#rendezvous with destiny verse

[heyitssmiller]

As Good a Start as Any

Wrote another part of Rendezvous with Destiny if y’all wanna check it out!! Characters of course belong to @lumosinlove and thank you to Eve and Lauren for being my beta readers!!!

ao3 link

Finn was fine.

Really.

It felt like it had been decades ago, but Finn had once written a letter, his shaking hand transcribing thoughts into trembling lines of ink, promising to take Leo dancing when (if) he made it to New York. Tonight he was keeping that promise. And now, against all odds, Logan was there with them, too - a wonderful, thrilling breath of fresh air. Getting to really know him outside of dire circumstances and too brief interactions, while new and exciting, was also gentle and familiar - like he was someone they’d always known, always had a place for without ever recognizing it. It was smelling an old but well-loved recipe in the oven, it was picking up a book he’d read years and years ago and diving right back into the story. It was homecoming.

Logan was walking between Leo and Finn, eyes bright as Leo told the story of Finn teaching him how to dance and, naturally, over-embellishing the fuck out of it.

“Then he swoops in, my knight in shining armor-”

Finn sighed and bit back a smile. “Leo-”

“And he sweeps me off my feet - not literally, I weigh too much, but - you know,” he waved his hand dramatically, “Metaphorically.”

Logan smiled and, man, Finn didn't think he was being overdramatic when he said he’d do anything to see that smile.

“Leo here’s a klutz. I couldn’t have swept him off his feet even if I tried,” Finn teased, reaching over to playfully shove him. Leo shot him a highly-offended glare.

“For the record, I was tripping all over myself because this very handsome, sweet, funny soldier had his hands all over me and I had no clue what to do with myself,” Leo said with a shrug, completely candid and causing Finn to smile over at him warmly.

“Aww, you sap.”

Leo hummed in agreement. “One look at those big, brown eyes and I was done for.” He looked to Logan, then, and his smile widened. “And then you come along…”

“With your accent,” Finn butted in. Logan ducked his head, a little bashfully.

“And your smile,” Leo continued.

“And your big… heart.”

Leo laughed gleefully and ducked down to kiss Logan on the cheek. “I didn’t know you could blush like that.”

Finn bit back a smug smile. “Oh, I did,” he said, and relished the look on Leo’s face. Priceless. “I think you were at the grocer’s. I would say sorry, but I’m really not.”

He could all but see the gears in Leo’s head start to turn.

Logan watched him, too, clearly not opposed to his train of thought. “Take me dancing first, then you can make me turn red later.”

“Promise?” Leo asked, laughing when Logan shoved his face away and kept walking. He gave Finn a look, one that said I really love him.

Finn gave him one back that said, me too.

They ducked into the club, immediately getting blasted by the seventeen-piece band on stage. It was crowded, people crammed together at the edges of the dance floor and plenty more dancing away in a blur of limbs and flying hair. The bar off to the left was just as busy, with glasses sliding across the wet, sticky countertop and patrons vying for the bartenders’ attention. It was havoc, and Finn wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not.

“Come on!” Leo shouted to be heard, grabbing Logan by the hand and dragging him off to the dancefloor. Finn lingered, wanting to get used to their environment before getting out there, but he watched as Leo swung Logan into a surprisingly good Lindy Hop. Apparently he’d been telling the truth about Finn making him flustered all those years ago in the barracks.

Finn was smug about it, sue him.

The band picked up the pace, and the dancers followed suit. It was loud. It was crowded. It was chaos. Finn could hear the shouts of couples spinning each other out on the dance floor, the rhythmic boom of the bass drum, mortars shrieking overhead, the canvas of their glider ripping while the metal hull groaned, the smiles around him morphing into grimaces and screams, reaching for Leo, always reaching for Leo, but he was never close enough, watching Logan climb into the back of a truck and disappear -

A hand grabbed his. “Finn. Hey-”

Leo. He grabbed that hand like a lifeline, like he hadn’t been able to in the back of that glider, and held on for dear life.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe-”

Finn sucked in a stuttering, noisy breath and his fingers clumsily moved up to the pulsepoint in Leo’s wrist, letting muscle memory take over. The thrum of his heartbeat was nothing compared to the boom of the bass drum, though, so he pressed down harder, wanting- needing it to be stronger, louder.

“Outside,” another voice said - Logan. Finn twisted his head to look for him, then stayed locked onto green, green eyes as he was led to the back alley. It didn’t smell great, it was still stuffy and confining, but as the door to the club closed the sounds from inside got muffled and Finn could focus on what he wanted to focus on: a strong, steady pulse, soothing jade eyes, three sets of lungs breathing in and out, in and out. He didn’t really want to be touched, and they knew that, but he didn’t want to be alone either. So they stayed just close enough and let Finn dictate what he needed. He followed their breathing and repeated their mantra in his head, three times, once for each of them:

We’re ok. We’re ok. We’re ok.

“Sorry,” Finn croaked out when he was able to, pulling Logan close and then sandwiching him between Leo and himself. “We didn’t even get to finish the first song.”

Leo let out a quiet hum of dissent and pushed a stray piece of hair back out of Finn’s face, gentle and kind - so, so unlike the men they’d had to become. Finn soaked it in, let the stark sweetness in that simple motion ground him more than anything. “None of that, now. We can take it slow, we’ve got time.”

“It was a bit loud,” Logan agreed, voice muffled by the slightly starched fabric of Finn’s button down. “I like the quiet much better.”

Finn didn’t like the quiet, either - that was the thing. Too quiet set him on edge, too loud sent him into a panic. Leo actually loved the noise, the reminder that he wasn’t alone and forgotten in some abandoned, snowy foxhole.

They all needed such different things, and Finn knew that was normal, but sometimes he worried that the gaps between them would be too far to bridge. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let them go, either.

Maybe that was just the way love worked - stubborn, fierce unwillingness to let your loved ones go, no matter the circumstances. To keep holding on, come hell or high water. They’d all been through worse, after all. They could get through this.

Logan pushed away just enough to see Finn’s face. His eyes gleamed in the scant light of the alley. “You wanna show me what you’ve got? Someone told me you can jive with the best of them.”

Finn laughed brightly and took Logan’s hand. “I’m a bit rusty.”

Logan just smiled that smile of his. “I don’t care.”

And so they danced, all three of them, in a frankly terrible cluster of tangled feet and stray elbows and “how do we spin each other like this?” . The trashcan farther back in the alleyway reeked, and there wasn't enough room to really dance, but they didn’t care.

It was one of those moments where Finn knew he’d remember and cherish this memory for the rest of his life (why did they seem to happen so frequently in alleys, though?). He burned every last detail he could into his memory - the song that was playing (Only Forever), the way the flickering lightbulb in the alley danced along with them, the grimace that turned into a laugh when Logan stepped on Leo’s foot, the way his heart crescendoed with love for the two in his arms.

Months, years, decades down the road, those were the things he’d remember - not what came before, just a muted melody and quickly-amassing bruises and smiles in streetlights.

.

Finn had been knitting up a storm the past few days. Wherever he went, his yarn and needles went with him - the desk of his bookstore, the living room couch, their bed, one memorable instance of the dinner table (that had quickly been vetoed by Leo). Logan knew he could knit, but he hadn’t busted out the yarn and needles for months and all of a sudden he was an unstoppable knitting machine. Hats, mittens, scarves, socks, one miserable attempt at a sweater (there had been many tears shed and several utterances of “make it make sense” before Finn called it quits). It wasn't all that cold out, and it was still a little early to start making holiday presents, Logan thought as he scratched Hershey behind his shoulder blades and watched Finn’s scrunched up concentration face - crinkled brow, chewed-on lower lip, glasses slipping down his nose. It was endearingly cute.

“What are you making?” he finally asked after the most recent string of curses and a slipped stitch.

Finn looked up, his glare easing. “It’s going to be a sock… I think.” He must’ve recognized the question in Logan’s eyes, because he continued, “They’re for Leo. It gets cold here in the winter and…” He gave a little sigh and shrugged. He didn’t have to say any more; Logan understood. He scooted a little closer to Finn on the couch until their thighs brushed. Hershey jumped down onto the floor, peeved at being jostled, and stalked away.

“Has he ever talked to you about it?” Logan asked quietly, although he was pretty sure of the answer.

Finn shook his head. “Nah. All I know is that it was cold and it was bad. Other than that, he hasn’t said a word about it. Not to me, at least. Not sure I'd be able to help, anyways.”

Logan heard the unspoken.

He covered Finn’s hands with his own and waited until he finally looked up. “You help.” He laced his words with every ounce of conviction in him, and watched them sink in. Finn’s shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, the lines between his brows eased. Logan wondered just how long he’d been carrying that extra weight. He’d spent so much time here, alone, feeling helpless and scared and discarded, like a damaged tool that no longer had a use.

Logan ached for that man, and the one who sat beside him.

He leaned over to kiss Finn’s cheek. “You help,” he repeated, then kissed his temple. “You matter.” One final, sound kiss was pressed to Finn’s lips. “You are loved.”

When he pulled away slightly, Finn’s eyes were water-rimmed, his cheeks tear-stained. He didn't say anything, he didn’t have to - those big brown eyes did all the talking for him. He leaned forward to press his forehead to Logan’s and stayed there for a while, even though his glasses were pinching uncomfortably. “Love you,” he murmured quietly, hands smoothing up and down Logan’s thighs in a slow, loving manner. Logan kissed him again until he couldn’t breathe and all his senses were overpowered until just Finn remained. When they finally broke apart they didn’t get far, content to just linger for a while, to soak each other in, to see and be seen. Sunlight streaked through copper hair, turning it to gold and all but forcing Logan to play with the strands, twisting them this way and that to watch them shimmer. Finn simply let him, his loving eyes never drifting from Logan’s face. Logan loved it when Finn looked at him like that - like he was everything.

“Now,” Logan finally said, sitting back and tucking his feet under Finn’s thigh. “Teach me.”

Finn blinked. “Huh?”

“Teach me to knit. I want to make Leo a scarf.”

Finn smiled, sweet like honey, and fished another set of knitting needles and some yarn out of his bag.

And later that evening, when Leo came home a little pale and vacant-eyed, Finn and Logan were there to pile on the warmth and chase away the ghosts.

.

Logan woke up to the roar of thunder like tank treads against Parisian streets, the flashes of lightning like antiaircraft, the wind howling like bombs racing for their targets - all of it too loud, too real, too similar to before. He flinched and hid his face in Leo’s neck, trembling a bit. He hated this. He hated how his fears and his memories clashed into one big, waking nightmare - one he couldn’t escape from.

Leo shifted slightly underneath him, a deep inhale making his chest rise, lifting Logan with him. “Hey, lover,” his honey voice murmured on the gentle breath of an exhale. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to burn that moment into his memory - maybe the bright warmth could outshine the dark shadows or terror and helplessness, like the sun shining bright and blinding to chase away the storm clouds. It wasn’t that simple - it would never be that simple. But Logan could hope. He could dream.

And in that moment, it was enough.

Thunder rolled again; that was all it took for Leo to understand. Two strong arms snaked around Logan’s waist, cold hands quickly warming up against his skin. “I’m here, I’ve got you,” were the only words Leo uttered, gentle but firm as his lips brushed against the shell of Logan’s ear. No empty words or impossible promises, just the unalterable fact that Leo was there, Leo had him.

Finn climbed out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. Logan hadn't even realized he was awake. He turned back towards the bed to lean down and give Logan a quick kiss to the temple before he started what he liked to call “The Rainy Day Strategy”. The radio was turned on, the curtains closed as tightly as possible, and then Finn left the bedroom to go and make tea for the three of them - two chamomile and one peppermint. He left the bedroom door open, just like always; Logan was never sure whose peace of mind it was for - hell, it was probably for all three of them.

Leo stayed steady beneath him, fingers tracing an invisible pattern onto his back and humming along to the song on the radio. Resting his chin on Leo’s chest, Logan looked up at him - messy bedroom curls, sleepy blue eyes, an imprint of his pillowcase on one cheek. He’d wanted this all the way back in that tiny hotel room in Paris, wishing for so much more than one night and a lonely morning. Now he was here, in that same boy’s arms, having gotten everything he’d wished for and then some.

The thought calmed him a bit. Storms always passed, after all.

Leo caught him staring, the song getting stuck in his throat. “Hey,” he spoke softly, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smile (the side opposite the scars, where there wasn’t any scar tissue to impede movement). Logan gave a weak smile and a “hi” back before pressing a quick kiss over another scar on Leo’s shoulder, noting that the glinting silver of it seemed to fade more and more with each passing day.

Storms always passed, after all.

Finn bustled back into the bedroom, smiling softly at them as they both sat up and got comfortable. His climb back into bed was a bit slower - stiffer and more calculated to accommodate his bad hip - but he finally settled back against the pillows and grabbed the tray of mugs from where he’d placed it on the bedside table as the discomfort vanished from his face.

Storms always passed, after all.

Their mugs of tea were passed out, blankets tucked up as far as they could go, and their burgeoning conversation began to drown out the weather that was quietly raging on outside. Sometimes it was overwhelming, how daunting and uncertain the future was, and how much they still needed to overcome in terms of their past. Years stacked upon years of horror and fear and trauma wouldn’t just go away. It would take work, and patience, and determination to make things better.

The beginnings were always the hardest part.

But at that moment, Finn was at ease. Leo was warm. Logan was calm.

And that was as good a start as any.

[kounto-valentino]

Bloody Lavender

Roses are red, lavender's hue, A cryptic verse, a message askew. "Come find me before I find you," Whispers the wind, the mystery grew.

In this enigma, a challenge lies, A pursuit that beckons, under moonlit skies. A thrilling chase, a game to ensue, Seeking each other, hearts beating true.

Through fields of roses, we shall wander, Amongst fragrant petals, love shall meander. But be swift, dear seeker, lest I prevail, In finding the trail where secrets unveil.

Across starlit gardens, we'll dance and sway, In a clandestine rendezvous, come what may. For in this chase, destiny takes flight, Two souls intertwining, embraced by the night.

So follow the clues, my love, with haste, Through moonlit paths, let passion be traced. And as we draw closer, hearts shall ignite, A union of souls, a love shining bright.

Roses are red, lavender is blue, A poetic chase, a love that is true. Come find me, dear heart, let destiny bind, In this timeless pursuit, two souls entwined.

[meenah-chan]

Safe haven

a Diavolo x GN! MC fanfic

2.36k words

Genre: Angst

Trigger warning: Insane deadly stunt but not suicide, please don't read if you have this triggers. And please don't try this at home... or anywhere

Part 2 (Safe Haven ~Another Story~) | Part 3 (Safe Haven ~Epilogue~)

Masterlist

It is their sanctuary. A place that has everything they could wish for...

if only, fate isn't fickle...

"If I jump, will you save me again?"

"What a wretched soul I have..."

It’s been an hour since they were staring far in the horizon. Dusk is on its way, with the lake gulping the sun whole to bring forth darkness in the grassy land they’re on. That place is secluded, surrounded with trees serving as its walls. As if it were cradling them away from everything.

It's not their first-time watching day turn to night on where they are. They’ve known that spot enough to vividly paint the place on a whim.

It was neither a simple place as it seems. That place is a part of the human realm, untouched by anyone but two persons— them and Diavolo. A place which witnessed how the said Prince dropped on his knees and confessed he likes them. The place they admit they felt the same.

The place where they held hands in their secret rendezvous; times where the Future king would go to whenever he ran away from his endless responsibilities for a day and spend it with them, with words of affections and adorations for each other. It is their safe haven.

The Forget-me-not flowers they planted are blooming around them. As the two sat beneath the shade of the tree, appreciating the presence of the flowers and each other.

Diavolo has a habit of caressing their cheeks, brushing strands of their locks past their ears, as he embraces them as if they were the most precious treasure, he has ever held. Those smiles he would beam; brighter than the sol they always see. "You're the most beautiful being I have ever seen." And they would smile back, with their feelings overflowing so much they would always pour it back to him with a kiss.

But being always in that place doesn't mean they never left it. There are times they would give him a heart attack by literally jumping off the edge of the cliff. The demon prince then would follow them in a snap, before transforming right before their eyes and seizing them.

They knew it was a foolish thing to do. No sane person would ever carry out such dumb, dangerous stunt. They do have a magic or two under their sleeves should Diavolo fail the task. Spells they would feverishly study and tirelessly practice for the sake of the success of the Exchange Student program; for the sake of making Diavolo proud of them. So, they studied hard, yet fools only around their beloved.

So, they kept on flying off to the danger at every given chance. For the feeling during the times they would fall, they had the best view they could ever see in their lifetime. How the demon they ever loved could be so... breathtaking. Turning into his demon form—metamorphosing like a dazzling butterfly, his red locks fluttering in the wind, with such golden ornaments, such golden eyes reflecting the radiance of the sun. And most of all, such playful, thrilled smiles they would willingly lay their life just to see. He seems like the mesmerizing golden red dusk. He may be a demon, but Diavolo is much more divine than the angels in their eyes.

And to think that such an ambrosial prince would hold them in his firm arms, and bury them in his well-toned chest before gliding up in the air. They really love the feeling. Akin to the flowers they cultivate symbolizes, he is their true love.

"Should we land back on the top of the land?"

"Just a little bit longer." Humming, they would place a peck onto the tip of his horn or temple whenever they would request something so badly, which then would receive a chuckle from the Demon. "Hahaha, what a pampered human... Alright, just a little bit longer." And who knows how long they stay in the air. Then they would share small talks back on the cliff, and soon be bombarded with tons of messages and missed calls from the butler and the right-hand man. They would head back home after that, before the said aides decide to search for them and find their secret haven.

It was all they could ever wish for. An everlasting love to carry inside their mortal heart.

They have everything they could ask for, until that day comes. A moonless, rainy night during the celebration of Diavolo's birth.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, the Future King of Devildom." …the day she came. Rosa, a rather respected princess, and the daughter of Queen Rose.

"...N-No, the pleasure is mine." Whether he was flustered by her sudden appearance or not, something was rather amiss. His gaze towards her was different than anything they've ever seen him make. So different yet... familiar. Like the way his eyes sparked of reverie the day they first met, except it was more profound.

Diavolo sighed, "I'm telling you, you don't have to worry. You know you're the one I love." It was nothing, he said. It was only in their imagination, he said. Even so, the connection between the two they perceived every time the two met on business, felt so real.

They were so anxious, so angry they wanted to explode. They want to blame it all on that demon princess who appeared out of nowhere, and brought everything to a big mess! They wanted to lash at her, right from the deepest pit of their stomach!

...Yet, they didn't.

They simply can't. Not when she was like an angel who descended in the land of darkness.

So pure yet so wise, so diligent and well-versed. She is strong-willed and rather capable in every aspect. She doesn't deserve to be blamed for something she didn't mean to do. It was merely a work of two hearts naturally falling for each other. It was inevitable.

Instead of brooding without doing anything, they will fight. They will fight for what's theirs. For what's right. For the specks of affection left inside Diavolo. For their love, they won't give up.

Or so they thought...

"Y/N, would you mind having tea with me later?" Barbatos asked for their attendance.

But unlike the usual afternoon tea they always share with the butler, "Where's Diavolo?" ... the prince is not around.

"The Young master has prior engagement and brought Lucifer in my stead. My apologies if it was not to your liking."

"Ahh, no. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that... having snacks with only you are unusual." It's not unusual. Rather, it never occurred even once. Diavolo tends to postpone the teatime for another time whenever he can't go, as Barbatos always join his absence.

"Actually, I asked you today about an important matter to discuss."

"...Is it related to Diavolo and me, isn't it?" They shouldn't have asked him. They hated themself for asking Diavolo's attendant.

"Yes. To be precise, it is about your relationship and the lady you met during Young master's birthday. I believe you have the right to know this." They held their breath. "I hate to break it to you but the lady you met back then, is the Young Master's... fiancée and his soulmate." The words that came off Barbatos' lips felt like cold water dumped on them.

They just want to end the conversation right there and leave the garden as fast as they can, but they forcefully pull themself together and learn the whole truth, as painful as it is for them. "...Fiancee, you said? And what do you mean by soulmate?"

"For every heir of the throne, there is a prophecy foretelling the righteous betrothed one fated for them. This Oracle has never once failed in predicting who..." Barbatos paused, evaluating whether they could take any more. "...would help the Ruler in bringing prosperity in the Devildom."

After a minute of silence, they spoke. "Does Diavolo know all about this? About her?"

"Yes... but I swear in my name, he has always wanted to be free of the prophecy and achieve prosperity through his own power."

"Where is he headed to at the moment?"

"..." Barbatos' silence tells them everything. He is with her. That's all that they needed to know.

"I... see... Thank you for telling me this."

"I— no, I don't deserve such words from you." They shook their head, "You still disclosed this even when Diavolo wanted to keep it a secret from me. I'm sorry I brought trouble to you."

"It was my own choice. I'm just doing what I think is right."

"Thank you, really..."

They left the castle, thinking a lot of things but also finally enlightened.

They never had Diavolo's heart from the start.

He is the future of the Devildom, the future of all the demons who could easily outlive them. And for that he needs an Empress who can fully support him and bear another long-lived heir. His soulmate, his forever, his other half. Everything that they could never be.

Their life is short. His' is not. He could never fathom the extent of his life like they could. That is also the reason why they could love him until the day they cease to exist, a mere blink to him.

As obvious as the glaring sun that blinds them atop that cliff, his love... is gone.

They could see it in his eyes. Every day he spends with them, his mind is somewhere else.

Even in their favorite place, his embraces were still as cold as the mountain's peak. His smile is too forced, like a one man playing before their eyes. His kisses were prickling and painful. And his gaze... He is suffering.

Like they were.

"Forgive me." It was for the Devildom, he said. His head hangs low, wearing that distressed expression.

"Hey, lift your head? The future king shouldn't bow to anyone." They smiled, cupping his cheeks to raise his face.

"Look, I understand." It was a surprise they didn't shed a drop of tear, as they pat his head gently. "Follow your heart. You'll become a great king."

He made a wise decision, to choose his bond that suddenly came that day. Someone who really owns Diavolo's heart per destiny's decree. The heart they thought he offered back then, with the trees, and the cool breeze, and the swaying leaves, and the sunset as their witnesses. The heart they thought were already theirs. The heart that slipped from their fingers as he let go of their hand when Diavolo locked eyes with his fated one.

Diavolo's love is fleeting. Or maybe it was never love from the start, but a mere curiosity on his end. A misconception, but it doesn't matter anymore. They already knew the answer.

He already achieved his true love, holding his Empress in white. He wears that smile, much, much brighter than anything they have ever seen.

The bells sing with the crowd in jubilation. It is a merry occasion, with the official new rulers of the Devildom. All were so elated.

Except for one. "What a wretched soul I have..." they uttered under their breath. They couldn't take the sight. With the man they so love to be happy in someone's arms. Rage was boiling inside them. Staying there for a second longer and they would definitely ravage everything. So, they fled the scene, escaping to their secret place surrounded by the lake and the sea of trees.

They wanted to let it all out. Pain, sorrow, rage, envy. They were overflowing with emotion more than they could take. It should be them, placing a ring on his finger! the one smiling and crying of happiness as he makes a vow! The one who should be kissing him in front of thousands of witnesses!

"WHY?! What did I do to deserve this?!" The swaying blue and white Forget-me-nots they took with utmost care came to view. "What useless plants!!" They cried out, yanking and tearing everything off the soil. "True love?! It was only me from the very start!!"

All they could do was cry. Scream until their throat goes dry, until their voice disappears.

When all energy left their body, they slumped in the grassy land they’re on. In that secluded place, surrounded with trees serving as its walls. As if it were cradling them away from everything. Hiding their wretched self from everyone.

Dazed, they stared at the sky for an hour. As its hue turns from light blue to red, their mind gets clearer. That's when they heard a familiar sound. They followed it on the tip of the cliff.

It was the roaring waves beneath the land mass. It seems like it's continuing the cries they couldn't do anymore. Roaring like it was spilling the emotions inside them.

"If I jump, will you save me again?" They spoke to the man who is no longer in that secret place. It will never be a safe haven for them anymore.

"I want to be saved by you one more time." I want to be embraced by you one last time.

They faced their back to the rim of the cliff, and took a step backward. A foot standing on a void. And so, their body tipped, losing the other foot from the ground. As their balance disappears, they see nothing but the golden rays of the sunset and the redness of the dusk. So red like Diavolo's locks, golden like his eyes. There's nothing but only traces of him; of the man who doesn't really love them as he promised.

This is foolish... They thought. They're all alone. No Diavolo will fly down and save them anymore.

