#the witness is so so so SO sickening and it’s actions weigh on me like a supermassive black hole everyday

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

anon because im on the wrong blog rn but i wanted to say i really enjoyed your witness analysis post. i havent really seen many comparisons about the colonisation aspect of what the witness does (though to be fair, im not really in touch with fandom). so it was nice to these themes touched on especially so eloquently !

Greetings anon!!!

Thank you so much for the kind message!! I deeply appreciate your words as the Witness is a character that is extremely close to me, quite literally being one of my favorite characters in media ever and someone who revolves in my head like a rotisserie chicken 24/7!!!

I truly believe that if you don’t see the content you desire in the world, you should go out and make it, so when I didn’t see mountains of the most bitter vitriol towards the Witness, I knew I had a job to do!

I’ve been left to pick up the pieces of the Witness’ long legacy of reducing my people and culture to what is “palatable and profitable”, my family has a prophecy (a destiny if you will) that I will form my own Witness in this life to enact an ideology and force that idea on me, I was once a precursor who raged against a silent god by abandoning my self, I’ve met many disciples of the Witness in my life and many more victims of it. This character has been so firmly tied to my life that I just had to share my perspective with the world in an attempt to make people understand just how important the lessons we can learn from it are!! I could talk about the Witness for eons!!!

There has been a lot of Witness works ( fanfiction, memes, art work, etc.) produced and a lot of it has been absolutely phenomenal work!! They are all clearly created by people who have a deep affection for the character that clearly shows in their fantastic pieces and I truly love that, but a lot of what I saw left me feeling restless because none of it (from what I’ve seen) truly tapped into the absolute nightmarish nature of what this entity has brought down on civilizations. I really wanted to bring in another voice on this character because I couldn’t be moved so deeply by its defeat and sit still on it!!

Again, if no one is making the content you would like to see, make it! That’s actually the biggest reason why I started making posts for this blog, I wanted to help others see that there is much more to talk about when it comes to the Witness than its philosophical views on reality and it’s big eyes (as well as not keeping my trillions of thoughts in my head).

To me, characters as awful as it should always have their victims struggles voiced first and foremost and the Witness is much bigger than itself for it has forced its necrotizing fingers into the lives of everyone in the Destiny universe.

The story and focus will never be on the Witness for me, it will always be on its victims and their recovery.

I think about how I struggle to find traditional names for my heritage because everyone has a name from the beliefs of our imperialists instead of the victims they forced to be remembered as necessary casualties on a path to “civilization and salvation” and I am putting the Witness through a million glass tables.

I think about how all I know of my relatives who were born not that long ago was that they were only allowed to be “field workers and strong believers “ and here comes a massive anvil over its head.

Speaking on this matter, I am still working on a small thought dump on how Rhulk is a prime example of someone who sheds their cultural and personal ties to go from victim to perpetrator and it’s been hard!!

In all honesty, it has really taken an emotional and mental toll on me for how deep it cuts and how much of it reminds me of all that could of have been in the lives of so many if they weren’t groomed into believing that the only way to get justice for their lives (lives affected by the conditions the ideological groomers use to be opportunistic) is to take on a position where they are a subjugator, not the subjugated.

It’s very painful to write about and Rhulk as a character makes the very core of my being ache as every time I read Shattered Suns, I have to sit back and clench my fists at the invasive, predatory behavior the Witness displays towards Lubraens. Those same words it coerces Rhulk with are the same ones that resulted in hollow people in my life who were prideful in turning their backs on their cultural ways and community if it meant gaining the security and sense of righteousness the oppressors offered. The Witness preyed on Rhulk and turned him into something truly awful, something I see so often that I cannot stand by and not say anything on it.

I wish to see Rhulk content that does not focus on him just being a devoted disciple of the Witness or some super strong villain who’s cool, I really want to see more content touching on what happened to make him fall so far into the Witness’ clutches and views him as the victim he is! I want to make content that shows how REPUGNANT their relationship is and how Rhulk is an example of the need to provide preventative community and understanding to those vulnerable to ideological grooming, especially in our modern era where harmful beliefs are ever present and looking to find people to sustain them!

This is getting very long, but in essence, thank you! Thank you so much anon for your words!!

I truly believe in the importance of POC voices, especially black voices, in fandom spaces as we have been left out of a lot of discussions that have heavy implicit (and explicit) ties to race and culture when it comes to sci-fi and fantasy settings! We get strength from community and understanding, it is how we can better make fandom spaces comfortable for all!! By giving my views on the Witness and its ills, I wish to help the Destiny fandom understand some of the ties it has to real life issues and hope that it helps people be more conscious of the teachings in media they invest in!

It was so nice to see people contribute to my Witness post with their own connections or point out connections other people have made like with evangelicalism and Polish fascism. I’m very glad many people can unite on the fact that the Witness is abominable and that we can face irl Witnesses by defeating ignorance hand in hand!! My understanding and beliefs are always evolving with new information and I’m always happy to grow alongside others!

Just remember guys, make the content you want to see in life and if you are a POC, voicing your discomfort or offering your perspective on matters discussed in sci-fi and fantasy settings is essential to getting proper representation in media that is done with nuance and respect as well as help both audiences and writers craft better narratives!!!

And trust me, the Witness (especially the behaviors it displays towards Rhulk and it’s other victims) makes me deeply, deeply,

deeply

deeply

Uncomfortable.

I will never forgive the Witness for all it has done and I never want to see it pleased with its work EVER. The only redeeming I want to hear about the Witness is how it can redeem this coupon for my fist in its face, free of charge, guaranteed by me, filled with the force of all my relatives who did not live long enough to see that they could have always mattered in this world.

[fuckingthefictional]

Red Stained Dress

Request: “I hope you’re having a wonderful day/evening/afternoon/night! May I request Reader being a cousin to the Shelby’s (mother’s side) and being very very like lady-like, clean, expensive clothes. And one of the boys gets blood on her dress? If that’s alright? Thanks in advance.”

A/N: I made this entirely too angsty for my own good, either way hope you enjoy!

Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence, swearing, blood.

“Mummy what is falling in love like?”

“My darling, it is one of the best things in life. It is special and sacred. It makes life worth living, it makes the world that little bit brighter.”

“When will that happen to me?”

“Time will tell my sweet girl, but be patient- love is always lurking around corner, where you least expect it.”

Your mother was right. It did lurk around the corner and it caught your heart in its grasp and lead you to love. To your husband.

At the age of 20 you went from Y/N Strong to Y/N Massey. Wife of James Massey. You were happy, at peace.

But your mother had failed to explain the complexities of love. That it didn’t come easy. There was darkness and rockiness. And love didn’t always last.

For you it broke in front of you. When your husband was taken on the battlefield- somewhere in France.

And suddenly you were a widow, you were alone.

Your mother and husband had passed. The only person left was your father (if you could even call him that)- Charlie Strong.

On her deathbed your mother had begged you to go and make amends with him. Even going as far to write down his address on a piece of paper for you to keep.

But you hadn’t plucked the courage to do that yet. To you your father was just a man who ran from his wife and child at the first moment he could.

There was only one trait that you shared with that man. And that was your love of horses. You had always had a connection with animals. Horses and dogs in particular would just flock to you- who knew maybe it was in your blood.

“Ms Massey?” A quiet voice interrupted your heavy stream of thought, looking up you saw one of the many maids that worked at the house standing in the entry way to the library.

“Is everything alright Mary?” You asked.

“Ms Carleton has just arrived for you ma’am, she’s waiting for you by the car.”

You nodded, rising from your armchair and taking one last glance at his armchair before you left for the day.

May and yourself were going to a horse auction, you’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

You were both looking for some new horses to take on and train, as well as some new potential clients.

“Stop dallying Y/N!” Your friend’s familiar voice rang out, “The auction starts soon, we’ll miss out at this rate!”

You rolled your eyes towards May, silently dismissing her joking jabs at you.

“We won’t be late May,” You reprimanded, “stop fretting.”

“The clock says otherwise.”

“Ladies like us are never late,” You waves your hands to prove your point, “everyone else is simply early.”

May giggles in response, “if you say so Y/N/N.”

You swatted at your close friend jokingly, you were hoping for a successful, calm day- but trouble always did seem to follow you every place you went.

-

“Ladies and Gents we will start our bidding at 50 pounds.”

The horse auction was surprisingly crowded, it seemed that quite a few people had come to see what breeds could be found at the auction house that afternoon.

It was dwindling down to the last few stallions and the occasional mare. All in all you had been successful in purchasing two stallions and a mare of your own.

The last horse on auction in question was beautiful, it was a stallion- dark and shiny in colour, its legs were long but muscled. A perfect contender for you to train for the races.

You raised your hand in interest.

“50 pounds here,” the auctioneer spoke, looking around at everyone else, “Going once, twice-“

“150 pounds.”

Your head whipped round, looking for the man who was trying to outbid you.

“300” you spoke again.

“500” A murmur rippled through the crowd.

You weighed up your options, it was a lot of money for a single horse- you didn’t want to blow through every single penny you had to your name.

“Going once, going twice-“

“1500 pounds.” A new voice had cut out, there were shocked murmurs erupting throughout the stands of people.

The gavel banged on the table, signifying the final action of the day, as people began to disperse from the auction house- you could finally see the man that had snatched the last horse up.

You knew who it in an instant- it was Thomas Shelby. Your cousin Thomas.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you began to make your way down the stairs with May. Silently you found yourself praying that he hadn’t taken any notice of your presence.

God didn’t listen of course.

“Y/N?”

You took a deep inhale, as you rushed down the stairs to try and escape.

“Y/N!”

Fuck, there was no chance of outrunning them.

You quickly murmered that you would catch up to your friend, before you slipped through the doors arena like stage.

The doors itself open and closed behind you, before it was repeated again.

Here goes nothing I suppose.

You breathed in a shuddering breath as you turned to face your estranged family members.

They were all there. Thomas, John, Arthur, as well as another two men that you didn’t recognise. Not to mention the man that you had long since called your father.

You put on a polite smile, which probably looked far too forced, “Good Afternoon Thomas.”

“What are you-“

“What are you doing ‘ere ‘ey?” Your father cut Tommy off, questioning your motives as his piercing eyes stared into your similar ones.

The action only caused a swell of anger to swirl in her belly.

“I assume the same reason that you are- business.” You spoke simply, biting down on your tongue to keep any more words at bay.

“And what ‘business’ do you have here Hmm?” Tommy’s gruff voice asked.

“Jesus I’m just here to purchase any horses that look good enough to ride professionally- what is your probl-“

“Mr Shelby.”

Everything that happened next, happened all too quickly. Because before you could even register what was happening there was a yell coming from one of your cousins.

“Get down!” John’s voice had cut of your own with a loud yell, as you were suddenly tackled to the floor.

A loud crack rippled through the air as the wooden banister above you splintered into two, a bullet lodging itself in the wall behind it.

You peeled up behind the curtain of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, “What the fuck?” You screamed in fear, shock melting into every nerve and muscle in your body.

Another gunshot pierced out, as it shattered the large window close by into thousands of shards.

A part of you didn’t want to believe that this was happening- surely it was just a dream? A terrible, horrific nightmare?

Another crack of a bullet being launched sounded close to you, peeping up from behind your quivering hands you saw that it was Thomas who had fired it.

Thomas who had fired a fatal shot into another man’s head. Thomas who had caused the death of a man, who may have had a wife, or a child or a family.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that was to come next. The sight of your eldest cousin brutally throwing punch after punch after punch at another man’s face.

The sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bones shifting and cracking under the weight of Arthur’s meaty fists continued to echo around the room.

The man’s face slowly becoming mangled into mush, the sand below him becoming stained with crimson blood - you knew you couldn’t take it for a moment longer.

Swallowing your fear, you jumped off of the ground, screaming desperately for Arthur to stop.

You tried to pull him off, only to be knocked backwards onto your back. You felt the air leave your body as you collided with the ground.

You shifted back onto your feet, ignoring the pain surging through your spine. Watching as your father, Tommy and another man ripped Arthur away from the scene.

Crawling over you to the motionless body, you lifted two fingers to his neck. Frantically searching for a pulse. After a few seconds you found one, “He’s still alive- but his pulse is weak, he needs-“

Once again you were cut off by your father, “John take Y/N to the car.”

“What? No!” You protested, “did you not hear me- that man is dying he needs a doctor now.”

Within seconds you felt your body lift off the ground and over someone’s shoulder.

“Stop! You can’t do this!” You were screaming desperately, you voice becoming hoarse “What is wrong with you?”

The feeling of tears running down your face, alerted you to just how upset you felt. You just watched your family kill- like they were predators.

A few short minutes later, you felt your feet finally hit the floor. Looking around you grasped onto the nearest solid object that you could find.

The car was cool to touch and it calmed your raging thoughts for a second before a swell of nausea hit. You wanted to be sick, to cleanse the memories of what you had just witnessed away.

“Y/N...” John’s voice held care, like he was tiptoeing around what had just happened, “About what you just saw.”

“You didn’t see anything.”

You’re head shot up angrily, Tommy stood in front of you, with the rest of the group of men behind him.

“Really because the blood on my fucking dress says otherwise,” you fined, lYou’re fucking insane- you just killed two men, two men who may have had families that will never see them again.” Tears welled up in your eyes, “You should feel ashamed.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, “If we didn’t kill them, they would have killed us.”

“We all have a part to play in this world Tommy- you don’t get to decide who lives, who dies and who tells the story. You’re just a selfish coward who shoots first and asks questions later.”

“Y/N you can’t say that- he’s your family.”

Your head whipped around, quick enough that you swore you could’ve gotten whiplash. It was your father who had spoken those words.

“You don’t get to say anything to me- you do not have that right anymore, you lost that a long time ago,” You jabbed a finger into his scrawny chest, “Family Hm? You lot stopped being my family years ago. None of you came to my wedding, none of your cared when my husband was killed, and you ‘dad’ disowned me before I could walk- so don’t you dare lecture me about family.”

“You’re still apart of this family Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well if that,” you pointed back over to the auction center, “is what being apart of this family is then I have no fucking interest in being apart of it.”

Family isn’t always to do with fucking blood- it is what you make it.

[thefanficmonster]

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home. 

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them. 

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

[drwcn]

Discordance!verse part 2: there are consequence to loving someone you shouldn’t. 

in which wwx is lxc’s husband through political alliance, and there is an affair. 

[8] | [7] | [6] | [5] | [4] | [3] | [2] | [1] [synopsis]

Objectively, massacre was not the correct term to describe the sight before him, but it was the only word that came to mind as Lan Wangji stepped dazedly across the threshold into the courtyard of Songfeng Shuiyue Pavilion.

At some point during the hour before Nie Huaisang arrived and broke him out of jingshi, it had begun to rain. 

The swoosh of the discipline whip being wrought through the air howled louder than the easterly wind, and like lightning it came shooting down, delivered with a thunderous crack as it made contact with a young man’s back. 

Two ninety nine. 

Technically I’m your brother too now... Let’s be friends!

But there was no light, no brief moment of wonder in the aftermath, just the echo of a sickening splatter. The cotton under-robe between whip and skin, once pristine white, had been reduced to strips and tatters. Drenched red, it was nearly indistinguishable from the raw overturned flesh.

“Er-gongzi!”

We can’t - I can’t... I’m your, we’re - Lan Zhan, mm, Lan Zhan please - 

In the periphery of his awareness, Lan Wangji heard disciples yelling his name, ghostly hands pulling at him from all directions, but it was beyond his capacity to heed those warnings now. Transfixed, he gravitated towards the man under the whip, who made not a sound even as his body convulsed with every merciless stroke. 

Three hundred.

I’m not afraid. The future doesn’t frighten me. I have you. Nothing else matters.  

Wei Wuxian laid face down along the surface of a flat long bench, stripped of his outer robes and deprived of his guan. His hair, swept over one shoulder, dipped into a puddle of rain water, cloudy and pink from the blood that dripped down his chin. 

Inside the dry refuge of the pavilion hall, Uncle and the Elders sat in witness. No one showed any inclination to stop this insanity.

Three hundred and one. 

Don’t panic, let’s not panic. We will explain ourselves. Everything is going to be fine. Lan Zhan, look at me, do you trust me? 

As he drew close enough, Lan Wangji saw the thick strip of leather clenched between Wei Wuxian’s teeth and bound back at the base of his skull. But it was hardly the gag that kept him silent - Wei Ying was barely conscious. 

There was water running down Lan Wangji’s face. Whether it was rain or tears, only the gods knew.  

The whip sailed through air again, cutting off raindrops in their paths, but -

Clang! 

