#he could have lived as an empty shell of himself devoid of any happy memory

[royalthorned]

“Although Barty received the dementors kiss and had his soul removed in 1995, it is unknown when his body died.”

[loverofthousands]

Ceaseless Despair// Dazai Osamu

"Tell me, Dazai-san. What causes tragedy? What causes despair? How can one truly call something as tragic?"

The glass was cold to your lips as you drank the golden liquid it contained, bitter yet sweet to your tongue. Alcohol had never been your friend. Shattered, empty bottles of it were lined up in your childhood home, cutting you with its sharp shards, but your father never seemed to care. He piled it up, higher and higher until you saw a stranger who once called himself your father. Only bad memories came from alcohol. How ironic that you now seek its bitter taste in the darkness of the night, haunted by memories you'd rather forget. You turned to the bandaged man standing at the steps of the stairs, beckoning him to come sit beside you. Dazai smiled and walked on over, no doubt fighting against painful memories as well. This might have been the reason why you two got along so well. Your fights were different, but similar in nature.

He sat next to you and ordered a drink of his own, though he barely drank it during the entire encounter. "What do you mean? Tragic, by definition, is when something incredibly, irreversibly bad has happened. Tragic is the broken, the shattered, the irreparable. In other words, something like me." He smiled then, playing with the ice in his drink. You were sure you will never forget the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. You shifted in your seat, leaning against the wooden counter, your head resting at the palm of your hands. "Ah, yes. The tragic story of Dazai Osamu. If you wrote a book loosely based on your life, it might sell for some good money." He laughed, but you can tell it was devoid of any emotions. You knew won't be able forget that too.

"But what of the fairy tales?" You asked. Dazai tried to meet your gaze, but you were already caught up in your own fantasy world. "By that logic, every story is tragic. Snow White was chased out of her own home and was poisoned by her own stepmother. Aurora was cursed from the moment of her birth and then never met her parents until the moments before the curse was fulfilled. Cinderella was treated as less than human by her own stepmother and stepsisters all the while mourning her father's death. Those traumas and heartbreaks are sure to torture them all throughout their lives. But still they had their happy endings." Dazai Osamu, the former executive of the renowned Port Mafia, Demon Prodigy, and a man who was barely considered a human. He is broken like shattered glass, but still, you didn't believe he was tragic.

"Happy endings, huh? I never pegged you to be the type to believe in those." You merely shrugged at him in response. Your mother used to read to you every night, all curled up in your pink blanket, a teddy bear in hand, her voice drowning out the nightmares that came with the dark. He hummed as he nodded his head, a cynical smile still plastered on his lips, playing with a thought in his mind. For awhile, you two sat there in silence. No one, but you and him at the expanse of this bar, finding a twisted sense of comfort in each other's company. "But, you see, it is because they have their happy endings that they are not considered as tragic. They were reparable. That's the difference between me and them. I am not..." Dazai trailed of his words with grim finality.

"Dazai-san," You can feel his dark brown eyes look at you, but you didn't turn back. You stared head on to the selves of alcohol in front of you, not daring to even catch a glimpse of him, your eyes filled with fervor, burning with a flame that threatened to burn him alive. He looked at you with awe like a moth drawn to a flame. "Do you think there are things in life that are irreparable? Objects are often broken, but given time and patience, will be repaired. With cracks and scars, yes, but still repaired." You paused, gathering your thoughts, latching unto an idea, desperate to not let it slip your mind. "Humans are even more so. They have vitality and resilience, granting them the power to bulldoze through the toughest times."

He laughed a broken sort of laugh containing disbelief instead of humor. "Don't you think that all fairy tales are tragic? After all, despite the golden castles and gowns, death will soon take them all. Life is a tragedy. It gives then it takes with no remorse. Death is its inevitable ending." His face grew darker and darker as the conversation passes. You took a deep breath and let let it out as if letting go of an extremely heavy burden that nestled itself deep into your bones. "First of all, fairy tales aren't usually tragic, but they are dark and morbid. After all, they carry that truth of reality, designed to teach young children. Secondly, how could you say they are tragic if they had once found happiness in their lives? Happiness, despite it being called a happy ending, is usually found in the journey rather than the ending."

Dazai shook his head, an empty smile never disappearing from his face. "Pretty words for a pretty girl. How fitting. So what do you call a tragedy then, hm?" Pressing a finger to your lips, you stared at one of the yellow lamps that hung from the ceiling of the bar. "Sakunoske Oda..." You muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Dazai's face contorted to that of anguish and despair as if he had just been slapped in the face, but in a blink of an eye it was gone, hidden under the many masks he has perfected his entire lifetime. He held his breath, listening carefully to what you had to say with narrowed eyes. You chose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend the memory of his dearest friend. "I believe that tragedy is an ending and the sadness that followed up to it before. Humans, in all their vitality and resilience, have the potential to find happiness all throughout their lives. And although Sakunoske-san wanted to, he still chose death without truly reaching happiness and contentment. That is what I call a tragedy." You felt like melting under his gaze, but still you held your ground. He fell silent, the atmosphere getting heavier and heavier by the second.

"What's your point? If you want to say something to me, just say it." Dazai snapped at you. He shook with anger, but it was barely noticeable, almost as if you merely imagined it. You steadied your breath, your heart pumping loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. "A while ago you said that you were tragic. I don't believe that's true. You, after all, despite not believing it yourself, still have the potential to find the happiness in your life. Tragedy is sad from start to finish, but your story isn't over yet. You can still shape how you want it to end. You know why?" You turned to him with eyes as clear as day. "Because, even if you don't realize it yourself, you, Dazai Osamu, are still undeniably human." His breath hitched, and although he tried to desperately hide it, he was clearly shaken by your words. It cut him deep in the heart.

Silence fell once again. His gaze never went up to you, but instead stared at the drink on the counter, its ice already halfway melted. "Is that why you've come here? To torture me and then scold me for my patheticness?" He laughed darkly. From your point of view, you can clearly see the hollow shell of a man. You almost felt pity for him, but you dared not to. Pity wasn't what he wants, nor does he need it. What he does need is love and understanding, things that he was depraved of as a child. You weren't sure whether you are able to give him these things, but you're sure as hell going to try. Was it out of pity? No, it was out of empathy, because you too made friends with the very darkness that drowned him now. Sometimes you still felt trapped under it, but it wouldn't hurt to shine a bit of light unto a fellow companion.

"Do you remember what you said to me the second time we met?" You started, your gaze distant as you walked through memory lane. You and Dazai only met three times, all of which took place in this very bar. First was when he went here to meet up with Ango and Sakunoske, but found you instead. The second was the wretched night his best friend died. And the third was now, when he found you sitting at his friend's designated seat, waiting for him. Dazai composed himself, shifting in his seat. "Yes, of course. How could I forget? That was the time I anguished at the fact that you are unable to erase my painful memories due to the nature of my ability, right?"

Forget-Me-Not: The ability to tamper with one's memories. That was your ability and you hated it so. It can tamper with everyone else's memories, except yours and Dazai's. How truly loathsome. It was a curse that took everything from you, as well as the happiness of only one you had ever loved your entire life. "Yes. Do you still believe that forgetting them would make you happy?" He opened his mouth, and closed it again in quiet contemplation. A few seconds had passed before he broke the silence. "Well, it's much better than to be haunted by them constantly, right?" He waved his hand in the air in a disregarding manner. His eyes dropped once again to the glass.

"I met my mother today," You started. Dazai didn't move to look at you, but you knew he was listening, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, not exactly met. I meant, I saw her from afar at the train station. She carried herself pretty well in public, but you can clearly see the dark circles in her eyes. She probably is still unable to sleep due to her misery." From your second meeting, you had opened up to Dazai about your mother. When your drunkard of a father passed away, it took a heavy toll on your poor mother. In his drunkenness, he had abused both you and your mother, but she still cried out to him every night since his passing. That was until the fateful night, the night your ability activated. Your mother shook from the nightmares that haunted her, and you consoled her, but deep inside your heart you wished for something you regret up to this day. You wished your mother would just forget him. A bright light blinded you and the next thing you knew, your mother was screaming "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Yes, she forgot about your father, but along with him, you were forgotten too.

