#the facial scar that serves as a reminder of how he can’t ever go back and can only move forward with his fucked up and evil schemes????

[detentiontrack]

Season 1 & 2 Sasha may have been completely fucked up and evil, but he hit the slay button every time

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

@w1lmutt unedited v!Wind fic part 4 I repeAT ~PART 4~!

(Fair warning yall, be prepared for all the Wind Waker and eventual Phantom Hourglass spoilers from here on in. ...Also I haven’t played either game in a very long time, so uh, the order of events mentioned might be off.)

EDIT: tw for non-descriptive talk of serious wounds and amputation

<<First Next>>

This is a convo I forgot to include at the end of Part 3:

“Sky what the fuck-“

“Fi chose him, there must be a reason-“

“If he has two pieces of the Triforce and that,” a nod at the statue in the corner, “really is Princess Zelda, I don’t think we have a choice here. I think we need to hear him out.”

~o0o~

When they’ve all gathered outside, buoyed up by the magic of the fountain, they find Link kicking his heels on a nearby log. He’s fiddling with one of his freshly-caught fairies, crushing it between hands and hungry tentacles.  

“She called you the heroes of the past and future,” Link says. He seems calmer now, the Great Fairy’s magic having taken the edge off his irrational rage. He won’t look at them. “Tell me what she meant. How are you alive? Why are you here?”

They tell him their story, properly this time. Their shared name, the portals, how they suspect their meeting is the doing of the goddesses. The black-blooded monsters. The barest bones of their tale, information offered up in good faith.

Link listens to their whole story. Slots the orb he’d made from the fairy into that time-stopping device of his. Looks at them all like he can’t decide if they’re crazy. 

“Are you guys crazy?” He finally asks outright.

“Maybe, yeah, but not about this,” Legend mutters.

Link shoots Legend a funny look for that response, but eventually turns the full weight of his skepticism on Time. He cranes his neck around as he studies the man’s face, going so far as to lift one hand to block out the sight of those scars and facial markings. His mouth twists. Finally, he stabs his sword in the ground, peeling his fingers off it for the first time in the heroes’ presence, and very deliberately picks his way closer to their leader.

His approach reminds Time of a curious bird of prey, wings tucked back, head cocked to one side, mindful of its talons as it steps forward. Dangerous but unthreatening.

“You definitely look like the hero Ganon remembers. But...”

The boy grabs at his hand. Time lets him turn it over, pushing up the sleeve to examine his wrist and forearm, and it’s only when the boy traces a wound lost to time that he realizes what Link is looking for.

“No,” he says, disturbed but unwilling to show it. “There’s no scar there.”

“There should be. He nearly cut the sword from your hand.” Link’s eyes are hazy, lost in recollection he should not have. “Why isn’t there?”

“I…” Time shakes, faintly. He forces himself to stop, to speak. “When I defeated Ganondorf for the first time, there was precious little left of Hyrule to salvage. The Princess sent me back in time, to my childhood, where Hyrule flourished unravaged by Ganon’s hand. I stopped him again there, before he could begin his reign of destruction. The time that I left behind…” He looks down. The top of Link’s head barely reaches his chest. He’s so young, Time thinks regretfully. “I had believed it undone. I never dreamed that it might have continued after I left.”

Link’s hands tighten on his arm. “Your Hyrule was spared the Great Flood? It’s not an ocean?”

“No. Nothing… Nothing like that happened in my time.”

“So that’s why no one ever found you,” Link utters, and his eyes burn with malice and bitter memories. “You really did abandon this kingdom.”

"...Yes. So it would seem.” Time’s words serve to break the boy out of the trance he’d fallen into. Link blinks up at the man’s utterly impassive face, and finally seems to note the unease of the group around him. He backs off.

“I am still very angry at you,” Link informs his predecessor, “but I shouldn’t have attacked you before I heard your side of the story. I apologize.” He bows, very politely.

“...Apology accepted. Now then," Time seizes the boy's wrist in turn. "I believe I've entertained enough questions about something that is, actually, rather unpleasant for me to talk about. Your turn."

He flips Link's hand over. There, on the back of it, two triangles of the goddess mark are gilded in—Courage and Power. Time taps a finger on the latter meaningfully.

"Why do you have this, Link?"

Link frowns down at Time’s hand, looking almost perplexed by the simple grip, before ripping himself away. He rubs at the point of contact like it burns. “Yeah, ok,” he murmurs. “I believe you guys now. It’s just… a long story.”

“Start from the beginning,” Four says, managing to make it sound like an encouragement instead of an order.

So the boy plops himself back on the log, fingers seeking out the hilt of his blade like a child clutching a stuffed toy, and he tells them about the time his sister was mistaken for a pirate captain and kidnapped by a giant bird.

It’s a fantastical tale. The assorted heroes accept it with the easy aplomb of people who have heard and lived stranger (though Warriors goes the extra step of occasionally nodding along like the boy’s haphazard descriptions make sense to him). It’s obvious that he’s glossing over some parts where his animated storytelling stutters, but it’s only when he speaks of returning to the Forsaken Fortress with Master Sword in hand that Link grows somber.

“The Helmaroc King was probably the strongest creature that Ganondorf took control of,” Link tells them, fingers playing over the mask he’d set in his lap. “He had stronger monsters, yeah, but he made those. Kangarocs already existed on the seas before he woke up and ensorcelled their leader. So the Helmaroc King… it’s… proud, I guess you could say. And sure, it was mad at me for stabbing it in the head and taking its mask as a spoils of battle, but it was even madder at Ganondorf for treating it like a servant for so long. I hadn’t known it was possible for something to get that angry before I put the mask on.”

Link shakes his head, rueful and amused at his past self’s naivety. 

“It wasn’t enough to hurt Ganondorf, of course, not with the Master Sword still asleep. I don’t really remember it, but apparently Tetra and my Rito friends came to the rescue before Valoo—ah, he’s a giant dragon spirit deity—set the whole place alight. They tell me I had to be dragged away kicking and screaming bloody murder, though, and Tetra chewed me out about it after.” He shrugs, like this was all no big deal. “I figured out how to control the mask better later on.”

“But anyways, because of all that, Tetra was revealed as Princess Zelda, and she had to go into hiding while I woke up the Master Sword. By the time I’d done that and collected all the scattered pieces of the Triforce of Courage, Ganondorf had found her. He kept her asleep in the ruins of Hyrule, which was sealed in this giant bubble under the sea. We fought down there. The mask,” he taps the item in question thoughtfully, “probably saved my life then, honestly. But Tetra finally woke up halfway through our battle, and together we managed to beat him.”

Link shakes the memories away, and props the Helmaroc Mask back on his forehead. His next words are a careful monotone. “I stabbed him in the head with the Sword. We could see the sealing take hold; he started turning to stone, inch by inch. But… when it reached his hand, the Triforce of Power started glowing, and the stone started receding. It made him too strong; the seal just… wouldn't take.”

“So I picked up one of his swords and lopped his hand off.”

“I know,” he agrees to the looks on their faces, neutral mask shattering into a disgusted grimace. He shudders. “It was gross. But I was wearing the Helmaroc Mask at the time, and that makes stuff like that… easier, I guess.”

A few of their number, Time most notably, nod like that makes any sense. The rest collectively look at them askance.

Link shrugs them all off. “It doesn’t really matter; it worked in the end. We won, Ganondorf turned to stone, and the King... he took the Wind Waker back and had us return to the ocean above. He said the future was ours now, and we should live free from the sins of the past. We promised him we’d find a new land and rebuild a new Hyrule in memory of the old, and he looked happy, but...”

“He said he would be right behind us.” Link shakes his head. “He- I- I don’t know the song he conducted; it’s not one I ever learned on my journey. The sky... opened up, I guess. Like the Great Flood all over again, except this time it washed away what little the first one left behind. For a while, we were afraid we would drown in it. There was nothing left when the King-” He cuts himself off. Fingers his blade. Huffs.

“And that,” he pronounces, “is the final tale of the Hyrule of old.”

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Don’t Leave.

With: Bucky x Reader.

Words: 3.548.

Yes, i have a similar version with Ivar.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

She would ask that, she didn’t want to sound clingy, probably why the moments she asked those simple four words were always when they were the most intimate.

How beautiful she is. Bucky could never grasp why she was with him. Y/N would always laugh when he said something as cliche like “I’m so lucky to have you”,“you’re so beautiful, what are you doing with me?”, "my sweet little angel", "my doll".

The truth was that Y/N found Bucky extremely handsome. She could watch him all day if required. She loved his eyes, his lips, his facial hair which seemed to grow by seconds, his soft hair, his jaw, his scars, his metal arm, his nightmares.

Everything.

But she also loved his personality. He was such a complicated person! Traumatized, stubborn, closed off but… he was funny, so damn smart, sweet, surprisingly romantic, and truly cared about her.

Both were too scared to start something when they first fell for each other. Bucky had such a terrible life filled with torture and loss. So even if unconsciously, he expected pain from all the situations, and if he couldn't love himself how could someone else love and accept him?

And Y/N had too much trust issues to trust a guy. Maybe it could be her father’s responsibility for cheating on her mother, hell, even her mother’s fault for cheating on her father!

Maybe it was all the people's fault for cheating on their s/o and acting like it was okay… like it was some animal instinct that overpowered them.

Weak.

But she allowed Bucky in her heart, how could she not? Never a guy has made such sweet displays for her. It was in the details, when he saved the last cupcake for her. When he would give her his jacket. Or offered her a ride on his motorcycle when she needed to go somewhere and Bucky didn't want her feeling crowded in the subways and buses.

Even so much as buying flowers. Back in the day it was normal, to court someone. Buy some flowers, a box of chocolate -or in the case of New York's depression, a flower stolen on the neighbor and some candy his parents had saved in the fridge- but in the modernity, it seemed as "clichê", he thought of asking help to make a cd to you, but then they said now it was a playlist-thing and he excluded that idea because it was getting too weird and he didn't want to ask help. So he did buy flowers, not a bouquet, but a small jar with a tiny flower so she could plant, then another, then a small cactus, and when the idea of receiving flowers from him was something expected; He bought a bouquet.

And it was stunning.

A mix of blue roses, with white tulips, lavender, and blue nemophila. Only the most distinct, so Y/N could feel he thought about her in the whole process. Which everyone could see he did. She was the only thing that mattered to him. He was so gentle, never pushed her to do something she wasn't comfortable with, on the contrary actually, y/n that initiated the first time they had sex, the kisses grew deeper but Bucky wasn't ready so they waited until he felt comfortable. He was honest, kind, and even with his nightmares... he opened up to her, allowed her in the vastness that was his mind. His guilt, his pain.

He trusted her, and Y/N thought it was amazing.

Once -while friends- they went to a small gathering Fury throw to celebrate a successful mission that took a couple of years to be done. And everyone was dressed up, and even that some said it was a small party, it ended up with 200 people. Bucky didn't want to go at first, but Steve told him it would do good, and then Y/N was excited too so he made the effort.

Besides, since he started working with the team, the shield agents took a likening to the metal armed man.

Bucky thought in holding his hair together in a man bun, but then he felt weird so he took it off. So he tried another style but it was also ridiculous. He ended up letting it freely, as usual, she seemed to like in that way.

But deep down he just wanted to look good. For her.

They went together to the place, of course it was high safety so they could relax, even for just a moment. Y/N looked stunning, per usual, she didn't like to use makeup on the daily basis, and she was a fucking piece of art. But she also managed to look striking with those products on her face, Buck giggled as she held his arm for support since she was wearing Natasha's heels, and since people always saw them together and adding that in the party people were sure they got together. 

Steve was proud, very much. Even though his heart broke a bit since he had a major crush on Y/N since the day he saw her for the first time. But the way Bucky looked at her... that was what love glowed like.

But as the night went on and Y/N mixed with her other friends, Bucky kept alert and spotted a man staring at her, he was Jay Halstead, a good guy, great agent, and Y/N's friend, and what pissed Bucky more was the fact that they would look great together.

If Jay was a prick, it would be easier but he was a good fella, as good at the level that he served with Sam in the army, good as he was the one that helped Steve to find the best psychologic on the country.

Annoyingly good. And he would be good for her.

Buck was talking with Steve and Clint when he got a glimpse of Jay approaching y/n, and she was very happy to see him. Hugged him and even allowed him to linger his arm on her shoulder.

Buck's stance changed and Steve realized why.

Clint drank his beer and shrugged. "If she isn't your girlfriend you can't be pissed because other guys like her."

Buck didn't agree, nor responded but he knew what Clint meant.

Before Steve could give some advice Buck smiled, y/n waved at him and called him over.

Buck looked at Steve who told him it was okay.

Jay smiled seeing Bucky, shook his hand and Buck was glad Jay’s arm wasn't around y/n's shoulder anymore.

"Hey, just wanted to congratulate you on the last mission, saw the files and you fixed what Fury has been trying to fix in 12 years."

Taken aback by the praise Buck only nodded, but a small smile lingered on his face. "Thanks, man."

"And also he now beats Steve in the mornings run." Y/N confessed.

Jay laughed and by Y/N’s smile it was clear it was an inside joke. "No one can ever beat Steve Rogers, I fainted last time I tried."

"Well, I have been winning in runs over the punk since we were 10. Some things don't change with time."

"Yeah, i have to go. Mission tomorrow morning, just passed by to say hello to everyone." Jay leaned and kissed Y/N's cheek. "Bye, sweetheart. Good to see you." And then extended his hand again to shake Bucky's. "And congratulations again, i am happy you're in the avengers. The world needs you." With a tap on the shoulder, Jay left and Bucky stood a bit shocked for what the man said.

But after all, it was all Y/N has been saying over the months she met him.

And after what seemed like ages Y/N finally let him in. And Buck also fought his demons and allowed to be loved and cherished by someone.

And it was amazing.

                               ...

Meeting her family took a bit longer than the ’normal’ couples take. Her family was okay, but she was worried about how they would feel and most importantly how Buck would feel.

Y/N’s family lived far and using Tony's jet they flew to her homeland, her cousin flirted with Bucky wich made Y/N glare at her almost all barbecue. Y/N's mom was a bit worried about her daughter date a man in such a dangerous life, but she was happy so that was all that mattered.

And Bucky's family was Steve, so it was clear that he accepted them together. 

Buck has never felt so much like he did with her.

                               ...

Dream.

Dream was the word Bucky could only imagine when Y/N danced for him. Her small satin dress covering her smooth skin, he loved how her hips moved so graciously, the scent of her shampoo, how she kissed his cheeks when he made coffee for her. Y/N could be in her period, feeling awful wearing baggy pants and still, she managed to steal his heart even without trying. He was sure that no one had ever loved someone as much as he loves her.

He could do anything for her.

                               ...

On a mission, Bucky was looking the area of the attack arguing with Sam of where was the best point of attack, he was really close to yell at the man who never agreed with his tactics when his phone made a ping sound letting him know a message has arrived.

Hey baby, I hope you’re okay and you haven’t slapped Samuel! I’m watching you, mister! ;)

I’ll have to make a small trip with Brenda, she had a problem with her parents and she needs me to help her. I’m sorry but I really have to go. See you in a few days.

Bucky, I love you. With all that I am.

Bucky found it weird, Brenda’s family lived in another country, why she would make such travel in a hurry? 

Of course, Y/N was a good friend, but she didn’t do such spontaneous things.

As he glanced at his cellphone with a keyboard (designed for him, since his metal arm managed to break the last smartphones) he re-read the messages before he tried to call her only to be met with a voice message. He tried to calm his nerves down and finish his work. She had warned him after all, it wasn’t like she went away without telling him.

At their apartment, he saw a few notes here and there, one in the fridge telling she left some leftovers for some days. 

Another in the bathroom reminding him to buy shampoo and one on their bedroom saying: “You won’t die if I stay a few days away.”

Silly girl.

But even if Buck was suspicious of the sudden new he needed to trust her, he couldn’t be the crazy boyfriend who didn’t trust his girl.

However on the next day, he found it completely weird that she didn’t call him, she sent a text saying she was okay and safe but she couldn’t call him, he asked why but she just asked him to trust her and quickly stopped answering his texts.

Really really weird.

Was she kidnapped? Was she cheating on him? Was she really traveling with her friend? His mind couldn’t stop making ideas up. Bad assumptions up.

Gladly Bucky had a great memory so he remembered Brenda’s adress when Y/N went there a few months prior, he had to go there and see if Brenda was at home, if his girl was there or if she was actually out of the country. If she was out of danger.

Finally reaching the the street he stopped the car before walking to Brenda's house. He knocked on the door praying for no one to be home, but after a few seconds, it quickly opened with Brenda showing him a confused face. “Hey? What are you doing here?”

Fuck. “Hey, um, is Y/N here?”

“No, actually I haven’t talked with her for weeks now. Why? Did you guys had a fight?” For Brenda, it was almost impossible for you and Buck to fight, but as herself had a realtioship where she thought the man was perfect, she knew to expect anything.

Y/N lied, what was happening?

Knowing it wasn’t for the best to let her know about the situation he made a small smile. “Yeah, we did, I thought she was here. Thanks.” He hurriedly left not waiting for her response.

All the -painful- way home Bucky overthought his whole relationship, why would Y/N lie to him?

He couldn’t place a reason for it, the only things that were hammering on his thoughts were the hypothesis: Kidnap, cheating or she simply got tired of his traumatized self.

But why would she cheat on him? 

Wasn’t he a good boyfriend? Does she suddenly feel tired of his problems?  

Was she tired of his hard personality? 

Wasn’t he satisfying her in bed?

Have you found someone else?

Why?

And most important…if so, with who?

Bucky's mind was around doubts and adding all of his insecureness wasn’t helping much.

He didn’t even realize he reached her building until he saw his neighbor going for a walk with his dog. The whole walk he was pinned by fear and rage that he didn’t even count his steps.

To not help much his case he called her with no answer, he texted her with no answer either.

What could he do? He didn’t know where she was, or with who she was.

Was she safe?

“What is happening, my heart? Why are you lying to me?” He mumbled alone in their bedroom.

His heart cracking each thought he had.

After five longs and painful days, he received a text.

Hey Bucky. I’m going home we need to talk.

Bucky couldn’t answer, he couldn’t possibly ask what she wanted to talk about? Why would she leave him?

                               ...

There she stood, a single suitcase in her hand and a tired face.

Bucky wanted to hug her, to get in his feet, and to say how worried he was… but no! He allowed his rage to consume him when he saw she was alright and no enemy of his has taken and hurt her.

He was mad.

“Hey Bucky we-”

“Why?” Without letting her finish her sentence or even getting up from the couch, he asked.

“What?”

“Why you left and lied? Are you tired? Do you want to break up? Because i re-create the past weeks and i can’t see a reason for this, Y/N. You ran away and lied to me saying you traveled with Brenda to Brazil?”

She didn’t argue, only let the suitcase on the floor and rubbed her face. And with her silent stare, Bucky knew the end was near.

And that would break him, make all of the pieces he built in the last years since he got free from Hydra to fall apart.

Letting a sarcastic chuckle his frustration over the last weeks started to show with full force. “You’re selfish! I always said that i don't need your help, that i was broken and still am but you didn't have to stay with me. I always warned you and now that i'm so fucking deep in love with you-you will destroy this. But please, tell me what is it. Am I not satisfying you enough? Or is the nightmares? Maybe because i ca not go to the library with you or because we can’t go to the movies and i know you always says that Stark's is almost the same but you love movies and Y/N-” 

For more dramatically Bucky sounded, she knew he was self-conscious about his state, of course, he did therapy to help with his self-loathing but seeing the most precious thing getting ready to leave was about to break his cold-mended heart.

Making all his therapy process going to air.

Y/N stood there, looking tired and staring at him. She knew he would be mad, she was mad at herself for lying so blatantly. “Are you done?”

Taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his pockets he nodded, trying to control the tears to leave his eyes.

“I’m not cheating you, I never did, I never will. And i'm not tired of us. I’m not overwhelmed, you are the most important thing in the universe to me.” She took her jacket off and walked to the couch.

Bucky looked at her carefully while she approached him, so what was the problem then. “Tell me.”

“I’m not trying to break up with you, if that is what you think.”

He nodded and let a small sigh let his nostrils. A lock of hair leaving his man bun and Y/N's fingers itched to pull it behind his ear.

“I… I needed some time to think, I didn’t want to lie to you but I really needed some time alone without you getting worried.”

Was she sick? Why was she so sad? 

He sat by her side and looked at her lap taking a deep breath, her gaze met Bucky's and she nodded her head almost telling herself it was the proper moment. “I’m pregnant.”

The time seemed to stop for Buck, such a brilliant man and that was the only thing he hasn’t anticipated to leave her beautiful’s lips.

It made sense for him now, Y/N was always predicting the worst. Always waiting for the day he would grow tired of her and leave, or only try to have some “fun” and fool around with someone else. 

She didn’t want to have a child because she was afraid she would have to do it all by herself.

“Y/N… baby, I’m-”

“I don’t want it.” Her answer was firm but her lips were trembling with nerves. “I-” Her eyes filled with tears, even with the past days being of pure anxieties and sorrow, she still had tears left. “I can’t have it, Bucky. I- I-, I’m so scared.”

He couldn’t control his eyes when they glanced at her belly, his child was there, growing each day. He wanted the baby, wanted a boy or a girl to cherish and take care.

And only the thought of a baby so pure and ethereal as Y/N meant a lot. 

It was his.

After everything he suffered, everything he did that provoked people to suffer, he was blessed with a son or a daughter.

But he needed to focus on her.

“Will you try ab- abortion?” He didn’t want her to do that, he would try to change her mind if she said yes but he knew it was her choice.

“I… I don’t know! I mean no I won’t. I can’t! But Bucky, I’m so so scared.”

“You think I’ll leave.” He said softly, she looked at him startled, but she shouldn’t. Bucky always knew her. “You know I would never abandon you, especially not with our child.”

She nodded, her heartbeat going faster and faster by the second. He could hear it, of course he could. Apparently, the time to “cool off” didn’t help as she has thought.

Bucky gently held her waist and thigh and pulled her to his lap, Y/N hugged him tightly and started to sob. Bucky was her home.

And she was terrified he would leave her, especially with a child to take care of.

“Shh shh, pretty girl. It’ll be okay.” His hand started to caress her scalp softly trying to bring her some comfort.

Some minutes of pure comfortable silence passed before Y/N straightened her back and looked at the deep blue of his eyes. “I’m sorry I lied…” She murmured.

Bucky chuckled at the thought of how angry he was 20 minutes ago at her, now it seemed really stupid the way he allowed his demons to make him think the worst of his angel. 