Nie Huaisang’s saber swung into the disciplinary weapon, knocking it out of the hands of the disciple.   

“LAN WANGJI!” 

I’m not afraid. 

I have you. 

I have you.

You do have me.

That single thought thrust him back into the present, freed from that far away place suffocating him inside a thick fog of utter hopelessness. 

“You cannot wield my saber. Your meridians are locked. Your core is muted. But take it anyway. At the least, it’ll intimidate. But remember, if you really try to use it without spiritual energy, it will damage you.” 

So be it. 

The rain pelted down around them, and Lan Wangji found himself surrounded by eight senior disciples pointing their swords at him and at the saber in his hand. Without his cultivation, the early spring downpour felt like ice against his skin, and Qinghe’s first class spiritual weapon weighed more than gold. 

"Lan Wangji! Remember yourself!" 

His uncle had stepped out under the eave, along with five other Elders. 

“Stop this.” Lan Zhan demanded, as if he had any rights to make demands. As if he hadn’t been defiling the sanctity of his brother’s marriage behind his brother’s back, as if he hadn’t broken the trust of the one person who had always, always been there for him. 

His uncle was so angry he couldn’t speak, but Elder Zonghui beside him, the most senior and respected of the thirty-three did not have such a reactive temper. 

“Put down the saber, Wangji. Your sense of righteousness is misplaced. Nothing is happening here that isn’t deserved and agreed upon.” 

“Agreed upon by whom?” Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, seething. 

“By all parties involved, of course. Requested even,” said Lan Zonghui, his unaffectedness towards the violence being committed before his very eyes chilled Lan Wangji to the core.  

“Wei Ying requested to be whipped three hundred times?!”

“Four hundred times,” corrected Lan Qiren, cutting into the conversation. “Your actions have violated a dozen precepts of our clan, but for the four most salient transgressions we issued fifty lashes each, totaling two hundred. As you are both participants, you were both to receive them, but Wei Wuxian offered to bear the entirety of the punishment.”

At his uncle’s words, the pain that tore through Lan Wangji was akin to being gutted by his own Bichen. 

“Take Lan-er-gongzi back to his room. He is not in his right mind."

“Do not move!” Lan Wangji commanded, as loud as his nature allowed. “I am not leaving without Wei Ying.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Nhn....” 

Wei Wuxian clung perilously to the edge of consciousness and pleaded at him through hooded feverish eyes. From where he clutched at the front edge of the bench, a trembling hand reached out and tugged on Lan Wangji’s robes. 

Just like that, like a taut string on his guqin plucked with a force too great, the tension inside him snapped, and all the fight that kept him going melted from his bones. Lan Wangji lowered his arm. Qinghe’s saber slipped from his grip and landed on the ground with a splash. 

“Wei Ying...” He fell to knee, uncaring of the eyes judging them as he smoothed back Wei Wuxian’s wet, matted hair and caressed his face, undoing the gag in the process. 

The rain had stopped, but Lan Wangji continued to cry. “Why...”  

Wei Wuxian reached for his cheek, brushing the teardrop collecting at the groove of his nose with his thumb. He smiled, a chasm of crimson red. 

"Lan Zhan...”

“I’m here, I’m here. You have me.” 

“No, no...shouldn’t be here.” Wei Wuxian shoved at him weakly. “My penance... I deserve it." 

But Lan Wangji could not stand another second listening to such words, such lies. He removed his outer robe and laid it across Wei Wuxian’s ruined back. Then, as carefully as he could, he rolled the other man over and into his gentle embrace. 

Strengthened by resolve, he turned to the mixture of faces that watched him with anger, mortification, and disgust, and said, “It takes two for a sin like this. If Wei Ying is culpable then so am I.”

"No.” gasped Wei Wuxian, struggling in protest. “Go, go -” 

“Three hundred and one. There are still ninety nine lashes left, aren’t there? I am here, and I submit before the ruling of the Elders and the Lan family precepts.” 

His Uncle shook his head, sweeping back his sleeve and sighed long and loud, as though all his anger had been defeated by a sense of profound disappointment and resignation. 

Lan Zonghui stepped forth, down the steps towards them. His eyes cut like frozen glass as he examined the spectacle. 

"Even your mother knew decorum,” he said, glancing from Lan Wangji kneeling the on wet ground to Wei Wuxian cradled against him. His gaze lingered there. “Or, perhaps not. The fruit does not often fall far.”  

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if Zonghui had meant his mother the murderess, or Cangse Sanren the sectless wanderer, but in his arms, Wei Ying seemed to hear the connotation behind those callous words. He took shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face into Lan Zhan’s chest.

The fist that grasped at the front of his lapel trembled, tight knuckles blanched as white as his robes. 

Lan Wangji felt ill. What could Elder Zonghui have possibly insinuated for Wei Ying to hide himself away like this? As if what was said was too cruel for him to brave, as if the three hundred or so lashes he endured were nothing compared to this carefully chosen insult. 

“Words are unnecessary. You know what you know. We have nothing further to say.” Lan Wangji curled around Wei Wuxian, covering him as much as he could. 

“I’ll take the whip.”

“Your meridians are locked,” countered his uncle, a trace of worry lacing his tone. 

But Lan Wangji could not be dissuaded. “The whip, if you please.” 

Too weak to protest further, Wei Wuxian stared up at him despairingly, dark doe eyes brimming with tears. He was frightened, despite having shown no signs of fear just moments ago. Releasing Lan Zhan’s robes, his cold hand curled around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing him closer. 

Lan Wangji went willingly, eyes falling shut, and let the press of their foreheads together anchor him to what was real, what was true. 

He heard the whip before he felt it, and when he did -

He always knew the discipline whips were painful. They were created for such purposes, charmed by the most clever and fickle of their spells. It did not kill, but it tortured. And now he understood. 

Excruciating. 

The pain was excruciating. 

The second hit followed soon after the first, and when the impact exploded along the column of his back, he felt Wei Ying quiver against him and heard the sob strangled in his throat. 

Lan Zhan did not envy his position, for he understood completely now that although the discipline whip hurt, it would hurt him more to know that it landed not on himself, but on the man he loved. 

The third hit never came. 

“That’s enough!” 

All eyes turned to the source of that outraged bellow, a seldom phenomenon within Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen stood under the courtyard doorway, the wind at his heels, long hair flying about him, seemingly descended from the sky. Behind him, Nie Huaisang peeked out nervously, pointing to the saber on the ground.  

“Uhm - if I could just -” 

“Xichen -” Elder Zonghui started. 

But Lan Xichen did not allow him to finish. “When has it become acceptable at Cloud Recesses to abuse the Sect Master’s heir and husband without the Sect Master’s knowledge or consent?”

He stepped up to Wangji and Wuxian and physically put himself between them and the congregation of clan elders who had all come out to greet him upon his arrival. 

Uncle sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that afternoon. “This is not abuse, this is punishment.” 

“Oh?” Lan Xichen tilted his head, eyebrows rising innocuously. “For their sexual relations, I assume?”  

This was perhaps the first time ever in Gusu Lan history that a Sect Master had rendered the Elders so utterly speechless. 

Lan Xichen turned to the senior disciple still holding the whip in mid swing. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” 

"We have not told them to stop,” objected one of the Elders in the crowd, as though he was unable to fully process what was happening.

The glare that Lan Xichen cast over his shoulder was cold and pointed. Without raising his voice, he said, "But I have. And the last time I checked, Wei Wuxian is still my husband and I am still the Sect Master of Gusu Lan and the head of this family."

“Xichen-” Uncle interjected then. “You don’t understand -” 

“On the contrary I understand perfectly. Each year, I, as Sect Master, am granted one allowance to veto the council’s decision. I have never in my life used that privilege before, because I have trusted in the wisdom and guidance of my Elders. However today, forgive me Uncle, Elders, for saying that you are all mistaken.” 

Not waiting for a response, Lan Xichen knelt down beside the two young men.

Lan Wangji stared at his brother with wide, anxious eyes and held Wei Ying closer. He could face his uncle, he could face the Elders and all the world, but for his brother Xichen, the subject of his betrayal, he did not know how to begin to atone or what he would do next.  

“Xiong-zhang, I -”

“How is he?” His brother’s brows were furrowed tightly as he scanned Wei Ying up and down. 

Of course, thought Lan Wangji. Of course his focus would be on Wei Ying. Xichen was not like Uncle, not like the Elders; he knew better. He knew Wangji. And because he knew Wangji, he would know that the one to blame in this wretched situation was not Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji hung his head. His whole face felt hot with shame, and he could not bear to look at his brother anymore. 

“Not good.”

Nestled against him, Wei Ying swayed in and out of consciousness. With the adrenaline of Lan Zhan’s punishment fading, the effects of the freezing rain and his earlier punishment were quickly catching up to him.

“How many?” 

“Three hundred and one.” 

Lan Xichen cursed under his breath. 

A stream of pale blue light flooded into Wei Ying’s left temple. Lan Wangji let out a breath of relief. His brother was strong, of cultivation and of heart. He was kind and forgiving, and undeserving of all that Lan Wangji had done to him, but at least...at least he could forgive Wei Ying, if not his little brother. That was mercy enough. 

The infusion of spiritual energy jolted Wei Ying awake. Sucking in a sharp breath, he grabbed onto Lan Xichen’s wrist. 

Lan Wangji watched with twisted pain and guilt as Wei Ying turned those doe eyes on his husband, “Zewu-jun -” 

“Wuxian, conserve your energy. All can be said later.”  

"No, no, Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Don’t save me. If you do... Please...don't send me back to Yunmeng. I can't go back like this. Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang - I can’t. I know what I have done. I know I deserve everything - anything - but please I beg you, I am willing to die, but let me die here at Gusu. Please the disgrace on my family, on Yunmeng -"

Lan Xichen dabbed his clammy forehead with the edge of his sleeve. "Shh, enough of that. You're delirious, A-Xian. You know not what you speak. No one is going to die, and I will not send you back to Yunmeng." He laid the back of his hand against Wei Wuxian’s temple. “Heavens, he’s burning up - Wangji!” 

Lan Wangji did not realize he had faded off to that hazy place again until his brother shook him by the shoulder. A cool hand pressed against his forehead. “Dear gods, you too. What - what happened to your -”

“It’s been locked,” piped up Nie Huaisang, clutching his saber. Amidst the chaos, no one seemed to be questioning his presence and what he was still doing there. “I tried but I couldn’t -” 

“No, you wouldn’t be able to. The spiritual seal of Gusu Lan can only be undone by the natural momentum of the cultivator’s core. It’ll take time. Come help him, Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang threw an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Lan Xichen lifted Wei Wuxian into his arms. 

Together, they rushed towards Hanshi. 

Update:

[part 3]

[misstinfoilhat]

Hullo! I really love your writing, and I saw that you got a bad things happen bingo! I really love both Ed and Dazai, so I was wondering if I could request something for both of them? Maybe tied to a pole with Ed, and human shield with Dazai?? If two requests is too much, could you please do Ed? Thanks ☺️☺️❤️

Heyoo! I can do both! I have the Ed one ready now, and then I’ll do the Dazai one later! ^^ I might do some of the other stories first though--- I hope that’s okay! 

Again, this became an actual one-shot. A drabble isn’t usually 2000 words, ya know. But it was fun to write! And I’m actually really happy with the outcome!

The whole “tied to a pole” prompt was a bit unspecific to me, but here’s what I made of it:

---

Roy grit his teeth, fists clenching tightly. They all knew that the court martial’s verdict was bullshit, that the Mayor of this godless town in the south-of-nowhere was out for revenge. The humiliation of having been corrected on the history of his own town in the middle of a speech was too much for his wounded ego. The fact that representatives of the military from several other districts were present at the time, had only amplified the effects.

If Edward had only kept his mouth shut. If he hadn’t been such a bratty know-it-all, then Roy and his unit would have been on the train heading back to Central right now. They wouldn’t be standing in a crowd of people, watching as their youngest teammate was fighting his restraints, hard-handedly being escorted to the flogging pole.

The masses that had gathered to observe the disciplinary action was mixed. Some whooped and laughed, pointing while cheering for the administrator, while others turned away in outrage and disgust the moment they saw Edward’s minuscule stature and automail arm. 

“It’s just a child,” a woman behind Roy gasped, and Roy lowered his head, rubbing at his eyes.

‘I know!’ he thought. 

As the guards tried to attach Edwards’s cuffs to the pole, a wave of laughter spread through the crowd. Roy snapped his attention back to the stage, where it became apparent that Edward was too short to reach. The ropes they would tie him to weren’t long enough. 

“Yeah, go figure! They’re not meant for a child!” Havoc heckled but was quickly shut up by a sharp elbow to the side from Riza. Roy sent him a venomous glare.

“Leave it,” he hissed. “This is just for show. He can handle a few lashes. If we leave here on a bad note, we will all be court-martialed once we get back to Central.” 

Havoc scoffed. “It’s such bullshit,” he muttered, relighting his cigarette.

“I agree, but our mission was to kiss some ass and make good relations. Fullmetal did the opposite of that, and now he’s facing the consequences.” The words left a foul taste in Roy’s mouth, but it was the truth. All he had asked of the vertically challenged knucklehead, was to smile and nod as they paraded him around like a show pony. 

Eventually, someone had produced a crate from somewhere, which they placed Edward on top of. The teen was fuming with embarrassment and rage.

The large crowd settled as the Mayor walked ceremoniously to the front of the stage, unrolling a scroll and cleared his throat. 

“For the crime of breaching military code, I hereby sentence Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist to one hundred lashes,” he spoke loudly. The collective horror from the audience made him pause, however.

Something heavy settled in Roy’s stomach and he felt his knees start to wobble.

“That’s too much---” Riza gawked, aghast. The moment it had been said, Roy, Havoc and Breda had all bolted towards the stage, leaving Riza, Fuery, and Falman behind. The three exchanged glances, before rushing after them.

“That is outrageous!” Roy shouted as a guard blocked his path. “He can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds!”

“A lash per pound then,” the Mayor chuckled spitefully and glanced to where Edward was still fighting his bonds.

“That amount of lashes will kill him!” Fuery chimed in soon after, out of breath. “A man should optimally only receive fifty lashes a day, but a child his size---”

“Preposterous!”

“Barbarians!”

The crowd roared in outrage.

“-would likely not withstand more than twenty, maybe thirty---” Fuery was stopped by a hand covering his mouth. He glared back at Falman.

“Yes. As he said, twenty,” Falman inquired vigorously. 

The Mayor’s eyes hovered over the audience, furious fists being thrown in the air and voices pleading for mercy for the child. Only a few people still laughed, calling Edward a wimp, a crybaby, and other downgrading names.

Eventually, the Mayor rolled his eyes obviously and strolled back to the centerstage. He cleared his throat in an overexaggerating matter.

“On account of the kindness in my heart, I will relent to your appeal. I will change the sentence to---” he paused for dramatic effect, bathing in the sea of anticipation as all eyes were directed at him. “-forty lashes!”

“That’s still too much!” Havoc directed at Roy, eyes begging for him to do something. But all Roy could do was to shrug and shake his head gloomily.

“There’s nothing I can do. We need to be aligned with this asshole, no matter how much of a self-absorbed jerk he is.”

Havoc still argued. “But Furey said twenty lashes, and he raised it back to forty!”

“If we don’t accept this more ‘reasonable’ punishment, I’m afraid they might go back to a hundred and I’ll have to blow the tops off their heads off,” Riza joined in, hand resting instinctively by her holster. 

Their discussion was cut short at the sound of leather singing through the air, followed by the sickening noise of it smacking across flesh. The muffled groan Edward bit back made them all turn. 

The already scarred back had a glowing, red welt across the shoulder blades, and Edwards’s hands grasped at the ropes binding him to the pole as they shook by the effort of holding him up on his tippy toes. The thin scar tissue around his shoulder port was already bloodied.

Again, the flogger danced as the guard raised his hand anew and brought the spiked tip back across the feeble spine. The Mayor counted loudly as each stroke was delivered.

The seventh lash broke Edward’s skin. Crimson red merging with perspiration, running down his back and leaving small puddles of blood around his feet. As the punishment went on, his flesh broke more and more. On the seventeenth blow, the tip of the whip lodged itself underneath the plating of his automail arm.

As it was forced back out, the metal plating visibly shifted, grinding into Edward’s bones. That was the first time Edward broke his stubborn silence and let an agonizing cry cut through him. He threw his head back, revealing that he had bit his bottom lip bloody and cursed at them loudly. His body was spasming, if it was because of the flogging or the automail was hard to tell, but it was heartwrenching to witness nevertheless.

