongue and lips left a wet trail along her skin.  

“That’s all.  No strings, no expectations, just us.  Whatever your conditions are is fine.  I need to fuck you and It’s pretty obvious that you want me too.”  She felt his smug smile between her breasts.  His thumbs rubbed the tight nubs.  She held her breath as his hands massaged and manipulated her sensitive tits. 

In spite of herself, she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips.  

“Fuck, you don’t know what that sound does to me Trouble.”

“More, please.”  She begged thoughtlessly and his hands made quick work of pulling her dress down below her tits.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”  He breathed before his mouth descended over her.  She cried out as he bit and sucked at her heavy chest. She arched up chasing that delicious feeling. 

Despite what she actually wanted she managed to ground out. “Wait.”

Shikamaru immediately released her, taking a step back. “Sorry, Temari-”

She shook her head before pulling him back. “No trust me that was perfect and I do want you.”  At the admission, he returned to worshiping her heavy mounds.  

She had to bite back a moan to get her point out. “But if this is really just going to be a one-night thing let’s make it interesting.”  

“How so?”  

“Let’s go out, get something to eat.”  Temari couldn’t believe what she was asking for. Yes, a quick fuck would be more than enough. For whatever reason though, she didn’t want the night to end. 

He was in shock and just a bit of awe at the situation.  Most women easily spread their legs if he showed any interest. Why did he relish in challenges?  Why was he entertaining the idea? 

“I don’t just go out or go on dates.  I’m not a good man. I could easily take what I want from you.  Why can’t I?”  He groaned against her flushed chest. 

“You tell me.  You seem to have an answer for everything. Here’s what I think. When I asked you to wait you did.  You’re a criminal but you’re not a monster.”  She told him with a soft smile with her fingers in his hair. That smile could bring him to his knees. 

“You think much too highly of me. Trouble.”  He replied taking deep inhales in her hair. 

“I don’t think that I do.” 

“A date.” 

If he was right and they did only have one night together Temari was going to make it last.  

“That's what I want to do.  And you said that any of my conditions were fine with you.  Maybe get to know each other just a little bit first.”  

His finger slowly grazed her face before drawing her gaze back up.  It was like those teal eyes could see right through him.  “You might not like what you find.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”  He met the challenge in her eyes with his own steely glare.  She was so damn troublesome and it would be much easier to find some other willing woman to help him get off.  That person wouldn’t be Temari though. 

“Fine Trouble if that’s what you want.  We will go out but if you think that this silly attempt at keeping me from what I want is going to stop me you’re mistaken.”

She made a show of fixing her dress before drawing him into a kiss.  His lips were hot and demanding against hers but she responded in kind. Aggressive and lustful, her tongue slid against his. She felt him walk them back. Her back hitting the door so he could put his full weight against her.  

Shikamaru very rarely kissed his conquests. Fucking could be emotionless and raw. Kissing felt far too intimate. Kissing Temari though he couldn’t help but crave.  She was so soft and pliant against him.  It had been so long since he’d had anything so sweet. 

“Are you just used to getting what you want immediately?”  She teased him, her lips still against his.  He hiked her leg around his waist grounding his erection against her overheated pussy. 

“Most people know better than to push me.”  He groaned, taking quick bites along her neck. His cock was already so hard in his pants and this troublesome blonde was only making it worse. 

“Don’t be a cry baby about it. Maybe waiting will make it that much sweeter.” 

“I can’t imagine your pussy being any sweeter than it already is.”  He replied with a grin as his fingers moved up her thigh and towards her wet cunt teasing her hard clit.  Wanting to draw out those sweet cries from her.  

“We don’t have to go out to eat. I can eat your pussy right here.” 

She pulled him back into a demanding kiss. It wasn’t a bad idea but she’d already made her move. “Fuck, your mouth won’t get you in trouble. That tongue will.”  She cried, throwing her head back. 

His thumb rubbed against her kiss swollen lips. “And that’s exactly where I’ll expect it to be later on tonight.” 

“Come on, let’s go.”  After a few more heated kisses Temari was able to pull back wanting to see her request through. Needing just a little space. This man was far too disarming. 

“Well you’ve sucked my tits and felt me up, I think that I deserve a first name Nara.” 

He threw his jacket over her shoulders before leading her back down that dimly lit hallway. His arm wrapped protectively around her waist. 

“It’s Shikamaru.” 

“Shikamaru.” She repeated back and the sound of his name on her lips sent a shudder through him. 

This Temari was dangerous. He knew that she couldn’t actually physically hurt him but the damage could be much worse. Still, when she looked at him with that all too charming grin and excitement in her teal eyes he couldn’t help but want to take the risk.

Once they reached the streets she stopped him to pull him into another kiss. It was far more gentle than the lust-fueled ones that they’d shared.  A genuine smile crossed his lips when she looked up at him. 

“Be careful, a date with me can be quite a drag.”

*

**

I was going to write this and keep it to myself but I loved it too much and I hope that you do too!!  I have another story for Sai/Ino and one in the works for Chouji/Karui that will all happen in this same universe. It's going to go fast because I have no patience or energy for a slow burn. There will be some twists and turns though!  Thanks for reading!  Love, love you all!

Update: I have a Stalemate/ShikaTema playlist on spotify but is there a way to share it but it’s not associated with my personal account?  Hmmm either way if I decide to share it I’ll add a link here.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: the kind that was burned first [chapters 1 & 2] Summary: The Chancellor was revealed to be a Sith Lord orchestrating the war and had been taken down by an unknown assailant. As far as Ahsoka was concerned, mysteries should start unraveling now, not start accumulating, but then Obi-Wan had to return to the temple with a stranger and refused to let go of him. AN: Or the one where Obi-Wan and Anakin kind of traveled back in time and now refuse to tell anyone what’s actually going on ft. baby Luke and Leia.

#1 - Ahsoka Tano

Ahsoka was the first to know when her Master returned to the Temple. He’d been gone for a whole month at that point. A lot of Jedi had returned to the Temple after the Chancellor- no, Darth Sidious, had been killed and his machinations revealed. It had blown up all over the holonet that the Republic and Separatists had been forced into this war. Of course, there were plenty who wanted the war to continue. War was lucrative, it filled the pockets of the rich and emptied out the wallets of the poor. During her years fighting, Ahsoka had been unfortunate enough to see the reality of war and how painful it was. She was glad for the experience, seeing the new Padawans and Initiates made it startling obvious how innocent she had been once. She was a better Jedi because of her experiences. She knew now that the Republic had been far from perfect and would need a lot of support to get back up on its feet. Her Master had always been very outspoken about it. Obi-Wan Kenobi, for all that he would have made a brilliant Senator, hated politicians with a passion. He had made sure to show her how the system actually worked as opposed to how it was supposed to work.

She had honestly expected him to stick around after Sidious’s death. In fact, she had expected him not to move even a foot away from the Council. Instead, Obi-Wan had disappeared. He had been acting strangely even before the war had come to a sudden halt, as if he had been disorientated entirely, trying to find his rhythm again. He had been acting similarly after the Hardeen mission. Ahsoka disliked thinking back to that time and she doubted she’d ever fully forgive him for it, but she’d seen how much it had thrown him off-balance. It had been unsettling to witness. She had contemplated confronting him with his behavior a couple times when she’d noticed his mood shift again, but she had always backed down.

It had been a mistake.

She wouldn’t make it another time.

When she felt Obi-Wan step into the Temple, Ahsoka abandoned her class with a rushed excuse and leaped into a sprint. She ran through the halls, evading the other Jedi with jumps and one particularly impressive spin. Quickly, she reached the entrance of the Temple where already a small crowd had been assembled.

“Master!” Ahsoka shouted and made her way through the people.

Obi-Wan looked up when he heard her call and smiled, brightly and happy Ahsoka hadn’t seen in ages. She wasn’t sure if she had ever seen him so relaxed. Objectively speaking, of course, he looked kind of terrible. He wasn’t well-rested, but he’d hardly ever been in the past years, and he was favoring his left side again. His old injuries must be acting up again and hopefully he hadn’t earned any new ones. What surprised Ahsoka though, was that her Master wasn’t alone.

Next to him stood another man, taller than him with dark blond hair and sky-blue eyes. He felt strangely in the Force, powerful and yet well-rested and content in the same way her Master felt to her. Ahsoka didn’t even notice it at first glance, but the man was holding a sleeping baby. A second look, directed at her Master again, revealed that he too was holding a child.

“Hello, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan greeted her. “I hope you’ve kept up with your studies.”

Ahsoka sputtered.

“Of course, I have! But where have you been!”

It was supposed to sound like a question, but it probably came out sounding more like an accusation. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to mind, he only grinned and playfully knocked his elbow into the other man’s side. The man rolled his eyes fondly and adjusted his hold on the baby. A whole conversation seemed to pass between the two. Who was this man? Obi-Wan had a surprisingly large amount of random acquaintances all over the galaxy in all kinds of establishments, but none had ever seemed so close to him.

And Ahsoka didn’t know him so surely he couldn’t be a new friend, could he?

“Around,” Obi-Wan replied. “I had to go pick up a very dear friend. Ahsoka, I’d like you to meet Anakin Skywalker and his children, Luke and Leia. Anakin, meet Ahsoka.”

The newly introduced Anakin looked at Ahsoka like he was seeing a ghost. Ahsoka doubted anybody else would have caught it, but Togruta had heightened senses and she didn’t miss out on even the tiniest microexpression.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Ahsoka. Obi-Wan has told me a lot about you.”

“He has?” Ahsoka knew her Master was pleased with her, they wouldn’t be such a good team otherwise, but to think he spoke of her to a stranger.

“Yes, he has,” Anakin replied, grinning cheerily. “He’s quite proud of you, Snips.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to Anakin and his expression fell for a second, but he quickly caught himself. “I’m sure you’ll be a great Jedi, Padawan Tano.”

Ahsoka bowed quickly. “Thank you, Mister Skywalker.”

Anakin hummed and once more adjusted his hold on the baby who was yawning by now, slowly waking up.

“Guess nap time is over,” he said, mostly to himself. “Obi-Wan, room’s still-“

“The same, yes,” Obi-Wan finished his sentence. The whole exchange was utterly bizarre to Ahsoka. “Go ahead. I believe I have a Council session waiting for me.”

Obi-Wan turned to Ahsoka as if waiting for her to reaffirm his statement. She hadn’t known of any sessions being today, but they had also stopped asking her about her Master’s whereabouts after the first week. Obi-Wan’s guess likely wasn’t off though.

“They have been asking for you,” Ahsoka simply stated.

Obi-Wan sighed and gave Anakin the second child. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“You always do and then you’re gone for hours,” Anakin said good-naturedly. “I’ll see if I can get some formula from the kitchens and get the twins settled in.”

“You do that. Let’s go, Ahsoka.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ahsoka watched as Anakin turned to walk in the directions of the kitchens as if he’d done it a thousand times. Now that Ahsoka took a closer look at him, he did remind her a little of a Jedi. Well, those Jedi that hadn’t been at the temple in a long while. His clothes were civilian clothes, but their cut resembled that of Jedi robes and he had this aura about him. The way he walked, his control of the Force also was distinctly Jedi like, only a little off. Maybe he was a Jedi, but Obi-Wan had called the children his and Jedi didn’t have families-

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan called.

Right, Council meeting. “Coming, Master,” she replied and hurried after him.

#2 - Mace Windu

Obi-Wan’s guest was strange in a way that put Mace on edge and forced him to pay attention to Anakin Skywalker. The young man fit in too well at the temple while at the same time being obviously an outsider. Mace had assumed that the man had come with Obi-Wan to inspect the temple before he left his children there, that he was a stranger to the force, but that obviously wasn’t the case.

His control was too good, his signature too distinct.

Skywalker didn’t feel exactly dark, but he also wasn’t light. He reminded Mace of a canvas that had been painted over. The fact that he had Jedi training, but he was not in their registry also disturbed Mace. Mace had checked the databases of all other temples as well and none of them knew an Anakin Skywalker or had any knowledge of a human male with a midichlorian count of over 20.000. Mace had thought the number was a joke, a mistake of the machine, but Obi-Wan and Skywalker hadn’t been surprised at all. If anything, they appeared to have been joking about it as much as one could without opening their mouth. Given that they were both Force-users, there were quite a lot of options.

If Mace were to guess, he’d say that Skywalker had been trained by a rogue Jedi gone missing in the same way Asajj Ventress had been. Unlike her though, his training had been completed. Mace could read it in the way Skywalker carried himself, and crashed against Obi-Wan’s blade.

He didn’t know why the two had settled on sparring this morning, in the open training halls of all places as well, but news had quickly traveled through the temple. Obi-Wan’s guest was certainly a novelty. Obi-Wan had justified his disappearance with a hand wave and something about following the Force. The Master had never acted more like Qui-Gon Jinn than he had at that moment. Sometimes it seemed impossible that Obi-Wan was of Qui-Gon’s lineage, but right then and there nobody had been able to deny it.

The entire situation was highly unusual. Skywalker had pretty much moved himself and his children – both already so strong in the Force, frighteningly similar to their father really – into Obi-Wan and Padawan Tano’s apartment. The Padawan wasn’t complaining about it. In fact, she seemed to be quite taken with the twins. She grumbled about being woken up at night sometimes, but all in all, she seemed to be satisfied and happy.

Mace had decided not to think too much about where Skywalker was sleeping in the two-bedroom apartment since it very obviously was not the sofa.

So here he was observing Obi-Wan and Skywalker spar, hoping to gain some insight into their arrangement, instead of dealing with cleaning up after Sidious. Mace had never regretted being on the Council more than he had in the past weeks. The next time the Sith decided to rise, it better be when he had already passed into the Force so he wouldn’t have to personally sign off another investigation.