"I had accidentally erased her memories of us that night, of the heartbreak and trauma and pain. So why is she still miserable?" Dazai didn't answer, or rather, he couldn't. He didn't know the answer. "Seeing her today reminded me of you, and a certain fairy tale I had read a long time ago. It's called "The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares." Do you want to hear it?" He was silent, but soon found the courage to look at you, solemnly nodding. You smiled at him. It was genuine this time, filled with warmth. You told the story from memory. "It starts like this: The Boy woke up from another awful nightmare. Bad memories of the past that he wanted to erase from his head were replayed in his dreams every night and haunted him nonstop. The Boy was terrified of falling asleep. So one day, he went to the Witch and begged "Please, get rid of all my bad memories, so that I won't ever have a nightmare again. Then I will do everything you ask." Years went by, and the Boy became an adult. He no longer had nightmares. But for some strange reason, he wasn't happy at all. One night, a blood moon filled the sky and the Witch finally showed up again to take what he has promised in return for granting his wish. And he shouted at her with so much resentment. "All my bad memories are gone, but why... Why can't I become happy?" Then the Witch took his soul as they had promised..."

You paused, grabbing the glass and drinking the alcohol in one gulp. Your throat burned and your tongue cringed at its bitterness, but at that moment you didn't care. You stood up from your stool. "And?" Desperation leaked from his voice. Dazai no longer bothered to hide the anguish from his deep, brown eyes. "What happened after that? Why didn't he become happy?" You turned to him, still smiling the same smile of warmth. "The Witch told him this, "Hurtful, painful memories, memories of deep regrets, memories of hurting others and being hurt, memories of being abandoned. Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become more stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. And only those can attain happiness." So don't forget any of it. Remember it all and overcome it. If you don't overcome it, you'll always be a kid whose soul never grows old... That's how the story ends." Back then, you didn't fully understood the tale. You did now.

You turned your back to him, walking towards the stairs. At the third step, you looked back. "Dazai-san, in every fairy tale bad things happen, yes? But those with happy endings have always defeated every adversary. They didn't run, nor did they hide. They slayed the dragon, defeated the wicked witches and created a happy ending for themselves. I hope, with all of my heart, that you find the courage to create yours..." And with that, you left, your words still hanging on the silence of your departure. Dazai was alone once again, staring at the space you had once stood on proudly. He sat there in silence, replaying your last words over and over again in his head. After a few minutes, he smiled and left the bar, leaving his drink completely forgotten and untouched in the wooden counter.

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A/N: I’ve recently watched the Kdrama, “It’s Okay Not To Be Okay” That’s where I got the inspiration for this one shot. The fairy tale, “The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares” is from there too. Thank you for reading <3

[a-lil-perspective]

Remember Me/Holding On (For Dear Life)

A/N: When I tell you I wept... I wept while creating this chapter. Here’s a bit different than what I normally write. Brother time. Verd’ika/Reader is not featured in this tidbit below. As much as this is her storyline post Order: 66, this is also very much the Bad Batch’s, and I’m alternating. I’m so happy to be bringing Echo into the mix, but this is incredibly sad. This chapter/scene is set less than three months after TCW episode ‘Victory and Death’... I’m sure you can guess where we’re going with that here. [Warnings: Angst, Mourning] @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @kriffingunlucky @karpasia @halzore @mangoberry43 @fxndxmxnxce @everyonehasanindividuality (Tag List is open:))

Chapter 2

Post-Imperial Proclamation

PIP Rotation Number: 79

Destination: Planet of Unknown Origins

Documentation: Scouting for Relics. Will update with any pertinence.

—Signed by Mar-4

~***~

“Well... at least the atmosphere is breathable,” Tech optimistically supplied as a small bank of snow catches in the winds from the Northeast and sprays the engineer in the face.

“Sure, but that wind is something else,” Wrecker mumbled, involuntarily shivering from a particular gust. Even the largest member with the toughest resilience to natural elements is rapidly discovering that his shield of plastoid is no match for the chilled temperatures.

“This planet seems to be nothing but a wasteland... but sometimes, not everything is what it seems,” Hunter wisely mused, keeping a few paces ahead of his crew. While the Sergeant was thankful for the stagnant and largely desolate atmosphere demonstrating hospitality to his heightened senses thus far, Hunter couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something out there was amiss.

“Hey Cross, anything yet?”

“Negative, Sarge,” the sniper briskly informed before quietly retreating back to his task of visual scanning via HUD.

“Echo, are you absolutely certain this is where those supposed Republic relics are? I’m still not picking up anything on my own scanners—”

“We’re definitely in the right place, Tech,” Hunter assured. His face scrunched and brows fused together in fervent concentration. He took a long whiff of the atmosphere, and stray icy specks slithered underneath the Sergeant’s helmet, swirling in his nostrils whenever he inhaled. Hunter’s senses become further rapt the closer the proximity. Therein, a wide range of sensations Hunter could make out in the immediacy: the scent of weathered but mixed alloys, and wet snow blanketing them. Occasional sparks from decrepit tech still spouting some juice. Weak pulses—of engineering components, that is. Definitive proof of remains; hopefully Republic. Hunter takes another measured breath and hones in further.

It was nothing of technological frequencies coursing through his veins this time. Instead: a distinct scent that assaulted the perceptive Sergeant. A scent too distinct and too familiar in a time of waxing chaos.

The smell of death.

“Markers. Markers in the distance. About two klicks out, directly ahead,” Crosshair suddenly informed, a sense of urgency coating his estimations.

“What kind of markers?” Hunter didn’t appreciate the way his tone failed to match his usual semblance of composure.

“Can’t tell. But they seem makeshift. All clustered together,” Crosshair supplies.

Like grave markers.

“That sounds really deliberate,” Wrecker muses aloud. “You think it’s a sign of some kind?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hunter murmured.

~~///\\\///\\\///\\\~~

Only one way to find out.

Echo wishes he never would have.

But it’s better he did.

Closure.

Yet painfully open-ended.

It’s cold.

Echo is hot.

The tears that flow down his face, streaming underneath his helmet, are hot.

Yet Echo is as numb as his cheeks, barely stinging from the cold.

Names to faces. Facing each name. Empty helmets, not one the same. Lifeless eyes through tinted black. Buckets staked, just want them back. Acknowledging then, blue and white. Honorable men, once shining lights.

Brothers.

A graveyard of brothers.

Brothers of the Five-Oh-First.

Oh, Fives.

Jesse stares directly at Echo, devoid of any emotion. The latter falls to his knees in front of, begging for forgiveness, and requesting that Fives’ sacrifice be enough. The raw snow molding beneath his cybernetic knee caps is the only thing that cushions and supports the man; a broken shell of someone he once was. A broken shell; a denotation tragically befitting when situated alongside shrapnel of a Republic Cruiser. Littered about, it menacingly encircles the man. The Cruiser becomes a crude background accessory. Everything is broken, cracked, shattered, lifeless... including the bodies bunkering six feet underneath.

Jesse is not here. Rex and Cody are not here. Fives, Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup—the Dominos are not here. Names flash rapidly behind Echo’s eyes, countless brothers all secured in Death’s cold embrace. He was too late. Too late to save them.

Oh, brother.

I hope I’ll see you in another.

You’ve been gone for more than a few.

But know I will always love you.

“I’m sorry,” Echo weeps in the wind and bows his head. His anguished cries and apologies are unworthy offerings, but it’s all he has to give in the land of the dead.

Endless rows of them...

The minute Echo dwells on just how many corpses he’s in the company of, he near forcefully expels bile.

Echo screws his eyes shut. He wonders what his helmet would look like staked in place of Jesse’s, or any of his brothers’. To see himself staring back instead.

Some vode used to say that the helmets have lived a thousand lives before a Clone has lived even one. It’s certainly survived that many, but there’s more to it. The brothers used to claim that the inanimate helmet of plastoid totally embodies the man underneath, taking a life of it’s own even after the trooper passes. Echo had always remained rather neutral on the matter, at least until Fives became the superstitious type.

Until Echo was directly faced with an army of deceased brethren, graves marked solely by their helmets. Until he could feel their deep contempt with every fleeting moment he gazed further into the visor of each. He wondered if their cold blood boiled with hatred for him. For the way no one saved them, for the way no one redeemed their poor unfortunate souls. Did they cry out? Were they fearful? Or were they impassive because that’s what they were programmed to be.

When they were programmed to execute Order: 66.

So many questions. So much guilt. So much pleading. Pleas that fell on deaf ears, for one can’t raise the dead. Many more tears because of.

Echo can only hope his brothers exited this life swiftly and peacefully. He prays to whatever higher power that they experience freedom in their eternal state of rest. That they’re dancing in the cosmos, traipsing along the stars with a euphoric pep. Maybe they’re singing a favorite. Maybe they’re dreaming. Maybe they’re doing both. “Dream A Little Dream Of Me...” A favorite tune.

Fives especially could sing that one beautifully.