When the twentieth hit was dealt, the crowd had gone silent. A few had left, and Riza had her back turned, unable to take it any longer. She assessed her superior’s face solemnly. Roy’s eyes were dangerously narrow, and his jaw was set tight, telling her that he struggled to compose himself.

Edward had gone completely quiet behind her. The only sound that cut through the grave silence was the swishing of the whip and faint occasional moans.

As the Mayor got ready to declare the thirty-first lash, a brisk baritone voice spoke up.

“That’s enough!”

The man giving the lashes paused for a moment and looked questioningly at his superior. The Mayor glared at Roy for a moment.

“I will stop this now, if your unruly subordinate offer me a formal appology,” he smirked boastfully. 

Roy took a step forward and Riza had to keep herself from instinctively grabbing at his arm.

“With all due respect,” Roy bit, with evident sarcasm bleeding through his words, “even if he had been conscious to offer you his apologies, I would refuse to let him after your reckless, thoughtless behavior. A teenager wounding your ego is not punishable by death, nor near death. If it was, I swear Fullmetal would be administered floggings daily by myself!” Roy’s voice rose slightly, even if he was now standing only a few feet away from the podium, glaring up at the pompous man.

The Mayor assessed him lazily, arms crossed and nose raised. 

“I- I can take it,” came weakly from behind him. Simultaneously, Roy and the Mayor’s heads snapped towards the fragile voice.

Quivering feet were trying to get purchase on the wooden crate, the exhausted body swayed limblessly back and forth as he failed to keep his balance. The bright fresh blood still seeped through the several ugly lacerations crisscrossing over his sunkissed back at an alarming rate. 

“Fullmetal---” Roy disputed softly, but Edward shook his head.

“No! I can take it!” a newly found strength reached his tone. “I’m not some scrawny kid! If I can do an adult’s work, I can take an adult’s punishment!”

Edward had to pause as a few painful coughs wrecked through his weary form, robbing him of his newfound energy. A raspy intake followed, before he was ready to speak again. 

“So, just do it,” he croaked, barely above a whisper. “Give me forty, fifty, a hundred. I don’t care. Just get it over with so I can be done with this piece of shit job and go back home to my brother.” 

With a defiant stubbornness, Roy kept his stance with folded arms and looked venomously at the Mayor as he signaled for the punishment to continue. It proceeded with absolute silence, an uncomfortable aura spreading over the onlookers. Accusing and disapproving stares were cast at the man who had administered each lash. Edward had eventually given up on keeping his feet under him and hung motionlessly from the ties as the last lash hit him. 

The relieved sigh as the Mayor declared the fortieth blow was elevating. Low murmurs and quiet conversations filled the streets as the crowd thinned, and people got on with their lives, undoubtedly discussing whether or not they would want to keep such a heartless Mayor in the upcoming election.

The administrator reached to untie Edward’s wrist, but Roy skipped up on stage and demanded to do it.

Gingerly, he undid the first knot, carefully placing his arm under Edward’s to keep him from falling. Edward hissed from the contact, and Roy apologized bashfully. As he unraveled the second not, he let Ed slide down and rest on his lap.

Roy held him tightly, supporting his back with one arm while brushing strands of hair away from his face with the other. Golden half-lidded eyes peered tiredly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Edward muttered weakly, shamefully scrunching his eyebrows together. Roy mimicked the expression in confusion.

“What? What do you have to be sorry about? You took your punishment like a champ!”

“I ruined the job,” Edward uttered quietly, straining to keep his torn bottom lip from wobbling. “They’re not gonna be our allies after this, all because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut.”

The surprised scoff that tore its way through Roy’s throat startled them both. Roy’s hand kept brushing through the unruly mop of golden locks affectionately.

“He was an asshole anyway, Fullmetal. There’s no way anyone will elect him for another term after this display. Maybe a potential new Mayor was in the crowd today, watching as you took this unfair punishment with your head held high. If anything, you’ve might increase our chances of aligning with them.”

Those large, brilliant eyes widened as he looked up on him, making Roy smile fondly.

“You really think so?” Ed asked in awe, gripping at Roy’s sleeve to make him stop petting his head.

The colonel chuckled lowly, shifting a little, signaling that he was getting ready to get up.

“Yeah, I do,” he confirmed as he finally lifted Ed off the ground. Edward winched, and his grip on the older man’s sleeve grew tighter. They passed the Mayor without a word. 

A few feet away, the rest of their unit stood. Havoc was holding Ed’s red coat and delicately placed it over Edward’s trembling form as they turned to leave.

“You made me really proud today, d’you know that?” Roy murmured silently.

“Really?” a hoarse croak answered from the bundle in his arms.

“Yeah, really.”

[marvelousecology]

Until Dawn

The frigid sting of frozen morning air causes me to wince and sink underneath the mauve knit scarf around my neck. My heavy black winter coat, woolen mitts, and tall boots protect me from the harsh cold wind that rustles the bare tree branches around me, but my face is less fortunate to the indifferent cruelty of winter. Each step I take accompanies a satisfying crunch as it compacts the pristine snow on my back patio. I love the fresh snowfall and its glistening plush blanket covering the hard ground beneath it.  

I look up at the dark motionless sky while waiting for the sunrise to peak up from the suburban rooftop horizon of the neighboring houses. Surprisingly, the first signal of dawn is not the vivid shades of pink and orange melting away the night but the break of silence. Cardinals, chickadees, and nuthatches orchestrate a symphony of songs welcoming the morning. The quiet stillness of these early hours is the perfect time for their dawn chorus since birdsongs are longer and more complex patterns of notes that require the noiselessness clarity of these few hours before sun-up to relay their message—hop away from my domain, they say. While birds compete for territory, they do not have to compete with the rowdy ruckus caused by human activities at the crack of dawn, at least for a little bit. The melodic chirps are soon replaced by the sounds of engines starting and cars slowly rolling down the street, sullying the beautiful snow, and leaving behind a wretched dirty slush sloshing with each person dragging themselves to work.

I feel sympathy for my neighbors dredging along to the status quo that weighs heavily on all of us—to make a living, pursuing the American dream, but so caught up in the demanding affairs of society to stop and enjoy the hidden treasures the world we set ourselves apart from offers. The overwhelming beauty found outside is no more than background noise as we so often shut ourselves indoors. We ignore the birdsongs, the nostalgic childish love for snow, and watching the rising sun.

But more importantly, we ignore the trash. The bare tree branches not only house nests but runaway plastic bags carried away with the wind that gets hopelessly tangled in the intertwining sprig arms. The soft blanket of snow not only covers the ground but temporarily hides the empty snack wrappers, sticky plastic lids, and carelessly discarded garbage that litters my front yard. There is a sickening familiarity of media’s influence normalizing throwing cigarette filters out of the car window as if it miraculously vanishes after the first hard rain. And I am sure everyone is aware that it is against the law to litter, yet our concrete jungles comprised of messy parking lots, cluttered curbs, and muddled highways reveals the ugly truth—just look around.

Taking the time to silently reflect outside and truly exist with my surroundings granted me this clarity to recognize the piling burdens demanding our attention, while witnessing the magnificence deep listening offered. The impulsive habit to pull out my phone and distract myself from this horrifying reality is forbidden if I am to truly acknowledge my role in nature. Unfortunately, there’s comfort in disassociating from civilization’s life sentence of monotonous servitude, so avoidance and escapism feel like second nature, but the static disconnecting me eventually fades away.

I recall Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring igniting environmental movements that ended the use of the noxious pesticide DDT, meanwhile, the North American bird population is down 2.9 billion, which is 1 in 4 pairs. Global biodiversity is speeding tremendously into the 6th mass extinction, while the human population boasted 7.8 billion, and climbing. A parasite lacks the sentience to acknowledge that by killing its host, death is imminent. What’s our excuse?

The sunlight effortlessly breaks dawn, impending doom upon the newly born snow that’s blissfully ignorant to the freeze thaw weather plaguing Southeast Michigan roads. The expanding suburbia is smothering what’s left of the wetlands, while the weather missed our demolition memo, so when my neighborhood streets flooded, people went kayaking. The disconnect from the world around us is like a disease quickly multiplying and spreading through the veins of mother nature and leaving the imprint of civilization on the doorstep for it to cleanup.

So often animals find themselves eating a grub basted in Roundup or a mouse marinated in Rodent Repellent, then dying a slow agonizing death by poison. Apparently, “you are what you eat” only applies to shaming people into adhering to physical appearance standards. The saying, “They don’t care unless it’s theirs,” comes to mind. Until everyone cares about the plastic bags clinging to the tree branches, stopping to hear the dawn chorus of birdsongs, or the effects our actions have on an ecosystem, then our communities shall remain eye sores we choose to ignore.

[aquamarineicecream]

Rewind: A Sanders Sides Superhero AU -  Chapter 5

Ao3

<Chapter 1

<<Chapter 4

>>>Chapter 6

“Logan, don’t!”

The shout ripped from Patton’s throat a second too late yet he barely remembered saying it. He watched in horror as Logan’s limp body fell to the floor at the same moment that Patton’s world came crashing down around him.

“Patton? What happened?!” Roman demanded as he and the other two heroes rushed into the kitchen to the sound of the Baymax mug smashing on the tile next to Logan.

“I….he…” Tears were already flooding down Patton’s cheeks as he sunk to Logan’s side, bare hands getting cut on the shards of what had brought the man in front of him much needed happiness mere seconds before.

“Move. Maybe I can help him,” Deceit said while crouching next to Logan and quickly checking his pulse.

“He- he touched my hand. I should have put my gloves on. What was I thinking?” Patton mumbled numbly. He wrapped his arms around his own trembling frame as he rocked back and forth, tears continuing to blur his vision. The blood smearing on his light blue cardigan was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he mentally asked anyone who might be listening to keep Logan alive and not to let the other man pay the price for touching Patton’s own treacherous skin.

“Shhh, don’t worry. Logan will be okay. We’ll find a way to fix this.” Roman placed a reassuring hand on Patton’s shoulder as he spoke what they both knew to be a lie. Still, they sought to find at least some semblance of comfort in it nonetheless.

“I don’t understand, what’s your power? What happened?”

“I killed Logan.”

The answer to Virgil’s second question seemed to create a vacuum in the small room, sucking out all hope and replacing it instead with despair.

“Hold on, he’s not dead yet. It’s faint, but there’s a pulse. Everyone stand back.” Deceit ordered, taking charge while simultaneously trying to ignore the tears forming in his eyes. He made sure to keep his head tilted down far enough so that the others wouldn’t notice said tears and become more worried.

Patton slowly stumbled to his feet and backed away as Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand, pulling him back so they were next to Patton. The three watched in confusion as Deceit closed his eyes and began moving his hands in circular motions over Logan’s chest, trying his best to reverse the damage before it was too late. Patton’s head was spinning as a sickening sense of deja vu overwhelmed him.

‘Not again. Please not again.’ Patton silently begged. The tension was palpable as even the room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Deceit to finish whatever he was trying to do. Roman gave Patton’s shoulder a gentle squeeze with the hand that wasn’t still tightly clutching Virgil’s. Patton knew he was trying again to be reassuring but the action did little to calm his overwhelming nerves.

Logan's eyes flew open as he gasped desperately for air.

“Logan!” Patton quickly moved forward, as Deceit’s eyes opened.

“Oh god, Lo,” Deceit’s tone sounded strangely foreign to the others as he rushed to help Logan sit up. The man in his arms was still struggling to catch his breath.

“It’s okay, Logan. Take your time. Just breathe,” Patton said, words full of relief while he grabbed his gloves and hastened to put them on.

“Logan, you absolute idiot! What were you thinking?” Deceit was quick to start scolding the younger man despite still holding him protectively against his chest.

“I- I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. Thank you so much for saving my life.” Logan was still a bit breathless as he spoke. “Wait, Dee, are you- ?”

“Don’t say it,” he half-heartedly threatened while moving one arm from around Logan in order to wipe away the unwanted tears staining his cheeks. Logan decided not to respond. Instead, he had a tiny smile as he laid his head on Deceit’s shoulder, an action that seemed oddly familiar in comparison with his usual icy exterior. Patton felt a small pang of an emotion he’d rather not name as he watched the two men interact so casually, but he pushed it down in order to focus on what was really important at the moment.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he crouched next to Deceit.

“Tired, honestly. But I’ll be alright.”

“You better. Because there’s no way we’re letting you die on our watch, Calculator Watch,” Roman said while walking over and extending a hand to help Logan up, relief evident in his expression. Deceit released Logan and he took it. He was a little shaky as he got to his feet, but Roman was quick to wrap his friend in a tight embrace. “You’re not allowed to die on us ever again, got it?”

“Deal.” Logan let out a soft laugh as Roman let go of him in favor of putting an arm around him to help support him while Logan regained his bearings.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Logan,” Virgil added, giving him a half smile. Patton stood as Logan thanked Virgil, but he was a bit surprised when Deceit didn’t stand alongside him the way he’d expected.

“Hold on, Patton. Do you want the cup too?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to fix your mug?” Deceit looked up at Patton expectantly, catching him off guard.

“Yes, please. But only if you can. I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“I’m fine. But you all have to move back again,” Deceit replied, waiting until after the others followed his instructions before closing his eyes and moving his hands counterclockwise over the shards. Patton, along with the rest of the team, watched in awe instead of worry this time as the ceramic pieces started flying back together until the mug was complete, albeit having risen a few feet in the air. Deceit stopped moving his hands and opened his eyes just in time to catch the mug seconds before it shattered once more.

“Woah.”

Deceit looked up to the sound of Virgil’s shocked statement but he didn’t address it. He simply stood and handed Logan his mug before leaning back on the counter.

“Thank you, Deceit.” Logan set down the now-repaired mug on the section of the counter nearest to him, taking care to keep it far away from the edge, just in case.

“Wow, Deceit I knew you could mess with time, but I’ve never actually seen you do your thing before. That was pretty flippin’ cool,” Roman said, looking at his teammate with a newfound fascination. The other man only replied with a simple shrug.

Patton, unlike the others, watched silently as he realized something his coworkers had yet to piece together. As he studied Deceit, he saw that it wasn’t just relief in his expression but instead, there was exhaustion weighing on his sharp features. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he would have found it easy to believe that Deceit had been the one with the near death experience, not Logan. This was especially evident in the way Deceit’s shoulders were hunched as he slouched, relying almost entirely on the counter to keep himself on his feet. Add in the way the man hadn’t even had the energy to answer the others in little more than small motions and it was quite clear to Patton that bringing Logan back from the brink of death along with fixing the Baymax mug had taken a much bigger toll on him than Deceit would ever admit. However, Patton knew better than to bring it up now given the way Deceit was trying his best for the others to view him as a strong unshakeable force who was casually leaning against the counter and staying silent by choice.

“As much as I hate to bring this up right now, the representative guy should be here any second and there’s still food and stuff on the table out there.” Virgil had just finished speaking when, as if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“I can answer the door,” Logan offered, but Patton was quick to stop him before Logan even had the chance to move from Roman’s supportive hold.

“No, I got it. You need to rest.” Patton made his way over to the front door, the others following nervously in his wake. They watched from a slight distance as Patton opened the door to not one, but two men. Everyone except for Virgil let out a sigh of relief as they recognized the smaller of the two.

“Hi guys, it’s so great to see you again! This is Thomas, he’s a new recruit so our Superiors sent me to help him out.”

“Emile!” Patton exclaimed, already beaming. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I know, it’s been too long. Work has kept me super busy.”

“Well either way, it’s really great to see you.” Patton opened the door more so Emile and Thomas could walk inside before closing it after them. “I love your new hair color,” he added, noting the man’s dyed light electric blue hair.

“Thanks. I really liked the pastel pink, but I felt like a change, y’know?” Emile explained as he made his way over to Virgil and held his hand out for the other man to shake. “Hey there, I’m Emile Picani. You must be Virgil.”

Virgil tensed as he hesitantly shook Emile’s hand, staying silent in what Patton assumed was an attempt to keep a sarcastic quip from slipping out.

“Okay, so where do you wanna do the demonstration of your powers?” Thomas asked his question in an upbeat tone, trying in vain to get all their minds off what would happen with Virgil if this ‘demonstration’ didn’t go the way the team hoped. However, judging by the way this day had been going so far, their chances were slim at best.

“Let’s go to the roof, that’s where we’ve been training,” Deceit suggested, motioning to the door leading to the stairs as he spoke.

“I agree.”

It took Logan a moment after speaking before being able to move from his position leaning against the wall, but after waving off Roman’s offer of help, he soon made his way to the door and began to lead the way up the stairs with the others at his heels. Patton had begun to follow only to be stopped short by a hand grabbing his arm and pulling him into the kitchen.