Skywalker spun his training saber and frowned at it unhappily. The man hadn’t come with a lightsaber, his possessions could be reduced to the clothes on his back in fact, but it was obvious that he used to have his own ‘saber. Not just one he found somewhere, but one he had crafted. He fought well with Obi-Wan’s, there was an ease to it like you’d expect a Master to have when handling their Padawan’s ‘saber, but he was annoyed with the training ‘saber he was stuck with. Mace should know. Even when he didn’t outwardly show it, he also disliked using the training blades when instructing a younger class.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan asked half a second before Skywalker was already attacking him.

Skywalker was a good- no, he was an excellent fighter. He had definitely mastered Djem So and appeared to be proficient in the other forms as well. Here and there he was missing a step like he was relearning how to execute already mastered moves. It was reminiscent of somebody who had been banned from training for a longer period of time due to an injury. Sometimes Skywalker expected his reach to be wider, his blows to hit harder, but with every second he was adjusting more and more. Sometimes he executed a move that reminded Mace hauntingly of Vapaad, but worse. Even more aggressive, requiring not just control of those emotions, but a complete submersion that ended with coming out on top again. Skywalker fought like he had drowned and was relearning how to breathe.

However, Skywalker was not the only surprise. Mace hadn’t seen Obi-Wan fight in a while, but he was sure the last time he had gone all out, his fighting style wasn’t so Soresu heavy. He usually still incorporated Qui-Gon’s Ataru, but that appeared to have vanished entirely out of his repertoire, replaced with rougher moves, reminiscent of an actual lightsaber form that wasn’t quite refined yet.

“Stop,” Obi-Wan said, frowning.

His saber was almost at Skywalker’s throat. He took a few steps back.

“Again?” Skywalker asked. “That last swing-“

“-out of synch-“

“Think if we-“

“Yes, but only-“

“-go up, yeah.”

Then the exchange was over and Obi-Wan was attacking. He aimed higher than before and Skywalker spun around him. The two of them had obviously achieved what they were aiming for, indistinguishable as it was, and continued on, grinning half-madly.

If Mace didn’t know better, he’d say that Obi-Wan was either trying to achieve something completely new or relearning something very old. There had been a lot of different lightsaber forms over the centuries. The seven the Order had restricted itself to had been chosen because they were the best in each aspect. It meant that they provided the least risks with maximum protection. They weren’t raising their younglings to throw away their lives with risky maneuvers. What Obi-Wan way attempting to discover here was definitely dangerous, and Mace doubted that anyone else would be able to pull it off. There was just something this battle required, he couldn’t put his fingers on it.

“Go beat him, Skyguy!” Padawan Tano cheered from the side.

The twins were lying next to her in their crib, sleeping gently. It was a surprise they hadn’t woken up from all the noise surrounding them. Then again, the Force was quite steady and loaded with happiness here. Perhaps they were dreaming sweetly.

“Whose side are you on, Padawan mine?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Mine of course,” Skywalker replied cheekily. “She always has been.”

Obi-Wan smirked and tripped Skywalker with his foot, causing the man to fall. Skywalker noticed it quick enough that he reached for Obi-Wan’s shirt and pulled him down with him. They both crashed to the ground spectacularly, but it didn’t seem to bother either.

Skywalker only smiled and the Force replied for him in kind, calling back with all the warmth it could measure up without burning.

Connection, Mace thought. What Obi-Wan’s developing fighting style needed was a connection between himself and his opponent. This went far beyond attachment, every hit displayed how dangerous it was and yet, Mace couldn’t find the energy in himself to object. Not when the Force was so very obviously approving of it.

Maybe it was time someone else became the head of the Order. Mace had led them through the war and he was tired of it. Somebody else should be made responsible for Obi-Wan’s silent revolution.

[theroseandcrown]

The Rose & Crown: Chapter Twenty-Three (Part Four)

Rating: M Chapters: 23/24

Summary: With Missy defeated and the paradox on the verge of collapse, the Doctor and Clara must face their final moments together before the timeline is wiped out forever.

Read this story on another platform: Archive of Our Own Fan Fiction WattPad

The Doctor observed from afar as Missy sat slumped in her chair. Her catatonic condition was brought to life by the wide-eyed terrified expression on her face. He could only imagine what sort of horrors she was being forced to face. The sight of her helpless crumpled form before him was nearly unbearable. If only it hadn’t needed to come to this. As many times as they had tried to kill each other in the past, this was the best option he had to ensure he could win without either of them being harmed.

After a moment, the doors to the TARDIS opened and Clara exited the box. She rested her hand upon the frame as her eyes met with the familiar presence of her Time Lord. “Doctor,” she called to him softly.

He quickly spun around at the sound of her voice. “Clara,” he whispered back, feeling relieved by the sight of her presence. They cautiously approached each other and met in the middle of the room, their focus drawn to one another as if nothing beyond them mattered. There were so many things he wanted to say yet didn’t know where to start or how to begin. Being forced to openly deny his love for her had destroyed him on the inside. And now that they were standing in front of each other again, all he could think about was wanting to hold her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was. But he feared that it was too late. That he had already ruined everything between them. “Are you okay?” he managed to ask.

“I’m alright. She didn’t hurt me,” she assured him. His eyes softened with apology and remorse as the events of the evening continued to tear him apart. She knew all too well the pain he was suffering at the cost of risking their friendship to save her. All she had left to offer was her compassion and understanding. “That was a nice touch back there, your tragic confession. Not your best performance, but she seemed to have bought it pretty well,” she teased, attempting to lighten the mood between them.

Though surprised by her words, he was greatly pleased to hear that she had seen passed his deception and through to his hearts. “How did you know I was lying?”

A compassionate smile passed over her as she gazed at him. “The way you look at me. The way you’ve always looked at me. That was never a lie.”

Matching her smile as best he could, he delicately took her by the waist to pull her closer and lowered his glance to the space between them. His hand passed along the front of her and gently pressed against her middle. “Is it true?” he asked, his eyes lifting to read her expression carefully.

Her smile quickly faded as her guilt of having kept him in the dark about her condition devoured her. She fought her shameful tears and found the courage to tell him the truth. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes and sighed disheartenedly. “How far?”

“A few weeks, maybe more,” she answered, realizing how long she had been hiding her secret from him. “I knew the moment I felt the warmth.”

The moment between them became still as his senses were lured towards a pair of tiny hearts beating deep within her. His fingers protectively spread over their source as he met with the new life form growing inside of her. The feel of his child’s pulse beneath his palm was both sentimental yet incredibly tragic as if he were welcoming them into existence and bidding them farewell at the same time. “Oh, Clara,” he whispered, meeting her eyes with his tearful gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would we have ever gotten this far if I had?” she wondered, though she already knew the answer. Coming to terms with the reality they were facing, he nodded softly in understanding. He pulled her towards his chest and wrapped his arms around her in a loving embrace. She laid her head against him and allowed her tears to fall openly as the wound of her betrayal set in. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I know how much this baby means to you.”

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. Though the chances of meeting his child were highly improbable, he couldn’t imagine what the alternative would have been if he had lost his companion instead. “Don’t be sorry. As long as I still have you, that’s all that truly matters,” he replied. He held her quietly for a few moments before turning his attention towards his daughter who approached the couple holding the Comasphere out to him. He nodded his appreciation and placed the sphere into his pocket. Releasing his companion, he turned to face his oldest friend who remained seated in her comatose state staring off into oblivion. He made his way to her desk and peered down at a series of neatly stacked letters upon its surface. Retrieving them, a small smile passed over his face as he thought about all the hardships he had overcome just to reach this point. How far he had come to finally win.

Clara regained herself and approached his side to better observe what had taken his interest. “What are they?”

Turning towards her, his brow playfully raised at the question. “Beethoven’s Fifth,” he answered with a child-like grin and tucked the letters neatly into his pocket.

“What will happen to her now?” she asked, glancing at Missy’s unresponsive form. For a moment, it was almost as if there was a part of her that couldn’t help but feel sorry for the deranged woman. Almost.

“She can’t hurt anyone. As long as she remains here, she will be trapped in fear by what she has done.”

“You’re just going to leave her here like this?” she questioned him, knowing how unlike him that sounded.

“No,” he assured her. “If we have indeed altered the future, then she will be released. It will be as if none of it ever happened. And if not, then I will come back for her. That is until I’ve felt she has endured enough.” He sighed and took one last look at his most notable foe. “Perhaps one day we will set aside our differences. Until then, I might be in the market for something large enough to keep her contained for a while,” he laughed and glanced over his shoulder towards Quynn, only to discover her sombre expression staring off into the void of her thoughts. His smile quickly faded at the sight of it. He cleared his throat and peered down at his companion. “Clara, will you give us a minute?” he asked, observing her curious expression at the request. “I’ll see you in the TARDIS, okay?”

Her eyes diverted towards Quynn for a brief moment then returned to his in understanding. “Of course,” she complied before removing herself from his presence. Approaching their daughter, she wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. Surprised by her mother’s sudden affection, Quynn hesitantly embraced her caring gesture. “Thank you,” Clara whispered, hiding her face behind Quynn’s shoulder. Feeling her tears returning, she released her and leaned away to see her face. She placed her hand on her cheek and smiled tearfully as she gazed upon her one last time. Doing her best to maintain her composure, she returned to the desk and took up the carrier in her arm before heading through the open doors of the TARDIS.

Now alone, the Doctor tucked his hands in his pockets and hesitantly stepped towards his daughter. “Where will you go?” he asked solemnly.

Quynn smirked to herself as she thought about how his determination to remain hopeful in even the bleakest of times was worthy of her admiration. Deep down, they both understood the cost of what they had done and what it would mean for both of them. And yet, just this once, maybe there was room in her hearts to view things in a different light as he did, even if only very briefly. “Perhaps I’ll create my own path throughout the stars.”

He smiled as best he could as the pain of their inevitable reality settled inside of him. “Don’t run. Stay with us,” he pleaded softly.

Quynn drew her attention towards the time-machine where the sight of her mother could be seen rocking the baby in her arms. “She needs you,” she replied, looking to him once more. “If this doesn’t work, the child will need a father in her life to show her the ways of the universe.”

A regretful sigh escaped him as the memory of everything that had been taken from him began to surface. No matter where they were to go from there or what was to happen, he’d never be able to fix what had so wrongfully been done to her. “I wish things had turned out differently for us,” he confessed, doing what little he could to hold back his heartbreak.

“Everything is as it should be,” she comforted him, taking a moment to find the words to say that would earn his understanding in exchange for the gratitude she had gained from his wisdom. “A brave man once told me that life is very fleeting when you’re not immortal. I only wish I had understood what he meant sooner. I’ve come to realize that our existence in this universe is never guaranteed. That the paths we forge can only be carved by the choices we make. If we’ve accomplished anything here today, I can only hope I have given back what I’ve taken from so many. You and I both know that for balance to be restored to the universe, I must never exist. I have accepted that,” she explained as genuinely as she knew how to be.

Turning his head, he glanced towards his companion. He watched from a distance as she carefully placed their baby in her bassinet and admired her from above. He smiled warm-heartedly as she rested her hand over her middle and allowed her fingers to brush over the surface with great affection for the life she carried inside of her. The elation she displayed towards their growing family was enough to bring even the smallest glimpse of hope for what the future had in store for them. “Never say never,” he replied, returning his attention to his daughter. “Perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”

“Yes, perhaps they will,” she smiled in return and extended her hand to offer a final farewell. “Goodbye, father.”

Peering down at the gesture, he took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips to kiss it softly. He returned his tearful eyes to hers and took in every last detail of her before releasing her from his grasp. Glancing towards the blue box, he headed in the direction of his companion. He crossed the threshold and turned towards his daughter, nodding his farewell before closing the doors to this reality for what would be the last time.

His grasp upon the handle, he inhaled a deep breath and called to arms all the courage he had remaining to help prepare himself for what he knew was to come. After everything they had been through together, after all the challenges they had faced, the hardest part was finally upon them; their final moment together. There would be no turning back now, it was only a matter of time. Releasing the handle, he slowly turned to face his companion. The sight of her presence before him relieved him of his held breath, being drawn to her beauty as if she were the very last flame still fighting to bring an essence of life into the surrounding darkness. Taking his place beside her at the console, his eyes gazed into hers as if he would never leave them.

“So, I suppose this is it then,” she spoke solemnly, fighting the flood of emotions attempting to gain control over her heart.

“I suppose so,” he answered sorrowfully.

Her eyes fell shyly to the floor as she tucked her hair behind her ear and allowed a small smile to spread across her lips. “We made a pretty good team back there.”

He matched her smile with his own and brought his hand to her chin, carefully lifting her gaze to meet with his once more. “You were brilliant.”

Her expression brightened for only a moment at his affection. “I had a good teacher.” Her eyes passed back and forth to each of his as the reality of what they had done forced its way into her soul. “We won’t remember any of this, will we?”

He sighed and held back the tears that yearned to form. “No,” he whispered, trying his hardest to stay strong for her as his hearts tore themselves apart. “The moment we leave here, every event that had led up to this point would never have happened. All that had been accomplished would cease to be. The paradox will be shattered.”

She swallowed the pain rising from within her, feeling every bit of it burning her throat as she fought her tears in his presence. Attempting to shield herself from the look of heartbreak in his eyes, she glanced at their child resting peacefully in her bassinet. She hesitantly approached her side and peered down at their sleeping baby girl. “Will it hurt her?”