“I forgive you. Y/N,” He raised his hand and touched her cheek softly, she leaned in and kissed his palm. “I know you’re worried I’ll leave or that you will have to raise that child alone but I promise you that I won’t let you down! I won’t let our child down!” He placed his other hand on her belly, Y/N smiled at the vision. 

Of course, she didn’t have a bump yet, but seeing Bucky hand touching a place where half him and half her was growing was a new comforting feeling.

Y/N nodded and smiled at him, lifting her pinky she pouted. “Promise? Even that the serum has some effect or if someone tries to take them away from me. Promise you will be there for me?”

He chuckled at her cuteness but realized how deeper the worries about a child was, interlacing his pinky with hers he nodded. “I promise.” She leaned in and kissed him lovely. She missed him.

He gazed at her, and as he passed his thumb under her eye to dry a tear, he was more sure than ever that she was the light of his life. “We got this, my love.” He affirmed his hands holding her face softly. “We do.”

Bucky Barnes is good at protecting the ones he loved, so he will do the possible and impossible to protect his perfect little family.

                        …

<3 <3 <3

[wordsablaze]

1~ i see your pain

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it's the last thing he does…

A/N: accidentally sank into jaskel and whipped this up at like 3am so here we go... titles from monsters by timeflies

-

Eskel is familiar with physical scars. 

How could he not be, with them making up half his face? 

He'd had to become familiar with them whilst training, growing up, travelling the path, trying to survive. 

Countless cuts and scratches and bites had led to countless scars, scars that he barely even pays attention to anymore because he'd become so used to them. 

But that was just physical scars.

Obvious, external reminders of battles and people and memories he often wishes he could forget. 

He can turn away from his reflection and keep his hands away from his skin and avoid the gaze of judgemental townsfolk and sometimes, it's almost as if he can't see his scars anymore. 

Unfortunately, not all scars are physical. 

Some are deeper, etched into hearts rather than flesh, invisible to most and impossible to forget. 

Well, not so impossible if Eskel has anything to say about it. 

To be fair, he usually doesn't. 

But for Jaskier? 

He makes an exception for Jaskier from the very moment their paths cross…

---

Eskel groans internally as the innkeeper's nose wrinkles up in disgust. 

It's the third time he's done that during their conversation and he's rather tired of it. 

He knows he's covered in innards, thank you very much, but he isn't going to do anything about it until he gets his coin. Being refused payment is nothing new but he needs it this time, the cursed beast had ruined his armour. 

"Must you be so-" the innkeeper starts, clearly about to insult him. 

But he's interrupted by someone slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

It's been an age since anyone has done anything of the sort and he's equally as confused as he is annoyed. He might also be a little bit relieved but he'd never admit how nice it feels, not even to himself. 

So he tenses, fighting every impulse in his body that screams at him to throw the stranger off. 

"Gorgeous? Why yes, he must," the stranger interjects, and suddenly he's not so much of a stranger anymore. 

Eskel doesn't frequent public places often and he rarely pays attention to bards but he'd recognise that voice anywhere. 

"And since this lovely witcher has just done your town a favour, it's in your best interest not to insult him."

And even if he didn't, there's only one human who's known to have a habit of defending witchers. 

Jaskier spares him a sideways wink before staring pointedly at the innkeeper, who looks just as confused as Eskel feels. 

He's not sure if that's because Jaskier had appeared out of nowhere or because he'd just been referred to as both gorgeous and lovely, but either way, he finds he doesn't know what to do. 

"Now, do be a dear and run the poor darling a warm bath, will you? I know you have no rooms left so you can have it sent to mine. That is, unless you wish for me to stop playing?" 

Jaskier raises an eyebrow and Eskel can't help but smirk, recognising the look of defeat on the innkeeper. 

"No, I- Of course. It'll be ready when you finish for the night."

The man disappears immediately and Eskel finally turns to Jaskier. "You're his bard."

If Jaskier didn't have an arm looped around his shoulders, Eskel wouldn't have noticed the flinch.

But mischievous blue eyes distract him before he can question it. "I was. But right now, I'm just the bard ordering you to go sit and brood in the corner and enjoy my performance."

Eskel's frown only deepens. "And if I say no?" 

Jaskier removes his arm from Eskel's shoulder and places his hands on his hips, both accusation and amusement dancing in his eyes. "You will not do that because I absolutely refuse to waste a perfectly good bath."

"You could just use it," Eskel points out. 

It's a wasted argument, they can both smell the strong floral scents on Jaskier that suggest he's recently had his own bath. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier takes Eskel's arm and pulls him to the corner of the room, firmly guiding him into sitting down and sliding a drink towards him. 

"Drink up, darling, it's been made extra strong to suit your witcher-y needs."

As Eskel wonders how Jaskier could have known he was going to stay, the bard slips away and turns his attention to the crowd. 

Or rather, turns the crowd's attention to him. 

Apparently, Geralt had severely understated Jaskier's abilities as a bard. 

He's in charge of the room as soon as he starts playing his lute, filling the place with an energy Eskel has only ever felt on hunts, making sure all eyes are on him as he travels from table to table. 

Eskel feels the faintest sting of bitter confusion when Jaskier refuses to even glance in his direction, knowing that Geralt had commented on the bard's habit of drawing attention to him during performances. He can't help but wonder if it's because he's not as good as Geralt, if he's not as appealing to look towards in the middle of a song. 

But when a man starts muttering darkly about witchers and Jaskier slyly spills ale all over his lap, Eskel realises it's just part of his plan.

Jaskier is making sure all the attention is on himself rather than on Eskel, as if he can tell how uncomfortable the witcher feels. 

It's difficult to fathom why someone who might not even know his name would go to such lengths for him with no hesitation. But really, can he be surprised when this is the bard who'd changed the fate of witchers?

He just can't figure out why Geralt isn't also here or why Jaskier claims to no longer be his bard, especially since they've all heard the plethora of songs about a white wolf. 

When everyone is satisfied and people have started leaving tips and drifting back to their rooms, Jaskier announces his departure and all but falls onto Eskel. 

He's breathing heavily but there's a wide grin on his face as he sees the empty mug on the table. 

"You drank it!" he says rather obviously. 

Eskel nods. "It was good."

And he's not lying. It really had tasted good, much better than most drinks he's been served. 

Jaskier grins smugly. "I know, it's my recipe."

Eskel blinks. 

"But you, however gorgeous you may be, smell absolutely appalling. I believe you promised me a bath?" 

He could theoretically snap the bard in two but he finds himself unable to refuse as Jaskier steers him through the remaining crowd. 

They stop in front of the innkeeper, who sighs when he notices them. 

"Your bath awaits, bard."

Jaskier nods but doesn't move, raising an eyebrow. "I think you owe my friend here some payment, do you not?" 

Eskel glances at Jaskier in confusion, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Why would he so recklessly associate himself with Eskel despite having just met him? 

The innkeeper seems to know better than to argue this time, simply handing over a pouch and waving a hand. "A little more than promised as a token of... apology." 

Jaskier beams at the man. "I knew you were a good soul! We'll see about earning you more coin with another performance in the morning…" 

And with that promise, he takes the coin and guides them both upstairs. 

Eskel takes a moment to appreciate the way Jaskier can take full control of a situation so effortlessly before realising he's also victim to one of those situations. 

"My horse-" 

"I took care of it," Jaskier interrupts, pulling him inside a room and shoving him towards the bath. 

"You did?" Eskel asks, frowning yet again. 

Jaskier scoffs. "Do stop worrying your facial muscles, daring, of course I did. I know how witchers work."

Eskel chooses not to reply to that, simply staring at the bath that he still can't believe was brought up for him. By an innkeeper who'd apologised for his words. 

He can't help but wonder if he's being referred to by terms of endearment because Jaskier doesn't know what else to refer to him by or if he's just like that with everyone.  Geralt had complained that the bard could be overwhelming so the latter seems likely. 

Jaskier bites his lip. "Do you… Do you need me to leave?" 

He sounds so unsure of himself, so unlike how he'd been a mere minute ago, that Eskel finds himself shaking his head before he can consider his options. 

"It's your room, I couldn't kick you out of it," he says slowly. 

Jaskier beams at him. "I'll stay out of your hair, though, I promise. Just make sure you don't smell like the insides of a monster when you're done."

Eskel nods as Jaskier places the coin pouch on the small bedside desk before settling on the bed and starting to scribble something. 

Within minutes, Eskel has slipped out of his armour and into the warm water - it shouldn't still be so warm after so long, not unless someone had been told to make it extra hot specifically for a witcher - and his eyes have started to close at how good it feels in comparison to cold rivers. 

It's nice, truly nice, and he lets himself forget about the rest of the world as his muscles slowly begin to relax. 

He only remembers to move when he hears a pointed cough. 

His eyes shooting open, water splashes as he sits upright to see Jaskier leaning forwards and smirking at him, but not unkindly. 

"I know I said I'd stay out of your hair but how long do you plan to keep all that foul-smelling stuff in there?" 

Eskel is still trying to process how he'd started to let his guard down in the presence of a relative stranger when he realises he'd literally forgotten to actually bathe. 

Jaskier doesn't seem to be laughing at him though. If anything, he looks a little sad.

"They're not too bad," Eskel says eventually, resisting the urge to smile when Jaskier gasps dramatically. 

"Excuse me? You're in the same room as my beautiful oils and salts and you dare to suggest that innards smell better? I should think not!" 

And somehow, Jaskier is beside the bath within the blink of an eye, all but glaring down at him. "Now, you're going to sit still while I take care of that beautiful hair of yours, understood?" 

Amused, Eskel just nods. 

He's no longer amused when Jaskier gets to work though, he doesn't have time to be amused when he's too busy being pleasantly shocked. 

Jaskier's fingers make their way through his hair in the same way they play his lute: softly and gently but also firmly, expertly, as if he's done so a million times before. 

No wonder Geralt's hair had always looked surprisingly good. 

"All done," Jaskier whispers after what feels like an eternity. 

Eskel opens his eyes and forces himself not to groan at the loss of Jaskier's touch - it would be ridiculous to miss something he's only felt once.

"Thank you," he whispers back, not wanting Jaskier to regret helping him. 

To his surprise, Jaskier blinks as if he'd never been thanked before. There's a flicker of confusion in his eyes before he recovers and stands with a soft smile. "It's truly my pleasure, darling."

Eskel frowns at the repeated term, wondering once again why Jaskier throws such affection so freely, so thoughtlessly. 

"Will you be staying the night?" Jaskier's question pulls him out of his thoughts. 

Oh. 

Is he meant to stay? 

Would it be rude to use both someone's bath and room or is he meant to provide company to return the favour? 

Jaskier chuckles. "Don't think so hard, you'll get wrinkles. You're welcome to stay if you wish but I won't be so selfish as to demand it."

He knows he probably shouldn't but there's something so sad about Jaskier expecting nothing in return for his deeds - mostly because he can see the mindset of a witcher in that logic - that he offers the bard a smile. 

"I owe you for the bath. Do you wish for me to stay?" 

Jaskier looks at him in bewilderment before his eyes light up and he grins widely enough for it to look painful. "Would you? Witchers are just so warm and the nights can be dreadfully cold…"

Eskel pauses, glancing between Jaskier and the bed, the one bed, to make sure he's interpreting the request correctly. 

"You want me to… share the bed with you?" 

Jaskier bites his lip, seemingly regretting his words. 

His hands fidget as he shakes his head and looks away, moving his things to the floor. "No, no, sorry, I can't ask- It would be unfair of me to make you do anything you're not comfortable with."

Comfort is rare for Eskel and despite the bard's reputation, he's beginning to think it is for Jaskier too. 

"I didn't bring my bedroll," Eskel says casually. 

After a slight pause, Jaskier frowns at him, a small smile then gracing his face once more. "Well then, you'll just have to share the bed with me. It wouldn't do to stiffen up those stunning muscles, now, would it?" 

Glad that Jaskier is no longer wallowing in the bitter scent of regret, Eskel finally lifts himself out of the bath. 

Jaskier's eyes widen and his breath hitches before he practically dives under the bed. 

He reappears before Eskel can express any concern, holding out a small pile of clothes, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I, uh… your clothes need washing but you can use these for now."

"Why do you have them?" 

Jaskier shrugs. "Might have rescued them from a man who was letting them collect dust…"

Eskel wonders what the rest of that story is but he'd rather not make Jaskier uncomfortable by inquiring so he simply takes the clothes and slips them on. 

Once he's done, Jaskier smiles, having settled under the blanket. "Are you going to join me or simply admire those clothes all night?" 

Eskel snorts but slips under the blanket, unsure of how close Jaskier wants him to be. He doesn't know exactly what Jaskier was like with Geralt and even if he did, there's no guarantee it'd be the same with him. 

But Jaskier is having none of his hesitation and turns so he can curl himself towards Eskel. 

"Is this okay?" Jaskier breathes. 

Eskel shivers ever so slightly. He moves closer instead of audibly replying, relieved when Jaskier gets the message and smiles, closing the remaining gap between them. 

He honestly doesn't know if he has the right to be doing this. If someone like him, just another witcher, has the right to this kind of intimacy. 

"Goodnight, Eskel."

Oh.

Jaskier does know his name. 

He knows exactly who he is and he'd not only let but invited him stay anyway. 

With a smile that he'd never confess to, Eskel waits until the bard is asleep before taking the time to appreciate everything about the sheer, unadulterated kindness of the moment. 

He doesn't even notice himself drift off. 

---

A life filled with affection had never seemed likely for Eskel but Jaskier makes it seem tangible. 

He's willing to give his love to Eskel and Eskel's scars without a second thought so it would be wrong not to ensure the favour is returned. 

It's really quite logical that he helps Jaskier overcome the problems he can't even tell he's dragging around. 

And it's definitely just because he owes the bard for improving his reputation and getting him his coin, not because something in his chest burns at the thought of the bard's wounds never being allowed to fade.

His own scars will never disappear but he vows to heal whatever scars Jaskier doesn't know he has, no matter how long it takes.

It's only fair, after all. 

-

okay so i have a vague plan but also have other witcher WIPs so we’ll see where this goes... i do love this ship tho !!

-

thanks for reading! witcher sideblog: @geraskifer | masterlist | next chapter

[vikingsagine]

A Trip Down Memory Lane (Ivar x Reader)

Hey guys, this is a second part to, My Loyalty is Yours, I hope you like it. By the way, I love Ivar. I love how complicated he is. Although, I do miss season 5 Ivar where he’s a bit psycho and confident. And I miss his braids. Love them braids so much. Sorry for any spelling mistakes.

Summary: Small things remind you of Ivar. Reminding you to when times were happier and easier and how your relationship with Ivar really was. 

Warnings : Very looonnnggggg. (sorry guys) Swearing, violence, slight smut. Rough. But not all the way. FLUFFY, I think. Margrethe (I hate her so much)

You sat with a lazy smile, optics observing the training men in front of you with Ubbe in front, yelling orders and stepping in to spar men with consistent mistakes. A week ago, you stood on a private trial with Bjorn Ironside to decide what to do with you. In the end, he came to terms with the rest of his ‘council’ to keep you alive and in the town of Kattegat. He said letting you go would be dangerous assuming you’d head to find Ivar, even though you said you wouldn’t, but also your battle abilities and strategies were much useful. You agreed because to be quite frank, you didn’t want to leave Kattegat, not yet. 

“Y/N, are you just going to watch or are you going to get off your lazy ass and do something.” Ubbe called, snapping you out of your thoughts with that familiar smug smirk and taunting stare. It felt different, not having Ivar around, it made you confused and almost empty. He was your best friend and first love after all. Wherever he went, you went too. Like a dog to a Mother’s tit. 

“Are you challenging me, horsetail?” You jumped off your feet and pulled your axe from the ground, returning the cocky grin and confident attitude. Ubbe took a step forward, pulling the sword up and pointing it towards you. 

“It wouldn’t be much of a challenge defeating you, little girl.” The next, your axe and sword met in a friendly and welcoming manner. This reminded you of the old days, when you trained and sparred with the sons of Ragnar.

~~~

“Surely you can do better than that.”  Ubbe remarked as you groaned on the ground, broken nose in your hand and bled. The older male by six years had finished head butting you and cracked your nose, now, standing over you like the champion. Hvitserk and Sigurd cheered, hollering as they both watched you and Ubbe spar. 

“Keep flapping your gums pretty boy and I’ll make you cry to your Mother.” You cooed and spat blood onto the floor, then shoved your nose back into place with a crack. A groan left your lips while Ubbe snorted, crossing his arms with a clear expression of enjoying you writhe in pain. Asshole, you thought. 

“Aww, you think I’m pretty.” 

“That’s not much of a comment coming from her.” You glared towards Ivar who snarled a bold insult. He sat on a stool a few feet away from his two other brothers, also eyeing the fist fight on display. “What? It’s true.” The bright blue eyed boy flicked his fingers towards your face, more specifically, the scar engraved into the side of your left cheek. Long and twisted, reaching from the corner of your mouth and arched into a smile just under your left eye. Huffing out of annoyance, your leg swung under Ubbe’s and knocked him onto his ass, using this moment of distraction to your advantage. Ubbe groaned, while Hvitserk laughed, mocking his older brother by a few years. You pulled the axe from his side and threw it towards Ivar, successfully landing it an inch above his head with a thump.

“Mock me again cripple and I swear by the Gods-”

“That you’ll kill me?” Ivar snorted and crossed his arms. “You can’t, remember. Or have you forgotten. I’m your master.” Of course, you thought, he always took any opportunity to remind you of the unique relationship you two shared. Insisting that he was your ‘master’ and you, his ‘slave’. It angered you every time.

“Yes, you’re right.” Wiping the blood with the back of your sleeve, you laid back next to Ubbe with an exhausted sigh. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.” Ivar rolled his eyes again at your comment, glaring holes into the side of your face. 

~~~

The night started to set, the stars illuminating in the sky like spots of light in the abyss of darkness. Bleak wind pushing against your raw cheeks, turning them red and making you shiver. You sat silently by yourself once again, outside of the hall where the echoes of another feast and drunken vikings sang. It wasn’t really your scene. You hated large gatherings of people, the bodies of strangers pushing up against you like mud was suffocating. Instead, you liked to listen, to hear their joy and songs and the lack of sorrow or pain. 

“What are you thinking about?” Lagertha called from behind you. She had seen you flee the feast after a meal and decided to follow you. Not out of suspicion of you doing something terrible but out of curiosity. Lagertha had heard many tales of the small girl, your bold and skilled fighting. The many people you have slaughtered, children, old people, warriors, Christians alike. It was impressive but haunting.

“Nothing really, just enjoying the view and the music.” You turned your head to Lagertha, surprised by her sudden appearance but shifted enough for her to take a seat. You knew Lagertha, she was an inspiration to all shield-maidens out there. She still is. Even at this age.

“Will you betray my son?” Lagertha inquired, a stern and serious expression crossing her facials. It made you smile. You have heard many stories of Lagertha of her skill in the battlefield, even how people whisper about her being the shield-maiden protected by the Gods. But, in all honesty, all that was nothing compared to her love for her son, her family. 

“I will be true to you, Lagertha.” You cocked your head to the side. “One day, I will seek Ivar and return to his side. I will fight for him and I will die for him. But, until that day comes, for now, my body and knowledge will remain here.” 

“Hmm.” Lagertha replied in content. “Why do you not kill me?”

“Because I do not hate you. You have inspired me. Ivar is the one who sought to kill you, not me. It was his ambition and mine, my ambition is to serve him well and perhaps, bring him happiness.” A small smile made its way to your lips, the image of Ivar’s genuine grin and soft eyes. The memory melted your heart.

~~~

“Tell me, have you ever laid with anyone before?” Hvitserk inquired by your side, leaning over and knocking you a little. You laughed at his question, the jolt of a sudden euphoria slipping into your veins. You were drinking with the prince’s of Kattegat, all curled over the fire seeking out warmth and comfort. 

“Please tell me you aren’t trying to flirt with me, dear Hvitserk.”You cooed, his flirtatious smirk all too familiar because you’ve seen him use it before, on many other women in Kattegat. Whenever he was drunk, Hvitserk had the tendency to try and fuck anything with a pair of boobs and a pussy. 

“And what if I am?” He leaned closer, eyelids heavy and slurring over his words. It was clear to see, he was far too drunk and horny. “Is it working?” He attempted to press his lips against yours but you only pressed your palm against his face and knocked him off his seat. Ubbe laughed at the sight of his intoxicated brother, desperately flirting with Y/N but failed. 

“Get off me you drunken bastard.” You gave Hvitserk a soft kick to the ass and sat back down, laughing with Sigurd who pulled his brother up to sit next to him.

“One day, I swear, you will be mine.” Hvitserk slurred, his eyes closed but his finger on you. Then he curled over and hurled into the bucket that Sigurd, thankfully, had. Everyone knew how Hvitserk drank. He drank until he dropped. 

“Please, no one would want to fuck with that.” Ivar suddenly piped up, deciding to speak. The fire illuminating over his face, giving Ivar a dark glow. Ubbe scoffed out of annoyance, knowing  Ivar’s sour words like he found pleasure from humiliating people. And Ivar did. He enjoyed it. “Not even a blind man.” You were used to his insults and rolled your eyes, sculling the last bit of your drink. Before Ubbe could tell his baby brother off for his rude behavior, you stood up and took shaky steps over to him. 

“Oh please, Ivar.” Without hesitation, you slumped on the crippled boy’s lap with a smile. Ivar hissed at the rough impact on his legs, immediately glaring at your tipsy state. “Maybe a blind man wouldn’t, but perhaps a cripple would.” You threw your head back in laughter, enjoying how Ivar’s face turned into a scowl and looked at you like he was going to kill you. The next you were knocked onto the floor with a crash, the world becoming dizzy. 

“I will kill you.” Ivar muttered under his breath as you clumsily took a seat next to the crippled, still amused by his reaction. Most people feared Ivar, even his brother’s, but you were the only one that wasn’t intimidated and treated him like a normal person. 

“Uh huh and you’ll get functional legs.” Ubbe tensed, analyzing his brother for a dangerous response to your bold comment that most people would earn Ivar’s wrath. He glanced over to Sigurd who was also well-aware of the situation, becoming nervous and ready to pull you away from Ivar. You on the other hand, knew the consequence of your comment but still held your teasing gleam. Ivar cracked a large and toothy smile, his eyes softened with the fire illuminating his relaxed state. The sound of his laugh filled the tense hall and your heart fluttered at the sight and sound. 

~~~

The door swung open, revealing the sight of a blonde woman with a pregnant stomach. In her arms was a small little girl, you remember as Elsa. Daughter to Torvi and Bjorn Ironside. Both of you stared at each other, unknowing of what to say. 