“Wha- ?”

“Shhh.”

“Deceit what are you doing?” Patton whispered, glancing over his shoulder and watching the doorway as the door closed behind Thomas leaving the downstairs area empty aside from them.

“Hold on. We need to wait until we’re sure they’re upstairs.”

“Alrighty.” Deceit’s hand was like a vice on his arm, tight enough that he could feel how cold it was through the thin material of his long sleeved shirt. “Umm.. Dee?” He glanced down at the same moment that Deceit seemed to realize he was still holding Patton and he was quick to release his coworker.

“Sorry about that, but I needed to talk to you alone. I’ve tried not doing it, though I don't know why but this day only works if we do have this talk." Deceit's words rushed as he spoke in the same hushed tone as before. As he leaned back on the counter once more to keep himself stable, Patton observed that he was still significantly more pale than before he had used his powers earlier that morning.

"Deceit, kiddo, are you doing okay?"

"You do know I'm two years older than you, right?" He replied with a feeble attempt at a comforting smile.

"I know that. But you didn't answer my question."

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound too sure about that," Patton said gently before continuing, "You can always come talk to me if something's bothering you."

"Really, I can assure you, I'm fine. But my well-being doesn't matter right now and besides, that's not what I have to talk to you about. Today has to go well."

"Yeah, I really hope things go well too," Patton agreed with a nod.

"Patton you don't understand. It needs to go well. If something goes wrong and Thomas decides to take Virgil with him, you have to promise me you won't let that happen and you'll use your powers to stop them."

"What? No. I'm not hurting anyone the way I almost hurt Logan this morning." Patton took a small step back from Deceit, scared by the very notion of that happening ever again, much less on the same day Logan nearly died.

"That's not what I meant. But if Virgil gets taken, that’s it. Either he’ll get killed the second Thomas turns him in or, even worse, the next time we see him, he’ll be our enemy and that never turns out well.”

“Dee, I know we’re all worried and stressed out because of what might happen, but I’m sure it can’t be as bad as you’re imagining. Our Superiors wouldn’t hurt him unless he’s a major threat, the way they thought he was in the first place. I’m sure if they meet him, they’ll see Virgil for the sweetheart he is and none of what you said will happen. But I’m sorry, I’m not agreeing to killing Thomas or whatever it is you want me to do.”

“Killing?” Deceit asked, sounding a bit surprised. “No, of course I don’t want you to do that. Thomas could be a potential ally. But I do need you to swear to using your powers in the persuasion way we practiced. Just put all your focus into keeping him alive and when you touch him, he’ll pretty much fall in love with you.”

“I don’t want to make Thomas into some kind of obsessed minion, we just met! Plus, he seems nice like Emile,” Patton reasoned.

“The way people seem can be different from the way they actually are, but don’t worry this is only a worst-case-scenario sort of promise. Besides, as long as it’s only a quick touch and you stay focused on him not dying, you won’t drain his life force like what happened with Logan. And as soon as you tell him to tell the Superiors to leave Virgil with us, you can just think about it and mentally give up your control on him so the obsession won’t last too long. The only other ways his life force could be drained is if you touch him for a long time or mentally and consciously keep your control over him. As long as we ensure neither happens, everything will go smoothly.”

“Like before when I used it so we could get the key to Virgil’s room to arrive there before him?” Patton asked hesitantly. “That wasn’t so bad and I gave up control before anything happened to the desk clerk.”

“Exactly. Everyone wins and no harm comes to anyone. So please, just make me that promise.” Deceit’s imploring gaze made Patton reconsider his instinct to tell the other man ‘no’. Deceit looked borderline frantic at this point, his dark brown eye seeming to hold a thousand secrets the man desperately wanted to spill, yet knew he never could.

“Okay, I promise,” Patton finally conceded. “I’ll use my powers as a last resort.”

“Thank you,” Deceit said, letting out a sigh of relief Patton hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Deceit’s body visibly relaxed. “This means a lot. Now, let’s get going. We should go to the roof already. Hopefully the others haven’t felt our absence too much.”

Deceit pushed himself off of the counter to stand on his own. He was a bit unsteady and though Patton already knew Deceit wouldn’t accept any help Patton could give, he offered nonetheless.

“Want to take my arm? Just until we get up the stairs. Then you can go to the nearest seat if you’d like that instead.”

“No thank you.” Deceit took one wobbly step forward before hesitating and surprising them both and saying something else, “On second thought, yes please. But only up the stairs.”

“You got it, kiddo.” Patton beamed at the other man as Deceit took his arm and, with Patton’s help, they soon reached the roof in no time.

However, unbeknownst to them as they walked into the open area, Logan, Roman, and Virgil had been doing their best efforts to stall the inevitable. They’d tried making casual conversation with Emile, asking Emile a thousand questions about how the press has viewed the heroes lately, and even gotten Thomas to tell them the story of how he’d gotten a job working under the Superiors. The last one was unfortunately not as interesting as the former two, considering all Thomas had done was send in his resume to apply for a position in government, go to an interview, and sign a non-disclosure agreement once he was hired.

“Oh, great! Deceit and Morality are here so we can get started,” Thomas said as he saw Patton and Deceit make their way over to the group.

“Yeah,” Deceit agreed, giving Patton a knowing glance as he sat down.

“Okay, Virgil. Go ahead whenever you’re ready.” Emile gave Virgil an encouraging smile after speaking, but it did nothing to stop the small tremors beleaguering his frail frame nor to slow the feeling that his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Nevertheless, he grabbed one of the small beanbags they’d been using to practice and gingerly turned it over in his hands.

Virgil could feel their eyes on him and much like at all the practices for the past month, there was no escaping the pressure. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore as they watched with bated breath but, like so many times before, the beanbag didn’t explode.

“Uh, Virgil, nothing’s happening.” Thomas’s words were practically a whisper, breaking the tense silence. A few minutes had passed since Virgil had picked up the beanbag. Virgil’s eyes flew open and he didn’t pause to think before snapping back at Thomas.

“You don’t think I know that? We failed. Go ahead and celebrate because you can take me away and kill me now.” Virgil spat venomously at Thomas. He slammed the beanbag on the table which was piled with others on the off chance that Virgil had actually succeeded and they needed more backup beanbags. Virgil was trembling more than before as he turned on his heel and walked away from the table, pacing back and forth as he quickly began spiraling thanks to the dark thoughts flooding his mind.

“Hey, Hot Topic-” Roman started tentatively.

“I should have known this wouldn’t work.” Virgil spoke vehemently, unaware that Roman had even said a word.

“Yo, Charlie Frown, turn around.”

“I knew better than to get my hopes up,” Virgil mumbled miserably, leaving Roman without a response yet again.

“Virgil!” Roman shouted, grabbing the other man’s shoulders in a final effort to get his attention once and for all.

“What is it, Roman?” Virgil acknowledged him at last but Roman merely spun him around to look at the table as it finished corroding fully and exploded in a brilliant red, orange, and purple blast.

“You did it!” Roman hollered over the noise, pulling Virgil into a tight hug.

“No, we did it. If you guys hadn’t shown me to let myself feel emotions more deeply like that without pushing them down to keep myself in check, there’s no way I could’ve pulled that off.”

Virgil grinned up at Roman as the taller man pulled back so his arms were now only loosely wrapped around Virgil. They were only inches apart now. In a matter of moments, Virgil was already completely lost in Roman’s dazzling brown eyes. And, for a fraction of a second, Virgil had the urge to grab the front of Roman’s stupidly well fitting t-shirt and pull him into what felt like the natural reaction to being this close. Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as Roman eyes searched his own and he knew Roman was thinking the same thing he was.

At least, he’d thought he had figured out what Roman was thinking, but instead the other man pulled back, quickly releasing Virgil with a puzzled expression gracing his handsome features. It was for the best, Virgil knew. He wouldn’t have wanted to kiss Roman anyways, he told himself. They’d only known each other for a month, after all. The rest of the team plus two visitors was on the roof too and would have seen what would have been nothing more than a foolish mistake. Virgil turned back to face the remnants of the explosion as he reminded himself that these feelings probably only existed because they’d gotten so caught up in the moment.

Yet if that were the case, how come being so close to Roman felt so right? Virgil sighed, deciding that he would never understand the stranger that felt nothing like a stranger. Instead, he glanced at Roman once more before looking away from the man’s plastered on smile. He looked back at the people who had come to decide his fate.

“Good job, Virgil. That was pretty impressive.” Thomas smiled as he spoke, appearing glad that he wouldn’t have to take Virgil after all.

“You guys did a great job,” Emile praised. “In fact, we could even start work today on Virgil’s name and press release as well as his place on the team.”

Emile had just finished speaking when they heard a crash from behind several large potted plants the team had set up next to the small garden they had started in an effort to make the roof more homey while Virgil trained.

“Who’s there? Reveal yourself,” Logan demanded.

“Ow, damn. Calm down, gurl. I’m not a threat or any of that B.S.,” said the disembodied voice. “Oh shi-”

“Come out here now,” Logan ordered as they heard another clatter come from behind the plants.

“Fiiine.”

Virgil watched the leaves rustle before a man he’d never seen before climbed out from behind them. He was dressed simply in a black jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans, but Virgil could already tell this guy was anything but simple. From his dyed purple hair to his sunglasses to the professional-looking camera hanging around his neck, Virgil had a bad feeling that all this stranger would bring was trouble.

“Well I hope you’re happy,” the man turned to Logan with a bored expression before continuing, “You made me spill my white chocolate mocha frappuccino.”

“Oh no, not you again.” Emile spoke with such exasperation it was evident he and the man had history.

“Great to see you too,” the stranger responded dryly, taking a sip of what was left of his drink from his Starbucks cup.

“What are you doing here?”

“Listen, sweets, don’t get mad or whatevs. I’m just here to get the scoop.” With that, the man set down his drink on a nearby chair before lifting his camera and taking a picture of what was left of the table and beanbags.

“Hey! Delete that!” Emile said, quickly making his way over to the other man.

“Yeah, imma pass on that one babe,” the man replied with a laugh, picking up his drink and taking another sip with a smirk.

“Remy, I swear to god. I know we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when we last saw each other, but you still need to delete that photo.” Emile kept walking towards Remy who, in turn, made no move to try and avoid Emile.

“Ohhh you’re real funny babe, but like, nah. This is a money pic so, like, there’s no way I’m getting rid of it now,” Remy retorted coolly. “And as for how we left stuff last time, I know I’m hot shit and I don’t need your B.S. bringing me down. So, like, if you don’t see that then too bad, but I ain’t about to ditch the photo of a lifetime the way you ditched me. And ya know what, Em?” Remy lifted his camera again and took a photo of the group of heroes.

“Wait, hold on. You can’t do that!” Patton exclaimed.

“Boom! I’ve got the cover of my new book right there. Thanks, boys!” Remy let go of his camera so it could hang around his neck again. He pushed back his brown satchel, which had swung forward since it was so full it was practically spilling papers, before turning and starting back the way he’d come.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Deceit snapped, grabbing the collar of Remy’s jacket to pull him back before he could make his escape.

“Woah, sis, chill the F out. I’m not gonna actually include your faces in the covers, obvi. If that’s what y’all are stressin’ over, then, like, chillax because imma just crop ‘em out or cover them up with your logos. I haven’t decided yet.” Remy spoke casually, as if being a prospective superhero who doesn't want a strange photographer to leak a photo showing your identity and the identity of your new friends who also happened to be famous superheroes was something that happened everyday.

“We don’t have any guarantee you’ll do what you say,” Deceit argued, letting go of the back of Remy's jacket so Remy could turn around to face him.

“Relax, hon. I’m not an a-hole who’s gonna leak your secret identities and all that shiz. ‘Sides, if I do that, then everyone will know how to find you and I won’t be the only one getting all the hot and juicy deets first. But fine, if you legit wanna crush my dreams, I’ll just put that huge explosion I got a pic of as the cover.”

“It’s not that simple, Remy. No one can know about the explosion or about the corroded table,” Emile explained.

“Oh, you did not just say that. Are you for real tryin’ to tell me that I can’t be the one to break the news first about the new super in town?” Remy asked, crossing his arms expectantly.

“He’s not a new superhero, he just got control of his powers. And we haven’t even come up with a name or costume for him yet so he can be added officially,” Emile said.

“Hold up, seriously?”

“Yup. So I need you to wait before releasing anything to the press.” Emile looked pleadingly at the Remy who studied him silently. “Please, Remy. As a favor for an old friend.”

“....okay, fine.”

“Thanks, Rem.”

“But I wanna know more about this dude. That way when I spill the tea, I got all the right info,” Remy added.

“Deal. You’ll be the first we tell once everything is in place for the public to know,” Emile agreed, much to Virgil’s surprise.

“Wait, you’re really gonna let this guy who probably climbed the side of the building to get up here know about my superhero persona first?” Virgil asked, looking between Emile and Remy questioningly.

“Oh, for sure. He’s pretty neat once you get to know him.”

“You literally said ‘oh no’ when you saw him,” Virgil deadpanned.

“Ehh, it’s a pretty common reaction to seeing me,” Remy said before Emile could respond. He turned back to Emile to add, “I am totally not bothered, sweetie. So, like, no worries. Though now that my mind’s on the topic, what if I help your little gangsey come up with the emo man’s signature look™?"

“Did you just say the letters ‘™’, as in trademark, aloud?” Logan failed to keep the judgement out of his tone as he arched an eyebrow at Remy.

“Yes I did.”

“Alright then. What credentials do you possess which you believe would suffice in making you qualified as a candidate to aid our effort to assist Virgil in the creation of his costume which will serve to conceal his identity?”

“Okay, listen up, biatch. I studied costume design in college, so I know what the F imma be talkin’ about. Plus I know like, everything there is to know about you supers. I mean, I legit was the one who first told the world about Creativity. Hence the reason I’m writing a whole frickin’ book about you guys.”

“To be fair, that does sound like some pretty solid credentials,” Roman admitted. Logan sighed and Virgil could tell Logan knew when he was beat.

“I suppose you may be in possession of certain skills that may prove to be a useful contribution to the process,” he conceded.

“Okay, it’s settled. Let’s get to work.” Emile faced Thomas before continuing, “Tell our Superiors I’ll be staying to resume work as the team’s public relations manager. And also tell them not to worry about sending a designer since we’ve got things under control here.”

“You got it. I’ll see you when you get back to headquarters,” Thomas replied. Virgil watched as Thomas made his way back downstairs before turning back to the others as Remy took a final sip of his drink and started to speak.

“Alright, gang. Sounds like we have a costume to make.”

Tag list:

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[scenariosofkonoha]

Headcanons. Founders trio. What if their femso was someone they had initially rejected? But then they realised they love her after she moves onto another man who treats her terribly.

Hey Anon! This is really, very, truly every so long…I really hope this is okay. I really liked your ask and just sort of ran with it. So we’ve crossed Headcanons, away from scenarios and I’m pretty sure that this would be classified as an abridged fic…sorry about that…Anyway… added an undercut because of length but I really hope you like it! ~Admin Little Lace 🎀

Hashirama

“I love you Senju-sama,” the girl said bowing, the posture covering the reddening of her face. At such an honest admission, Hashirama grimaced knowing his answer was not in her favor.

Hashirama had known the girl most of his life. A playmate of Itama, she and her clan were allies to the Senju cause. He had always known her to be a quiet mousey thing. Shy but always very sweet, smiling at him whenever their paths would cross.

So it hurt him to be the reason that her sweet expression faded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words causing her head to pop up, wide eyes looking to him. “But I cannot accept.”

Hashirama is genuinely upset about not accepting. Not just because he is hurting her, but he does have some feeling toward her. It isn’t quite as deep as hers, however  he has known her long enough that he does care for her with emotion deeper than familial

The eldest Senju only denied her because he doesn’t want her to lose him much like they had Itama. The loss of her best friend and his brother hit her especially hard. The loneliness he suspects is the reason for her admission to him.

Though its hard for him he denies her. The rejection sets the two of them apart. Hashirama finds it best not to interact with her, not wanting to see the hurt he caused displaying on her face.

As the warring nations come to an agreement and the Village Hidden in the Leaves is brought to fruition, does he see her again. When the clans all come to call the village home, he see her. The same girl who would smile sweetly when they met, now all grown up and all together different.

Although, she had known to be more introverted, the girl had an adventurous side. She and Itama always in some sort of trouble. But as he watches her, he notices she is a little distant. War changes everyone that much is certain. And yet with her it is unsettling.

The girl keeps to the edges of cowards and seemingly separates herself from other friends she had. Hashirama, believing her to have some of “Battle Fatigue”, reaches out to her for the first time in years.