“No, she won’t feel a thing. She’ll have no idea that anything has happened,” he assured her.

“Will I ever see her again?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that. All I can tell you is that I know how deeply her parents love each other, even when they don’t say it. Even though they should. People like us, we should say what is really in our hearts. Our truth was never meant to be kept hidden away. Never a moment wasted. No matter where we are to go from here, as long as we remain bound by the love we share between us, there will always be hope for her and perhaps more in the future.”

Clara smiled towards their baby as the sincerity of his words warmed her heart. Even at the most difficult of times, he always knew exactly what to say. Lowering herself to her, she closed her eyes and softly kissed their daughter’s cheek, knowing this was goodbye. But maybe not forever. Perhaps there was still a chance they would see each other again one day. Returning to her natural stance, she took a deep breath and nodded as confidently as she could. “I’m ready, Doctor.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, raising his brow.

“No,” she answered, turning to face him once more. “And I don’t expect that I ever will be. But I’ll have you, and that’s as good a place as any to start.” She smiled and returned to his side, to the place she knew in her heart she would always belong.

He returned her smile and carefully took her hands in his, feeling comforted by the trace amount of electricity flowing through her fingers. Bringing them to his lips, he gently kissed their surface and gazed tenderly into her eyes, knowing everything he wanted to say to her she already knew. Once ready, his smile brightened to the newfound enthusiasm taking place inside of him. “So, Clara Oswald. What would you say to another adventure?”

She couldn’t help the grin that formed on her face at the offer. “What did you have in mind?”

He excitedly released his grasp on her at the question and hurried along the outside of the console, swinging the view-screen around to the other side as he circled it. As he animatedly began to fire up the engines, he looked to her with a new sense of exhilaration in his eyes. “How about the fiery rings of Collabria?! Or a holiday on Halergan Three?! Your choice! Wherever, whenever, anywhere in time and space!”

“Back in time for tea?” she asked playfully, peering around the glass pillars of the time rotor to observe his elated expression.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, smirking at the unmistakable look of wonder in her eyes he missed so dearly as it finally made its return to her face.

“Just like old times then,” she laughed and rushed around the console to his side.

“All of time and the universe, right at our fingertips! Anything could happen!” he exclaimed. His fingers danced energetically over the buttons and keys in front of him as he awakened all of the ship’s systems.

“We best get on with it then. The planets aren’t going to save themselves,” she teased.

“Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the TARDIS. What would you say to lunch on a distant asteroid, followed by breakfast in ancient Rome?! Then cocktails on the moon! Why? Because we’re time travellers and that’s how we roll!”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she replied, gripping the edge of the console in anticipation.

“It could be dangerous,” he grinned excitedly.

“I’m counting on it,” she grinned back.

His gaze never leaving his companion’s, he placed his hand on the lever and held it steady as the emotion observed within her eyes captivated his soul. He took a deep breath and allowed every part of himself to be immersed by the vast amount of electricity between them striking the air. “This is it, Clara. Our moment of truth. The end of the line. There’s no going back. No guarantees. From this point forward, our futures will be uncertain. Our fates left unsealed. One last pull of this lever, there’s no telling what might be waiting for us out there.”

Closing the small distance between them, she peered up at his beaming expression and hesitated for only a moment before nodding confidently in his presence. “Then we’ll do it together,” she smiled brightly and placed a gentle hand atop his own with care. “Just as we always have.”

He returned her smile and brought his remaining hand to carefully rest upon her cheek, taking in every detail of her for all it was worth. She was every bit as beautiful to him as the very first time he laid eyes upon her in his previous form, and she always would be. “My impossible girl,” he spoke softly, allowing his fingers to brush over the surface of her soft skin and through her hair. He delicately cupped her head in his palm and gazed into her vibrant brown eyes as they stared back at him. He slowly leaned his head towards hers and stopped, their lips nearly touching. “See you on the other side.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers as a wave of passion came over him, savouring every moment of her divine taste for what could be the very last time.

Gripping the lever securely, they pulled it down together and held onto each other tightly. The time rotor suddenly began to spring into action. Its mechanisms ascended and descended back into itself as the TARDIS signature melody of time travel clattered all around them. The feel of its engines purred underneath their feet as the living machine dematerialized towards their next unknown destination.

And then there was a flash of light…

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “A Violence Done Most Kindly”, Part 1

Alright, it’s here.  I’m fucking doing it.  This is my Jonsa tour de force, my magnum opus.  My ultimate fix-it fic.

This is going to be a Season 7/8 AU. To summarize the major plot points up until now, this 'verse branches out roughly post Battle of the Bastards in canon, the mass murder of the Freys by Arya still stands, Cersei has been killed but her murderer hasn't been determined yet, Daenerys has only just landed in Westeros, the occupation/battle over Riverrun never happened as the Freys were slaughtered beforehand, and both Edmure and Brynden Tully are still alive, Bran found his way to Winterfell while Jon and Sansa dealt with ruling the North and preparing for a war with the dead, as well as the shifting power dynamics in Westeros now that Cersei has died. This story also assumes established Jonsa. Soft E. Dark. Politics and magic and murder and sex. That's essentially the gist of it.

I HIGHLY recommend that you read 'Bruises' before getting into this. It serves as a prequel of sorts, and it's only a one-shot so it reads pretty quickly. 'Bruises' really helps to set up the tone of where Jonsa is at the start of this fic.

“A Violence Done Most Kindly”

Chapter One: Hunger

"There is an old sort of magic to sacrifice, after all." - Jon and Sansa. Stark is a house of many winters.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 fin

* * *

It would be a lie to say that Sansa understands Cersei now – here at the end.

           Here where she warms her brother’s bed.

           Sansa imagines Cersei looked at Ser Jamie like this once, watching him in his sleep beside her.  Or perhaps not.  Perhaps theirs was always a quick, furtive fuck.  A blinding instant of lust and need, smothered in dark alcoves and behind garish tapestries, a secret, silent thing – clawing at them from the inside.

           Perhaps they’ve never slept the night through beside each other.

           Perhaps she regretted it – gurgling out his name while she choked on her own blood.

           Sansa reaches up to trace a hand down the side of Jon’s face, trailing past his jaw, along the cords of muscle flexing in his throat beneath her touch, whispering down his chest as he groans to wakefulness.  She slips her hand to his growing hardness with a surety that might have been foreign to the little dove Cersei once knew.

           But then, maybe that is also a lie.

           “Sansa,” he groans, head thrown back along the pillow, voice rough with sleep and desire.

           She braces her lips to his neck, imagines the rush of blood just beneath her mouth – pulls him from slumber with a selfish, desperate yearning she does not regret.  “I need you,” she breathes into his skin, teeth sinking down.

           Jon growls his answer, grabbing her by the hair, yanking her head back and kissing her hungrily.  He turns her easily, bracing her back along the bed as he covers her with his weight, already hard and ready in her hand.

           Some small part of her wishes Cersei had been her kill.  A different, equally intense part of her, is relieved beyond words that she isn’t – that she would never be, now.

           But more than that – more than a vengeful wrath she’s spent too long feeding to ever be free of hunger, to ever be satisfied with a mere raven scroll and the somber, even way Bran announces the news – more than that –

           She just needs Jon.

           “Come back to me,” she whispers against his mouth, moving with him in the dark.

           No, she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand Cersei.

           But as she feels Jon slip inside her, as she cradles his groan in the hollow of her throat, as she catches her lips at his temple – she thinks she doesn’t need to.

           It’s a different hunger she feeds now, after all.

* * *

           Sansa recognizes the sound of Baelish’s footsteps well before he’s made it to her side.  He slinks like shadow easily enough across stone and wood and dirt, but here in the godswood, trudging through snow in the womb of winter, his steps are almost awkward, clunky.

           He does not belong here.  She knows this now with a certainty she hasn’t felt in years.

           “My lady, I had hoped to find you here.”

           Sansa only sighs, glancing away from the red weirwood leaves to meet his gaze over her shoulder.  She offers a silent nod in greeting.

           Baelish makes his way toward her, smoothing his hands over his robe when he settles beside her.  “You have not forgotten what we spoke of when last I found you here, I should hope.”

           Sansa tugs her furs tighter around her shoulders, eyes drifting back to the weirwood branches.  “How could one forget?”

           “Yes,” he murmurs, eyes drifting down her face and trailing the length of her throat.

           She tries not to swallow, not to give notice of her discomfort.  He takes a step closer.  She resolutely does not take one back.

           “This is a very crucial time for us, Sansa, you must know that.”

             “Cersei is dead,” she says in answer, and she thinks maybe it should feel different along her tongue.  Lighter, perhaps.  Sweeter. Instead, it’s nothing but a stringent tartness.

           “Yes, and by whose hand?  None of my people seem to know the answer to that, except for whispers of faceless girls. Dead end gossip.”  He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, appraising.

           Sansa gives him nothing to appraise.  “Is that what matters right now?”

           He stays quiet a moment, and then, “It is, until we can ascertain whose side her murderer is on.”

           Another silence.  Sansa stretches a gloved hand out to catch the faint flecks of snow falling from the branches.

           “We can’t let this opportunity pass us by.  Cersei’s death has lead to infighting amongst the houses.  King’s Landing is in near shambles with no discernible sovereign.  Qyburn has fled without the support of his queen.  The Mountain hasn’t been seen since reports of Cersei’s death. Citizens are fleeing to the other kingdoms as we speak, and even Daenerys Targaryen has seen the uselessness in conquering King’s Landing at this point.”

           She knows this.  She knows this already and she’s tired of hearing it.  It only ever ends one way.

           Baelish reaches for her, grasping her arms and turning her to face him, his gentleness forced and rushed – a falsity.  Sansa blinks up at him.

           “We have to consolidate power.  If we wait too long, this chaos will be of no help to us.”

           “Then go.”

           Baelish furrows his brow at her answer, his fingers flexing along her elbows.

           She swallows tightly, face a blank visage.  “Go to King’s Landing then.  Consolidate.”  She lifts her chin.  “Go.”

           His throat flexes, poison tongue pressing back behind pursed lips.

           “You can’t, can you?” she asks, not unkindly.  “Because your power lies here.  With me.  And with the Vale.  You can’t abandon either of us without giving yourself a disadvantage.”

           “Sansa.”  It’s almost a warning.  As much a warning as Baelish ever gives – all smooth tones and invaded intimacy.  His head inclines toward hers.

           “Jon won’t go South.  Not for that.”  She extracts herself from his hold slowly, gently, without offense.

           Baelish smacks his lips, a minute flicker of irritation crossing his eyes, but it’s all he will allow her to see of his disturbance.  “The King can be persuaded.”

           “Not in this.  The dead occupy him on all sides.  He won’t play the game.”

           “Not even for you?”

           Sansa doesn’t think too long on the way his eyes flick to her lips for a fraction of a second.  “You overestimate my influence.”

           “Oh, I think not,” he says lowly, a curl to his lip that reminds her of purple-faced boy-kings and hound-fed bastards.

           No, he does not belong here.  Not in the white and cold and wind of home.  Not here where her mother used to brush her hair and her father used to beg her hand to dance and her brothers played their knightly parts in her tales dutifully.  Not here where she had wanted to bury Lady those many years ago.

           Wanted, and never could.

           Sansa realizes suddenly, that Winterfell is not yet free.

           And neither is she.

* * *

           In the wake of Cersei’s death, the ensuing vacuum of power nearly cripples the kingdoms, with the remainder of the Lannister forces rallying behind a mourning, vengeful Ser Jaime, intent on securing the Reach and the Stormlands. Dorne wastes no time to declare its independence from the Seven Kingdoms entirely, and shortly after the suspicious slaughter of the Freys by unseen Northern hands both the Riverlands and the Vale swear to the North under the threat of a coming dragon queen.

           Jon has no time for such politics.

           Sansa rails against him openly in the Hall of Lords, demanding his attention to the ensuing fight for the crown, but the dead take precedence in everything he brings to court, and it’s not long before ravens are sent to all corners of Westeros begging aid in the coming fight.

           Bran watches placidly, neither arguing for or against either of them. Sansa would call him not unlike a piece of furniture if she hadn’t better manners, and most days her pleads for his council lands on deaf ears.  She ends most gatherings of the lords rife with frustration and nearly frothing at the mouth.

           She doesn’t need to glance at Baelish to know the look he gives her.

           “You think just because Cersei is dead that we are free from the South? That they will not land their hooks into every inch of the North until we are chained to them once more?” Sansa seethes, shutting her door once Jon is through it.

           Jon heaves an unsteady breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I think, and you know it,” he grits out, sending a dark look her way.  “Stop twisting my words.”

           “Then stop ignoring mine.”

           “I’m not!”  He stalks toward her, stops before he can do anything else.  His hands itch at his sides.  “Sansa, we can’t keep this up – this back-and-forth.  We can’t afford such a divide, not now.”

           Sansa takes a purposeful breath, hands folding before her.  “I’m with you, Jon, I am but – ”

           “Are you?  Sometimes I wonder.”  He can’t help the scoff that leaves him.  He stares at her, keeps her gaze a moment longer, and then he’s turning to the far window, a hand raking over his face.  He’s just so tired, suddenly.

           Sansa is deadly still.  So still he can’t even hear the rustle of her skirts on the cold stone at their feet – can’t pick up the scrape of air she pulls through anger-fused lungs.

           “And how is your show of the dead going with the other kingdoms, hmm?” she bites out.

           Jon snaps his head to her, his eyes narrowing so quickly she might have missed it.

