#rest in peace mr. wilder you will not be forgotten

[tortoisesshells]

six sentence sunday

I was rattling through my drafts folder this morning, looking for my Mansion House Murder Party chapter outline, and found this instead. I’m not sure how I’d finish it, it doesn’t need such a staggeringly annoying epigraph, but here’s better than six sentences of Henry Hopkins at the end of the war and his enlistment in the NY 120th in the MHMP universe: 

a winnowing fan, ~900 words and probably permanently unfinished?, introspective nonsense and backstory.

… then do thou go forth, taking a shapely oar, until thou comest to men that know naught of the sea and eat not of food mingled with salt, aye, and they know naught of ships with purple cheeks,  or of shapely oars that are as wings unto ships. And I will tell thee a sign right manifest, which will not escape thee. When another wayfarer, on meeting thee, shall say that thou hast a winnowing-fan on thy stout shoulder, then do thou fix in the earth thy shapely oar  …

“What are you gonna do, when you get home?”

It was a question like a revenant, a ghost: even in conversations where no one said it, it was there – the fresh-baked bread they longed for, the beds, the wives and girls they’d kiss (and more). No more marching, no more Colonel Lockwood, no more Reb cavalry lunging out of the oppressive darkness of Virginia nights. No more bugle calls at dark-fucking-o’clock. Home.

Chaplain Hopkins listened, the same way he’d listened to the regiment’s concerns for more than two and a half years. With some he was serious and others he was glib – encouraging, if not righteousness, than at least a certain kind harmlessness: when Tom Durbey, who drank heavily ever since the Wilderness, said he wasn’t going to sober up for days, Chaplain Hopkins told him to make sure his pay was safe with his parents; when Danny Morrison spoke longingly about the soft sighs (and other soft attributes) of his Julie, Chaplain Hopkins only said he’d better marry her first, for her sake. He counselled and laughed on the long march north from Appomattox, where they’d lost their last friend in a skirmish that they all thought hadn’t meant much: where could Bobby Lee going to take the Army of Northern Virginia after Richmond collapsed, except to Hell? And yet Michael Watt had bled out on the red Virginia clay with a hole in his neck.

Private Watt had his hopes, sure, and there were bleak days when it seemed all they could think of was the dozens of friends whose plans for home rested somewhere in the dust: Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg. A dozen creeks and crossroads whose names they’d already forgotten. At Appomattox they’d heard, at a distance, the sounds of drums and bugles, and heeded the words of the messenger who barreled into camp on a weary horse: Lee surrendered! Then they’d had a change to gander at the piles of arms, the raggedy men who’d fought these four years for the Confederacy. Spring rolled towards on towards summer, and they marched wearily over Virginian roads towards Washington City, where Lockwood promised they’d be mustered out and their future lives could begin.

Chaplain Hopkins, footsore and weary, waved off any questions about what he’d do when he got home, sometimes taking off his cap to run his hand along the scar on the side of his head. When asked about it, he said it itched in the heat, which was as true as a lie of omission could be. He’d been terribly lucky, or the Lord had exercised His mercy, or that nameless Confederate had just been a lousy shot: not knowing which it was bothered him, and without a real answer he wondered if he could take up the life he’d had before.

“I’ll worry about home after I see you all safe and discharged,” he would usually respond, or something very like it, as he put his cap back on.

Home, he thought at night, whether looking up at mildewed canvas or the shimmering night sky.

Home was –

Truth be told, he hadn’t thought of home. He was as much between now as he had been in ’61 – Guildhall’d found a new minister almost as soon as he’d left, and he had no claims there; before that, in peace time, there had only ever been Williamstown and New York.

His last parish hadn’t even been his, only a place left to his keeping in much more than the usual metaphorical way. His Guildhall parishoners had missed Reverend and Mrs. Venicombe, and everything in the house was still theirs: the lovingly-darned curtains, the elusive barn cat, the loose-roped bed under the eaves. They’d come back, Mrs. Venicombe’s lungs as improved as they could be, and Henry’d packed up what little he’d brought to the far reaches of Vermont and travelled the long road home to Williamstown to wait for word of another parish – probably out west. Kansas, maybe. He’d not liked the idea of going into such a dangerous place, but then the danger hadn’t just been there, had it? The Confederacy’d fired on Sumter and not a month later, he had his commission as a chaplain and was travelling the vast Hudson south. Home, he guessed, was Williamstown.

Did he have to go there? Henry looked at his discharge papers, felt the strap of his pack hard across his shoulders and the jingle of coins in his pocket; Williamstown was his childhood and hundreds of miles away. The roads were hot and dusty, the railroads and paddlewheelers were groaning at the seams. What if he stayed here, in Washington City? Or further down the Potomac? He had friends in Alexandria – had had friends in Alexandria. Surely the hospital hadn’t quite been emptied? The building given back over to the – given back over to its old purpose? He could be there in three hours – closer to two, if he moved quickly.

[starlessskies94]

Mrs Morgan (Arthur/FReader)

I took the plunge and finally wrote a reader/Arthur oneshot! Was it a mistake? Probably. Is it any good? Probably not. Do I regret it? Nah!

So this is obviously based off of the fishing trip with little Jack from the game but I've changed some things around. I hope it's okay as I still not 100% confident with reader inserts. Part two will be posted soon and will feature Arthur. Hope you guys enjoy!

As a young girl, you never thought you ever would’ve lived such a life as you had. On the run from the law after committing numerous crimes, you hadn’t thought twice about for the sake of a big payout. Living out in the wilderness with a gang that welcomed you among them; to the point you had eventually become family.