“Hello,” the dark haired Senju greeted jovially, not missing the flinch in her being.“Oh, um, hello Senju-sama,” she near mumbles bowing to him, her formality troubling. “What do I owe the pleasure of your company?”“My company?” his voice filled with laughter. “No need to be so formal,” the smile he gave not returned. Her eyes flickered around them, it wasn’t the look of a shinobi weary of attack,, but of prey in search of a predator. “Are you alright?”Nothing, nothing is wrong.” the answer too quick.“I didn’t ask you that-”“I have to go, Senju-sama,” the young lady dropped into another bow before just as quickly departing.

Her strange behavior only draws him to check on her. The man is a nurturer by nature. Always wanting to help and aid those he cared for. The once Kunoichi is no different, even if she makes his chest feel light and bubbly. The village leader tamps down the feeling, taking care of her is what Itama would have wanted. All the surfacing feelings doing wrong toward his memory.

The more he interacts with her, short conversations, and trading nods when passing, he begins to see interesting details about the family friend.

His companion tends to flinch if a hand is raised near her. The reflexive action shown to the eldest Senju when he rose a hand in greeting. A simply lifting of his hand sent her back pedaling away from him.

That wasn’t the only thing, her clothing had changed. Her boyish battle attire, with short pants and mesh was replaced with long flowing yukatas that she seemingly kept tripping over. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the sight, they were very becoming on her. But no matter how much he liked them, she looked increasingly uncomfortable as she tugged and pulled the garment back into place.

Slowly, the more the two see one another she comes to be the girl he remembered. His heart beat faster when her small shy small retrieved. The smile he catches in the market, slowly blooming as he stops to ask her about her day. The smile that graces him as he pays visit to her clan. And even the small tearful smile  he witnesses as she whispers to her friend’s memory at the Senju memorial.

With every moment they share, he grows more fond of her. Looking forward to every moment they can share together. But as she began to open up to him, suddenly she shut down.

Her frighten being pulled away from him without cause worrying him more. Their path no longer seem to cross, she was avoiding him. The abrupt parting causes him to sulk, his friend on the receiving end.

“She’s avoiding me,” Hashirama sulked, his head hung low as he and his friend made their rounds through the village.“That’s understandable,” Madara offered ignoring his friend’s ‘suffering’. As much as he wished to continue paying no mind to his friend’s mood. He could feel the shifting in the air next to him. Fighting a losing battle, he made eye contact with the elder Senju immediately regretting when he came face to face with signature depressed face. Groaning the Uchiha turned away. “Don’t pout.”“You’re ignoring me too.” the co leader whined tears welling in his eyes. His reactions drawing a bit of a coward. A coward that was giving Madara questioning looks. The attention was making him uncomfortable.“Look,” he said a bit too harshly. “If you are so worried, go check on her yourself. “As if nothing had happened, Hashirama brightened.“That’s a great idea,” he smiled. “I’ll go check on her now.” and with that the Senju marched away leaving behind a confused and deadpanned Uchiha.

With his decision set, he does go to visit her clan, who (as always) happily receive him. The family excited to  their powerful connection has come to wish good will upon their daughter’s upcoming marriage.

The news staggers him, but easily covering his shock,  he asks to see the future bride. Which they gladly accept. Upon seeing the girl, she is not the happy bride.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”But no matter how much he smiles, it doesn’t feel right. The smile forced, and her excitement also seems false.“You must love him,” the dark hair man teased, feeling the heaviness weigh on him. All his light hearted ribs were answered with a shifting of her yukata and shifting glances away from him. Her teeth worrying her lips, concerned him but he continued to try to lift her spirits. “Come now marriage can’t be so bad?”

His smile is returned with a single tear escaping the corner of her eye. The dark haired man took note of this but also that small black and blue spot peeking out from the collar of her clothing. “Yeah,” she answered almost too quietly, “not so bad.”

Although, he wants to investigate the matter, village needs pull him away from her. So he does not get to see her again until the annual festival. Where she is seen with her fiancée. The other shinobi seemingly alright to Hashirama.

The eldest Senju suffers from too big of a heart. His brother and friend not so much. Each of them watching her intended intently. Both of them telling him to go to her.

Madara very inconspicuously.

“Best go give my regards to your lady.”

Tobirama, on the other hand, is a little more forward.

“This is not what Itama would have wanted.”

Hashirama not sure how to process that statement goes to speak with her. But the conversation is railroaded by the girl’s intended.

“Pleasure to meet you,”“She’s told me so much about you,”“We are looking forward to the wedding.”“She’s so excited, aren’t you love?”

That turn of phrase he’s using. “Aren’t you love?” causes the girl to wince before she replaces it with a smile and a strained:

“Yes love,”

Sensing something a miss, he leaves them to their evening but something stays in the back of his mind. Only when he returns to his office do things click for him.

The shinobi often held her upper arm or shoulder. His thumb pressing against a spot on her neck, the spot where he once noticed that dark spot. A bruise…it was a bruise. With a sickening feeling in his stomach he went to the one place he’d know her to be.

“He’s hurting you,” the dark hair Senju spoke frightening his crying friend. The once kunoichi gasping turning from the memorial stone, to him. As a hand reached to adjust her clothing, it was stopped by his. Her eyes met his, letting go at the ask for permission in her eyes. Carefully Hashirama, moved the cloth aside. Dark eyes widened as they traced the path of small finger shaped bruises. They speckled her skin, traveling down her arm in no  particular pattern. Black spots over taken brown and yellow masses. The trend continued over her collar to her back, a fresh one reddening  one forming on her neck. But that wasn’t what had boiled his blood.No, what had driven Hashirama’s vision red, had been a trio of three finger shaped marks. Separated evenly with a bridging of blue as they slowly blackening, they rested just above her chest bindings. The Senju didn’t have to guess how those had gotten there. The only thing stopping him from ending the man’s life was the soft whimpering of her cries.Watching helplessly as her face crumpled under the weight of her despair, he pulled her to him. Unable to bear it any longer he pulled her to him. “I’m so sorry,” Hashirama whispered, into her hair.

She explains to him the situation. The shinobi had saved her life. Being a messenger-nin in a war claimed just as many lives as the front line. Though the one time kunoichi had been careful, she found herself discovered in enemy territory. The man she was now tied to, had come to save her. In exchange for saving her life, she humored his advances.

After a while they became more serious. The man coming to love her and wished to marry her. Feeling indebted to him for saving her, she agreed. When he became cruel to her she tried to leave only to find she was unable to. The man hurting her if she even thought about leaving.

“He calls them his little art works,” she sniffled, “ he gets angry when they fade away.”

The ninja is from an little known clan, new to the village. To further his career he had been taking on longer more difficult missions, allowing for her to be alone. The time coinciding with the times Hashirama saw her around more often. but as soon as her intended returned the man is constantly grabbing her too tight and threatening her. The amount escalating the more Hashirama came around.

“Sometimes I pray that he dies on his mission,” she gave a watery laugh. “I’m horrible, I know.”“You’re not horrible,” the Senju said, running his fingers through her hair.“I just don’t want this,” a sniffle came bringing with it more tears. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.

Hashirama promises to fix this as he returns her home.

Out of all of the village’s founding leaders, the eldest Senju is known as a jovial, sweet soul. He would sooner end his own life than allow someone else to be hurt instead. Most of the citizens of the leaf have seen, and chuckled, at his spontaneous behavior and outburst of depression. The man is seen more as an dear uncle than a fear inducing leader. That was left for Madara.

But that putting someone he cared about in danger that another story entirely. The elder Senju can develop a sense of ruthlessness when any of his loved ones are threatened.

The girl is considered in that category. He cares for her dearly, but he still tries to put back in his mind that this is all for Itama. His fallen brother would not have wanted his best friend to be hurt in such a way.

The justification not stopping the bubbly feeling that welled up in his chest when he thought about her.

Feelings aside, he has to rid her of her Fiancée. Between running the village and teaching, he has his reluctant best friend check in on her. Oddly enough, Madara takes pleasure in giving darks looks to the shinobi.

As the plan is set into motion, both leader’s call the man into their office.

Hashirama and Madara conveniently offer the man a mission to be a new envoy to the forming Nation of Wind. They go on to tell him how wonderful and prestigious the long term mission would be. The man is not thrilled.

“It’s a suicide mission,”

And he isn’t wrong. the clans of the land of wind have been in unrest, a few of which requesting aid to recreate a hidden village of their own. The Leaf have sent 3 envoys, each could no longer continue due to injury or death.

Now it wasn’t as if Hashirama wanted him to die. He’ll admit that he thought about it, but that wasn’t his endgame here.

“No…” the man trailed, a darkness tracing the humored look on his face. “It is difficult, yes, but not suicide. And with your record, we are sure you’d be up to the task.”“Unless you wish to, decline.”

For a shinobi to decline a mission there better be a good reason. Declining a mission simply wasn’t done. To say no was essentially putting yourself before the mission. Your thoughts and feeling above the safety of the village and your family. It was cowardly and came with a social stigma, that no ninja could survive. No one wanted to be on a team with a selfish, self centered person such as that.

“We are being unfair,” the Senju reasoned with the Uchiha. “He wouldn’t want to deny a mission. Not with the new family he is creating.” “Of course if he broke the engagement he wouldn’t need to worry about such a thing.” Madara answered. The statement caught the man’s attention.“What are you implying?” the man dared to ask.“Simple really,”  Hashirama begun, the levity in his tone disconcerting. “You can accept the mission and be more than able to support your new bride. Or deny it and receive all the consequences that comes with that.” Watching the nin pale, the Senju began to smile. His power play aligning. “Of course there is a third option…”“You politely ‘bow out’ of the mission and we forget this conversation, if you end your engagement.” Madara then smiles, the crooked action causing a chill in the air. Realizing he had been caught in a trap the man grows a little red, threatening to blow. But after all they have seen neither leader is afraid.“She’s very important,” Hashirama says smoothly. “And I know how you take care of things that are important to you.”  Darkness had taken over any facet of the usually bright man’s features. “You have your choices. Choose wrong and I promise you if I see her in such a state again, your next assignment will make you beg for the the sand.”

The gamble pays off. No matter how much the man claimed to love her, the threat of death or social isolation could not overcome that.

Being free from such an arrangement the kunoichi is forever grateful. With time, paitence and the support of a certain friend she come back to herself. She even returns to service as a messenger-nin. A job she proudly uses to help serve her heroes.

Over time, Hashirama’s feelings only grow. Feeling not of debt to Itama’s memory, but something a lot more. not being able to hold them back he calls her to the Hokage’s office.

“This is very formal, Hashirama.” she smiled entering the office.“It is an important matter, the man replied standing from his desk. The young lady gave him and questioning look as he made his way over to her. Her expression soon morphed into one of shock as the man bowed to her. the deep waist bow sending her into a frenzy.“Wait…what are you-”“I love you (Name),” the Senju proclaimed, mirroring the long ago day. “I hope that you can accept my feelings.” To his announcement he heard sniffling. Raising his posture, he was soon engulfed in her arms. Hashirama laughed as the girl fell into what he hoped was happy tears. “I take it you accept?” her head nodding into his chest brought a smile to the shinobi’s face.“I love you too,”

Tobirama

“What is this about?” the pale-haired Senju bristled. The kunoichi before him was keeping him from his work. He was so close to completing his teleportation jutsu and with the added research he may be about to-“I’m in love with you,” the woman spoke suddenly, the words breaking his thought cycle. Blinking, Tobirama began to question whether he heard her right.“You?”“Love you?” she questions back with a sheeky smile, “Yes.” The shinobi folded his arms leaning back in his chair. This was alot for him to process. She loved him? Why? “So?”“So?” he questioned back to her raising a brow.“Do you accept my feelings?” she lead.“No,”“I thought as much,” she sighed, the smile never faltering. “Thank you for your time.” with a bow and one last smile the kunoichi left him to his work. The younger Senju sat starring out the door that she had left. His head trying to wrap around what had just happened.

The truth of the matter is: Tobirama isn’t sure who she is. The man is so far into his research and training he sometimes doesn’t notice people in the village. His brother had grown used to it. Even his students knew at time getting his attention could be difficult.

So now with some girl confessing her love for him, he realized she escaped his notice. The man wasn’t sure how he felt abut that. A part of him was embarrassed. A great ninja he was trying to be, missed an entire human.

Another, far larger part, was confused. She was in love with him? How could she feel so deeply and he not know her? Had they ever spoken? How long had she been around?

The questions nudge his mind for a while. The nudge grows to a constant pondering, distracting him from his work. Constant pondering evolves into all consuming thought. The stalling in his work forces him to solve the mystery of his admirer. He makes the mistake of asking his elder brother.

“You really don’t know?” Hashirama ask after near whizzing for 5 minutes. His brother glared while the dark haired Senju wiped tears from his eyes. None of this seemed funny to him.

The reason for his  for his older brother’s laughter was simply this: the woman was apart of the newly founded research division. A division, Tobirama himself founded, ergo he had a hand in her appointment to the position….and works along side her.

Even his students know who she is…

Throughly embarrassed and now much more aware, he takes time to notice her. How she always has blank scrolls and his research materials neatly prepared on his desk. Or how eloquent and well thought out her notes are. Even as he spends long nights holed up in his office, he takes realizes how easy she makes the office and research library to navigate. Things he took for granted his assistant had been tending to.

But it isn’t just work related things. He notices her laugh, or how she rest her head on her hand when she is reading. Also how she gives him the same cheeky smile when they lock eyes.

The younger Senju begins to feel foolish for not seeing her. Now he makes more of an effort to speak to her, acknowledging  her presence.

“Thank you,” he said looking up from the latest version of his seal. The girl’s hand stayed on the tea cup looking to him in shock. Snapping into reality she gave him one of her signature smiles.“Anytime.”

There is a part of Tobirama that is till pondering over her admission. It’s not like he is self-conscious or anything. But, to his recollection, he has never interacted with her. So he isn’t entirely sure why she is in love with him. in his mind, you’d have to have had a decent conversation to being love right?

To investigate the theory, he begins to speak with her. the conversations is stiff and either very formal or entirely informational. Usually speaking in such a way would cause any companion to give him a glassy-eyed look. But she engages with a look of wonder and a smile.

A smile he had grown used to. Whenever she returned from missions, handing off info on newly discovered jutsu or bringing him tea on late work nights. Each time she gifts hi one. It had become something he was looking forward to.

Until the day it wasn’t there.

“Good morning,” he greeted to her. Taking her eyes away from her work she nodded, no smile to be seen.“Morning.”

It was small but the interaction bothered him. Deciding against simply asking her about it, the pale-haired Senju decided to do what he did best. Research.

What Tobirama would call ‘research’, other’s would call snooping. Or the beginning stages of stalking. He follows her. As interesting as seeing her out of their work setting is, something he discovers unsettles him.

She now has a significant other. The information shouldn’t bother him. It had been sometime since her confession and his denial. But something about it made him increasingly unsettled about it.

Questions started to buzz around his head once more. Did she love them? How long had they been together? Was she happy? Did she still love him?

The last question he quickly dashed away before focusing on the former. This his research became more extensive. (Stalking…it’s just stalking.) At first he felt wrong about it, her personal like was none of his business. And yet the less she smiled the more he followed.

The other man seemed pleasant enough at first.Holding her hand and joking around wit her. But he noticed how she wouldn’t walk her home. It seemed silly but it was something that got under the stoic man’s skin.

The other man also seem to be half listening to anything she said, and if she spoke for too long he’d berate her with:

“Are you finished yet?”

With each snide remark, and dismissive gesture he could see the light in his girl diminish.

What he couldn’t wrap his head around was why she remained with him if he pushed her away. It didn’t make any sense. Tobirama knew her to be a logical sort wouldn’t reason state that  they weren’t meant to be together?

Due to his stalking research, he can’t come our and ask her about it. So he has to unfortunately wait and watch as she dims.

But he offers to walk her home, stiff postured as they go. He’s not sure what he is doing but she seems to be happier if only slightly.

And then one day during research he witnesses them argue. Well one couldn’t very well call it an argument if one side isn’t saying much at all.

“Kami, no one cares about your stupid scrolls. You embarrass me every time you open your mouth.” the man scoffed  as his girl looked at her feet.“I’m sorry I-”“Stop saying sorry, you’re so annoying.” he continued.“Hey I’m sor- I just don’t-” she stumbled. The intelligent, confident woman, the shinobi knew wasn’t this way. Not tripping over words and red-faced in the middle of the thoroughfare.  “Don’t leave.”“Pfft, I’m not leaving.” Tobirama watched disgustedly as her posture actually eased. “But I should. No man would want to have a girlfriend as pathetic as you.”