           Sansa takes a step toward him.  “Are they simply jumping to aid us?  Are they gathering the entire might of their forces, marching the sum of their armies North, all on your word?”  Something sharp glints in her gaze and Jon swallows his reply back instantly. She scoffs, head thrown back.  And then her eyes are eerily blue on his – instantly staggering him.  “And have I ever demanded evidence?  Have I ever once denounced your claims of the rising dead before the lords?”

           Jon has no answer.  None that would satisfy, at least.

           Something in her softens at his silence, another step taken toward him. “I’ve never asked you to prove anything to me, Jon.”

           Jon, she calls him – always.

           (There was never anything to prove between them, after all.)

           Jon closes his eyes, takes a long, deep breath, exhales just as evenly. When he opens his eyes, she’s still there.  Still copper-crowned and winter-poised.  Still every inch his sister.

           And every inch not.

           He thinks maybe it’s a sickness – this craving of his.

           Jon steps into her, the stiff silence descending upon them like a cloak. He’s so close.  He’s so unbearably close, and even though he has yet to touch her, the heat suffuses him – a stifled winter, a burrowing need.

           He can see the way her chest heaves at the sudden proximity.

           (She’s always been his, even when she won’t admit to it.)

           Jon thrums a tentative hand along her side, fingers grazing the line of her hip.

           Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

           It’s a lost cause, he knows.  Since the moment she opened her door to him, this was only ever going to end one way.

           “I know you’re with me,” he tells her on an exhale, roiled in heat.

           She arches a single, fine brow.  “Do you? Sometimes I wonder.”  She almost smacks her lips with self-satisfaction.

           A low snarl eases from his lips, his hand bunching in her dress, dragging her to him.  She lets him, hands alighting on his chest.  He leans into her, nuzzling his temple to hers, breath ragged already.

           She makes it so easy.

           He’s already panting for her.

           (She makes it so hard.)

           “Sansa,” he groans out, fingers trembling as they reach for her laces.

           She takes his face in her hands, pulls him back until his eyes are locked with hers.  He doesn’t still his unlacing of her.  He couldn’t even if he tried.

           So unbearably close.

           (He just needs to touch her.)

           “You lose one war, you lose them all,” she tells him, arching against him.

           She’s right, he knows.  She’s right, and yet –

           She comes undone so easily in his hands – they need to stop ending their arguments this way.

           Because this – the splendid way she hisses beneath his tongue and the subtle way she arches into his hands and the ragged pant of his name (his name) along her bruising lips – is a war they can’t afford to lose.

           (This is a war they haven’t even begun to fight, not truly – not by the light of day.)

           “I’m with you,” she whispers against his mouth, and he knows.

           He knows, he knows, he knows.

           And even still –

           Some wars aren’t about who’s right.  They’re only about who’s left.

* * *

           Arya returns to Winterfell in the dead of night.  Ghost clambers to wakefulness at the foot of Jon’s bed, the sharp rap on his door jolting him from sleep.

           It’s Davos at his door.  “In the hall, Your Grace,” he says, and nothing more.

           Jon rushes from the room, following his Hand and the faint shadows Davos’ torch casts along the walls.  When he turns the next corridor, he sees Sansa emerging from her own chambers, Brienne at her side.  Her sworn shield tugs the fallen slip of Sansa’s robe over her lady’s bared shoulder at Jon’s presence, and the motion does not go unnoticed.

           “What is it?” Sansa hisses in the night.

           He shakes his head, throat parched.

           It happens moments later.

           It happens when they breach the shadowed hall.  It happens when Arya turns from her appraisal of the room, eyes a slate grey that should be comforting, familiar – but are only haunting.  She is perfectly still in the filtering moonlight through the tall windows.  She is perfectly winter-poised (an eerie reflection of the sister beside him, and distantly, he wonders if either of them knew they’d ever grow to be thus).

           It’s a crack, a fissure – a lung-scraping quake that sunders through the silent hall.  

Ghost is the first to break the stillness, trotting up to Arya with an ease that staggers Jon’s heart in his chest.  But Arya smiles – smiles – and it’s a faint curl of her lips, before she’s bending like reeds in the wind, reaching for the direwolf’s great maw and threading her fingers through his thick fur, hands gliding over Ghost’s face and ears and neck.  Something of sorrow and fondness sweeps over her face then. “Hey, boy.  You’ve been keeping watch for me?”

           Jon is breaking toward her then, something splintering inside him he hasn’t a name for, and then she’s in his arms, and he’s lifting her up, up, and up, her feet off the ground, her arms around his neck, his broken gasp of her name smothered in her hair, and he’s trembling, absolutely shaking against her, absolutely shattered – here, to be here – with his little sister in his arms.  He holds her for an immeasurable amount of time, for eons and epochs and yet he’d hold her still, if only he could.  It never seems enough.

           Jon dips her back to the floor, breathless, glancing back at Sansa, and he stills suddenly at the way she stares at them.

           Arya keeps a hand at Jon’s elbow, her smile receding.  A soft, keen quiet overtakes her.  Her eyes shine with tears.  “Hello, Sansa.”

           Sansa takes a step, hand outreaching, and then stops herself.  She takes a sudden breath, and Jon is too overcome to think much of it, so he braces a hand at the small of Sansa’s back, urging her toward their sister.

           He doesn’t catch the way Arya’s eyes trail the intimate motion of his hand.

           “Arya.”  Sansa’s voice catches, and then she’s stumbling into her, arms wide, drawing her little sister to her chest.

           Arya’s eyes shutter closed for a moment, breathing something of relief against Sansa’s breast, her hands fisting in her robe at her back, but then she’s blinking those grey, haunting eyes open to Jon.

           He feels cracked open.  Bloody and bare.  Jon swallows the trepidation back.

           Their sister is returned.

           His hand burns beneath the memory of Sansa’s heat at his fingertips.

* * *

           Arya knows.

           She knows, Sansa thinks when she catches the derision in her little sister’s eyes from across the courtyard.  Somehow, she knows.

           Sansa steps purposely away from Jon as they walk together below the ramparts.

           He furrows his brows at the motion, a hand going to her elbow.  “Sansa,” he begins.

           She huffs her frustration, staying his hand.

           He’s always been terrible at pretenses.

           “Our sister is watching,” she mutters beneath her breath pointedly, and she can see the way his spine straightens, the way his shoulders stiffen.

           She is Sansa Stark.  And he is Jon Snow.  And not for the first time has she lamented this – though perhaps not so much as now.

           Now when he is close enough to touch and yet the chasm widens ever farther.

           This chasm called honor.

           (But there is nothing honorable about the ways in which he touches her in the dark of night.)

           Jon is silent for long moments, before he comes to an abrupt halt at the edge of the courtyard.  Sansa turns to find him staring at his boots, brows furrowed.  He heaves a sigh, a calloused hand wiping down his face, and then he’s turning swiftly, walking back the way they came.  Sansa watches him go, something constricting in her chest not unlike grief.  She looks back across the courtyard to see Arya still watching her.  Her jaw locks, her barred teeth caught behind perfectly poised lips.

           There are some things Arya will never know, she reminds herself.

           She will never know the way Jon’s eyes grow dark by candlelight, or the way his throat flexes beneath the press of her tongue, or the tremble that racks through him when she slips to her knees at the edge of his bed, bracketed by his thighs.

           And perhaps there is something secret and selfish still living in her. Perhaps there is a part of her that revels in the knowledge that while she may not be the favorite sister, she is the only sister who can drag such whines from his throat, who can reduce him to pleading, who can have him panting and desperate as he throws his head back, hand curling in her copper tresses as he pushes her mouth down on his length, hips thrusting shallowing up to meet her.

           No, Sansa reminds herself.  Arya will never know the dark visage of Jon when the last of his control snaps, when he’s pouring filth from his mouth too base even for brothels, when he’s rutting into her mouth like something feral, spilling hot and frenzied down her throat as he growls her name through clenched teeth, over and over and over again.

           No. Arya will never know the way he looks at her in the aftermath, the way he curls a quaking hand along the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing over her mouth in something perhaps too feverish to be called tender, but just as searing.

           She thinks this when she departs from the courtyard.

           She thinks this when she feels Arya’s gaze following along her back.

           She thinks this when she closes the latch behind her to Jon’s door that night.

* * *

           “You’re our brother,” Arya says like a demand.  “You’re her brother.”  It comes out slightly searing this time.

           Jon grips at the mantle over the hearth, his back to her.  “I still am.”

           “How could you be?”  Her scoff is lined with something faintly like disgust.

           Jon closes his eyes at the sound.  He draws a deep breath in, lets it to air.

           Arya shifts somewhere behind him.  “Robb would never have touched her so.”

           “Aye, and Robb isn’t the brother she begs for at night, is he?” he spits just as harshly, whirling on her.  He realizes what he says a moment before he catches the look that passes over her face.

           It’s not a look she’s ever directed at him before.

           Jon swallows thickly, the words dying in his throat.

           Arya looks away, lips pursed tight.  She’s so utterly still.  This whole while, her entire time at Winterfell, she’s been nothing but stillness.

           Jon wants to shake her suddenly, just to know she’s still there.  Just to know he isn’t the only one missing what they used to be.

           He has to tear his gaze from her – has to focus on the lick of flames in the hearth, the flare of copper too familiar to cool this rancid heat in him. “But I’m not Robb, am I?” he whispers, almost like regret, almost like penitence.

           (Almost, but not quite.)

           “No,” Arya answers, so low he might have imagined it.  “No, you’re not.”

           He isn’t sure what it is he hears in her voice, and he doesn’t have the heart to turn to her then, to see for himself, to know the damning censure of her gaze, even when her voice is indiscernible.  

           She leaves him then, the heavy door of his solar sliding shut with a nauseating finality.

           She doesn’t even leave a shadow.

           (But he thinks he should have expected this.  He thinks he should have expected a lot of things.)

* * *

           Jon has known the permanence of betrayal, the way it sinks into your marrow until you are rife with it, until the sharp tang of it has festered long and sour beneath your tongue, until it is behind every look over the shoulder and every false greeting.

           Jon sneaks a glance at Sansa beside him, catches the upturn of her chin while she listens to Lord Glover in the Hall of Lords, the resolute crispness of her blue gaze as she sits regally at the head table.

           His hand strays to the ends of her furs hanging over the arm rest.  He catches the material between his thumb and forefinger, a small comfort.  An anchor in the storm.

           He glances back out across the hall.  All eyes are on Sansa.  All but a lone, accusing pair.

           Jon catches Arya’s glare from across the hall, nearly missing her lithe frame amidst the shrouding shadows of the Stark banners.  The flicker of torchlight is not enough to obscure her frown.

           His hand slips from the edge of Sansa’s furs beneath the table, his throat dry with an apprehension he’s never felt before.

           They sit staring at each other for long moments – everything and nothing passing between them – the lords airing their complaints and their needs like a fog around him.

           “Do you agree, Your Grace?”

           Sansa’s voice comes to him like a gale.

           Jon snaps his gaze to her, blinking rapidly.

           He suddenly remembers.

           He remembers that Sansa has seen the evidence of betrayal marring his skin. She’s seen the gashes along his chest and not withheld her touch.  She’s smothered his sobs of recollection to her breast when he’s recounted the nooses – the way their feet swayed in the wind like a condemnation.

           Sansa has never been party to his betrayal.

           Sansa will never be his betrayal.

           His fingers search for the ends of her furs once more, gripping tightly beneath the cover of the table – no longer an anchor, but the thing that drowns him.

           “Aye,” he agrees, never needing to know what he agrees to.

           Sansa eyes him with something of sharpness.

           Jon looks back across the hall.  Arya is gone.

           He does not relinquish his hold.

* * *

{“Why did you bring her here?”

           Bran looks up at Sansa’s question.  It is a face she used to know once – but not anymore. She holds tight to this image of her brother like sand sifting through her fingers. She wonders if it is not perhaps easier to simply let him fall.

           She looks away finally, her hands gripping at her skirts.

           The hearth spits another log to cinders before them, and she thinks he means to keep this damn silence always, until, “Because she is needed.”}

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS / Part 6 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse. 

‘it is purple. and a hyena.’

‘i have found that i am allowed precious few amusements.’

‘i do not wish my age to be my defining characteristic.’

‘fine then. ignore me.’

‘informal? you mean illegal.’

‘sometimes someone needs a good beating, and all that talking gets in the way.’

‘there’s no concern for fairness here.’

‘you do speak your mind, don’t you?’

‘you never know who’s going to get hungry.’

‘you must have been a strange child.’

‘if i die before the end and you don’t seem to be doing things properly, i’ll get up again to give you a good finger-wagging.’

‘‘you’re joking, right? because that’s disturbing.’

‘i guess death isn’t an illness, is it?’

‘i’m not the only one dying. you are too. i’m just more efficient about it.’

‘your concern is heartwarming.’

‘death comes to everyone, and it is not something to fear.’

‘i don’t fear death. it’s the dying that scares me.’

‘why should you fear death if you’re happy with the life you’ve led?’

‘some people will never be content.’

‘and all along i thought you were perfect.’

‘i was young and arrogant.’

‘i expected too much from him, too quickly.’

‘i drove him away because of something utterly unimportant.’

‘he was a child, misunderstood and lost.’

‘all i had to do was listen to him.’

‘i think it’s time to forgive yourself.’

‘that seems highly unlikely, and more than a little insulting.’

‘you know how sometimes, you spend time with... people, and a things...’

‘keep your hands where i can see ‘em!’

‘can’t a man address a friend without getting all weird?!’

‘a girl you knew, or a girl you /knew/?’

‘i’m sure she’s forgiven me by now.’

‘i’ll think about you if we ever... no, actually, that would be gross.’

‘you have to face your own inner rage.’