“Is Ubbe here?” You finally broke the awkward silence, avoiding eye contact and straightened your stance. She moved aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. 

“Yes, he is changing his clothes. He will be ready soon, I hope.” You sat down on a stool, near the table. You felt like a complete stranger that no one trusted, not that it surprised you. Everyone had their guard up around you as if you’d suddenly attack and bring Ivar back. Sometimes, the people of Kattegat would snarl awful comments about you such as being Ivar’s bitch or child murderer and so forth. “I do not trust you nor do I believe you deserve to be in Kattegat.” Torvi spoke truthfully but it did not shock you. “But, my husband seems to. He speaks fondly of you.” You drew your lips in a thin line, watching her as she stirred soup in a pot for the hungry children. 

“I see.” Was the only thing you could come up with. You knew Ubbe loved you, loved you like a little sister and a close friend. You remember when you sat by Ivar’s side along with Hvitserk, you remembered the stare of a broken man. His heart was crushed. More so by Hvitserk’s decision, but disappointed when he saw you. It hurt to say the least, but it did not waver your loyalty or judgment. He knew from the start that you would always choose Ivar, always. You let out a sigh, furrowing your eyebrows together. Ubbe still had hopes that you’d stay and fight. It was your responsibility to break it, to destroy that idea for the sake of you and him. “I will talk to him.” 

“Momma, can you braid my hair? I want to look just like Lagertha.” Else tugged at her Mother’s dress with hopeful big brown orbs.

“Not right now.” You were unaccustomed to such sights or the feeling. Children weren’t really your speciality. Your behaviour far too rough and blunt, not to mention your appearance wasn’t at all friendly. Nor was the constant cold and emotionless mask. 

“Here, let me.” Torvi eyes you skeptically but continues with the soup. The small girl giddily approached you, no fear but a sweet beam. She patiently sat between your legs as you run your fingers through her soft blonde curls. The feeling felt nostalgic and your fingers felt an itch. An itch of memory.

~~~

“What is it that you want? You do realize I need sleep too.” You stepped into the room of your prince, rubbing your eyes from tiredness and exhaustion. That day, everyone was preparing themselves to return to Wessex England to get revenge for the death of Ragnar Lothbrok. Ivar laid in his bed, hips down covered by fur and blankets looking warm and cosy. Revealing his upper body, muscular and strong which didn’t come to any surprise since most of his life he’s been crawling. 

“Braid my hair.” He simply demanded and patted the spot next to you. You shivered from the bite of cold lingering at night, even inside the halls of his home. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare all night?” Ivar growled and you instantly scurried over to the man. You weren’t unfamiliar with the bed, having slept in it before. You lost your virginity in the bed, having given it to the man laying next to you. 

“You know, you’re an asshole?” 

“Did I ask for your opinion?” He scoffed back and huffed. You felt him watch you climb into his bed, dragging the warm fur over your bare legs. Ivar stared at you, unaccustomed to your lack of clothing since you seemed to always wear hoards of clothes or battle armour. Yet now, he was left with curiosity as he saw the outline of your body from the light of his candles. You wore a thin white dress because your body grew hot easily and it was Summer. 

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll leave.” You glared over at Ivar who seemed a world away. “Come over here.” You motioned towards your legs, where he could sit and you could comfortably braid his longer thick black hair. 

“I’m not fucking you.” Ivar stated blatantly, taking your motions the wrong way. But still, he crawled over and settled between your legs and pulled the blankets over his bottom half and your legs as well. His body was hard as laid down against your stomach and chest. You felt your heartbeat jolt at the feeling of his body so close, butterflies swarming inside your stomach and stretched towards your shaky fingers.

“I don’t want you to fuck me.” You lied between your teeth, the words hot with deceit. “Why didn’t you ask me this earlier?” Your fingers combed gently against the tuffs of his hair, the silk of soft and thick rubbing against your rough fingers. It soothed your heart. 

“I thought it would make your life more difficult.” He teased. You could see his cocky smirk through the thickness of his locks and you tugged it back harshly causing Ivar to hiss. 

“Sorry.” Now you were the one smiling with smugness. Your smaller fingers combed through, nails scraping against his scalp like a massage which you were doing but used the excuse of it ridding all of the non-existent knots. Ivar let out a long breath and relaxed more into your body, his weight pushing you against the surface of the wall. It was times like these that made you fall deeply in love with the insecure man. 

“You didn’t say that the last time.” After a few minutes of silence, that you enjoyed, Ivar decided to break it. You raised your eyebrows and his comment, confused on what he meant. 

“Excuse me?”

“You said, you didn’t want to fuck me but the last time you were in my room, I recall you begging.” This caught you off guard and made you freeze your actions. Something dropped inside your stomach. Eye trapped on the first to braid on the left side of his scalp, you were tempted to dig your elbow into his skull and make the blue eyed man take back his words. Ivar, of course noticed the way your body reacted. He felt you tense and felt the tips of your fingers leave his scalp - much to his dismay. “Don’t you remember?” Ivar didn’t need to turn to look at you to see the reaction he’d cause, the only reaction he knew he could cause. Instead, his hand found its way to your bare thighs and tenderly massaged your legs. 

“Yes.” You coughed, breaking out of your embarrassed trance and returned to braiding his hair. You completely ignored the feather touch of his calloused fingers against the bare of your bruised skin. 

“Is that a yes to me fucking you or a yes to me fucking you the first time?” Your heart beat sped up at the words, suddenly very sensitive to his body slumped against yours. You silently cursed the Gods and your heart, especially to the way your mind was reacting. Self-aware to the bare skin rubbing against your body, your chest and your stomach, only separated by an inch of fabric. 

“As I recall it, cripple, you were the one that wanted to have sex not me. Why? Because you couldn’t get a fucking hard on.” Ivar chuckled lightly at your remark, entertained by your sour mouth around him. You were the first woman he had ever encountered to be so complicated. You were loud and boisterous yet silent and observant around other people. You were brutally honest about your opinion but still secretive about your feelings. You fought like a man but emotional like a woman - the side of you that he alone, witnessed. You were by all means unsaintly yet as pure as a flower. "So please be quiet. I rather prefer you better than to when you open that beastly thing of yours called a mouth.”

“I know you pine for me at night, scarface. Perhaps even touch yourself to the thought of me.” You could feel the tingles travel towards the pit of your stomach, the cunt between your legs betraying your words and forced intentions. It was too damn difficult to resist the man sitting between your legs, body firm and smooth pressed against you like suffocation. If he were strangling the truth of your lust out and into the open. 

“Hmm.” You hummed quietly, deciding to play his game as well. “Maybe.” Your fingers now tugging at the last of his hair that had yet to be braided, you let a finger trace the side of his neck and down the inch of skin that connected his neck and shoulder - the area of where you sunk your teeth into as you came undone. Ivar’s body reacted with a shiver and the hand that was under the blanket was not applying more pressure to your thigh. Ivar enjoyed toying with you, this much you knew. He always found every opportunity to get you a mess. Whether it be an angry mess, an annoyed mess or a flustered mess. “Yet, maybe not.” You continued braiding the last of his hair, silk soft and tender. Not so long ago it was short and still as thick. 

“Will you be by my side when we attack King Aelle and his armies?” Ivar’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper but held such vulnerability. This side of Ivar that only you could see, breathe and feel. It was intoxicating and dangerous. Made you want him even more. Finishing the last of his intertwined fragments of ink black locks, you let out a sigh and rested the top of your chin on his head.

“Of course. I will always be by your side.” Although the words were simple, they spoke how serious you were. They spoke truths you couldn’t admit to him or even yourself. They spoke truths that you knew would break your heart. Ivar found your small hand and held it in his, not saying a word but the action spoke thousands. 

The sensation inside your body, warmed. The weight of his large and meatier hand is rough against your palms. Thumb rubbing small circles that did wonders to your body. It made your headlight and the familiar feeling of euphoria came back. A different type of euphoria. Not the one you gained from victory or tearing through the bodies of enemies or the many cups of ale. It was the type that was pure and real and honest. It made your heart weak but soar at the same time. 

“Stay with me.” 

~~~

His mouth latched onto the crook of your neck, lips chapped and dry but tongue wet and smooth. You let out a content sigh, your hands pulling at his long mane of hair. He sucked harshly on the soft skin, fingers already pulling your belt  off and then ripped your pants down. Revealing your bare thighs, skin bruised and scarred from old scars and new minor wounds. His actions were rushed, pushing you onto a nearby table of his home and placed himself between your legs. 

It wasn’t normal for you to fuck random men in a stranger’s home. Hell, he could be married with children. But it wasn’t like you were doing this for pleasure, no, it was to ease the pining at night. The unsatisfied tension from your cunt because of the lack of sex and physical contact with any man - Ivar, to be more specific. You didn’t realize how much your body had needed his touch, until last night when your body was hot and needy. So, first thing in the morning, you saw the closest man to you, you coaxed him into fucking you senseless. Which by the way, didn’t take much. Just a few words and a light press of your fingers.

“Oh, you’re so tight.” He growled into your ear, breath hot and heavy. You felt his prick slide into your pussy, which immediately clenched and tensed, a small moan leaving your lips. It wasn’t like he wasn’t a decent size, but it felt...bland. It was missing something. Something meaningful. You pushed those thoughts aside and tied to focus on the pleasure and pushed him onto the ground, only to ride him faster. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you’re a good bitch.” In normal circumstances, you would have punched the man over for calling you that but you were so desperate to feel something that it didn’t faze you. You closed your eyes and thought of Ivar. His touch. His lips. His kiss. His voice…

~~~

“I’m not having sex with you.” You stated bluntly once again. Over the past week, Ivar has been pressuring you to have sex with him because he never had sex before and neither had you. Over the two years he’s known you, you have earned his trust and his comfort and the feelings are mutual. Both of you can speak openly about anything, it was a privilege but also a nuisance.

“Didn’t you say that you were here to serve me? Not completely fucking ignore my demands.” You rolled your eyes at Ivar’s spoiled behaviour, annoyed because he could be an asshole but also a pestering asshole in the middle of your chores. You weren’t a slave nor were you rich or a lady that Queen Aslaug treated well. She didn’t hate you nor did she favor you. However, you were incredibly grateful for her hospitality of lending you a bed, food and the acquaintance of knowing her sons. 

“Look, as you can tell I’m really busy right now.” You huffed and scrubbed the clothes to your clothes in the bucket of water harshly, ridding of the blood stains. “So do yourself a favor, and let your royal ass out.” You ignored the rest of his blabbering and then felt his presence leave. You let out a heavy sigh, body finally coming to an ease. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to have sex with Ivar but it was because you were actually, nervous. Really nervous. There were two major problems to that. One, you were nervous because you didn’t know how to fuck nor did you know if you actually could. And two, you have never been nervous before. The sensation was new and pestering. 

You talked to Ubbe about it since he was the mature and responsible one. You asked him about sex and he was surprised, since you rarely asked anything. Literally. You kept to yourself and handled things on your own. But this issue didn’t seem to go away. So, you turned to Ubbe who out of all the brother’s wouldn’t judge or make any insults towards you, he was a good person. But even then, the knowledge didn’t still your nerves or excitement on that matter. You wanted to have sex with Ivar but still didn’t know how.

A few days later, you were sitting by yourself, observing the crowd of drunken people and reckless laughter. Your eyes find Ubbe who was flirting with one of the slave girls, Margrethe, a girl that got on your nerves and did not trust. Then towards Hvitserk, drinking beside Sigurd but his orbs were also glued to the slave girl and so was Sigurd, though he hid it better with his singing and playing the ute. Oh boy, you thought. But still, Ivar was nowhere to be seen, you found it odd since he enjoyed drinking and humiliating you or his brother, Sigurd. You stood up and approached Ubbe to inquire where he was.

“Ubbe, where is Ivar?” The blonde man pulled himself off of the slave girl who was giggling and clearly enjoying the attention of the famous prince. You had to admit she was beautiful but the instinct in your stomach proved otherwise. 

“You always worry about my little brother my dear Y/N. Drink and let loose.” Ubbe replied, obviously drunk and too happy. It was useless to think that you could get a reply from him, so instead you approached Sigurd.

“I heard that Ivar isn’t completely a man.” Sigurd muttered with a slur to Hvitserk, who gave him a confused look. “I mean, his prick can’t stand or pleasure a woman. You remember when we took him to the lake house to fuck Margrethe, she told me that his cock didn’t work and that he threatened Margrethe.” That bitch, you initially thought. You knew how insecure and sensitive Ivar was. Especially with his brothers. Always needing to prove himself to them, making up for his legs or lack thereof. You knew Sigurd was drunk and wouldn’t carelessly let loose on his words but boy did you wanna start a fight right now. Your blood boiled, becoming protective over the cripple man and also having a good enough reason to punch the blonde girl. 

Without hesitation, you marched over to the loving couple who were making out so carelessly and tore Ubbe off of her. Margrethe looked at you with horror as you lifted her to her feet and rammed your forehead into her nose, earning a crack and a shriek. Ubbe immediately grabbed you and stared you away from the slave girl who was crying but you could care less and spat at her one last time before you were thrown against the wall by the older man.

“What is wrong with you?” Ubbe yelled, glaring down at you with fire. You only wiped her blood from your face and huffed, pushing his arms away and stomped out of the hall. Ignoring the hollers of other Vikings and the hate-stares of Hvitserk and Sigurd. You would pay for this later since all three men were smitten and infatuated with that bitch of a woman. All thinking with their cocks and not their sensibility.

Soon enough, you found yourself slipping into Ivar’s room with silent and small steps. The noiseless night filled the hall of the Ragnarson’s large home, located in the great hall. You were dressed in an over-sized long sleeve shirt, falling passed your knees and freshly clean. You didn’t know why, but you were worried about Ivar. Because you rejected him countless times, even though he came to you and wanted you again and again. All because you were afraid. For the first time in your life, you were afraid. Scared that he’d reject you when you did just that towards him. Though these feelings were newborn, they were strong and passionate. 

“What are you doing?” A sleepy and cautious Ivar suddenly inquired, halting you in your tracks of trying to crawl into his bed. Yet you continued, letting the warmth of the blankets engulf you until your body was awkwardly close to Ivar’s.

“I want to have sex with you.” Not knowing how else to put it, you stated only the truth. You felt his head shift to glance over to you.

“Why?” 

“What else reason would there for me to fuck you Ivar? Because I’m horny and I want you.” You met his eyes, barely visible but you could see his crystal blue irises staring at you questionably. But soon his expression softened and he looked away.

“I can’t.” There was a tone of disappointment and pain behind his words and you knew exactly why. Because of that blonde bitch with a big fucking mouth. You growled inside your head, promising yourself that you’d deal with the girl later on if Ubbe or Hvitser or Sigurd didn’t interfere. How was a man like himself supposed to reach greatness if he had the confidence of a child? You knew, ever since you were a child, that the man called Ivar the Boneless would someday be a famous and feared viking. And you believed it with all your heart. 

“You’re a stupid cripple.” You mumbled and then pressed your lips against his. They were soft and warm. Ivar seemed shocked at first, not knowing how to reply or to react. So, you prompted for a response by crawling over his body so you were straddling the man. You could feel the blood in your body rush to your cheeks, feeling heat and warmth spread at the feeling for him. A spark lit in the pit of your stomach. “A stupid cripple.” You spoke once again, admiring the way his eyes, crystal blue like the rare flashes of lightning that only occurred for a split second. If you were to blink, you’d miss its beauty and it's terror. This time, Ivar reciprocated the kiss with slow movements and timid hands that bunched at your hips, unknowing to do what. 

“You do not understand.” He muttered between your desperate kisses and caught your roaming fingers that itch to feel his manhood. The only part of him that was left unknown besides his legs. The part of him that made you eager with a different excitement. “I can’t. My-” Before he could finish the sentence, you slapped his cheek raw and hard. The sound bouncing off of the walls and down the still hall. 

“You’re gonna let a slave bitch really tell you how your body works?” You knew Ivar, knew him well enough to cause a reaction. This man was driven by anger and revenge. He was truly passionate when he was filled with rage and turmoil, where the beast lurks and the mind disappears. The reaction didn’t work though, not yet. He only seethed through the grit of his teeth and gave a shaky sigh, controlling his anger. It was sweet really, but you didn’t want sweet, you wanted him to fuck you. Fuck you until that confidence came back. “You’re a bitch Ivar.” You mumbled through light kisses, dragging down his neck and sinking your teeth into his skin hard enough to earn a loud hiss. “What happened to Ivar the Boneless, the one who proved everyone wrong?” You hummed teasingly, tongue dragging down his chest and giving one of his nipples a flick and down, down, down, to the bottom of his belly button. “I guess he lost his balls just as well as he lost his-” You yelped out in pain as Ivar grabbed a fist full of your hair and yanked you up. 

“You want me to fuck you, hmm? Want me to fuck that fucking cunt? Is that what you really want?” You could see the fury behind his eyes, felt it in the tenseness of his body and could sense it through the bulge of his pants that you felt proud of. 

“Can you?” You teased, one hand holding his wrist and the other clenching onto the bed sheet. You suppressed the need to escape but didn’t bite your tongue back, not now. Not when he was clearly turned on. 

“Careful woman, your mouth is too big for your own good.” 

Ivar slumped over your body, both of you completely exhausted from prior activities. It was painful but enjoyable. Neither you or Ivar made a move, too surprised at what had happened but instead laid in silence and let what had happened sink in. You absorbed it. His rough fingers touching places where no man has ever ventured or rather tried, but still maintained his limbs and life. His lips ghosting over yours then meeting in a passionate dance like a bonfire or crashing waves or swords on a battlefield. Biting, sucking, clashing, needing, tasting each other like a man deprived. He was gentle and soft, maintaining his control as he felt your discomfort. The way Ivar coaxed tender things in your ear as you held onto him like he’d suddenly leave. The way you felt all of his body. His chest, his arms, his nose, his lips, his hips, even his legs. The way he relentlessly fucked you the second time, pounding into your cunt with so much force you couldn’t help the cries that shrieked in the household where others could hear. The way you both came undone with timid and slow thrusts, staring into each other’s eyes with soft whimpers and hands held. It was too much. 

“Can I stay?” You inquired with slight nervousness. Apprehensive at the idea he might decide he doesn’t want you anymore, just wanting a fuck buddy or just a one time thing. He didn’t say anything at all, but his hand reaching out for yours was enough confirmation.

[panickinganakin]

all costs Kylo Ren x reader (au)

A/N: They're meeting Snoke! Wooooh, how spooky huh? I love some of the feedback and support I'm receiving! Thanks to everyone who continues to read! You can find the Masterlist here for previous chapters! I love soft kylo, sorry if you hate it, it’s all headcanon tbh. 

Warnings: language, angst, fear. nothing major. 

word count: 2068

You were on a shuttle, sitting in the co-pilot seat. You knew nothing about flying but Kylo assured you he had it under control and needed no help. It was beautiful, watching the way space passed around you through the window. 

You felt your stomach tighten as the ship started to slow down, “Kylo?”

“Master Ren,” he reminded you. Though he told you call him Kylo, he said you had to call him this in front of Snoke. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled reaching up to scratch the back of your neck. “Master Ren, if this doesn’t go as planned... If I don’t leave with you after this, I want to thank you. Thank you for seeing something in me, for taking the time to train me in what little ways you have.”

“It’s not what I seen in you, it’s what’s in your DNA. Don’t forget, it’s the midi-chlorians that did this for you. But, you need to stop doubting yourself, you are strong. We will be at a disadvantage without you.”

The comment only stung a little, he wasn’t wrong. If not for the midi-chlorians, you’d know exactly where you’d be right now. This view of the stars? Much nicer. “What do I say? What if he asks questions?”

Kylo stood up, coming over to help you undo the straps on your seat, “It’s too late to practice answers. Besides, he could ask you things, but he can see inside your head.”

You nodded, afraid to speak anymore. 

You followed Kylo off the ship, becoming more terrified than ever. The walk seemed like it took forever. There were guards dressed in red, stepping aside when you and Kylo finally arrived. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting. Come forward,” his voice was deep, and he was scary indeed. “I’ve heard many things about you, let’s waste no time. Now, Kylo Ren says you have twenty-six thousand midi-chlorians per cell. I do see it, the force is like a beacon in you. So peculiar, a maid...”

His comments made you feel stripped down, vulnerable. He knew everything about you, without meeting you one time. Maybe a lot of it was what he was told, but you wondered what else he knew.

“The sands of Tatooine, young Vader was from there... You know that, don’t you?” He was grinning, it made you uneasy. You wished you could run and hide back on the ship, you would trade everything now to be scrubbing shower walls. 

Tatooine... That’s your home. You looked to Kylo, he looked shocked. “Any relation?”

“Not a single relation. How strange, Tatooine would give two of the highest midi-chlorian children in existence. But you, you know nothing but The First Order. You were two when you were taken, almost three. And-” he stopped speaking staring at you. 

What did he see? You couldn’t remember what you had been thinking about. Did it matter? Could he see everything? He looked at Kylo, then back to you. “Strange, why didn’t you tell your Master Kylo about your dream?” Dream? Oh shit, the dream, the blonde man with the scar. You hadn’t even remembered until now. 

Kylo was looking at you angry, “What dream, Supreme Leader?”

“Y/N has already been visited by a Jedi. Anakin Skywalker.”

Who? Anakin? You looked at Kylo, your eyes pleading for help. “I didn’t remember, it was just a dream. We started training as soon as I woke up, I don’t know a thing about visits.”

“Why would he visit her?” Kylo wasn’t looking at you anymore, his voice was cold. 

“Because he failed, just as all the Jedi before him. The only Jedi you see are already dead.. What did he say?” Snoke’s voice held a large amount of curiosity. He could see Anakin visited you, why couldn’t he see what he had said?

You felt shaky, but you didn't dare lie. “He told me to fight back. I’m sorry, who is Anakin?”

“Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi. He later became a Sith, Darth Vader,” Kylo’s tone was even more cold. 

You felt foolish, but there was no way in hell you would die here. Not today. “I have no interest in aiding anyone but The First Order. The order saved me from my home and has given food and shelter all of my life. There was no rebel scum coming to my aid.” Dramatic, a nice touch. You felt honest in this, you never went hungry or without shelter. You had a protected life. 

“You mean this... But, when faced with the Jedi the pull will be strong. Where does your loyalty lie?” 

“With the order,” you didn't hesitate. You would fight by Kylo until the end. 

“Fight by Master Ren until the end? So is your loyalty with Kylo Ren or The First Order?”

“The First Order,” again you responded without missing a beat. 

You could feel Kylo’s eyes on you, you were terrified to move. “Do you mean that? You say this, but, if I asked you to kill him now, would you?”

“Supreme Leader-” Kylo started but was interrupted. 

Your head dropped, you knew the answer. No. You couldn’t take anyone’s life, could you? “I’m not strong enough, but with your guidance-”

“No. You can’t do it now, not before you’ve even seen the good. Greatness lies within you, but you’re too weak to seek it.”

“Supreme Leader, it’s only been days, if I could just have more time-”

“Do you think the rebellion will wait for your training to be done? That’s ignorant. You serve no use to me.”

Fear overcame your body. Kylo was wrong, he would be leaving without you. He would fly home alone, your cold body on the floor, just as you had seen it. Fear, anger. The rebellion wouldn’t wait, that was true. But you just needed time. 

Before you realized what you were doing, a guard on the far left of you was in air, being dragged toward you. The other guards were igniting their weapons now, but Snoke threw a hand to them, and they stopped, but you did not. 

He was just feet away now, you slung him down on his knees, it was incredible. What the force could let you do. You turned your hand, his own weapon now at his helmet “I want to fight,” you said, your voice was flat and icy, you didn’t recognize this sound of yourself. 

“You will kill him?” Snoke asked you.

The blade pushed further against the red mask, you would if it meant you lived. Your life was more important than this guard’s. You had never seen his face, you weren’t even sure if he was human. You would leave today, at all costs. 

“Spare him.” As soon as he spoke the words, you let your hand fall, the guards weapon fell with it. “Kylo Ren, you will take the girl. You will see to it she is trained properly. I expect reports.”

That was it? You would get to leave? It felt too easy, it couldn’t be. No, there had to be more. You weren’t sure what was to become of you, but you knew you would not let him down. 

You shuffled out of the room, on Kylo’s heals. Afraid to speak a word, you stayed completely silent. You made it back to the ship and Kylo still had not spoken, but he helped buckle you in, which made you feel better about the situation.

You had been flying for what felt like years before you finally broke the silence, “Kylo, please say something.”

You wished you could rip his helmet off, to see what his facial expression was at that moment. “I was right, you’re leaving with me.”

“Kylo, you know my loyalty, and where it lies, it’s with y-”

His hand went up, you fell quiet. “Don’t say it aloud. Your loyalty is with the Order, anywhere else will cause you death. Mine is with the order too, if the time came, you know what I would have to do. And I would do it. At all costs.”

At all costs. You knew, Kylo had been in your head during the whole interaction. Was he protecting you? No, you were reaching. He just needed to know what you had been thinking.

You understood, no part of you could feel angry at this. He was right, and you would die before you let him die. It was strange, filling a connection with the commander. You were sure it was because he trained you, or was training you. You weren’t anywhere near done, the thought made you ask, “What next? When we get back to Starkiller, what now?”

“I still do not trust you. You’ll stay in my quarters, we will continue training. You’ll work at my side, as my apprentice. You’ll aid my missions, you’ll learn along my side.”

You mouth twitched up in a smile, “A maid, at Kylo Ren’s side.”

“No, not a maid. A knight of Ren.”

You couldn’t help it, you busted out laughing. “A what? You sound absolutely ridiculous.”

“I have the power to kill you, to end your life right now, and you’re laughing at me? You are brave, extremely ignorant.”

You let your head fall, suppressing your laughter. When you closed your eyes you seen the man again, Anakin. You jerked up quickly, looking around. “Did you see him?”

“What are talking about? Ah, no. It’s the pull to the light. Ignore them, as best as you can. Your main concern is living, to serve the Order. Snoke says you have greatness in you, you have to see that. The power of the dark side is much stronger than the light. Everything you could imagine...”

The ride was silent after that, you were afraid to speak. Why would the light try to pull you in? You had never met anyone who was a Jedi- had you? Of course not.

When you made your way into Kylo’s quarters, you went straight for your bedroom. That was odd to think, your room, inside of the Commanders quarters. You laid in your bed, for a long while. You hated being alone with all your thoughts. Why couldn’t this misery end? A restless mind. 

You held your breath, listening for any sign of life. You heard nothing from the room next to yours, you stood up. You wanted to go talk to Kylo, but you didn’t want to bother him or overstep your bounds. You wish you knew exactly what the line was. If you’re looking for companionship you won’t find it here, you remembered him telling you that. Did he mean it? You sat in front of the wall, leaning your ear to it, pressing a hand against it. The cold felt good to you, it reminded you that you were in reality. That the things you were living through were real. 

Would it always be this busy? Your brain running endless circles around itself, was there a pause button?

“Your mind is restless, I can’t sleep. Could you, calm down, please?” Kylo had entered without a warning. You pulled yourself from the wall quickly, not wanting to seem weak. “Why were you there? You have a perfectly fine bed. Were you spying on me?” His mouth pulled into a small smile.

His night clothes made him seem different, soft. He looked like another person when the layers and capes were stripped away. He almost looked like a friend. “I felt lonely. I feel lonely, I was just looking for- a sign of life. I thought maybe your breathing would bring me comfort.” There was no point in lying, he could pull your thoughts out anyway, if he truly wanted to know. 

His smile turned to a frown, his whole demeanor shifted, he walked to your bed, sitting down. He laid back, resting his upper body against the headboard, “Come here.”

You listened, a knot forming in your throat. You took the space beside him, at a comfortable distance, still unawake of your boundaries. You both stayed silent, glad he was there. Previously feeling worlds away, you now only felt miles away. “Kylo,” you finally croaked, the tears stinging your face. “Does it end? The restless thoughts? This feeling of loneliness?”

He was quiet, you were scared to look at him, afraid he would think of you as foolish. The moments ticked by, only the sound of the two of you breathing. Your eyes finally dried up, but the pain was still in your chest. You felt warm skin on top of your hand. You looked down, his hand covered yours completely. “The restless thoughts? No. The loneliness? Sometimes.”

chapter five

tags: @bensoloslover​ @crockgoblin69​

[eat0crow]

So, Sasori is his soulmate?

Huh, Deidara didn't think his karma was that bad. But, he really must have pissed Fate off if it took dying, being resurrected against his will, and forced to fight along side Kohona, to realize, he's been partnered with his soulmate for years.