Murder is the first thing on Tobirama’s mind. The only thing stopping him is that he couldn’t very well kill a man over words. But that is the final straw.

“Oh,” she sniffled from behind her desk, wiping her eyes, “Senju-Sama I-”“You’re very intelligent. And I enjoy everything you have to say and so do others.” The pale-haired Senju cut in.  His arms crossed over his chest. His taciturn expression covering for his embarrassment. “You are brilliant and beautiful and any man would be lucky to have you as their partner.”The kunoichi’s face lit up pink as she sniffed, wiping away stray tears. “you heard that, huh?”“It was hard not to,” the honesty of his answer causing her to look away. Sensing his chance, he asked the question playing in his mind. “Why would you want to be with such a person?” with a humorless life she shook her head.“He wasn’t always like this…”

The woman tells him that her boyfriend had been nice at first. Being sweet to her after an unfortunate event. He’d made her feel better and taken her out. Said he was fond of her and they began to date. Soon everything that he claimed to like about her seem to make him angry or embarrass him.

After a while she began to believe what he said. At this point in their relationship she felt as if she needed him.

A sinking feeling settled in his chest when Tobirama had put the time line together. Her unfortunate event had been his rejection. A rejection he was now regretting as his feelings came into bloom.

“It’s silly, but I’m just hoping he’ll be like he was int he beginning. Work must be stressing him out.” The thoughtfulness in her tone sought to enrage him.“He won’t change,” the shinobi corrected. “I now you are smart enough to see that,”  with that he left refusing to entertain such foolishness.

Tobirama doesn’t want her to hurt. that is the last thing he wants. So  if she wants to be happy with this man, who is ‘under stress’, he’ll confront the man. Just to see how stressed he really is.

Going to speak with him involves the stoic man witnessing the girl’s significant other aggressively flirting with some other woman. Gracefully, without hitting the man, the second to the Hokage confront him about his behaviors. Only to be laughed at.

“Why do you care? Weren’t you the one who rejected her?” The man asked daring to laugh at him. Still remaining the better person Tobirama made to leave, the stern words of “Treat her better,” in his wake. he hadn’t gotten very far when the man added.“You lucked out, had I known she was this annoying I would have rejected her too.”

The man, though brave, is not a shinobi. For if he was he would have understood the reputation the Senju had. If he was he may have had the level of self-preservation to have shut his mouth. but since he wasn’t he found himself unconscious on the floor.

Tobirama if not a very emotional person. He is not very in touch with his feelings. So sometimes they all come out at once. In this case in a punch his opponent had not seen coming.

Is he ashamed? A little, he never liked losing control. Does he regret it? No, not at all.

After ‘the happening’, his assistant comes up to him in their office.

“I heard about what happened.”“And?”“Thank you,”“Anytime.”

Things stay the same for the two. Both of them falling into harmony they had built. But now it would seem she couldn’t walk home without him taking her. He often takes her out to eat as well.

Slowly the smile he loves returns, as she acts more like herself in his company. the man going out of his way to spend time with her. One day she asks:

“Why are you spending so much time with me?” the question coming over their shared dinner at a small eatery.“Because I enjoy it,”  he answered pointedly not looking at her. Even without looking at her, he could hear the smile she gave. “It goes both ways,”‘ he responded sounding grumpy into his rice.“Well I love you, I’d hope I enjoyed spending time with you.” those three words had not been mentioned since her initial confession. They brought to mind an unanswered question.“Why?”“Why?” she echoed before giving a look he had never seen before. She was blushing. “Well, I love how smart you are. Everything makes so much sense when you explain it. I love how you are with your students. Those kids are going to be fine shinobi under your care,” a thought bringing a chuckled from her. “if they survive your lessons. I love how you are with your brother,” the very mention of the man brought on an eye roll from him. “I know you care, You going out of your way to help him is amazing. but What I think I love most is your smile.” Her final reason brought him pause. His smile?“I’ve only ever seen it once, but when I first saw it that’s when I knew.” the dreamy look in her eyes faded as focus snapped to him. “Oh…um…I’m sorry, rambling again.” she apologized red-faced. “I guess what I mean to say is I love you for a lot or reasons.”Tobirama nodded returning to his food. The ever present heart beat, pounding incessantly  in his throat. Breath seemed hard to catch. Almost too quietly he said, near breathlessly. “I love you too.”

Madara

“Um…Madara-San?” she asked tapping his shoulder. the Uchiha turned, his attention to the girl. Her face burning as she held out a red note. Giving her an odd look he took it before she ran off. Unfolding the missive, exception some sort of emergency information from Hashirama, Madara read it. Dark eyes widened as the words came to light.

I love you, I have for a while not. If you feel the same, please meet me at the old tree near the training ground.

Speechless the dark haired man folded up the letter, placing it in the pocking hidden by his chest.

Madara never goes to meet her.  It isn’t as if he doesn’t know the girl. the war time orphan that had taken up ranks within the Senju. He was well aware of her, the girl often found training with Hashirama.

As a matter of fact she was never very far from Hashirama. The Senju’s eye sparkling and showering her with praise whenever she so much as blinked correctly. There hadn’t been a day gone by that his friend didn’t speak of the girl to him.

“Her training is progressing beautifully.“She has a chakra affinity of fire, like you.”“Her Taijutsu could use some work, you could help.”“You two would make good training partners.”

The near daily reminder of how highly the man thought of the girl was driving the man mad. But also clearly spoke of how he felt. Only speaking of his brother in such a fashion, it became apparent to the Uchiha that Hashirama was in love with her.

Not wanting to hurt his friends, or see him pout, he thought to leave it as it was. Best not get the girl’s hopes up by only to dash them upon arrival.

Not matter what was said about his clan, Madara was not heartless. e liked the girl. Through their training together and various conversations, he found her company enjoyable. Once could even say he had grown attached.

But his feelings, whatever they were, could not manifest any further while his best, and near only, friend held a candle for her. He would not test their friendship over and infatuation with her.

With his vow not to pursue her set, Madara tries not to interact with her. Trying his best not to foster anything between them. His plan seems to work as his distance pairs her with Hashirama. The elder Senju spending more time with her.

The distance wears on the Uchiha though. Not one to generally open up to people, the loss of his training partner is a shock to his social system. Thus making him a bit less of himself.

The cycle of loneliness  would continue until his friend comes to him.

“I don’t like him, the snippet of Hashirama’s words came. Effectively breaking though Madara’s concentration. “Who?” the bushy-haired man asked, his meditation coming to an end.“Weren’t you listening?”“No,”“You never listen to me,” the Senju clan leader sulked, now sitting in fetal position. Unfortunately foe him, the Uchiha would have to entertain such behavior if he wanted answers.“On with it man,” he was not in the mood for idle gossip. But if the big hearted Hashirama Senju didn’t like someone, the information had to be worth listening to.“(Name)’s new suitor,”“Suitor?” Madara no longer pretended t be disinterested. she had someone else? Well, it would be no wonder his friend didn’t like the man.“Yes, he’s a snake,” he grumbled, “I don’t like him.”“Can’t be too bad,”“Can’t be trusted, the dark hair Senju said pensively. “I don’t like him.”“So you’ve said.”“You’d say the same if you’d met him.”“Why because he isn’t you?” A pause came before his friend unceremoniously broke into laughter. Madara knew it wasn’t funny. “Aren’t you in love with her?”The laughing goes on for quite a while. Longer than the Uchiha is comfortable with. Thankfully when eh is finally done laughing, Hashirama explains.“Don’t be silly, she’s like a sister. No friend, she’s in love with you.”

The informations confuses Madara. and only seems to make the elder Senju laugh more as eh explains all of what he had done had been for his friend’s benefit. Fruitless as it had turned out.

Angered with himself, the Uchiha instead turns to her confirming his thoughts.

“You’re in love with him?” the man asks, his abrupt entrance into the training fields causing the girl to jump.“Oh…um… I’m sorry? I-”“You have a new intended?”“Yes?” the rapid fire questions confusing her.“Do you love him?”“Well… I-” she stammered. The sudden interrogation seemed to be a  bit much for the girl. “Not yet, he’s very nice and he loves me.”“Hm.” he answered monosyllabically. “Training tomorrow, same time.

The Uchiha believes the matter to be settled. In his head if the matter is settled, they can go back to life as usual, evening training and speaking regularly again. Over time he even feels comfortable enough to seek her out, meeting outside of their schedule times. The man wants her company again, emotions be damned.

Madara isn’t one fore  the petty emotions like “love” or “jealousy”. Plus it isnt as if she is still in love with him.

Though the may not claim any feeling toward her, he can’t help them sneaking up on him as he new beau comes to her after training.

Just as the Senju, he senses something a miss with the other man. Sure he is nice enough and comes across as in love with the kunoichi, his words and actions bring unease to the Uchiha leader.

The man comes earlier and earlier to their training.Going from picking her up to near supervising. The constant vigilance throwing the girl out of focus. The distractions allowing for mistakes and life threatening missteps.

The man also seems to be little her efforts with her training. Not outwardly but more that once the shinobi catches:

“Training isn’t that important right?”

Foolish words always covered by.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I love you.”

That last bit. the words “I love you,” had been flung around a bit to liberally for Madara’s test. They were endearing or heartfelt. They were almost seem to be covering for something or to push her into doing something.

Even if it were something she didn’t want, the other man could breathe those words and she would readily go along with the ideal. The change sickening to her training partner.

The strong kunoichi he knew should not be bowing to a man that she could snap like a twig. But each time he spoke, she would follow.

When she stopped attending training he grows concerned, and seeks her out.

“Retiring?” he was unable to keep the incredulousness out of his voice.“It’s not uncommon, Uchiha-san,” everything about her seemed ‘uncommon’. From her gentle tone, to the way he said his name, everything was wrong. “Most women who participated in the war have retired.”“You mean fought?”“Oh…well yes…that.”“It seems sudden,” he replied trying his best to  angle himself to catch her eyes.“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and he says he’ll take care of me.” The mention of ‘him’ had put an end to it.“Right,” Madara answered, skepticism heavy in his tone.

Madara is not going to question her. Her decision are her own even if he doesn’t agree. If she wishes to retire he isn’t going to stop her, no matter ho many time Hashirama pushes him to.

When she quits teaching however is when the Uchiha has to intercede. She loves her students, the kunoichi continuously speaking of them and what they are learning. Once even asking Madara to join her class.

“They’ll love you, not to worry.”

Though he had never taken up on the offer, he took pleasure in how happy it made her. With the addition of how she was never afraid to speak to the scary looking man.

The new events finds the man at her door but he isn’t alone.

Caged by the body of an unknown man against her door, the Uchiha watched as the man caressed her face and whispered into her ear. He couldn’t quite believe she was the sort to have dalliances with two men. That is until he witnesses the uncomfortable look on his companion’s face.

How she grimaces when the man kisses her cheek and leaver her. Casually as anger would allow, he asks upon her newest suitor, the answer he receives serves to break him.

“No, he’s a friend of my lover, but he seems nice enough and he says that he like me too. He may even love me.”

Sick to his stomach at the new information Madara goes to her “Love,” having questions about his friends that were in love with his so-called love.

Now like Hashirama, Madara’s feelings do sit on the surface. He feels emotions just as deeply but as mastered not expressing them. With years of training, he had learned to cover them up under a scary demeanor he wears.

So when the man and his friends laugh about how each “having a go” with her, it takes all of a few seconds before the floor is speckled with their blood. The altercation couldn’t even be considered a fight.

After carting them off tot he medical building, and receiving a stern “talking to” from Hashirama. (Holding said Senju back when he hears the particulars of the beating, and then both receiving a lecture from Tobirama about tact) the Uchiha returns home to a furious kunoichi.

“What have you done?”

He had never heard her raise her voice, much less raise a fist toward him in anger. Never one to back down from a fight, the two spar, the Uchiha expertly deflecting her haphazard attacks. Not hard to defend, the more emotional she gets, the easier it is for him to pin her.

“He loves me,” she weeped her arms pinned about her head. No matter of struggling was going to get him to let her go.“That’s what you think love is?” though his voice calm, the underling note of fury was palpable. “A man passing you around to his friends?” Madara seethed pressing her into the wall.“How would you know?” she screamed at him, her crying cut off by his lips pressed to hers. The kiss was not gentle, it was harsh like the man. But it didn’t hurt as she had grown used to. There was passion there as he held her, the firm grip on her not to injure or bruise. Breaking away she could see the same breathlessness had over taken him as well.“No man that loved you would want to hurt you.”

As the kunoichi eases back into the life she had known free of the overbearing shadow of her former lover. The emotion-less Uchiha making certain of it. The man grew to be her support, always at her side whenever old feelings or insecurities arose.

Though he may not show it in a traditional sense, he will tell her he cares whenever she asks. Hashirama is better with constant reassurance than Madara.

Yet due to his proximity with her, she attaches herself to him. Although there is a pat of him that knows that the new behavior could bloom to be unhealthy, he does nothing to stop it. If anything he fosters it by walking close to her and letting rumors spread.

It takes baby steps, but with support of her friends she grows not to be so fragile any longer. Her reliance on her friends not as crucial and  she is emotional strong enough to emotional stand on her own. Even with all her strides toward a better self, she remains close to  Madara.

The Uchiha still finds her  to ask her opinion on something, assists her in training, returns to her first when coming from a mission and comes to her class to instruct the little ones. If she finds it strange she doesn’t question it, and he won’t say anything either. The man likes the way things are and prefers to keep it that way.

“I’ll walk her home tonight,” Hashirama offers after class had let out for one evening.“That’s alright,” Madara assured, looking toward his girl. “We will be fine, hm?”“Yes,”  she answered. With a brightness the elder Senju had not seen since her initial rejection, she smiled. As the two walked away, Hashirama noticed as the kunoichi’s have took hold of Madara’s sleeve. His friend then graced her with one of his rare smiles. In that moment, Hashirama had felt he had missed a very key element to the story. Were they…? He couldn’t really say, but with a sly smirk he made his way to his family compound. Thoughts of when, if ever, his friend would admit his feelings flying around in his brain.He suppose he would have to wait, either way, he was taking credit for such a match.

[megalony]

You’ll have us

A follow on imagine from my series ‘Love and affection’.