The settled snow eventually shifts and dips slightly as a thin man sinks down beside. Crosshair wordlessly slings his arm around Echo. The sniper averts the imitated eyes of the dead men, but the unique patterns of their helmets have already been etched into memory. Tech gingerly sits off to Echo’s right, studying the emotions of the despondent man—not really studying, but watching for a sign; to ensure that it’s okay if he reaches out to comfortingly rest a hand on Echo’s arm. Wrecker is moving from behind to wrap Echo tight and give him a grounding squeeze. Hunter’s breath hitches because for a millisecond, he imagines seeing his baby brothers’ helmets staring back at him and suddenly Hunter can’t breathe.

It’s profound. On the desolate moon, midday turns to dusk even though the skies remain gray. The five men remain huddled together, each one in the same state of reflectiveness as the next. The frigid elements ease up if only somewhat, respectfully lenient in granting the quintet their quiet memorial.

Brothers. That’s what they are. That’s what they remember. One in the same. Same heart, same blood. There’s no such thing as Kaminoans or Cloners. There’s no such thing as ‘Regs’ or ‘Defects’. There’s only brothers. Each man remembers that day: that they were just pawns, never created to be individuals. But each man learns that day: that to still possess their individuality—their very life—is a luxury. It’s worth fighting for. Freedom is worth fighting for. And each man will fight on behalf of the brothers, of the men, who never became acquainted with the prospect before their last directive condemned and reverted them to nothing more than a number.

Numbers? The only numbers relevant are the ones The Bad Batch will do on the Empire. Over and over, and relentlessly. Blow after blow until all one can hear is the sound of Freedom ringing. And ring loud it will.

The day will come, and soon.

The Empire? They’d better watch their backs.

The Cavalry Has Arrived.

~***~

Post-Imperial Proclamation

PIP Rotation Number: 79

Destination: Planet of Unknown Origins

Documentation: Scouting for Relics. Will update with any pertinence.

—Signed by Mar-4

Update: Today I cling to the remains of fallen brethren. For the sake of anonymity, names will not be disclosed. But my heart sings with all of them. It sings, and it weeps. Some days, it will do both, for heavy is the weight. But the graveyard of men is revered; a symbol of strength that our enemies cannot defeat us all. We will prevail, because we are:

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.

Not gone, merely marching far away.

March easy, ner vode.

—Signed by Mar-5. Echo.

[chocochar]

Found [Dabi x Quirkless!Childhood Friend!Reader]

        "T... Touya...?

        (Eye color) meet a bright cerulean as (F/n), on the ground, stares in shock at the man who saved their life.

        At first they saw the dark scars, staples, his raven black messy hair, and froze in utter fear knowing who it is. They've seen the headlines and the images of the League, so when Dabi of said group suddenly appeared in the alley they were being mugged in and started blowing his flames at their attackers they were reasonably taken aback. The sight of the men running in fear as the fire licked at their backs, Dabi clearly toying with them by putting that fear into them, (F/n) watched them go. But their eyes dart to their 'hero' when his boot shifted in the dirt and they turned stiff looking slowly up to find he's staring. He's staring right at them.

        While his expression is aloof his eyes are both intimidating and... familiar. They know they've seen them before.

        "Touya wait!" A younger (F/n) exclaimed chasing after their friend. The 12 year olds raced to the park nearby, although the red headed child was moving a lot faster than his friend. His limbs and neck wrapped in clean white bandages, recent burns hidden, a look of anger on his face while his friend is only worried and reaching out to grab his arm. "Touya, stop!!"

        They managed to pull him back, stop him before things get out of hand, and he turned around a look the (hair color)ed child has seen on his face before.

        "Why? Why do you always have to stop me?!" He cried, people glancing their way. (F/n) swallowed, taking a step back when he spoke louder and shaking slightly. There's nothing they can do, but they want to help him so much.

        He sniffed before collapsing onto the grass, holding himself while pulling his knees up to his chest to hide his face behind them. "I don't want to go back there anymore, please just let me leave! I-I hate him!!"

        The memories come back one by one, bit by bit, and shakily they stand. Their legs are weak from one of the muggers using his quirk so the couldn't run but they manage to stand at the very least. His bright blue eyes like that of the #1 hero, while still being bright and beautiful they hold a lot of emotions they've seen before but also new ones. 

        They know what he's done thanks to the news. But even then (F/n) has this urge to rush forward and hold onto him just to make sure he's real.

        "If I ever disappear don't come looking for me," His words hit them by surprise. (F/n) faced him in the middle of eating immediately confused and worried.

        "Huh?" Is all they could muster as a response. Touya's face was hard to read, the eyes they've come to get lost in looking a lot more dull these days, almost like he's more a shell than a living, breathing person. With his family life that didn't surprise (F/n), but still what was he talking about?

        The two 15 year olds sat on the rooftop of their school like always during lunch. Normally they'd talk about games or manga they'd read, but that day Touya seemed so different. It scared (F/n) seeing him so devoid of life. His father even then was like a force that kept sucking the life out of their close friend, even if he started to put all his time into Touya's youngest sibling.

        The scars the boy carried would never go away. He'd said more than once he wanted his dad to disappear, but (F/n) always let him vent. His mom was gone leaving him with no one to shield him, so (F/n) tried to be that shield, even more so when realizing they'd grown feelings for the red head.

        "I said if I ever disappear don't come looking for me. I don't know if or when it'll happen, but I don't know what I'd do if you ever found me..."

        It was cryptic, and even though (F/n) tried to believe they were empty words there was that nagging, negative thought telling them he meant every one. Shakily they grabbed his hand and scooted closer, letting him rest his head on their shoulder while they say,"I don't know if I can promise that, I..." They stop before the last two words slip. What would they do if he disappeared...?

                That answer came sooner than expected the very next day when ashes were found in his room after his blue fires roared destroying his room and side of the house, Touya nowhere to be found. Everyone assumed he'd died, he was weak to his own quirk.

        But (F/n) remembered what he said, the last thing he had said to them. They never left their thoughts, even while they cried and tried for to move past his 'death', but they also didn't know what to believe happened to him... 

        "Found you..." The words slip through their lips as a soft smile lifts at the corners of their mouth. "... Touya."

        He had fooled everyone, even the person who knew him best. Even though they're shocked and even a little upset they're also happy because he's alive. Despite his new role... It was by accident, at least on (F/n)'s end, and probably a mistake on Touya's end, but they found him.

        His scars don't bother them, they know how he got them and they want to help him take care of the marks any way they can. His hair isn't the same crimson they'd sometimes brush their fingers through when trying to brush his hair, but the black doesn't look bad either. His eyes are the only thing they recognize, once again getting lost in the cerulean tone.

        Dabi takes in the big mistake he just made and he gets ready to run. (F/n) had no idea but he's always been there checking up on them; he's helped them out more than once when they were walking home late and about to get robbed, stole money and left it on their kitchen table while they were at work when they were stressing about money, even left flowers for their mom when she wound up in the hospital. This should've been like any other time but he screwed up.

        Now they know. He is aware they won't say anything, but seeing him like this isn't what he wanted.

        Knowing he's now a villain isn't what he wanted.

        It's a short lived reunion when he turns on his heels and starts running down the alley, planning to find the muggers and take care of them later. (F/n) holds out their hand and shouts,"W-Wait- Tou-" But he's already gone losing him in the darkness when they shakily trying to chase after him.

        They stand there for a few moments staring into the alley; should they go after him? 

        "If I ever disappear don't come looking for me."

        "I don't know what I'd do..."

        Slowly (F/n) goes back to their bag and gathers their things, those words repeating in their head.

        'For now I won't come looking, Touya, I'll promise that at least,' they think, looking back down the alleyway one last time. Even if he disappeared they can still feel someone watching them from the darkness. With a small smile they shift their bag onto their shoulder.

        "But I don't know how long I can keep that promise," they say before turning and heading home.

(AN: It’s a bit short but I actually had fun writing this, ain't gonna lie. I love writing Touya theory Dabi so much, always open to do more! (〃▽〃) Thanks to the requester on quotev, hope you enjoy!)

[capsironunderoos]

The Awakening

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Request: @hains-j​ “Could you do an alternate version of The Awakening where the reader tries to return him to the light so she reveals she’s pregnant?”

Warnings: Sad Anakin, childbirth, death

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: Thank you for requesting this! I hope I was able to capture what you wanted! But basically, this fic starts out similarly to the original The Awakening, but has a way better ending lollll. Anyways, enjoy!

Masterlist

Your feet couldn’t move down the ramp of your ship fast enough. 

The door hadn’t been granted time to even meet the dirt below before you were bounding down it, your feet hitting the metal harshly. 

“Anakin!” You yelled, your voice cracking as your lungs began to heave. 

“(Y/N)!” 