~~~

My gift for @paigyloli, as part of the @akatsuki-gift-exchange gift exchange.

(I didn't know your AO3 handle, feel free to shoot me a message so I can gift this to you.)

I hope you like! I took your prompts 'anything with Sasori' and 'something like red string of fate, or soulmate', and welp, here we are. Sorry, it's a bit late!!!

Jump Ship

Deidara really, really hates the Edo Tensei.

Because Deidara had died, he had lived, and died, exactly how he always wanted to. Existing in a single moment, more beautiful than anything this mockery of life could create. Sure, it might be marginally better, now that he’s free of Tobi-Madara-Obito-whatever’s control, but it still sucks.

Tobi stole his death from him, his most beautiful creation. His masterpiece. He stole it, and forced Deidara into a cold, unfeeling, empty bastardization of everything he believes in.

Deidara really hates Tobi. Sure, he hadn’t liked him much before, but now? Now, there aren’t words to describe just how much Deidara wants to murder him. Even if the thought of allying with Konoha shinobi kills him, he’ll do it. He’ll do anything to increase his chances of going toe to toe with the masked bastard. Deidara wants to make him beg for death.

Sasori is his partner again. It’s not a surprising development. Most of the former Akatsuki—the ones who switched sides—had been kept together. Naruto might be convinced there’s good in them, but that doesn’t mean there’s any trust between the Allied Shinobi Forces and Naruto’s group of undead missing nins. Deidara thinks it’s funny, in some weird, twisted way, that even in death, he’s still stuck with Sasori.

They work well together, years of relying on each other, and only each other, pay off. They could be soulmates, well, assuming Deidara had ever seen his mark reflected across Sasori’s chest. The delicate interweaving lattice, intersected with small shapes that could have been scorpions for all Deidara knew, had never been anywhere on Sasori’s vessel. Deidara knows, he’s seen Sasori naked enough times.

At thirteen Deidara had torn the mark open, cutting into his chest without a second thought, creating his most beautiful work of art. It was only fitting for him, after all, to tear apart the one thing on his body that never changed.