@rogertaylorsbitontheside

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glancing his eyes up Roger managed a smile as he looked up at Lily resting on his shoulders. Her smaller hands entwined with his own holding them in the air causing a slight ache to his muscles though he said nothing. He felt his heart fluttering at seeing the dark purple and black striped shirt she was wearing that matched the one Ben was wearing. Lily wasn't old enough to play rugby but she loved watching Ben play, she always had. And so Roger and (Y/N) had gotten a shirt for Lily that matched her papa's shirt so when she watched him play people would know who she was supporting. Today was a little different. (Y/N) wasn't as interested as Lily in the sport and even Roger wasn't that interested except for when Ben or his team scored. But they were all there as they always were whenever Ben played a game. The reason why today was different was that it was the first time Roger didn't want any of them to be here. He was all for Ben playing the sport he loved which he had been playing since he was young but not now. Not today. Ben's MD was progressive but over long periods of time meaning for the past six years he had only gradually gotten weaker or aching muscles meaning that it was much easier for him to carry on with his job, his family and overall having the same life that he did before he was diagnosed. The muscles that had been affected were mainly in his jaw and neck but now his back was beginning to suffer as well as one of his arms. Playing rugby wasn't going to do him any good because it was a rough sport and he was more than likely going to get hurt. Roger didn't think the risk of hurting himself was worth it for a sport he didn't get to play as much as he used to due to his work and family. He knew it was something Ben loved but it was endangering his health and nothing should be worth that. But Ben needed to play. Rugby was a big part of his life and he didn't want to give it up just yet. His disease had stollen so much time and aspects if his life already and he just couldn't go through anymore right now. He had gotten his diagnosis in his early twenties before they'd had Lily, so when their daughter was born aspects of his life were changed because he couldn't do certain things with her and he wasn't going to be able to do anything with their next daughter who would be born in a few short months. Some days Ben hadn't been able to get out of bed to see to Lily or play with her if a muscle was playing up. Doing his job was harder than it used to be and his diagnosis had happened so early on in his life. Rugby was something that Ben and Lily shared because they both loved it. Ben absolutely adored seeing his girl stood wearing a matching shirt showing her support and calling out for him. He knew his time playing was numbered and he wanted to live it as much as possible before the tables turned and he was the one supporting her at her games. Ben had been playing since his early teens and he loved it, it was something he enjoyed just like his acting and now he was realising that sooner rather than later he wouldn't be able to continue playing if his back was going to be the next thing to go. It scared the life from him to know that everything was changing and not for the better. Knowing that if it was his back that was going to weaken then it would make it harder again to do his job and it would make him miss out on more aspects of his daughter's lives. Ben's back had been starting to suffer the effects of his disease but today he was determined to play despite both his partners arguing that he wouldn't be in the best condition to play Ben stated he was going and that was that. Knowing they couldn't sway him on this Roger angrily threw his jacket on displaying his opinion. Stating how he disagreed but was going along with it for Ben and Lily's sakes, not wanting to have both of them angered or annoyed at him for disagreeing. Roger couldn't put his foot down and demand that Ben didn't go because at the end of the day it wasn's his call whether Ben went or not. He was his partner, not his parent, he couldn't make his decisions for him but he could advise him that it wasn't the best thing and Roger had done that, he couldn't do much more. Both Roger and (Y/N) understood just how much Ben desired to feel and act as if there was nothing wrong. He desperately wanted his old life back, where he could go to work and not feel like his jaw was being hacked off due to the pain. Or where he swallow or move his head without hurting his neck or just move and live his life in general without consequences. He wanted his life where he didn't have a disease that continued to snatch things from him without his consent. Ben had lost acting jobs because he simply couldn't meet the requirements anymore. He couldn't work every day with such long hours because it strained his muscles too much, even though not all of his muscles were affected each one was slowly weakening meaning that if he pulled a muscle or strained them too much it would have long-lasting effects. A lot of producers thought he was a good actor but thought he wasn't worth the risk. Action movies were out of the question because if he hurt a muscle production would be set back. Many companies didn't like actors having too many days off and if Ben couldn't pull himself out of bed due to his back or any muscle hurting or couldn't stand without pain he simply couldn't work. His condition worsened over time and was getting to a stage now where it was noticeable. Lily was at such a young age and their other girl wasn't even born yet and Ben was having to miss out on vital moments or even the little things because his condition said so. Roger, (Y/N) and now Lily were all fans of rollercoasters, Roger especially and Ben couldn't go on almost all of them except for the very small ones or the children's ones. His heart muscles were also affected by his condition and so any kind of ride could disrupt his muscles in his heart from creating their rhythm. Before he went on planes he needed to take beta blockers for his heart to ensure that any turbulence didn't disrupt his heart like it had once when he didn't realise it would. It hurt more that Ben had to be careful when going to Roger's concerts, which was something he loved to do. The large audiences both Queen and The Cross played to meant that there would be mass vibrations from the sound equipment to reach everyone. Something that also could set off Ben's heart rhythm. Ben couldn't be in the crowd at Roger's concerts and he had to be careful backstage because he was so close to the equipment. A lot of concerts Ben simply had to miss because the risk wasn't worth taking. Seeing his boyfriend at a concert both made Roger feel euphoric and yet so on edge in case something happened to him. (Y/N)'s hand reached out and grasped Roger's upper arm as she choked on a cry, her free hand clasping over her lips at the sight in front of her. Roger tightened his hands around Lily's hands as her gasp and small cry rattled through his ears cutting off his breathing. His heart lurching into his stomach which was twisting in a horrid way as he tried to see through the mound of people crowding around his boyfriend. Ben snapped his eyes shut when someone from the other team collided with him head-on. His body flying backwards and crashing into the floor, the momentum forcing him to roll onto his side, body practically flying through the air as he felt another two players crashing into him and the other person who took him down. His breathing stopping completely when a sickening crack sounded through his chest which wasn't helped by the rugby ball wrapped in his arms that was weighing down on his ribs. Eyes opening only for his vision to cut out when a foot flew into his face, neck snapping back feeling like the muscles were elastic bands that had snapped. The pain and blood shooting to his head causing his mind to blackout. Grasping Lily's sides instead of her hands Roger eased her down from sitting on his shoulders, quickly handing her to (Y/N) who had tears welling in her eyes at watching the collision up close. Leaning over Roger pressed his lips to (Y/N)'s forehead, his hand rubbing her arm gently before he turned around and pushed his way through the small crowd in front of him who had also witnessed the accident. His feet halting as he wondered if he should go to the crowd surrounding his boyfriend or wait and see if it wasn't as bad as he thought. His feet rushing him across the grass when his mind realised no one else knew how this would affect Ben due to his condition. His team knew of his condition but not what it entailed, Roger needed to find out if he needed to go to the hospital because he certainly didn't look like he would be able to continue playing or come out of this without a scratch. Roughly pushing the other players out of his way the drummer collapsed down to his knees beside Ben who had been turned so he was laying on his back. Blood spilling from his nose and splatters dripping from his lips making Roger want to be sick. "Ben? Babe open your eyes... come on look at me." Roger pushed the words through gritted teeth. Hands reaching out and gently pressing to the sides of Ben's face, thumb brushing across his cheek under his eye trying to prompt him to open them. Seeing them flicker but not open, his lips parting as he coughed, blood spilling from his dusty pink lips and trailing down his chin. Moving his fingers to Ben's neck Roger tried to count the beats and work out if his heart had taken a battering as well or not. His stomach further twisting at feeling the pattern of beats wasn't normal and at hearing the wheezing breaths passing through Ben's lips. Roger knew what a broken rib sounded like, how it scraped in your chest and made breathing harder to accomplish. Keeping one hand on Ben's neck Roger moved his other hand to his boyfriend's back and gently turned the actor onto his left side. Not wanting him to choke if he started coughing up any more blood or any from his nosebleed went to his mouth. Watching the twitch of pain come across the actor's face before he seemed to blackout again. "Call a fucking ambulance he's broken some ribs and his heart isn't beating properly!" Roger practically spat the words at all of the other guys crowding around, watching them look back at him with wide eyes. No one making an attempt to move until Roger repeated some of his words, adding a few more curses to show them he wasn't messing around.

"We fucking told you that you shouldn't play!" Roger almost shouted, his hand fisting in his shortened hair as he threw the sunglasses in his other hand to the floor feeling the anger and pain riling up inside of him. He wished he had tried harder to tell Ben that playing wouldn't help or would pose a bigger risk to him than it used to. The actor knew the risks and still went ahead with playing and now he was suffering the effects of that. Glancing his eyes to his left at (Y/N) as if looking for her to back him up on this Roger ground his jaw at seeing the look she was giving him before she rubbed at her forehead and took a seat next to him close to the hospital bed they were in front of. She couldn't be dealing with this. Of course they had told Ben he shouldn't play, but Ben wasn't their child. He knew what could happen and he still went ahead they would only cause arguments if they had told him he couldn't play and it wouldn't have been fair of them to do that. (Y/N) understood that Ben wanted to play and she also understood why Roger was so angry. They had both witnessed him being tackled and seen him get hurt but so had Lily. Their daughter had seen one of her fathers get hurt and she didn't know how badly he had been hurt no could so go with Roger in the ambulance when it had arrived. Ben had gotten hurt and their daughter had witnessed it. Arguing about what had happened wouldn't change the fact that people had gotten hurt but Roger still wanted to go ahead with it anyway. "Would you have listened if I told you you shouldn't play a concert?" Ben snapped back, tears flushing down his face as his eyes burnt into those of the drummer. The tension in the room rising like a fog casting over the three of them. Ben knew for a fact if he told Roger that playing a concert or any gig wouldn't be in his best interest the drummer would go ahead and do it anyway because it was his job and furthermore it was something that he had always done and loved. Ben took a chance and it didn't pay off, he had taken the leap because that chance wasn't going to be there for much longer. Now it had been taken away from him for good. "That's different-" "No it's not! Don't give me a lecture when you're fucking stubborn as hell-" "I'm not the problem here." Roger cut off, his eyes darkening as he felt his chest rising and falling to a point it was hurting to breathe. "You got hurt and our daughter saw you. She saw you get tackled and watched an ambulance cart you off covered in blood like you were dead and she's five! Five fucking years old Ben! Did you think about that when you decided to ignore us both and go ahead with playing that game today?!" Ben hadn't gotten tackled badly in a game like that before when Lily had watched. She had seen a few people get tackled and then had to leave but never Ben. He had never been badly hurt, only a few scrapes and maybe a bruised rib or two here and there, but nothing like that. Roger hated the image imprinted in his mind of Lily crying in (Y/N)'s arms at seeing one of her dads on a stretcher. His face and shirt splattered with blood before he disappeared in the ambulance with Roger. Being told that Ben would be alright and he was just going to get helped by a doctor did nothing to console the young girl who was sure that Ben was badly hurt or even dead because he had been unconscious. They didn't want to see that again. "Roger!" (Y/N) snapped, her hands turned upwards as if to ask why the hell he thought saying that was acceptable. What he was saying was true but the way he said it was wrong. Ben was still hurt and he wasn't coping with the changes that were happening to his body and his life, shouting like this when he had made one small mistake wasn't going to make things better. "Stop it already! Did you not listen to the doctor? He can't play anymore, okay, he can't so you win. No more sport of any kind and now he has to take time off from acting don't you think that's enough? Today was his last game and it ended badly, yes you said he shouldn't play but that's not your call to make." If Ben continued to play any sport there was a risk to his heart as well as his muscles and he was lucky today that his heart didn't suffer more than an off rhythm. He couldn't accept an offer for a role in a movie he had been offered because it started right away and now he needed time off to let his two broken ribs heal, any muscles in his chest that had been damaged and his neck which had been damaged too. "I won't be able to act for much longer or go to the gym, you can still play your music Rog and you can continue taking professional photos. Our next girl isn't even born yet and I won't be able to take her to your concerts or a theme park or even hold her at this rate. I'm fucking broken and I can't be fixed." Ben's voice was quieter as he lowered his head allowing the floods of tears to flush down his face. His chest was beginning to hurt as he wheezed, trying to gain back the air he had lost. If this continued with or without rugby Ben was worsening to a point acting would be too much of a struggle. Roger was still able to do his job and take care of their daughters and do whatever he wanted. (Y/N) could continue to do her job as a photographer, look after their girls and go to Roger's concerts or go on planes with no worry or any problems. Their lives weren't changed and their abilities hadn't been lessened like Ben's had. His life was being stolen piece by piece and every time an aspect of his life was snatched he felt like he had been stabbed. He wanted to be able to do what he liked or take care of their girls or do the simple things he could before. He didn't sign up for this life and he didn't want to go through the changes he was being forced to face and no one could help him. Getting to her feet (Y/N) tried to brush away the tears soaking her face at seeing how broken Ben was. There was nothing that they could do to try and lessen the pain for him they couldn't give him back the life he had before he was diagnosed. The only thing they could do was to be by his side through each and every change he had to face so he didn't have to do it alone. (Y/N) gently sat down on the side of the bed next to him, reaching out and taking his trembling hand in her own. Watching as Roger sighed, trying his best not to cry because it would take the little bit of energy that he had left to shed tears. His muscles losing the tension they held before as he sat down behind Ben on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as the other soothingly rubbed up and down his other shoulder. Knowing it wouldn't be the best idea to try and hug him properly in case he applied too much pressure to his broken ribs. His lips pressing gently to Ben's neck, feathering over the skin so he didn't hurt him. His silent way of apologising. Roger didn't mean to hurt Ben by shouting but he couldn't help it, he had a low fuse and a loud mouth. He was hurt by how afraid Lily had been and he was even more upset about how Ben had lost yet another aspect of his life that had always been part of his life. "You have broken ribs, not a broken soul, nothing about you needs to be fixed. Every time you fall we'll pick you back up. We can't stop this from happening, but you won't do this alone." Roger couldn't promise it would get better because that would be broken in a matter of time. He couldn't tell Ben that they would make it stop or that he would be okay because they couldn't do that for him either, but he could promise that every time something happened Ben wouldn't be alone. They wouldn't leave him to piece himself together on his own and they wouldn't let him wallow or feel worse because he always had them. "This won't take away your family Ben, we're all here and we won't go anywhere. Maybe you can't play rugby anymore, maybe in ten years you won't be able to act, but you'll have all of us right by your side." Gently untangling their hands (Y/N) pressed his palm to her stomach. They couldn't stop him from losing aspects of his life that he was used to, like rugby or his job if it came to that. But Ben had no reason to worry that they would disappear, he was grounded by his family and there was nothing that would stop that.

[xparadisexlostx]

Drabbles: Beck and Charmaine

@justicescreaming

Trigger warning: vague threats and an implied attempt at assault. 

When the heavy lock on the steel door slides open I have to force myself to relax under my blanket. My first instinct is to spring up and pop a couple of bullets into the head of whatever idiot thought they could sneak up on me while I was sleeping. But I don’t have a gun. I have a thin pillow, a blanket that feels like it was designed to be as scratchy as possible, and my bare fucking hands. That means I have to wait until whoever it is wanders into arms reach.

It’s not a warden, a warden would have turned on the lights. And anyway at’s “day time” or at least what would have been day time back on Earth, and I know that because I can’t have been asleep more than two hours. I am not on day shift and neither is Beck and nothing good will come from the door unlocking. Whoever it is, they’re careful to be quiet. Where the hell are the guards at the door?

I lay still. I need to catch whoever it is off guard, but they aren’t moving. It’s a waiting game, and I wonder if Beck’s sleeping. That’d be my luck. The one time I don’t want her to be sleeping she’s probably face down in the bed drooling all over her pillow. Or maybe she’s waiting like I am. She’s strange, but she’s not stupid and all this activity has to have woken her. The door has not closed, not even by a crack, and there’s low, artificial light pouring in through the hall. I shift beneath the blanket, just to judge the reaction of the intruder.

I feel the sharp, burning pain in my leg before I hear the low huff of the tranq gun or the lock sliding back into place. By the time I’m fully aware that I’ve been shot, the drugs are coursing through my lower extremities, and I feel weaker already.

Should I stay where I am? Should I try and get to my feet to fight? Where the fuck is Beck, and if she’s sleeping now through all of this the next time she tells me she can’t sleep I’m going to smother her with her own goddamn pillow.

The thoughts are racing, and I’m not moving. There isn’t any point in moving. Whoever it was ducked out to wait until the drugs were working. If I were to jump down, I’d just fall on my face and have to deal with whatever was coming on the floor. I prioritize. It’s more important to fight for a clear head than anything else.

After a short eternity the lock clicks again, and the door opens for just a split second; this time I’m already trying to lift my head to see who it is. But it’s too dark.

Of course it is.

“What did you do to her?” I can hear Beck beneath me, and she definitely knows I’ve been shot. Why wasn’t she shot? The room is as black as a pit; I can’t see my nose on my own fucking face, better yet where the indruder is. There’s a rustling by the door. The sound of boots falling to the metal floor fills the small space, and whoever it is it also trying their damnedest to scare them. Why didn’t they drug Beck too?

I already know that answer and my stomach turns unhappily---because it wasn’t supposed to go this way. I brought her to this fucking cell block to scare the guards off her, and now I can’t even lift my hand to give him the middle finger. Not that he’d see it.

“Shut up.” That’s Wilson’s voice. “You fucking embarrassed me you little bitch.”

“Fuck you.” I’m actually kind of proud to hear that much aggression in her voice, but it’s a dull, far away feeling, and the blackness in my eyes has nothing to do with how dark the room is. I’m slipping, even as my mind is screaming for me to move. He’s close enough now to grab, but he knows it. His face is level with mine on the top bunk, and he’s fucking breathing, watching me. He’s got to be smiling to himself, and I want to be angry, but I don’t feel anything anymore. It’s worse than slipping now, I’m falling, rapidly, ever down into the abyss and with the last few seconds of consciousness I have I hear him laugh.

“Looks like your little friend couldn’t save you after all.”

I wake up prematurely. The drugs aren’t out of my system, and I can feel them weighing me down like lead in my veins, but the frantic scream of the alarm and the red light illuminating the room rip me out of my slumber. It’s just enough adrenaline to force my body into action. I can hear Beck. She’s crying, begging, across the cell for some reason, and I am going to kill Wilson.

I pry my eyes open laboriously.

It isn’t Beck.

It isn’t Beck because Beck isn’t here. There’s only Wilson, and he’s curled up in the corner, his clothes are on--thank god--but they’re in tatters, and in the low red light his exposed skin is glistening with something black. It’s staining his clothes rapidly, and now he’s crying louder and he’s not making any sense. His words aren’t coherent or even complete. It’s just please. Please please please please.

I don’t know what’s happening or what he’s done, but I still want to kill him.

It takes a minute for me to realize he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking beneath me, into the enormous shadow cast by the bunk beds which, now that I’m looking at it looks way too big. Most of the cramped space is filled with the massive shadow, and it’s writhing like a hell beast. Pieces of metal glint in the crimson glow and catch my eye as the shadow sways one way and then the other.