Your eyes went wide as you stopped at the bottom of the ramp of your ship and looked around, desperately willing Anakin to appear in front of you. 

A quick glance to your left and he was there, across a gorge but quickly making his way to you. 

The Force shifted oddly around him now, almost skittering out of his way as if he were parting crowds to get to you. 

The Force knew this was wrong. 

That he was wrong. 

That you were wrong. 

The realization settled onto your heart and in the corners of your mind but it’s daunting weight would have to be dealt with later. 

Anakin’s foot falls against the harsh red dirt pulled you from your thoughts and you looked up at him as he stopped in front of you. 

One look at each other and the mutual understanding that something wasn’t right was passed between you. 

Your face crumbled, showing an emotion so deep that Anakin felt what was left of his heart constrict and tighten, almost uncomfortably so. 

You rushed into his arms, pulling him against you with such force he staggered for a moment before regaining his footing and wrapping his arms around you. 

Your face was pressed into his chest, the smoke of the burning planet around you invading your senses. He no longer smelled of himself. 

You could hear his heart beating in his chest and it sounded as if someone had pulled out the heart you loved and replaced it with a machine. 

This was not your Anakin. 

“I came as soon as I could.” 

You stated frantically, pushing yourself away from him to hold him at arms length and check him for injuries. 

He just blinked and watched you, a faint smirk on his lips but his eyes, his eyes were not with you. They were seeing things you could not dare imagine. 

“I heard something about you and the younglings and oh,” your chest tightened at the alarm that crossed his features, “Ani please, please my darling tell me it was a lie.” 

The end of your sentence left your lips in a whisper, and Anakin wanted to take it all back right then and there. 

The terror, anger, and fear reflecting themselves in your eyes was too much for him to look at. 

He had never known you to harbor such passionate and consuming emotions. 

He was doing this to you. 

The reckoning. 

Your reckoning. 

He looks away from you to avoid your eyes and your heart begins to beat so fast you fear it’ll explode and kill you right then and there. 

“Anakin look at me.” You whisper and his head turns further away from you.

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to trail down your cheeks, leaving stains as they race against the dirt from the planet that resides in their way. 

He hears you sniffle and his head snaps to face you once more, his brows laced together as his eyes find the tears. 

He knows this is it. 

He’s caused the very thing he became a monster to avoid, happen at his own hands. 

You bring your hand up to his face, your soft fingertips ghosting themselves over the scar there, lightly over his lips, before settling at the base of his neck.

He wants to touch you. 

To reach out and pull you to him and apologize on his knees as he promises to take it all back. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t move, he can’t apologize, he can’t take it back. 

His destiny is of but one path now, and he can no longer sway from it. 

“Please,” you stutter out before stepping closer to him, pushing your chests together and causing him to look down at you, “tell me it’s a lie, Anakin.” 

His name is harsh from your lips. 

It doesn’t hold the same tone it did all those weeks ago when you held each other in the dark of your assigned rooms as you hoped no one would hear. 

It’s cold now. 

Lifeless, a shell parading as a nomer.

He looks at you and feels his anger surge. 

How dare you feel the need to fuss at him. 

He only did this to protect you. 

You made him into this thing, this monster. 

“I will not, because it is not a lie.” 

Your hand drops from his neck and you stumble back from him. 

“Anakin...” A whisper, gone with the wind as quick as it came. A feeling, that he is telling the truth. 

“How?” You yell at him and he does not flinch. 

“You are going to die, (Y/N)!” You stumble again, this time falling to the ground.

“I am the reason you die.” He finishes and his voice is so devoid of emotion that you could believe a droid has been answering for him. 

He does not care. Perhaps he never has. 

“The path that the Force has laid out for me is what is right, Anakin. You can do nothing to change that.” 

He roars and pulls you to your feet. 

“Changing it was the only thing that mattered to me! Do you think I can do this without you? I became this FOR you, because of you. All of this power I have discovered is because of you. You make me stronger.” 

He yells every word, his hands still holding tightly to your shoulders. 

“Anakin!” You yell in his face now, anger at the choices he thinks he can make without concerning you finally surfacing. 

“I’m pregnant!” 

It takes a moment for the words to travel the short distance between the two of you, but when it does, his heart stops. 

Has he heard you right? That you stand before him carrying life that you worked together to create?

He releases you now, backing up and shaking his head. 

“You’re lying.” He mumbles, still backing away in disbelief. 

“Anakin, why would I lie about something as serious as this?” You whisper, eyes trained on him and willing him to look at you. And he does, he looks up at you and your chest constricts. 

Anakin is gone. It is only rage now, unbridled and built around him as if you were staring at a brick wall instead of the man you loved. 

“You’re doing this to try and stop me! To stop what I’ve become!” He is yelling so loud that you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your eyes widen. 

“Anakin,” you start, but he no longer wants to hear it. 

He is done. 

With you, the Jedi, the life he lived before this very moment. 

How dare you threaten him with false pretenses that could trick him into thinking he could ever have a happy life? 

“Liar!” He yells and you back up a step, planting yourself in the dirt beneath you. 

“You know that I’m not, Anakin. Feel it. Reach out and feel, Ani. Please.” 

He will not, he refuses. Because a part of him, a small part, does feel it. 

He knows that you hold his child, that they will smile like you and have his eyes and the combined strength of you both. 

But that is no longer the path the Force has for him. 

His dream is still present in his mind, and if he doesn’t save you now, he will lose you and his child. 

Everything he does, he does for you. 

“Liar!” He yells yet again, but it’s different this time, still angry, but tired, defeated. 

“Anakin,” you whisper and it is so empty that he falters, but for only a moment. 

“You’re breaking my heart.” 

You clutch your chest and watch him as he watches you, neither of you moving. 

“Anakin.” 

His head snaps to your ship and he sees Obi-Wan. 

“She is not lying.” 

Anger, no animosity, blinds him and he ignites his saber. 

“You brought him to me!” 

He roars and you hold your hands out in front of yourself to explain but he silences you, lifting you up as he manipulates the Force to choke you. The power wrapping itself around your neck feels euphoric as it wraps around his fingers. 

“You betrayed me!” He yells over the sound of your choking and the sight of you grasping at the air around your neck. 

He is overcome with a hurt so deep that it splits his soul to the core. 

How had you done this to him? After everything? Maybe you were right. Maybe the Force had planned for you to die at his hand. 

Curse the child you carried, it would not stop him from doing what he needed to, from becoming what he had set out to become all those years ago on Tatooine. 

“Anakin release her!” Obi-Wan calls and begins running to reach you. 

Anakin has never felt it before, but Obi-Wan is afraid. 

Of him. 

It brings a satisfied smirk to his face before he turns his eyes back to you. 

You have gone almost purple, and your struggle has begun to cease. 

“All is as the Force wills it to be.” He whispers but both you and Obi-Wan hear it. 

Obi-Wan yells something at him and with a final squeeze, you drop to the dirt in front of him. His hand returns to his side. 

Obi-Wan has stopped. He looks to Anakin and feels a shift in the Force unlike anything before. He watches as Anakin looks to him from you. 

“My awakening.” 

Anakin hums contently, and Obi-Wan feels his heart break. 

He searches his mind for what he did wrong to create such a situation. 

Anakin glances to you one last time and allows himself a single tear before he steps over your body.

—

Anakin feels the sting of the droids around him closing up the wounds he suffers. 

They pinch and poke and saw and he feels tears fall from his eyes. 

They work to stitch his wounds together, but they can’t fix the gaping hole rooting itself between his ribs. 

As he watches the mask being lowered onto his face he feels a rush of memories that hit him so hard he forgets for a moment where he is. 

He relives each memory. 

A touch of your hand on his shoulder as you pass each other in the hall. 

The look in your eyes when he told you he loved you. His fingertips trailing your skin in moonlight. 

The sound of your voice when you comfort him after a nightmare. 

He thinks they’ll never stop, but when they do, it is because the mask has clicked into place and he is rising, rising, rising. 

This is who he is now. 

He hears Palpatine beside him, talking, but Anakin can only think of one thing.

“What happened to her?” 

Palpatine stops, hands clasped together. 

“I am afraid, that in your anger, you killed her.” 

Anakin screams now, pain ripping through his body. 

His dream, no, his nightmare, has manifested into this. 

He has nothing now but the power that has been granted to him. 

He will grow in it. 

For you, for your child. 

He will become the strongest Sith in the galaxy. 

—-

On the opposite side of the galaxy, you are surrounded by droids of your own, their touches working to sooth pain caused by delivery. 

You cry, but not just because of the physical pain, but because of the emotional pain. 

You cry for your baby, for what is becoming of your Ani somewhere across the galaxy. 