It made coming into his new vessel a shock, because, while his jutsu is gone, his soulmark lays flat over his heart. Deidara guesses that makes sense, in some bizarre, twisted way. He’s a soul inhabiting a paper husk, Sasori hadn’t come back as a puppet. Instead, he came back as the shadow of flesh and blood he was, before he started experimenting.

~~~

“I hate it here, yeah,” Deidara says, throwing himself down onto the cot in Sasori and his shared tent. His body doesn’t need sleep, it just makes everyone feel better to have the former Akatsuki members cordoned off at night. “Honestly, I don’t know how anyone does it. Hell, I don’t know how I did it, but answering to a Kage is bullshit. I’ll take being a missing nin any day.”

“I hardly find that surprising,” Sasori says, not even bothering to turn around or look up from where he’s bent over his desk. “You’re much too wild to serve under any real authority.”

“Harsh, Danna. I served under Pein just fine.”

“Please, even when Nagato was maintaining the illusion of leadership, it hardly qualified. He demanded tasks of us, yes, but he was more than happy to leave us alone between assignments.”

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right,” Deidara whines. “I can’t even say that if I lived my life over again, I would do things differently, because I'm living my life over again, and I’m dying to desert, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sasori says sarcastically, turning around to face Deidara with one brow lifted. “I commanded a network of spies, I can tell when someone won’t submit to orders. You’re one of the few shinobi who truly has no master.”

Deidara feels his mouth dry up the second Sasori turns to look him fully, it’s the first time he’s seen him shirtless since they’ve come back. It hasn’t come up, and Deidara can’t be more thankful that this moment happened in private. He wouldn’t have been able to handle an audience. He’s not sure he’ll even be able to handle it now when it’s just the two of them. Because, standing out against the stark, white of Sasori’s skin is his mark, mirrored perfectly back to him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Deidara forces himself to ask, “How long have you had that mark for?” It may seem stupid, but Deidara has been partners with Sasori for years, and he’s never seen it before.

Sasori looks puzzled for a moment, before following Deidara’s line of sight to his chest. “You mean my soulmark?”

“No, I mean your kidney scar. Of course, I mean your soulmark, you fucking idiot!” Deidara says fervently, carefully keeping his voice lowered to avoid drawing an unwanted audience.

“Forever, I suppose.” There’s a pause, before Sasori continues, “I forgot about it.”

“How can you forget about a soulmark?” There’s a lot of thinly, veiled anger in his voice, Deidara might not have poured much faith into the system, but it still burned to hear that he could be discarded without a second thought.

“I didn’t feel the need to include it into my puppet’s body,” Sasori says, carefully neutral. “It was an unnecessary reminder of the humanity I wanted to leave behind. It hasn’t been a part of me in almost twenty years, and even before then, my soulmate hadn’t been born when I transferred vessels.”

“Oh.” Deidara hasn’t thought about their age difference in—ever. Maybe at first, he did, but Sasori’s stuck in a sixteen-year-old’s body, it’s unspeakably easy for Deidara to forget that Sasori had stopped aging the year he was born.

Things make a lot of sense now, Deidara’s always felt a form of stasis from his mark, it’s not the cold, empty feeling of a severed bond, it’s perfectly numb, the one thing in both of Deidara’s lives that’s unchanging.

“It’s hardly of consequence,” Sasori says, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “I can’t feel anything from them, the connection is numb, and I don’t understand it. They’re not dead, the bond isn’t empty, and they’re alive now. I can tell, but everything is static. I hate it.”

“I thought true art was enduring, yeah. You know, something that stays perfectly the same forever,” Deidara says cheekily. He’s being a bit of a bastard, but Sasori deserves a taste of what Deidara has had to live with for nineteen years.

“This isn’t art, this is annoying,” Sasori bites back. “If anything, this is proof of the Edo Tensei’s inferiority.”

“You’re missing the obvious, my man,” Deidara says, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He picks at the scratchy fabric of the blanket. It’s not easy to say, despite having years to have crafted the conversation in his head. “Clearly, your soulmate’s jumped ship and gotten himself another vessel. Hey, maybe he decided to follow in your footsteps, and get a nice puppet one, yeah. That would be cool. Karma, you know?”

Sasori scowls, it's cute now that Deidara can see his brow pinch. His puppet was never great at facial expressions. They always fell flat, the wood refusing to move much past it’s carefully neutral, resting face. Deidara gets up, kicking a discarded pile of puppet parts aside, Sasori’s frown deepens at the action, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Listen,” Deidara starts, tugging off his cloak, and throwing it down. It lands somewhere next to a pile of rejected legs. He’ll have Sasori get it for him later, he might not be able to be poisoned anymore, but his touch is nowhere near gentle enough for the puppets. “You can’t make a big deal out of this. It doesn’t change anything, okay?”

“I’ve seen your mark Deidara,” Sasori says, turning his head away in dismissal. He reaches down, grabbing the third Kazekage’s puppet, turning its glassy, unseeing eyes on him.

There’s history there, Deidara doesn’t want to get into it. Especially now, when he can see the small wistful expression that crosses Sasori’s face as he handles the puppet. Everyone has their flaws.

“You really haven’t.” Because, Sasori has seen his mark, yes, but he’s only seen the bastardized version of it. The mark looks completely different, now that it's not being held closed by stitches and lacks a mouth. “Like I said, it changes nothing.”

Slowly, with careful, precise movements, Deidara lifts his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the ground.

There’s a moment of dead silence, the tension in the air painfully thick as Sasori takes him in, as he closes the gap between them. Tentatively, Sasori reaches out, and traces over the mark on Deidara’s chest, skimming the edges with feather-light touches. Deidara lets him. He can't feel anything in this body, this vessel, the sentiment is still there though.

“It’s different,” Sasori says.

“It’s a match,” Deidara says back, reaching up to grab Sasori's hand, placing it more firmly against his heart—against where his heart was. “We’re dead, that’s why it feels numb. Our corpses are decaying, well, yours is. Mine’s disintegrated.”

“You felt this.” Sasori pulls back, just a little, enough to meet Deidara’s eyes without straining to look up. “You felt this static for years. No wonder you’re insane.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Deidara lets Sasori’s hand fall, instead, he brings his own up to run through his hair, it’s a nervous habit. “But, yeah, it sucked ass. I hadn’t thought about it before, but the numbness was probably because your puppet’s body didn’t exactly feel things. Now, it’s probably because these husks are glorified paper mache.”

“Right,” Sasori says, and this time Deidara swears he sounds sad. “That would make sense. As shades, we lack a physical presence to influence the bond. My previous vessel was very much the same.”

“Hmm,” Deidara hums, it doesn’t do either of them any good to focus on the past, all they’ll do is dwell on regrets. “Well, you live and learn. Though, I guess, we’re not exactly living at the moment. We’re just sort of possessing vessels, yeah.”

“Possessing vessels.” Sasori chews on the words, rolling them back and forth across his tongue. His eyes drift down to the pile of parts Deidara had kicked less than five minutes ago.

Deidara sees the gleam in Sasori’s eyes as he reaches down into the pile, and reflexively, takes a step back. The tricky thing about Sasori is, that at first glance, he doesn’t appear dangerous, but then you see the ruthless look of pure, chaotic energy bubbling in his eyes, and you realize, Sasori is as morally bankrupt as they come.

Deidara gulps as Sasori takes a step closer. “Sasori, my man—”

Sasori is undeterred, pausing only minutely to toss Deidara a spare arm. Deidara catches it, if only thanks to years of practice dodging puppet parts. “Do you think you could transfer your kinjutsu into that?”

He weighs the hand, turning it over with a critical eye. “Maybe, if it wasn’t wooden. You might not know this, but explosives don’t exactly play nice with chakra infused timber.”

“Porcelain, then,” Sasori says, moving toward his workbench. “Maybe a non-conductive metal.”

“I’m missing something here,” Deidara proclaims, throwing the arm at the back of Sasori’s head. He doesn’t bother catching it, instead, Sasori lets it rip through him.

“You very rarely aren’t.” Sasori dismisses.

The Third Kazekage loses an arm to Sasori’s hunt. Deidara gets far more satisfaction than he should watching Sasori disassemble the puppet. He’s on a hunt, it’ll be awhile before Deidara can pull him out of whatever project he’s just thought up. Hell, with these new vessels—ones that don’t require even the pseudo rest Sasori’s last one did—it might be weeks before he’ll be able to steal any attention.

“Why must you insult me?” Deidara asks rhetorically. “Can you, at least, fill me in? Before you jump down whatever rabbit hole your brain’s decided on.”

Sasori seems to debate for a moment, but Deidara’s not the only one who knows his partner well. Sasori knows that if he doesn’t tell Deidara something now, he’ll never get any peace later.

“You said you wanted to be a missing nin again.”

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

The Willow Maid Part 3

@waiting4inspiration​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ sorry this took forever to update. More sacriligious bible references? Check. Angst? Check. Fluff? Check. Enjoy. 

The Willow Maid 

Part 3

Floki woke up in his bed once more, not remembering coming back to his bed, the last thing he remembered was catching up with his deceased wife and daughter until he collapsed. 

But his heart and his soul were healed. The way an old scar is given balm to soften it before it reheals anew. 

“You live son of Odin, I thought you were going to climb through and pass right over into the next plane.” Rayth greeted in amusement as she came in with a large brunch since he had slept for over a day to recover. “How do you feel?” She asked thoughtfully. 

“Healed.” Floki answered honestly. 

“Good, it’s important to heal the mind, heart, spirit and soul along with healing the body.” She nodded in agreement as she casually picked a pear to munch on it as he devoured his large feast that she brought him. 

“I can’t begin to thank you.” Floki offered meekly as he paused in eating to look her in the eye. 

“You’re welcome, after you’ve eaten, I’ll take you back to your people.” Rayth informed him and Floki was strangely saddened and disappointed that his time with her was over. 

“So soon?” He asked. 

“Yes, you are needed back at your new home, your people will need more guidance.” Rayth explained. 

“Oh,” Floki nodded in understanding before he begrudgingly continued to eat the meal. Once he was done Rayth gave him back his previous clothes and had him get dressed while she got her parting gift to him together. 

“What’s this?” He asked when she handed him two heavy burlap sacks connected by a thick rope. 

“A parting gift, you will find seeds in one and saplings in another. Plant them wherever you wish, they will sprout and grow and in abundance, no more will your little settlement go hungry.” She explained. Her own expression melancholy before she took his hand and led him out of the tree and down the steps around the outside of the tree like a spiral staircase, the bark changing as they descended until they were back in the settlement. 

“How will the settlement be able to worship their patron goddess?” Floki asked. 

“Be kind to the women and children in your life. No one is to rape or harm another.” She repeated. 

“What kind of offerings will give you the most joy?” He asked second. 

“A wildflower or two, Your settlement is still very small, I would not want to put any kind of burden on anyone. So when the settlement is stable, all the houses for the people are built and the crops are abundant, then I will take 3 or 4 wildflowers, whatever you find growing on the way to this alter.” She answered as she gestured to the hollowed out opening in the tree they were standing at the base of, not too far away from the settlement, just barely into the trees. 

“Also, these were the animals left at the other alters, I want you to have them so they could help you and your settlement.” She explained as a few cattle and some sheep and goats came out of a doorway in the tree as they surrounded them, twine tied around them in halters and leads before she handed the lead twine to him. 

“Goodbye Floki, son of Odin.” She bid him before she turned and walked up the steps again, the bark of the tree changing to that of the old and as soon as she turned out of sight, it was like the tree returned to normal, the door closing up to become the hollowed out tree it had been and the light that had been shining down on them from her tree vanishing and that left Floki standing there in the forest with the animals looking expectantly at him, wishing he could still say goodbye before he found a small tiny flower growing near his feet and picked it and laid it in the hollow tree trunk. 

“Goodbye Rayth, thank you for everything, I will miss you dearly.” He whispered before he picked up the bags once more and walked the short distance away to find his small settlement, amazed he was alive. 

“Where have you been?” They asked. 

“I was in the World Tree with a new goddess, daughter of Lilith and Loki- Rayth, she has given me seeds and saplings so that our settlement will no longer grow hungry ever again and all these animals.” He answered as he showed them the bags and what was inside as the animals then decided to graze on the grass around them. 

“We must plant them all as quickly as possible.” The settlers agreed and took them and quickly planted everything before a storm seemed to come out of nowhere and the moment everything was planted- it started to rain a warm rain and Floki stayed out in it, feeling and knowing that this was Rayth’s rain and happily let it drench him before he went back into a tent. 

To his delight- everything that they planted grew 10 times as fast as any other plant and in just a matter of a week, they were able to harvest a crop so abundant that the storehouse they built for them- it all didn’t fit to the point they had to build two more store houses. They had pumpkin, squash and gourds, beans, wheat, rye and barley and oats including fruits, like grapes, apples and pears and all kinds of berries and a nearby river was now teaming with salmon and other fish. 

Floki then showed them the tree that would become their alter as everyone left a handful of wildflowers as was asked and Floki and his people felt her blessing. 

But there were still burning questions that Floki wanted answered, so he left a handful of wildflowers at the altar and laid on his belly and waited, and waited, and waited some more, patient as ever until finally he saw movement. 

“Waiting for me?” Raith asked as she opened up the altar and leaned her arms over the ledge so they were face to face as he handed her the flowers which she gratefully took. 

“Yes, I have some questions if you have the time and patience to answer them.” He explained. 

“For you? I do, come on through,” she invited and Floki crawled on his belly through the altar and back into her home. 

“Tea?” She asked as she helped him stand up. 

“Yes please,” Floki nodded as he followed her through her house, remembering how it seemed to be a maze before she went to her kitchen and put a kettle of hot water in the fire to heat up as he took a seat at the little table she had there in her kitchen. 

“So? What are your questions?” She prompted once the tea was done and she served both of them a cup of it. 

“Is there another reason why you don’t like animal sacrifices or the blood of animals?” He asked thoughtfully and judging by her painful facial expression and suddenly rigid poster that he seemed to have struck a nerve. 

“If I tell you, you have to promise to never repeat it and never bring this matter up again.” Rayth warned. 

“I swear.” Floki vowed. 

“In the beginning- of the creation of man, after the first man Adam rejected my mother because she demanded to be treated as an equal instead of a subservient, the Creator- he made for Adam a second woman, made from his rib rather than the very earth he was, Eve- who was submissive, young, naive, fragile and completely dependant on Adam. Everything my mother was the opposite of. They sinned and became imperfect- because my father vowed to avenge my mother, because after Adam rejected my mother, she was kicked out of the garden like paradise- called Eden.  So once Adam and Eve were out- they had children, many children, their first born was Cain and a second son was Able. Cain and Abel both sought to regain the Creator’s favor. I was the firstborn of my parents, so we all kind of grew up together and I fell in love with Abel and since I was a direct descendant of the Creator since my father was a son of the Creator and my mother the Creator’s creation- and closer to perfection than he was, Able asked me how to gain the Creator’s favor. And I loved him so much that I told him exactly how to do it. The Creator gave life, so life should be given back to him, and you know as well as I do that blood is life.” Rayth recalled, her voice becoming thick with emotion as a single tear streamed down her face at the memories as Floki reached out and held her hand in sympathy. 

“So Abel promised me that if his first sacrifice was accepted, he would make another for me, so that I could be completely human with him and be his wife and I couldn’t hardly wait because the Creator has that power. But then…” Rayth broke down into sobs before Floki stood up and pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly and consoled her physically since he didn’t want to say anything and interrupt her revelation. 

“Cain offered his best vegetation, Abel sacrificed a lamb, the Creator approved of Abel’s sacrifice but he did not approve of Cains. And Cain became so angry and wrathful that he killed Abel. The first murder on earth and it was all my fault, if I hadn’t told Abel about the power of life’s blood or if I had just lied, he would have lived. Life belongs to the Creator, all sacrifices made to any god but him are all made in part to my father instead because my father is the father to every god but the Creator who is his father in turn. How can I take delight or pleasure in the very thing that was responsible for Abel’s death? It’s so abhorrent to me. Every time I see it, I get sick because it reminds me of Able and every time I see my parents or my siblings getting drunk off of it- I get sick. Because it doesn’t belong to any of us, it belongs to the Creator and only him.” Rayth bawled into his chest. “But if that wasn’t enough- the Creator actually protected that murderer! He forbade anyone from striking him and put a curse on him so great that even I couldn’t strike at him. And when Cain founded the land of Exile, because of the Creator’s protection, I couldn’t even set foot in it! It’s all my fault and I’ve been powerless to do anything about it.” Rayth lamented. 

“No, none of this is your fault! It’s Cain’s fault, he’s the one who got angry and wrathful. All you have done was provided a way for those to find favor of the gods who want it. That is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed or guilty over. I am so sorry that this Cain took your love away from you, trust me, I know exactly what that feels like.” Floki sympathized as he stroked Rayth’s back lovingly. 

“So what happened next?” He asked. 

“The Creator offered me recompense, and he allowed me to return to the garden of eden and offered me this tree as my home and it will stay mine until Abel is brought back in the resurrection, and then and only then will I be reunited with him. But it’s just...so long to wait.” She answered. 

“How long have you been waiting?” He asked. 

“Over five millenia.” She answered with a huff of a laugh. “I figure I will wait a few more before I am reunited with him.” She ventured. 

“Then I will come and help you wait, distract you if need be.” He offered. 

“Ok.” She nodded.

[iridescentwinters]

with a heavy heart

— summary: au! it was the monday after, a.k.a nora’s first day. and while making new friends, she learns about her old ones. more specifically her old best friend.

↳ part three of the four-part series “puppy love”

↳ also available on ao3

nora inhaled the cool spanish breeze.

oh yeah, she thought giddily, i most definitely am back home.

luckily, nora’s father hadn’t sold the house after they left, so they managed to move back without finding a new place.

nora smiled, as she looked outside her bedroom window and caught sight of her swing set. she had pretty good memories there, with alejandro especially.

alejandro…. the name made her smile fade slowly. her eyes then trail over to the house next to hers. maybe it was because she hadn’t seen the place in so long, but it seemed so… lifeless. the colour most definitely let her know that the de miguels were in due for a repaint job.

but the lights were out. and it was only early evening. did they move out? she wondered. no way, she thought with a shake her head. it was alejandro’s great grandmother’s place and his sister isabella loved it. she turned away from the window, after deciding on not giving it more thought. she was only a year older than me but was still a kid. she obviously lost the whole home sentiment.

“nora.” her father called her name after knocking on her slightly ajar door. “your mother’s calling for dinner.”

nora looked back at the man. “she managed to cook?” she asked, surprised. mr grace shrugged. “if your definition of cooking is pouring water into three cups of mac n’ cheese, then yes. she did.”

the girl smiled. “can’t say no to instant mac n’ cheese.”

of course the weekend passed by quick, and nora found herself looking into the mirror, straightening out her already straightened clothes. she applied her signature red lipstick (something she picked up from her mother), but was wondering if it was a bit much. sighing, she scolded herself. stop overthinking everything!

grabbing her bag which was on the floor, she looked through her window again. her father had gone for a quick stop at the minimart that was around the corner and passed by the house to see if anyone was home, but he found that it was empty. so the de miguels did move out. nora wondered if they left the country.

standing up straighter, she held her head up high like how her mother taught her to whenever she was anxious or afraid, before turning on her heel and walking out of her room. it didn’t matter if he was still here or not. they weren’t friends anymore, and she’d make new friends. she gulped at the thought of new friends. hopefully she did.

her parents were already sitting at the dining table. the kitchen was starting to look normal again because of the grocery shopping they did over the weekend. mrs grace set a bowl of cereal at the vacant spot of the table, along with a glass of water. there was a brown bag sitting on the kitchen counter. “ready for your first day?” she asked. nora nodded, despite feeling quite the opposite of ready. she was feeling the normal first day jitters, and she wasn’t really in the mood to listen to her parents saying that everything was going to be fine.

half an hour later, the three of them were in a car, on the way to the first destination which was nora’s new high school. once they reached the school, mr and mrs grace looked back at their daughter.

“have a good first day, baby.” mrs grace said. “remember, don’t trust everyone immediately.” mr grace warned. that made nora’s heart drop.

“i’m not naïve like that anymore, dad.” she muttered, fiddling with her chain. mrs grace gave her husband a pointed look, but that didn’t change his stern expression much. “i know you aren’t. it’s a reminder.”

i think i have enough memories that serve as reminders, thank you very much, she thought sarcastically. not wanting to start an argument, she nodded. “okay. see you later.”

“do you need a ride after school?” mrs grace asked. “your dad could–”

“nope. i’ll walk. bye!” nora said hurriedly, getting out of the car. their house wasn’t that far from their place anyway.

walking up to the school, her eyes scanned her surroundings. she couldn’t really identify anyone yet. a good sign, i guess? she thought, before entering the building. it was definitely much larger than her middle school.

here we go.

looking around, she tried to find the office to get her schedule and locker number and key, but found it to no avail. sighing, she knew she had to ask someone. who should i ask?

looking forward, she saw a hijabi leaning against the row of lockers, on her phone. nora walked to her. “hola.” she greeted, starling the girl a little. “hola.” she replied, putting her phone away. “need something?” she asked a little curtly, but nora understood why. everyone that was passing by them were giving them–her weird looks, and if they were with a friend, they’d immediately break into whispers. people really have nothing better to do other than gossip, huh. and have they never heard of muslim women who wore hijabs before?

“i’m new here.” nora admitted. “and i’m kinda having trouble finding the office. could you help me out?”

the other girl’s eyebrows raise. she then kicks herself off of the lockers. “new, eh?” when nora nodded, she shot another question. “where you from?”

“the states.” nora replied. “wisconsin, specifically. i used to live here, though.”

the girl nodded in understanding. “cool. i’m amira.” she said, extending her hand out. nora took it, and shook. “nora. nice to meet you.”

amira tried to hide a smile creeping onto her face. “well, what are we waiting for? let’s get you to the office.”

the girls talked more as they walked to the office and they found out that they were in the same grade. then after picking up her schedule, they also noticed they shared quite a few classes together too.

as amira continued to talk while they walked to their first period, nora smiled. my first friend, she realised. that wasn’t bad.

lunch rolled in and nora was currently sitting in the school cafeteria with amira and three other girls; viri, cris and eva. she’d met the other girls in her classes through amira and they immediately welcomed her into their friend group. speaking of classes, turned out that at the mention of her name, some people did recognise her and vice versa. and it wasn’t as scary talking to them again.

it really was just the first day jitters.

while they talked, cristian appeared at their table and greeted them–well, eva, and invited them to a party this friday. nora knew for a fact it was the awkward scrawny kid cris she knew. he still had that scar on his eyebrow.

cris didn’t seem to recognise her, though. he smiled at her. “hola,” he greeted her, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around. i definitely would’ve remembered a face like yours.” he sounded flirty.

nora smiled at him fondly. definitely not because of his greeting, but how much he changed over the years. he definitely boosted in the confidence area. “nora.” she said, as he kissed her cheeks.

cris’ eyebrows furrowed in thought for a few seconds, before returning back to his normal facial expression. “well, nice to meet you. and i expect to see all of you on friday.” and after puckering his lips in eva’s direction, he walked off.

nora looked at eva with her eyebrow raised. “he seems to fancy you.” she teased. eva rolled her eyes. “he’s a fuckboy,” she deadpanned, “he likes everyone.”

nora laughed. she then brought her water bottle to her lips, drinking out of it.

viri squealed. “we definitely have to go!” she exclaimed. “alejandro’s definitely going to be there.”

nora suddenly choked on her water at the mention of an alejandro. the girls looked back at her in concern. cris patted her back. “you okay, girl?” the blonde asked, and nora nodded. “yeah, drank too quickly.” she rushed out a response awkwardly. “um, who’s alejandro?”

viri’s jaw dropped. “you still don’t know who alejandro is?” she asked, before looking at amira accusingly (who lifted her hands up in surrender). cris grabbed eva’s phone from her hands, and went onto instagram.

“this, is alejandro.” she said, tapping on one of the photos.

and nora knew that it was her best friend alejandro. she’d recognise that narrow pale face and those hazel eyes anywhere. she let cris show her all of his photos, and despite always finding him handsome, he definitely left the baby look in the past.

nora also noticed that he barely smiled in any of the photos. maybe he left that behind too, she thought. cris closed the app, and handed her phone back to eva. “and viri’s soo in love with him.”

viri?

nora looked up at the beaming girl. “you like him?” she asked. the other girl grinned sheepishly. “he’s cute! the cutest. and sooo nice.”

amira snorted. “just because he said sorry after bumping into you doesn’t make him the nicest person.” she sassed. and before viri could have a say, she continued. “also, he’s a fuckboy too. he’s humping and dumping. pretty sure i saw him making out with alicia yesterday.”

cris let out a series of ‘ooo’s. “also saw denise crying in the bathroom yesterday.” she lowered her voice. “alejandro dumped her over text. apparently it was pretty rough.”

nora’s face fell. alejandro? she thought to herself uneasily. no, that couldn’t be my alejandro. the ale i knew couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“he just needs someone to change him.” viri stated confidently. eva smiled sarcastically. “and it’ll be you, won’t it, mrs beltrán de miguel?” she joked, elbowing the girl.

all the colour drained out of nora’s face.

it was alejandro.

“you okay, honey?”

nora stopped picking on the food on her plate and looked up at her mother. “yup.” she said, nodding for better effect. in reality, she really wasn’t. her head couldn’t wrap around the thought of alejandro becoming…. someone like that. what happened? what changed? she was in dire need for answers, but she had a feeling she’d never get them.

mr grace wasn’t at the table with them. he was still at the office. nora wasn’t expecting otherwise. usually, he’d come home at around 9 earliest. most days it was just nora and mrs grace having dinner together.

the older woman pursed her lips together as if she wanted to say something, but she eventually didn’t and dropped the matter. the two sat in silence, continuing with their dinner. all the small talk was done earlier that evening.

not feeling hungry anymore, nora stood up from the table and cleared out her plate before placing it into the dishwasher. she looked at her mother. “i’ll just be in my room doing homework.” she said half-heartedly. mrs grace nodded.

before she managed to make it to the stairs, the doorbell rang. nora’s eyebrows furrowed. who could that be? her dad wouldn’t be ringing the bell, he had a key. and she hadn’t disclosed her address to anyone at school.

maybe it’s a neighbour.

“i’ll get it!” she yelled, and walked to the door. peering through the peephole, her face fell. shock overtook her features. wait, that’s….

ding dong!