‘get real mad, and kill things.’

‘i’m good at getting people really, really mad.’

‘i know, it’s a sodding mystery.’

‘no one can tell you what’ll set off that killing rage in you.’

‘the ladies love it when you’re all mysteriously angry for no reason.’

‘you must have been seriously steamed up about something for a long time.’

‘all this talk makes my hands twitchy.’

‘trust me, you’ll know even less once i tell you this.’

‘i had sex with her anyway, but that goes without saying.’

‘personally my preferred methods of seduction are much more.. tactile.’

‘i thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry.’

‘burn me if you must, but you’re a man to stoke the lust of man and woman alike.’

‘this... this, i remember.’

‘it is one thing to believe, however, and another to know.’

‘why all the liquor shortages?’

‘they just want to drink to forget.’

‘he got drunk. drunker than usual.’

‘he challenged the roast dinner to a wrestle at my father’s funeral.’

‘he lost, by the way. the roast got him in an arm lock.’

‘he sat there crying for half an hour before someone pulled it off him.’

‘just... follow my lead, you know.’

‘what do you mean? i got something in my beard? my trousers are open? what?’

‘just be ready to pry her off when she throws herself at me.’

‘are you sure you’re not a baker? ‘cause you’ve got a sodding nice pair of buns.’

‘admit it, he’s much more fun than the men around here.’

‘if by ‘fun’ you mean ‘more likely to set farts on fire’, then yes.’

‘i think it might really be turpentine.’

‘my mother lives here. someone has to take care of her.’

‘you know how boring that is?’

‘we don’t want to make a scene here.’

‘well, i mean, a little scene’s alright.’

‘you /didn’t/ find another girl willing to put up with you pissing on the table?’

‘i would laugh, except this is no joking matter.’

‘now, let us crush something soft and watch it fountain blood. that is a girlish thing to want to do, yes?’

‘the owner is a very large, angry friend of mine.’

‘what makes you so special that you think you you’ll be able to help us?’

‘the stubborn fool refuses to even talk.’

‘i don’t have much to live for as it is.’

‘there’s no need for a beating, provided you do what i say.’

‘smells like a brewery in here.’

‘i don’t care what happens to me.’

‘maybe it’s the drink talking, but you almost sound like you believe that.’

‘it feels good to be up and doing something.’

‘there’s no way i’m sobering up before morning.’

‘i’ll take a kiss from a pretty girl.’

‘i’m not going anywhere. start talking.’

‘i have a feeling that deep down you regret the life you have lived.’

‘are you incapable of a single serious conversation?’

[havenoffandoms]

Once Upon a Time in New York City (Loki x Reader)

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Fandom: MCU (yeah, I’m trying something here)

Summary: Stargazing was, in a way, therapeutic for you.

Warnings: mention of death of a parent through cancer

Stargazing was, in a way, therapeutic for you.

It was the only thing you missed since moving into your dad’s home six years ago. New York was not the stargazer’s favoured location, and not even Tony Stark’s money could change that fact. The light pollution sometimes made it difficult to make out the moon on a clear night. Ok, maybe it was not that bad, but it was close.

You missed stargazing with your mother. The only reason you had moved in with your father was because your mum succumbed to cancer. You were fourteen at the time. It could have been worse, you reminded yourself. They could have made you live with crazy aunt Maria. Instead, you ended up with a billionaire dad who readily gave you everything you wished for. Perhaps Tony Stark's generosity was motivated by love, perhaps by guilt… you did not really care. The only thing you ever asked for were books, anyway.

Reading did not truly replace stargazing, but at least it allowed you to escape reality in a different way. Being Iron Man’s daughter was not always easy, especially when you had become a target for his enemies to use as leverage against him. The whole Avengers team adored you, and would hate if anything happened to you. Natasha had even offered to train you so you might join them one day, but you were not a fighter. You would rather stay backstage and lead the operations from behind the scenes. You could not imagine yourself killing anyone in cold blood, even in self-defence.

Your head jerked up when you thought you heard a rustle behind you. You quickly scanned the area, making sure you were still alone. You gently chastised yourself for being so paranoid. Who in their right mind would come looking for you on the roof of the Stark Tower? You were not even sure if your father knew about your favourite reading space. It was eerily quiet at the top of the sky-scraper, the only sound that of the wind gently blowing through your hair. You returned your attention to your worn copy of The Great Gatsby.

“It seems awfully dangerous for a mortal young lady such as yourself to be sitting at the top of a very tall tower unsupervised,” you heard a calm, smooth voice talk to you, startling you a second time. You instantly recognised the British accent as being Loki’s. You had never truly had the chance to speak to the God, seeing as your father kept him as far away from you as humanly possible. The only thing you really knew about the God of Mischief was that he had nearly destroyed all of New York three years ago. He was technically the Avengers' prisoner, and was not allowed to leave the Stark Tower alone and only if it was absolutely necessary. Were it not for Thor, you were convinced Loki would not even be permitted to roam the premises freely. 

“It’s not dangerous if you know what you’re doing. See, I’m away from the edges.” Your comment earned yourself an amused chuckle from the mischievous being.

“Perhaps so. I’m sorry to have intruded. I was not aware that someone else was here.”

The polite tone sounded highly artificial, but somehow it did not surprise you. Despite his boisterous attitude, Thor spoke in pretty much the same old-fashioned way. You supposed that the brothers had been raised to use language appropriate for princes, and prospective rulers of Asgard.

“Tell you what, if you promise not to breathe a word to my dad about this, I’ll let you stay,” you joked, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You could not help but feel slightly intimidated by Loki, and that reaction was certainly justified considering his past actions. At the same time, you did not feel like he consisted a threat to your life. You were curious to find out more about this mysterious character your father had expressly forbidden you to talk to.

Funny, you had never been the rebellious kind.

“If it pleases Milady,” came the soft reply. You noticed the blank expression on Loki’s face as he sat down several feet away from you, raising his gaze to the sky. Only then did you notice his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You observed his actions briefly, glancing at the sky to see what had caused the puzzled expression. You were merely met with the same starless view that you had become accustomed to.

“Whatcha looking at?” you asked the God of Mischief. Loki’s bright eyes briefly met yours before gazing at the soulless sky above him once more.

“Is it typical not to see the stars out here?” he inquired, genuine concern lacing his tone. You felt your heart clench at the innocence this supposedly dangerous God displayed.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I hate it, too,” you admitted, closing your book and resting it flat on your lap. The action caught Loki’s attention, who immediately rested his eyes on you again.

“What’s that you’re reading?”

“This? It’s The Great Gatsby. It was my mum’s favourite book. Whenever I miss her, I read it again to remind me of her.” You were not too sure why you felt like sharing this information with Loki, but if the God minded, he did a good job at hiding it.

“I’m not familiar with Midgardian literature. Although I suppose that since I’m a prisoner in this world now, I should probably get acquainted with the most famous writers. Tell me, who are the main authors I should read to get a basic understanding of your literary culture?”

You shot Loki an incredulous look.

“Dude… is that a serious question?”

“Of course, I’m always looking to educate myself further.”

“No, I’m meaning… there’s just too many influential authors to just name a few for you to read. There’s different genres, different writing styles, different theories, and contradicting point of views. It would take centuries to read all of the works ever written on Earth.”

Loki seemed to take a minute to process your words, pondering what he was about to say next.

“I see… in that case, which book would you recommend, personally?”

His question was asked without malice. Of all the books at his disposition in this world, Loki wanted to start with your personal favourite. He honestly wanted to know what your favourite book was, with the intention of reading it as well. You forgot when the last time was that someone had asked you for book recommendations.

“I suppose you could start with this one,” you said, placing the unfinished book in Loki’s lap. He looked down at your mother’s copy of The Great Gatsby, picking it up delicately like it could fall apart any minute. Loki opened the book and noticed the words your mother had written on the inside of the cover. You were in two minds about snatching the book out of Loki’s hands. To your surprise, the God looked up at you with uncertainty shimmering in his green eyes.

“Are these words meant for your eyes only?” he asked, pointing at your mum’s handwritten note. You felt your throat tighten at her memory. You did not have the strength to speak, so you merely shook your head and shot Loki a reassuring smile. The God read the words on the cover that you had come to learn by heart after reading them hundreds and hundreds of times after your mum passed away.

To my dearest daughter,

You can be everything you want to be. I love you, and that’s the beginning and end of everything. Never forget that.

Love,

Mum.

Loki closed the book and was silent momentarily. You were not too sure what to say.

“You must miss her terribly,” Loki told you, causing you to frown questioningly. “Apologies, I assumed…”

“It’s ok,” you interrupted quickly, “you were right to assume so. She was very ill and passed away several years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” There was genuine honesty in Loki’s voice, which surprised you, although you would never admit it.

“Yeah. Everyone was sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you, during which you both wondered where to take the conversation from there. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of deflecting from a young age.

“Do you like stargazing too? It always calmed me down when I was a child.”

“I find the company of stars appeasing, as well,” Loki admitted, leaning back on his hands to stare at the sky with what you believed was a sad expression on his face. “It’s tragic that you cannot appreciate their beauty and wisdom in New York.”

“Yeah…  I sometimes understand why you wanted to destroy this city,” you joked, but instantly regretted your words when you noticed the way Loki’s features hardened. You were about to apologise when he spoke up again.

“Is that what you’ve been told? That I meant to destroy this city?” You were not sure whether to lie or not, but decided to stay true to your honest nature.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well, you’ve been fed wrong information. I merely wanted to rule this city as a benevolent God.”

“Oh.”

There was not much else you could say. Your cheeks heated up as you blushed a deep crimson. Frankly, you did not consider his explanation any less tyrannical than your initial assumption, but something about his admonishing tone made you feel like a child being scolded by a teacher. You felt like apologising, but you knew deep down that he was not expecting you to.

“Forgive me,” his voice whispered almost inaudibly, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Unlike everyone else here, you’re the first one who’s treated me with nothing but kindness. You deserve the same treatment in return.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m more resilient than you think,” you assured him with a wink.

“Oh believe me, I can tell. You appear to be a very strong and bright young woman. As much as I hate to admit it, you seem to have inherited your father’s brains. And I can only assume that you’ve inherited your mother’s kind nature.” Your heart swelled with pride at the compliment, and you felt yourself blush a deeper shade of red.

“And I’m starting to see why they call you silver-tongue,” you told him in a mischievous tone that matched his. The grin that appeared on his face sent chills down your spine.

“Sweet dove, you have no idea what things this tongue can make you do,” he said, his voice lower and more sensual. You could not hold back the disbelieving snort that pushed past your nostrils.

“Easy there, cowboy.” The frown on his face told you that he did not understand that reference, which made you laugh even more. “It means, easy with the flirtatious attitude, my Lord. Need I remind you that there’s a whole team of Avengers ready to pounce on you at the slightest sign of danger…”

“No, you don’t,” he grew serious again, “but need I remind you, Milady, that you’re technically not allowed to speak to me?”

“Fair point.”

Loki smiled softly to himself as he stared at you pensively. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to what was on the God’s mind.

“I know I’m not supposed to use magic, but… I believe this will be worth getting into trouble over.” Before you could question his words, you noticed Loki wave his hand at the sky, and not before long, you could see the smog and light nuisance fade away to reveal the stars hiding behind the veil of pollution. Your mouth dropped as your eyes took in the beauty of space. You had never, not even in the countryside, ever seen a sky so beautiful. The stars shone brightly, and you could make out several shooting stars, and perhaps even a few planets. You tried to make out constellations, but your mind constantly wandered back to the mesmerising beauty Loki had conjured for the two of you to enjoy. You wondered if any pedestrians had bothered to look up, and if the view had taken their breath away just like it had yours.

“Wow…”

“That’s the effect I generally have on people,” you vaguely heard Loki comment, which earned him a punch in the shoulder from you. The look of utter shock the God sent your way was priceless.

“You hit me!”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama-queen. It wasn’t even that hard,” you defended yourself, forcing the proud smirk off your face.

“That is beside the point! I am a God of Asgard, I could crush you with my boot.”

“Yeah, I suppose you could,” you casually granted, scooting closer to the God and resting your head on his shoulder, “but before you do that, let me take one last look at the stars.”

You refrained from smiling victoriously as you felt Loki relax against you. During the days that followed, neither of you mentioned what happened that night. It was as if your conversation had never even taken place. You had even convinced yourself that you had dreamt the whole encounter until one day, you found your mum’s copy of The Great Gatsby on your bed, a neatly handwritten note attached to it.

If you ever feel lonely, just look at the stars. For I will be looking right at them, too.

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

Cold days of spring

She had survived her first winter in the Sengoku. It was cold and snowy at times, but it felt like an actual accomplishment for her. She had loaded her room with blankets and had a few heaters, but she had been content to spend it for the most part bundled up and warm. It was now spring as she awaited the fresh flowers and possibilities the new season would hold.

However, as mother nature often does, it teased them all into thinking that the new season was indeed upon them as the day grew slightly warmer and then another unthought-of of deep freeze happened one clear night and with it brought the artic freezing frigid air. When the air turned cold and wet, they all knew except for her, that is that another storm was on the horizon. She was thinking of pristine flowers and the vibrant colors of spring when they were preparing for the last real snowfall of the season. It seemed like it was entirely against her to not see the reality, but she was blind to the idea.

She carried on as loads of goods were brought to the castle for storage on the off chance that it was a good one. Some of the older staff had told the warlords they felt it was a good one coming as they could feel it in their weary bones. It was unlike the Princess to have her head in the clouds as willful ignorance to the situation had taken over. At the mention of a said storm coming she would change the subject then carry on with whatever task she was doing at the time. To the warlords, her blindness was becoming concerning.