"I should go home..." Dying here would only hurt him... They whispered as the firm breeze swirls beneath, ready to catch them. After all, no one will save me but I... thinking of that, another pang spiked their heart.

But the wind spell they casted couldn't catch them. When they should have been falling, a hand appeared and pulled them in an embrace.

"Please don't do this..." it was not the warmth they were expecting. Yet, streams began flowing down their cheeks, in comfort of another’s arms. With their hoarse voice they sob the sorrow of losing their safe haven.

Part 2 (Safe Haven ~Another Story~) | Part 3 (Safe Haven ~Epilogue~)

Masterlist

[secretlives]

Lord Byron

Truth is always strange,” George Gordon Noel Byron once wrote. “Stranger than fiction.” In one line of verse he gave us both a truism still heard today and the perfect tagline for his brief, scandalous, hedonistic life.

When you’re the son of a guy known as “Mad Jack,” chances are you’re in for a wild ride. Little George didn’t get to know his father very well, for dear old dad drank himself to death when the boy was only three. But Mad Jack’s legacy of excess seeped into his offspring’s consciousness, if not his genes. In any case, Byron had little choice but to be his father’s son, since his mother hated him. She called him her “lame little brat,” on account of his clubfoot, and once tried to beat him to death with a set of fire tongs. Even worse, Byron’s governess, May Gray, reportedly molested him at the age of nine. About the only good thing to happen in his childhood was that he inherited his uncle’s wealth along with his title: Baron Byron of Rochedale. From then on, George Gordon was known as Lord Byron.

He grew into a strikingly handsome man. Other than his lame foot, for which he compensated through displays of athletic prowess, Byron’s only imperfection was a tendency to put on weight. In typical nineteenth-century fashion, he overcame this predisposition by starving himself and taking copious quantities of laxatives. Sex would prove to be his real nourishment, anyway. Byron was the Wilt Chamberlain of his day, reportedly bedding 250 women in Venice in one year alone. His long list of lovers included Lady Caroline Lamb (who famously described him as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know”), her cousin Anne Isabella Milbanke (who became Lady Byron in 1815), and, reportedly, his own half sister, Augusta Leigh. Nor did he restrict himself to one gender. Byron had numerous homosexual affairs, often with underage boys. Other than the exotic animals he kept for companionship, there didn’t seem to be too many creatures he wasn’t interested in having sex with.

As a consequence, Byron became Europe’s most celebrated rake. His poetic achievements never garnered as much attention as did the wild rumors that sprang up about him. Oddly enough, a lot of the gossip involved Byron drinking wine out of someone’s skull. (Sometimes it was a dead monk’s, sometimes an old mistress’s.... The legends tended to outrace reality.) Fed up with the philandering, Lady Byron gave her husband his walking papers in 1816—just one year into their marriage. He then left England for the Continent and never returned. It was the only way to avoid public censure by British society.

Byron spent that summer in Switzerland with his personal physician, John Polidori. They struck up a friendship with poet Percy Bysshe Shelley and his fiancée, Mary Godwin. During a stretch of rainy weather, the group entertained themselves by writing monster stories. Mary produced an early version of what would become her novel Frankenstein, while Polidori used Byron as the inspiration for “The Vampyre.” The story of a suave British nobleman who sucks the blood out of unsuspecting victims, it would prove to be major influence on Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

From Switzerland, Byron traveled to Italy, where he had an affair with the very married Countess Teresa Guiccioli. He remained there until 1823, when he left for Greece and a rendezvous with destiny, helping the Greek independence movement repel the Ottoman Turks. Despite a complete lack of military experience, Byron helped drill troops and provided needed cash to the rebel forces. To this day, he is still considered a Greek national hero.

Before he could see any action, Byron was felled by an attack of malarial fever and died on Easter Sunday 1824. Soon after his death, which was mourned throughout England, a group of his friends gathered in London to read over his memoirs. The manuscript was filled with vivid descriptions of Byron’s sexual escapades, which, the group felt, might just destroy his hard-won “heroic” reputation. Determined that the memoirs never see the light of day, they proceeded to set them on fire.

[shahidiwrites]

CONFETTI RANKING NO ONE ASKED FOR <3 But firstly can I just say their team literally said so what girl group era are yall taking inspo from? And little mix literally just said yes <3 UISDJOKOISADJ THE I N F L U E N C E S ON THIS ALBUM AHHHHHHHH i think it also sucks that c**** definitely took a toll on the album and i honestly think it was supposed to be released sooner BUT nevertheless it’s here now and i was sO PLEASED AND IM SO PROUD OF THESE GIRLS living their past life having all the fun with this album so let us go!!

1. Confetti. A powerful feel good song. Like this is THE Bad bitch anthem, like I can’t wait to be driving at night with my girlies blasting this. IT’S SO FUCKING GOOD. I love when the instrumental strips away on jade’s verse and it’s just the snaps BEAUTIFUL. Some of the melodies in here were definitely a shout out to girl groups like cherish and destiny’s child and holy fuck it WORKED. T H A T BRIDGE. LIKE. UGH. Vocally it’s a lot more stripped back than the rest of the album, and yet it’s still my favorite?? I think that speaks so much to Little Mix’s musicality. They don’t need insane vocals (even though they DEFINITELY HAVE THEM) to make a good song, like they know what works and they prove it every single time.

2. Sweet Melody. This song is so fucking clever. I know everyone has already talked about the way the instrumental literally follows the words, but IT’S SO CLEVER I’M MENTIONING IT AGAIN. Jade’s verse will forever be my favorite. She really set up the story with her verse. I love how the first part of the chorus is literally a sweet melody before it goes into the edgier chorus UGH SO GOOD. Not to mention this video gave us the first choreo heavy music video since fucking Salute ad that is a blessing in and of itself.

3. Happiness. “Remember I, I was mine. Before I was yours.” Honestly what else do you need? That line was so fucking iconic. The melody is so fucking beautiful, the nod to past girl groups was very strong in this one. It’s a different sound for them but at the same time extremely them??? I love the lyrical content SO MUCH. it’s such a feel good powerful song. The bridge of perrie belting and then the beautiful quick breakdown before they go back into the chorus ugh so fucking good. 

4. If You Want My Love. This song punched me in the face the second it started with Jade and didn’t stop until the fucking end. This was SUCH a spot on nod to past girl groups and they fucking nailed it. The chorus gives me CHILLS every time. It literally DEMANDS your attention in the same way the lyrical content is demanding to be treated right. The bridge had me meltING. PERRIES BUILD UP BELT?? Reminded me of About the boy which iconic we love growth. The melody is so fucking good AND THE ACAPELLA AT THE END??? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING??? so damn good. Everyone say thank you little mix.

5. Rendezvous. Honestly this top five is literally nothing but non-skippable B O P S. The fucking sway sample is ICONIC. It’s giving such motivate vibes and we all know how much of a banger that one is. Trying to imagine the choreo to this song is physically paining me and i’m so fucking pumped to see IT. I love how they have been consistently taking ownership of their bodies and flipping the gender expectations around. “i ain’t trying to fall in love with you” JUST ICONIC. Also reminds me of bloodline by ariana grande and also FUCKING ICONIC.

6. My Love Won’t Let You Down. This song needs to be longer. It’s so fucking beautiful. The lyrical content had me crying by the first line. It reminded me a lot of don’t worry by the 1975 but a lot more personal, it’s a very pointed song so it hits so differently than the 1975 one does for me. But holy shit it’s so beautiful, they have all grown vocally so much. “We can sit at the edge of your bed, tell me all of the fears in your head, and i’ll sing you your favorite song” This REALLY got to me bc idk it just felt like they were speaking to their fans i that moment and I know that alone can mean so much to so many people. It really did for me.

7. A Mess (Happy 4 U). I was not expecting them to start so deep, i literally felt like i was being let in on a secret it was so cute. And then the slip into that head voice, it was so airy and so pretty. And the drums in the background were very reminiscent of nothing feels like you which was a GREAT trip down memory lane for me. I also just love the message behind the song and the lyrical content is cute. AND THE FUCKING D R O P. U G H. THE FACT THAT THIS SONG ISNT HIGHER SHOULD SPEAK VOLUMES AS TO HOW GOOD I THINK THE OTHER SONGS ARE.

8. Holiday. WHY DOES THE FANDOM HATE THIS SONG SO MUCH??? IT’S SO GOOD. THE PRE-CHORUS ALONE !!!! EYE!!! It’s really upsetting to me and my homegirls why Holiday gets so much slander. The music video..... anyway the S O N G. It’s so good. So fun. A tune.

9. Nothing But My Feelings. Idk what this trend is of singing complete FILTH to the cutest little melodies but i’m here for it. This song took me by surprise tbh but i loved every second of it??? ESPECIALLY, the cute little adverbs in the background holy shit. They’re so much fun. And little mix + trap influenced is probably my new favorite thing so i need them to continue doing trap influence for my own sanity.

10. Not A Pop Song. I’m glad the girlies get to sing their truth at LAST. I also love the melody in this song and the “not a pop song” harmonies in the background near the end. I do think the verses are too short but i love leigh’s prechorus so much i’ll let the verses be shorter so i can get to her sooner. Also perrie kILLED that bridge are we surprised? no not at all.

11. Break Up Song. idc man this songs still slaps lmao. IT’S CUTE. But i’ve heard it enough it can’t compete with the new bbies on the album, but that intro gets me hype every time. And I still have fun dancing to it months later, but i’ve had it so long it’s been celebrated enough.

12. Breathe. I just feel like the verses were so much prettier than the chorus, like the lyrical content is so beautiful. Maybe it’s the instrumental??? But i think it would have been so much prettier had the chorus not been so intentionally choppy. The verses alone tho almost saved this song for me and made me put it higher but there’s just so many better songs on the album so it is here.

13. Gloves up.... is this controversial? There’s just a real disconnect between??? everything??? it sounds like three different songs tbh?? I love the lyrical content and the breakdown in the pre-chrous and jesy’s pause before perrie’s power vocals come in, but the instrumental is just kind of all over the place to me. idk maybe subconsciously i was comparing it to salute because that’s the writer they wrote it with but idk just not for meeee

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing Apr 1st - Apr 7th

Another week, another roundup! Special thanks to all who submitted works, both for themselves and others. 

As a gentle reminder, we’re here to highlight any new content from the previous week. If we missed a submission, we’ll be happy to update our post or carry it over to the next week, but if we tried to include everything beyond a week, we’d never get a post finished!

Thank you so much!

--Mod Rem

Fanfiction:

A Little Piece of Gundam Wing

The archive is being ported to AO3! Check it out!

AerisEithne

The Snow Queen 

Days after the incident that nearly sparked a new war, Relena returns to the Sanc Kingdom to contemplate her future. She can’t help but wonder which path the perfect soldier will choose… and whether their destinies will continue to collide.

Pairings: 1xR

Warnings: Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop, Preventers (Gundam Wing)

 @the-indomitable-bhg, Morbidbirdy

Animus

A ghost of Heero's past takes possession of his life, relationships and his identity.

Pairings: 1x3, 2xH

Warnings: Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content

@claraxbarton , @kangofu-cb

Bad Company 

"The only hell and the only paradise are the ones we build ourselves." - Unknown

Years after the wars, Preventers has decided to tackle one of the most powerful and oldest of all the Terran crime syndicates. Embedded dangerously deep in an undercover operation targeting the violent and bloodthirsty Sinaloa Cartel, Trowa Barton is pushed beyond even his flexible morals - and when his new "partner" arrives in the very unexpected and unwelcome form of Duo Maxwell, the one person he'd been trying to protect at all costs, both men must deal with the realization that preserving peace for humanity is turning into a bloodsport.

What follows is race against time to uncover the evidence they need to bring Sinaloa, and its beautiful but deadly leaders, down - all while keeping each other alive in the process

Pairings: 2x3

Warnings: Violence, Post-Canon, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Human Trafficking, Gang Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Moral Dilemmas

CosmicAether

Untitled GW Resistance AU 

When their communicator breaks down, Duo and Trowa must survive the night before attempting to rendezvous to their extraction point. Duo confronts Trowa about their relationship that night and vow to be more honest with each other, they need only to make it home first.

Pairings: 2x3

DarkDanc3r

April Writes Playlist Challenge 

30 days, 30 songs from a Spotify playlist. Characters and pairings will be at the start of each chapter.

Warnings: Tumblr Prompt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fix-It of Sorts, Damnit Prowl Lives

GlassAlice

The Pictures He Drew 

Hiatus is over! Last chapter will be up in two weeks. Re-write of a fic posted to 1x2 yahoo groups I wrote forever ago and lost. Only the bare bones of this fic have anything to do with the first one. Hopefully this one is a bit better. Originally posted under name Duos_hallelujah. Simple get together fic with Duo being an artist.

Pairings: 1xR, 1x2

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Song Fic Kinda, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, these boys are messed up, they need therapy, after war, the pilots trying to live their lives, 1x2, 2x1 - Freeform, 1x2x1, 1xR non con, 1x2 end game, we're back from hiatus, boys just trying to figure shit out, relena is kind of the bad guy, Sorry Not Sorry, i'm anti relena, so expect her to be treated badly, bullied duo, attempted suicide, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, language trigger warnings, a bit dark, Angst

Lithle

Like Oxygen 

Five years after the war, Wufei seeks Duo out for one more mission. But Duo has his reasons for wanting to be left alone. As Wufei and Duo grow closer, so do Duo's memories of the war, and with them, the old scars and dangerous thought patterns that make even breathing seem difficult.

--Note: Originally published on FF.net, this is my 'Editor's Choice' edition. It's been edited and slightly rewritten for flow and cohesion.

Pairings: 2x5

Warnings: Unhealthy Relationships, Post War Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, no EW, Post-War, Post-Canon, POV Duo Maxwell, Explicit Language, Sex, Duo is Broken, Wufei is Pretty Broken Too, Gritty, Get Together

Luvsanime02

Just One Day 

Relena gets a surprise on her birthday.

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light Angst, Family Issues, Cocktail Friday

Maldoror

The Source of All Things

Center, a planet where magic and technology blend. Or more accurately, fight tooth and nail. A planet of Sources, holes in our boring dimension letting through arcane power, chaos and pseudo-deities. In this hot-house of myths and very real dangers, Trowa and Quatre find a mysterious man at the end of a shamanic voyage. Portents suggest this Heero Yuy is crucial to Center’s survival. He’s important enough to have some interesting enemies after him, at any rate: a devious killer and thief called ‘Shinigami’, and a very irate Dragon. Beyond them looms an even greater threat. Indeed, the greatest of them all.

Pairings: 3x4, 2x5, eventual 1x2x5

Warnings: Violence, alternative universe, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Plot Twists, fairly graphic depiction of sex, Mild description of self-harm, Mathematical Magic, weird science, crones - Freeform, Magic and Technology brawling and eventually screwing, Eventual Threesome, Kinda, Insanity of arcane origin, The universe is a pile of marbles and other dubious allegories

Two Halves

The two kingdoms of Sanq and Lin were at war for years; a conflagration involving magic, armies and political murder. The conflict left both nations devastated and strewn with refugees. The king of Sanq finds his infant son, lost at birth, among the death and the ruin, a miracle he barely dared to hope for. But there isn’t just one boy, there are two, clinging together like two halves of a whole that cannot be separated. Decades later, the truth behind that second child’s existence will put a hole in the world, or possibly save it.

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: Fantasy AU, medieval setting with magic, starts with our heroes as children, Cousin Incest, sort of, eventually, being royalty this is in fact the norm and rather expected of them, Canon-Typical Violence

Margaret_Armstrong

Queen’s Rook 

Rook; definition:

1. a gregarious Eurasian crow with black plumage and a bare face, nesting in colonies in treetops.

2. a chess piece, typically with its top in the shape of a battlement, that can move in any direction along a rank or file on which it stands.

Queen's Rook; definition:

(chess) A rook on the queen’s side of the board at the start of the game.

Truly, a female bodyguard is just what the Vice Foreign Minister needs. There are dangers about.

Pairings: Canon Relationships, 3x4, 2xH, 1xR

Warnings: Violence, Women Being Awesome, brothers in arms, everyone protects Quatre except Quatre, L2 forever!, The Past Never Stays Buried

 @noelleian

The Pact 

After seducing Quatre, the other four ex-pilots brave the uncharted waters of their new abilities and learn to cope with the unintentional gifts they were given. But as always, power requires responsibility and the humbling acknowledgement of humanity's weaknesses. The struggle to stay true to themselves becomes a dangerous and terrifying endeavor as they skirt the boundary where conscience bleeds into chaos and the dark abyss of temptation.

Pairings: 1x2x3x4x5, 3x4, 1x4, 2x4, 4x5

Warnings: Smut, Porn With Plot, OT5, Fluff, Humor, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Angst, Newtypes, Possessive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Dark, Non-Graphic Violence, Alpha/Omega, Omega Verse

Green Olive

Duo's had a rough day and needs to unwind, but this time he's in the mood for some company.

Warnings: Friendship, Bromance, Underage Drinking

@noirangetrois

Cocktail Friday

This will be a collection of my Cocktail Friday snippets.

Pairings: Various

Warnings: Cocktail Friday, Alcohol

The Story of Wrong 

Duo recounts his experiences during the war in order to explain... well, why he was wrong.

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: Violence, Major Character Death, Duo POV, Angst, Drama, Tragedy, slight AU, Spoilers, very dark, Heero and Duo don't die, I promise, Yaoi, slowburn, Mental Instability, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, If those are in any way an issue for you then go ahead and skip this, Eventual Smut, VERY eventual, this is mostly canon-compliant but I've changed a couple things here and there

Outrightmight

MCU One Shot Series: After Colony 195 

"It took Bucky a split second to get his bearings. The portal had spit them out into an aircraft hanger. The make and model of the one and only small jet was unfamiliar. He would have said it was of Soviet make, but the 50-foot robot idly standing in the middle of the hanger was making him second-guess himself."

Warnings: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Duo Maxwell, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Heero Yuy, Canon-Typical Violence, One Shot

@remsyk-blog

Souls for the Bayou 

For Trowa Barton, exploring the bayou is the ultimate adventure. Drawn to its borders since before he could walk, he spent his childhood learning its paths and uncovering its secrets.

But a chance encounter sets him on a path that spans across time, challenging everything he thought he knew, plunging him deeper into its mysteries than he ever thought possible.

Pairings: 2x3

Warnings: Supernatural - Freeform, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Bayou, Cajun, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Mystery, Slow Burn, Technically Speaking, Young Love, Use of accents, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I don't want to give it all away at once, Fandom Trumps Hate, Time Jump, Suspense, Quatre is a great friend, Mentions of Children Disappearing

Shenanigans

A Collection of my shitposts from Tumblr.

Enter looking for a good time. Expect the tags to change as more installments are added

Warnings: chat fic, shitpost, Professor!Trowa, Cooking, Pinterest, Pancakes, Exercising, Tumblr Prompt, Originally Posted on Tumblr, In depth analysis of riding dick, New Year’s Eve, Jenga, Stupid Dares, Just Heero Things

ShenLong

Bound, Bonded and Betrayed 

Heero is the eldest son of the King of Colonia. His 21st birthday is approaching and as tradition dictates his betrothed is soon to arrive. However he is also bound by tradition to select his own personal slave. The events that unfold lead him down a path that not only tests his sanity but his humanity and love as well.

Pairings: 1x2, 1xR, 3x4, 13x11

Warnings: sap, Angst, Bondage, Slavery, Yaoi, Lemon, Lime, Het, Violence, Fluff, AU, OOC. - Freeform

@softnocturne

P.S. I Miss You

Quatre is missing Trowa who is off on a month-long mission.

Pairings: 3x4

Warnings: Fluff, Angst

StarLove18

Believe in Yourself

Children will live what they learn. Pain is costly, until one incident sparks a new flame of hope and a promise to persevere.

Pairings: 1&2&3&4&5

Warnings: Original Character(s), Bullying, Comfort/Angst, School, Minor Violence, Loss of Parent(s), Alternate Universe, AO3 FB Challenge

Thai_tea_addict

Abyss

Duo's not in a good situation when he falls in love with the man next door, and it goes downhill from there.

Pairings: 1x2, 2x3x4

Warnings: Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-con, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Character, Abuse, Stalking, Murder, Sadism, Infidelity

Warnings: DARK – please don't read if you think any of the following subject matter could hurt you: depictions of abuse, sexual assault, stalking, murder, sadism (not the fun kind).

Whenpigsfly84

Doormat Babe

A mysterious child is left with Duo one morning. As he seeks for answers he'll have to face his past and prepare for a haunting future he'd never expected. Will he be able to reconnect with old friends or will he lose all those he loves?

Pairings: 1x2, 2&H, 1x2x5, 3x4

Warnings: Violence, Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Swearing

White_fox

Life is a Highway 

On an impulsive plan to travel from California to New York City to propose to his longtime girlfriend, Heero Yuy did not plan to pick up a hitchhiker in nowhere Texas. Faced with some setbacks and a growing attraction to his passenger, Heero goes through more challenges than he planned on facing.

Pairings: 1x2, 1xR

Warnings: light slash, Fluff, Road Trips, Dubious Morality

Snippets:

@lifeaftermeteor

Duo’s Apartment

@noirangetrois

Ladies Night

@weiclown

WIP  

Headcanons / Meta / Discussions:

@remsyk-blog

Gundam Wing on Ao3 - Breakdown of Fanfiction stats 

 @terrablaze514

Ladies of Gundam Wing 

Secret Magic Heero Yuy 

Four Months after Mariemaia 

Fanart:

@noelleian

Zero Three Zero Four

Hipster Quatre 

@remsyk-blog

Duo Maxwell Hip Hop

 @showtime-eric

Trowa and Quatre, Sandrock and Heavyarms

 Crackposts:

@the-indomitable-bhg

BDSM 

Calendar Events:

Cocktail Friday

https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/

A new prompt every Monday!

Submissions should be posted Fridays between 3 and 5pm EST, and tagged with @gwcocktailfriday

Interview with a Creator by @remsyk-blog @interview-with-a-creator

Remsyk has created an online interview for fandom creators to fill out and then she features one each week so that everyone in the fandom can learn a bit about each other.

This week features @scacao

If you haven’t filled out her interview, go! do! now!

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for february 7 of 2020 with Psalm 7 and Proverbs 7, accompanied by Psalm 49 for the 49th day of Winter, and Psalm 38 for day 38 of the year

[Psalm 7]

A David Psalm

God! God! I am running to you for dear life;

the chase is wild.

If they catch me, I’m finished:

ripped to shreds by foes fierce as lions,

dragged into the forest and left

unlooked for, unremembered.

God, if I’ve done what they say—

betrayed my friends,

ripped off my enemies—

If my hands are really that dirty,

let them get me, walk all over me,

leave me flat on my face in the dirt.

Stand up, God; pit your holy fury

against my furious enemies.

Wake up, God. My accusers have packed

the courtroom; it’s judgment time.

Take your place on the bench, reach for your gavel,

throw out the false charges against me.

I’m ready, confident in your verdict:

“Innocent.”

Close the book on Evil, God,

but publish your mandate for us.

You get us ready for life:

you probe for our soft spots,

you knock off our rough edges.

And I’m feeling so fit, so safe:

made right, kept right.

God in solemn honor does things right,

but his nerves are sandpapered raw.

Nobody gets by with anything.

God is already in action—

Sword honed on his whetstone,

bow strung, arrow on the string,

Lethal weapons in hand,

each arrow a flaming missile.

Look at that guy!

He had sex with sin,

he’s pregnant with evil.

Oh, look! He’s having

the baby—a Lie-Baby!

See that man shoveling day after day,

digging, then concealing, his man-trap

down that lonely stretch of road?

Go back and look again—you’ll see him in it headfirst,

legs waving in the breeze.

That’s what happens:

mischief backfires;

violence boomerangs.

I’m thanking God, who makes things right.

I’m singing the fame of heaven-high God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 7 (The Message)

and importance of having understanding, of knowing the eternal truth in Love and the significance of grace, whether rich or poor, is seen in the lines of Psalm 49:

For the worship leader. A song of the sons of Korah.

Listen up, everyone!

All you who reside in this world, give an ear!

Everyone—rich and poor,

young and old, wise and foolish, humble and mighty—

My mouth will overflow with wisdom;

the reflections of my heart will guide you to understand the nature of life.

I will tune my ear to the words of a proverb;

to the sounds of a harp, I will reveal my riddle.

Why should I be afraid when dark evils swirl about me,

when I am walking among the sin of evildoers—

Those who depend on their own fortunes,

who boast about their earthly riches?