You cry for the life you could have led. 

The nurse droid holds something and the wailing of someone other than you brings you back to reality. 

“A boy,” the droid announces, and the baby’s wiggling body brings a pained smile to your face. 

“Luke.” You whisper, and the droid moves away from you, passing him to another. 

You hear wailing yet again, and surprise strikes you as you strain to sit up. 

“A girl,” the droid announces again and your heart lifts and swells with love.

“Leia,” you smile and the droid moves her away too. 

You lay back down then, and suddenly it all becomes too much. 

How will you raise them without Ani? What will you tell them when they begin to ask questions? What will become of your life after this? 

You begin crying again, and you feel the Force moving strangely around you.

Anakin was right, his dream awakens the shift you feel, and, with a final tear rolling down your cheek, you join the other Jedi lost to the stars. 

[metrcnome]

WARNINGS FOR: language, character death, suicidal behavior, Jazz is a major idiot, ANGST, nobody is happy, bad end. Written to: this song

For @petrexian​ I’m sorry

If you love somebody, set them free

        The hardest choice he’d ever made was staring him right in the face; the warning of what he had to do and the prayer that he would chicken out. He lit up his world in a way he didn’t know it could be set alight anymore; brought a song to his spark that he’d long thought deceased. A rap on the office door and that voice (oh that voice) beckoned him to enter. The weight of his decision like boulders crushing in on him had him in an unusual slouch. There was no coming back from this, but then he wasn’t planning on coming back. The slight twitch of a smile is a blow he’s not prepared to face. It forces him to rock on his pedes, tension lacing his frame so intricately he’s not sure it will ever go away. Prowl is beautiful in the way he’s a force of nature; he crashes against Jazz and pulls him under til he revels in the sensation of drowning. He could bask forever in the others presence and never grow tired of him, but he knows that would be too cruel. What he intends to do is no less cruel, but then he’s only thinking of how he wants to save the love of his life from as much pain as he can. The selfish part of the saboteur begs him to just forget about his whole plan--to lean forward and press his lips to that smile; memorize the feel of everything he’s ever wanted. 

         Instead he sits in a chair, tense and bored looking--enough that the small smile is lost (he’s committed it to memory all the same). “We need ta talk...” He keeps the tremor out of his voice, but barely. He watches the others blank expression and finds he doesn’t want to read into it, so he doesn’t. For once he doesn’t want to think about how Prowl will feel. He already knows. “Look this...” he gestures between them, feeling sick even before the words have left him. “...is nice and all but I think I’ve had enough.” Tension; it’s so thick now you could physically cut it with a knife. He presses on even as his tanks flip about inside him. “You’re too cold, I think we should break up.” He expects screaming, yelling, being thrown into a wall and beaten, maybe even tears. The cold calm; the eerie ‘I see’ do nothing to alleviate the guilt so rampant throughout his core he’s shocked it’s not showing on his face. “I must ask you to leave.” It’s so polite that without another word he gets up and does as asked. He’s barely two steps down the hall when he hears the crash of furniture and data pads scattering around the office. His spark clenches painfully and he almost turns; almost scurries back into that room and begs on his knees for forgiveness. Jazz almost goes back, but he doesn’t. He faces ahead and swallows back the tears. “This is goodbye...” he whispers to no one. 

--

         It is months before he sees his ex again; months before he even glimpses the inside of the autobot base. He’s tired, sore, and bruised--but he’s alive. The first thing that he feels when he runs into Prowl is remorse. He’s cold; reserved in a way that speaks volumes of how he feels. Conversation is kept short and to the point. Jazz crumbles under the guilt of it all. At first he avoids him; attempts to keep their interactions to a minimum and pretend that he’s alright. But he’s not alright, he’s anything but. Music is shockingly devoid of everything he does, leaving an eerie quiet where once others had expected some sort of noise to fill the emptiness. Missions go south more often than not and finally, finally it’s agreed that he’s losing his touch. When he’s broken, beyond hope of carrying on, that’s when they finally talk. He finds himself cornered in an office with an irritated Prowl. Clearly neither of them is interested in prolonging their time together and he caves. “Oh primus...” he whispers, falling to his knees. “Oh primus what have I done...” and it’s enough to stop the lecture; enough to give him the opening he had longed for. 

           “Prowl...” His intake feels as if its full of sandpaper; dry and rasping as he fights the tears. “I didn’t mean it.” But even that sounds false so he tries again. “I was a coward.” It’s the truth. “I was afraid...this deep cover...I was afraid I wouldn’t be comin back. I thought I was gonna die so I...” The words stick and he shakes under the force of the others gaze so he drops it, turns off his visor and allows himself to be blind. “So I broke yer spark. I pushed ya away because I was afraid. I didn’t...didn’t believe in you enough to trust that ya could handle my death if...if we were still together. So I lied...I lied and I told ya that ya were...” Oh but what had he done. Tears begin to drip down his face and he finally lets himself cry. It’s soft, like a childs, as he remains kneeling on the ground in his agony. “I won’t ask ya to forgive me...” because there is no forgiveness from this. He hears the punch before is lands. His visor cracks, splintering from his helm as he’s sent tumbling backward. He accepts it, knows he deserved it. “Right...” he rasps. “Right I won’t bring it up again.” 

             They’re over, he knows. Any hope of redemption was gone the minute he opened his stupid mouth. He knows he’s a fool but oh he just can’t go on. He tries so hard to forget; to let the memory of softness fade into nothing. He can’t let go. Jazz was prepared for many things, but he was not prepared to live a life without Prowl. He threw himself into his work as if it could ease the pain he had brought upon himself; the agony that tore at his sanity. To have been so close and yet lose it all in a single moment haunted him. He barely slept, barely ate, and took risks that he really shouldn’t. The persona of merriment vanished completely and he became as cold to the rest as Prowl. He pushed away every friend he ever had. What use were friends to a dead mech walking? And oh how he craved the sweet relief of death. He had known tenderness and love and now found that he could not live without it. If he could not have Prowl then he could not live. Dramatic and foolhardy, but a thought he could not rid himself of. He haunted the base like a ghost; a shell of himself. 

              If Prowl knew or cared, he did not show it. In fact, the saboteur was certain he’d decided not to care. He had hurt him, quite irredeemably so, and it made sense he’d lost any place in the others spark. That did not mean Jazz did not care. He cared so deeply that when no one was looking he did quiet things to ease the strain of the others work. He cleaned his office, touched up his desk, even left him cubes of energon. He knew not how the gifts were received, but then he wasn’t doing it to win favor. He simply cared so deeply and so wholly for the other it just seemed more illogical to not help. So he slunk about the shadows like a thief and paid no heed to whether he was noticed or not. His spark, for better or for worse, belonged solely to Prowl. 

--

          Routine when broken when the decepticons attacked. It was a shock to them all and had their ranks hopelessly scattered. In his desperation the silver mech only had one goal in mind: find Prowl. Nothing mattered to him but the black and white mech who, in spite of everything, meant the world to him. Without him the was no music, no light, no anything. He found him, back turned to the enemy and grappling with a decepticon over his blaster. It didn’t take but a second for his faster frame to go shooting across the field, a desperate cry on his lips as he took the blow meant for Prowl. It ripped at his spark, tearing at the delicate edges of the chamber and dooming him. In a final act of defiance he threw one of his daggers into the enemy that had tried to murder the love of his life. With the danger gone he crumpled into waiting arms. 

            He was cradled tenderly towards a warmth he knew all too well. Regret pulsed up inside him that he’d caused this gorgeous face to pinch into something pained once more. He reaches up, smearing energon across the others cheek. “I’m sorry Prowl...” He didn’t mean dying, nor saving the others life. Oh no--he would never regret anything more than foolishly pushing away the best thing to ever happen to him. “I love you...” A broken whisper meant only for him. Darkness bubbled around him and pain seared through his censors. In a desperate moment he arched up, lips pressing to Prowls as he tried to whisper the words back. Nothing ever came, he slumped back in the embrace and his spark went out. 

                   Jazz died in Prowls arms, a smile on his face.

[kayejwrotes]

Castor and Pollux were lovers

It feels like ages since I’ve posted anything, but I couldn’t just let Iwaizumi’s birthday unnoticed, so here you have my sort of happy birthday fic with some Gypsy Au because why not.

Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Follow on AO3

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

It’s a starry night. Above their heads the sky is clear. There are no city sounds around. The humid air rising coolly from the ground caresses pleasantly his calves. It’s nice out there, tonight. The light patched vest on his bare chest lets every faint blow of wind touch his skin, but this is not the only nice thing tonight. The caravan has stopped just before sunset after a day of travel along desert roads, all the carts disposed in a semicircle in that clearing just a few kilometres out of the closest town. A bonfire was lightened just as the last barb of light left place for the night, and people had started playing music, sharing food, dancing around it.