“nora?” her mother said her name. “i thought you had it!”

“i-i do.” she responded a little incoherently. she finally opened the door.

she was standing face-to-face with alejandro beltrán de miguel.  

[a7xlizardqueen]

Title: Aura Malfoy

CHAPTER: 1/? 

PAIRING: No pairing yet. Eventually OFC/Remus Lupin, OFC/Sirius Black, OFC/Seamus Finnigan, OFC/Harry Potter

RATING: NC-17/MA – seriously, do not read this if you are under 18!

SUMMARY: I don’t like writing summaries. I’m not good at it. This is a canon-following story. I use both the books and the movies. Will be mostly set in the Golden Trio era, with memories and flashbacks from the Marauders era.

NOTES/WARNINGS: It starts out pretty tame. Follows to the plot of the books for the most part. There will eventually be violence, torture, mentions of PTSD, mentions of sexual assault, there will be smut, death, as I go along I will add more warnings. Again, please do not read if you are under 18, or are easily triggered.

-X-X-X-

Aura Malfoy was not an ordinary woman. She was a witch; an exceptional witch. She had once fought with the fierceness of a lioness, and the cunning of a fox. She could stun an opponent in a second without the slightest incantation or change in facial feature. Magic came very easily to her. Even at a young age, anyone who met her knew she would be extraordinary one day. She bested her older brother Lucius, even when she was at her worst.

Yet now she hid away in a small country cottage, rarely venturing out. Almost no one she knew in her youth knew whether she was alive or not, though to be fair, not many of the people she knew in her youth were alive either. There was only one person on the face of the Earth that knew where she lived. So when the alarm of her Intruder Charm was set off one sunny July afternoon, Aura knew the day she dreaded most had come.

She had been sitting in a plush armchair in front of the large picture window in the front sitting room of her little English cottage. She had been reading the morning's edition of The Daily Prophet, England's most-read magical newspaper, which came to her under the name of Cordelia Darkmore, and listening to her favourite singer Celestina Warbeck, glancing up every few seconds to make sure her 11-year-old daughter was still playing in the yard. She never let her daughter out of her sight.

When the shrill cry of the Intruder Charm sounded Aura jumped out of her chair with the same agility she'd had so many years ago and silenced it quickly. Immediately crossing the room to the front door, she called for her daughter to come into the house.

"Felis, go into your room, lock the door, and don't come out unless I say, do you understand?"

The little girl nodded and ran into the hallway. The sound of her door slamming came moments later. Aura paced the room anxiously as she waited for the visitor to make their way up the wooded path that led to the front door. Turning towards a mirror in the wall, she smoothed her hands down her long black robes and patted down her hair.

Aura always exuded poise and elegance. She had been raised to always appear at her best, and that had stuck with her even after she had forsaken her family. As she looked at herself in the mirror she couldn't help but stare at the large reminder on her face of times she wished she could forget.

"Tell me where the Order's headquarters are," his voice hissed as he circled around her in the dark, black room. Several people wearing masks stood around, watching.

He waited only a matter of seconds before growling in anger. He flicked his wand and recited, "Crucio."

Aura flinched at the memory of the pain that had come next. She would have given almost anything to remove the great ugly scar from her face and forget the feeling of when it had been put there. Most of all she wished she could forget the sound of Him laughing as it was done.

Finally there came a soft knock at the door. Aura turned, held up her wand as sparks flew from the tip, and the door slowly opened to reveal a skinny old man, with long hair and beard as white as snow, wearing long flowing velvet robes of deep burgundy. He smiled amusingly and looked at Aura over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"It's good to see you too, Aura." Dumbledore said pleasantly as he stepped over the threshold and held his hands out to Aura, as if she hadn't just been pointing her wand at him.

She placed her hands in his and embraced him warmly. Dumbledore had been something of a father to her after she had left her family at sixteen. He had helped her find this little cottage in the middle of nowhere and had added every protection possible. He followed her into the sitting room and they each took seats on the settee. He picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet curiously.

"Cordelia Darkmore," he noted with a chuckle.

"Brandy?" Aura offered, as two large glasses of golden liquid came floating in from the adjacent room.

"Thank you, my dear. Now-"

"I know," Aura interrupted, "she's old enough. She has to go. I can't keep her from living."

"Actually, I was going to ask how you've been." Dumbledore smiled, "After all, ten years is a long time."

Aura's composure faltered and she took a sip of her brandy, "I don't think about myself anymore, Albus. It hurts too much."

"I know I taught you to close your mind, Aura, but don't hide from yourself. No good ever comes of that."

"The only thing I care about any more is keeping her safe. There's nothing else to think about. The man I loved betrayed me, and all my friends are dead."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, "They're not all dead, and there are more friends to be made, and plenty more men out there."

"Oh yes, every one of them'd love to look at this every day," she scoffed and pointed to the scar on her face.

"I would."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, that I am offering you a position at Hogwarts, as a nurse in the Hospital Wing."

"Why ever would you do that?"

"If memory serves me correctly, you mended quite a few wounds in your time at Hogwarts, and Hippocrates Smethwyck thought extremely highly of you during your Healer training."

"You'd trust me out there? I'm almost as mad as Alastor."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, and you'll be able to keep an eye on Felis, although I assure you, she'll be as safe as can possibly be."

Aura stared at the wall behind Dumbledore's head. She wasn't sure she could leave the safety of her cottage. There were so many dangers out there in the real world. And yet, she knew she couldn't let Felis go alone.

"You do know who is at Hogwarts, don't you?" Dumbledore asked as he peered over the top of his spectacles, "He has his mother's eyes."

Aura's heart gave a lurch. Harry.

"All right."

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore exclaimed, "Now, I must see her before I leave. I have to admit I'm very curious to see the little dear."

Aura waved her wand and the sound of a door opening could be heard from the back of the house. Small footsteps tapped their way to the front. The tapping stopped just at the end of the hall, the first thing to appear was a mass of wavy, black hair which stood at all ends. Next came two large, blue eyes. The little girl gave a gasp and then ran into the sitting room, skidding to a halt very close to Dumbledore's feet.

"You're Dumbledore!" she exclaimed.

Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes disappearing as he smiled, "That I am. I see your mother has mentioned me."

"She says you're the greatest wizard there ever was!"

Aura's cheeks turned a deep shade of scarlet as Dumbledore moved his gaze towards her, "Well, your mother is one of the best I've ever seen come through Hogwarts."

"Am I going to Hogwarts, mummy?" the little girl asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Yes, my dear, you are."

As she watched her daughter talk excitedly with Dumbledore, she thought about what it would be like to return to Hogwarts after so long, and roam the familiar halls; return to the one place that had always held comfort and safety for her. And Harry was there. She never had the chance to meet him, having been captured before he was born. She was utterly terrified.

-X-X-X-

"Hold on to my hand, Felis. Tight, yes just like that," Aura and Felis stood in the centre of the sitting room, wearing long, black traveling cloaks. Felis clutched onto her mother's hand nervously.

"Now close your eyes, this may make you dizzy."

Aura closed her eyes tight and Felis followed suit, her face scrunching up as she did so. Their ears filled with the sound of a loud crack, and Felis felt as if she were being pulled through a tight hole and then thrown back on to her feet. She could now hear people talking and walking not far from where she stood.

"Open your eyes now, dear."

Felis opened her eyes and gasped. She was standing at the end of an alley, looking into a busy street, muggles walking in every direction. Her mother began to pull her down the street, heading towards a small tavern. No one else seemed to notice the run-down looking pub. Aura headed straight for the door and pushed Felis through before she followed. Heads turned towards them as they entered. The room had gone silent as every head turned to stare at them. Aura seemed not to notice as she led Felis straight through to the back of the pub where they stood in front of a brick wall.

Felis stared at it, wondering whether her mother had gone mad. Aura took out her wand, tapped one of the bricks and suddenly the bricks began to move as first a hole appeared, gradually getting bigger and bigger until a large archway stood where the brick wall once did. Felis and Aura both gasped at the sight of the extremely busy street as wizards and witches both young and old talked and shouted and bustled up and down the street, glancing into shop windows.

There's too many people, Aura thought, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, It's too dangerous.

She didn't have time enough to hesitate, however, as Felis began to pull her into the crowd, staring excitedly into the shop windows. Aura stared all around her. Many witches and wizards were now looking at her curiously, muttering to each other. Her chest tightened in fear.

"Mummy, what do we do first? Can we go in the joke shop?" Felis asked excitedly, completely unaware of the turmoil going on in her mother's head.

Regaining her usual composure, Aura forced a smile and shook her head and took a deep breath, "We won't be able to get anything until we go to Gringotts. This way."

Aura pulled Felis along down the street, Felis attempting to get a peek into more shop windows. Her attention was brought back as they approached the white steps that led into the extremely large and intimidating looking building. Slanted columns stood on either side of the door. Felis couldn't help but stare at the goblin, who was around the same height as her, wearing a scarlet and gold uniform as they entered, he was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. She also couldn't help but notice that the goblin stared curiously at her mother, similar to the people in the pub. They walked through the entrance and into a vast marble hall. On either side of them were long, shining counters, hundreds of goblins standing behind them. Aura approached one of the counters and looked up at the goblin confidently.

"I would like access to my vault, please."

The goblin looked at her in surprise, "Aura Bl-"

"Malfoy," she interrupted quickly, "Aura Malfoy. And please add my daughter Felis to the account as well."

The goblin stared for a moment, then nodded, "Griphook! Take them down to vault 711."

Aura and Felis followed the new goblin called Griphook down to the end of the hall and through a door that led into a narrow stone passageway, lit with flaming torches. It looked nothing like the great hall they'd just come from. Aura stood stock still, back straight as Griphook whistled and a cart came hurtling towards them on a rail track. Aura helped Felis into the cart after the goblin, and then climbed in behind her. Once they were settled the cart took off, speeding through a maze of rail tracks and vaults. They were going much too fast for Felis to get a good look at any of the vaults but she was pretty sure they had gone quite deep underground.

Finally the cart began to slow and they came to a stop in front of a large iron door wedged into the stone wall. Griphook climbed out of the cart, and Aura and Felis followed. Aura handed Griphook her key and when he turned it in the lock, the door opened with a loud clang. The door opened to reveal mountains of gold, silver, and bronze as well as other very old looking objects that must have been passed down for centuries.

"This is ours?" Felis exclaimed.

"Yes," Aura said hesitantly, then turned abruptly to Griphook, "There's too much in here, where did the excess come from?"

Griphook looked at her for a moment before clearing his throat, "Your half of your inheritance was added to the vault a few years ago, as instructed by your brother."

Aura's heart gave a strange lurch. She hadn't been very fond of her father, but it still hurt to hear that he was dead, "I see."

She turned back towards the vault and began to collect the various coins in to her purse. Felis slid down a hill of coins beside her mother, giggling to herself.

"Mummy, what's this?" Felis exclaimed as she held up a large diamond ring on a gold band.

Once again Aura's heart lurched at the sight of her wedding ring.

"It's beautiful!"

"Leave it alone, it's nothing."

Felis turned at the sound of her mother's voice. She'd never heard it so angry before. She gave the ring one last curious glance before letting it fall back on to the pedestal. Maybe it had something to do with her father. To this day, her mother would not speak of him, wouldn't even tell her what colour his eyes were, never mind his name. She shuffled out of the vault, waiting for her mother to finish inside.

-X-X-X-

Felis entered Ollivander's wand shop after her mother. The shop was dark and dusty, with piles and piles of long thin boxes scattered all over. She jumped as a thin man with white, wiry hair sticking up at all ends suddenly poked his head out from behind a large bookcase. He smiled widely and came to greet them at the counter.

"Aura Malfoy!" he cheered, "Oh, Ebony and phoenix feather, 11 1/2 inches."

"Yes," Aura smiled, "My daughter Felis is needing her first wand, now."

Mr. Ollivander's smile faltered slightly as he glanced at Felis, then he stepped around the corner and took out a tape measure which began to take her measurements of its own accord as Mr. Ollivander noted each one. After a few minutes he bounded away through the shelves and came back with a long silver box. Inside was a thin, delicate looking wand of a dark brown colour.

"10-inch vine with dragon heartstring. Give that a whirl."

Felis flicked her wrist slightly but nothing shot out of the wand at all. Ollivander went streaking through the shelves again and came back with a velvet box. The wand inside was quite long and almost pure white.

"Aspen and phoenix feather, 13 inches."

Again, the wand did nothing spectacular as Felis took hold of it. Several different wands later, Felis was beginning to think that she would never get a wand when Mr. Ollivander came back with a sad smile on his face. He glanced at Aura apologetically before setting the simple black box in front of them. Felis opened the box to reveal a long, thin, perfectly straight and unblemished, cream-coloured wand. As she took hold of it her hand immediately warmed and the tip of the wand emitted a soft golden glow.

"Yew," Ollivander sighed, "with dragon heartstring, 12 1/2 inches. There's no doubt, you could do great things with this wand."

Aura grew cold as her daughter held on to the wand. She wasn't sure how to feel. Yew was the same wood as the greatest dark wizard there ever was. And on the other hand, dragon heartstring was the same core usually found in the wands of her husband's family, a man who'd betrayed her for the darkest wizard there ever was.

Next, Aura took Felis to Magical Menagerie to look for a suitable companion for her. The shop seemed smaller than it really was as the walls were completely lined with cages of various types of animals. Aura watched as Felis looked inside each and every cage, asking every so often what type of animals they were. At one of the cages Felis stopped and stared for a lengthy minute, Aura was preparing to peek inside in order to be able to tell what animal it was when Felis squealed with joy.

"She's perfect!"

Felis opened the cage hurriedly and a small, black bundle of fur came hurtling out. Felis juggled the animal in her arms until she could hold it up to show her mother. Aura beamed with happiness at the sight of the small black cat, purring loudly in her daughter's arms.

"Yes, she is perfect, what are you going to name her?" she asked as she paid the witch for the cat.

"Panthera! Cause I'm sure in her heart she's a giant panther," Felis giggled.

-X-X-X-

Tag list:

@adamcansuckme

If anyone else wants on the tag list let me know!

[therealjammy]

Awake

A probably badly-written fic in honor of Femslash February and Valentine’s Day even though this takes place in May. Slightly NSFW too. 

May, 2017

You’re not surprised to find Root at your apartment, nor are you surprised when Bear practically bounds across the room to her as soon as he’s free from his leash. She pets him enthusiastically, even gives him little kisses on the head. “I missed you!” she tells him in a voice that bears a hint of baby-talk. He licks her cheeks and her palms and attempts to lick at her mouth, but she shies away, makes a face. She only likes your mouth on her lips.

           Your bedroom is tidy but evidence of her travels are piled up in the empty corner by your dresser: two large suitcases, a black duffel bag that could either contain a week’s worth of dirty, wrinkled laundry or shiny new weapons disassembled for travel, and a few plastic bags that look suspiciously like they’re from touristy shops. She’d been gone for three weeks, two of them spent in Oregon, the last spent in California. If you think back on it, the summer sun had kissed her skin, just to the point of a very light tan. Her cheeks had still been red, probably from lounging too long on a beach. You think that if you open one of these duffel bags you’d smell the salt and the wind that’d caressed her in your stead.

           “Want to hear about my adventures on the West Coast?” she asks when you reemerge in the living area. Like Bear, she’s taken up residence by the cooling unit underneath the window. It blows little strands of her hair into her face.

           “I noticed you didn’t get shot.”

           She wrinkles her nose, but there’s a smile tugging at all her facial features. “Surprisingly, there was very little of that. It was mostly stealth work. And new asset meetings, with a healthy serving of server farms.” She stretches herself out on the couch. Her bare feet dangle over the edge of the armrest. “I may have brought you a fancy new toy.” She points to the bedroom. “Black suitcase, bright green luggage tag. Look underneath everything.”

           So you do. You set aside shirts and jeans and underwear that’s far from practical and find a new gun. It’s a smaller submachine gun, disassembled, of course, so that it would fit comfortably in the suitcase. You take the whole thing back into the living area. “You realize you’re just adding to a growing collection where I only use my two favorites?” you ask.

           “What can I say? I’m a bit of an impulse buyer.” She sits up, points at the thing. “Semi-automatic, compact build so that it’s more comfortable for someone your size, with single or burst fire. Even comes with a scope and silencer.”

           “Did you raid a gun range or something?”

           “Not a gun range, per se. Let’s just say this was a stealthy side-quest.” She’s studying you now, in that way she does. Hand on chin, ankles crossed, fond smile. “Maybe you could test it out on a perp.”

           You say, “A lot of these guns are wasted on kneecaps.” It would be better against paper soldiers, or leftover Samaritan operatives.

           “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to hit the range,” Root says. She leaves you with the suitcase, disappearing into your bedroom and coming back out with a folded something. She unfolds it when she’s standing in front of you; it’s a navy shirt that says A friend went to Cali and didn’t invite me along.

           “I’m not wearing that,” you say.

           “Even though it’s 100% cotton?” Damn her and her knowledge of your shirt material preferences.

           You grab it from her. It’s a laundry day shirt, you decide. Or a lazy Sunday morning shirt.

 —

 “Someone missed me.”

           “You were gone for three weeks.” Your lips travel lower, over the soft plane of her throat. You taste salt and maybe a light sharpness of the perfume she’d sprayed on this morning. Something for a cover, maybe. Another bottle to add to that ever-growing collection in her bathroom drawer. “A girl can get bored.”

           “So you admit I’m interesting.” Her fingers card through your hair, nails digging pleasantly into your scalp and scraping along. Root’s breath hitches slightly when you nibble at the point of a collarbone. “That’s new.”

           You snort. “No.” You move your hands from her waist to her back, undoing her bra.

           “You ever learn to do that with one hand?”

           “It’s not an important skill.” You slide the straps down her shoulders; she helps you shrug it off.

           “Even if I told you it’s hot?”

           What kinds of strange things does Root think sometimes? you wonder, exhaling an amused breath. You pull her closer to you and kiss the scar on her chest. A single, brutal white star. How lucky she was to be alive. How lucky you both were to be in this moment, where her hips move desperately against your thigh when you take her nipple into your mouth. She holds your head in place, one hand gently cupping the base of your skull, the other a demanding grip on your hair. You stay here, teasing her, kneading one breast while kissing the other, until she pulls your head up to kiss you.

           “We have all night,” Root says. There’s an eager gleam on her face. It speaks of all the things she wants to do.

           “Then lie back,” you tell her.

           She lets you take the reins and looks perfectly happy to be handing them over. There are still orders, of course, but there’s a little freedom too. It starts plainly, just your head framed by her legs, and her hands alternating between pulling at your hair and kneading her own breasts. It goes up from there, until you’re wrapped around her and groaning right into her good ear. She falls not long after you, with a whispered “Sameen” and a pause in breath, body curling inward. You let her lay on you, still inside, for a few minutes. You trace lines over her slick back and even though you can’t see it, you know she has a mask of contentment. After those few minutes are up, she pecks you on the mouth before pulling out and giving you space.

           Your recovery is serenaded by her shower.

 […]

 The morning bears traces of summer. With it comes a certain feeling of nostalgia, a feeling you’ve been feeling a lot of recently. Perhaps it’s because your most pleasant memories are of summers spent in Manhattan, trying different restaurants with Baba and Maman, seeing baseball games at the Yankee stadium even though there were never teams that you liked, and even seeing the occasional show. But the mid-afternoon air, not yet hot because summer is still a good month away, reminds you of sitting in the backyard with books. There’s even a breeze.

           You’re walking back from lunch with Root. She’d taken you to Katz’s, a legendary sandwich place on Houston Street. The number had been a hassle. Squirmy, too, especially when you laid the cuffs on and handed him over to Lionel. Your morning had been filled with people work, a different sort of exhaustion than chasing the number down Madison Avenue. People are tolerable to an extent, and Root knows this well.

           “I think it’s time for a recovery sandwich, don’t you?” she’d said when you were leaving the scene. You gladly let her drag you along and immediately felt your irritation disappear when you saw where she’d dragged you.

           “I used to have corned beef sandwiches at Hanna’s,” Root says to you on the subway. “It was a sleepover tradition, especially if it was a Friday.” She sighs, a mix of sad and something you can’t identify. “She’d love Katz’s corned beef.”

           “I’m sure,” you say. You still don’t know much about Hanna, or Root’s childhood. It’s something she doesn’t talk about unless she wants to, or when an experience you’ve just had is similar to one she had back then. But it’s fair. She doesn’t know much about your childhood either, aside from what she read in your file—the real one—and what the Machine told her the day she kidnapped you.

           You get off at the usual stop, the one that has Root’s favorite doughnut shop in all the city. She pops into it and purchases a chocolate éclair for herself and an assorted half-dozen box for you. You eat at the cluster of red tables. As of now, you’re still full from lunch, and so you only eat one doughnut and half of another. Impressively, Root finishes her éclair and licks the sticky icing from her fingers. Your mind flashes briefly to last night, but the memory goes as quickly as it came.

           “Good?” you ask.

           “Almost as good a pick-me-up as coffee.” Root crumples the wrapper and her used napkin and tosses them into the trash nearby.

 —

 The Machine spits out a new number at 4:55 PM that evening, and according to Root, it’s slightly time-sensitive. She tells you to stop by her Times Square apartment. When you hang up, you conceal your favorite compact weapons and grab your keys and wallet. You take a taxi to Root’s apartment. The door is already ajar when you enter, and the room smells like a Calvin Klein perfume. You find Root in her bedroom, standing in a black cocktail dress and trying on heels. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and small diamond earrings decorate her lobes. On the bed is another dry-cleaning bag.

           “That looks suspicious,” you say, jerking your chin at the bag. “Is this a black-tie dinner?”

           “The restaurant we’re going to is a little on the fancier side,” Root says, stepping out of a pair of black heels and switching them for two-inch ones that’re royal blue. “The number is headed there right now, and then she’s headed for a show in the Theatre District that’s being put on in her honor. So,” Root continues, tapping the bag with a fingernail, “I need you to get dressed.”

           The dress she’d picked out for you is not unlike the one you’d worn at your Bloomingdale’s day-job, though this dress lacks the plunging neckline. It fits snugly but comfortably. A little more form-fitting than Root’s, whose dress has a bit of a flare after the waist.

           “I like the black shoes better,” you tell her from the bathroom. You’re putting some of her hairspray into your hair so that pesky little strands will stay in place for most of the night.

           “What if this outfit needs a pop of color?” she asks. “I have some red pumps in the back of the closet.” She frowns at her reflection for a moment, and then shrugs. “The black ones are a little more practical anyway.”

           The high-end restaurant was a fifteen-minute cab ride away, and you discover that its patrons are a mix of well-dressed and casually dressed. There’s a good chance that the well-dressed ones are also attending the show just across the street. While you wait for your number to be called, you wait at a booth with a small table. Root brings back two wineglasses, filled with white wine, and a menu.

           “She tells me the number’s seated upstairs,” Root says. “Our table will be two away from hers.” She’s looking around the place. Neither of you have been here before. “This place used to be a bank. You’ll see some artwork when we go up those stairs.”

           That’s what’s fascinating about New York. There’s history to every building you walk into or pass, many stories of those who came before.

           “I think you’ll like the pizza,” Root continues. “It’s some of the best in town.”

           Your table is ready about ten minutes later. It’s a Thursday night, and the crowd is pretty dense. The Machine must’ve worked something out. You follow a hostess up the steps, being careful not to spill your wine. You pass the number’s table and get a look at her: mid-forties, greying brown hair up in a bun, old-timey black dress that looks made for a funeral, no wedding ring. You have a good view of her from your corner table. Root’s careful not to sit in your field of vision, but she’s still close enough that the toe of her heel brushes against your ankle. A waiter comes by for drink orders. You order a glass of water; Root gets a Coke. Then, on a second thought, you order an appetizer of fried calamari.

           “I may have lied a little about this place,” Root says after a while, when the appetizer is half eaten.

           “Hmm?” you say, mouth full.

           “It’s true I haven’t been here before, but I heard the name for the first time a long time ago, not tonight.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her good ear. “There was someone I worked with briefly, when I was a contract killer. Jane Hargrove. She uh… she was a stagehand for Shakespeare in the Park, mainly, but her specialty was forging false documents and identification cards. That aspect of her life was well-hidden, of course. But she would go to shows often, and it was a tradition that she came to this restaurant beforehand. It was a part of her childhood, she’d said, and recommended it highly.” She pauses, catches her breath. “I guess it’s been on my bucket list for twelve years.”

           Looking around the place, you can see why. The lights are dim and comforting, and the atmosphere is something like a liminal space. Slightly strange, slightly surreal. A place where time doesn’t exist, at least until you check your watch. “I can see why,” you tell Root. “I like it.”

           A pleased smile crosses her face. “Good.”

           When the waiter comes back around, Root asks him to explain the pizza. It comes fresh from the woodfire ovens and cools on a pizza rack, which is carried to the table. “And,” he adds, “you can get whatever toppings you’d like.”

           You have to applaud the number for her good taste, and maybe the Machine too. When you’re working your way through a third slice of meat-lovers pizza, you briefly wonder if the Machine had sorted through Yelp reviews or something to find this place. You wouldn’t put it past Her. She’s always recommending something these days.

           Two tables away, the number rises from her chair. She adjusts the purse on her shoulder and shakes hands with two men in expensive suits.

           “The show starts in forty-five minutes,” Root says, noticing where your eyes have drifted. “When was the last time you were at a show?”

           “Summer of ’89,” you say off the bat. “It was Les Misérables.”

           Root raises her brows. “Really?”

           “I’ll admit it was much better than that Mamma Mia! production Harold almost made John and I go to.”

           “Would’ve been miserable,” Root says. She nibbles at the last of a piece of crust and then hands the rest to you. Later she says there isn’t time for dessert, and promises to make it up to you.