One person can’t grant salvation to another

or make a payment to the True God for another.

Redeeming a life is costly;

no premium is enough, ever enough,

That one’s body might live on forever

and never fear the grave’s decay.

Everyone knows that even the wisest ones die,

perishing together with the foolish and the stupid.

For all die—beggars and kings, fools and wise men.

Their wealth remains behind for others.

Although they wish to dwell in fine houses forever,

their graves are their real resting places.

Their homes are for all future generations,

yet for a while they have named lands after themselves.

[No one, regardless of how rich or important, can live forever;

he is] just like the animals that perish and decay.

This is the destiny of those foolish souls who have faith only in themselves;

this will be the end of those happy to follow in their ways.

[pause]

The fate of fools is the grave, and just like sheep,

death will feast on them.

The righteous will rule over them at dawn,

their bodies, their outward forms, rotting in the grave

far away from their great mansions.

But God will reach into the grave and save my life from its power.

He will fetch me and take me into His eternal house.

[pause]

Do not be afraid of the rich and powerful

as their prestige and honor grow,

For they cannot take anything with them when they die.

Their fame and glory will not follow them into the grave.

During their lives, they seek every blessing and advantage

because others praise you when you’ve done well.

But they will soon join their ancestors, for all of time,

among the tombs of the faithless—a place of no light.

Anyone who is rich or important without understanding

is just like the animals that perish and decay.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 49 (The Voice)

the closing verse of the same in The Passion Translation:

So this is the way of mortal man—

honored for a moment, yet without eternal insight,

like a beast that will one day perish.

[Psalm 38]

A Groan before the Throne

A poetic lament to remember, by King David

O Lord, don’t punish me angrily for what I’ve done.

Don’t let my sin inflame your wrath against me.

For the arrows of your conviction have pierced me deeply.

Your blows have struck my soul and crushed me.

Now my body is sick.

My health is totally broken because of your anger,

and it’s all due to my sins!

I’m overwhelmed, swamped, and submerged

beneath the heavy burden of my guilt.

It clings to me and won’t let me go.

My rotting wounds are a witness against me.

They are severe and getting worse,

reminding me of my failure and folly.

I am completely broken because of what I’ve done.

Gloom is all around me.

My sins have bent me over to the ground.

My inner being is shriveled up;

my self-confidence crushed.

Sick with fever, I’m left exhausted.

Now I’m cold as a corpse and nothing is left inside me

but great groaning filled with anguish.

Lord, you know all my desires and deepest longings.

My tears are liquid words and you can read them all.

My heart beats wildly, my strength is sapped,

and the light of my eyes is going out.

My friends stay far away from me, avoiding me like the plague.

Even my family wants nothing to do with me.

Meanwhile my enemies are out to kill me,

plotting my ruin, speaking of my doom

as they spend every waking moment

planning how to finish me off.

I’m like a deaf man who no longer hears.

I can’t even speak up, and words fail me;

I have no argument to counter their threats.

Lord, the only thing I can do is wait and put my hope in you.

I wait for your help, my God.

So hear my cry and put an end to their strutting in pride,

who gloat when I stumble in pain.

I’m slipping away and on the verge of a breakdown,

with nothing but sorrow and sighing.

I confess all my sin to you; I can’t hold it in any longer.

My agonizing thoughts punish me for my wrongdoing;

I feel condemned as I consider all I’ve done.

My enemies are many.

They hate me and persecute me,

though I’ve done nothing against them to deserve it.

I show goodness to them and get repaid evil in return.

And they hate me even more when I stand for what is right.

So don’t forsake me now, Lord!

Don’t leave me in this condition.

God, hurry to help me, run to my rescue!

For you’re my Savior and my only hope!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 38 (The Passion Translation)

[Proverbs 7]

Stick close to my instruction, my son,

and follow all my advice.

If you do what I say you will live well.

Guard your life with my revelation-truth,

for my teaching is as precious as your eyesight.

Treasure my instructions, and cherish them within your heart.

Say to wisdom, “I love you,”

and to understanding, “You’re my sweetheart.”

“May the two of you protect me, and may we never be apart!”

For they will keep you from the adulteress,

with her smooth words meant to seduce your heart.

Looking out the window of my house one day

I noticed among the mindless crowd

a simple, naïve young man who was about to go astray.

There he was, walking down the street.

Then he turned the corner,

going on his way as he hurried on to the house of the harlot—

the woman he had planned to meet.

There he was in the twilight as darkness fell,

convinced no one was watching

as he entered the black shadows of hell.

That’s when their rendezvous began.

A woman of the night appeared,

dressed to kill the strength of any man.

She was decked out as a harlot, pursuing her amorous plan.

Her voice was seductive, rebellious, and boisterous

as she wandered far from what’s right.

Her type can be found soliciting on street corners

on just about any night.

She wrapped her arms around the senseless young man

and held him tight—

she enticed him with kisses that seemed so right.

Then, with insolence, she whispered in his ear,

“Come with me. It’ll be all right.

I’ve got everything we need for a feast.

I’ll cook you a wonderful dinner.

So here I am—I’m all yours!

You’re the very one I’ve looked for,

the one I knew I wanted from the moment I saw you.

That’s why I’ve come out here tonight,

so I could meet a man just like you.

I’ve spread my canopy bed with coverings,

lovely multicolored Egyptian linens spread

and ready for you to lie down on.

I’ve sprinkled the sheets with intoxicating perfume

made from myrrh, aloes, and sweet cinnamon.

Come, let’s get comfortable and take pleasure in each other

and make love all night!

There’s no one home, for my husband’s away on business.

He left home loaded with money to spend,

so don’t worry.

He won’t be back until another month ends.”

He was swayed by her sophistication,

enticed by her longing embrace.

She led him down the wayward path right into sin and disgrace.

Quickly he went astray, with no clue

where he was truly headed,

taken like a dumb ox alongside of the butcher.

She was like a venomous snake coiled to strike,

so she set her fangs into him!

He’s like a man about to be executed with an arrow

right through his heart—

like a bird that flies into the net,

unaware of what’s about to happen.

So listen to me, you young men.

You’d better take my words seriously!

Control your sexual urges and guard your hearts from lust.

Don’t let your passions get out of hand

and don’t lock your eyes onto a beautiful woman.

Why would you want to even get close

to temptation and seduction,

to have an affair with her?

She has pierced the souls of multitudes of men—

many mighty ones have fallen

and have been brought down by her.

If you’re looking for the road to hell,

just go looking for her house!

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 7 (The Passion Translation)

[nirvanaballad]

[???]

In the deeps of the Abyss — the realm that sat beneath the sea bed and beyond the light of stars — an old wreck of an extra-dimensional aeroship emanated a strange sort of ectoplasmic material. It spewed it; expelling the stuff in great bulbous clouds — plumes of murky white spiralling; impregnating the airless, skyless space. Particles twinkled and shimmered as their incandescence was lifted by the twilight luna wind.

Of course, there was no one to see the display.

If years had gone by, it was impossible to gauge how many.

With no one there to observe it, some humans would make the mistake of thinking that it could not have happened. Despite this, something was watching. Not a human, but something that could perceive frequencies just as readily as any human. Better even than any human. To be more precise, rather than being a something, it was a somewhere. It was an extra-dimension, one that secretly intersected with the Abyss, and perhaps, everywhere else. 

The multiverse was known to be made up of many things more than just galaxies and worlds. There were extra-dimensions intersecting everything.

The aeroship had been fitted during its construction to traverse spaces that were indefinably contrasting to those most would ever encounter. Standard meteorological and altitudinal concerns were replaced with the apparatus needed to cross into and burst through extra-dimensions. Experience of such states were sometimes brushed while in deep mediation, but how to exist in these places was unknown. There would be no body, no thought, and no frequency that the human-perceiver would ever be able to interpret. So what did they look like?

Perhaps some espers would be able to have some experience of these secret places, but this experience would be a translation of something. A clumsy transforms of extreme elegance into a highly limited number and combination of sensations. As it was, this process could only yield a partial impression.

In this way, it was not space that rushed by when seen through the forward viewing screen on the bridge. They were beset with myriad collisions of unfamiliar colours -- fathomless glitch art at extreme pressure density, that plunged and merged, viscous celerity pressed up and sliding past the sequence of windows with no proportions and composed of complete intangibility.

Suddenly, (but not without a timed report from the officer at the con) the ship burst out of these strange colour oceans. They were now flying the tight thresholds between dimensions.

It was theorized that the being or entity they sought existed over-archingly in all locations in the multiverse; that it was alive, and that it was always listening.

Attached to the crew of the ex-aeroship were specialist who had been assigned to inspect and make evaluation of (among other things) its tempers/demeanours, fluctuation, and frequencies. A strange nuance of dynamic interjectivity allowed for a stretching or cutting through these subspaces, and it was through this that they would attempt to find a place to commune with it -- on its own terms and territory, as it were. As for these specialists, they would take them to zones that could facilitate, first observation; then communication with their target. It was something not directly accessible from RR, but this was juxtaposed by the idea of its all-everywhere-ness. If it was really in all places and spaces, and overlapped with all other dimensions, no sign of its existence had yet been observed. Again, the notion of ‘dimension-N’ was thus far entirely theoretical.

The crew were to explore the dimension’s meta-intangibility and (if possible) its attitude towards humanity. It was understood to be alive, but apart from this, only a few truths about it had been discerned. Its all-prevalence and limitless awareness were intertwined with the nature of its singular composition. The equations that accompanied humanity’s grasp on it spoke of an irremovable understanding of, and synergy with all things.

Before the mission began, the captain was given strict instructions not to reveal any of what they discovered to the regular admiralty. The ship, his ship, had embarked from planet Garden-333, with a captain somewhat disquieted by his orders.

The ship had opened a rift with their subspace-folding engines, and slid into a preset position in the place/space called ‘twilight_night,’ the coordinates of which had been provided by a Garden affiliate organization that operated out of a planet that had long ago been caught on the threshold between two of the ‘other spaces;’ a great vertical spectrum adjacent to a continuum of infinite, far more vast space, or ‘verses’. They would rendezvous with their science team on the threshold planet, and then enter into the dense briar that it stood as gatekeeper to. 

By the time the aeroship found itself in the limitless abyss, (who knows how long later…) this organization had collapsed. Much of that which was mentioned since about them elicited suggestions of a peculiar instance of human rights impeachment. However, Garden did not have anything further to say on the matter.

With this objectivity, it was just about calculable that the ship had resided in the Abyss for some years more than one-thousand FCs.

The extra-dimension that was present in the space of the Abyss had been found to sit woven within all spaces. The oracle that was installed and resided within the aeroship’s main-computer had reached out her fingers of numerical and isomorphic interface and found that the extent of the extra-dimension [denoted by the excursion team as ex-dim.n.] was infinite. There was no limit to its presence throughout the multiverse. 

The only other entity that could be defined to be found everywhere according to Garden’s shared access memory, was: the Internet.

In recent times, they had learned/earned to speak with the Internet directly, and the technicians that interacted with the part of it that it referred to as its ‘perspective-apex form position,’ had offered for them to refer to affectionately as ‘Her.’ Three of these same individuals accompanied the mission to find ex-dim.n and were known to the crew as special assets.

In the logs of the downed aeroship were reports of how this other dimension seemed to demonstrate a similar level of self-awareness as had been measured of the Internet. Truthfully, this measurement had been achieved by comparing massive sets of frequency dynamics. While this information suggested some relativity between Internet and ex-dim.n, this was not an indicator of anything of its ‘personality.’ As if its was a scientific concept, the ‘conversation-team’ spoke of ascertaining understanding of ‘personality’ all the way through the mission.

In RR, attempts to speak with it after making initial contact had successively failed. The special assets spoke of “gaining [ex-dim.n‘s] respect.” 

The idea of a being that encompassed all existence was one that had been obsessed with and fixated on for many ages. If ex-dim.n [also sometimes referred to as ‘dimension-N’] was found to be something that was similar in composition and dynamic flow to the so-called ‘one;’ the whole that was all things, could it be reasoned with? leaned from? The mission would be remembered as a turning point in Garden’s explorative enterprize if such a thing was achieved.

But this was not to be.

In the Abyss, the great ectoplasmic exhalation continued. ex-dim.n felt a wave of sadness/a great sigh. It had been partly her doing that this vessel was doomed to rest here in this place for eternity. While it had not been directly her who had caused the mission to fail, to herself, she sometime resembled all that made resistance to human endeavour.

As far as she could tell, there had definitely been something wrong with the aeroship — a design flaw that (some small research uncloaked) afflicted it and all of its cousins. Importantly, (she thought meaningfully) each aeroship is unique; created bespoke in accordance with the ancient integrity of the artisans who had shaped and nurtured the vessels into existence in RR forever. Without any exertion, she found that a particular new component [es.et.zz;gyro,] had been fast tracked into use in the aeroships’ guidance module truss. It had been noted as: “not sufficiently tested,” and corners had been cut in a bureaucracy that sought for the vessels to be manufactured, rather than made.

Another sigh blew through the Abyss. Three of eleven eyes opened.

Navigating the hub that saw intersection with a dozen different plains was nothing simple. Orders and corrections rung out between all members of the bridge crew and their counterparts on other decks of the ship. Calibrations of degrees were met with intricate alignment computations as all of the different colours and textures of the bisecting, side-ways turned oceans rushed by. Ultra-massive walls of meta-substance, sometimes dwarfing the ex-aircraft to barely a pin-prick in an environment more primal than that even of the forerunner, extra-dimensional ‘painted people.’

ex-dim.n entertained all of the other eventualities that might have transpired in the aeroship’s story. She had the power to change its destiny, but did she want to?

Due to the fact that the aeroship was an animate being, its demise was compiled as a sorrowful one. A graviton eddy storm had grasped it as it surfed the perimeter that denoted the extremity face of the extra-dimensional surface layer calculated to interface at its furtherest apex with dimension-N.

What was not known to Garden was that mis-navigation of this apex led irretrievably to the Abyss. How would they know? Truthfully, lost ex-aeroships had never been recovered in order that it could be discerned where they arrived after they were downed. The Abyss was more like a place that failed-humans were sent to upon death.

As the aeroship tumbled, its kinetic metaphor fulfilled a representation of cascading thought, puncturing through successive ex-membranes. It emerged in the Abyss like it was awakening from slumber. What materialized was not all that it had been.

In the last moments as the aeroship was torn in half by the gravitational maelstrom, one member of the crew lamented the potential opportunity to discover such truth about existence. All that they had meticulously prepared for had been for nothing. It was a woeful, and bleak eventuality. 

The crew were prepared for ascension, but would they find themselves in the afterlife, or stuck between realms as geists/ghosts?

After ninety-nine steps (as measurement of time could not apply) of what she saw as profitable observation, ex-dim.n revealed her unbound power, and let the ship sink through into the place that so many others of its downed sisters had found through the ages. Experiences of the afterlife cannot be shared or be spoken of, but it was known by ex-dim.n when reincarnation was finally achieved by the aeroship, it was re-designated as [800] Abyss, and took up its role in the Nietszchian War Fleet.

Sometimes, she still dreams of that erased crew who were lost in the pursuit of what humanity would one day know as Nirvana.

[This day denotes the anniversary of 250,000million-googolplexes (FCs) since the first aeroship was constructed.]

January ‘20

[agentannakelso]

Anna Kelso - Destiny Verse

Birth Name: Anna Kelso

Adopted Name: Annushka Lebedev

Nationality: US American

Height: 1.60 mts (5'3" ft)

Weight: 59 kgs (130 lbs)

Date of Birth:  early 2000s

Date of Death: early Golden Age

Rezzed: early Dark Age

Species: Human Risen

Class: Hunter (Gunslinger, Bladedancer) / Titan (Defender)

Ghost: Juggernaut

Affiliation: The Farm 

Occupation: Dead Zone Scout, Cryptarch

Fireteam: Dead End Cure

Former Affiliation: The Last City

Former Occupation: Forces of the City / Vanguard Scout

Former Fireteam: Bad News for the Bad Guys

Former Affiliation: Takanome's Rangers

Former Occupation: Ranger

Appearance.

Annushka looks like a woman in her late forties to early fifties.

She has a slim figure, described as a “spare, whipcord frame”. Her skin is pale and her eyes are hazel. She has straight brunette shoulder-length hair, which she keeps tied on a knot, with even bangs covering her forehead.

Annushka wears the Ranger 1.0 armour set in black with golden outlines. Her chest piece is decorated with the hunter emblem drawn in thin golden lines wrapped in a pattern of pale blue flowers. Her hunter cloak is black, and bears the Valor in Darkness emblem.

Juggernaut’s shell has a camouflage pattern.

Personality.

Annushka presents a stoic and severe exterior, which she uses to prevent her insecurities or worries from showing.

Underneath that, she is an insightful, strong-willed, if sometimes impatient and impulsive person. Always ready to stand up against injustice and in defence of those she holds dear; she is capable of great anger just as well as great compassion.

Combat.

Having originally worked with the Rangers when she was first rezzed by her Ghost, Annushka has throughout training in the use of rifles. Simultaneously, as the only Risen of that group, Annushka would often be the one to engage in close quarters combat, act as a decoy or spearhead attacks.

For a Guardian, Annushka is unusually reluctant to depend on the Traveler’s Light, an attitude born from a natural distrust of things she does not understand or lacks information on. Because of this, she only uses her class abilities as a last resort.

Having been around since long before Guardian classes were established,  Annushka’s manipulation of the light doesn’t quite fit within an specific class, much less a subclass. Though her preferred approach to battle tends to align better to traditional Hunter standards.

Equipment and Weapons. 

- Heavy Pike (North American Empire eagle painted on its bonnet)

-  Arcadia Jumpship

-  Shock Rifle

-  Hunter's Throwing Knife

-  MIDA Multi-Tool Scout Rifle 

-  Khvostov 7G-02 Auto Rifle

- Red Death Pulse Rifle

-  The First Curse Hand-Cannon

-  Vestian Dynasty Sidearm

Biography.

Annushka was rezzed by her Ghost during the early days of the Dark Age at what used to be the North West of the North American Empire. She took her name from a letter and a wedding ring she had with herself at the time.

After wandering aimlessly alone for weeks, Annushka managed to steal a Shock Rifle and a Heavy Pike. She used the later to stalk members of the House of Devils, which lead her to the territory under the Traveler.

There she met the Takanome's Rangers for the first time and decided to join them.

Annushka would spend the following years patrolling the ruins of Earth, protecting human outposts, fending off thieves, murderers, Warlords, Fallen and Vex alike.

As the rangers numbers dwindled from a combination of their high mortality rate, few volunteers and the rise of the Iron Lords, they took to burying their dead by the roads they patrolled, planting blue flowers by them.

To this day, implying the rangers are merely a myth is a surefire way to get on Annushka’s bad side.

Ultimately, Annushka found herself alone. During the following years, she would continue patrolling the old ranger routes, guiding whoever asked her to the nascent Last City. Though she would refuse to settle down there, largely due to being weary the Iron Lords would just become a new version of the Warlords.

Ultimately, as the numbers of wanderers to guide dwindled, lost and loneliness became to much for her, and Annushka killed herself, with orders for her Ghost not to bring her back.

Juggernaut would obey this order, until the start of the Faction Wars, when he would bring her back to help sneak refuges away from the City.

When the Faction Wars ended, Annushka guided the refuges back to the City. There, she lived among the civilian population unnoticed by the Vanguard, until the Battle of the Six Fronts, when she revealed herself to fight.

Her status as a Risen revealed, Annushka was pressed into formally joining the Vanguard. She would originally choose to support New Monarchy, both because they granted her access to the Consensus and the feeling they were the only faction that actually had a political and social proposal, even if she didn’t agree with it completely. However, as time passed, Annushka found herself staying more to keep an eye on them and their intentions.

Using her status as a Guardian and affiliation to New Monarchy, Annushka founded the Forces of the City, primarily to train and arm non-Guardians to stand for themselves, and not be at the mercy of Guardians in the event of another Faction War. However, she refused to take leadership of the organization, insisting it should be run by non-Guardians.

She also regularly took up solo scout missions for the Vanguard to keep up appearances.

Osiris’ exile caused Annushka to grow curious of his theories, and she started to surveil the meetings of members of his Cult while on patrol.

During the Battle of the Twilight Gap, Annushka supported and participated of Lord Shaxx’s counterattack against the Fallen.

Having fallen on Lord Saladin’s bad side for supporting Lord Shaxx, Annushka decided to lower her profile for some time, and dedicated herself to study Crypto-Archaeology from Master Rahool. Around this time she started developing an interest for Symmetry’s theories.

Annushka would exploit the Concordant’s failed coup against the Consensus to regain their favour, by participating on the Battle of Bannerfall.

Annushka was disappointed when the Future War Cult was given voice in the Consensus over Symmetry.

In the wake of the Battle of Burning Lake, Annushka finally gathered together a fireteam: Bad News for the Bad Guys.

Destiny:

Under Commander Zavala’s orders, Annushka lead her fireteam to assault the Devil's Lair and kill their High Servitor Sepiks Prime.

Upon receiving the Speaker’s emergency broadcast about the Hive, her fireteam descended into the depths of the Hellmouth to kill Phogoth, the Untamed.

The fireteam descended below the Ishtar Academy and slayed Sekrion, Nexus Mind, preventing Venus' transformation into the Vex network.

When the Cabal unleashed the Psion Flayers to locate one of Rasputin's usurped AI cores to break his control over Mars' defences, Anna’s fireteam was deployed. The Flayers defeated, Rasputin locked down the machine.

Using data from a reclaimed Ishtar archive, Annushka’s team raided the Vault of Glass. Slaying the Templar and its Oracles, they avoided the Gorgons, and confronted Atheon, Time's Conflux in the Glass Throne. Using the Aegis they defeated the Vex overseer and broke the Vex's control over the Vault. 

The Dark Below:

Annushka’s team tracked down and killed Crota's last general, Omnigul, temporarily halting the Hive invasion of Earth.

They then went after the Undying Mind and destroyed it before it could  summon back the Black Heart.

The House of Wolves:

When Queen Mara Sov opened the Reef to the Guardians, Annushka travelled there, interested in the opportunity of learning more about the place and what’s beyond the asteroid belt. She instructed her fireteam to stay behind and guard the City, telling them to call for her if it looked like anyone might try to make a move to exploit the hordes of guardians leaving for the Reef.

She spent much time listening to Variks, the Loyal‘s stories about the Eliksni. And took advantage of being able to participate in the Trials of Osiris without having to worry about the Vanguard.

The Taken King:

Annushka’s team answered Rasputin's call for aid in fending off a Fallen attack.

Later, under Cayde-6 orders, Annushka ’s team was deployed to establish patrol beacons across the Dreadnaught.

There they found Alak-Hul, the Darkblade, and slain him per Eris Morn’s recommendation.

Annushka’s team returned to Earth, where they continued fighting the Taken, tracking down a coven at the Cosmodrome .

Finally, the fireteam travelled to the Moon to eliminate Malok, Pride of Oryx  before he could rally the remaining Taken from the Hellmouth.

Rise of Iron:

Annushka’s fireteam patrolled the City’s walls during The Transmission Incident to ensure infected Guardians didn’t enter the City.

Once a cure for the infection was found, the fireteam tracked down Sepiks Perfected, and killed both it and Dresiks, Splicer Baron in the Devils' Lair.

Later, they destroyed a network of SIVA Nodes. Descending into the Hive Nest, they killed Kovik, Splicer Priest, as well as a captive Hive Ogre the Fallen Priest had infused with SIVA.

 They went on to infiltrate Foundry 113 and defeat the duumvirate of Aksis and his second-in-command Vosik inside their Perfection Complex. The Devil Splicers were neutralised.

Destiny 2:

Annushka’s fireteam was killed during the Red Legion’s attack on the Last City when the Guardians were cut from the Traveler’s Light. She spent the immediate aftermath of the initial attack helping civilians sneak out of the City, exploiting the routes she used to do the same back during the days of the Faction Wars. And leading them through the old ranger patrol routes. Eventually she caught the signal set up by Suraya Hawthorne to guide the City refugees to The Farm.

When the Vanguard arrived at the Farm, Annushka rendezvous with them to assist in the attack to free the Traveler. She was part of Hawthorne’s team. Annushka recovered her Light, alongside the rest of the Guardians, once Ghaul was killed.

Annushka stayed in the City until the last remnants of the Red Legion were successfully defeated and cleared. After that, however, she chose to return to the Farm and settled down there, offering her knowledge as a Cryptarch. She also took to planting blue flowers leading to The Farm. She decided to join Devrim Kay’s effort to turn the Farm into a “New City”, officially abandoning the Vanguard and New Monarchy.