Hajime looks up at the sky, filling his eyes with the shiny paths between stars. The Strawberry Moon has come in time like every year, and now Gemini is beaming high - Castor and Pollux bright next to each other. Hajime was born this night, many years ago. His mama had always told him it was a night just like this, Gemini shining high above her while she gave birth to him. Her best friend had kept her hand in her own and the baby in her belly had kicked just as Hajime wailed his first cry full of life. They had always told him that it had been written that night, under Castor and Pollux light, their fate had been sealed in the path of the stars above them. Now, years apart from that memory, years apart from that caravan that had been his family for so long, instants apart from this new caravan he now calls his home, Hajime still gazes up to the stars looking for paths leading to new answers, new futures. It’s his task, his destiny, to look up at the stars and unwrap the mysterious futures that people ask him to disclose. He doesn’t mind doing it, even when the events waiting ahead are full of pain. It’s just life at its purest form: messy, incomprehensible, utterly beautiful with all its flaws. He has only a few rules, but the most important one it’s probably that he can’t keep anything for himself. Be it knowledge or a secret, when questioned he must answer. He isn’t allowed to be selfish. It’s not a tragedy, he doesn’t really pay attention to this, even today that it’s his birthday. These guys, this new caravan has become his home. The least he could do is share the party with them, no presents allowed or needed. The stars had bestowed upon him a great gift already, what else does he need?

Gemini is still shining above his head as always, but the wonder of the stars it’s forgotten for a moment, shadowed by the blinding beauty of Tooru’s skin, every dip, every valley of his body highlighted by the flames of the bonfire while he dances with Sugawara and Akaashi around it. They are laughing, pearly teeth glowing in the darkness that skirts the clearing just where the light of the bonfire can’t reach. Their eyes are crinkling with joy, happiness on their faces for the night of celebration extending before their naked feet. They are a sight for everyone who looks at them, but Hajime has eyes only for Tooru. Tooru’s wearing that elegant silk vest of his that shimmers with every movement on his chest – shirts of any sort were too much for the warm weather of June -, and the little bells of the colourful scarves dangling from his hips jingle with every step, twist or jump, detaching from the loose pants on his legs. The clear crystal - precariously fastened on the silver chain hanging low on his abdomen- reflects every spec of light it catches, be it from the fire or the stars. Exactly like the earring hanging from his lobe, but the dark obsidian crystal there just captures light, keeping it inside itself. It’s the same earring Hajime has on his own lobe, a gift to Tooru given a while ago.

Tooru is such a work of beauty he is often caught staring at him with wonder in his eyes. Every expression Tooru makes, every movement, every sound leaves him breathless, and tonight there’s an energy in the air that feels like the stars are blessing all of them with their light.

Their lives had been intertwined from the very beginning. They had been there from the moment of each other first breath, and never once they have left each other’s side.

Once, when he was younger, he had made his mama tell the both of them the story of Castor and Pollux, the twin stars that gave life for each other. She had told them the story of two brothers, even if some said two lovers, that the gods decided to divide with death, for their love shined too bright and even the night sky was put to shame by them. They had been given the right to choose which one would live in the realm of death, and which one in the realm of life, but neither wanted to deny the other from the beauty of life. They were both ready to give up their life for the other, to let their loved one to enjoy life, even without themselves.

Castor and Pollux couldn’t be selfish at all with their decision, his mama had said, but one of them, after lots of pondering, with a heavy heart had sneaked silently to the Hall of the gods while the other was sleeping. She couldn’t really remember if it was Castor or Pollux, but lets just say it was Castor, this time.

Castor loved his brother - his lover - dearly and couldn’t bear the idea to deprive Pollux of the joy of life. Then he had taken upon himself the decision to live in the realm of death for the sake of his loved one. He had presented his idea to the gods, who were just about to accept his decision, when Pollux had bursted without breath through the Hall and screamed to stop whatever was happening. He wouldn’t let Castor sacrifice his happiness for him, but why not something else instead? Pollux then made a new proposal to the gods: if their love was enough to light up the sky, why not put them together as a constellation? The gods seemed pleased with the predicament, posing just one rule: they wouldn’t be near each other or their light would probably shadow the moon itself.

Castor and Pollux accepted the compromise and thus the constellation of Gemini was born, Castor and Pollux facing each other without touching, but able to see themselves and convey their love through their eyes, clearing dark paths for everyone under their protection.

Tooru had been asleep already when Hajime’s mom had ended her story, but the message had been clear to him: Castor and Pollux had bestowed a great gift upon him, he had to follow their example and devoid his life from any selfishness just like them. At that time, the only thing that had worried him was if Tooru would be allowed to be his best friend or if it would have been considered selfish even that. He asked himself the same thing from time to time, even after the word “best friend” had shifted to “lover”.

There’s a sudden pull of strings by Hanamaki’s fingers on his guitar, and the lighthearted energy surrounding the bonfire changes again, distracting Hajime from his thoughts and making him focus his attention again upon the present.

Matsukawa starts tapping rhythmically with the palms of his hands on the old drum, and a high crying note leaves Yahaba’s fiddle, swiftly followed by another and another in a sort of nostalgic and sensual melody. Hajime attention has shifted completely from the stars to the bright light in Tooru’s eyes. He is looking right at him - Tooru always knows how to find his eyes, capturing them with ease - tapping his feet in tune with the music, clapping his hands, twirling every now and then, lights and shadows hugging his body.

There isn’t any explicit invite, it isn’t necessary. Tooru’s presence is the only call Hajime needs. He walks the few steps separating them with tension running under his skin, as if Tooru with just a look has pulled all the strings securing Hajime to him. There’s hidden urgency in his movements now, and just when he is about to circle Tooru’s waist with his arms, the other turns and dips, eyes full with mirth, leaving him with the end of a teal scarf in his hand, the other end of it held tightly in his grasp.

It’s a game of push and pull now, both ends of the scarf binding them together. The area surrounding the bonfire is empty, just the two of them dancing under the warm light. Their feet move closer, they turn around, eyes caressing each other faces, eyes, lips. It’s raw, pure love, unveiled passion clear in their eyes, explicit in the way their bodies tense toward each other without touching. Tooru has a silent smile full of light on his lips. Hajime loves that carefree smile. It’s something reserved only to him, and it’s fitting Tooru decided to give one to him on his birthday night. But Hajime also loves the burning passion clear in his lover’s eyes, always warm, but now almost scorching from the intensity they are conveying.

They give nor ask for permission. It’s an order, a demand Hajime feels compelled to fulfill. And so he does, pulling the scarf toward himself with just enough strength to have Tooru twirls in his arms, chest heaving against his own, breath intertwining. Hajime tightens his arms around Tooru’s waist while he feels the other’s arms surround his neck, the silky fabric of the scarf brushing his back.

His nose is buried in his lover’s curls, the smell of lavender and honey soothing and intoxicating at the same time, and Hajime makes sure to inhale it deeply, to have it sink in his lungs for a while. A feather-light touch of lips against the shell of his ear it’s enough to have him shudder slightly and he can feel Tooru trembling with silent laughter just before whispering: «I thought you wouldn’t come dancing with me» «As if I could refuse you anything» is Hajime rumbling reply, more of a low murmur against Tooru’s neck than a real phrase. «You deny me things sometimes» It’s an affectionate purr, but he can’t really distinguish it from the feeling of Tooru nibbling at his unpierced lobe. «Like you never once read me my future. It feels so frustrating Hajime…!» and there’s definitely a gentle bite here, on the very end of his earlobe, that makes him tighten his hands on Tooru’s hips «It feels like everyone knows a secrete part of you and I don’t.»

Hajime has to forcibly refrain to lick Tooru’s neck, and instead contents himself with a lingering kiss on the soft skin, suddenly aware that people are filling again the area around the bonfire. Not that any of this would be seen as improper, but he doesn’t really like the idea of having Tooru grinning triumphantly at everyone while he hoists him on his shoulder and takes him to a more private area. Like the inside of their cart: the floor littered with cushions would be perfect.

«Why do you want to know it so much?» he asks instead, thumb brushing lightly Tooru’s skin under the vest, he can feel it shivering slightly were his fingers touch. It’s not like Hajime could really deny him of knowing it if Tooru would ask him directly, but since he never once formulated his question clearly he has always avoided saying anything about it. It’s an old argument between them. It has always seemed like Tooru wanted to know, but wasn’t really willing to force Hajime to do it.