Robbing and scamming your way through the country with them as the years passed by. Well and truly proving yourself as a valuable member to Dutch and Hosea.So it wasn’t a surprise when you married Arthur; the two of you taking more jobs together; to the point your protective bond had blossomed into something more.Most had expected it sooner or later, and couldn’t have been happier the day you came back to camp with the news that you were finally man and wife.

Then Blackwater had happened and you’d never been more afraid to lose your husband than you had been in the weeks following the massacre.

When you reached Horseshoe Overlook, it had been a moment to take a much needed sigh of relief. The camp itself was beautiful, peaceful and had a breathtaking view over the cliff edge. You’d stayed along with the other women making the camp as homey as possible while the men scoped out the town and Dutch contemplated your next move. You could sense the strain it was taking on Arthur though; riding out every couple of days to take care of job after job. Fetching an endless supply of things people had requested. But knowing your husband as you did watching him doing everything with a courteous contented smile; you knew deep down he needed a break. Which was why, you practically jumped at the opportunity to spend some time away when Abigail had quietly asked if you both minded taking Jack out for a while. At first it had started with the idea of a simple fishing trip but you managed to convince her to let you take the young boy on a camping trip for the night. With the promise of not traveling too far away from camp. Just far enough away to give you all the quiet you’d all craved in the busy chaotic weeks it had taken to get to your new spot.

So you’d watched from afar as Jack; sat just in front of his Uncle Arthur, playing with the mare’s wispy mane by the top of her withers as you rode down the path towards the woodland by the river. When you found the perfect spot, you both made quick work of hitching the horses to graze, pitching the tent and lighting the campfire while Jack picked the flowers he found by the tree stumps. Watching his Aunt and Uncle darting back and forth with childish amusement on his little face. Arthur had promised to teach him how to fish the next morning; though the boy hadn’t seemed all that excited about it. But you had a feeling once he’d gotten the hang of it, it might be quite fun for him to learn a new skill. As the evening settled in, you realized foolishly you’d forgotten to bring anything for your supper and Jack’s stomach was growling loud enough for you both to hear. Fortunately Arthur had brought his bow and rifle offering to ride out to catch something. You’d protested at first; worried about being left to watch over Jack by yourself. You loved the little boy as you would your own but that didn’t mean you didn’t doubt your skills when it came to motherly instincts. It somewhat surprised you when Arthur expressed his unshaken confidence in your abilities however and you were left rather speechless as the Outlaw rode off further down into the forest leaving you and Jack alone. As the sun began to set; you admired the beautiful rays of light that were slowly dying away behind the horizon. “Aunt Y/N, when is Uncle Arthur coming back?” Jack piped up. “I’m so hungry.” You smiled taking a seat beside him at the roaring fire. “Aw don’t worry Jack; I'm sure he won’t be long...” The sudden rustling in the trees caught your attention as you pulled Jack closer; as first you suspected it to be Arthur on his way back but you quickly realized...you were very wrong. “What a fine young man, and in such complex circumstances.” Keeping your hand firmly on Jack's shoulder, you gently guided him behind you as you glared at the well dressed men slowly pacing towards you. “Y/N...right? Y/N L/N? Or is it Morgan now?” The man smirked menacingly. “What do you want? Who are you?” You snapped. “We’re looking for someone actually...your husband as a matter of fact.” He stood back; placing a hand on chest before gesturing to the man beside him. “Agent Milton; Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency.” As you took a closer look at the men in their well made suits, it was then you noticed the badges pinned to their jackets and your stomach dropped at the revelation. You needed to get rid of these men before Arthur got back to camp and you needed to do it quickly. Milton strode forward, his hand coming to rest upon his holstered pistol. You weren’t sure if he was planning to use it but you were damn sure you’d use yours if the situation called for it. “See Mrs Morgan; your husband is a wanted man. Five thousand dollars for his head alone.” “Jesus five thousand dollars?” You mocked with bitter smile. “Well I’m sure if he were here; he’d offer to turn himself in for that kinda money. But I don’t know where he is; I haven’t seen him since Blackwater.” Milton chuckled but his laugh was both cold and humorless. “Now we both know that’s not true Mrs Morgan, I think you know exactly where your husband is and you’re protecting him.” He accused. “Which is fine; it is after all, a wife’s duty to protect her husband but what if I told you, you could truly save him.” You were ashamed to admit that your interest was peaked at the offer. Your curiosity getting the better of you. “What do you mean?” Milton’s brows twitched and you noticed the faint curl of his lip as he began to smile; clearly believing he’d caught you at your weakness. “See... thing is Mrs Morgan; I’m not interested in Arthur or anyone else in that band of degenerates you’ve chosen to run with! I just want Van Der Linde! You tell your husband; wherever he may be, to bring me Dutch and you have my word that he will not swing.” He concluded. And you could tell by the conceited gleam in his darkened eyes that the man truly believed you were going to take the deal and sell both Dutch and Arthur out. But this man didn’t know you and he sure as hell didn’t know what you were capable of. Your blood was already boiling at them having to gall to ambush you like this and you could feel Jack trembling behind you from the fear these strange men had caused. Maybe this was motherly instinct after all. Because the urge to slaughter the men before you was quickly rising. “Oh my husband won’t swing anyways. You see, he hasn’t done anything wrong! Aside from not play the games to your rules.” You hissed back much to Milton’s obvious disappointment. “Well that is a shame Mrs Morgan.” He said bluntly, his associate Agent Ross slowly raising his rifle to aim at you and Jack. “And here I thought a fine woman like yourself could be reasoned with; course one might question your judgment in the first place, seeing as you’ve chosen to tie yourself to a degenerate murderer like Morgan.” He shared a mocking chuckle with Ross and in that moment you broke; pulling your pistol from your hip and aiming it straight at Milton's head. “You enjoy being a rich man’s toy do ya?! Take your offer and your buddy here and go to hell!” Your eyes burned with pure hatred as you glared at him; your other arm protectively wrapped around Jack as the boy sniffled away silent tears. And you were more than prepared to kill these men if you needed to; fortunately Milton seemed to get the message loud and clear as he raised his hands in a mocked surrender. “Oh we're leaving Miss don't you worry. But know this; Your husband is a savage and he will die savagely. You all will! Good day Mrs Morgan. Pleasure speaking with you.” You felt your resolve begin to crack as they mounted and turned, riding away. Keeping cool long enough until they were out of sight, dropping your gun to the ground and falling to you knees to hug Jack close. “Who were those men Aunt Y/N?” He whispered, quivering with fear in your arms. With your heart breaking; you lifted the boy into your arms and carried him towards your tent. Your fingers softly stroking his back to soothe him. “Ain’t nobody Jack....you don’t have to worry about them okay?”