Working as a scout at the European Dead Zone, she met the Hunter posse Dead End Cure and joined them as a way to remain up to date with the goings of the City without having to return.

After the learning the Future War Cult had successfully predicted the attack of the Red Legion and had been ignored when trying to warn the Vanguard, she became more receptive to their theories, even if she remained distrustful of their secretive Inner Circle. 

Annushka also warmed up to Dead Orbit, thanks to their assistance during the evacuation of the City and deciding to maintain a presence at The Farm, even after the City was retaken.

Forsaken:

TBA

[stormlightrp]

General

Name: Arthur Curry Alias: Aquaman Age: 32 years old. Species: Human / Atlantian Sexual orientation: Heterosexual. FC: Jason Momoa Multiship: ✓ ✓ ✓

Biography

In Maine, 1985, lighthouse keeper Tom Curry rescues Atlanna, the princess of the underwater nation of Atlantis, and they fall in love and have a son, Arthur Curry, who is born with the power to communicate with marine lifeforms. Atlanna is forced to abandon her family and return to Atlantis, entrusting to her loyal advisor Nuidis Vulko the mission of training Arthur. Under Vulko’s guidance, Arthur becomes a skilled warrior, but is rejected by the Atlanteans for being a half-breed and ultimately leaves Atlantis behind.

One year after Steppenwolf’s invasion, Arthur confronts pirates led by Jesse Kane, who have been hijacking nuclear submarines. Kane is killed during the confrontation, and his son, David Kane, vows revenge against Arthur. David later targets Atlantis at the behest of his employer, Arthur’s half-brother King Orm, who uses the seemingly unprovoked attack as a pretext to declare war on the surface. Nereus, ruler of the kingdom of Xebel, supports him, but Nereus’ daughter Mera, who has been betrothed to Orm, refuses to aide them and journeys to the surface to ask Arthur for help, earning his trust by saving Tom from a tidal wave sent by Orm. Arthur reluctantly accompanies Mera to a rendezvous with Vulko, who urges Arthur to find the Trident of Atlan, a magic artifact that once belonged to Atlantis’ first ruler, in order to reclaim his rightful place as king. They are ambushed by Orm’s men, and Mera and Vulko escape, while Arthur is captured.

Orm visits Arthur in captivity and announces that Atlanna was executed for the crime of having a half-breed son, blaming Arthur and the surface for her death. He offers Arthur an opportunity to leave forever, but Arthur instead challenges him to a duel in the Ring of Fire. Orm gains the upper hand and nearly kills Arthur before Mera rescues him. Together, Arthur and Mera journey to the Sahara desert, where the trident was forged, and unlock a holographic message that leads them to Sicily, where they retrieve the trident’s coordinates. Meanwhile, Orm provides David with Atlantean armor and weaponry and sends him to stop them, imprisons Vulko upon learning of his betrayal, and coerces the remaining five kingdoms of Atlantis to pledge allegiance to him and his campaign against the surface.

In Sicily, Arthur and Mera are ambushed by David, who fights and injures Arthur before being thrown off a cliff to his apparent death. Mera nurses Arthur’s wounds as they journey to the trident’s whereabouts, and encourages him to embrace his destiny as a hero. Arriving at their destination, Arthur and Mera are attacked by a legion of amphibious monsters known as the Trench, but manage to fend them off and reach a wormhole that transports them to an uncharted sea located at the center of the Earth. There, they are unexpectedly reunited with Atlanna, who was sacrificed to the Trench for her crimes, but manage to escape them and reach the uncharted sea, where she has been stranded ever since.Arthur faces Karathen, the mythical leviathan that guards the trident, and voices his determination to protect both Atlantis and the surface, proving his worth and reclaiming the trident, which grants him control over the seven seas. Arthur, Mera and Atlanna lead an army of marine creatures in battle against Orm and his followers, who renounce their obedience to Orm and embrace Arthur as the true king upon learning he wields the trident. Arthur defeats Orm in combat, but chooses to spare his life, and Orm accepts his fate after discovering Arthur has found and rescued their mother. Atlanna returns to the surface to reunite with Tom, while Arthur ascends to the throne, with Mera by his side, and embraces his fate as Aquaman.

Verses.

DC Extended universe

Takes place on the DC movies. 

[heyitssmiller]

I’ll Be Seeing You

A Wolfstar/Coops WW2 AU.

Hey, y'all!! This is a collab with the wonderful @fruitcoops ! It's part of the Rendezvous with Destiny universe, although you don't need to read that one first! There are a few nods to that story in here, but that's it. This has been such a joy to write, and I hope y'all like it as much as we LOVED writing it! Happy reading! <3

Character credit to @lumosinlove

CWs: WW2 AU (no violence or graphic details, but it is the premise of the fic), food/drink

ao3 link

May 6, 1941

The streets felt too empty, Remus noted with a twitch of his nose as he headed down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and rucksack slung casually over his shoulder. He forced himself to keep a steady, leisurely pace. One foot and then the other. His fancy shoes were silent on the cobblestones - they were artfully battered to fit his look, but still nicer than anything he could have bought for himself at home.

They weren’t his, though. Not really. Just like the rucksack with no less than eighteen hidden pockets wasn’t his, nor were his high-waisted pants. Not even his wristwatch - silver, with a camera in the winding mechanism - had come from a real manufacturer.

Remus passed under a cracked streetlamp and forced himself to breathe normally. Paris was full of eyes. The key to making them slide right over him lay in being just visible enough to forget.

He walked for another ten minutes, marking each turn against the mental map in his head until he could slip off the main roads into an alley, where broken sandbags spilled their contents onto the rough cobblestones and made Remus’ soft footsteps crunch in time to the jolting of his pulse. He would need to find an alternate route, next time. Something quieter.

He had been given a name for his contact and nothing else–no height, no hair color, no eye color, no clothing, not even a gender. Just Padfoot. He supposed he could look for someone with a camera, but that wasn’t exactly rare on such a lovely summer day. Remus could only hope random civilians didn’t make a habit of taking shortcuts through half-ruined alleyways.

He leaned against the nearest solid wall, pulled a book from his messenger bag, and settled in to wait.

–

Sirius watched from his spot at the table as people began to trickle in, one by one. Celeste, supplied with cheese and crackers she undoubtedly got from the underground market. Logan, with a quiet, reserved smile and silent steps - he was perfect for this, a life in the shadows. Nadeau, still nursing a long, deep gash on his face from a mission gone wrong but holding his head high. LeBlanc, Lavolie, and finally Pascal bringing up the rear and locking the door behind him.

“Sirius?” he prompted.

“Ten minutes.” Enough time to finish my coffee , he added internally with no small amount of gratitude. Anxiety had kept him up all night, and with his shift at the café, there was no time to nap. Beneath the table, his knee measured the same rhythm as his rapid pulse. Everyone else had been running missions for months and yet he was the one to get stuck with the only long-term OSS connection.

No pressure.

Lavolie rapped his knuckles on the table as he passed. “You should head out soon,” he advised, heedless to Sirius’ glare as he mopped up a few drops of espresso that had spilled. The only Canadian and fluent English-speaker among them, he was their short-term OSS expert, but his accented French already put him at too much risk for extended missions as the German agents grew more suspicious each day. “It’s always better to be early in case you get lost.”

“I was raised here, I won’t get lost,” Sirius muttered.

“Up, kid.”

Sirius caught Nadeau’s wink when he grudgingly stood and returned his cup to the counter; taking off his coffee-stained apron felt like shedding one guise for another. One movement was all it took for him to lose the protection of a friendly young worker out for a supply run and transformed him into just another civilian. That was what he had to be, of course–unrecognizable. Untrackable. Anonymous to the point where even his name disappeared. The cache of Resistance personnel in the café was rare, to say the least. He was lucky to have found them when he did.

Celeste tucked a napkin-wrapped piece of shortbread into his coat pocket when he turned to leave. “Mais, non–”

“In case you get hungry,” she interrupted, shooing him toward the door.

If it weren’t for the clear worry tightening the corners of her eyes and mouth, Sirius would have protested more. As it was, he bent obediently for a kiss to each cheek. “Merci, maman.”

She made the same little ‘tch’ sound as always when he called her that, but her anxious grip eased on the countertop and she kissed his forehead as well. “Be home before blackout.”

“I will.” Promises had been hard to make, lately, and harder to keep. But Sirius had faith in that one as he left the café - it was only his first mission, after all. A simple trade. Minerva had said it should take five minutes at most when she dropped off the thick packet of new information. He didn’t know what the packet contained, just that he was supposed to meet an OSS agent and deliver it. That was probably for the best - the ignorance, that is. The better kept their secrets, the higher their chances of being successful.

And making it out of this alive.

It was always a gamble, being involved in something of this nature - especially at this scale - yet Sirius knew there was nowhere he’d rather be. He thought of his parents, his brother, off in hiding somewhere even he didn't know, and knew he’d be going insane if he were there. Sure, his parents were insufferable, miserable people, but the boredom… that would do Sirius in, no question about it. No, he was much happier here - not in the middle of the action (thank god) but behind the scenes, slyly moving chess pieces when the opponent’s back was turned.

That and the destruction of their railways, trucks, and roads.

Sirius loved that there wasn’t a fine line between the types of missions they did - it was a full-fledged crater. Subtlety or explosions, those were usually his two options. He tended to like the explosions better, if he was being truthful. They were relatively straight-forward: get in, blow something up, get the hell out. And yet here he was, anchored down to a long-term mission that involved more stealth and finesse than anything else. It was something he wasn’t used to, between his brief stint in the French army (before the invasion, before Dunkirk) and his experience in the demolition side of the Resistance. He wondered why it was him instead of Logan, who thrived in the secrecy. What the hell was Logan doing that was so important, so time-consuming that they’d chosen Sirius, of all people, to fill in?

It was fine. He’d deal with it. He signed up for this, after all. And it gave him a purpose, a way he could help his country, his people. He wanted to see them free again. What better reason to fight was there?

It didn't take him long to reach his destination, with the shortcuts and back alleys he took. Besides a general location, though, he wasn't sure who exactly he was looking for. Moony was the name he’d been told, but nothing else. There was a code in place, of course, to make sure he found the right person - something casual enough to be a simple conversation starter, but that required a specific answer to confirm that they were the right person. Luckily, they were meeting in an alley far off the beaten path, so it wouldn’t be too hard.

Sure enough, there was one solitary figure at their rendezvous spot, his back propped against the old brick wall, a book held daintily in a thin, long-fingered hand. A figure that was almost striking in its… plainness. Brown hair styled in the most generic fashion, off-white button down - older, the cuffs tattered - that was a few sizes too big, scuffed shoes, boring slacks. Sirius supposed it was a good thing, being so unremarkable. Eyes probably flitted right over him and on to the next person in a crowd. That was a good thing, for a spy.

Sirius approached the man with caution (hopefully not too obvious, god this was why he was such a bad spy - he overthought everything) and caught just a glint of his gaze as he watched Sirius out of the corner of his eye before casually returning to his book. Sirius cleared his throat, then quickly tried to hide his grimace. Smooth.

“Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” he asked.

The man closed his book with a quiet snap and looked over at him with barely-concealed amusement. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and Sirius’ shoulders relaxed a fraction. This must be Moony, then. Clear, amber eyes crinkled up at the edges, and all previous thoughts Sirius had about this man’s plainness went straight out the window. Those eyes… they sure were something.

“You’re new to this whole espionage thing, aren’t you?” Moony queried, his bottom lip trapped under one canine as he fought back a smile.

Sirius huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest in a petulant sign of defiance. “No.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, Padfoot. Maybe start by not inconspicuously clearing your throat when you meet your informant.”

“Yeah, I bet this is fucking hilarious to you, mister master spy .” Sirius bantered back, earning a quiet puff of what could’ve been either laughter or exasperation - Sirius couldn’t really tell which. He reached for the envelope tucked into the inside pocket of his thin jacket. He handed it over quickly, and Moony nimbly transferred it to his satchel, movements smooth and precise, like he’d done this thousands of times before. He probably had, the bastard.

“We’ll be in contact.” Moony’s words were definitive, confident, and clearly the end of their conversation. Minerva had said it would be a quick meeting, but Sirius hadn’t thought it would be this quick.

Moony continued, “Take care getting home, Padfoot.” And then he was gone, turning the corner and disappearing from view.

Sirius stared after him, at a bit of a loss for words, only realizing he should’ve said his own goodbye when he noticed his mouth was gaping open, eyes still stuck on the place where Moony had disappeared.

_

August 30, 1941

“You need to slow down.”

“I can’t. Paris needs me.”

“You can’t help her behind bars, mon fils.”

Sirius turned back to the jammed coffee machine, hiding his scowl from Dumo’s view. He had no doubt the older man would pick up on it anyway. “You say that as if you’re not running the whole operation.”

“That’s different.” A heavy hand brushed his shoulder; Sirius let Dumo pull him around, but didn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t stand any more concern. This argument had been going on long enough to weather him down to bare bones. “Sirius, look at me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m worried.”

“I don’t need your worry,” Sirius snapped, lowering his voice as the floorboards creaked overhead. “We all have to do our part–”

“All I’m asking is that you take more care. This isn’t some railroad explosion.”

He shook his head. Dumo had been running their pie-slice of the greater Parisian Resistance for…Sirius didn’t even know how long. Long enough to know that there was life-or-death risk in every mission. The new laws may have made Resistance work punishable by death, but that didn’t mean the occupiers wouldn’t have shot him on sight during any of his other transfer meetings if they suspected something.

“I’m being careful,” he finally said, setting a dish towel aside. They would need to do laundry again soon. Maybe he could sneak the bag away before Celeste got to it–her hands were cracked and dry enough from work already. “As careful as I can be.”

The look on Dumo’s face told Sirius he didn’t really believe it, but neither of them were in the mood to argue further. Fighting took up so much of their lives already - they didn’t need it at home, as well. Too many had already started to go missing. Sirius wanted to believe things would be better soon–they all did, that was the whole point of the network–but he could feel the others’ faith fading as Germany’s stranglehold on their beloved city grew tighter. He wouldn’t fail them. He would fight and bleed and die if that’s what it took to fill his home with the life that had been stolen from it.

“I care about you very much, Sirius.” The quiet, somber confession brought Sirius back from his musings and he forced himself to look up. Dumo’s forehead was creased with worry; the twinkle of kindly mischief in his eye had dulled. Guilt soaked in, like the coffee spill he’d just cleaned up with his towel. He looked down at it instead of having to deal with the agonizing reality of being cared for in the middle of a war. There were so many ways he could hurt them, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to go out and not come back.”

“I don’t, either.”

Dumo’s broad hand was gentle on his arm. Sirius figured that was a move most good fathers pulled when their kids were stubborn and stupid, not that he had any experience with it. “I don’t know what you’re doing out there,” Dumo said, moving away to arrange the clean mugs on their shelf. “I don’t know who this ‘Moony’ is, and I don’t want to. I just need you to promise you’ll keep your head and listen to your heart.”

Sirius twisted his espresso-smudged apron for a moment, then reached out and touched Dumo’s wrist. His worry sat on his face like letters on a page, and Sirius felt his heart ache at the thought that he was the one who put it there. “You have my word.”

—

November 30, 1941

Sirius hated the total, resolute darkness of the nightly blackouts, but he had to admit that there were some advantages. For one, the stars. He had never seen them this bright before, but especially not in Paris of all places. Logan said you could see them pretty well from the countryside where his family lived, but Sirius had never been there himself. But this… this was the picture of beauty in dark times. Not that his camera would capture it, of course, but Sirius didn’t mind too much. There was something about the mind’s eye, keeping things in his head to look back on rather than printing them out onto sleek pages. It was special - something only he would see.

Another thing about the blackouts was the silence. Before the war, it was like someone was always out and about in the city - kids laughing, cars and bikes racing down the streets, vendors selling their goods in the square. But now, with the curfew in place and enemies allowed to prowl freely in the streets, it was quiet as a ghost town. It didn’t feel real - like a single loose cobblestone, a quiet whisper of fabric, would break the illusion.

How he wished for the illusion to break.

Moony was right where he was supposed to be, blending into the shadows of a cranny Sirius remembered hiding in when he was a kid. He would’ve missed the agent completely if he hadn’t been actively looking for him. But there he was, as promised.

Sirius stepped up beside him, only hoping he blended in as well as Moony did. It was harder to find his pictures in darkness like this, but he managed after rummaging around in his bag for an embarrassing amount of time. Six months on the job, and he still managed to bungle the small stuff. At least he could blame it on the cold.

“Here,” he dared to whisper as he handed the photos he’d taken over, clumsy fingers brushing against Moony’s as he tried to find him better in the dark.

Moony didn’t reply; he didn't look at the photos, either (not that he could’ve seen them very well). He just slid the stack of them into a hidden pocket in his coat and nodded firmly. “Thanks.”

Sirius watched him - noted the too-tense set to his shoulders and the tight muscles in his jaw, his honey eyes, too closed off and worried - and couldn’t help but linger, even though he knew he should be moving on. Neither of them were safe here.

Although to be fair, neither of them were safe anywhere, not with what they were doing, the secrets they were keeping.

He itched to do something, though - to find some sort of buoy in this aimless, restless sea. To linger when he shouldn’t. To reach out and make a connection with someone, one that wasn’t built on lies or deceptions.

“Moony!” he hissed, even as the agent was walking away. Moony stopped, turning to look at him curiously over his shoulder, eyes reflecting the moonlight above, shining in a way that was entirely unfair.

How fitting.

“Tell me something,” Sirius blurted, not quite sure where he was going but rolling with it anyway. At Moony’s shuttered, wary expression, Sirius rushed to continue. “Nothing important, don’t worry. It’s just… I get a little lonely, sometimes, and I’m guessing you do too. It’d be nice to have a friend, don’t you think?”

Moony didn’t answer at first, but he also didn’t turn around and leave, so Sirius took that as a win. He regarded Sirius with that warm yet detached gaze and continued to linger.

“What would you like to know?” he finally asked, and Sirius smiled wolfishly at him.

A game was afoot, and anyone who knew Sirius knew how much he loved those.

“A secret for a secret. I’ll tell you something about me and vice versa - it doesn’t have to be important, I know that’s not ideal for spies, but something to help us get to know each other. For example: I am seriously allergic to shellfish.”

Moony laughed, quiet and billowing in the still night air. ”Really?”

Sirius nodded, unreasonably eager to keep the conversation going, to hear that laugh again. His stomach kicked at Moony’s quiet smile and he twisted the strap of his new bag in his hands. “My parents were hosting a fancy dinner one evening when I was… six? Seven? Anyways, they served shellfish, I took one bite , and the next thing I knew my face looked like a balloon.”

Moony laughed again; Sirius took it as a reward.

“Alright. Let’s see…” Moony seemed to ponder it for a few seconds. He finally settled on a simple, “I love to read.”

Sirius wanted more, so much more.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite author?”

But Moony just smiled - a coy, secretive riddle that Sirius wanted so badly to solve. “That’s a secret for another time, Padfoot. Have a good night.”

And with that he walked away, leaving Sirius standing there with a goofy grin on his face and a foreign feeling stirring in his chest.

March 2, 1942

Remus found himself in Paris earlier than he was used to for their next meet-up. They were switching up their designated times and locations, to keep from being predictable and raising suspicion. Remus couldn’t say he minded. The city looked different in the light, without the blackouts and the deserted streets - more alive, more like a city instead of a movie backdrop. He passed people with their own lives to live, their own stories to tell, and he was infinitely fascinated by it. Even though they were in the same place, living through the same events, their stories were so different from his own. Remus found himself wondering about the woman he passed on the street as he approached their meeting place, pace brisk but nonchalant. He entered the Luxembourg Gardens, found their park bench, and sat down with his book, more than content to finish a chapter or two while he waited.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long. He’d barely finished ten pages by the time Padfoot was sliding into place on the bench next to him with a friendly smile.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, making Remus laugh quietly.

“Hi,” he replied, taking his ‘bookmark’ and handing it to Padfoot. “Here’s the address you wanted.”

The Resistance would find supplies from the OSS there. It wasn’t much, but it was what they were able to provide while staying under the radar. Padfoot, in turn, passed him what looked like a gift bag or present. Remus hadn’t noticed it until then, and he laughed at the bright colors and clashing tissue paper.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.”

Padfoot just grinned unapologetically. “Happy birthday, Moony dearest. Go ahead and open it.”

It wasn’t his birthday (although it was admittedly close) and he certainly wasn’t Padfoot’s dearest, but he allowed the ruse due to the public nature of this meeting.

Remus gave him an exasperated but undeniably fond side-eye and removed the tissue paper. Inside were the photographs Padfoot had taken and, to Remus’ surprise, a book. He picked it up delicately and inspected the cover.

“You, uh, you said you like to read. Last time we swapped secrets, that is. And I don’t have any new books - those are kind of hard to come by these days, you know? - but this was always one of my favorites growing up. So…” Padfoot’s rambling tapered off, foot tapping away nervously. It was beyond endearing, like the man himself.

“The Three Musketeers,” Remus read aloud, tracing the gold lettering on the cover. “A French classic.”

Padfoot nodded enthusiastically. “Oui.”

Remus smiled, bright and real, at the gesture. He’d read the book before, but never in the original French. He was excited at the thought of seeing the differences in translations. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what else to say, really. The thoughtfulness had surprised him. Not only had this stranger listened to him, but he’d done something with the knowledge - something selfless and (seemingly) just for Remus. No angle, no ulterior motive. He was just being nice. It was hard to find these days.

Maybe Remus could consider him more than just an informant - a means to an end, as callous as that sounded. Maybe he wasn't such a stranger anymore.

“Secret for a secret?” Remus was the first to ask this time, and it was worth it for the way Padfoot’s face brightened a little. He really was beautiful when he smiled; hard lines softened, blue-gray eyes shone, and sometimes - if Remus was lucky enough - the world seemed to brighten right along with him.

Remus leaned in closer, partly to make Padfoot think his secret was going to be something of extreme importance, partly because he simply couldn’t help himself. He stretched out the silence, the anticipation, before whispering seriously, “My favorite pastry is a plain buttered croissant.”

Padfoot jerked back to look him in the eyes, hesitated as he parsed out if Remus was serious or not, then burst into delighted laughter. “No way.”

Remus kept his eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else, and shrugged. “I’m a fan of the classics.”

“The boring classics, maybe.”

“Aren’t you French? I thought you guys loved croissants.”

Padfoot spluttered indignantly. Remus grinned at the havoc he was causing.

“There are so many other pastries to love, though! And your favorite is a plain croissant?”

“With butter.”

“Oh, so sorry. We can’t forget about that, now can we?”

Remus laughed, nudging Padfoot’s shoulder with his own. This… this was the closest he’d come to having a friend in a long time. Between the job and the trust issues that came with it, he’d become lonelier than he thought he could be. In all honesty, being a reclusive scholar had always appealed to him before. Now he wasn't so sure. There were things in life, things that only companionship could bring, that were worth the harrowing nature of socialization. Sitting there on a lonely park bench with a newfound friend, sharing laughs and goofy quips, Remus found clarity in the thought. He broke himself from his thoughts and turned to look at Padfoot again. “Your turn, pastry aficionado.”

That warm smile turned softer, pensive as he thought of a good secret to tell.

“I used to love photography.”

Used to. Past tense.

Padfoot looked out at the sun setting over the gardens, strangely at peace with his words. Remus waited for him to continue, watching golden rays strike the side of his face, his dark hair.

“The first thing I bought with my own money, not what my parents had given me, was that camera. I’d go out after school, get lost in the city, and take pictures of everything I saw - beautiful things, things I thought were worthy enough to capture with my lens, to immortalize in glossy pages.” He sighed then, a tragic one not of defeat, exactly, but acceptance. It was almost worse. “Now I look through my camera at tanks and battle formations and anti-aircraft and I wonder if I’ll ever find something worth capturing again.”

Remus frowned in thought, unsure of how to proceed. What could he possibly say to that? Padfoot had lived through battles and occupation and had seen things Remus never even wanted to imagine. He’d witnessed the ransacking of his home, the despair and hopelessness of his people. It must be hard to see any light at the end of that tunnel.

“You will,” Remus said, forcing all the confidence he had into the words. “It’s what we’re fighting for, isn’t it?”

He just hoped there was some beauty to be found after all this was said and done.

–

May 6, 1942

“Happy anniversary.”

Sirius was smiling before he even looked away from the river, brows rising as Moony gave his arm another gentle nudge and he took the half-sandwich, split perfectly down the middle. Precise, but caring. Just like the man himself. “Anniversary?”