The day came after a week of blistering cold that shocked everyone. The day was overcast as it began but the sunrise was a vibrant red and orange. Everyone hurried to do the tasks that needed the attention outside for this would be the day the storm would arrive. The slight princess again ignored the warnings and went into town to get her supplies from the cloth merchant. She was there when even he noticed she did not want to talk about the incoming storm; she tried to completely ignore the fact as she went about her time in town passing this stall or stopping at that one. All the warlords minus Nobunaga who was at the castle ordering for the preparations for it were also in the marketplace. They all noticed her as she moved swiftly but generally through the stalls as if was another other day.

Masamune was ordering the product for the different households of the leading vassals. He was picking out and tasting the various things as he made sure each of his allies would not go hungry during the storm. He had been watching her but very into his task that he didn't see her disappear from sight until he had placed the last order. He hoped that one of the others who were also in town would pick up where he had left off.

Hideyoshi and Mitsunari were both looking at some latest items that had been brought over from Europe. They were both keeping an eye out on her as they asked questions and listened to the different pieces. They were both intrigued but couldn't keep their minds on the answers as they both took turns watching her out of the corner of the eyes. That was until she disappeared from their sight which neither could comprehend.

Ieyasu was also buying different supplies as the first trader who had many of the herbs he needed for different thing had arrived. He was stocking up on them as soon as he could which is what lead him to the marketplace on that very frigid day. He was also in the process of giving orders to have everything brought back to his manor when he noticed the princess had disappeared from sight. He figured she very much had her head in the clouds the past few days she was off to the castle to hideaway. He was far to busy to think too much on her at the moment and hoped one of the others would keep an eye on her.

Mitsuhide had just come from one of his meetings at the dark and somewhat secluded teahouse further back in the town. He spotted the princess as she looked back and forth to his allies as to see which one was watching her at that moment. She had learned since his birthday he thought to himself as to track and be tracked and how to disappear. He noticed with very much amusement that he was the only one who was in the position to actually see her abilities as she would withdraw from the sight of one into the view of another. He hung in the shadows as no to alert her of his presence and have his theory tested to see if she could elude him as well.

When she had made her way through the stalls and had seen most of her friends she decided they could see her and then she would move into the view of another and repeat the process. She had the supplies she needed and would make her way to the cottage to see if it was still there. She didn't need the idea of another storm to happen even though she knew it was a possibility. It would damper her latest project. She hadn't seen Mitsuhide and hoped he hadn't seen her as she was sure he would be the one she couldn't throw off so quickly. She needed to go before the snow hit.

As she made her way out of the walls of the castle, he wondered where exactly she was going. She wasn't supposed to go this far without a guard. He wondered at the thought she was meeting someone in the forest beyond the walls and as he quickened his pace, he grew stern. She couldn't have met someone while they were all busy, could she? His heart gave a little extra push, and he had a feeling of regret that he didn't understand at the thoughts his mind was leading him too.

She reached a cottage that was rundown, and as she looked around, he felt that pull yet again. It did seem like she would be meeting someone here. He didn't know how he wanted to deal with these as different emotions he had long ignored like hatred and sorrow were at the forefront of his mind. He moved closer and heard her voice talking within the cabin. He was right in his anger she wasn't alone. He tried to steady himself before reaching the door but he uncharacteristically couldn't he was upset something he was never.

The door opened slowly as he pushed it open. He wasn't sure of what exactly he would find as he heard her voice soft and sweet in the corner. As he took two steps in she turned and told him to shut the door with a humph. What he saw clouded his mind, she was on the floor sitting facing the corner. The only two humans were in the cottage her and him. She was meeting some unknown thing as he couldn't see what she was blocking from his view, but she had been talking to something, correct? He thought to himself.

She should have known he was watching her. She hadn't felt his presence like she had the others and was able to move through the crowd to avoid them. It wasn't a surprise that he evaded her notice, it was his job after all, and she was still new to the fact of hiding something from her friends. She didn't like the idea of hiding anything from them, but she knew they would begin to ask questions of the how and why of it. She didn't want to answer those.

"Princess, it seems you have a secret.", he said softly.

"One I was really trying to keep, Mitsuhide. Why did you follow me?", she asked.

"Because Good girls don't have secrets, my dear.", he replied.

"Well then, I guess I am not one of those then.", she countered.

"I highly doubt whatever you are doing here is really all that bad, Princess.", He said softly. He knew it wasn't in her nature to be bad. He just really like to tease her at times. Since he was still recovering from his wave of emotion, it was the only defense he had at the moment.

"I found them on a walk.", She said as he slowly crept up to her. As he stood behind her, he could see the two wrapped bundles that she had placed some food in front of.

"And you thought to keep them?", he asked.

"Their mother was killed by something. I wanted to try. However, I can't have them at the castle, and with the storm, they will surely die.", She said with a sigh. Her face fell with a look of slight anger, but a more profound sadness was also there. He couldn't stand to see that sight.

"Why can't you have them at the castle?", he asked, knowing Nobunaga would probably grant her anything she wished.

"Hideyoshi.", she said the one-word answer as if it was a curse. "He would take over, and they are mine."

They way she said mine rocked him to the core. She really wanted them; he could see that. "They are not normal pets, Princess."

"I know, but I still wanted them. I have taken care of them now for three weeks. I am sort of attached.", she said over her shoulder.

"I see.", he thought on this for a few moments. "What if I knew of a place you could keep them close to the castle and they could also receive care if you could not be there, such as with this storm?"

"You know a place I could keep them?", she asked with hope in her eyes.

"Yes, I do.", He said as he bent over her and picked one of the small foxes up and even pet it as he pulled her to a standing position. She also picked up the other fox who made a sound of fox contentment being close to her. She then gathered the supplies including their blankets and everything else she had gathered for their care.

"Where?", she asked.

"You will see.", he replied now back to himself.

"Well, at least it will be closer.", she said to herself.

As the two walked she noticed his way of carrying the little fox. The fox was wiggling and squirming, but he didn't seem to mind. He was holding on in his long fingers, and he stroked the creature gently. She didn't know if she had ever seen him like that. They came out on a path that would not take them through the center of the castle town but around it to the houses of all the warlords. She wondered to which one they were headed to. As the got closer, she knew they had already passed two and only had two left. Ieyasu's and his own. She wondered if Ieyasu would take on the foxes, but soon they passed that palace as well. She was now confused but stayed silent as he rounded the walkway for his own palace.

He liked the look of confusion on her face. It was a look he knew well as she was now trying to read him and his plan. He had no idea why he was willing to take on the two fox kits, but he was, for her, he was. The thought passed his mind, and he wondered why he would do that for her, and only her. He would think about that later when he was alone and didn't have to wonder or worry about letting his thoughts show. As he showed her to a room that was currently unused, he placed the kit he had been holding down. "This should be enough for them currently.", he said.

"Your manor?", She asked not even trying to hide her surprised. His smile grew at the fact she was so open like that.

"And why not? The others all have their hands full with their own pets and in Hideyoshi's case Mitsunari too.", he chuckled at the statement.

"Why are you doing this Mitsuhide?", she asked doubting him.

"You needed a place closer that would have someone to watch over your foxes, correct?", As he said that she nodded, "I have this huge manor and just me here. The staff can assist me in their care, and I get to try out if a pet is a good thing. You also are now within a short walking distance from them instead of breaking your rules about staying within towns walls. I know my manor is not ideal for you however it was the only other alternative."

"Thank you, Mitsuhide.", She said as she sat and started to unpack the toys and gear for the two. One of the kits had made his way to his foot and plopped down next to it. "I think that one likes you better."

"Wonderful.", He muttered nearly under his breath. He looked out the window and saw the snow falling hard, as the two had been inside for nearly an hour now he could see the way back to the castle was impassible for her tiny legs. "Princess we have another issue to deal with first.", He said as he looked down at her. As she looked up at him with huge eyes and a questioning gaze he forgot what the issue was exactly. "Never mind.", He said once again as he also joined her on the floor.

It wasn't until a few hours later when the two had full been snowed in that she even noticed the snow outside. It must be up to her waist at the moment, and she had no idea of how to get back to the castle. He smiled as he said, "Oh yes it started snowing."

"Really?", she asked. "I couldn't see that. How am I supposed to get back to the castle now?"

"You're not. I will apparently be your host for a few days.", he said.

"The castle staff will worry.", she said.

"No, they won't they will assume you are here. I had sent a page to the castle after our arrival, on other business. He will mention that he saw you here and everyone will assume you are here.", he said as he shrugged his shoulder slightly.

"probably wondering doing what.", she said softly.

"As to that Princess, that is on them.", he said.

She sank back down to the floor to pet the sleeping kit, wondering what kind of torture this would turn out to be for her. He had a real smile of joy on his face as she looked up at him as he stood before her. She wondered at why he was smiling like that; he also dropped to the floor forgetting all his work he had piled up to stay with her and the two foxes between them.

He woke to a horrid noise a few doors down as one of the kits was making a fuss. He could hear the princess trying to get the animal to stop with no luck. She was surprised as he entered the room still tying his robe together as he looked down at her who was wearing one of his cast-off robes and he chuckled to himself at the sight. She looked adorable and frustrated. He picked up the offending animal and noticed it was cold and figured that was the problem. He motioned for the princess to follow him with the other kit otherwise it soon would start crying out as well. As they went into his room which was warmer then the other both kits began to settle down. He placed it on the floor and it by itself made its way to his futon, along with its sibling. They both curled up at the bottom of the futon. She was looking at him with amazement. "How did you know?", she asked.

"It was cold. Much like you are as well.", He said as she shivered a bit. He walked over and gently put his arms around her. She snuggled closer because he was warm, not because of the kindness he was showing her she thought to herself.

Her eyelids were growing heavy as she stood there and without thought, he picked her up and placed her on the futon as well. She was so tired and cold that she didn't fight him as his warmth and the two foxes at her feet lulled her into a deep sleep. He looked at her as her eyes shut and wondered how this day could ever happen, he must have done something very right to be rewarded like this.

The next morning was also grey, and the snow was still falling slowly now. She opened her eyes to find him asleep next to her. His fox-like features in contrast to the actual fox laying near his head were at ease. The two kits had made there way up the futon, and one was next to her head, and the other was next to him. He blinked his eyes open to find her looking at him and the fox with a soft smile. As soon as he made a noise, the little kit pounced on his head, and she giggled. Her fox in contrast just curled up closer to her. "I think I prefer your fox.", he said.

"I think yours suits you better.", she giggled.

"I thought they both were yours, my dear.", he said, voice still low and raspy from sleep.

"I think I will share.", She said with a smile as he pulled her closer, so she could get pounced on too. They both laughed and didn't move for some time as they had no need to that day.

[phantasmagoricreverie]

Beneath the Cherry Tree Is… || Kasen Kanesada x Fem!Sakura Spirit!Reader

I was yelling about cherry blossoms with a friend of mine and this idea sprung up. I hope you enjoy.

Kasen has taken to writing under the cherry trees in spring. The scattering of blossoms and their nature, ever transient, certainly provided a suitably elegant backdrop for composing poetry. Perhaps it is strange for a sword to be so dedicated to the arts, but if swords like Kousetsu, who disliked fighting, could exist, then surely his devotion to the arts is not heretical to his nature as a sword.

It isn’t that he laments this nature, the state of being a sword. Swords are tools for killing after all. As much as he may dislike the way previous masters used his blade, he has seen plenty of blood and continues to see blood still. But even so, couldn’t he, too, find beauty in things? Is it so wrong to want to record the world as he sees it through appreciating poetry, composing it himself?

He gazes at the blooming trees, thinking of the best way to put their beauty, their transience, and the sense of loneliness such a fleeting nature imposes into words. Brush and ink remain untouched; the search for appropriate words failing him. He can barely grasp the feeling he wishes to convey, yet even without understanding it, surely he should be able to think of a way to begin the poem.

“Dead bodies are buried under the cherry trees, isn’t it?” The voice rings clear; if a cloudless sky had a voice, it would certainly be the voice that breaks the silence. He looks up to see a woman, who, despite the gruesome implications of her words, has a soft smile on her lips. She leans forward to make eye contact with the seated sword, locks of hair falling across her face as her position shifts. Kasen blinks up at her, momentarily surprised by her appearance.

“Ah, that is a work by Motojirou Kajii, if I’m not mistaken.” He composes himself quickly, offering a reply to the woman who’s appeared before him. There is no way he’s mistaken; Kasen knows the poetic words of the work she reference. The opening lines of “Beneath the Cherry Trees” is quite striking, the work is highly regarded even by Kasen himself; had she been trying to assist him?

“That’s right.” The mysterious girl smiles, delighted by his recognition of her reference.

For a time, there is silence in the air as he observes her, trying to determine whether she’s a threat. He concludes quickly that she’s not, and even if she is despite his initial assessment, Kasen could always use his blade to strike her down. He is still a sword of the citadel, and as a sword he must ensure his master’s safety. Another moment of silence prevails.

“Do you like poetry?” Kasen breaks the silence. Certainly there are other swords in the citadel he can discuss poetry and literature with, but such discussions left something to be desired. He’s unsure of what he’s hoping for, asking such a question. At the same time, he knows exactly what it is he wants, even if it is from a complete stranger who seems to materialize like an illusion created by the falling blossoms.

“I am still quite inexperienced in such matters.” Expression regretful, she straightens herself, turning to gaze at the cherry blossoms in full bloom. Gazing at her back, Kasen thinks to himself that the sight is very elegant, like a scene out of a painting. Turning back at him, she continues, earnest and sincere. “I’d like to learn more though, if you’re willing to teach me.”