However, when confronted with Hajime direct words, he gets an incomprehensible mumble from his lover, but no real answer. Now they are slowly swaying again. The music has taken a wildish rhythm and Mattsun looks like he’s having the time of his life in a sort of drum battle against Kuroo and Bokuto, sitting in front of him with their drums, but Tooru and Hajime are swinging at their own pace, turning slowly from time to time. They aren’t following any music in particular, but if he had to answer about the rhythm he would probably say something like their breaths, their heartbeats.

Hajime smirks when Tooru doesn’t say anything and for once decides to tease him a bit. «I don’t think I heard you, my love» they don’t really use pet names or that sort of things between them, but it’s nice from time to time to see that embarrassed and flustered look on him. «What do you want to be in your future?» and now Tooru is blushing furiously, hiding his face against Hajime neck, forgoing the pretence he isn’t at all affected by whatever Hajime is implying, because that amused grin on Hajime’s lips is enough to tell him he knows what’s going through his mind.

«Would you like to know everything that will happen to you in the next ten years? The stars will probably tell us, you know » Hajime teases, enjoying it, but he is also blushing a little while he slowly leads them away from the bonfire toward the scarcely light area between the carts.

« However, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to know what comes next Tooru…» Hajime says, and every trace of fun has left his voice. Tooru jerks his head to look at him suddenly, a preoccupied look in his eyes that turns confused when confronted with Hajime’s red cheeks.

«I like surprises when it comes to us, I like not knowing where the fates will lead us» he murmurs with steady eyes fixed on Tooru «I want to enjoy fully whatever the life will throw at us and experience everything with you. Is it okay for me to not tell, to not survey the stars for us? » It’s hard to actually get these words out, because to him it feels like more than a question, but Hajime goes on. Tonight is the perfect night for this. Castor and Pollux are shining above them. The twins stars that protect each other will surely protect his words too.

«I want to see our life with you, Tooru. I want to live it with you. I don’t want to have the feeling it’s just something we couldn’t entirely avoid because the fates decided it for us.» Tooru is silent while he watches Hajime, but his damp eyes talk for him, full with every emotion he can associate to his wonderful lover. «You are my choice, Tooru. No one choose you for me. I decided I wanted you from the moment I saw you the first time. You are the only free choice I decide to take in this life. Will it be okay for me to be selfish just for once?» and maybe Hajime’s eyes are wet too now, for the sky has never been so blurry to him, but his only focus is Tooru – beautiful Tooru with his raw energy, full of life and joyful fierceness –. Nothing really matters now, when he sees Tooru frantically nod his head up and down, uncapable of saying anything more. For once, he is the speechless one between them.

Tooru has tears streaming down his cheeks now, face scrunched up and lower lip bitten to keep the sobs in, but Hajime wants everything he has to give him, so he takes those sobs too, crushing their lips together. It’s messy, wet, and yet they still manage to find each other, to grip cheeks, necks, shoulders tightly. Hajime drinks every sobs that crashes against his lips, he swallows them whole to leave Tooru with only the burning sensation of their kisses. There’s a string of «yes yes yes» full of love and relief coming from Tooru, in between sobs and kisses. Hajime takes them too. Tooru gasps against his lips, feeling Hajime’s hands clutching lovingly at his neck before going down on the skin of his naked chest. All at once, the cool air of midnight it’s not enough for the both of them, and they start searching wildly for air on the other lips, their hands traveling over their bodies to map them just like the stars and constellations above their heads. It seems like they’re dancing again, pushing an pulling one another to their cart, leaving trails of fabric in their along their path. After that it’s just a chaos of skin, of lips, of hands, and every appearance of thought is forgotten in favour of raw lust and love.

<

p>Hajime doesn’t know how they ended up like this: they are sprawled on the floor of their cart, silky cushions, blankets and duvets under them without a real purpose or logic. Tooru is sleeping over him, arms clutching at his chest and legs sneakily entwined with his, breathing lightly under his chin. Hajime is brushing his finger quietly against Tooru’s spine with feather-light touch and around them the faint music from the bonfire has ended hours ago, but the sky is still illuminated by the stars. He can see Castor and Pollux from the trapdoor on the ceiling. The stars twinkle brightly in the night sky, and for once they are not pointing paths, futures or fates. They just seem to smile upon them, but Hajime can’t see them anymore: his eyes are fixated upon Tooru, his only choice in life.

[the--kaleidoscope]

The Foreign Legion Sallies Forth

Chapter 1: The gathering storm

"From the Rostran shores, to the Ice caps of Visrain.

From the heights of the giants teeth, to the eternal plains!

No matter the obstacle, no matter the terrain!

All shall be conquered in our nation's glorious name!"

The song rang out loud and clear over the planes of the southern plains of Brineviron. Far to the left of the column of marching troops forested hills stretched away as far as the eye could see. Surrounding them and going far off to the right, grassy farmlands teemed with masses of crops, though the majority seemed to be wheat. While there was no doubt that the crop in mention was wheat, it was taller and more luscious than anything the soldiers had seen in their own lands.

The soldiers in total made up a force numbering around twenty three thousand strong. Ten thousand pikemen, ten thousand musket-men and three thousand heavy cavalry known as dragoons. They matched in columns twenty wide, alternating between muskets and pikes with the cavalry stationed at the back.

At the head of the final cavalry regiment Colonel Luther sat on his armoured steed contemplating on the mission that had been given to their force. Their task was to aid an insurrection to weaken this nation and to prove their own strength in combat.  Personally he believed wholeheartedly in their mission.  Theirs was a young nation and needed to prove its worth. Besides he thought to himself, the nation they were to be fighting with were harbouring their mortal enemies.

Luther's thoughts were shared by many among the small army. Most were new generation warriors which had been the youth during the Twenty Years War. As such,they had not seen much combat, but were all dedicated to the cause of furthering their nation's position. All of them had been briefed on it before their departure and the feeling was still riding high three months later. Thinking on it Luther reflected that it currently was at its highest now they were in opposition territory.

"Are you eyes enjoying taking in the scenery Luther?"

The question came out of the blue surprising Luther, looking around he quickly identified the speaker. It was a man by the name of Terrel. He was the brigadier in charge of the cavalry divisions and Luther's direct superior. Immediately his manner became more differential.

He nodded. "Sir yes sir! Though if I may be as pertinent to add, our homeland is more beautiful" Luther tried answering as honestly and as formally as he could. His sense of preserving rank was second to none

Terrel looked around thoughtfully and nodded. "No… you have a point there, the open rolling plains do have a beauty that none can surpass." All the the while he was suppressing a smile brought on by talking to Luther, the man’s complete deference was humorous to him. For most of his memory the upper ranks had always talked so casually to each other.  

Luther waited a few seconds to see if Terrel was going to add anything else but, when he didn't he decided to add a few more points. Through a great piece of mental effort to force himself to speak without being directed a question.  "Though, forgive me speaking without permission, does not everything here, feel fake? It is too nice and forgive me for my rudeness, but they seem rather selfish and rather indecent people. They grow so much and never give any to others.”

Terrel could suppress a chuckle this time, the fact that Luther thought he was being rude with language like that was extremely funny to him. "Your knack of finding faults in all things of beauty continues to make me laugh. You always manage to find a way."

He looked around then focused on Luther again, almost like a collector examines a rare specimen. Terrel as a rule was always trying to improve and straighten out the faults of those who fought under him. With Luther it was his complete over-reliance on superiors to tell him what to do.  "Luther, when our mission is completed …. I'll be recommending you for promotion if you can prove you have the ability to lead your men."

Luther gasped, taking in what Terrel had said for a few seconds. Terrel, one of the hero's of the twenty years war had said he was thinking on recommending him. Him! For promotion. Then a dark thought filled with little niggling worries entered into the back of his brain, asking the question: was he really cut out for this? Before giving himself the chance to think anymore he replies. “Sir, I would love to take you up on this proposition. I hope I can do the best to lead my troops.

A nod was the initial reply. "Good, …. I'll be looking forward to you excelling. It will do you good getting out of that shell of yours." Terrel replied before riding off further up the line to talk to another of the Cavalry Colonels.

Thus Luther was left riding there on his horse, filled with ever growing doubts about his choice. For he was someone to whom following was so much easier than leading. He enjoyed the ability of slight autonomy, yet with the security of people much wiser in strategy above him. That was what truly made him happy. He, while he wouldn’t admit it, was scared of being the one to fully decide the fate of his men. The current arrangement was more satisfying to him and he dreaded the time to come where he no longer held that security

Slowly he turned to face his division and instantly his manner changed, any look of hesitation or doubt was gone, replaced only by confidence. “Men!” He announced to them. “Our good general has seen fit to look at me for the chance of promotion. How about it? Shall we show how worthy we are for this chance?”