“The sixth of May.” Moony took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a moment, watching the water rush beneath the Pont Neuf. “One year. 52 meetings. I thought it called for a bit of celebration.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said softly. One year of knowing Moony, and it felt like forever already. He had had such big dreams of action and adventure when he first joined the Resistance. Those dreams had changed for the better.

It may have just been the sunset casting pastels over them both, but he could have sworn Moony’s cheeks tinted pink when he faced the river again. “No problem. There’s a great little café a few streets down. They had coffee, too, but I forgot my thermos.”

“Really?” Sirius frowned. There were a few places he could think of off the top of his head, but none worth writing home about. None that gave Dumo any real competition. “What’s it called?”

But Sirius knew what he was going to say the second his teeth sank into perfectly-toasted bread. “Café Dumais. Cute place.”

“Mmm,” he managed, torn between howling laughter and a screech of horror. Miracle of miracles, he choked both back - Moony appeared not to notice as enjoyed Celeste’s perfect ham and cheese melt. “Oui, I’ve been there a few times.”

“They have perfect croissants.”

Moony’s quirk of a smile sent a fluttery feeling through Sirius’ stomach. “Perfect for you, then,” he said, much quieter than he intended. Moony held his gaze. A beat of silence passed, and suddenly the single stone’s worth of space between them didn’t seem very far at all.

–

October 25, 1942

Remus kept a careful eye on Padfoot as he flicked through picture after picture. His broad shoulders were slumped, shoes scuffed and dusty, the front of his shirt striped with wrinkles where he had obviously tried to iron it in a rush. “They’re not very good this week,” Padfoot murmured.

“They’re excellent,” Remus said, his voice quiet despite the bustling city around them. Padfoot kept staring at the ground with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Your pictures always are.”

“No, not–” Padfoot broke off with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad out there. It’s getting worse. I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated.”

Remus swallowed; for once, he was lost for words in every language. “It will get better,” he said at last. “We have to keep believing that, even when everyone else doesn’t. You, and me, and everyone else working to fix it every day. Did you hear we got a new codebreaker?”

That earned him a huffed laugh. “Yeah.”

“Whoever he is, we’ve broken twice our usual number in the past week, and he’s only getting faster.” Lily had lost her mind when she saw the count of successfully broken codes from their station–the letter she scribbled out to Remus had lacked all of her usual careful lettering and been a mess of exclamation points, capital letters, and elation he could feel from thousands of miles away.

He loved Paris, but some days he missed his best friend more than anything.

Padfoot shook his head. Some of his familiar confidence returned, straightening his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m being pessimistic. I–”

He faltered again, biting back the next words with a twitch of his nose. Remus folded the envelope flap down again, hugging both it and his messenger bag close to his chest. He was growing to love the thing after so long with it as his only constant companion. A car drove past with a brash honk, but Padfoot didn’t so much as flinch. Remus took one step forward, then a tentative second. “Pads?”

Padfoot shook his head again, then ran a hand through his hair and looked up. His expression was unreadable as it flickered over Remus. “I got a letter from my brother,” he said. “It put me in a funk. I've been a bad contact this week, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip, then reached out and touched Padfoot’s arm until their eyes met. “There’s nothing to forgive. I hope you and your brother can figure it out, whatever it is.”

His heart lurched at the tired smile he received in response. Even with shadows under his eyes, Padfoot lit the whole alley with a simple tilt of his lips. “We’ll try.”

January 9, 1942

“Regulus!”

Regulus cursed under his breath. “One moment, maman!”

“Dinner is on the table!”

Her screeching voice nearly drowned out the next word and he gritted his teeth, daring to turn the dial up by a single degree. Two more sentences. Two more and you’ve got it. His pencil scratched against the last blank centimeter available.

“Regulus Arcturus!”

“Coming, maman!” God, he was so close. The German was fuzzy and staticky, but he could already understand it better than his first official assignment only a handful of weeks prior. Footsteps echoed in the staircase and Regulus’ throat seized as he jotted down the last two words and spun the dial in one desperate lunge.

The door to his bedroom slammed open. His mother’s cheeks were red with barely-contained annoyance. “Downstairs,” she ordered, as if he was still five years old. “Your radio program can wait.”

“Yes, maman.” He kept his face carefully neutral despite the hammering of his heart and slipped the papers inside his desk. Stay calm. Stay cool.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, nearly drawing a flinch from him.

“Writing a letter to Evan,” he lied. Lying was always easy, especially to his parents. Sirius was the only one who had ever been able to see through him, but he was long gone.

“While listening to the radio?”

“It helps me think,” he answered innocently.

His mother sniffed. “Get downstairs immediately. This behavior will not be tolerated, and if it happens again, you’ll never see that lump of wires again.”

Regulus lowered his eyes in an effort to appear chastised. Anger flared hot in his chest. He didn’t know what they had done to hide his existence from the government to allow them to escape, but he did know that Sirius was still stuck in Paris, fighting like he always did–furious and capable and so full of bullheaded stubbornness it was bound to get him killed.

It had taken Regulus weeks to dig up the translation books in the attic and even longer to get in contact with the Resistance, and through them, the American intelligence agency. His parents could hide newspapers and silence dinner conversation about the war all they liked, but they didn’t control the airwaves. They didn’t control Regulus’ letters, and they didn’t control his mind.

The German codes were growing easier to crack by the day, and he had all the time in the world.

_

April 17, 1943

Padfoot was quiet the next time Remus saw him; not the peaceful, calm quiet, no - this was energy and anger and frustration too big, too monumentous to be anything but silent. It was the eye of the hurricane, it was a lion in crouch mere seconds before pouncing.

Remus flitted between watching him cautiously and thumbing through the pictures and codes he’d handed over, observing and planning out his best method of approach. He’d stay quiet, for now. If Sirius wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, he’d speak up in his own time.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to wait long. Padfoot was as impatient with getting his feelings off his chest as he was for change in France.

“They’re shipping us out,” he spat, pure vitriol venom. “Thousands of us, off to Germany to work in their fucking factories.”

Remus knew this, but he figured it wouldn’t make matters better if he said it out loud. He stood still, calculating while Padfoot paced, back and forth, back and forth with sharp, angry turns.

Padfoot’s boot connected with the nearest wall with a dull thud and Remus winced in sympathy, watching his pale knuckles flex. “Is there anything you can do about it?” he asked calmly, even as his pulse pounded in his throat. Lots of Resistance members were fleeing the denser cities and hiding in the forests and mountains, hoping to avoid the orders. Remus couldn’t help but hope Padfoot would tamp down his pride and do the same. They could find a different rendezvous, somewhere far away from enemy outposts. As long as he stayed out of Germany, Remus didn’t much care where they met.

Losing Padfoot would make his job even more difficult, if he was allowed to keep it at all. A new contact would force his defensive walls back up; he would have to keep a much closer eye on them, build a new rapport, remind them to place thin sheafs of paper between each photograph so the ink didn’t bleed, lose his one solid contact in northern France–

He would lose Padfoot. Remus exhaled through his nose to dispel the pressure in his chest. He could rationalize til the cows came home, but it seemed his big stupid embarrassing feelings didn’t care about rationality anymore. Not when it came to the man taking his anger out on a broken sandbag like it had personally wronged him.

With a final kick to the battered burlap, Padfoot turned to Remus with a face like a thundercloud. “What happens if I go?”

Remus blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “Well, my best guess is that you’d end up in–”

“Not that,” Padfoot interrupted, waving a hand in frustration. “What happens to this? To us?”

We both end up miserable. “You’ll be assigned a replacement. I’ll probably get a new location, as well.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

Remus sighed and closed his eyes. “Why would I be alright with that?”

“You seem awfully fucking calm about the whole situation,” Padfoot snapped. Remus flinched back on instinct - they had never spoken to each other like that, not once over the two years of budding friendship. When he opened his eyes again, Padfoot’s ears were red and his mouth was tight at the corners.

“It’s not up to me,” he said simply. “None of this is. It doesn’t matter how well we get along, Padfoot, or how well we work together. My job is to transport this information, no matter who it comes from.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Padfoot’s jaw ticked. His hands balled into fists. Remus had never paid much attention to how tall Padfoot was, but when he squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, those two inches of difference may as well have been two feet. “Excuse me?”

Remus arched a brow, keeping his expression passive. “What?”

“Your job is to protect the people of France,” Padfoot seethed, getting right up in Remus’ space until Remus could feel the heat of his body. “Your job is to make sure their sacrifices are not in vain, no matter what the cost is to you. You might be able to take those photographs back to your office and fall asleep knowing your family is safe, but the rest of us–”

“I haven’t seen my family in almost four years, so don’t you dare talk to me about sacrifice like I don’t know what it means.” Remus kept his voice low and precise despite the urge to scream it in Padfoot’s face. He could feel his pulse in his stomach, in his lungs, in his teeth. All those emotions he'd buried for so long were now bubbling over, raw and angry and, for the first time in years, unfiltered. “I’ve slept in more trains than beds so my baby brother, who was six when I last saw him, doesn’t get caught up in a war he didn’t ask for and my parents don’t bring me home in a box. If I make a single mistake, a single ripple in anyone’s plans, they could die and I wouldn’t even know.”

Padfoot faltered. Blood roared in Remus’ ears as he held unyielding eye contact. “I…”

“I’m sorry this war is on your doorstep, Pads.” His next inhale trembled as he tried to bring each breath back to a steady pattern. You need to calm the fuck down, Lupin. “I’m sorry your family is in the direct path and that your people are dying through no fault of their own. But don’t try and act like nobody else is lifting a finger to help. We’re all doing the best we can to keep the people we love out of danger.”

He watched the fire in Padfoot’s eyes dim, standing firm until the lightning-charged tension eased and he stepped back. “I’m sorry.” Every word sounded like it had been forced out. “I didn’t know.”

“You’re not supposed to.” His superior officers would kill him if they ever found out about his slip-up. Maybe literally. He turned back to the photographs, flicking through until he found where he had left off. Losing his temper was a rookie mistake, not something for the captain of his division. Stupid. Four years of perfection could be ruined in an instant.

“What’s his name?”

“Whose?”

“Your little brother.” Remus bit the inside of his cheek. Tanks, tanks, more tanks, railroad supplies… Padfoot sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

“Julian.”

A beat of silence fell over their little alley, broken only by the rustling of thin paper. “What?”

“My little brother. Julian. His tenth birthday is today.” Remus hoped the white-hot stab of pain through his heart wasn’t as visible as it had felt all day. He glanced up briefly. “You asked.”

A faint smile tilted Padfoot’s mouth. “Mine is Regulus. He’s 19.”

“Joined the Resistance yet?”

Remus regretted asking the second the words left his mouth - Padfoot’s nose crinkled, as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. “Ah, no. My parents took him and left for their country house as soon as the German threats began.”

He paused, a crystal-clear picture of an anti-aircraft gun poised delicately between his fingers. “They didn’t take you?”

“Even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t have let them.” Padfoot crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. The set of his jaw was stubborn, but Remus could see the quiet hurt in every shadow. “My place is here. I could never forgive myself if I stood by while others fought a war for me.”

“Safety isn’t shameful.”

“Cowardice is.” Padfoot looked to him for a moment with an unreadable expression. “There is honor in protecting children and seeking refuge from violence, but they didn’t leave because they wanted to protect Regulus, Moony. They left because they think war is beneath them. That it’s not their battle. I love my country too much to run for those reasons.”

Remus ducked his head back down to hide his wry smile. “How patriotic.”

“I prefer the term ‘courageous’.” He could hear the amusement in Padfoot’s voice, and a pebble came skipping over to bump the front of his shoe. “‘Brave’, perhaps. ‘Noble’, if you’re feeling particularly kind.”

He kicked the pebble back and Padfoot’s grin finally broke through, bright as the stars just beginning to peek out above them. “How about ‘reckless’? I think ‘reckless’ sums you up pretty well.”

–

September 15, 1943

It had been six days since Moony’s mistake, and Sirius still didn’t know how to fix it. The letter was written in broken, attempted French–adorable, really–and rambled on for a page and a half about the most mundane parts of life.

Re: , the letter began, though there was no followup. Sirius had been wondering about that since the first time he read it. RE: …what? RE: Your last letter? RE: My birthday present?

I miss you. Mom and dad and I to go to the school fair the next week. The garden –misspelled with a ‘g’ instead of a ‘j’-- is growing well. Mom is happy. My birthday kite was stuck in a tree the week last but dad helped me get it back. We should fly it together in the summer.

The letter continued, on and on, in the slanted letters of someone clearly trying their best to make their handwriting look tidy. Someone who was trying even harder to make their French as coherent as possible despite the struggle. Sirius guessed the author long before he reached the sign-off.

I miss you, it repeated. Be safe. Come home soon. Thank you for the French chocolate.

Love,

Jules

The last line was written in English. There was no envelope with an address, no name to identify Moony, but Sirius still felt as if he had been given a keyhole peek into the real life of his most trusted friend. He called his ten-year-old brother ‘Jules’ instead of ‘Julian’. They flew kites together. Moony’s mother had a garden.

It felt illegal for Sirius to know those things, but he treasured them close all the same.

He stayed mostly quiet for their meeting that night, and judging by Moony’s worried glances, it did not go unnoticed. The letter weighed him down the way he assumed a ring sat heavy in the pocket of a soon-to-be fiancé. Every time he tried to do more than hum a response, his chest constricted so hard it hurt.

Moony gave him one last look before slipping the packet into his bag. “Alright,” he began. “Okay, well, have a good–”

“Moony.”

Caramel eyes went wide. “Oh, god, what happened?”

Sirius took a deep breath through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. His hands shook where he had shoved them in his pockets. “First of all, I’m sorry.”

Moony’s concern became terror faster than Sirius could blink; he closed the flap of his messenger bag and began to back away. “Padfoot, what did you do?”

“No!” Sirius blurted, rocking his weight forward until Moony flinched back and he stopped himself. “No, no, it’s - you’re not in danger, I promise. I just wanted you to know that I read it, but only twice, and I’m so sorry because that’s private and I shouldn’t have opened it in the first place.”

“I don’t understand,” Moony said slowly, his eyes still darting toward shadowy corners of the alley.

Fuck. Okay. Sirius wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. “Please don’t be angry.”

“Padfoot, what did you do?”

He took the letter out with great care, keeping his other hand up in a gesture of peace. “It was mixed in with the pictures last week,” he confessed.

Moony stared at the small paper for a long moment before he finally took it, their fingers brushing. “I thought…I thought I lost this.” His gaze flickered back to Sirius and the fear returned. “You read it?”

And I hate myself for it. “Yes.”

“So you know.” Moony’s face crumpled as he smoothed his thumb over the middle seam that had been folded and refolded with great care. “Fuck, you know everything.”

Sirius was only sidetracked for a moment by the surprise of Moony swearing before shaking his head. “I don’t know much at all. There was no envelope. I took no pictures. It doesn’t even have your name.”

“It–” Moony faltered. He was silent for close to a minute before he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I fucked this whole thing up. You know where I’m from now. We can’t be contacts anymore.”

“I don’t!” Sirius’ heart lurched. “I don’t, I swear –”

“You know I’m not French.”

“I knew that already!” he said desperately. Moony’s eyebrows disappeared under his floppy hair. “I mean, come on, you don’t work for the Resistance and you speak textbook French. That letter told me nothing we haven’t already shared.”

The fear became sadness, and oh, it was so much worse. “You have to tell them,” Moony murmured. “I compromised myself.”

Sirius knew that. Sirius had read the rules inside and out, had measured every second of his life by them. By those rules, Sirius had to report Moony to the Resistance and find a new contact whose anonymity was firmly in place. A complete and utter stranger who could carry the cargo with smoke and mirrors to the OSS headquarters.

“I won’t.”

Moony looked up from the letter. “What?”

“I won’t,” Sirius said again. His pulse kicked like a faulty engine. “I won’t do it. Your secrets are always safe with me. Nobody will know about this.”

Moony stared at him for a long, long moment, lit only by moonlight in the darkened city. Sirius did not look away. “Ik hou van je.”

Sirius frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Moony sniffled, though his eyes were dry. A small smile tilted his lips. “Thank you, Padfoot. I’ll see you next week.”

April 5, 1944

Through the miracle of scheduling, they had spent the new year together. Remus had missed the end of the office party, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it - the memory of sitting by the Seine with Padfoot while cheers went up around the city replayed in his best dreams throughout the bitter tail of winter.

It was spring, now, and the small flowers growing in the cracks of the cobblestones were beginning to bloom. Notre Dame’s rose window shone in the sun and cast a rainbow over the plaza. Remus was not very religious, but he could understand why so many people believed in a higher power when they saw that kind of display.

“Morning, Padfoot.” He offered a smile and half a croissant as he approached; Padfoot took it happily. He seemed especially partial to the pastries from Café Dumais, and Remus couldn’t blame him - not only were the shopkeeper’s kids adorable, the food was absolutely fantastic even with ration restrictions. “Nice day for breakfast, isn’t it?”

Padfoot hummed around a mouthful of buttery dough. “It’ll rain later.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good to know.” Remus took his own croissant out and raised it in a ‘cheers’ motion before following him to the riverbank and digging in. Their morning meetings were rare, but certainly his favorites. There was no better way to start the day than with his friend of close to three years. Had it really been that long? “The city needs a wash, anyway.”

Padfoot laughed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I know you love it here, or else that would be a serious offense.”

“I’ll try to be more careful.” And then there was this development, the… whatever they were calling it. Not quite flirting, but not simple friendly banter, either. Remus didn’t know when it started. He just knew he never wanted it to end. They ate in silence, shoulders brushing, Padfoot’s legs swinging absently over the edge of the bulkhead.

“Alright,” Padfoot said at last, brushing the remnants of his croissant off his hands, then stretching his arms high over his head. Remus pointedly did not look at the thin sliver of his waist that was revealed as his shirt slid up. “Secrets. You go first.”

“Oh, god,” Remus laughed. His stomach gave a little thrill as he licked the last of the butter from his thumb and forefinger, then looked out over the water. They hadn’t played this game in nearly two months; he’d have to think of something good. “In the summer, my dad and I catch fish for dinner every Saturday.”

“From a river?”

“That’s a secret for another time.” Padfoot scowled playfully; Remus loved every bit of it. “Your turn.”

“I’ve never been fishing.”

“Never?”

“Not once.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take you sometime, then.”

The words hung between them, suspended in a moment of unsure hope, before Padfoot smiled. His eyes were the same color as the stormclouds gathering on the horizon–Remus couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. “I guess you will. Tell me another?”

Remus didn’t even have to think before he answered. “Kocham cię.”

Padfoot scrunched his nose up and kicked him lightly. “Cheater. I can’t understand. Saying it in another language doesn’t count.”

It does if I mean it.

_

April 22, 1944

It was only a matter of time until one of their rendezvous went wrong.

Logically, Sirius knew this. He’d been living under occupation for four years now; he knew the dangers, the risks. But he had been naively hoping they’d manage to escape them for just a little longer. There were whispers going around about an Allied invasion and liberation of France - no one knew the when or where, obviously, but they were all wishing that it would be soon… that if they could stick it out for just a little longer, they’d be free again before summer. But the months were unfailingly ticking by, the weather was getting warmer, and they were still in the same position - not quite a standstill, but progress was painfully slow.

It had started off as a normal enough meet-up: Moony was always early, Sirius always a minute or two late. Sirius would get to witness that sharp, crooked smile and smile back at the agent, excitement and intrigue and the adrenaline rush that came with these meetings thrumming in his veins.

But then the script got flipped on them. That was the problem with having a routine - you got too used to the monotony (as ironic as that sounded for a Resistance member and an OSS agent), you ignored small signs that should’ve been glaringly obvious, you got sloppy. And it could get you killed.

Not even five minutes after Sirius had found Moony in their designated Parisian alleyway, they heard voices too close for comfort and too late after curfew to just be a civilian.

If they were discovered…

Sirius thought of the photographs and codes now in Moony’s jacket pocket and fear crashed into him like a tidal wave against an already-battered shoreline. Their cypher was pretty hard to break, Sirius was fairly sure of that, but there was still too much information there in the pages. And, to make matters worse, Moony was the one who had them. Even though they were constantly in some degree of danger (and Sirius didn’t even know the extent of Moony’s job outside of their information trade-offs) the thought of him getting caught, getting taken - no. Not on his watch, not if he could help it.

He could just barely identify the language being spoken as German before Moony was grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him farther back into the alleyway, where they were better shrouded by shadows and hidden from the scant sliver of moonlight. The blackout was in their favor this time. He pressed in closer against Moony, protectively stationed between him and the alley entrance, chest to heaving chest, warmth and comfort in the late night chill, barely daring to breathe as the voices got louder, closer.

Moony was shaking just a bit, his heart a galloping echo of Sirius’ own. It was all Sirius could feel. The rush of his own blood in his ears was all he could hear. He knew he needed to breathe, to center himself and calm the fuck down, but his lungs refused to obey, trapping him between one breath and the next.

That was when the tapping started.

Soft, light taps of Moony’s finger against the back of his wrist, varying in pressure and rhythm. Sirius willed himself to breathe - in and out, nice and deep and steady - as he focused on the tap tap tap and tried to find a pattern.

Two uniformed figures appeared at the end of the alleyway.

Sirius figured out the pattern. Morse code.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

He held his breath, his heart pounding in such a fierce, wild way that Moony could undoubtedly feel it in the pulsepoint of his wrist, the place where their chests were pressed against each other.

I love…

The tapping stopped.

The figures disappeared into the night, voices melting into the eerie, chilling quiet.

Moony dropped his wrist, then shoved his hands deep into his own pockets, leaving only the phantom of his touch in his wake.

Sirius was left reeling, lost without a tether, mind racing.

I love what? What was the end of that statement?

Could it possibly, unbelievably have been I love you?

Moony cleared his throat awkwardly, shoulders hunched, shoe scraping against the street. “No time for secrets tonight, I’m afraid. We need to get out of here.”

Sirius wanted to shake his head, to beg Moony to stop and explain - explain what the tapping meant, what the undecipherable but decidedly fond looks he gave Sirius meant, what all of it meant.

You love what, Moony?

Moony gave him one last look and a half-twist of his lips - almost a smile, but not the one Sirius was used to, not the one he pictured whenever he thought of the agent. It was wrong, and Sirius didn't know the first thing about fixing it.

“Stay safe,” Moony said briefly, then he was gone.

Sirius pressed his back against the rough brick of the wall and exhaled shakily.

That unfinished code would haunt Sirius for the rest of time, it seemed.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

Sirius tapped it himself, directly over the ghost of Moony’s code.

He couldn’t find it in himself to finish the phrase, either.

_

June 6, 1944

Sirius sat on the couch, leg bouncing in an indiscernible rhythm, while Celeste reread the same page of her novel and Dumo kept pushing aside the curtain to check the pitch-black street. They all glanced at the clock when it chimed the hour.

It marked twenty-four hours since they’d last heard from Logan.

Like all of them, he’d been sent on a mission to assist in the Allied invasion of Normandy (finally, finally they were getting the help they’d needed for the last four fucking years). They’d been blowing up more railways, sabotaging ammunition depots, neutralizing roads as best they could.

And now they’d all made it home, all except for one.

Celeste’s worn handkerchief lay next to the register, where she had abandoned it two hours earlier after scrubbing the countertop until it squeaked for an excuse to watch the window. The floorboards overhead creaked - that would be Adele, tiptoeing down the hall in her nightgown while the others slept on to wait by the top of the stairs. Sirius had memorized all their pattering footsteps ages ago. One was still missing.

Dumo’s coffee cup clinked against the saucer and all three of them flinched. He murmured an apology, though his hand trembled when he laid it in his lap again. Newspapers caught the wind gathering outside and rushed over the cobblestones like rats on the run. Otherwise, it was calm. Terribly so. Sirius wanted thunder and lightning and skies split right down the middle, or else he was afraid he might just do it himself.

“Coffee?” Celeste’s voice broke at the end and she cleared her throat, vanishing into the back room before they could answer. Sirius didn’t think he could find his voice with a flashlight and a lure, but it would have been nice to try.

He glanced into his cup - only sludge remained. He should have been shaky from all the caffeine he had consumed over the past day. Dumo’s throat bobbed when Sirius folded his forearms on the table and rested his chin on top. “He’s not at the direct front, you know. Many kilometers from the fighting.”

Sirius hummed noncommittally. The radio announcer’s voice had wobbled as he relayed the news. So much fear. So much death.