Kasen agrees and that’s how their time discussing poetry together begins.

He always visits her, always at the same tree, and she is always the same. Her kimono is always a dusty, muted pink, with an obijime in a similar color that contrasts with the red of her obi. He cannot help but think that it suits her and the backdrop of cherry blossoms, perhaps it is the poet within that lends him such a thought. He finds it somewhat unusual, for her to always wear the same ensemble, but then, he too wears the same clothing. Kasen doesn’t think much of it.  

As promised, he comes to her with the intention of teaching her about poetry as she’d asked. He learns quickly that her earlier words of being inexperienced with literature are perhaps a bit too humble. For every work he mentions, her eyes glint with recognition as she offers an insightful comment, or remarks on something she appreciated about the work. In turn he offers insight of his own. Kasen is pleasantly surprised that he enjoys these conversations with her, that perhaps his earlier hope is being fulfilled.

The days spent discussing literature under the falling blooms continues.

That day the master comments that Kasen has seemed livelier lately. “Did something good happen?”

“Yes.” Is the soft reply the sword gives.

One day, he asks who she is.

“Hmm, what do you mean? I’m _____.” She responds with the name she had given in one of their earlier meetings. Noting the dissatisfied gaze of Kasen in response to her answer, the realization of what he’s really asking dawns upon her. “Ah, I mean, I am _____, the spirit of this cherry tree.”

With that revelation, she sets her hand upon the bark of the tree Kasen had sat under that day when they first met. A sheepish smile adorns her features, as if to say that she hadn’t meant for it to be a secret.

“I see.” Kasen is not sure what to make of this revelation, but he doesn’t find himself surprised, as if he had expected that to be the answer to be all along. After all, how many times had he thought that the young woman was more like a dream than reality?

“I thought you would be more surprised.”

“I am a sword spirit, after all. It isn’t that strange to think that you are a deity of a cherry tree.”

With a good-natured laugh, she agrees that it isn’t so strange. Barely missing a heartbeat, she then prompts him to sit down next to her, at the base of the tree.  

Noticing his writing implements, she knows that today is a day where he wants to write poetry. As he takes a seat near her, she watches as he focuses, strokes of black ink contrasting with the paleness of the flowers. In turn, he looks back at her, which prompts her to selfishly ask him for something.

“Write me a poem sometime, okay?” He barely hears her request, with how taken he is by her form, dusted with the delicate blooms upon her shoulder and hair. Turning back to his work, he offers an ambiguous response. She is indeed like a dream, an elegant, delicate dream that he feels will vanish when the cherry blossoms do.

She’s more quiet today than usual, her ordinarily animated manner of speaking subdued.

“Are you all right?” They both occupy human forms, but both are different from humans, different from each other. He’s a sword spirit; she is the spirit of a cherry tree. Similar to each other, yet different enough to make such difference pronounced, loud in the silence of not knowing.

After a pause, her gaze lowering, she professes that she is ill. “I—the tree, that is—something is wrong. I don’t know what it is though.”

Kasen is unsure of what to do, not being well-versed in the care of plants. Perhaps he can ask the master and the root of the problem can be found. Something inside him aches at the thought of losing her. She’s a good friend, being with her makes him happy. He resolves to do his best to save her.

He keeps visiting her, but every time Kasen comes, she seems weaker, farther away. Their conversations have largely become one-sided, with him doing most of the talking. He recites poetry to her, sometimes it is the work of others, sometimes his own. The cherry blossom tree seems to enjoy these times, even if she doesn’t speak much anymore.

Then the day he feared comes, when she grabs him by the sleeve as he leaves. The dread he feels already tells him what’s coming, but still he turns around, to face her properly one last time.

“Sorry, but it’s best if you forget about me. I think this is the last time we’ll meet.” With a sorrowful crescent of a smile, she bows to him. “Thank you for everything. I’m really glad to have met you, Kasen.”

“Don’t say that. This isn’t good bye.” But the look she gives him in response tells him that it is. Even so, she offers one of the smiles he has come to think of fondly and unlike all the times before, gazing upon it is painful.

“You’re right, you’re right. Let’s meet again someday. I’ll be patiently waiting for that time.”

When he visits the tree the next day, she’s nowhere to be found.

Seasons pass and he doesn’t see her. The singing cicadas of summer give way to the rich reds of autumn, which in turn give way to the silence of snow, and then, the arrival of the next spring is heralded with the blooming plum blossoms.

Winter has not yet ended, but still he decides to visit the cherry tree, the one where that fateful meeting happened. Now that he thinks of it, Kasen doesn’t know why she appeared before him that day. As he makes his way to the tree, he wonders if he’ll be able to ask, if he’ll be able to get a reply.

He sets his hand on the tree where her hand had been nearly a year ago, when she professed what she was. Is he corrects himself, what she is because she isn’t gone. She can’t be. Kasen had enlisted the help of his master in trying to save the tree, and by some miracle the tree had not perished.

“Hello.” He doesn’t expect a reply to his greeting, but he can’t stop his heart from sinking when the only response is the crisp air rustling the more delicate branches. “I finished the poem I promised you, last year. When it’s springtime, I’ll bring it with me.”

There’s no response, the wind pauses, and though there is no breeze, the more fragile branches sway, as if to acknowledge his words. He hopes that even if he can’t see her, maybe she can hear him. Kasen’s hand falls from the bark of the tree and he peers up through the tangled branches towards the coming spring sky.

“Wait patiently for me until then, all right?”

When he leaves the tree, he does not look back.

It’s a pleasant spring day when he goes to visit her. Some of the swords offer to accompany him, to meet this spirit similar yet unlike them. The master gently scolds the swords, saying that they should let Kasen go alone. With a grateful smile to the master, he makes his way to the grove of trees he has come to know so well.

His hand moves to his chest, checking to make sure the parchment with the poem written upon it is still there. He made sure to use his best calligraphy; it’s a gift after all.

With her name on his lips, he announces that he’s here to fulfill the promise he made last time.

He takes the parchment from where it rests in his kimono, carefully unfurling it as the inked letters see the sun. The flowers fall like rain, adding pink and white accents to the poem meant to embody spring. Kasen’s voice is soft, gentle, as it always is, but there is a delicate sense of fragility to it as he recites the poem to her, to her tree.

It is silent, after he speaks, with nothing but the scattering blooms bearing witness to his words. He hopes that she’s heard the poem he wrote for her. The feelings he grasped at the day they met are now ones he can fully understand. The fragility and transience of all things, their subsequent elegance, and the resulting sorrow.

The sword rolls up the parchment once more, not bothering to shake out the blooms that fell upon it. He buries the paper with the poem at the base of the tree; it is the closest he can get to giving it to her personally.

Gazing through the branches of her tree, he glimpses the bits of azure sky through the brilliant flowers. He thinks back to when they first met.

Perhaps underneath this cherry tree is the corpse of _____.

But then he remembers her parting words. They’ll meet again, someday.

[starryikesen-blog]

boyfriend! nobunaga

CONFESSION

- nobunaga never really seemed like someone you’d come to like, now that you think of it - your first impression of him was mixed— you thought he was rather a interesting person, assertive, yet quick witted, also holding this unusual gratefulness towards you ever since you saved him - you didn’t really think much about it, and it didn’t even occur to you that you were attracted to him until you started to worry over him - of course you do worry over him, because he always had someone out trying to kill him, but it’s become a constant plaguing thought - and from all the times he’d outwardly flirt and hit on you, you brushed it off with a eye roll at first, but since when did you felt this strange fluttering in your stomach? - you tried to give answers to yourself, until mitsuhide discreetly dropped the hint that you liked nobunaga romantically - you were in denial - you simply could not believe that you had fallen for nobunaga, although it was indeed a highly possible thing to happen - in fact, you thought this was some allergic reaction and was asking ieyasu’s help to whip up something for you - but now that you thought of it, it might be true, given how you checked through every single parcel delivered anonymously to nobunaga - it was the best way to ensure his personal safety, and he himself gave you the permission to - you would find suspicious things that happen to be dipped in poison, thanks to the silver clips you had that detected them - even hideyoshi didn’t get to this extent, and you did all this voluntarily - you didn’t tell him either, in case it dragged down his spirit and would affect the battles he had (although he would’ve laughed it off easily) - but still, even if you did habour feelings for him, this is nobunaga oda here, devil king of the sixth heaven, and there was no way he would reciprocate your stupid feelings - it would mean that he was constantly busy, and always planning or at war, and you weren’t so sure if you could hold up well watching your boyfriend go to war often, with a chance of never returning - these thoughts kept you up late till the wee hours of the morning, before the cogs in your brain finally gave up and stopped turning - it proved itself to be a grave mistake, for you felt like giddy and unfocused the whole day - it happened that you had many duties as chatelaine, and you couldn’t push them away because of your own mistakes - one of them was to check through the parcel that’s arrived - this wasn’t new, and it depended whether it was a gift from rebels or from innocent townspeople - your fingers worked clumsily from your drowsiness, and ran across the fine fabric of a red kimono - of course, until you felt something sharp prick your index finger - you knew at an instant what it was— a extremely tiny needle, inserted into the folds of the fabric and peeking out a little so that whoever who wears it suffers from whatever’s coated on it - it was no doubt poison, and ignoring the light bleeding on your finger, you disposed of it quickly, before anything could happen to you - the poison was a speedy one, causing your vision to blur and your hearing to diminish while you felt a surge of something rush to your mouth, and the next thing you knew, your light pink kimono was stained scarlet with your own blood - you blinked, trying to get up and at least inform someone, but your legs gave out on you too quickly - the next few things happened too quickly for you; you were slipping in and out of consciousness, and your cheeks were pressed against a sturdy chest- hideyoshi? - or when you realised that you were lying on a futon in a room that smelled of herbs (ieyasu’s, no doubt), grinding sounds filling your ears - when you at last woke up, your eyes were squinting from the sunlight coming from outside, and your head throbbed tremendously, and it just felt like you had been trampled on by an elephant - your throat was painfully sore, and you couldn’t move a single limb— you simply didn’t have the energy to - “this is my fault. i should not have given her the job.” - nobunaga? - “my lord, you are not at fault. whoever is behind this will pay with their lives for endangering you and hurting azuchi’s princess.” - “enough, hideyoshi. assist mitsuhide in uncovering their identity. i shall spend some time alone here.” - “understood, my lord.” - a sliding of the doors, and the room basked in silence and light again - you considered yourself lucky, for your head was facing the opposite side, and nobunaga couldn’t catch you awake - somehow, you sensed that he was going to say something alone, or to you, and you didn’t want to interrupt that - “how could you rush in to save me even when you carry so much fatigue? i don’t deserve this.” - a large, warm hand ran over your cheeks, and your hair, before nobunaga sighed - you’ve never heard him talk with so much regret, and yet, his voice was laced with traces of love and tenderness - “these blood-soaked hands don’t deserve to be touching you.” - “yes, they do.” - you croaked out, willing all your energy to turn you head, your eyes meeting nobunaga’s wide ones - the slightest flush were on his cheeks, probably from the revelation that you heard his words, but that didn’t stop you from saying more - “nobunaga. you deserve the whole world.” - it was short, but effective, and for once, nobunaga was at a loss for words - but his carnelian eyes betray his emotions, flashing with grief, but at the same time unexplainable happiness - “this isn’t your fault. didn’t you always tell me that it wasn’t my fault that you got hurt? the nobunaga oda we learnt in history wasn’t a hypocrite.” - that left him speechless, for despite your weak form right now, you had that blazing look of extreme determination, and that made him realise with a start, once again, just how strong you were - “fireball.” - “hmm?” - “i love you.” - the words tumbled out of his mouth, but he didn’t regret it; his voice held pride, and nobunaga definitely felt proud for loving a respectable person like you - you laughed, a breathless and soft one, a smile forming on your slightly flushed face - “i love you too.” - (let’s just say that nobunaga took such good care of you until you fully recovered that it left ieyasu jobless.)