You kneeled slowly, letting Jack wrap himself up in the blanket you'd brought for him, your fingers tentatively reaching out to wipe away his stray tears. You didn't know where Arthur had gotten too, but you prayed that he was okay.

[storytellingandtea-blog]

“It was an accident!” - Grindelnewt

How did you know I love this pairing oh my god :’D I don’t recall posting/reblogging much FBAWTTF content on here. The lack of quality Grindelnewt content, at least, last time I went to check, is a royal shame.

This probably isn’t what you had in mind, but have some kind of vague fluffy crack (taken seriously?) plotting. AU with Newt being born earlier, so that this can all realistically take place before Gellert is too deep into his plans. 

This was born of a mix of my desire to write fluff, and my thoughts on how Grindelwald would honestly find Newt fascinating, as well as the fact that Newt wouldn’t actually wholly disagree with Gellert’s goals, imo. 

Anyway, content below the break, thank you for the ask :D

“M-Mister Grindelwald! I—I do apologise, it was an accident. My creatures always seem to get restless in the case when y-you’re in the vicinity. I suppose they might feel at peace around your magic… Perhaps it connects to them, as mine does…” Newt trailed off, anxiety forgotten as his brain pursued the trail of thought, momentarily forgetting the dark wizard’s presence near him. Niffler started to wiggle out of his loosened hold, trying to inch back to Gellert, and, presumably, the ‘shiny trinket’ the man had just gotten back. “Niff, honey, that’s enough. Behave yourself for Mr. Grindelwald.”

“That is quite all right, Mister Scamander. In fact, this is quite fortuitous, I was hoping to speak with you. We might not have noticed each other in the street had Niffler not… indulged. In any case, if you’re free, shall we?” Grindelwald questioned, his features almost soft. If near anyone else who knew the man had seen him in that moment, they’d have to take a moment to consider if he’d been Polyjuiced, as fondness wasn’t an emotion he showed openly, especially after his… split… with Albus.

“Of—Of course, Mister Grindelwald, I would love to! In fact, I came across this creature last week, in Brazil, that I think you might find of interest.”

It started like this, long before some other Gellert in some other world impersonated one Percival Graves. A young, recently graduated Newton Scamander was working on the expansion charms of his case in what he thought to be a section of forest deep enough in the wilderness to avoid notice. For all that he’d yet to attain many creatures that even your average wizard would consider a danger, many of them were lucrative to poachers, or simply shy. As such, he preferred to let his creatures out of the case in safe areas where they wouldn’t come into danger, especially his painfully young and injured Nundu cub that he was helping rehabilitate that he wasn’t strictly allowed to have. Legally. Realistically, the little female was too young to bite and break skin, much less poison someone. She was carefully settled onto Newt’s person in a sling, so that he could keep her warm, and keep up with her feedings as he worked.

In the future, he’d anchor his charms to a warding stone within the case itself, allowing him to safely work on alterations without risking those inside, but that wouldn’t happen for another year and gift from Gellert later.

Gellert had returned to Britain seeking information, and a certain tome. The only reason he was in that forest in that time of night was to gather some potions ingredients he needed fresh, and then, well, serendipity took over. He could feel Newt working his magic from over a kilometre away, and of course, curious man that he is, he had to go and explore, and figure out what, exactly, was going on.

The first thing Gellert saw upon approaching the source of the magic was a pair of unicorns, their pelts shimmering in the twilight, that seemed to be standing guard. They were carefully bandaged, around the legs, and one of them around the neck, a faint trace of silvery blood lingering. The next was the rather miraculous young man who he’d inadvertently startled.

Newt and Gellert meet up all over the world for the next 2, 3 years, sometimes as often as several times a week, commonly discussing Newt’s creatures, magical theory, anything and everything, really. Towards the fourth year, Newt’s creatures, most especially those with him on a permanent basis, thought of Gellert as a sort-of-father, the same way they considered Newt their mother, so, of course, they always tried to push the two of them together. For all the both of them were smart people, for all they had a good understanding of creatures, they couldn’t seem to grasp what the creatures were trying to tell them. They would not for another few years, yet.

Until that time, however, one more important thing happened. Newt finally openly confided to Gellert quite how despicable he found the attitude of the majority of the ruling wizarding nations towards creatures, rather openly implying he’d be willing to do likely questionable things to improve the situation. After all, for all that he wasn’t a violent person by nature, he was protective of what he considered his. As it happened, however, his magic, it, well, bonded him, for lack of better terms, to magical creatures, on innate levels, allowing them a natural affinity uncommon in the WIzarding World.