           The theatre is full of people. It’s smaller than Broadway, where you’d gone to see that production of Les Misérables; more intimate. You can smell the cologne of the forty-something sitting on your left and the sweetness of Root’s shampoo, her Calvin Klein perfume, and the fabric of her dress. There’s enough room between you that her feet don’t brush yours. There’s a small battle for the armrest, and in the end she lets you have it, smiling in amusement at your exasperation. Above you hang chandeliers with amber lightbulbs, and the stage is decorated the same way. There are tables there with people and water glasses. You wonder how much those sods had to pay for those on-stage seats. It dawns on you, then, that you don’t even know the name of the show you’re seeing. You turn to Root and ask, “What is it?”

           “The Great Comet,” she replies. “The number was a producer for one of the very first showings of it. This is the last New York show before they go on the tour next month and get touring actors instead of the original cast.” She looks down the rows, jerks her chin at the number. “We’ll have to stay for a while. No telling if someone’s after her, or the other way around.”

           The first half of the show passes without incident. During intermission, you freshen up in the bathroom while Root wanders off to bluejack the number’s phone. Back in the theatre, she scrolls through information, and by the look on her face, the Machine is speaking to her.

           “Anything?” you ask.

           “It appears she was keeping something quiet,” Root replies, keeping her voice low. She passes you her phone. On it is an article from the Times. Laura Sewell, Producer of musical The Great Comet, Issues Restraining Order against Ex-Husband. “The divorce wasn’t made public either.”

           You nod. “Safe to say it’s the ex-husband?”

           “I think so.”

           The theatre lights dim again until it’s only the glow from the chandeliers. Then it begins again. It doesn’t hold your interest much—you’ve never had interest in romantic drama, nor in Tolstoy—but the thing that does is how invested Root seems to be. She’s sitting up in her chair rather than slouching, eyes zeroed in on the stage, the lights above you casting a pleasant play of light and shadow on her features. You know things are beautiful, like a fine cut of steak, or your favorite weapon, but a person? Perhaps, you think, tearing your gaze away from Root to stop the onslaught of foreign emotion crawling into your belly, it’s possible. Possible with Root, anyway. But it’s also possible that this emotion coursing through you is contentment. Despite everything, it’s led up to this moment, and she’s alive, and she’s happy, and you’re alive too. Somehow your hand finds hers, and in the chaos that is the cheering and standing ovation at the end of the show, you give it a meaningful squeeze.

           The moment is interrupted, of course, by a sudden shot ringing out. People scream and duck, but you’re already on your feet, moving towards the front of the theatre where a crowd has gathered. Three men are wrestling another to the ground, while a fourth pries a gun from his hand. Not far away is Laura Sewell, collapsed in a heap on the ground and bleeding from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. You kneel next to her, telling the others sternly “I’m a doctor.” Several people are already dialing 911.

 —

 The fiasco at the theatre is bound to make the front page of tomorrow morning’s newspaper. The ex-husband will most likely be placed in jail for attempted murder, and Laura Sewell can move on with her life without fear of her ex-husband coming after her.

           “Well,” Root says when you’re in the back of a cab, “that was eventful.” She takes off a heel and rubs at her foot with the pad of her thumb. “But what did you think of the show?”

           “It was okay.”

           Root smirks. “Better than ‘I hated it.’”

 —

 You don’t know what it is, but there’s something oddly alluring about watching Root undress and unwind. She does this in the bathroom with the door wide open, starting with her shoes. You lounge on the bed, your own shoes kicked to the foot of it, already dressed in a tank top and comfortable shorts, your hair down. Root turns to the mirror and lets her own hair down. It settles on her shoulders in its gentle waves. Already you want to reach out and touch her, run your fingers through those waves, or tug on them to expose her throat. You think you may have given yourself away, because when your eyes meet in the mirror, hers are warm and knowing, and there’s a satisfied smirk on her face.

           “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you huff. She’s slipping out of her dress now. It snags on her waist before finally slipping off and falling into a heap around her ankles.

           “I’m letting you enjoy the after-show,” she says. Which, you admit, isn’t bad. The only thing she’s wearing is a pair of underwear, the plain black kind, but they’re women’s boxer briefs. Probably took a fashion hint from you, much like her new “moves” in hand-to-hand combat—which she claims to have learned all on her own and not from watching you.

           “I’d like it more if I could see it up close.”

           She turns around, flicks the bathroom light off. She’s a mix of city lights and the darkness of the room when she makes her way to your bed, and in the different color lights, you see gooseflesh on her skin from the chilly AC. She settles herself fully in your lap, hands on your shoulders. “This close enough for you?”

           You smell her hair and her light perfume and even a little hint of something purely herself. You lean to kiss her, and drag your nose along the column of her throat, lips following too. Normally you would be rough with her, practically wrestling each other on your way to the bedroom, but something wants to be a little softer. Just hold her for a minute. All the while she keeps her hands on your shoulders, fingers flexing in pleasure and trying to keep up a balancing act.

           “Your hair’s getting long,” you comment later.

           “Haven’t had the time to go into a salon,” Root says.

           “Or the effort,” you add. Root hums in agreement. You move a few strands to her shoulder. You brush her nipple with your thumb, absorbing her elevated breathing. Eventually she takes your hand away and pushes at your shoulders until you’re lying against the pillows.

           “I think you’re wearing too much, Sam.”

 […]

 Of course, the warmer weather is dampened by a day of clouds and rainfall. The morning of it, Root is reluctant to leave the warmth of your bed even though you can tell the Machine is getting rather insistent.

           “New number?” you ask.

           “No,” she says, practically a groan. “Asset meet-and-greet with a side of server farm checkups.”

           And so, after twenty minutes of keeping Root company in bed and another ten dozing while she showered, your morning is spent alone. You eat breakfast, start laundry, take Bear for a walk, and tidy up the messes that Root had been too distracted to clean up in her days spent here. You’re sweeping the wood floors in the living area when you hear your phone ringing on your nightstand. To your surprise, it isn’t Root calling about cancelled plans, but Lionel.

           “Did you get a handsy perp again, Lionel?” you ask, glad he can’t see the little smirk tugging up the corner of your mouth.

           “Won’t know till we see ‘em,” he replies. “The guy’s on his day off, spending it at Coney Island with his kid. Wanna give me a hand, or are you too busy with Butterball?”

           “Root’s off playing trainee. You gonna give me a ride?”

           “Let me guess, you’re gonna ask me to get you a New Yorker dog on the way over.”

           “No, just when we get to the overpriced playground.” It mustn’t be raining at Coney Island, then. Weather is funny that way.

 —

 Lionel pulls up to your apartment building in a Crown Victoria. The normal-looking one, not the undercover cop car. You suppose, now that he’s actually working for the Machine as a second job, he had enough money to buy himself a nicer car.

           “There a reason you got a new car that’s the same model cops use?” you ask while climbing into the passenger seat. The car still smells new, but underneath that is the slight stink of sweaty hockey gear—thanks to Lee—and maybe falafel.

           “They’re good cars,” Lionel shoots back. “Comfy seats too.” He turns the windshield wipers on. “Hope it’s not raining over there.”

           For a while the ride is quiet. It’s a more comfortable silence between you, a dynamic that changed during the half-year you thought Root was dead. With John dangling over the precipice of life and death in an upstate safehouse and Finch somewhere in the Italian landscape with Grace and Root god-knows-where, Lionel was really the only person there. Aside from the Machine and Bear. You’d grown closer between chasing numbers and seeing each other between. Sometimes you’d see him just doing something as mundane as walking Bear in Central Park, and though those walks were mostly silent, you were glad to have his company, and Lee’s, if the kid was there.

           “How’s the old chip doing?” you ask.

           “Stayin’ outta trouble. Playin’ on the local hockey team. They’re the Lions this year. Not sure if it’ll stick.”

           “They’ve changed names what, twice now?”

           “Three. But the uniforms look better. A classy black and gold.” He merges into traffic and you’re off. “You’re welcome to attend a game sometime.”

           The words stir something inside your chest, but you say, “What, is Lee getting tired of an audience of one?”

           “Don’t make me pull this over.”

           “Oh, you know I’d rather ride in a cab than in your car any day,” you say, and almost put your feet up on the dash.

[edelweissdev-blog]

Bio for Zhu Yijun, winner of the OC Contest!

In honour of our winner of the OC contest, Omega, here is the profile of his award winning character, Yijun! Thanks again for this fantastic character!

Name: 朱怡君 (Zhu Yijun, or Yijun Zhu in western naming conventions)

Nationality: Han Chinese (specifically looking to rep Nat. China)

Ideology: Three Principles of the People/Mínshēng Syndicalism (Would be represented in game as Radical Socialist. Essentially a more agrarian version of socialism, based off the social conditions of rural southern china, and influenced heavily through Georgism. Would be pretty heterodox to typical syndicalism, but Yijun doesn’t really care what the damn French have to think about it, this is what her family has fought and died for.)

Appearance: Yijun, due to both already coming from a western-minded family, and due to living in France for most of her adolescent life, has adopted a western wardrobe. As a testament to her father and of her political beliefs, Yijun will often wear the sky blue that was once the color of the National Revolutionary Army uniforms. A typical outfit for Yijun might consist of a matching sky blue cardigan and skirt, with a white blouse, or it could be a light blue dress. Yijun typically does not wear a hat in everyday wear, instead keeping her long, back-length black hair free and straight. Yijun does have short bangs, and her hair comes around both of her sides along with her back.Her brown eyes are not bispectaled, nor does she typically wear any form of jewelry on her. Yijun’s most defining facial feature is a small, x-shaped scar on her left cheek, which she obtained during the fall of Wuchang and her escape from the city.

Much like the socialists she met in France, Yijun has took the habit of wearing an armband in everyday wear here in Geneva. Instead of the the typical red armband, Yijun instead wears a blue armband with the white sun of the Kuomintang. Yijun wears it as a visual reminder to herself that the Xinhai Revolution has not died yet, and she will be the bridge to carry it from her father’s generation to her own. It also serves as an immediate indicator to others that she is Chinese, but does not identify with the current Chinese government, along with indicating that she is a socialist (although not European-style syndicalism).

Personality: Yijun’s experiences as a child during the collapse of Kuomintang rule in Southern China, along with the visceral anger of losing most of her family in the resulting chaos, had fundamentally broken Yijun. What had once been a sweet, loving, and caring girl has been replaced with an unyielding, if tranquil, fury. It is hard for Yijun to focus on anything beyond her feelings of pain and guilt, and thus she has tried to erect barriers around herself to keep anyone from getting close to her. In effect, in Geneva, Yijun is simply afraid of getting too close to her fellow students, preferring to just focus on her studies in the background of whatever relationship drama is unfolding around her. That is not to say Yijun will not talk if approached to, but she will seem cold and distant; it could easily be misread that she simply thought everyone was beneath her, but it's actually because Yijun just doesn’t know how to connect with other people anymore, and is too afraid to try to again.

Yijun isn’t one to be quick to anger; her life experiences has made her simply let go of personal slights that may have gotten under other people’s skins. However, when it comes to truly important topics that Yijun holds close to her heart, like the legacy of her father and brothers, the way Germany, Japan, and other powers conspired to ransack her home again, or someone upholding truly reactionary thought; her anger towards that individual will be hard to subdue. Yijun is not one to easily forgive nor forget, but to anyone in Geneva who manages to open her shell, she will also prove to be a most loyal friend as well.

Yijun’s main interests, in an academic setting, is history, particularly the history of China. As part of her education back home, she is well-versed in some of the classic literature of her homeland, where she particularly identifies with the legends of both Hua Mulan and the Ming loyalist Koxinga. Asking her about her country’s history is one of the easiest ways to get her to open up, as she could spend hours detailing minute details of various peasant uprisings against corrupt and decadent emperors. However, that fascinations ends on anything related to the Qing: they are nothing more than foreign bandits that had, and now thanks to Germany, continue to plunder from China and keep it in a feudal dark age. Saying anything positive about the Manchu dynasty is perhaps the easiest way to get her to explode.

Yijun also has a budding interest in writing as well. Most of her writing, beyond schoolwork, has been unfocused short stories about whatever was on her mind at the time she picked up her pen. She even admits they’re not really all that good, but its something to do so that she doesn’t go mad when her mind keeps focusing on what happened ten years ago. Yijun has mused about the idea of writing an “alternative history” novel like that American novel she found in a Paris library, It Can’t Happen Here! However, she doesn’t know what to do with it, beyond a general desire to “fix” the Xinhai Revolution so that it was never betrayed by foreigners. A quirk related to her writing is that she only will do stories in her native Mandarin, with traditional hanzi characters. To Yijun, the symbolism and the artistic calligraphy of the characters adds a dimension to the writing that Latin-based scripts lack, but it also means that most students at Geneva simply have to take her word at what she’s writing.  

Biography:

[NOTE: This is based off of publicly revealed but not yet implemented lore for China, so if you’re wondering if some of these references aren’t making any sense, this is why. I got my source from here: http://cs.servegame.com/kaiserreich/thread-2204.html. However, it was down the last time I tried to access it, so you may need to wayback machine it]

Yijun was born in bumbling city of Guangzhou on June 1st, 1918; the youngest of three and the only daughter. Her father, Zhu Tao, was from Wuchang, and personally witnessed the Wuchang Uprising in 1911, the initial Tongmenghui resistance to the Qing dynasty. Ever since that fateful day on October 10th, the Zhu family’s fate would be tied to the successes and failures of what would eventually become the Kuomintang.

Yijun’s brothers, Qiang and Huang, were somewhat older than Yijun, being born respectively in 1908 and 1910. Tao was enthralled by the Kuomintang ever since he saw them openly defy the Qing Empire, and quickly registered for the Nationalist Party as soon as they formally organized. In 1917, the family moved from Wuchang to Guangzhou as the KMT clique was established in the city. It was once they finally settled down in their new home that Tao and his wife Jingyu, unexpectedly had a third child. Although it wasn’t their plan, they still loved her very dearly, and life went on with a slightly expanded family.

It was under the reality of a divided country that Yijun grew up under. Not even Guangzhou was spared from political violence: it experienced a brief civil war in Yijun’s infancy over whether or not Sun Yat-sen should continue to lead the party or not. However, it was, compared to the north, far more peaceful and prosperous, and perhaps one of the better areas to raise a child. Yijun got the best education a war-torn nation could provide, as Tao used his influence as a low-mid party member to pull as many strings as he could.

These formative years, from about 1920-1926, were the happiest of Yijun’s life. Sure, outside of her bubble, everyone was killing each other over the question of who should lead China. However, all she can remember playing with her friends at school, helping her mom with her chores, being read stories by her dad (whenever he was home), and even playing some games with her brothers when they weren’t too annoyed by her. It was a period of bliss that would soon be violently ripped from her.

In 1926, as a response to the growing instability of the warlords to the north, the KMT enacted what would be known as the Northern Expedition. Both Tao and the recently of-age Qiang both volunteered to join the army, as an officer and an enlistee, respectively. The march against the northern criminals might be long and arduous, but it would be the final struggle to unify China under enlightened, people-centered government. There would be no more war, no more dictators, but peace and prosperity.

The NRA never even reached Nanjing.

In their first major battle, the NRA forces were soundly defeated by the German-backed Zhili clique. Among the dead were both Tao and Qiang. Only a few months later, the Zhili themselves attacked Guangzhou. The entire city was torn into chaos as the streets ran red with blood in the urban fighting. Everything went by so quickly, that Yijun could barely process what was going on at first. Jingyu, Huang, and herself took whatever they could carry and headed for the docks. Rumor had it that there were boats to take the leadership to France. Although they were far too low ranked to be the intended recipients… it was their best chance to get out of the falling city.

At some point in their mad dash, an explosion rocked a building to their side, spewing debris onto the street. Yijun was gashed by splintering wood, but she survived. However, the shock knocked her out, and by the time she regained consciousness, she was already on a boat leaving shore, her mother tensly staring at the burning city, fighting back tears. Huang wasn’t with them, and her mother remained silent as the young girl asked where her brother was. All the little girl could do was join her mother, looking at the engulfing inferno that continued to consume the city

Yijun would later find out that Huang refused to evacuate, saying that his father and brother didn’t run from their duty, and neither should he. Plus, they’d have a better chance of pleading their way on a ship if it was just a single mother and her young child, rather than if he was there with them.  He promised to write back as soon as he could, to make sure they knew he survived the fall of the city.

He never wrote back. Yijun and her mother knew he would have crossed hell and highwater to get any form of contact with him had he lived: he’s gone as well.

Yijun and Jingyu both settled down in Paris with the other KMT exiles, both utterly broken from their experiences in Guangzhou. Jingyu arranged for her daughter to continue her studies in an école, but given that neither of them spoke French when they first arrived, simply readjusting to their new lives was going to be hard work. Jingyu was simply done with politics at this point in her life, and since that’s all the other exiles wanted to talk about, she was forced to try to reach out to native Parisians for any sort of friendship. Yijun on the other hand, grew to resent herself for not being able to do anything to help the situation. It didn’t matter that she was only 8 at the time; her entire family besides her mother died to protect her, the country, and the revolution, and beyond her survival, it was all for naught. As she started to approach her teenage years, Yijun felt the onus of responsibility to try to avenge them one day, when the opportunity arose itself.

Therefore, while Jingyu willingly embraced France, Yijun slid into isolation with the other exile’s children, finding them to be her only real friends in the Commune. Jingyu didn’t mind at first; it made sense that her daughter gravitated towards the children most similar to her, and it's not like they were really old enough to influence her. However, as she grew older, Jingyu attempted to push Yijun to accept their new life in Paris and try to make friends with her kids in school.  

However, Yijun continued to mostly hang out with the other exiles, who increasingly radicalized each other after sharing their stories of their families and their heroics in the name of the Nationalist Party to one another. During the height of the 1932 riots in the south, Yijun and her friends did an impromptu oath, similar to the legendary Peach Garden Oath, that they would one day return back to China “when the time was right”. This, of course, horrified Jingyu when she heard about it, but she also knew if she tried to intervene too harshly, her daughter would just meet with them behind her back.

Four years later, in 1936, Jingyu heard through one of the other exile’s wives that they were planning the “big one”. The tyranny in the Eight Provinces was reaching a breaking point, and it was only a matter of when before the remaining KMT cells in China would lead a new uprising, and they would return to their homeland. Jingyu was terrified; she knew her daughter would do anything to join the return trip. She didn’t want to see her only remaining child killed in some short-sighted quest of vengeance. Instead, she secretly enrolled her daughter into the International School of Geneva, to get her away from her friends and to keep her out of the next wave of bloodshed in China.

[the-foxwolf]

Jace, Forgotten

Losing his memory might have been the best thing that could have happened to him. Jace has had a rough and depressing life. What Bolas did to him might just be exactly what he needed to finish developing himself.

What did Jace discover about himself?

What good is going to come from losing his memories?

Will Jace initiate a relationship with Vrazka?

Let’s find out.

(Jace’s Defeat: Hour of Devestation) (Art by: Kieran Yanner)

Gather `Round! It’s Storytellingtime!

Jace, the Marooned

During the battle with Bolas on Amonkhet, Bolas erased Jace’s memories just as Jace started planeswalking away. When he awoke, he found himself marooned on an island, alone and with no memories of a personal identity. Absolutely terrifying.

Time alone with one’s thoughts has never seemed so painful than when reading about Jace’s subconscious echo the missing memories. Let’s discuss all those memories he doesn’t have anymore.

Jace, the Abused

Jace’s entire identity has been based upon a history of abuse.

The Mage Ring Bullies.

Alhammarat.

Tezzeret.

Liliana.

When he at last detached himself from everyone who might harm him, Jace found he had no idea what to do with his life. For so long he had lived beneath someone’s thumb. Now, free of abusers, Jace didn’t know what to do. No one was there to tell him what to do. To tell him if he was making a good or a bad decision. Growing up in the arms of abuse sometimes leaves people with a bad case of Stockholm’s Syndrome and find themselves looking for someone new to serve. An unfortunate reality.

Though it wasn’t without effort, Jace managed to overcome his Stockholm’s Syndrome by diving into every little mystery he could find. Feverish obsession over the Hedrons. Or the Dragon Scroll. Or Niv-Mizzet’s Implicit Maze.

And look where that one left him.

(Jace, the Living Guildpact: Magic 2015) (Art by: Chase Stone)

Unwittingly and unwillingly, Jace became the Living Guildpact of Ravnica. Had he known that what he was doing would lead to such a burden, I’m fairly certain Jace would have turned it down.

At last, Jace had made something grand happen in his life. And what came of it? Paperwork. Responsibility. Stress. Being the Living Guildpact was no less oppressive than working for Tezzeret or Alhammarat. Once again he had someone telling him what to do. Keeping him in line. And buried deep in work. While it was of his own hand this was dealt, at least Lavinia was benign in her intentions and tactics when pushing Jace to do his job as Guildpact. For once he had the ability to exercise control and power over others. Unfortunately that same power served to impose control and power against him as well, as he was beholden to his responsibilities and the Guilds.

But did his Stockholm’s Syndrome come back and he found himself enjoying the new burden? No. He hated it. His time with Liliana taught him that he had the right to desire an oppression-free life. So what did he do? Abandon Ravnica to start a posse with whom to trapeze through the Multi-verse. The Gatewatch.

NOW Jace had found a place where HE could exercise his power over others and not the other way around. Could this finally be his chance to feel powerful? No. He had to (fortunately) share leadership with Gideon. When at last he and Gideon began stabilizing their power relationship, Bolas ripped it all away. And Jace was powerless to stop it.

Jace, Refreshed

Although his situation is awful, it is not without merit. This was exactly what Jace needed in his life- a chance to start over. Why does he need to mistrust people now that he can’t remember the many who have abused him? Why does he need to manipulate people anymore if he has no memory of feeling powerless? Why does he need to obsess with each new mystery if he doesn’t need a constant distraction away from all the pain?

(Jace, Telepath Unbound: Magic Origins) (Art by Jaime Jones)

Jace can finally get to truly know people and make real friends. Now, Jace can truly enjoy a mystery or puzzle for the simple thrill of solving it, not for the distraction from his thoughts that it can provide. Free of his conscious recognition of his painful memories, Jace has the chance to start over.

Jace, the Powerless

But this transition was not seamless. Even if your consciousness has no recollection of its history of pain, the subconscious is something else entirely. When the subconscious has been taught pain and has become scarred, even a full identity wipe cannot mend it. Deep in his subconsciousness, his same insecurities remained. The feeling of Powerlessness is the big one his subconscious mind can still recall.

We see his feelings of powerlessness expressed when he hallucinates Gideon:

"Listen, you aren't really suited to this task. Let me handle it." The vision's voice was gruff but friendly. It came off as condescending. The man was annoyed. "I can do it myself." The hallucination sighed. "You and I both know you're not suited to this. Let me handle it, you go philosophize on the other end of the beach." "I said I can do it myself." The man let his irritation reach his voice. "No, you can't. I call the shots and execute, you stand to the side. That's how this works."

Jace, Alone

While Jace doesn’t consciously remember his feelings of powerlessness, his subconscious does, with startling clarity.

With the Gatewatch, Jace at last had a chance to exercise power over others, for once. When he discovered that Gideon was treated more as the leader than he was, his fear of being powerless returned. But what did Useless Island teach Jace? That he isn’t powerless. If having his identity erased and being stranded alone on a remote island wasn’t enough to destroy Jace, then we can say with certainty that Jace is NOT powerless.

(Jace, the Mind Sculptor: World Wake) (Art by Jason Chan)

Jace, the Untrusting

Another memory his subconscious has not been able to let go is the fear and suspicion of others. We see this manifest when he hallucinates Teysa.

The hallucinations appeared more frequently as his boredom grew. "Policies and procedures, section 12, item 4." He gasped in surprise. A woman with dark hair and a cane was staring at him from a few feet away down the beach. She wore a white dress with a sun emblem on its front. A dark cloak hung behind her and grazed the sand, and her expression made it clear that she was on a mission. She impatiently tapped a finger on the handle of her cane. "I said, 'Policies and procedures section 12, item 4. Official guild representatives may be granted passage from one guild-controlled place of residence or business to another by virtue of an official warrant'. Do you or do you not agree that that is a standing law?" She followed him from snare to snare, peered over his shoulder as he reset the traps, and glared at him all the while as he carried the lizards he had caught back to camp to cook. He buried the lizards with hot coals, palm leaves, and root vegetables to cook for the rest of the afternoon. In time, the hallucination vanished, and the man sighed in relief.

Jace, Alone

What do we see here? Distrust. Teysa appearing while Jace worked on traps and snares isn’t a coincidence. Jace distrusted Teysa, but recognized it was pretty much useless to resist her. Fortunately, Teysa only bullied Jace when it was necessary. Teysa’s never been an evil person- always far more selfless than she would like to admit. There is no doubt, Teysa used Jace, but it wasn’t abuse. I would argue it was more of a reminder that everyone has an agenda. Notice how much it drew Jace’s attention that her posture indicated she was on a mission, only further reinforcing his distrust in that people are always out with an agenda.

Many people have betrayed Jace and he has betrayed many himself. And his subconscious has not forgotten.

Jace, Alone

And we come to his last great hallucination. Liliana. Oh boy.

"You look terrible," purred a voice from above. The man moved his hands. An illusion of a woman stood above him. She had raven hair, tired eyes, and a disdainful expression. Her arms were gloved in violet satin and crossed in front of her. "The muscles are a nice change, but you look awful with facial hair." Her lips curled in a disdainful sneer. The man shook his head, tears building in the corner of his eyes. "I don't know who you are." "Of course you don't, boy." She looked him over. "You didn't know who I was then, and you don't now. Hard to build trust when neither of us trusts each other." The man decided to stop caring that this illusion wasn't real. He desperately needed someone to talk to. "Who was I, before here?" "You weren't who you thought you were, that's for sure. No one else saw through you, but I did. You were never a leader or a detective or a scholar; you were a frightened child playing pretend." The man swallowed a lump in his throat. "You can fool the rest of the world with your magic and illusions, but you could never fool me." The man wanted to sob. Wanted to go back and sleep. Wanted to starve until all of this went away. "I don't know who you are," he finally admitted with a broken voice. The woman knelt and looked him in the eye with a cold, crocodilian smile. "I'm the best thing that ever happened to you." The man shot out a hand to shove her away, and the image of the woman flickered away in a haze of blue. She was gone.