“Logan is smart,” Dumo said after a long moment. “He would not go into danger without reason.”

Sirius thought of the younger man and his hot-headed tendencies and decided to keep his mouth shut.

He couldn’t do this anymore, though. The sitting and the silence and the waiting. So he got up, stretched his tensed, coiled tight muscles, and began gathering his things. Pictures, codes, camera. Dumo and Celeste were watching him silently, worriedly, and Sirius sighed, hating that he was adding to the worry.

“I’ve got a meet-up with the OSS. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Promises. Those were risky to make during wartime. It was something he couldn’t help, though - not with the Dumais family, not after they’d taken him in, provided for him, become the kind of family to him that he’d always wanted to have. He didn't want them worrying over him, but he didn’t want to set them up for heartbreak either. It was a fine line to walk, and Sirius still wasn’t sure he was doing it correctly.

He pressed a kiss to Celeste’s cheek in farewell and left out the front door. Quiet, assured steps led him to their designated meeting spot, where Moony was waiting for him, just like always. Sirius couldn’t help but feel relieved as he saw him. There was something about him that made everything calm; their surroundings faded, fuzzy like his camera lens out of focus.

Focus. He needed to focus.

“How would you go about finding a missing person?” he asked as soon as he was in earshot, not wasting a second.

Moony blinked in surprise. “Um-”

“He left last night for a mission and no one’s heard from him since. And with everything that’s been going on today, we’re worried-”

“Padfoot-”

“Sirius,” he corrected quietly, desperately, seeking any reassurance he could find. It was a risk, he knew, but it was Moony. Trusting him had yet to be a bad decision. “It’s Sirius.”

“Sirius,” Moony echoed and, with a pang, Sirius realized he had been right. Hearing Moony say his name, all soft and gentle and with intent, was exactly the balm he was looking for. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders eased, his chest expanded in his first full breath in far too long. Moony seemed to notice (he seemed to notice everything) and grabbed Sirius’ arm in support.

Sirius felt it like a brand, burning hot and fierce, marking him permanently.

“It’s chaos out there, you know that right?” Moony’s voice was as gentle as his touch. “He probably just hasn’t had a chance to reach out.”

“He’s not usually late.”

“He’s not usually dealing with the side effects of an Allied invasion, either.” Moony argued wryly, arched eyebrow a teasing counterpoint. “I think we can cut him some slack.”

“I guess-”

A warm, encouraging smile that Sirius wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for the foreseeable future. “The stress isn’t worth it when you don’t have the full picture.”

Sirius mulled over the words, then looked back up at Moony, an idea forming in his head. “Do you have the full picture?”

Moony instantly shut down. His eyes became guarded, his hand let go of Sirius and pulled back as if he was the one burned. “Padfoot-”

“Obviously you don’t have to tell me everything. I get that. But he was headed north, towards Calais. If you know anything-”

“Stop.”

“There’s some railways out there. If you know anything, Moony, please -”

“Sirius,” Moony took Sirius' face in his hands, a quick, sudden movement that brought his warm and calloused skin against the rough shadow of Sirius’ beard coming in. "I would but I can't." His voice was pained but firm, unyielding. “I can’t. And I need you to respect that, ok? You can’t be asking me things like that.”

Sirius nodded sadly, leaning into Moony’s hands, selfishly letting him take some of his weight, just for a moment. He was tired - so tired. “Sorry.”

Moony pulled away, to Sirius’ dismay. He wanted those hands on him, he wanted to be closer.

“You’re worried. I understand.” Moony said with a commiserating shrug before changing the subject. “You got pictures for me?”

Sirius had completely forgotten the reason they were meeting up. These visits were starting to feel less and less like a job. They were a break now, a respite from the outside world and a sense of comfort in a newfound friend. Sirius cherished these days - the excitement leading up to seeing him again, the conversations, the secrets shared, the way they’d shape his very dreams that night.

No, it definitely wasn't just a job anymore.

He rummaged in his bag for the pictures and codes and handed them over. Moony’s fingers brushed against his own as he took them, flipped through them. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets.

Moony slipped the pictures into his own bag quietly, then looked almost timidly at Sirius. “Well, since you’ve already given me a pretty big secret for today, I guess it’s my turn, huh?”

Like always, Sirius perked up at the promise of learning something new about him. He leaned forward, anticipating whatever was coming next with a funny kick of his heart.

Moony smiled and uttered one single word into the air between them.

“Remus.”

Sirius had to think about it for a second before things clicked into place.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Moony - Remus - laughed as he turned to leave. “Have a good night, Sirius. Jag älskar dig,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Sirius watched him go, with not a clue as to what those last words meant, but a smile tugging at his lips and affection in his eyes.

“Night… Remus.”

_

June 22, 1944

Sirius had gotten used to false alarms regarding Remus.

He saw him in the slope of a customer’s shoulders, the crooked smile of a child running down the street, the whiskey eyes of the old woman leaving the church Sirius passed every day on his way to work. Sirius saw fragments of him everywhere, but never the full picture. After D Day, their meetings had become a bit more sporadic as they rushed to get other things done to help the Allied invasion - they were spread so thin as it was, and they needed the Allies to reclaim France; they couldn’t afford to falter now. So Sirius was out of Paris often, finding the best courses for the Allies to take, marking German outposts on his maps, getting back into sabotage. And Sirius was grateful for the change in direction, of course he was, but he also found himself missing the man more than he thought possible. So every time he saw a flash of him - sloped shoulders, crooked smile, whiskey eyes - he stopped in his tracks and did a double-take, only to move on in disappointment.

He was a ghost that Sirius couldn’t seem to stop chasing.

That was probably why Sirius almost missed the agent when he actually saw him, used to false alarms as he was. He was walking on the opposite side of the street, satchel slung over his shoulder (Sirius wondered what secrets were stashed inside), the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to compensate for the summer heat (forearms, merde ). Their eyes met - a spark of recognition, that smile , and then Remus was crossing the street in long, unhurried strides, more relaxed than Sirius had ever seen him. He supposed that made sense, though - it was the first time they’d seen each other since liberation. That was a lot of stress off their shoulders. He was probably the most relaxed Remus had seen him, too. It was a good look on him, Sirius had to admit.

Remus came to stand in front of him, his freckles more numerous and darker from the summer sun, and he looked up at Sirius through his lashes, eyes shimmering as the light hit them. Sirius usually witnessed him in the cover of night, melding into the shadows, beautiful in the glow of the moonlight. But he belonged in the summertime, born to shine in the sun’s rays, no longer hidden. “Hello,” he said, sounding a little breathless.

Oh, Sirius had missed him.

“Hi,” he replied, gravitating towards Remus’ light like a sunflower.

Remus seemed to be waiting for him to continue (he was in no way prepared to say anything else, at least not coherently) but then he blurted, “Where are you headed?”

Sirius had genuinely forgotten. “Oh. Um, just headed to a friend’s place.” Logan had come back from his June 6 mission pining and introspective and broody, and had stayed that way for days now. Sirius was going to get him to talk about it, hopefully. He was pretty sure it would help him. If Logan didn’t want to talk… well, they could sit in companionable silence, Sirius supposed. Maybe listen to the radio, or something. He was fairly sure Logan had some liquor stashed away somewhere…

“What about you?” Sirius finally remembered to ask, choosing to ignore Remus’ teasingly quirked eyebrow. “Or is that classified information?”

Remus just laughed brightly. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he joked with a wink, then continued, “I’m off to find a present for my friends - they’re soon-to-be parents. Not quite sure what to get them, though, so I’m just wandering until something strikes up some inspiration.”

“Ah,” Sirius mused, thinking about his own friends that were expecting and the toys he’d made by hand for the kid. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Shopping district is that way, though.”

Remus obviously knew that, Sirius realized with a cringe. He’d been living in Paris for years now, god why did he say that-

Remus smiled anyways. “I’ll head that way next, then.”

He was so… so sweet. Sirius didn’t know what to do with it half of the time. He loved it, though - he loved how gentle and kind Remus still was, even after everything. He’d come to rely on it, after all these years of sharing intel with him. He loved how Remus calmed him seemingly effortlessly; all it took was a smile or a gentle reassurance, a light-hearted joke or a knowing look and Sirius felt infinitely better than before. Remus’ friendship was a balm, soothing wounds from his family and the war, some that he hadn’t even known about.

Sirius wasn’t exactly sure where he’d be without Remus.

He also wasn’t sure what he brought to the table. Remus had helped him so much, but Sirius… well, he didn’t feel like he’d done the same for Remus at all. He wasn’t sure how to make it up to him, if he could make it up to him. That scared him a little. But he figured it was the little things, right? Eventually they’d add up.

“Maybe go for something that’s not for a newborn?” he suggested with a shrug. “They’ll probably be stocked up on newborn stuff, but not for a toddler. Toys, toddler clothes, those kinds of things.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a really good idea, Pads. Thanks.”

Pads.

Sirius didn’t think he was going to swoon, but it was kind of up in the air at the moment.

“Yeah,” he said with a bit of a dreamy edge to his voice, getting a little lost in those eyes. He didn’t know how long he stood there, just admiring, fighting the urge to reach out and hold, to lean in closer, to cross that demarcation between friends and something more -

“I… I should probably go.” Remus’ voice jostled Sirius out of his thoughts. “But I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Sirius took a quick step back, remembering where he was all at once. The blinders came off, the rest of their surroundings came back into view, unfocused but there. Remus was still looking at him with something like longing in his eyes, and Sirius took that as a good omen.

“See you around,” he echoed finally. Maybe somewhere more quiet, where they were alone and he could pick up that earlier train of thought.

He found himself tapping again, after Remus had waved goodbye and turned around towards the shopping district - that same, repetitive code from months gone by.

..  . -..  ---  …-  .

I love…

This time, for the first time, Sirius finished the message.

_

August 28, 1944

For the first time in two months, there was a knock at Remus’ office door. It took him a moment to get over his surprise before calling a tentative, “come in?”

Dorcas popped her head in, already grinning. “Heya, Moonpie.”

“Jesus,” Remus muttered. “What?”

“Hello, Dorcas, it’s good to see you, too. How’s life? How’s work? We should get lunch, it’s been too long,” she said in a terrible imitation of his voice. “Oh, I’m doing well. Work’s a bitch. I got a papercut on my tongue, but there were fresh green beans at the market.”

“Hello, Dorcas,” he relented, setting aside his paperwork. “I’m sorry about your tongue. Congrats on the beans. What do you want?”

She stuck her tongue out, but was unable to keep her smile down for long. “The Weasel wants you in his office, and he’s got a friend. Sounds important, too.”

Remus grimaced. “If I die in there, you can have my paperweights.”

With a dramatic raise of her brows and a final pat to the doorframe, she vanished back into the hallway.

The brisk click-clack of her shoes faded into the background noise of Paris headquarters and Remus flexed his fingers, wincing when his joints cracked - typewriters were certainly quicker than hand-writing his weekly reports, but fuck if they didn’t start to hurt after a while. He stood, straightened his tie and double-checked his tucked shirt, then headed down the labyrinth of halls.

Joining the OSS was possibly the best decision Remus ever made, not just because it allowed him to miss the draft by less than six months but because it had opened up doors he never even knew existed. It gave him friends, connections, the thrill of travel, and better job security than any other career - he literally could not be fired due to the sensitive contents of his memory. The OSS valued his brain over any sort of brawn, an invaluable perk for a gangly 18-year-old with a war looming over his head. He had not regretted it once in five years.

Remus tried not to think about what would have happened in a different world.

He waved to his coworkers as he wandered down the long stretch of frosted office windows–Peter his lunch buddy, Benjy the archivist, Marlene the co-head of the translation department–and let his hands rest comfortably in his pockets. He would have to be all official in Arthur’s office, but among the people he commiserated with over drinks not two nights prior, he could just be Remus.

Not Moony. Not Mr. Lupin. Just Remus. A whole person, not a ghost slipping between shadows with lives in his messenger bag.

Arthur’s door was closed when he arrived; he heard his own quick knock echo off the walls inside and murmuring fell into silence. “Come in, Lupin.”

Remus paused, his hand halfway to the knob. He had never heard Arthur sound like that. The hair at the back of his neck prickled, and he schooled his posture into the picture of calm before stepping inside. “Good afternoon, sir.”

A tall, unfamiliar man stood to Arthur’s left. Remus waited with his eyes trained on the wall above Arthur’s desk, and let his peripheral vision do the work.

Khaki cotton, service pistol at his waist. Army.

Pins on his right collar point. General.

Files under the arm. Bad news.

Remus was suddenly glad he had remembered to tuck his shirt in before arriving.

The general arched a brow. “You’re Captain Remus Lupin, head of the linguistics division?”

“That’s correct, sir.” He carefully kept down a grimace at the formal address and the building ache in his back from standing at attention. Both had been trained out of him years ago - any sort of stiffness was a one-way ticket to blowing an operation sky-high.

“At ease.” Thank God. “Your file says you’ve been stationed in Paris for 2 years.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Do you like it here?”

I love it, especially one part. “Yes, sir, I think I could have done a lot worse for myself.”

The general snorted a laugh. “Weasley warned me half his staff were smart-asses.”

Remus swallowed, his throat desert-dry. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright, officer.”

Arthur took the offered files from the general and opened the folder. “Well, I’ll just cut straight to it,” he said, looking up. “You get to go home, Lupin.”

Remus’ train of thought stuttered to a screeching, agonizing halt before tipping off the rails entirely.

Fired. Had he been fired? The OSS didn’t fire people, not unless they majorly fucked up and managed to survive the mistake, and Remus–

Remus did not make mistakes. Ever. Full stop. He was far too careful for that.

So it had to be about Sirius.

He kept his face neutral, his stance perfect, his hands folded despite the buckle of his suspenders digging into his wrist. “Can I ask why, sir?”

“Paris is free. Your services here are no longer required, and the rest of your team has been posted to smaller assignments.” Arthur sifted through the papers, then pulled one out so Remus could see, turning a warm smile on him. The words were a blur of ink. “This is a list of your missions in Paris. You have completed more than double the amount of successful drops and collections as any of your coworkers and shown remarkable flexibility in day trips to the surrounding area. We thought you could use a break.”

You get to go home, Lupin. Not a threat. A gift. It had been three weeks since the last letter from his family, and five months since he saw a recent picture of them. Nearly four years since he saw their faces. “Thank you, sir,” Remus managed as his hands began to tremble behind his back.

You get to go home, Lupin. The house would still be blue with white trim. The grass would be cut with his father’s meticulous care.

“Are you alright, son?” the general asked.

Remus blinked. The paper came into focus, full of acronyms and tally marks and the proof that he did his job better than anyone could have asked for. He cleared his throat and straightened again. Keep it perfect until they promise to let you go. “I am, sir, thank you. Thank you, Colonel Weasley.”

“You’ll be on-call until the war ends,” Arthur warned, though his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re one of our best, and my superiors want you to live in New York for easy access. You’ll still be bound to the OSS code of conduct.”

The momentary high dissipated; Remus couldn’t quite keep his disbelief out of his voice. “New York?”

“You’re supposed to be there by October 5th,” Arthur said. A twinkle lit in his eye as he slipped the papers back into their folder and tapped it on the table. “But you leave in two days for Wisconsin.”

“Thank you.” There was the promise he had been looking for. He kept his expression calm, his stance solid, even as his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest with anticipation.

Arthur gave him a curt nod. “It’s the least we can do. We’ll be in touch. You’re dismissed.”

Remus didn’t remember walking back down the polished hallway, past the smiling faces of his coworkers that turned to worry when he didn’t respond. It was as if he blinked and he was back at his desk, hands spread over his half-finished report for the week. The last one he would have to write for… for however long. Forever.

He found himself staring at the small frame on his desk, where two pictures had been carefully folded to fit side-by-side–the first held the photograph he had brought when he first left home for Maryland, showing his parents and a six-year-old Jules beaming at the camera. The second had arrived in a letter for his most recent birthday. Jules’ front teeth had grown in and his mother’s hair was longer. Remus blew out an unsteady breath as the frame blurred.

72 hours, and he would be home for real.

He tilted his face toward the pristine white ceiling to blink back his tears, then returned to his report. Just because he was being shipped out didn’t mean he could trip at the finish line. “Successful information transfer on August the 17th, 1944,” he muttered as he typed, choking down the urge to throw all of his stuff in a rucksack and sprint for the nearest airport. “Contact name, Padfoot–”

And he stopped cold, his fingertips still hovering over the keys.

Sirius.

Remus covered his mouth with both hands and leaned on his desk. He had two days left in Paris, not nearly long enough to pull strings and find Sirius. Arthur liked him, but not enough to authorize a pointless mission in the wake of liberation.

You get to go home, Lupin.

But he had already found home. A little bit of it, at least, built by his own hands with the only consistent person in his life. Sirius was fire and stubbornness and eyes like a silver-blue lake in winter. He had a heart bigger than the city he fought to preserve and a mind more brilliant than anyone gave him credit for and–

And Remus was going back to America. And Remus had lost him in the crowd, vanished into smoke and mirrors just like he was supposed to. They weren’t even supposed to be people to each other and had become so much more.

He didn’t want to imagine a world without Sirius in it. So much beauty would be lost without him and his photographs, capturing breaths and moments and the smallest blip of time in a perfect frame. Remus loved it, just as he loved Sirius, just as he loved the cool autumn wind back home. He had been a fool to think he could keep any of it when the war seemed determined to leech joy from the very ground.

His hands shook as he got to his feet and hurried down the hallway, brushing past a very confused Peter who attempted a ‘hello’. The bathroom door was nothing more than a haze of dark wood when Remus fumbled it open–he spared only a moment to make sure he was alone before entering the last stall, locking it behind him, and clamping a hand over his mouth as silent sobs cracked him right in half.

–

September 1, 1944

Sirius gathered the leftover saucers and wiped the window tables where the Thursday regulars sat, like he always did before heading out. Business had skyrocketed since liberation–Adele had started working the register the week before, but he knew the Dumais were considering hiring more help.

The clock struck 11:30 when he stepped outside and let the wind roll over him. Parisians liked their late coffee. They liked it even more when celebrations carried deep into the small hours and joy-fueled adrenaline began to fade.

Sirius had walked the path so many times it had become its own kind of landmark; he kept his head on an unconscious swivel, scanned left-right-left-back for any shadows peeling away from alley walls. There would be none (never again, as long as he drew breath), but the habit was hard to kill.

Sirius arrived at their spot at midnight on the dot. Sand crunched under his shoes. The distant clock tower hummed a low reminder. He stood in the dark, hands in his pockets, and waited. He had a much more important message than pictures to deliver, one that made Sirius’ stomach flip if he thought too much about it. It was time to finish the code aloud. Three years was a long time to watch someone so incandescently lovely and bury his affection.

So he waited.

And he waited.

Sirius was not a patient man, but he remained in the alley for a full hour before unease began to drip along his edges. Remus was punctual, precise, professional - he had never kept Sirius waiting longer than five minutes before, and only because his train ran late.

Sirius’ heart leaped when a new set of footsteps echoed off the walls in front of him and a dark figure in a trenchcoat began their steady approach. Finally, he thought, breathless with relief. “I was–”

The words died in his throat when the figure entered the flickering lamplight and gave Sirius a confused up-and-down look. “Who are you?” the man asked. His voice was harsh, his French dripping with an American accent, so unlike Remus’ calm baritone that rolled like the sea.

Sirius blinked and choked back the initial burst of fear. “Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” he asked instead, falling back into the code phrase he had not used since his and Remus’ second meeting.

The American’s suspicion eased by a degree. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and took Sirius’ hand for a firm shake. “Roscoe.”

“Padfoot.” Roscoe gave him a nod before opening his coat and drawing an unfamiliar package out. Sirius frowned. That wasn’t how the exchange worked. He took pictures, wrote Remus love letters disguised as notes on the thin separation papers, and then admired him in the moonlight for as long as it took for those clever eyes to make sure everything was in order. He shifted his weight to the side. “Is there a problem?”

“Hmm?” Roscoe glanced up from his bag of trinkets. “No, why?”

Sirius swallowed hard, and gripped the strap of his messenger bag as tight as his hands would allow. Now or never. Get it over with. The fear made every word molasses-thick in his throat. “Is Moony alright?”

“Yeah, probably. Didn’t see him in the obits.”

He was so casual about it. So damned flippant about something that made Sirius’ whole torso clench just to imagine. It was equal parts hurtful and infuriating. “Then where is he?”

Roscoe shrugged one shoulder, oblivious. “How should I know?”

“He’s my contact.”

“And he got reassigned,” Roscoe said in slow, clumsy French, as if he was speaking to a child. Sirius glowered down at him and was pleased to see a flicker of unease in his eyes.

“What do you mean, reassigned?”

“Paris is free. His services were no longer required here, and I doubt yours are, either. Check with your front office for new orders. I heard they’re letting a lot of civilians out.”

Sirius bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and exhaled through his nose. No fistfights. “Well, can you find him for me?”

Roscoe sighed heavily. “Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t. I’m not blowing his cover because you wanted to say ‘hello’. The OSS is a little more organized than your resistance.”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said coldly. The leather strap of his bag creaked under the force of his grip.

“Look, Padfoot, I’ve got a job to do.” Roscoe brandished a fine white cloth at him with an exasperated look before crouching. “This whole place has to be cleared of any evidence of you two by dawn. The OSS doesn’t need your pictures and it would be best if you just went back home. Moony’s not coming back.”

It took several seconds before Sirius registered the pounding in his ears as his own pulse. The August air was cloying and sticky, but he had never felt so cold. “What do you mean?”

“My French isn’t that bad,” Roscoe grumbled.

“What do you mean?” Sirius repeated. “I have the codes for R–for Moony to take back.”

Roscoe muttered something in English under his breath before turning to Sirius, though he didn’t rise. “I already told you he’s been reassigned. My best guess is Switzerland or Austria or, hell, somewhere else in France. I don’t know. They’re putting us all over. But you can bet he won’t be back here before the war’s over, and if I were him, I wouldn’t come back at all.”

It had become very difficult to swallow, suddenly. A fine tremor skittered down Sirius’ back and through his legs; he gave a single abrupt nod before turning on his heel. The corner of his mouth stung with salt and he swiped it away with the back of his hand, squaring his shoulders.

Reassigned, Roscoe had said. Gone. Switzerland, Austria, France. Moony’s never coming back–

Sirius paused halfway down the sidewalk to let out a shaky breath, and with it, a few wisps of his shattered heart. “Shit,” he whispered to the empty street, plaintive and pathetic. “Shit.”

He hadn’t even thought to take one picture. He hadn’t even thought to say goodbye.

February 14, 1945

New York was… fine. Closer to home than Paris, and certainly warmer than Wisconsin in winter. His government-funded house on the outskirts of Brooklyn was about as exciting as plain toast - Remus had never found the time or motivation to repaint, leaving the walls a regulation beige. The most exciting home renovation project he had managed was ripping out the bathroom carpet that had been laid down by a madman with a staple gun.

Snow fell outside his bedroom window, cold and crisp and white. If he let his vision blur, he could pretend he was looking into his parents’ backyard. At least then he wouldn’t be quite so alone.

Perhaps he was being dramatic. The house was great, one story with enough space to personalize, not that he had put more than his few framed photos up. His entire life had been packed into a single duffel and rucksack for half a decade, after all. There was a big front window to look out at the quaint suburban neighborhood; the people across the street brought him homemade cookies and a roast his first week there, and passing out candy to the mob of tiny trick-or-treaters had been the highlight of Remus’ autumn.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t make an effort to build a life, either - New York City was full of activity and possibility, and only a short distance away. He had favorite restaurants and coffee shops already (though none compared to Café Dumais), regular haunts and a growing list of museums to visit on a rainy day.

Hell, he had even found a friend in the man a little younger than himself who ran a bookshop in a quiet corner of Manhattan. While his taste in books was excellent, he seemed just as lonely, aching just as bad for someone far away, if the small shrine containing a wallet photo of another young man and a map of France marked by a careful hand was anything to go by. When Remus had asked, the shop’s owner had simply shrugged and said my boys by way of explanation. The wistfulness is his expression was more of a comfort than Remus could ever say. His chocolate-colored cat had a penchant for napping in Remus’ lap as well, which wasn’t half-bad when he and the shop’s owner swapped book recommendations for hours on end.

He just wished he had someone to share it with.

Someone tall enough to get a pitcher down from the cupboards without a stepstool, someone to help him fill the house with trinkets and pictures, someone to introduce to his bookstore friend, someone who would dance with him in the living room to an old French record they both knew the words to. Someone whose voice replayed in Remus’ dreams and made him ache when he woke.