Gellert, at that revelation, was more straightforward about his ambitions and plans. While Newt didn’t necessarily like all his intentions, he was almost surprised to find that he agreed with a lot more this man believed and strived for than he disagreed with. He had, of course, known of Gellert even before they had met, as his mentor, Albus, had spoken of him, and not in the most positive light. Newt found it difficult to believe that someone who genuinely loved magical creatures in the same way he did could be inherently bad.

For his part, Gellert grew increasingly fascinated with this young man, his natural affinity and bond with creatures of magic, his understated, unacknowledged genius and skill.

They grew closer, now commonly exchanging letters, sometimes even firecalling. Newt never completely opposed any of Gellert’s goals and intended methods, instead playing Devil’s advocate or providing ideas for alternative routes. It wasn’t long before they came up with a compromise they were both happy with, neither of them consciously realising that Newt was swiftly becoming Gellert’s right hand.

Another year passed before Newt full heartedly dedicated himself to their now-shared cause, while still continuing to travel. It was around this time that Gellert and Newt finally realised Oh, that’s what’s been going on, I do believe I’m fond of him in a way different to the one I thought. Newt’s creatures finally breathe a collective sigh of relief after they share their first kiss, and take it as umbrella permission to include the dark lord in their cuddle piles, finally.

For just then, Gellert, Newt, and the rest of their group were lying low as they set up their plans, just barely under the surface. When they were ready, to set them into motion, however, nobody would know what hit them, lest of all Albus.

[littlekidsteve]

Forever small.

(Picture is not mine. copyright where due)

Dad!Shawn Imagine.

Warning- mentions of death, VERY angst filled at the start, and pure fluffy goodness...I hope

word count-2k (Soooooo long)

A/N- this is a story based on the conversation I had with @thatkidwhodreams I’ve been reading some Dad!Shawn story and I’m softer than soft so I hope you enjoy this and as always feedback is always welcomed in this neck of the woods. Also sorry if there is any spelling or grammar mistakes.

“Mr. Mendes I am so sorry but your wife didn’t make it.“  

That was it.

He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it. He wanted his ears to deceive him but all they did was tell him the truth, a truth he never wants to hear.

She was gone. The memories of the night before she went to labor began to flood his mind. The words they said to one and other ripped into him like a knife in the gut. He didn't mean to leave them there, he didn't mean to make his wife feel small or forgotten- he just didn't mean it. He regretted all the times he never said I love you to her but he knew that he wants to provide for them and now he knows that he will never get a chance to say sorry.

-Memory-

Shawn couldn't help the uproar he was making but after countless hours of screaming and meaningless words he felt defeated.

"I swear to god Shawn, why did you agree to it?" she screamed at him, she knew that his work meant the world to him but she didn't want to look after a new-born all on her own it was too soon. She couldn't help but think that Andrew was stupid for doing this to them both.

"Maybe I’m doing my job," she couldn't argue with that part but the next part had her red in the face,

"or maybe I need to get away from you. This gig could set us up for life" Shawn shouted.  

"Well I’m carrying life the life we made together and if you don't like it get out." She wasn't having any of it her heart was broken enough as it is.

"Fine but I’m not sure if you’re seeing the greater good of this" he left and drove off into the night by the time he got back home she was in labor.  

If only he knew this would be the last time they would be together.  

-Reality-

She was gone and there was nothing he could do to bringer her back. His eyes burned with molten hot tears and all he could do was sob, he didn't care who saw him at that very moment he couldn’t help it, the pain kept shredding the molecules in this body, time stood still nothing seemed to move as he fell harder into the void.

That’s until he heard the small whimpering of his baby girl. Her small body shuffles in the bed she slept in as she called out for her father.

He quickly wiped his eyes as he moved right to her,

"hey Bean don't cry princess, daddy is right here for you." He scoops the tiny vessel in his arms, her loud cries became small whines. His daughter was all he had left and he couldn't start to fathom what would happen if he lost her too.

Her bright brown eyes stared at her father in wonder, he was so blessed to have her in his life, tears stained his face as he held her small frame in his hands. He kept her close to his chest as she looks at him. Her hands grabbed onto his finger he felt lost in a world that wasn’t his but he now had someone to guide him out of the darkness, he had her, his little light.

"Excuse me Mr. Mendes, do you have a name for your little one?" One of the nurses shyly asked him sympathetic to the situation he was in,

"oh, uh yeah I guess" the name the tripped in the front of his mind as he pushed the tiny black ringlets out of the baby’s face  

"her name is Chantel Skylar Mendes.”

-Memory-

"Shawn our little bean still hasn’t got a name" she called Shawn from the bed room

"I thought we settled for Skylar." Shawn came into the room and placed himself beside his pregnant wife.

"No, you settled for Skylar I want to find something else just so we have a backup." Shawn couldn’t say no to his wife so they searched for hours disagreeing on every name until they crossed one.

"Huh, hey Shawn what about Chantel? It says here that it derives from French it means ‘song’." Shawn sat upwards and started to think about it his smile brighten the whole room and she couldn’t help but smile back.

"The name fits the bill" he giggles and then he levels with the swollen bump

"Hey you hear that my little bean that's your name Chantel Skylar Mendes" he placed his hand where the little one was kicking

"I think she likes a lot" nothing in the world could ruin the perfect moment.