The soldiers in the division grinned, this was their chance to better themselves. Being the personal force of a cavalry commander held many benefits and chances for even greater glory and honour. So with a rousing shout the force raised their swords to the sky and yelled. “Yes sir!”

Their words stung for Luther, who knew this was the cry of those who trusted their leader completely. He felt his worries and insecurities were eventually going to lead his troops into a situation where they would die and he would be at fault

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

As the army marched forwards the fields of wheat around them ended and they marched into grassland, their path swinging off to the east. A sign that they were nearing their destination. Soon in a day or two they should be able to see it, a soldier considered while marching along inside his battalion. For him it would be his first real combat experience and his first chance to prove his worth to the homeland.

As a pikeman and therefore a frontliner, he hoped that this would give himself ample chance to gain fame on the battlefield and as a result get promoted. The man's name was Karl and his dream was to become a strategist like his hero, Khaleen ex Adel. She had been one of the upper class before the Twenty Years war, but once it started she proved to be the new Emperor’s greatest strategist.

He did hold doubt, however over his chances of getting the necessary chances of leaderships or for that matter survival. He knew the survival chance of a pikeman in battle was only around forty percent, being a front liner the opportunities for death were many. As he marched, he wondered how Khaleen would have dealt with the situation, how he could follow most in her footsteps.

Behind him he could hear the voices of some of the other soldiers whispering about him. Somehow they had found out and now he had to endure the shame of the knowledge being constantly brought into the light. The general feeling, was that his continued desire to be the same as Khaleen was foolish, he was a simple pikeman and would stay that way. At least that’s how he envisioned the way they felt.   

He spun round to face the whisperers, determined to say something that would put them in their place. As he did one thought prevailed in his mind, How would Khaleen respond to this? What exactly would she say to put those who doubted her in similar situations?

Then with a smile he remembered one, one he felt would easily prove that his choice was one which shouldn’t be doubted, “One's worth…” he began.

“Spare us the quote buddy,” One of the soldiers who had been marching behind him interrupted, the voice while gruff, held no hint of hostility and the face from which it had uttered was kindly.

Karl frowned at the man, “I’m just trying to prove why I can be a strategist! I don’t have to keep listening to why I can’t!”

The man waved one hand as if to brush that notion away. “It’s not that we think you can’t be a strategist, you could be. It’s that you want to be Khaleen. You're not trying to be your own person and down that path is one of frustration of never being able to live up to the legend. It’s better to be good version of yourself than a poor imitation of a legend.”

Karl scowled and looked down at his feet, focusing on their steady beat. He let out a long and deep sigh before looking up again, “If I don’t follow what she does, what can I do?”

“Try carving your own path, not the shadow of someone else's?”

The voice dug into Karl, for he knew there was truth in what it said. Yet he couldn’t accept it, she was his hero and he had to follow in her legacy. “Without her, I have nothing. All I know about strategy is what she has shown.”

He felt a hand be placed gently on his shoulder, “Karl, you have all you need then, take all that you know and make it your own. Give it your own spin.”  

Karl turned his face away, staring straight ahead. Deciding that shutting himself off, rather than continuing the conversation any further was the happiest option for him.

Slowly the force began to leave the crop fields and begin to move into what should have been animal grazing fields. Yet nothing stood there, the fields were empty, completely devoid of any life. Blackened stumps of plants and trees marred what must have once been a beautiful landscape. Little pockmarks on an otherwise unblemished skin.

Directly in the centre of the field stood a tower, or what remained of it. For it was nothing more than a circular collection of stones, surrounded by charred and blackened rocks of what would have been the upper walls.

How disturbed the soldiers were, couldn’t be seen for they continued marching along as if nothing had happened at all. Some gave quick and tentative glances at the remains of the monolithic structure, but the discipline which had been almost been bred into them kept them from exploring the structure further.

For a while the only noise was the steady crunch of boots on the hard gravel road. Thud, thud thud, along the ground they went. The captains quiety muttered to each other, while the battalion leaders tramped at the head of their columns. Everyone was the same soldier, but there was now an air of expectation and anticipation. This was to be their first true war and they could all finally prove themselves to their nation.

While most of the soldiers looked forward to the future, at the head of a column of muskets Lieutenant Colonel Nadine reflected on the battles of the past. She was a first generation soldier and she and her entire battalion had fought through the end of the Twenty Years War. As she though on those days her mind wandered to how different the Foreign Legion was to anything she was used to. Being a "non official unit" supposedly tied to no nation it allowed them to charge into others nations without any official war being declared. Especially if they went in to support a side in a civil war.

For a few seconds she pondered on the honour of this tactic. Then she chastised herself, it was not her place, being a soldier of the ranks to question what the emperor wished. No matter how close to him she was, that was after all the promise they had made. Instead she refocused her mind on the mission.

Nadine from her horse looked behind her to survey her musketeers, all of them had a gleam in their eyes than few of the other soldiers in the army held. Their banners were slightly more worn than the others, yet the golden dragon emblazoned in the centre was just as bright as any other flag.

She turned back to stare forwards, pulling out a pocket watch which hung on a chain from her belt.. She looked over it fondly for a second before tucking it back into her trousers.

A soldier rode up to her from behind, saluted smartly to her before delivering a message. “Ma’mn, I was told to deliver this message from Brigadier Luther, he requests that he be able to speak to you.”

Her sudden and raucious laughter seemed to surprise the young soldier. She put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, tell that old fool he can join me anytime.”

Her lack of formality towards the second in command seemed to shock the man even more. After a few more seconds of nervous waiting he wheeled his horse round and galloped off in the direction he had come.

As she waited for Luther to arrive, she wondered what her friend could want to talk to her about. For it was quite unusual for him to chat to friends during the middle of marching, normally he would be inspiring his subordinates to greater feats.

Luther slowly trotted up to her on his horse, “A fine day, is it not?”

Nadine eyed him up, “Luther, cut the crap. What’s bothering you?”

“Heh …. never could get anything past you could I?”

She shook her head, “No you couldn’t, less so when Kahleen’s around, but I’m still good enough to see when something's bothering you. now speak up. What’s the matter? You don’t usually bother old friends like me.”

He sighed before motioning her to move out of the marching column, which she did with a motion to her subordinates to keep the men marching. Once done she turned to him and looked him directly in the eyes, “Alright, this must be quite serious for you to chat to me like this.”

He hesitated so she pressed him for information. “spit it out you old man, come on, don’t keep me in suspense forever. Or are you so senile you have forgotten already?”  

He sighed, eyeing the ground “I am …. putting you in the rearguard.”

“What?” The outrage in her voice was apparent.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I have no choice. Look…” He paused to take a need breath. “I very much doubt I will be coming back alive, a scout earlier returned and well… the rebel force we came to aid.” He turned his face away. “It’s been destroyed.”

Nadine hesitated before sinking down in her seat. “We failed? The seven be damned! Wait, why won’t you be coming back alive? Frederik won’t punish you for this, there was nothing you could do!”

Terrel smiled slowly. “It’s not his wrath I am worried about. Our forces are now outnumbered and facing an enemy with wide access to cores. We may have the bravest soldiers around, but …. in the face of their power I’m worried it won’t be worth much.”

She hesitated before looking into his eyes, “Then put me with you, give me the honour of dying by your side!”

He shook his head, “I …. I can’t do that. I need you to survive, for both of us.”

An angry flush spread over her features, “Why are you being so selfish? We’ve fought our entire lives for Drakon and never once have we been unwilling to sacrifice ourselves. Why now are you trying to take that honour from me?” She turned her head away again, “Besides, life wouldn’t ever be the same without you.”

He chuckled dryly, though not even a drop or the tiniest of hints of humour were able to permeate into that laugh. “I can’t let you have the honour of falling here, because I want you to lead those who survive back to Drakon. It’s pointless to throw the entire force in a suicide charge, besides …. someone needs to relay the story of my last charge to the Emperor. I can’t have him thinking I died cowardly.”

Nadine looked at him, a look of thunder in her eyes. A look which after a few moments softened. “You don’t have to worry about that, Frederick won’t see you that way. He has fought alongside us now for nearly fifty years and Luther, you can stop calling him the emperor now. We have earnt the right to call him by his name.”

Luther nodded slowly, “Nadine, I’ll be going ahead to the crimson halls before you, but don’t be too hasty to join me. You need to make sure any survivors get back. ”

“And I will look forward to the time when I can join you.” This being said, they turned back to rejoin the rest of the column. They didn’t need to say anything else to the other, since they already knew anything the other was going to say.