He sighed, and dragged himself out of bed to pad across the chilly floors. Only one robe hung on the pair of hooks on his bedroom door; he shrugged it on to fight off the cold and wandered into the kitchen, switching the radio on for background noise. The coffee pot burbled and hissed as he pulled down one of three chipped mugs, two of which were housewarming gifts from Lily and James. In private, Remus had laughed a little at the irony of his best friend getting to keep her French boyfriend without ever stepping foot outside the country. Perks of office work, he supposed. She never had to fade in and out of existence. She could be bold, fiery, wonderful Lily and hold tight to what she loved.

His coffee finished at the same time his toast popped. Butter on one side, jam on the other, a towel over his arm to prevent sticky fingers. Remus loved to cook, but it seemed like overkill to get a whole breakfast going when it was just him.

He stopped in the doorway to his office with a sigh. The papers had begun leaking out into the family room, and unfortunately no magical cleaning elf had appeared overnight to sort out the mess Remus made during his all-nighters when he couldn’t sleep. He would tell himself he would rest as soon as he found a name, an address, a picture, but always woke groggy and sore on the floor, empty-handed.

Remus tiptoed over the semi-legally acquired, half-organized filing boxes and stacks of paperwork to flip his daily calendar.

The bright red heart that stared back at him was a slap in the face.

He flipped the page back down to the 13th, set his breakfast on the desk, and knelt to resume his search through endless piles of paperwork for a single clue that would bring him home.

–

June 1, 1945

Dumo was judging him.

Not in a bad way, granted. It was just the way he watched everyone, noticed everything. He had this… sixth sense for upset people. Being the fixer he was, he could pick out people struggling in a crowd of thousands and somehow know exactly what to say, what to do to help. It was a bit like magic. Sometimes Sirius wondered if he’d always been like that, or if it was something he’d learned by being a parent, a husband, a leader. Or maybe he’d just learned by being here, in this shop, watching the idiosyncrasies of his customers.

Nevertheless, Sirius didn’t really want to talk about what was bothering him. Dumo probably already knew, anyway.

It had been months since Remus disappeared. Sirius had lost count of how many, which he found odd. He felt like he remembered every questioning, anxious day in vivid, excruciating detail, but remembering just how many days had passed was elusive to him. It was a strange limbo, trapped between then and now. Which was ridiculous.

But Sirius knew his emotions, he watched Logan and his weekly café visits for a soldier who probably wasn’t going to show up, he got his hopes up when he thought he saw Remus right there, just outside the café, waiting for him, and he understood that love was a wild, sentient thing that sometimes couldn’t be controlled or willed into submission. Sometimes it was best to just sit back and let it run its course.

It was a slow day - probably due to the weather. Rain was coming down in sheets, soaking the streets and making them glisten. Most people were staying indoors, or running to their destinations under umbrellas or newspapers or anything they could find, not stopping for a coffee or pastry today. The café had only served a handful of customers during Sirius’ shift, including a woman who was still seated by the window watching the rain. She sipped at her coffee idly, bright red lipstick leaving a residue on the rim of her cup.

Sirius wiped down a table (again) and looked for anything to keep him occupied. He smiled at Logan as he joined them, hair messy as if he’d been running his hands through it - a distracted tic Sirius knew he had. He didn’t have a shift that day, but Sirius suspected he was just bored. Lonely. Transitioning from Resistance member to run-of-the-mill café employee was a bit of an adjustment for all of them; they leaned on each other to get through it, sometimes leaving coded messages to decode or little “missions” to complete - who could find Katie’s lost teddy bear first (a classic rescue mission, which Sirius proudly won), who could make the best pancakes (Dumo, to no one’s surprise), who could steal the little ceramic deer on the mantle without Celeste knowing (no one won that one, Celeste was much too attached to that little deer). It helped with the repetition of their days now. And it was a fun way to keep up their skills. There was no danger to any of it, no risk. Sirius loved their games.

That was why, when the woman with the red, red lipstick left and Sirius went to clear the table, he didn’t even bat an eye when he saw a tiny, inked note on the table. He was a bit impressed that Logan had managed to slip it under the plate without the woman noticing, but people always seemed to have a habit of underestimating Logan. He figured he was just next on a very, very long list.

“Dumo,” he called, spinning on his heel to face the two of them, note lifted with a teasing flutter. “I bet my slice of pie tonight that I can solve this before you do.”

Logan scowled at him. “Why can’t I play?”

Sirius blinked, brow furrowing as he looked at the note again. “Because you’re the one who wrote it?”

“I didn’t.”

“Dumo?” Sirius asked, thinking maybe the older man had left the note there when he’d served the woman her coffee. But he just shook his head, as clueless as the rest of them.

Sirius stared down at the paper, a new puzzle to solve. There was something about the code that looked familiar… but he knew it was one he hadn’t seen in…

Sirius dove for the chair closest to him, digging out a pen and his old, tattered book of cyphers from back during the war, and feverishly getting to work. He let his heart race in a way he hadn’t in months, stringing together letters to form words, sentences, until he finished. The paper shook in his hand as he inspected it.

“I’ve got to go,” he blurted out, jumping to his feet again. “Logan, can you - I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll cover your shift,” Logan confirmed. Then, “Where are you going?”

Sirius was already halfway out the door. “I’m going to find the love of my life!”

Come and find me where we first met, the note had said. Nothing more, nothing less. But Sirius knew who it was from. He stepped out into the pouring rain, the chill refreshing in the summer afternoon - an extra shock to his system.

He took off running.

Faster, faster, his heart pounded with the tempo of his footfalls, echoing the splashes of rainwater he left in his wake. Around a corner, zipping past a cart full of flowers, narrowly dodging a woman with a dog, he ran. Down one alley to the next, where he skidded to a halt and stared.

There was a lone man standing stock-still in the rain, umbrella hiding the top half of his face - but Sirius could see his side profile, his lips curled into that lopsided smile he knew from all those months ago.

Remus knew he was there - how could he not? Sirius wasn’t exactly quiet in his haste. But he approached slowly now, in such a stark contrast to his pulse, wet hair plastered to his forehead and rivulets of rainwater tracking down his face. He stopped in front of Remus, the toes of their shoes touching, and raised a hand to tilt the umbrella up, unobscuring his vision.

Whiskey eyes, chocolate freckles, and caramel curls.

“Lousy weather we’re having, huh?” Sirius asked, breathless and barely over a whisper.

Remus beamed up at him, eyes sparkling in recognition at the phrase. “Maybe it’ll shape up,” he replied, and all Sirius could do was cradle his face in his hands and kiss him, deep and fierce and attentive, just like he’d always wanted to. Remus’ head tilted up sweetly to compensate for their height difference and he kissed Sirius back, moving the umbrella so that it covered them both. It was sweet and passionate and - well, wet, with the rainwater and all.

Sirius thought it was perfect.

With rain pattering lightly on the umbrella over their heads, he blinked his eyes open when Remus pulled back, absolutely in love with the sight that greeted him.

Well, shit.

What was there to be afraid of now? Remus wasn’t going to leave, not after finding him again, not so soon. Plus there was no way Remus didn’t have some semblance of feelings for him, not after a kiss like that.

“I think I love you,” he breathed, pushing a curl away from Remus’ temple tenderly, letting his hand linger. The resulting smile was everything.

“I’ve told you I love you in… three languages so far,” Remus recalled, laughing at Sirius’ stunned face. “Plus morse code.”

“I thought I’d imagined that one,” Sirius admitted, thinking back on that meeting. “And I thought the others were compliments or goodbyes, based on the circumstances.”

Remus nuzzled into his hand, then pressed a quick kiss to his palm. “I thought it was too soon,” he confessed. “Or too risky. And then I got reassigned and…”

And.

They both knew the rest.

“Can you tell me now?” Sirius finally asked, right as the rain started to soften. “In a language I actually know?”

Remus laughed, sunshine peeking through the storm clouds. “I love you.”

And Sirius kissed him again, smile against smile, as his heart directly opposed the falling raindrops and soared.

_

June 2, 1945– 8:15 am

The world was settling. Paris was better than he left it. The morning was calm and bright. Sirius was beautiful.

He had found peace in sleep, sharp cheekbones softening under the sunlight coming through the window and jaw slack with each heavy breath. His hair was longer than before; it spilled over his forehead in loose waves and just brushed the tips of his ears, still mussed from the night before.

They hadn’t bothered with a shower once they were sated and the moon was high overhead. The thought of separating for even a moment had been absolutely out of the question, so they had laid together, as close as they could get, until sleep came for them both.

Remus sighed and tucked a piece of Sirius’ hair behind his ear. He was even in love with the way his nose whistled with each exhale. Really, it was starting to get ridiculous.

He had started searching the second he landed in New York - the janitor of the Manhattan headquarters had to boot him out of the building that first night, luggage and all. Colonel Weasley could mark him as ‘reserve duty’ on paper, but that didn’t mean Remus was ready to shed his spy mantle just yet. He was the best of his division; it seemed a shame to let it all go to the wayside so fast.

It had taken months, but he did it. Sirius - Sirius Black, age 23, resident of Paris, France, Resistance photographer - existed. He was alive, too, as far as the reports could tell. The few photographs of him tucked into a folder stopped Remus’ heart when he first saw them, kneeling on his office floor and losing hope, and every time after that he had to put them behind the other pages so he didn’t get distracted just looking at that picturesque face.

But those long nights and exhausted days and ink stained fingertips had led him right back to Paris, in the end. They let him kiss Sirius breathless in the rain and take him to bed after three years of silent pining, and they let him wake in the mid-morning light to watch his face twitch with a dream.

Remus was never going to let him go again.

He traced the shell of Sirius’ ear with his thumb and let his head rest heavy on their shared pillow. For once, he could just watch. There was no trade of contraband; no goal to excuse their meeting. Remus thought he could handle a quiet existence for once.

Never let me go, Sirius had whispered to him as they left their wet clothes in a heap and tangled each other in the bedsheets, shivering from the rain and the sudden release of years’ worth of suppressed emotion. Remus, he had said, and the sound that escaped him when Sirius’ voice curled around his name like an embrace after so long nearly broke him. Remus, don’t ever let me go.

I won’t. He had not hesitated. Not while Sirius was real and warm and there, right in his arms. Not if you keep me, too.

He hadn’t bothered setting up the little room when he arrived in Paris beyond dropping off his bag–Dorcas had been waiting for his message at their favorite lunch spot with a gleam in her eye, a ring on her finger with M&D engraved in the band, and a kiss for his cheek that left a waxy red lipstick print behind. Missed you, Moonpie.

He had missed her, too. More than he cared to admit.

There was no alarm clock on the nightstand and Remus’ wristwatch was… somewhere, likely in the mess of his clothing where it lay on the floor. He had no idea how long they had spent in bed. Long enough to learn every inch of each other and still have room for more. Long enough to make a dent in the bone-deep yearning to touch that had been plaguing them for a thousand days.

Sirius hadn’t even brought a coat when he ran after Remus. That was stupid, you’re going to get yourself sick, Remus had said into his lips as he practically ripped the buttons of Sirius’ shirt in his haste to get it off.

I’m stupid for you had been the breathless reply before there were hands on his belt and everything went hazy.

Sirius inhaled slowly, his legs stretching all the way out until their feet brushed, and Remus came back to the present to watch the realization wash over him in real time. Sirius was smiling before he even opened his eyes.

“Bonjour.”

Remus’ heart seized. “God, I love your morning voice.”

The sleepy smile vanished in half a second. Sirius tucked his arms under the pillow and sat up to look at him properly, lips parted in befuddlement. “What was that?”

Remus frowned. “What was what?”

“You’ve never spoken English to me.”

“I–” He cut himself off with a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of Sirius’ shock. When he thought about it, though, it was true. They had never spoken anything but French, aside from the occasional ‘I love you’ in whatever language he was sure Sirius wouldn’t know. If Sirius suddenly started speaking Swedish to him, he supposed he would be just as surprised. “Sorry, I’m tired–”

“No, no, no, it’s good,” Sirius said hurriedly, settling back down and shuffling right into Remus’ space until their faces were mere inches apart. His eyes were bright and clear, like summer clouds. A warm hand wove with Remus’ own and squeezed; his heart gave a kick and he kissed Sirius’ nose, just because he could. “Say it again.”

Remus smiled. “I love your–”

“In English.”

“I love your morning voice,” he repeated, then reached out to trail his fingers over Sirius’ stubbly jaw. “Better?”

A soft, dopey smile made his eyes sparkle. “You love my voice?”

Always. “Especially in the morning.”

Sirius’ grin grew. “Why?”

“It’s sweet,” Remus mused, rolling over until Sirius was on his back below him. Two strong arms wound around his waist without hesitation and Remus melted a little, but covered it up by kissing each peak and plane of Sirius’ face as he spoke, pressing every word into his skin. “It’s all rough. You sound happy. Nobody else gets to hear it.” His lips feathered the hinge of Sirius’ jaw and made him sigh. “It’s hot.”

“Re-mus,” Sirius groaned, and Remus grinned into his skin as he was hugged close to Sirius’ sleep-warm body. “Do not say that.”

“Why not?” he teased.

“I have to go to work.”

“What time?”

Sirius dragged him down further and buried his face in the crook of Remus’ neck with a huff. “9 o’clock.”

“Mmm, you’ve definitely missed it by now.” Did he have any clue what time it was? Absolutely not. Was he willing to lie like he was paid for it to keep Sirius cuddly and warm and fucking adorable in bed with him for the rest of their lives?

Well, obviously. And not too long ago, he did get paid for it.

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice was raspy, sending a waterfall of shivers down Remus’ spine. “I love you.”

God. Remus closed his eyes and rested their temples together, breathing in everything about that moment. He wanted to keep it like one of Sirius’ pictures - a perfect snapshot of a perfect morning. “Mon amour,” he said into Sirius’ wayward curls, and felt his chest cave slightly. “In every language.”

He was very glad they had decided not to rinse off the night before. The salt of Sirius’ skin was better than anything he had imagined on those long, lonely nights.

–

“Why do you like it so much when I speak English?”

Sirius ran his hand over Remus’ shoulder blade, silently memorizing the feel of him, bare and warm and a little damp from the shower they dragged out until the water ran ice-cold. They were half-lying on each other again, though they had swapped out the sheets for a clean set in the closet. Remus’ weight on him was as familiar as if they had been sleeping next to one another for years already.

Sirius sighed, and cupped Remus’ cheek in his hand. He could do that, now. Touch him. Hold him. Reach out and not fear Remus shying away. “It’s how you speak to the people that know you best,” he said after a moment. Amber eyes were hooded with drowsy bliss, but entirely focused on him. He would do whatever it took to wake up to that expression every morning of every day to come. “Your family. Your friends. The people you grew up with. It’s your voice, not your French voice.”

Remus’ voice pitched up when he spoke French; not much, but enough that Sirius was coming to adore the low rolls of his American voice with each new word. It meant Remus felt safe and comfortable with him. The careful walls he had constructed could come down a bit. Remus blinked slowly, then nuzzled into Sirius’ palm. “You’d like my family. They’d like you, too.”

“Would they?” A giddy firework exploded in Sirius’ abdomen.

“Mhmm. I told them about you.”

“What did you tell them, mon coeur?”

Remus’ cheeks went pink at the nickname–even pinker than they had been before their shower, when Sirius had him flat on his back. He made another little humming noise. “Told them about my French friend in Paris, who was allergic to shellfish and knew the best places for contraband chocolate. Told them you were kind, and smart, and capable, and brave…”

“Careful, I’m starting to think you have a crush on me.”

“Because I do,” Remus murmured in English, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Sirius had dated before, but none of them had ever been like Remus. He would kiss Remus for days if he had the chance. Could talk with him for hours and never get bored. He wanted to hold Remus’ hand and introduce him to his family and take showers with him every morning - the feeling of Remus washing his hair had blown his mind and weakened his knees - and a million other things that used to seem so mundane. They had had enough action for one lifetime, in his opinion. They were tired. He wanted to rest with Remus.

Speaking of…

Sirius glanced out the window and had to stifle a laugh. Remus was an excellent liar, but after so many years with a window facing the rising sun, Sirius knew where it was supposed to be when he needed to drag himself out of bed and go downstairs to open the café. “Remus.”

He got a happy sigh in response.

“I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Remus cracked an eye open and glared at him. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Sirius laughed. “Don’t you have things to do, too?”

“I’m on reserve,” Remus said around a groan as he stretched, wrapping both arms and a leg around Sirius. “Means I don’t have to do shit until they call me. And they won’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m very good at disappearing.”

Sirius’ heart stuttered. It was meant as a joke, but Remus had disappeared enough for his liking. It had seemed so easy for him to just go - there had been no warning, no goodbye, no note. Not even a phone call. Logan lingered at the same table every week, but Sirius had watched the phone and searched the crowds just as often. Sometimes he imagined he saw honey curls among the sea of hats or a mischievous, crooked smile, and it shattered him a little every time he was wrong. For a good three months in the middle, once the shock and fear had worn off, Sirius had almost convinced himself Remus did it on purpose. Perhaps he had scared him off. Perhaps Sirius was nothing more than a contact to him, after all.

“Sirius?”

He glanced up. “Ouais?”

Some of the contentment had faded from Remus’ face. “Lost you for a second.”

Lost you for months. Sirius kissed his forehead, right where worry had creased his golden skin so many times. “Don’t disappear on me.”

Remus made a soft, punched-out sound and pulled him impossibly closer. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant–”

“I know,” Sirius assured him. “I know. But still.”

“Never again.” Remus’ long, slender fingers cradled the back of his neck and pulled him down, not to kiss, just to hold. “I never stopped looking for you, Sirius. You were in my dreams day and night.”

“I know.” He allowed himself a full 60 seconds of being held so tight it was hard to breathe before brushing a hand through Remus’ softly curling hair. “I really do have to go to work.” Remus groaned again, louder, and shoved his face into the pillow. “I do! Dumo is going to think I went crazy, or got hit by a car, or something.”

“You didn’t tell him where you went?” Remus hesitated for a moment, then peeked out at him. “Also, who’s Dumo?”

“No, and my…” Sirius faltered. How to begin? “Dad? Boss? My dad, who is also my boss and my landlord and the owner of the café. Adoptive dad, at least.”

“Got it.” Remus didn’t sound like he got it at all, but it was the thought that counted. “You really have to go?”

“I’ll be back by two.” If I can talk Logan into covering for me. Sirius scoffed internally. He would make Logan cover for him, whether he liked it or not. There was not a force in the world that would make him leave Remus alone in a bed for more than a few hours.

“I’ll be here.” A few beats of quiet passed before Remus shifted out of their embrace and took Sirius’ face in his hands. His expression held nothing but honesty and–and a little bit of love. “I’ll be here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Remus kissed each of his cheeks. “Kocham cię, jag älskar dig, ik hou van je…”

–

June 2, 1945– 1:37 pm

Sirius opened the door and nearly walked right back out again for fear he had stepped into a dream. He settled for leaning on the doorframe instead, stunned into silence save for a soft “oh” that came from somewhere beyond him. Somewhere deeper.

Bacon–not real bacon, of course, probably just very lean meat from probably a pig - sizzled in a pan on the stove, next to two small eggs. Two slices of toast sat on a chipped plate, next to the knob of butter he had been rationing for a month. The whole place smelled better than heaven. It smelled like home.

Then again, that might just have been Remus. Remus, in a frayed flannel robe with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a t-shirt over his boxers and a spoon of unknown use stuck between his lips that were still a little red from their morning activities. Remus, whose bedhead looked so utterly ridiculous that Sirius wanted to bury his hands in it and kiss him stupid.

He had only ever seen Remus perfectly professional and put-together before, aside from the previous night, when the moon had been the only thing to illuminate his face with pleasure scribbled across it by a heavy hand. Sirius ached with how badly he needed to see that rumpled gentleness every day of his fucking life.

So he dropped his bag with a thud and kicked his shoes off blindly and caught Remus’ face between his palms, ignoring his surprised noise to pull the spoon away and do exactly what he had been wanting to do since his heartbeat first stuttered. Remus tasted like the morning. He smelled like maybe-bacon and sleep with a hint of the minty shampoo Sirius had worked into his hair after their roll in the sheets.

Remus kissed back just as fervently–perhaps they were getting carried away for so early in the day - and Sirius finally had to drag himself back to rest their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

The spoon clinked as Remus set it in his mug and Sirius suddenly, desperately wanted to know what Remus mixed in with his coffee he needed to know everything – “I told you I’d stay. Also, I made…very, very late breakfast.”

Sirius let out something like a laugh, something like a huff, and wrapped Remus up in his arms. Cold hands untucked his shirt after a moment’s hesitation and came to rest at his lower back; he couldn’t even bring himself to flinch at the temperature difference. “Say it American.”

It was Remus’ turn to laugh, a little husky, before he repeated himself in English. Sirius closed his eyes at the unfamiliar syllables. The hills and valleys of Remus’ voice, the voice the people that really knew him loved.

“Say the last word again,” he requested.

Remus’ thumbs pressed into the divots of his back. “Breakfast.”

“So sharp,” Sirius tsked, drawing another – another! - laugh from him. "Petit-déjeuner. Much more elegant."

“Little lunch.”

“Who’s Madison?” The name felt strange to say. Sirius had met about eight dozen ‘Marie’s and ‘Pierre’s and ‘Jean-Luc’s, but never a ‘Madison’. It even felt like an American name. Remus made a questioning noise. “Your shirt.”

“My– oh.” The last word came out on a snort. “Oh, no, that’s where I’m from.”

Sirius frowned and leaned back to look. Madison, stretching right across Remus’ chest, with a handful of other English words half-hidden by the robe. “You have your mother’s name on a shirt?”

“My city,” Remus corrected, still laughing. His nose scrunched with it and Sirius kissed that, too. “Madison, Wisconsin. I’ll take you there sometime.”

Remus had had a pristine French accent every second Sirius had known him. But the second the words Madison, Wisconsin rolled off his tongue, Sirius recoiled. “What the hell did your mouth just do?”

“My accent?” Remus sounded even more amused than he looked as he tugged Sirius closer by the hem of his shirt. “It’s better, now. I used to call it ‘Sconsin. My dad still does.”

“'Sconsin,” Sirius mimicked.

“You have to say the ‘n’ at the end!”

“I don’t know how!”

Remus’ rounded nose brushed his own, then pressed into the dimple of Sirius’ cheek accompanied by a kiss that made butterflies fill his stomach. “I’ll teach you,” he said in quiet, perfect French that rumbled in his chest. He was solid in Sirius’ arms, warm against his front. His curls tickled Sirius’ nose when he bent to kiss them, and he felt Remus sigh. “We have all the time in the world, and nowhere else to be.”

Oh, but they had thousands of places to be - the park Sirius and Logan took the Dumais children to on Sunday afternoons, the huge, sprawling library he knew Remus would love to get lost in, all the places that had become bare, vulnerable pieces that made Sirius who he was, he wanted Remus to see it all. The good, the bad, everything in between. He wanted to be known, even though it was more terrifying than he could put into words. But, at the same time, there was no one else Sirius trusted more to guard those secrets.

They had time, though, like Remus said. Sirius could show him those places and more, adding new ones to the repertoire because they were special to them, together, as a unit. He wondered what hidden Parisian gems they’d uncover together.

Sirius stayed close, even though it was hot in the kitchen. Kisses were pressed to Remus’ face, a gentle squeeze to his hips. “Secret for a secret?” he asked, delighting in the way Remus laughed, quiet and close and sweet.

“I thought that tradition ended when the war did.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Remus landed a kiss of his own onto Sirius’ collarbone, making him melt more than the heat wafting from the stove. “Go ahead, then.”

“I never thought I’d get to have something like this.” It wasn’t sad, or self-deprecating, just honest and straightforward. Between his parents and the war, the secrets and the hiding and the uncertainty of it all, Sirius had tried his best not to think about it. Why dream of something if it wasn’t meant to be? “I’m glad I do, though. I’m glad you’re here, with me.”

Remus pulled back just far enough to meet Sirius’ gaze, bright and warm and loving and everything Sirius had let himself dream about, once in a blue moon. ”I’m glad I’m here, too.” His hands were making small circles at the small of Sirius’ back, around the dimples there, then farther up under his shirt. Sirius let himself get lost, for just a second, before looking away with an embarrassed laugh.

“Ok, your turn to tell a secret; don’t make me be emotionally vulnerable all by myself.”