-Reality-

The day of the funeral was the hardest thing Shawn could go through not only was he burring his wife but he was now a single father to a baby.  

Everyone filled into the church friends and family of both her and Shawn's altogether to share the grief of the loss of a beautiful soul.  

Geoff was holding little Chantel as Shawn, Brian, Matt and several others carried the dark red coffin into the church.

It was the same church they made their vows in the same church they made the promise of spending the rest of their lives together in he never expected to become a widower so soon.

As soon as the lid was open he saw her. Her body laid still, her beauty everlasting, he thought she was as beautiful as the day they both met.

-Memory-

"Shawn do you take Amira to be your lawfully wedded wife?" The minister asks

"I do."

"And Amira do you take Shawn to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The minister look at the lady expecting the same response

"well if didn’t want that I would be here" this got a laugh from the crowded church

"no no in all seriousness I do" her smile radiated pure bliss and warmth.

"well with the power vested in me I pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride" but before he could steal a sweat kiss from her she leaned into his ear and said  

"I'm having a baby so can you let the catering know to hold the champagne for me." She winked as he looked on at her his eyes filled with pride and hope. He held her tans skin next to his own as he developed her in a kiss.They were lost in the moment and they never want to find a way out. The rest of the night was spent spreading the good news and nothing could tear them apart.

-Reality-

Shawn avoid his loved ones to spend time alone. The darkness held onto him, its hand wrapped itself around him. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for his little bean, he wouldn’t have been here at all. He sat next to the grave wondering if there will ever be a happy ending to his pain. Since Amira passed on he started to shut everyone out and no one could get in the man he was is now long gone with the wind and the days for him where only getting darker for him but he knew that his head had to be above water for Channel, he had to keep going for her.

He avoided the party altogether and he went home. As soon as he set down the carrier down Chantel began to weep. He gave her bottle, she didn't want it, he checked her dipper, not full one bit, he picked up and stroked her soft cheeks but nothing helped one bit her screams became unbearable. He wanted to call someone anyone but he wanted to do this alone.

He had to.

It all became too much for him as he started to breakdown into hysteria’

“Pl-please princess calm down help m-me out here come on, what do you want?” his voice broke into pieces as he searched frantically for the one thing that could stop this madness, his guitar.

He played a song so sweet, he started to sing about life and the meaning of love. Her cries become nothing more that a small sob. Even before she was born her father’s voice was her favourite thing in the world, her eyes began to droop low as sleep took her there and then.  

He sat there for a while, watching the infant nap, her peaceful state of mind triggered his restless one. “What am I doing? What the fuck! I really can't do this alone I'm failing her I'm alread-” before Shawn could belittle himself any further his phone began to ring, he looked at it knowing he couldn’t avoid the world any longer.

Call I.D- Tom H (work)

He began to shake as he answered it.

“Shawn?” Thomas called out for him like a hand reaching out into the wilderness

“I can't do this alone I'm so sorry for letting her down please forgive me. ” Shawn felt hopeless as he let his emotions out in one

“Letting who down?” even though he knew what the man was talking about he needs to hear it from him

“I should have never left Amira alone this would have never happened if it wasn’t for me,” Shawn tried his hardest to stop himself but it was in vain,

“now I'm letting Chantel down and I can't do this anymore please help.” there was a pause between them both. Tom spoke up and the words he said could never leave Shawn's mind.

“It was never your fault no one could have predicted that god need her back home... you're are never alone you have me and your family, your fans and your friends. I called because I just wanted you to know that everyone is hurting and we want to hurt with you please don’t shut us out because we care for you: more than you know,” Tom said

“I’ll catch the next flight available and we can talk just you and me I will see you soon, OK?”

“OK, I’ll see you soon.” With that Shawn hung up on him. He sat there thinking about the words the Brit said. He put Chan to bed and as he did he could help but think about what Tom said;

Could things get better? If only if Shawn knew.

-Time skip 7 years-

“That was Shawn Mendes with his brand-new song Forever small fun fact he wrote this song for his daughter” The radio was on full blast as the Mendes’ had their daily tea party; Shawn was covered head to toe in glitter, make up smudged all over his face, a tiara on his head, and he was wearing a fluffy pink tutu that was twelve sizes too small for him.

“Daddy, that was amazing I love it and thank you for writing it for me. Mommy would be proud,” the eight-year-old poured him some ‘tea’ as she spoke

“she would wouldn’t she my little bean.” Shawn said as he took a sip of the pretend drink

“why do you call me little bean?” she looked at the man with a questioning look.

“that what your mommy used to call you before you were born and it reminds me of her.” His heart sank a little but it rose as she smiled at him

“Do you miss mommy, daddy?” She was in as inquisitive mood he thought.

“I miss her every single day but if she didn’t sacrifice herself she wouldn’t have gave birth to you. I miss her so much it hurts me a lot but I had help from your granny and grandpa, your auntie and uncles and all my fans. Yes, I do miss mommy but she is always smiling upon us waiting for us to see her.” He couldn’t help but shed a lone tear, with everything that has happened to the duo their hearts where filled with hope and love. He always thanked the lord for Toms intervention.

“I can’t wait to meet mommy one day daddy.” Chantel ran over to Shawn a squeezed him tightly.

“Me too but not today bean because who is gonna give Spider-man his tea if we’re not here princess?” he points to the plushie that tom ironically got her when he visited her for the first time.

Her giggles filled the afternoon air, he sat there and thought about it. It did get better for him not right away but it did, the more he spoke to his loved ones or wrote a song the less the darkness consumed him whole and the more the weight was lifted of his shoulders.