Jace, Alone

When Jace asks about who he was before Useless Island, she shares with him truths and secrets that only the closest of friends would know. In a handful of sentences, Liliana brings to mind all of his insecurities. She reminds him of his powerlessness when she mocks him for pretending to be something he’s not, for thinking he’s anything more than a child. What does this imply? It implies that Jace knows that Liliana is the person who knows him best. It means he, despite her abuse, recognizes how important they were to each other- how close they once were.

That last line is the most striking: “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

(Liliana, the Last Hope: Eldritch Moon) (Art by Anna Steinbaur)

What Jace is hearing isn’t Liliana herself. Jace’s subconscious hallucinates, projects, his thoughts and feelings in way his conscious mind is capable of comprehending. IS Liliana the best thing that has ever happened to him? His subconscious certainly thinks so. You might argue that this hallucination might be his subconscious’ projection of what it remembers Liliana to be. But it’s not.  Gideon doesn’t actually think Jace is useless. He recognizes Jace for his utility. Of all things, I can’t see Gideon ever being condescending. I can’t see Teysa being around Jace any longer than she needs to be. She stuck around because Jace’s subconscious needs to tell his conscious that he has trust issues. These hallucinations of his aren’t reflections of the people themselves, but rather, his insecurities made manifest in ways his conscious mind can comprehend colored and flavored in meaningful ways.

So when Liliana tells him “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”, I believe Jace thinks that statement is true. Just as he believed Gideon thought him useless. Was she the best thing that ever happened to him? She was definitely one of the worst. But I will say that it was Liliana that taught Jace to believe in himself. With her help, Jace discovered that the reason he kept being used and abused had nothing to do with some inherent problem about him; but rather, that the reason he kept being used and abused was because other people made decisions that made it so- not because something is inherently wrong with Jace.

Why did I go into such detail about his interactions with Liliana?

His dialogue with her is the most lengthy.

His dialogue with her is most direct, most face to face.

He actually has a conversation with her.

His description of her physical appearance was the most detailed.

Not enough? Then let these next ones convince you.

The entire conversation showed him how well she knew him, how close they were.

It hit every single one of his insecurities, directly- not even implied, just direct.

The moment he admitted that he wanted someone to talk to, she appeared.

It wasn’t Kallist. It wasn’t Emmara. It was her. Jace betrayed Kallist; and Emmara essentially abandoned him. There is only one person in Jace’s life with whom he can have a regular, casual, conversation with: Liliana. They were lovers. Even nearly got married. She was his only real friend.  So when he finally admits he wants to speak with someone, she appears. Consider that for a moment. Jace’s only friend...is Liliana. Wow. This short story suddenly feels very accurately named. Jace, Alone.

Jace, the Explorer

With Vrazka’s help, Jace Alone is finding out who Jace Beleren is. What does she represent? His chance to explore himself and find himself. Fitting themes for Ixalan, if you ask me. She literally found him. Literally saved him. Gave him a chance to find himself as all of Ixalan seems to want to find The Immortal Sun.

This is a good change. Is Jace anything, it’s a thinker. And Vrazka has given him to chance to learn and study the most important person in his life: himself.

(Jace, Cunning Castaway: Ixalan) (Art by: Kieran Yanner)

Jace, In Love?

Time for a more controversial subject. So far, I’ve assess the character development we’ve seen in Jace. But now it’s time to move on to the subject many of us have been talking about. Jace and Vrazka- a couple?

From a psychological standpoint, the groundwork has been set such that the soil is ripe for blossoms of love.

She’s helping him discover himself

She’s given him a purpose

She’s literally saved his life

She’s the only person who knows anything about him.

From a psychological standpoint, it only make sense that Jace would fall in love with her. But suppose it had been someone else. Anyone else. Would Jace have fallen in love with them?

It’s very likely. The circumstances set up fertile soil for the blossoms of love to grow. Then, it’s up to the seeds planted- to see if they’ll take to the soil. In this case, I think we’ll be seeing some blossoms sprout.

See, love is a fascinating mixture of philosophy and science. Love is not an abstract, metaphysical, conceptual construct. Not entirely. There is a definite, measurable, repeatable science to it. But as much as this is true, there is some measure of the romantic part of love that is beyond measurement and rational comprehending.

And for both Jace and Vrazka, the psychology would predict that their particular circumstances would make falling in love significantly more likely. But what of the other half of love? I think they should get together and enjoy their time...then I think they need to part ways- in whatever manner that may require.

They’re not meant to be together. Vrazka is helping Jace discover who is right now. Jace is helping Vrazka discover who she has been all along. So both could benefit from a relationship.

But Jace needs someone who will help him discover who he wants to be. And Vrazka needs someone who will help her discover who she is. Their relationship will be a boon to them both. But ultimately, neither of them belong together.

Jace needs Liliana to complete his character development. Everything she is, has been, and represents will help Jace realize what it is he values and what it is he wants himself to become.

And Vrazka...well, Vrazka needs the Golgari. Or better said, she needs leadership. Jace is helping her discover who she has been all along- the person she didn’t know she was. But what she needs now, or will need soon, is something to help her discover who she is. And she IS a leader. Jace is showing her that she’s not some heartless killer. That she’s more than what everyone keeps telling her she is- she’s more than she has been. What she needs now is some way for her to discover who she is now. And I sincerely believe that what will accomplish that is a positon of leadership- something beyond a pirate ship.

Some people will argue with me, saying that people don’t NEED other people to develop themselves. I’ll respond by saying exactly what I’ve told people who try to bring that up in the past. It is simple human fact that humans need other humans to develop. Even if you grow up never having seen another human, it is that very relationship that makes you who you are. Even if you choose to live alone and single and isolated, it is your relationship with your family that made you who you are. This isn’t a topic of discussion. It’s a fact. People need other people to grow and become who they are meant to be.

(Bruna, the Fading Light: Eldritch Moon) (Art by: Clint Cearley) (Gisela, the Broken Blade: Eldritch Moon) (Art by Clint Cearley) (Brisela, the Voice of Nightmares: Eldritch Moon) (Art by Clint Cearley)

For some, that definition of “other people” applies in the form of a lover, such as in Jace’s situation. For others, “other people” is defined as an occupation, such as in Vrazka’s situation. And even for others, “other people” can be defined by people who have long ago died, such as Gideon. Gideon must develop himself by working through his experiences with the Irregulars until he forgives himself and learns humility. And then for others, ‘other people’ can be the presence of a good friend, such as Karn, who, without other people, is miserable and emotionally immobile.

Vrazka must develop herself by establishing a relationship with a group of people who need her guidance. And I think a position of leadership is exactly what she needs. Jace needs someone whose past is even more brutally dark than his own. Someone who’s been through so much, that Jace can learn from their mistakes and see the kind of person he wants to be, or not be.

Gideon needs to develop himself by learning to forgive himself, which can only happen if he reconciles his relationship with The Irregulars. Karn needs to develop himself by experiencing what it means to have and to be a friend- to be more than Master Malzra’s Probe No. 1.

People need people. Sometimes they need lovers. Sometimes they need friends. Sometimes they need followers. Sometimes they need leaders. Sometimes they need those who are not long with us.

Jace and Vrazka needed each other to discover themselves. And I want them both to be happy and enjoy each other. But they’re not meant to be. From a storytelling perspective, if they simply end up together, we’re missing out on a lot of character development- a lot of juicy stories to tell. In reality, maybe they could make it work. But from a storytelling perspective, they shouldn’t. They each have a narrative to tell and that narrative needs a different path to develop.

Conclusion

Jace’s defeat was one of the best things that could have happened to him. For a variety of reasons. Both for him, as a character, and us as readers. We’ve been shown his weaknesses and what he needs to realize self-actualization. I am happy we’ve been given a new character with which to clean the slate and start fresh. It’s exactly what we needed.

If you liked what you read, hit that “Reblog” button. For more articles and short stories from me, at Story Telling Time, hit that “Follow” button. See ya next time!

[consultthemuses]

Sentence Meme: 68 Garrus Vakarian Quotes

“Some will be more easily applicable than others. SOME WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERS (violence/gun/war references)!! Feel free to change pronouns/genders at will.

❛ Figuring out which side took the hit! ❜

❛ At least we killed Lieutenant-Bastard [name], I just hope we get to do the same for his general. ❜

❛ Big mistake! ❜

❛ Figured you'd gone soft sitting on your throne. Forgot how to hold a gun. ❜

❛ Oh? We should play poker sometime. ❜

❛ [name] is on a roll. I figure if we pulled that off, we've got a shot ❜

❛ So their marines can beat someone in hand-to-hand drills. ❜

❛ Too bad you weren't here earlier [name]. We could've used you. ❜

❛ Forgive the insubordination, but your boyfriend has an order for you... come back alive. ❜

❛ I hope we aren't interrupting anything you two might have been... planning. ❜

❛ Long story. Nobody will believe it anyway. ❜

❛ Mmmmaybe we'll talk later. ❜

❛ I'd wait if you're OK with it. Disrupt the crew a little as possible. Take that last chance to find some calm just before the storm. You know me, always like to savor that last shot before popping the heatsink. ❜

❛ Well how do you think I feel? I'm supposed to hate you, but instead you warmed my heart with your winning personality. ❜

❛ It’s so easy to see the galaxy in black and white. Gray? I don’t know what to do with gray. ❜

❛ Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations. ❜

❛ Come on. Remember how we'd always ask you about life on [location]? It was an opportunity to share! ❜

❛ Ah, probably for the best. Everyone was always ignoring you and hitting on me. Time for you to get a fair shot at it. ❜

❛ They’re civilians. Civilians never believe the enemy is coming until they’re at the gates. ❜

❛ [name] is either a traitor or a madman. ❜

❛ Of course. I intended no disrespect to the effort you have put into your training. Pardon me. ❜

❛ Wait... that metaphor just went somewhere horrible. ❜

❛ So, [name], you can serve this swill but can you drink it? ❜

❛ So... I guess nobody really ever gets their act together. ❜

❛ We’re in this til the end. ❜

❛ I doubt anyone who saw your skill under fire could remain sceptical. ❜

❛ Loudspeakers? Someone likes the sound of their voice. ❜

❛ That’s pretty extreme, [name]. ❜

❛ And damn, saying it that way doesn’t help. Now I feel dirty and clinical. ❜

❛ You know what else is bad for business? A broken neck! ❜ 

❛ It's a lot of flailing and splashing interrupted by occasional bouts of drowning. ❜

❛ Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course. ❜

❛ I’m all for second chances. Not so sure about third ones. ❜

❛ What was was that? What was that!? ❜

❛ Could’ve sworn he was muttering “[name]” the whole time. ❜

❛ Some women find facial scars attractive.. ❜

❛ It doesn’t work but that doesn’t stop them from buying.. ❜

❛ And here I thought I had had my one betrayal and attempted murder for this year. ❜

❛ If this ends with the both of us dying in a giant explosion killing [something], just remember. I took the kill shot. ❜

❛ Well, the third one died from a heart attack, so it’s not fair to count him. ❜

❛ Adolescence? Can't we just take him to [location] and buy him a few dances? ❜

❛ And you’ve gotta be kidding me. ❜

❛ At least my government listened to me. Or pretended to. They finally gave me a task force as a token to shut me up. ❜

❛ Remind me never to get on your bad side, [name]. I almost feel sorry for [name]. ❜

❛ I don’t even know what that is – though I’ve heard everything in the galaxy tastes like it. ❜

❛ Spared no expense. ❜

❛ What is that? Some kind of VI interface? ❜

❛ Somebody’s making a killing out there. ❜

❛ Impressive. You certainly know how to make an entrance. ❜

❛ Actually, she and I were the two best hand to hand combatants on the ship. I had reach, she had flexibility. It was brutal. After 9 rounds, the judges declared it a draw. A lot of unhappy bettors in the other room. ❜ 

❛ We, uh, ended up having a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, she had flexibility. More than one way to work off stress, I guess... ❜

❛ She said she saw it and thought of me. Why? ❜

❛ Just keeping my skills sharp. A little target practice. ❜

❛ Just followed your example, [name]. Yell loud enough, and someone will eventually come over to see what all the fuss is about. ❜

❛ Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it? ❜

❛ [name], I was just as much in the dark as you. Honest. ❜

❛ We can disobey suicidal orders? Why wasn't I told? ❜

❛ Definitely like old times. ❜

❛ As charming as ever. ❜

❛ Makes sense to me. It ensures you never run out of cannon fodder. ❜

❛ They've adapted perfectly to their situation. ❜

❛ You sure you want to play this game? ❜

❛ Honestly? [group or name] have killed you once, and all it seems to have done is piss you off so.. ❜

❛ It's a brilliant tactic when you think about it. ❜

❛ Ha-ah! Don't make me laugh, damn it. My face is barely holding together as it is. ❜

❛ You realise this plan has me walking into hell too.. ha just like old times. ❜

❛ Why don't we ever go anywhere nice? ❜

❛ Forgive the insubordination, but this old friend has an order for you. Go out there and give them hell. You were born to do this. ❜

[foxfaceintheflesh]

Lost Boy Goes Home. Oneshot LoT fanfic with Jax and Sara Lance

Okay so this is my first time writing an Legends fanfiction, but after finishing the last episode of Season 3, I was compelled to write one. Sorry if its terrible, but I’m trying :3 Here y’all go enjoy and let me know what you think. 

One shot: Lost Boy(Jax) and Sara Lance

Summary: While watching the last episode, or LoT, it occurred to me, that what if Sara Lance was like an peter pan figure/character, not wanting to deal with emotions, an warrior, but also an leader who looks out for her friends(kinda working from my own defintion of peter pan, not the traditional version where he kills deserters) but she cares for her gang of lost boys and girls. However, This comes in when Jax confronts Sara about leaving. This won’t be exactly from the show, but I want to build from it in this oneshot, and see if I could add onto this stand alone chapter/piece one day, to see Sara as Peter Pan.

“Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting”. Peter Pan by JM Barrie.

word count: 1947 

**********************************************************************

Sara sat in her leather armchair, legs sprawled over the arm of the chair, as she thought absentmindedly, looking at the wall of the library. She tapped at the arm of the chair with the pads of her fingers trying to distract herself from the flood of emotions that have been overwhelming her team, as well as her from the previous mission. She’s been trying not to think of it, with the mental resistance she could muster. She was always terrible at dealing with her feelings, and Stein’s death was no different. Sighing, she took out her pocket knife, admiring the edge, exhaling slowly. She couldn’t begin to imagine the toll it was taking on Jax. She had avoided talking about it with the team, advising them to keep their feelings in boxes, as long as the mission at hand persisted. But that wouldn’t be enough to deter Jax from making rash decisions, or trying to tell an young Marty his fate. But what good would that serve? She pressed her finger and traced it long the blade of the knife. She couldn’t save her sister from her death, but it was not fair that she couldn’t save Jax from the same fate  or not being able to save Marty. She squeezed her eyes tight. Thinking about Laurel, felt distant to her, but like an old scar, she could still feel where it came from and how it formed and it would never heal. But she never had an psychic connection such as the likes of Jax and Stein. Sara groaned. God knows she can’t deal with emotions, especially not right now, and maybe…not ever again. Maybe the void suited her better where she coudn’t feel anything, she thought darkly, and then shook her head. She would rather be able to feel, than not feel at all. Besides, she’s  been dead at least three times by now, being in an void is an walk in the park.

“Sara? Hey, this might be an bad time, but I need to talk to you.” Jax walked in without her noticing. God she should have been able to notice, she is an trained assassin God’s sake. Maybe being in the void really did throw her off her groove.

“I know what you may be thinking, You can’t go,” Sara faced to turn him in her chair, and got up slowly making her way towards him. Jax was like an little brother she never had, she could subdue him if she liked, she knew, and keep him there against his will. In her mind, she was debating the countless techniques that would keep him from leaving the room, as well as leaving the Waverider. Jax shook his head.

“I know what you’re thinking, okay? You could try to convince me all you want, but I need to go and live my life, and I don’t think I can do this here on the Waverider. There’s too many memories of Grey here. You know this, Sara. I need to do what’s best for me.” Sara looked him in the eyes carefully, internally grimacing that her little brother was taller than her, but she saw that he was certain and knew what he needed to do.

“You’ve been an valuable incredible asset to this team, Jax,” she said softly, but resolutely, “ And I do not blame you for wanting to leave. You will always be apart of this wild dysfunctional loving family, and I know that you know that too.”

“I know,” he spoke solemnly. “It’s just something I have to do. If I stay here, I don’t know if I would ever be honest with myself that I’m able to give up Grey. He.. he was so dedicated to the team, he risked his life for mine. I spent three years with that psychic connection, and I doubt I will ever have that type of connection again with anyone, Sara, even if there is someone else who comes along to start another Firestorm. Three years with that old man…Martin was the father I never had. We had our moments where we couldn’t stand each other, but he always had my back, and I had his.” Jax inhales swiftly as he fights the overwhelming urge to cry, and Sara can see it in his facial features as his lips tighten and his eyelids lower.  She wraps an arm around his shoulders bringing him in close. His breathing sounds more like hyperventilating Jax is trying to will himself not to cry, as Sara touches his back stroking it softly and slowly trying to comfort him without words. Jax grasps onto her arm, letting out soft sobs that steadily increase. Sara holds him as he cries, giving him sisterly support, but she doesn’t allow herself to cry. She’s never been one for crying anyway, she will deal with Grey’s loss in her own way, but she isn’t focused on that for the moment, she keeps herself grounded in trying to comfort Jax. Time slogs on slowly as Jax wipes his tears and pulls himself apart from Sara.

“I don’t know if I could tell the team. I’m never been one for goodbyes.”

“Trust me, I understand completely. There will be time to tell them, don’t worry.” She uses one of her special smiles, meant only for him. It is an don’t worry its going to be alright sister smile, trusting and secure. Jax tries to believe her smile.

Jax goes to collect his things in his quarters, in the lab where Grey’s firestorm formula still lurks on the board, in the library, everywhere he can think of, where he may have left something or hung out in. He can’t imagine leaving the Waverider. It has been his home for the past year and a half. He can’t even wrap his mind around trying to go back to Central City. Yet as he picks up a picture of him and Grey, his heart catches, and his throat begins to close up, but he shares an bittersweet smile with the framed photograph. Wherever life may lead him, he will never forget the well spoken brillant professor, who shared an connection unlike any other. He wrapped his fingers tenderly around the frame and placed in some old newspapers to make sure it wouldn’t be harmed. Placing it in his bag, we walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.  Walking into the main room which was not lit for some strange reason, he shook his head and reached for an light switch, as everyone yelled “Surprise!”, making Jax stumble back slightly.  

“Guys, you didn’t have to…” he smiles despite himself as Ray and Amaya chat and exchange remarks, Sara gives her trademark Sara Lance smile.

“You really didn’t think I would let you go that easily, did you?” she smirks and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, at least let us celebrate first, you and the holidays.

“Ah Merry Yuletide, everyone!” Ray shouts cheerily. Mick grunts and raises an bottle of beer in response.

“I believe its called Christmas nowadays, Haircut.”

“Same thing!”

“An  Holiday feast,” Sara interrupts their banter, nodding to Jax. “I haven’t forgotten about Hanukkah, I swear.”

“We won’t forget about dear Grey,” Amaya speaks in her uplifting rhythmic voice, getting up from her place between Nate and Zari, and also puts an arm around Jax. He smiles at her earnestly and gives her an hug, she holds on tight.

“Never.” Nate and Ray chorus softly, but everyone hears them and nods in agreement, even Sara. Leo nods from his designated corner, he has helped with the last mission, but it is clear he doesn’t have the same bond as the rest of the team members do with Jax.

“Okay, enough with the long faces, lets go eat,” Sara rounds up everyone as they make their way to the table, the area festively decorated with two trees lined in ornaments, and tinsel. Colorful lights make the Waverider look merry as everyone gathers around the long table. While eating, everyone exchanges stories about Martin and Jax is able to crack an smile. These people are his family and he is reminded of that as they try in their way to cheer him up and chat with him. Zari has an arm around his shoulders and laughs how she tells everyone else how she demolished him in the video game they had played earlier that day.  Ray cheerily tells everyone about being inside Beebo when he had his Atom suit. Nate remarks how he misses not having his viking beard.

“I wanna grow one. Trust me, it would help with the dignified Professor of History look.”

Amaya rolls her eyes and laughs, as Mick smirks and gives an hearty chuckle.

“Not on my watch, because I will definitely shave it while you sleep,” Mick growls as he takes an swig of beer, giving Leo an pointed glare. “And for next time, Don’t take away my beer.”

Sara watched in her chair at the head of the table(naturally) over her team as they interacted with each other and tried their best to make Jax feel better. She stayed silent and looked at Jax, mustering an smile, and he met her gaze. He gave her a small minimal nod, and she returned it, as she continued to oversee her team.

After the dinner was over, she walked with Jax a Waverider landed.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he told her as he kept walking forward, stepping onto the grass, after  the time ship landed.

“ I know, but I need to.” Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his brown ones. He shrugged and shouldered his bag, walking off the ship, and then turned to look at her more directly.

“ I can’t thank you enough, the honor is all mine to have you as an member of our team, one of the legends,” she gave an absent smile. Jax knew she was trying to put on an brave face, to be the Sara Lance he knew and loved, looking up to as the fierce warrior badass big sister. But he knew better than anyone she was trying to hide how she really felt.

“I’ll never be truly gone, Sara, you know that, I could come back at any time, so I’m not technically leaving you or never coming back. You and the team.. You’ll always be my family, no matter what and I want you to know that.”

“ I know. I’m just gonna miss seeing you on board.”

“And I’m gonna miss seeing you as my captain, Sara.” She gave an shaky bright smile.

“C’mere you,” She wrapped him in his arms for an tight bear hug, and he smiled, and after an few moments, they broke apart, and he looked her in the eyes.

“Captain,” he gave her an small salute, his left hand over his brow.

“Jackson Jefferson, you served the legends, the waverider and me well and I can never thank you enough for that.” She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “Get home safely, and thank your mom for me. You better text me when you get home.” Sara chastised with an grin as Jax mock groaned and shook his head.

“You know I will, Sara. Good luck with everything.” With that, he strode forward on to Central City to see his mom and his family. Sara watched him go. She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. She wasn’t much for them either, like Jax. Because goodbye means going away for her, and going away means eventually forgetting, and she could never forget Jax or Firestorm.

[autumnwritcs]

utterxdesires​

Uma let out a soft hum and her lips stayed pressed in a tight smirk as he spoke of the food before taking another spoonful and right after another one; it was clear she was really hungry after the long, exhausting ride, and the dish was really good, her facial expression said it all. The raven-haired girl continued to eat as he answered her question, trying not to stain the bed covers or herself, even though her clothes was dirty. It wasn’t the kind of story she heard from men before, but in a way she could understand, maybe because it was what she wanted as well, some peace finally and not to feel so scared anymore. “Is your homeland far?”she asked, curious to know how much of the road did he have to go down with before finally setting here. “And do you miss it?”Uma followed up with another question, her curiosity getting the best of her. As he then asked about her, Uma took another quick spoonful of the soup before resting the bowl on her knees. She didn’t have an issue with telling him the truth, Uma couldn’t really hide the obvious, but it was his reaction that she was dreading a little, what will he say about it and how will he look at her then. He was the first man in so many years that actually treated her like more than just an object and for that she was already immensely grateful.

“I was born somewhere in the South. I don’t know the city exactly, my mom never told me. Guess she was afraid I’d go back and try to find my father.”she started with a shrug. “She was, uh… moved around a lot, before finally staying in one of the bigger cities. I can’t recall its name.”Uma shook her head, she was young and kept mostly hidden. “Then she died, out of nowhere. People told me she was really sick. I believe she was poisoned or murdered. Because she’d never give me away, and then, all of the sudden, I was sold to a man from Norwich.”she murmured, looking up at Alaric and feeling her jaw quiverer a little at the mere thought of arriving first to the said city, the same one she has asked him about. “I have… can’t say worked, because I didn’t want to… I was forced to work at the brothel house. For years.”she murmured, watching him closely to gauge his reaction. “But I had enough and I decided to run. This time I was successful, my previous attempts stayed on me in forms of scars as a reminder.”she said, they were her punishment, but her face was never touched, it was too pretty, the madam of the house would say. “They’re looking for me, I — I know, I was in the city for three days before breaching the walls. And they will even offer a good amount of money.”Uma said with a sigh and looked down at her hands holding the bowl.

“Yes, it’s quite far away.” He admitted with a nod. It had been several months until he was sure no one from the palace would ever find him; Alaric fled from the French territory until he arrived to England where he settled in a relatively small town then eventually moved to the countryside where he found the peace he needed. “No, I don’t really miss it. A few friends, yes, but there’s wasn’t much left for me there.” The man shrugged. His family were the first ones Alaric forgot about, or at least was able to not think about them; in spite of the madness that was his life back then he had had close friends, many times when he first lived by himself Alaric thought about writing them but always desisted in the end, not sure how safe it was for both them, and himself. His wife was the only good thing and worthy person he had cherished in France and it was solely her he missed. Nevertheless, he kept that in his mind, looking down at the bowl. When it was his turn to ask about her, Uma’s hesitance made Alaric think she woudn’t answer. When she did, though, he wondered if it would have been better if he didn’t ask anything at all. He hung from her every word and went through several stages as she told her story, the death of her mother, being held captive, forced to serve... The main feeling he had, was killer outrage for a life she didn’t chose to live. It was no different to the consorts he had before marrying, however, ever since then, Alaric had changed. He ran his hand over his hair when Uma finished, he hadn’t used his sword against someone in many years but he believed himself capable of taking anyone down if put in that position. “I’m terribly sorry about the life you’ve had, Uma.” From his slouch position, head down but eyes looking up at the woman, he sighed. “It might not be much comfort but you’ve managed to escape now. And... this place is pretty well hidden. I don’t own much but you are welcomed to stay until you feel better for travelling. I’m afraid it’s all I can help you with.” The offer came out of the blue but it didn’t make it any less sincere.