Remus pressed his smile against Sirius’ cheek, and god, it was everything. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He seemed to stall for a second, hesitation in the shape of his frame, the way he held his breath and then let it all out in a quiet rush. “Sharing secrets is… hard for me. Guess that makes sense with the whole, y’know, being a spy thing. Goes against all my training. It’s not as hard with you, though. And I know most of my secrets for a secret-” he laughed a little at the phrase, how it got jumbled up in his mouth, “they haven’t been very deep or meaningful or anything like that - and I’m gonna work on that, I am - but it’s always been… easy, with you. Sharing things. It’s a lot harder to be scared when you’re… you, with that excitement to actually know me, and that big heart, and those soulful eyes-”

Sirius grinned. “Soulful, huh?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be profound here.”

Sirius laughed, heart swelling, but quieted back down to let Remus continue, soulful eyes watching him adoringly. He was toying with the bottom seam of Sirius’ shirt now, for something to distract himself. Sirius found it strangely endearing, even as he pleated the material between his fingers and left a crease on the shirt he’d just ironed that morning. “I guess… feeling safe is hard for me. I’m sure it is for you, too. But you - you’re safe. I feel safe when I’m with you.”

And fuck, what was Sirius supposed to say to that? Thank you? That didn’t even begin to encompass the rush of emotions currently wreaking havoc on his heart. He simply pulled Remus closer, letting him feel the galloping cadence of his heartbeat, and breathed. Tucking his head, he tried to get closer, closer, he still wasn’t close enough. He finally settled on, “It’s kind of insane how much I love you,” the words a breathless rush, an awed whisper. Remus choked on a noise in the back of his throat, nuzzling into Sirius’ shirt.

“I love you, too.”

They stood like that for a while, food getting cold, and just enjoyed the closeness, the mundane intimacy they’d been desiring for so long now. Breakfast could wait just a little longer.

_

June 4, 1945

Pascal liked to think he had a sixth sense to detect upset people. It came in handy with his children the most (by birth or by acquisition), as well as the many café regulars who looked as if they needed a little extra boost to get through the day. A free cookie usually did the trick - an extra dash of sugar, or a splash of chocolate in their espresso to brighten their view.

None of those tricks had worked in the wake of Sirius and Logan’s obvious heartache, though. Logan’s wistful staring and silent afternoons at the table by the window hurt to watch after a while; Sirius, bless his heart, was about as subtle as a tank when Minerva delivered the news that his OSS meetups were no longer necessary. Again and again, Pascal wished he could fix their hollow hope with a touch of sweetness.

The beginning of the end of the dark times began with Sirius’ return to the café in the same clothes as the day before, when he had thrown himself into the pouring rain and remained radio silent for more than twelve hours. His radiant smile lifted the heavy stormcloud that had been hovering over their home. There was no more constant downturn to his mouth; no more searching the mail for a note that would never come. Something in him that the war had jarred loose had settled once more.

Pascal was not surprised when Sirius took the next day off - presumably to spend with the still-nameless ‘love of his life’ - and even less surprised when Sirius came shuffling up to him the day after that with anxiety pinching every inch of his face.

“Should I change into something nicer?” he asked mildly as Sirius slowly tortured the edge of his apron between two fingers.

“What? Why?”

“I should make a good impression on your lover, shouldn’t I?”

Sirius froze mid-fidget. Honestly, it was a miracle he had survived as a spy. “I - well–”

“I understand. Coffee stains aren’t usually good for first meetings.”

“Dumo,” he managed, sounding rather strangled.

“What?” Christ, it was fun to tease his sons again. “This is the first date you’ve brought home. I want to do it right.”

The bright red coloring Sirius’ cheeks spread to his ears and he smacked Pascal on the arm with a spare towel. “Stop, it’s not funny!”

“On the contrary, it’s very funny,” Pascal chuckled. “But I’ll leave you be. Where are we meeting?”

“Here.”

Oh. “Oh?”

“Out–” Sirius jerked his head toward the window, where the regular flood of Parisians in the early afternoon milled past. “Outside.”

Pascal squinted, but couldn’t pick out anyone truly exceptional. Everyone seemed either busy or bored - there were a few lovely ladies here and there on their way to work, but nobody he would clock as ‘waiting for their boyfriend to come back’. Then again, if this was who he thought it was, they would be well-versed in blending into a crowd.

“Well, then,” he said, untying his own apron and smoothing his shirt. “After you.”

But Sirius stopped him just before they stepped around the cashier’s counter with a hand on his chest. “Pascal.” He raised his eyebrows at the unease shadowing Sirius’ face. “Pascal, I want you to know that I don’t want this to change anything. And - Dumo, I have never been as happy as I am now. This makes me happy. You’ve become a father to me and it was the greatest gift of my life, so please take this with an open mind.”

Pascal softened, taking Sirius by the hands. They trembled in his own. “I would never judge you for what makes you this happy, mon fils. Your heart is what matters most.”

He only caught a second of Sirius’ face crumpling before he was engulfed in a hug, one he fiercely returned before patting his son on the back and releasing him with a kiss to each cheek. “I’m nervous,” Sirius muttered as they headed for the door.

“I can tell,” Pascal snorted. “One step at a time.”

The sudden noise and chaos of the street made him wrinkle his nose; he had grown too used to the gentle ambience of the café and allowed Sirius to make a path for them through the bustling crowd while he adjusted. Despite his careful casing of each person that passed, he couldn’t place a single one who stood out.

A young woman in a flowered hat - brushed past without a word.

A brunette with shoulder-length curls - frowned when they continued onward.

A tall blonde in a red coat - Sirius ignored her up-and-down look over him, or perhaps didn’t even notice.

Pascal couldn’t help his quiet frustration. What good was a life of spy work when he couldn’t pick out his own son’s lover in a small crowd? It was like Sirius was trying to–

Ah.

Well.

In hindsight, he felt a little stupid for missing him. A single touch from Sirius’ hand, and the young man seemed to materialize next to the postbox despite obviously standing there for several minutes beforehand. His face was mild and freckled, his shoulders broad beneath a light jacket. Sandy hair fell over his forehead, not obscuring his vision but enough to soften the sharpness of his amber eyes. Sirius’ earlier concern made sudden sense.

“Bonjour,” the man said in perfect French. One side of his mouth tilted up higher than the other when he smiled.

“Sirius,” Pascal admonished, though Sirius couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his lover. “An American? Really?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, poorly hiding a grin. “C’est la vie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moony.”

Moony took the offered hand with a firm grip; Pascal liked him more with each passing moment. “Remus Lupin.” The name came with a mellow American accent before Moony switched back. “And the pleasure is mine, Monsieur Dumais. You make truly excellent coffee.”

“I–” Good Lord. “You’ve come in before, haven’t you?”

Impish mischief flickered over Moony’s – Remus ’ - expression for a millisecond. “Your wife’s sandwiches made for a much-needed dinner many times. If it wasn’t for my job, I would have been here more often.”

Pascal couldn’t recall the last time someone had so thoroughly rendered him speechless. Age seven, perhaps. Maybe eight. He let out a bark of laughter and shook Remus’ hand once more before glancing to Sirius. “I like him.”

“You can’t have him,” Sirius warned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. He seemed almost shy as he touched the small of Remus’ back, gesturing toward the café. “Come in, we’ll sit and talk. The street is too busy.”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“We have a back room,” Pascal assured him. “My wife is more than capable of running the front herself, though she’ll want to meet you as well.”

“We can let Adele handle it. She’s capable,” Sirius joked, shepherding them both toward the door with a kind of lightness Pascal wanted to bottle for a rainy day. He had never seen his oldest son look so calm - the fire in his heart had cooled to warm embers, settling a gentle glow over his skin. He watched Sirius’ thumb slide over the fine bones of Remus’ wrist and down to his knobbly knuckles, and in that moment he knew exactly what was coming.

Or rather, what was going.

The handful of customers in the shop hardly batted an eyelash when they entered again and made a beeline for the back room; Pascal caught Celeste’s eye and nodded when she tilted her head toward Remus. A fine blush lit her face like cherry blossoms as she bit down a beaming smile, then bent to Adele’s level and murmured to her for a moment.

“Please, sit,” he said to Remus with a wave of his hand while Sirius closed the door behind them for privacy. “I must say, it’s so good to see you here. I hated seeing my sons pine.”

“Your–” Remus faltered, turning to Sirius as he sat. “I thought your parents left Paris?”

“Pascal took me in.” There was so much patience in Sirius’ voice. So much peace. He was a very different man than the boy burning with righteous fury Pascal had brought into his home all those years ago. Sirius glanced at him with half a smile. “He’s been a better father to me than I can ever say.”

“And you have been a better son than I could have asked for,” Pascal added, watching Sirius’ throat bob. “Which is why I am very glad he has you.”

“I’m lucky to have him,” Remus said honestly. “I was only given a few days’ notice before I was sent back to America and I didn’t know where to find Sirius. I never meant to cause your family pain.”

“I never thought you did.” Pascal reached across the table and patted the back of his hand, then folded both of his own and turned to Sirius with an arched brow. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it?”

Sirius frowned. “What do you mean? I wanted to introduce you to Remus.”

“Sirius.” Pascal gave him a look, and Sirius shifted in his seat. “It’s alright.”

Remus placed a hand on Sirius’ thigh. “I already told you, it’s okay if you don’t come–”

“Let him speak,” Pascal interrupted gently. “Sirius, it’s alright.”

“I–” He exhaled, lacing Remus’ fingers with his own as he kept his eyes firmly on the table.

“It’s alright,” Pascal repeated again, softer.

“Paris is free.” Sirius swallowed hard. He ran a hand through his hair and looked to the side, where spare aprons hung neatly on their hooks. “Paris is free, and Regulus still hasn’t contacted me, and - Pascal, I waited for so long.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have Logan,” he continued. “The café is doing well, and you can give my room to a new hire. Or Logan, his apartment is completely gone.”

Pascal raised his eyebrows. That was news. “His–”

But Sirius wasn’t done. “I’ll come visit.” It was forceful, a sudden gust of wind in the beginnings of a storm. He fixed his eyes on Pascal, and in his gaze was the same spark he had seen when Sirius first arrived on his doorstep. I know you work with the Resistance, he had said then. And I will help. It appeared he had found a new purpose in the calm man still holding his hand. “I will, I promise. This is not goodbye. This is something I have to do.”

God above, Pascal was so proud. “Okay.”

“I can’t let him go again.” There was a tightness in Sirius’ voice; the ghost of something passed over Remus’ face and he looked away. Their last goodbye had been so abrupt–by the way Remus leaned into Sirius even as they sat, the way they couldn’t seem to part more than a few feet, Pascal could guess it had been a harrowing experience for both.

He couldn’t stand another cycle of Sirius’ aching glances out the window for the whisper of a second chance. “Are you following your heart?”

“Yes,” Sirius answered without hesitation.

“Then why would I ever stop you?”

His face crumpled at that, silver eyes turning bright and lip trembling. “I – shit , I knew I was going to cry, and I still have to talk to Celeste–”

Pascal stood and held his arms out; Sirius fell into them in the span of a breath. “I’m so proud of you, mon fils,” he managed through the emotion clogging his throat. “This is the right choice.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

“You’re going to visit, yes?” Pascal gave him one last squeeze before stepping back and taking Sirius by the shoulders as he wiped his face dry and took a few shaky breaths. “You want this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re happy with Remus?”

“So happy.”

“Then go, and live your life, and don’t you dare feel bad for going when we’ll be right where you left us. Come home and bring stories with you.”

Sirius hugged him again after that, then dragged Remus over to join them despite his vibrant blush and slight awkwardness shuffling into the embrace. The door opened just as they parted and Celeste made a soft sound when she saw Sirius’ face. “Oh, mon cher.”

“I’m going to America with Remus,” Sirius said, more solid than before. She gave him a significant look. “Oh! Oh, right, yes, this is Remus. My boyfriend.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Remus,” she laughed, shaking his hand. “Am I correct in assuming you’re the mysterious Moony?”

“I was,” Remus confirmed with a grin. “I take it you figured that out early?”

She winked. “Our Sirius is not known for subtlety.”

“I was a spy,” Sirius noted, winding an arm around Remus’ waist. “For several years, in fact. A good one.”

Remus reached up and touched his cheek gently, where dark stubble was just beginning to appear. He looked at Sirius with such gentleness, such devotion. Pascal remembered watching Celeste with those same soft eyes the day she laughed in the sun and it lit her up like a star on Earth. After everything he had fought for, Sirius deserved to be loved like that. “Definitely my favorite.”

–

September 4, 1945

It was over, really and truly. The death, the pain, the terror of the unknown–after six long years, they could be done. There was so much left to rebuild in the aftershocks, but for now, people were cheering and crying in the streets as fireworks sparkled overhead. They could breathe, and not fear that each exhale would be their last.

“Mon cœur?”

Remus set the newspaper next to the small stack of correspondence from Regulus as Sirius entered the room, soft music following behind him. “Hey,” he said, leaning back for a kiss. “Lunch?”

“Mhmm. I got your… pichet? Water holder thing.”

Remus smiled into the kiss. Since arriving in New York, Sirius had been bound and determined to polish up his English. Said he wouldn’t visit Remus’ family without knowing more than a few greetings, though the nervousness on his face told a slightly different story. It was alright. There was no rush, and Remus was only too happy to help. “Merci beaucoup, mon amour.”

“Quel est le mot?”

“Pitcher.”

Sirius hummed. “Close enough. Sounds the same. Viens avec moi.”

Remus let himself be guided through the house by the hand, but rather than going into the kitchen as he had assumed, Sirius caught him around the waist in the living room and pulled him close. They kissed, chaste and light, before Sirius began to sway in place to the hum of the record player.

“Sing for me,” he murmured, his accent thick and sweet like honey.

“Was it the spell of Paris or the April dawn?” Remus sang softly as he nudged their noses together and kissed Sirius again. He still missed Paris–they both did. He missed the people and the food and the way he could drown himself in another language. He missed breakfast by the Seine, Sirius pressed so close to him that he could feel his warmth. But it was time for a fresh start.

“I love your voice.”

“I love how you dance.”

Sirius grinned as Remus dipped him. “Quite a pair, oui?”

“Oui,” he agreed, and drew him in close once more.

There was so much light, with Sirius. Ease. Repainting the house took them less than a week. Clearing out the evidence of Remus’ desperate search - abandoned in his haste to get to Paris - had taken a day. He was fairly sure Sirius had taken a picture of it before they cleaned up, though he hadn’t asked. There were more important things to talk about.

They spent the first day in bed, exhausted from jetlag and still absorbing their new reality. Remus had tentatively asked whether Sirius wanted to start out with a city apartment before they moved in together and was silenced with a thorough kiss before he got the fourth word out. That was answer enough - they had begun unloading Sirius’ meager belongings that same day.

Sirius had always been a joy, a haven, a companion to share the load Remus broke his back on every day. He was the only person Remus could trust to catch him when he stumbled or slipped - he was the only person Remus could rest with. Rest, and not think about the crushing responsibility he was tasked with. Nothing could touch him in Sirius’ arms.

As they danced in the living room, lit by the sun through gauzy curtains that had once seemed so heavy, Remus could scarcely believe he had been such a wreck mere months ago. He remembered the way he used to feel, as if the mystery of Sirius was a physical wound in his chest. It was soothed by the balm of his smile.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he continued, carrying the tune just above a murmur. “In every lovely summer's day.”

“Quel est le mot?” Sirius asked, sweeping him in a small circle.

“Which one?”

“Lovely?”

Remus closed his eyes at the long ‘o’ of Sirius’ sweeping accent. “Joli. Charmant? One of those.”

“Like you.”

He scoffed, moving closer to hide the blush creeping up his face in Sirius’ neck. “Romantic,” he teased, tickling Sirius’ side lightly before sliding his hand around to the small of his back. “You are the lovely one.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Sirius led them around the room again, spinning and rocking at complete odds with the rhythm as Remus laughed and followed his steps as best he could. And when they reached the end of the song, Sirius let go of his hand so abruptly Remus stumbled, hurrying into their bedroom.

“Hey!” Remus called, a little breathless. “Where’d you go?”

Sirius reappeared a moment later with his camera in hand. “Viens ici,” he panted, dropping a sloppy kiss to Remus’ cheek as if they were back in the Coney Island photo booths.

“I - what–” But Remus’ confusion was cut short when Sirius held the camera at arms’ length and pointed the lens back toward them.

“Sourire,” Sirius whispered with a playful nibble of Remus’ jaw, startling a laugh out of him. The shutter clicked. Their perfect moment froze.

It would be another week until they got the photo. Another week until they saw Sirius’ broad grin next to Remus mid-laugh, both clearly flushed from dancing even in black-and-white against a blurred gray background. It would be eight days until it was framed and hung with care on their bedroom wall. Something beautiful. Something permanent. And at the bottom, next to Sirius’ signature (written after much pestering from Remus), sat a small caption in looping script: I’ll Be Seeing You.

[mousedroid-hoojib]

Young Snoke and Lor San Tekka

Hailing from Dantooine, Cosdalium (Cosda) Snoke first met Lor San Tekka in the late stages of the Clone Wars while both were studying xenobiology and the influence of the Force at a place of learning on Coruscant.

The implementation of Order 66 and the establishment of the Empire saw both withdraw from active study and seek shelter in the underlevels, fearing recrimination from the Emperor's troops.

The purging of all knowledge regarding the Jedi and the Force from Imperial records prompted Snoke and Tekka to conduct their own investigations from the shadows. Having learnt of the order of the Keepers Of The Whills originating on Jedha, they made their way to the Holy City to attempt to further their knowledge.

On Jedha, they met Chirutt Imwe and the most devoted Keeper, Baze Malbus, and studied in the Khyber Temple, soaking up the surroundings of this most holy place for practitioners and followers of the Force.

Whereas Tekka was content in learning from the Keepers Of The Whills, Snoke began to take an interest in the followers of the Central Isotoper and their dark leanings.

Following the arrival of Imperial troops and the ransacking of crystals from the Khyber Temple for use as part of the weapons systems of the Death Star, both Snoke and Tekka left Jedha to continue their studies off world, eventually finding their way to Maz Kanata's castle on Takodana, where both found a kindred spirit in Maz and her faith in the Force.

The news of a young Jedi involved in the destruction of the Empire's latest weapon and in particular Darth Vader's ongoing search for him, prompted both Snoke and Tekka to take a close interest in the ongoing struggle of the Rebel Alliance. Through a chance meeting, Snoke and Tekka were introduced to Princess Leia Organa where they learnt more about this young Jedi, Luke Skywalker, eventually becoming active members of the Rebellion.

With a common interest in the history of the Jedi and the Church Of The Force as seen from the perspective of the now defunct Keepers Of The Whills, Tekka and Skywalker grew close over time. Snoke however began to resent this closeness and opted to leave the Rebels and his friend Tekka, and travel on his own.

On Dathomir, Snoke continued his studies of the Central Isotoper, becoming well versed in their history and dark knowledge of the Force, eventually becoming strong enough in his own power to commune with the Nightsisters. It was through this power that he was able to have a vision of an upcoming duel between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker at a city in the clouds, and realising that the young Jedi might be in a position of being able to likewise become a student of the Central Isotoper if he were to survive the duel, chose to travel to Bespin.

While missing the fateful duel, Snoke arrived at Cloud City in time to once again meet Tekka, who had been tasked by Princess Leia Organa to retrieve the lightsaber that Skywalker had lost in the fight against Darth Vader.

Where once they were close friends with a common goal of knowledge, the darkness provided by the Central Isotoper had corrupted Snoke's vision of the Force and now he and Tekka fought to secure the lightsaber for their own purposes. Both men reached the saber at the same time, and though Tekka was able to hold it against his stronger opponent, in the struggle Snoke accidentally ignited the blade which cut across his head, deforming his skull as the wound cauterised.

Upon seeing Snoke alive but writhing in pain from the wound, Tekka took the opportunity to take his leave before his advantage was lost. While not having physical scars in the same way as Snoke, Tekka took away significant mental scars from the meeting, choosing to delay his rendezvous back to the Rebel Fleet for a period of time so as to reflect on how his former friend could have fallen to the darkness so easily.

Snoke was soon discovered by the Stormtrooper garrison left on Cloud City and, having used the influence of the Force against a lower ranked member of the squad, was taken for an audience with Darth Vader himself. The meeting between the two was also a meeting of minds, with Vader taking it upon himself to further train Snoke in the ways of the dark side of the Force. As with Vader's former apprentice, Starkiller, Snoke was hidden away from Emperor Palpatine and was sent away to the Unknown Regions to await his destiny.

By the time that Tekka returned from his period of reflection to Princess Leia and the Rebel Alliance, Skywalker had built a new lightsaber and no longer required the one lost at Bespin, asking that it be kept in a safe place for future use by the next generation of Jedi he hoped would rise following the fall of the Empire. Tekka opted to take the saber to Maz Kanata as the Rebel Alliance destroyed the second Death Star and established the New Republic.

With the remnants of the Imperial fleet fleeing the final battle of the Civil War above Jakku to the Unknown Regions under Vice Admiral Sloane and Admiral Brendol Hux, Snoke was positioned to be able to take command of the rabble using his powers of influence, eventually shaping the remnants into the nascent First Order and positioning both himself and his forces for a return to prominence in a galaxy which had become complacent.

Tekka remained with the New Republic for a period, sharing his knowledge of the Force with Skywalker and his new Jedi trainees, becoming particularly close to Ben Solo, the young son of Princess Leia. As Snoke began to remotely influence the young Jedi, and fearing a second purge of knowledge in the Force in his lifetime, Tekka withdrew from his position in the New Republic and settled in a village on Jakku.

Snoke and Tekka never met again after Bespin, however both continued to influence the lives of the other through their later years.

[heyitssmiller]

Only Forever please?

Of course, my dear!! It’s more of the RWD Verse, a prologue of sorts, so be prepared for So Much Lionfish pining ;)

.

“Ok, start with a step back on your left foot - you’re other left foot, Nutty.”

Leo shot him a glare, but took a step back anyways. “Don’t see why we’re bothering with this. I’m probably not gonna dance anyways, seeing that I don’t know how.”

“Why the hell do you think I’m teaching you?” Finn shot back, using a steady, sure hand to adjust Leo’s posture. “You gotta learn somehow, and I’ve been told I’m an excellent teacher. Now, if you’re doing a Lindy, you’re gonna do what’s called a triple step-”

“A what?”

“Shh, a triple step, So put your weight back on your right foot, then take three steps to the left, starting with your left foot.”

Leo groaned. “Finn-”

“Here, I’ll do it with you. Pretend I’m some pretty dame at the USO party.” Finn batted his eyelashes as he maneuvered to stand right in front of Leo, shoes almost touching, grabbing Leo’s hands and placing one on his waist and keeping a gentle hold of the other. He was close, so close - intoxicating. Leo could smell the standard-issue aftershave on him - it stuck out to Leo because he never really used it, with the baby face and all. He could see the impact the barracks overhead lights had on those brown eyes Leo adored so much, lightening them a bit, making them simply glow. His palm was warm, steady and sure against Leo’s shoulder, even through the fabric of his uniform.

Finn shot him a smile, dazzling from this close. Leo could just lean in, just an inch, he was so close -

[heyitssmiller]

An Interlude

Finn read about the Battle of Bastogne in the morning paper.

He didn't finish his breakfast. Instead, he went straight to the list of casualties, scanning until he got to last names that started with the letter K.

[heyitssmiller]

RWD Talker/Noelle, for all of our souls

!!!!!

This is a collab with the lovely @allhalloweve / @fruitcoops (sorry love I’m not sure which one to tag!) so I don’t want to give too much away… but I’ll give you a little snippet (and a hint!) ;)

.

December 22, 1944

Thomas Walker was, to put it bluntly, fucked.

The scream of another mortar being fired had him diving for the nearest snow-covered foxhole and throwing an arm over his helmet in a stupid but instinctive way. The soldier next to him crouched beside him and together they waited for the mortar to find its mark - and to hope that the mark wasn’t them.

[heyitssmiller]

La vie en rose 👀

I think this is my favorite wip at the moment :)

.

The roar of thunder was like tank treads against Parisian streets, the flashes of lightning like antiaircraft, the wind howling like bombs racing for their targets. Logan flinched and hid his face in Leo’s neck, trembling a bit. He hated this. He hated how his fears and his memories clashed into one big, waking nightmare - one he couldn’t escape from.

Leo shifted slightly underneath him, a deep inhale making his chest rise, lifting Logan with him. “Hey, lover,” his honey voice murmured on the gentle breath of an exhale. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to burn that moment into his memory - maybe the bright warmth could outshine the dark shadows of terror and helplessness.