He couldn’t be more grateful for his wife, even though he lost her she gave him new hope in the form of his daughter.

He once lost, now he found.

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Naruto: The Next Path (Reboot), Prologue/Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto and Dragon Ball Super/Z belongs to Akira Toriyama. Note that some of the techniques and attack belongs to rightful owner. Most info will be described in the last chapter. Words in italic appeared when characters are thinking or flashbacks shown.

Naruto: The Next Path (Reboot)

Prologue

Universe 7

Years ago, when another half breed Saiyan named Oturan was a young kid, formally force to work for Dr. Gero to defeated Goku. As the three remaining androids are awaken, the young Saiyan was free, but not for long. Oturan was threatened by the androids to prevent her from helping the Z-Fighters. Later, as Perfect Cell reform himself by absorbing Android 17 and 18, Oturan has the chance to help the Z-Fighters become strong, causing her to power up to Super Saiyan briefly. While Vegeta and future Trunks trained together and Goku trained with youth Gohan at the Time Chamber, Oturan sparred with Piccolo. Days later, Oturan, and the Z-Fighters with Android 16 are chipped up to challenge Perfect Cell. With many struggles, Goku sacrifice himself the second time. Oturan didn't want Goku to die either, but it was too late. She then discovers that she can become Super Saiyan longer than last time.

Gohan later defeated Perfect Cell with the help of his deceased father with a Father-Son Kamehameha. As Gohan defeated Cell, Oturan flew away, and turn herself in for helping Dr. Gero with his assassinate plan.

#1: Transport To Another World

Present Time, East District 439

It begins in Universe 7. With Kid Buu defeated, the entire world is at peace, at least expecting more. Other than Goku, Vegeta, Gohan, well, you named the rest of the Saiyans… another young half breed Saiyan around 12 or 13 years old move in another place across the lake near the residence of Goku's property.

The cheerful Saiyan in orange was peppy to help the young Saiyan in yellow shirt and black short, moved her belongings to her own house. "Wow, it's pretty great to have you as our neighbor, Oturan, you should hang out with Gohan and Goten sometime!" "Geez, thanks, Goku, you should train with me someday," the young Saiyan chirped. Goku grinned, "If only you're Gohan's age, you would have been a perfect match with him!" "I guess he's kinda my type, but he already have Videl…" Oturan admitted, blushing in a lighter shade of red. "Anyways, thanks for bringing all my stuff in my new house." "You're welcome!" Goku replied. "Goku, are you done helping with that kid?" Goku's wife Chi-Chi hollering in the distance standing on the edge of the small pier. "It's time for lunch!"

Goku turns at Chi-Chi, and then at Oturan, "Sorry I couldn't help you much, I'll come back and help you unpack later!" "Then that's fine, I can do the rest myself," Oturan decided. "you don't had to come back after lunch." Goku waved at Oturan, "See you later!" The orange Saiyan hovered in the air back home across the lake. "It's so hard not to see him kinda sad all these years, he was once pretty serious back then," Oturan thoughted. Goku and Chi-Chi head back inside but Goku turns at Oturan, "Hey, Oturan, do you want to join us for lunch?" "Are you sure, Goku?" his wife asked. "She haven't ate anything this morning," Goku fretted. "Alright, she can join, and maybe help her later," Chi-Chi approved.

Oturan quickly appeared on the pier after hovering across the lake. "That's great, the more the merrier!" Oturan beamed. Chi-Chi yelped, "Careful, you'll break the pier!" The pier nearly crashed as Goku grabs Chi-Chi and Oturan fell into the water. "Oops…" Oturan exclaimed.

After lunch, Goku and Gohan fixed the pier as Chi-Chi ranted at her husband and oldest son, "I knew you shouldn't have bring that young lady to lunch! I nearly had a heart attack!" "Geez, I'm sorry, Chi-Chi," Goku whined. "You should have told her to be careful, dad," Gohan sighed.

Beerus Castle, Planet Beerus

Inside the enormous tree full of unusual aquarium, a mystical angel, face unseen, sees the entire Earth from his scepter. He sees Goku with his family, but saw another kid from another house across the lake in the hologram from his scepter. "Oh? What's this?" Whis exclaims. "Oh, my, what is that young Saiyan doing on this planet? She's nothing relate to Goku or Vegeta's children!" He let out a breath while sighing. "If only Lord Beerus can see this young lady…" As mentioned, Beerus was still asleep. "I'll pay a visit to her place while Lord Beerus is in deep sleep."

Evening, Oturan's Place

The house is completely full and neat. The young Saiyan was staring at the ceiling while sitting on her new couch. "A place for a young girl like myself," Oturan sighed. "It's pretty bizarre living alone." Oturan stares at her window and sees Goku's residence on the other side of the lake. She sees Goku and his family having a good time watching TV. "I'm thinking to myself, I wonder where my real parents are?" She closed her eyes.

As she opened her eyes, a blue figure appeared in front of Oturan. Whis questioned the young Saiyan, "Hello, there, young lady, what brings you here in this world?" Oturan yelped, "Am I seeing things out of my words?" Whis shushed as he examines Oturan, "There's no need to be afraid, young lady, I won't harm you." Oturan's cerulean eyes are widen in surprise. "Who is he?" she thoughts. "There's no particular way you'll survive living alone, so here is what I'll assign you," Whis advised. "If you wish to live here in a long time, I'll transport you to another world other than here."