CUDDLING + KISSING

- as mentioned briefly somewhere above, nobunaga is a busy man - given that, he won’t have the time to bump into you in corridors and give you a few minutes of making out, absolutely not - cuddles and kisses are reserved till the night and usually in his room - if there’s a war coming soon, he’ll return pretty late, and just basically gracefully collapse onto your lap - he really likes to rest his head on your lap; and it gives you a chance to make him relaxed by running your hands through his dark hair, or softly singing to him until he falls asleep - you’ll have to try and shift him onto the futon afterwards, good luck! - but worry not, nobunaga once mentioned that he can go on without sleep for many days, so it’s unlikely that he’ll be so tired to the extent that he can’t even muster the energy to kiss you - it’s just that both of you know that once you two start, there’s a chance you won’t stop for a while, so it all depends on you - once you decided that it wasn’t time for that, and forced him to relax while you sang him a lullaby your mother always did when you were young - nobunaga didn’t know if he should be in awe over your voice, or the comfort of it, or he should’ve just kissed you instead because great, now he’s more in love with you - there are times where you just stay awake and stare at him while he’s asleep beside you, and he just swings one arm around you and brings you closer to him unconsciously - these suffice for the cuddles during wartime - but when it isn’t, nobunaga will make sure to shower you with love - he’ll kiss every inch of you, leaving you yearning for more, and mark you again and again all over to reclaim his “territory” - it’s been scientifically proven that one spends 98.65% of the time under nobunaga as his lover while he does his… things - his kisses may be everywhere and anywhere, but they’re just like him; confident, straightforward, and assertive - each kiss is a reminder of how you’re his and he loves so much - it’s hot and sweet at the same time that you melt in his hands every single time - earlobe kisses are a huge thing between you two, because there’s something about kissing the softest parts of the ears that leaves both of you wanting more - but it’s a form of reassurance for nobunaga too, when he’s down and you kiss his earlobe softly, he won’t feel that bad anymore

EMOTIONAL

- there are times where nobunaga feels down too, after a particularly hard war when his men get hurt in large numbers - you understand his dream of unifying the country; to wage war so that it can end; and usually he’s so confident and driven about it, but when he sees that so many people are losing lives and families because of it, he starts to doubt himself - it’s a really bad thing, as you could say that his vision and his aims led him to who he is today, and doubting that would be like doubting his entire life - at these times, it’s always obvious for you— his eyes go ice cold, and it’s such a stark contrast from the usual fire burning in his red orbs that you know it immediately - and you’ll sit him down outside his room, where the moonlight cast its silver veil on your surroundings that you hold his hand firmly, whether or not he does the same - you know that he needs support at this time, and you’re always there beside him - he might not talk, and honestly silence is preferable, because nobunaga is someone who is clear-headed, and he can sort out this existential dilemma by himself - in fact, if you tried to talk, it might get worse, as he can’t focus and eliminate those pervasive thoughts - but when he’s done, you sort of just see this pile of ash light up again with the faintest glow, and you know that your nobunaga is back - here’s when you start talking, telling him about the nobunaga that’s in your history textbooks, all the good deeds he did, and reminding him that this path of his isn’t a mistake at all - it’s a lonely path, and you make sure you’ll walk down it with him - when you’re upset, however, nobunaga has three steps: pamper, question, kill - to put it in words, he’ll make sure you’re happy and emotionally stable enough before asking anything - whether it means showering you with kisses or spoiling you with konpeito or anything else you ask for, he’ll do it just to see that smile he loves so much on your face again - and then, he’ll interrogate the hell out of you - i do not exaggerate when i say that. - he’ll ask for the smallest of details, however trivial it may seem, nobunaga wants to make sure he gets a clear view of this issue before handling it - normally nobunaga sums up problems with a sentence or two, but he’s always given extreme thought and consideration before coming up with a plan and relaying it to others in the simplest way possible - if the problem was a person, then you might not ever see them again for a long, long time - if it was regarding your personal feelings, expect more digging— again, not because he’s being nosy, but he wants to fully understand before giving you advice, or comfort - nobunaga’s brute honesty, while it sounds unpleasant, is legitimate and useful - and you’re definitely thankful for that

DOMESTIC

- let’s just say that being an extremely busy man, your try your best to make everything convenient for him - need a new supply of konpeito? no problem. make sure hideyoshi doesn’t ever find it? hard, but you’re on it - it’s these little things that give him immense comfort, and he makes sure he rewards you for it - as for the rewards… it’s up to your imagination to go wild - you always try and convince him to bring you to the war, keeping you at the rear, helping with the wounded and all since you’re efficient and gentle - it depends on his mood, but he knows you do your job well, so it also depends on the scale of the war - a huge war that may or may not result in defeat? he’ll let you tag along; you’re his lucky charm and he doesn’t want to lose in front of you, giving him the motivation and energy to kick whoever’s ass he has to - and another pair of hands helping the casualties wouldn’t hurt, if anything - besides, it’s an unspoken rule among the warlords that the rear troops and army shouldn’t be attacked - wartime aside, on normal, peaceful days, you’ll take good care of him, bringing him food, cleaning the room, giving him massages, etcetera - at night, it’s likely he’ll take you out somewhere, whether if it’s to the kitchens to steal sweets, or to a nearby field of wild flowers to appreciate the moon, or just chilling outside the room - it’s also nights like these that nobunaga lets his walls down and tells you everything, how much he loves you, and how much he couldn’t bear if he lost you - you two could be married and it wouldn’t make a difference

FINAL VERDICT

- nobunaga’s usually a tough nut to crack, but he’s willing to do so around you without feeling like he shouldn’t, because he trusts you a lot, and loves you too much to be hiding anything away from you. extremely protective and wild, yet unexpectedly gentle at times.

[philindaforlife]

Not Broken, Just Bent

Post 5x06. Title inspired by “Just Give Me A Reason” by P!nk 

As a trainee in S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, Melinda May had wanted to experience it all. From complicated infiltration missions (but not undercover, ugh) to traveling to exotic locales, she’d had a fairly long bucket list.

It was safe to say she’d fulfilled that…and then some.

First there was surviving the whole Hydra thing, and then helping to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. And then came Inhumans (and who could forget about Andrew, of course). Of course, who could forget about being infected by a ghost, dying and being brought to life, being replaced by a murderous LMD and oh yeah, finding herself trapped in a simulation straight from hell? That didn’t even include time travel. 

And her current predicament—hiding on a deserted and glorified rock, hours away from bleeding out, and hunted by giant roaches.

So yes, if she ever made it out alive, and it was looking less and less unlikely, May swore she would take a long, long vacation (alone this time, although a little company from her best friend/maybe something more wouldn’t hurt) and do nothing but lie on a beach, drink in hand.

But that depended on whether or not she survived.

For the millionth time since the monolith had sent her straight into that damn pipe, May cursed under her breath as she dragged her bad leg behind her, her right leg strained from leaning all of her weight onto it. She could hear growls in the air—the roaches were not far behind by the sound of it, and for every limping step she took the faster they were gaining on her.

Goddamnit.

And then she was running, well technically limping, her left leg screaming at her to stop, her right leg groaning with exhaustion, the shallow yet still bleeding cut in her side throbbing as she dragged her body as rapidly as she could, away from the roaches. Her hair whipped across her face in sweaty chunks, and she dug her nails into her palms.

Suddenly May’s leg twisted, and she found herself airborne for a brief moment, before the ground started to rise up around her. She landed on her back, all the air completely gone from her lungs as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened. It took her a full four, long, tension filled seconds to realize she’d tripped. Like a clumsy, S.H.I.E.L.D. trainee during her first try in a training course. Idiot.

 Get up, go, move!

 May instinctively sat up, and instantly regretted it—her side screamed, no, cried mercy, the searing pain second only to the incessant throbbing of her leg that she’d almost grown accustomed to. It felt oddly wet and kind of sticky. From sweat, maybe? She gingerly reached out to touch the cut at her side and brought her hand up to her face. The air was dark around her, but unless her eyes were fooling her, her hand had come back smeared with blood.

Great. She’d thought all along that her leg would’ve been the one to kill her, but it turned out it would be that damn cut from that damn telepath.

A sharp, piercing growl caused her to jump, and May curled her right leg under her, trying to put her weight on it, gritting her teeth, trying in vain to stand up, to run, to survive. But the second she did it buckled and she fell back down again.

Her vision swam before her, the dark landscape not helping as her eyes watered and stung. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a gigantic mass approaching. The roaches. She had to get up. Now. Yet her legs refused to obey. Her limbs seemed to grow heavier too, and the ground started to feel less and less like a hard wasteland and more like her comfy mattress back in the now destroyed base.

It was growing darker—May realized a few seconds too late that no, the landscape wasn’t changing color. She was losing consciousness.

No.

In the back of her mind, she knew what that meant. She’d lost.

No. I don’t lose. I never lose.

 But the darkness was so irresistible, almost soothing, inexplicably reminding her of a bowl of Phil’s chicken noodle soup, the special one he made from scratch the handful of times she’d been sick.

As she surrendered, her head slipping to one side, her eyes closing, she thought she saw a human shaped figure in the distance shooting something at the roaches, making them disintegrate upon contact. The figure approached rapidly, and in the dim light May could see he had blue skin. Oh, God, it was one of the Kree.

His face looked oddly familiar, and reminded her of…the diner?

But then the darkness took its hold, and she saw nothing more.

She wasn’t moving.

That was the first thing Phil registered as he stumbled his away into the makeshift shelter Enoch had constructed out of a pile of larger and smaller rocks. Enoch had removed her jacket, using it instead as a pillow, and was busy creating a bandage out of what appeared to be a pile of dried leaves.

Enoch barely glanced up. “I see you managed to follow the path I left.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Just the sight of his infuriatingly calm face made Phil want to use his robotic hand (newly re-implemented, thanks to Fitz’s planning ahead), and punch him so hard he’d bounce off the Lighthouse. If it hadn’t been for him the group would’ve still happily (or somewhat, given the circumstances they’d left behind back home) lived in their time, rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever. But a larger part of him was just purely grateful for Enoch’s help. Without him Fitz would’ve never made it here.

 “And the others are?”

“Daisy, Mack and YoYo are scouting the area. Fitzsimmons stayed behind in the trawler with Flint. How is she?” Phil nodded her head towards May. Her face was flushed and tense as she slept, but she still looked more peaceful than he’d seen in a long time.

“She’s running a fever.” Enoch answered simply. “Her leg has been infected.”

“I kind of figured.” Phil made his way fully into the little shelter and crouched down. Her touched Melinda’s hand softly, and winced at the contact. “Wow. She’s really burning up.”

“Did you bring the supplies?”

In response, he pulled out a syringe out of his jacket’s inner pocket. Inside the crate of weapons Fitz had thought to include a basic version of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s first aid kit, complete with a few simple yet highly effective medications that would cure or at least help soothe many ailments.

Phil handed them to Enoch, who inserted the needle into Melinda’s arm. Her expression did not change, although she stirred a little. Seemingly satisfied, Enoch stood up. “I believe that will help a bit with the infection, although only time and rest will help her leg heal.”

Of course it required rest, the one luxury they could not afford. He looked down at her sleeping form. Still, maybe a few short hours would do her some good. “I know our plan was to make it back to the trawler so we could get the hell out of here, but I think it would be better to stay here until she wakes up.”

“Agreed.” Enoch said. “I trust you can stay while I go keep watch?”

Seeing as he had zero intention to face those roaches and leave Melinda’s side (ever again), Phil nodded. He took Enoch’s place on the hard rock, and slipped his hand into hers as the alien drew his weapon and walked out.

“When you told me you had it, that you could handle Sinara, I don’t think this is what either of us had in mind.” He joked softly. “I could’ve stayed behind, you know. I know I’m not as good as you. But I could’ve helped.

“You didn’t need to face her alone, May.” He continued. “You could’ve died. Hell, you did die last year. You don’t need to take risks like that. That’s why we’re a team. Especially here…I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you. You know, for a second I actually thought…”

Phil paused. In his head he could almost hear May berating him, calling him a dork and a sap, rolling her eyes at the notion that she’d actually lose a fight.

“Laugh all you want.” He said. “But there was a moment, when you didn’t come back, I thought you were gone.” Phil shook his head. “This is my fault. I should’ve stayed with you. And I know what you’re going to say, that I wasn’t the one who caused you to materialize into that pipe. But I shouldn’t have left you there, not when I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

Melinda’s brow furrowed, soft whimpers escaping, though she stayed asleep. Her hand tightened around Phil’s, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as she experienced whatever terror was playing out behind her eyelids.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” He said. “I’m not going anywhere.” Using his thumb, he gently rubbed circles around her hand. “I’m not leaving you, Melinda. Not ever again.”

Gradually, her whimpers quieted, and her expression became calm once more as her breathing evened out. Although it wasn’t exactly cold in this dank, dirty atmosphere, her body seemed to be wracked by subtle shivers, and Phil immediately shed his jacket and used it to cover her chest and shoulders.

“I don’t know how much of this you can hear.” He said softly. “Probably not at all, since you’re asleep. Well, if we ever get out of this…no, that’s not it. That’s what we said last time. I’m done with this whole taking a step back thing. If that’s not what you want, then I can live with that. But I need you to know…I love you. I know what you think, that you don’t deserve that after Bahrain. Except you’re not always right, no matter what you say.”

He watched as Melinda slept on, blissfully unaware to their hellish surroundings. “Now I just need to have the guts to say this to you while you’re conscious. You mean everything to me, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give this, us, a try.”

Melinda gradually became aware of several things.

One, she was lying flat on her back again, but the air felt a bit different in here. She felt…less exposed. 

Two, there was something soft under her head, and something soft covering her chest and shoulders. It smelled like home. 

Three, her leg throbbed, but not as much or painfully as it had before. And she could barely feel the stab wound on her side anymore.

And finally, someone’s hand was curled around hers, rubbing gentle circles. She’d had her fair share of massages and spa days, but this felt more blissful than anything she’d ever experienced.

“…I’m done with this whole taking a step back thing…” A low voice said. It sounded like the person was sitting right next to her, although his voice echoed for some reason. Melinda’s eyes felt too heavy to open, so she settled for simply listening.

“If that’s not what you want, then I can live with that.”

Her blood nearly froze as she realized it was Phil. What in the hell was he doing here? Yet she was too curious about what he was saying to bother trying to shake herself fully awake.

 “But I need you to know…I love you….”

With the tight grip he maintained around her hand, how could he not feel her heartbeat? Surely it had picked up like crazy, alerting him to the fact that she’d woken up.

But he didn’t seem to notice. “Now I just need to have the guts to say this to you while you’re conscious,” Phil said, confirming to May that he was pretty much the biggest idiot she’d ever met. An adorable idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

“You mean everything to me, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give this, us, a try.” Phil finished. “Okay.” He chuckled awkwardly to himself. “I guess I’ll let you sleep in peace now.”

Although her mind had felt foggy and only half awake moments ago, now her thoughts raced as she replayed Phil’s words over and over. I love you. You mean everything to me. I love you. You mean everything to me.

You mean everything to me too, Melinda replied in her head. And she couldn’t wait to show (not tell, because she wasn’t exactly the most verbose person) how much.