"What does that mean?" Oturan puzzled. "You will learn about how life survives the wilderness full of battlefield," Whis stated. "For instance, their living specialties is stealth, technique, and inner peace in order to avoid death. You may be excellent in physical and speed, therefore you have lack all three specialties I've mentioned." "Does the other world allowed flying? Can I at least bring my clothes?" the young Saiyan asked. "It would be hard to say, and I wouldn't bring all my clothes if I were you," Whis coached. "Their clothes are entirely different from the world you're currently living." "Aw, man, my clothes would rot out in two days," Oturan pouted. "That is the point of survival," Whis added. "Now come with me."

"What if I refused?" Oturan asked. "I'll bring in my lord to come destruct this entire world," Whis teased as his left hand was on Oturan's shoulder. Oturan paused in fear. "Uh, okay, a deal's a deal," she stuttered. "You should grab onto me while I bring you to that world," Whis said. Oturan stand next to the blue angel as he teleported her to another world.

Space

The blue angel hovered in space at a bottomless speed of light. "Oh, where are my manner? I forgotten about your name!" the blue angel giggles. "My name is Oturan," Oturan stated. "Hmm, your name reminded me of someone that have the same name as you, but in backward letters," Whis observed. "You even looks like that young man." "N-A-R-U-T-O," Oturan spelled. "What young man?" "You'll see him when you get there," Whis said. "When you arrived there, you will identify yourself as Taroko Ryukana. Base on your appearance and your talent, you will be related to the Ryukana clan."

Unknown Forest

Whis finally transported Oturan to another world from another universe, safely landed on nearby branches. "Here we are," the blue angel said. "This place looks different from back home," Oturan exclaimed. "If you learn so much in this world, I'll come back and take you home," Whis said. "This will be your stop for now, and we'll meet again in the future." Whis teleport himself back to his dimension as the wind blows.

Oturan stared at Whis until he vanished. She grabs the bark of the tree for her dear life. "Whis didn't say anything about flying in this world," Oturan concerned. "Maybe it's best to save my energy for later." The young Saiyan climbed down the tree with her bare hands. Without realizing she grabbed onto a broken branch, she fell into the ground as she yelps from her fall. As Oturan crash landed on her feet, she didn't feel anything. "Huh? Did I just landed on my feet?" she exclaimed.

She starts wandering around the forest to find someone. "Hello? Anyone there? Show yourself!" Oturan spotted a silver haired man with his face covered in a black mask. He was reading an adult book. "Hey, mister! I lost my way out in this forest!" the young Saiyan was hollering at none other than Kakashi Hatake. "Oh, my, you surprised me, kid!" the silver haired man exclaimed while hiding his book. He examined Oturan. "Odd, what's a kid like you wandering around the Hidden Leaf Forest alone?"

"I'm sorry I holler at you, my name is O- I'm Taroko Ryukana," Oturan, or known as Taroko, stuttered. "Taroko Ryukana, I never heard of you, and you must be the kid I was assign to be looking for," Kakashi exclaimed, hiding his book under his green sleeveless flak jacket. "Who are you? And why are you looking for me?" Oturan asked. "My name is Kakashi, Kakashi Hatake," the man greeted. "You reminded me of Naruto and one of my other students, but with black hair." "Ah, Naruto! What does he looks like actually?" the young Saiyan exclaimed. "How do I explained it, hmm," the silver haired man inquired. "His skin is a bit darker than his yellow hair and he had some sort of whiskers on his cheeks. He has a determined personality."

"Anyways, I have a question, Mr. Hatake," Oturan spoked. "How do you survive life?" "I survive life with chakra, which contains physical and spiritual energy," Kakashi explained. "Wow, this reminded me of spirit energy back home," Oturan recalled. "I assumed you haven't apply the academy yet," Kakashi described. "Academy? Aw, man, does this mean I had to go back into study?" Oturan groans. "Too bad, I just graduated early from high school few months ago…" Oturan daydream about the time she graduated back in her home universe.

"That's correct," Kakashi replied. "Come with me, I'll give you a tour around the village, and maybe visit one of my students afterward." The young Saiyan follows the silver haired man.

Hidden Leaf Village (also Hidden Village in the Leaves)

The village is very different from East District 439. There were no vehicles and motorcycles out in the road where pedestrians take a stroll or make certain errands. The building resembles a large town. Oturan and the older man took a stroll in the main street. "Wow, this place is more rural than my home place!" Oturan exclaimed. "At least expected, it's a peaceful village we live in, as known as the Hidden Leaf Village from the Land of the Fire nation," Kakashi described. He then pointed at the Hokage rocks. "Those four carved rocks over there are the Hokage Monuments, which were the past five leader of this village. There was this time we all regret in the beginning, a boy around your age spray painted the monuments, he was so mischievous back then. Days have passed, and he later become my students." "So, about the other thing, if there were Hokage, would that person be the mayor of this town?" The young Saiyan asked. "That's right," Kakashi replied. "Before we head to Naruto's place, I'll had to visit the mission assignment hall because I completed a small errand."

Mission Assignment Hall (also Mission Assignment Desk)

The current fifth leader of the village, Tsunade, doing her usual paperwork as her assistant Shizune organizing tons of paper. Kakashi appeared with the younger kid. "The mission is complete, Lady Tsunade," the silver haired man said. "I found the lost kid named Taroko Ryukana." The fifth hokage stop writing down as she stares at Oturan. "You must be Taroko Ryukana," the fifth hokage spoked. "And you must be the fifth hokage, right?" Oturan inquired. "Yes, I am the current Hokage, at least expecting a woman to lead the entire village," Tsunade replied.

The fifth hokage turn at Kakashi. "Excellent work finding a young kid wandering around the forest, Kakashi, she could be in deep danger." "It was nothing, my Lady," Kakashi considered. "Taroko was wandering around the forest all along." "Say, why's the forest a dangerous place?" Oturan asked. "It's danger for you because you're just an ordinary kid, you shouldn't be there," Tsunade replied. "I don't think I'm ordinary at all, I can fight alone when someone is close to me!" Oturan proved, in fighting stances. Tsunade starts laughing, "You reminded me of Naruto Uzumaki!" the fifth hokage sighed as she took a breath. "Speaking of which, Kakashi, you should bring Taroko to Naruto's house. You are dismissed." "Yes, my Lady," Kakashi replied.

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Winter: 1924

The Prohibition is a humorous endeavor when you think of it. Why they set it in place I cannot really tell you. You can import it from Paris, from Germany, all the way down the line. It always ends up right back here in every speakeasy lined along the Long Island sidewalks. Usually I am with a crowd of some of the finest artist of our time, enjoying such smuggled pleasures, but tonight I find myself alone. I walk into a familiar cafe  near the coast. Hemingway and I are quite acquainted with this old shop, especially on frigid passionless December nights, such as this one. An outsider would not notice beyond the pleasant aroma of the atmosphere; the evergreen outline of a door frame, which stands petrified behind the cashier. I approach the cashier as if to produce my order and he eyes me solemnly, knowingly. The cafe is mainly empty tonight, except for the young pair who seem more infatuated with each other than with my intentions. The cashier decides it is secure enough for me to pass through the evergreen door undetected. Within seconds, I gently close the entryway behind me; the pair’s attention never wavering from the eyes that possess the soul more than the liquor in this room ever will.

The walls of this cafe must be thick to barricade such an elaborate affair. The band is roaring. Their singer lay atop the piano, the train of her glittering golden dress decorating the keys. Her melody is alluring, only in the sense of such affliction arising in her voice. It is a bellowing of harmonies, a calling to her lover who refuses to hear her. Her voice howls within my ears long after her pianist has stopped the tune. It is perhaps the loneliest voice I have ever encountered.  

I have come to the conclusion it is time for a few glasses of champagne, maybe something feistier. I head in the direction of the bartender, who currently pours the drink of an actress I recognize from the small amount of talkies I have seen. I decipher my way through the shady lights of the room; concealing shadier souls of white tied, high pride men.  

“Gin, please.” I call to the bartender; feistier it is.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” He nods before turning to fill my glass. He will put this one on my tab, he knows who I am. He’s the only one.

“Your drink, sir.”

“Thank you. Gin is untraceable on the breath, you know?” I’m rambling.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“You can’t smell gin on the breath. Must be why I do love it so. I’ve been cooped up with the wife and toddler for a few days now. My bones are getting stiff.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I have to get back to work now. My apologies.”

“Oh, no. Carry on.” He vanished to aid another customer before I had time to finish my sentence.

I was alone again. Unable to bear a sip of my gin quite yet, I muddle across the dance floor once more. This time I am aiming for a table in the left rear corner. It is out of sight to the civilized. Perhaps peace awaits me there. I am almost to my awaiting drunken utopia when I am beckoned from the table directly behind mine. Further from the civilized, wilderness himself beckons me. I must go.

I approach two rather keen gentlemen, I must say. The one to my left is heavy-set in comparison to the stocky fellow at my right. His eyes, though hooded by the shade of his black fedora, are an iridescent blue. I notice his gaze is transfixed on me and also not so. I am convinced he sees effortlessly through my being, making me a ghost before my time is due. He is alert and I can feel his eyes shift, scanning the area of every dark corner, every change in movement, and every fluid decision made by the consumers gathered in this juice joint.

The gentleman to my right motions me to have a seat in front of them. I oblige. I know this man. I have seen him on the front page of newspapers on numerous occasions. George Remus. A german born bootlegger turned classic in the time it takes to publish the ink splotches of a headliner. I must admit, I am terrified.

“You’re the writer, aren’t you?” Remus asks. His voice is the raspier sort. One conceived of aged liquor and fragrant scent of cigar smoke.

“I suppose.” I reply; hesitant.

“I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“F. Scott Fitzgerald.” The fellow to my left answers swiftly on my behalf.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Fitzgerald. I must say, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. If you haven’t identified us by the papers, my name is George Remus. And this is a close friend of mine, Mr. Al Capone.”

I have ventured beyond the wilderness.

“Speaking of newspapers, I recently read an article, Mr. Fitzgerald about your failure to entertain the local theatre company with your newest performance.” Capone stated in a rather quizzical tone.

I suppose he does read the headliners. I wonder if he reads his own articles. Knowing his notorious reputation, I would almost conclude that he cuts out his stories and plasters the clippings on his wall. Amateur.

“I admit, I’m not doing too well in the industry as of late. I’m on the lookout for inspiration for my next big break, however.” I reply.

“I understand what you mean.” Remus concurs.

He presents to me a genuine smile of such unparalleled understanding. It was a smile I have only seen four or five times in my life since. A rarity. A timeless appearance tugging at the corners of his aged mouth, and consuming you into this self-assurance you did not know you possessed. Perhaps this is why I remember vividly this moment of my life. He was a timeless man. A man of insurmountable experience. An eternal juxtaposition.

He spoke. “So, tell me. What brings you here, Old Sport? The whiskey or the money.”

In a swift motion, I threw back my gin. My history dangled from his every word. My future rested in the stars.

“Both.”

                                                                                             Word Count: 1,047

Note: This is a fictional prose based on historical facts. No copyright infringement intended.