“Collar breech in cell block alpha. Position seven.” A mechanical voice announces, blaring over the sound of the siren, and the woman’s soft, controlled tone is jarringly out of place in the midst of this chaos. A sound comes from the shadow too, but I can’t hear it clearly. The announcement runs again, and the shadow moves.

It’s growing taller and taking shape and above the sirens and monotone woman there is a roar that shakes the room so hard it hurts my ears. The roar evokes something primal in me, and Wilson must feel it too because as I feel my body force enough adrenaline through my veins to make a snail gallop, he screams until his voice goes hoarse.

The shadow is not a shadow, it’s a bear. A real, breathing, goddamn bear, and where the fuck did it come from?

I press back against the wall as hard as I can. The beast is lunging to the other side of the cell and straight for the screaming idiot in the corner. I have no clue if playing dead actually works on bears or not, but I do know that screeching doesn’t. Neither does running, but Wilson tries.

The bear falls into the wall and he ducks beneath it and charges the door. He’s banging on the little plexi-glass window, and I can see people outside staring in at him. They don’t make any move to open it, and if they were going to they missed their chance. The bear sinks its huge claws into the side of his jumpsuit and throws him back effortlessly. The beds are the only thing that save him from going straight into the wall, but I hear the force of the impact snap a bone.

“PLEASE.” He’s wailing now. The beast is crawling in on top of him, I feel its back hitting the bottom of my bunk, jostling me even as I grip at the wall. It’s sickening. As much as I’d love to snap his neck myself, the thought of witnessing someone being eaten alive actually makes me sick. The SEALS prepared me for a lot, but not for this.

Wilson is screaming at the bear and I realize I’ve been zoning out. “Beck! Beck! GOD BECK PLEASE!”

Beck? Was she there? With him? Beneath me this entire time? No. No she’d have made a sound by now. Beck...

“Beck?” My voice isn’t heard through the chaos, and the bear has pulled itself off the sobbing Wilson and is doing its damnedest to pace the cell. It’s hitting the walls, grunting and calling out wildly, and even in the strange light I catch a glimpse of the whites of its eyes. It’s panicked.

It is Beck.

The world shifts into perspective too fast. Suddenly I’m not scared, I’m curious, and that’s dangerous because the fragile little bunny I’ve been keeping beneath my bunk is actually an eight-hundred pound grizzly. And the how and why and what the absolute fuck all has to wait because she’s trapped and scarred and has nearly mauled a man to death in her own bed.

[suzie-guru]

Trollhunters FanFic – “Like for Like, Echo for Echo”

After the silence of loneliness, Barbara Lake is all too ready to chase after an echo only he can give her...

A prequel of sorts to An Amorous Attack.

The night is dark and full of Stricklake, she whispers...

AND I FOR ONE AM HERE FOR IT! 

Dedicated to @humanityinahandbag & @bifacialler, my fellow shipmates in Stricklake Hell and who deserve all the love and encouragement in the world! Ler my love, please feel free to think of this as an early birthday present =) 

Fair bit of warning, folks, it gets quite steamy here. Nothing that warrants an Explicit or Mature rating, of course, but...well, if you read An Amorous Attack, you know what’s in store. 

As always, I hope you enjoy! 

“You know…you didn’t have to walk me home.”

He arched a brow at her as they made their way up to her porch, the gesture making those (so unfairly gorgeous) green eyes of his glint as his mouth curled into a half smile, the same one that had made Barbara’s heart do such a strange little spasm when first seeing it that she had been worried until she realized that oh, that’s fluttering.

That had been followed by Oh God, what the hell are you thinking, getting a crush on your son’s teacher?

Barbara gave the same blush as she had then and tucked a loose curl of hair behind her ear just like before, praying that the early evening light made it too dim to see. No need to make more of a mess in front of him, it’s not like he doesn’t already know how you’re struggling—

“You’re absolutely right,” Walter confirmed, brow still arched but an undoubtedly fond look in his eyes as he watched her. “I did not. Just as you did not need to extend another invitation to have lunch with me, what with how the hospital needs you so.”

“Even doctors get to eat,” Barbara laughed, nudging at his shoulder with hers. Some part of her remained aware that many would consider such a gesture far too…casual to use with the principal of the local high school. Strangely enough, it was easy for her to dismiss that part when everything else in her was marveling over just how comfortable she felt with this man.

This man of obvious culture and intelligence and wit that she was so sure was out of her league but who seemed to find her company not only tolerable but as fascinating as she found his.

This man with his warm hands that held hers, long fingers twining in a comforting clasp, his lips brushing over her knuckles in a gentlemanly manner that had sent a blush pleasantly prickling up her back that first meeting…

This man with his thick salt and pepper hair that she wanted to drag her fingers through, his subtly rich cologne that made her want to push her nose into the crook of his neck and inhale till the scent sent her senses swimming, his voice – God, that voice – that she could so easily imagine rough and ragged with passion—

Barbara hastily continued speaking, the cool softness of the evening air feeling wonderful against cheeks that traitorously burned with a deepening blush. “Besides, you know I wanted to see you again.”

And wonders of wonders, now it was his face that flushed, though only a slight amount, and Barbara envied at his eternal composure and control.  But he still smiled as they climbed the steps, his voice deceptively light. “Then reason follows that such a motive applies to my own actions.”

He turned to face her in front of the door, and though his words were gently sly, his eyes were only soft as they met hers. “It is not a matter of need, but want.”

He stepped closer to her, gaze steady and green and not leaving hers. “And I find myself compelled to obey. You are a woman who makes desire very easy, Dr. Lake.”

It was impossible to blush more than she already had this evening. At least, she hoped it was. Nothing was as unappealing as a pink-faced redhead. But God, to hear him say those words in that low, rich murmur—

Barbara ducked her head as she gave a breathless laugh, smoothing a hand at the back of her neck, registering how her pulse raced as it pressed into her palm. “You – that’s – you’re so incredibly unfair, you know that? Just, absolutely criminal.”

Walter laughed, far too delighted at such an accusation. “Oh, am I? Just how did you come to that diagnoses, Doctor?”

Barbara couldn’t help laughing along – he wore amusement too well for her not to find it infectious. She arched her brow in in what she hoped was a suitably flirty way.  “I think you know how I did, Mr. Strickler.”  

He came closer still, raising his own brow in a challenge she readily met, taking a few steps herself. The fading light of the sky framed him as green glowed under the light of the porch, the glint in his eyes playful. “Do enlighten me. You’ll find that in academia it doesn’t do to make assumptions.”

So close, he was so close, and it was so very easy for Barbara to bump her nose at his just so, her glasses slightly nudged up as she gave herself to his gaze, let herself lean into him, her body so willingly curving to fit his. God, he feels so good.

Now her voice was low, and she would have blushed at how close it was to a purr had she been able to give a damn about anything else just now. “No one says something like that and thinks it won’t have an effect. And that’s not even considering what you already—”

She stopped, and God, yup, she could absolutely blush some more, the heat of humiliation crackling up her spine as she realized what she had been about to say. What you already do to me.

God, Barbara, just amputate your foot so you can just keep it in your mouth, why don’t you?

“I already what, Dr. Lake?” Walter’s voice was soft, the teasing in it gentle, and the slide of his hand into her hair was so wonderful she could almost forget her near miss.

Or maybe…

Maybe it was too much to say so. Maybe she was being too much in general. But if Walter was so willing to share that she was a woman that inspired desire, then she could run that risk.  

Walter blinked at the brave vulnerability in her eyes as Barbara looked up at him, emotion making vivid blue even more beguiling. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her tone almost a confession. “You have to know what you do to me, don’t you?”

Walter froze.

Barbara felt her whole soul sicken. Oh God oh God oh God, too much, too much, I messed up everything—

And then his palm pressed along her cheek, strong features softening and green eyes tender as his fingers touched the high arch of her cheekbone. When he spoke, Walter’s voice seemed to be an admission in and of itself. “I wonder if you know what you do to me, Barbara.” A finger slipped that one way-ward curl free, idly toying with it. “What you’re so very capable of…”

If her soul had sickened before, now it soared. Barbara tried to keep her voice light and fun. “Don’t worry, I won’t exploit it.”

He smiled at that, though a strange sort of sadness came into his eyes. “Would that I could make the same promise…”

Barbara gave a soft snort. “Like you aren’t already exploiting.”  

His whole demeanor changing in an instant. Soft and tender became sharp and tense, his eyes wide and wary as his gaze snapped up to hers. “What?”  

Barbara smiled, bemused. “Well - your voice. Saying those things, making your voice all—” She shrugged a shoulder, bashful. “You know. You have to know what it does to me, right?”

Walter immediately relaxed, sliding back into that soft half-smile, a smolder once more stealing over his features. “Ah, yes. Right. Never fear, I…I shall exercise caution in that regard, Dr. Lake.”

Barbara cocked her head, curious. “Wait, what did you think I was talking about—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Walter said quickly, before giving a cough and rolling his shoulders back. “That is, I…”

He paused, looking off to the side, his shoulders slackening into a soft slump. When he finally brought his gaze back up to hers, Barbara blinked at the feeling that flickered in his eyes under the light, something both beautiful and bittersweet. Want. Wariness. Both conflicted, but why…?

When he spoke, she could feel him weighing his words, his speech slowed with sincerity. “I…exploiting is one thing, Barbara. Harm is another. I…I would not want that.”

His eyes went back to his hand, which still had her hair coiled around it. His voice was low once more, but now there was a roughness to it, not harsh but heartfelt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Barbara. Please believe that.”

In that moment, Barbara could do nothing but melt. That he was so concerned for her, given what he knew of her past, her scars, how she had been hurt before…

How are you even real? How did I get so lucky?

She pushed her fingers along the nape of his neck, petting the hair there as she leaned in, resting her brow against his. “I believe you,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes at that, an inexplicable look of pain crossing his features so quickly Barbara wondered if it was a trick of the light, and when he pulled back she couldn’t help her soft noise of dismay.

But then his hand was sliding further into her hair, cradling the curve of her skull so that her face tilted up to him, and then he was bending his head to hers, his mouth—

Another soft noise escaped Barbara as Walter Strickler kissed her, this time most empathetically not one born of dismay as he held her close, carding his hand in her hair, his mouth taking hers and oh, it felt so—

When they had first kissed–well, when she had kissed him, it had been simple and sweet, the softest, gentlest offering she could manage. Please? Please, can we try this?

But this kiss, this was—

Barbara pulled back to take the quickest of breaths she could manage, her lips already burning, stung by sheer sweetness, before pushing her fingers through that salt and pepper hair and pulling him back to her. Walter gave a soft noise of his own as the kiss deepened, and Barbara knew that this kiss was no plea, but a demand. Please.

Please believe me, please kiss me, please want me, please give me everything you can give, it’s been so long, so long so long so long, please please please—

Without even thinking about the risk of being too much, without even contemplating her daring, Barbara palmed the edge of his cheek, touching her fingers along his jaw to open his mouth further to her. The noise Walter made as she brushed her tongue at his almost had her laughing, which instead came out as a muffled moan as she drowned in wet heat and velvety roughness and oh God, it was—

Oh—!

“Oh!” Barbara fell back from the embrace, her hand going to her mouth, her eyes wide and her heart racing. How–it had–it had felt like–how had it—?

Like a tongue had been brushing at hers—

And yeah, okay, his had, yes, but this was something else, something like—

Like an echo…?

An echo of her own actions, how her tongue had…?

But—

How is that even possible…?

Barbara licked her lips, hyperaware of the pass of her tongue, the smoothly rough texture slick over stung lips. She pressed her fingers to them, wondering at their tenderness, at all of it. She could taste him, and she had damn well felt him, but then what had been that other…?

Just the memory of it sent a pulse of heat through her, delicious as it was inexplicable, and Barbara tried very hard to keep back her shiver. Whatever it had been, it was—

“Barbara?”

Walter’s voice was rough, exactly like she had always imagined it to be in those late-night moments of fervid frustration she always ended up flushing over the next day, and another shiver broke over her skin.

When she looked up at him, she had to bite her lip. Just the sight of him alone sent such a swirl of hot something through her she almost swayed, the pulse of it primal and utterly unlike anything she had ever felt before.

His hair and clothing remained relatively unmussed, but his chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath just shy of panting as he watched her with wide, wary eyes. The green of them was darker, his pupils dilated, and Barbara absently wondered how blown hers were.

He gave a swallow she stared at him silently, fingers still at her lips, the bob of his adam’s apple – laryngeal prominence, sheer habit made her think – notable even under the collar of his sweater, before visibly composing himself. When he spoke, his voice was still somewhat rough, concern creasing his brow and making the green of his gaze sharpen. “What is it, darling?”

It was the darling that did it, honestly.  

Barbara was on him before she even realized she had moved, her fingers raking through his hair with a desperation that was just shy of rough and her mouth on his in a kiss so fervent it might as well have been called filthy. Somehow – even as Walter made a noise between a shocked gasp and a groan which her mouth caught regardless – Barbara found she couldn’t care less.

Not when she was feeling so—

When he tasted so—

And it had been so long, so damn long—

All throughout her body wave upon wave of sweet, simmering sensation crashed about in a wake of want, passion pushing up under her skin, making her positively ache as desire rippled through her, her very blood thrumming in echoes of arousal. Because there was an echo, she was sure of it, and she was going to chase after it until she caught it and if that meant making out with her son’s principal on her porch for the world to see and gossip about, well then, Barbara never had been one to shirk responsibilities.

She mouthed at his lower lip, tugging him deeper so that her tongue could twine with his, already addicted to his taste, to the sounds he was making. She could feel his surprise swirling away like smoke as he groaned, low and rich and full of want. The sound rumbled through his frame and into hers as he pulled her tight to him, arms wrapping around her, hands hard with hunger. For man of such class and composure, it was incredibly close to a growl, and wow, okay, she was super into that.

Barbara moaned into his mouth as she sank against him, some far off part of her thankful that he was holding her up, what with how weak her knees were getting. There was that…that doubled sensation again ­­– it was the wonderful leanness of his body, hard against hers, but also something else, another pressure pressing close, something soft and firm and—

Curvy—?

Whatever it was, it made her absolutely shameless, pressed as she was against him, and oh God, yeah, okay, she was hooking her leg up around his hip, her pelvis pressing right against—

Walter’s eyes flew open as he gave a choked noise, and Barbara’s moan of victory was almost a mewl as she quaked in his arms, wracked with wonder and want. God, she knew she had gone through a dry spell, but she would’ve remembered something like this, right?

Then again, back then you hadn’t known him…

As if to punctuate that thought, her hips rocked, the soft roll of them a question, considering how, well, bold she was being otherwise.

Walt’s inhale was a deep rasp, shock more prominent than pleasure, but one hand dragged down her spine to palm and press the small of her back, urging her closer.

Answer thus received, Barbara hummed with pleasure, the sound near a purr. Still…

Not going for the ass, huh?

On one hand, what a gentleman. On the other hand…

Still kissing him, Barbara made sure the next roll of her hips was slower, deeper, a studious sort of grinding that she would have blushed if she had been the one to witness such a PDA. But as the instigator—

Walter shuddered, his hands hooking into her hair and cupping the curve of her rear respectively as he held onto her like a lifeline, and oh, there it was again, that intoxicatingly inexplicable echo of pleasure, the daze of it drowning everything else out—

Apparently that included a sense of balance.

Barbara, preoccupied with kissing her son’s principal senseless, forgot that she only had one leg on the ground as she sank into the embrace even more, and—

Suddenly they were moving—?

Walter’s low groan became a noise of alarm, and when Barbara opened her eyes she had the merest moment to puzzle over why the world was a blur—

They slammed against the side of the house right by the front door, Barbara bouncing slightly as she hit Walter’s chest.  He grunted at the impact, and Barbara quickly steadied herself, placing her hands on the wall, pleasure and mortification making her cheeks hot as she stumbled over her words. “Oh God–! Walt, I’m–I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Her voice trailed away when she saw that Walter was blatantly not paying attention to her.

Instead, he was looking at how her arms were pretty much caging him. And if the gleam in those gorgeous eyes was anything to go by, he definitely did not mind being trapped.

Well.

Barbara moved quick, barely giving Walter time to register her hands landing on his shoulders, pinning him there. Barbara found his double-take equal parts adorable and further fuel for the arousal burning through her like kindling, and was torn between giving an awww or feeling like a cat about to get some seriously sweet cream.

The latter won out, and Barbara felt a sweet satisfaction as she favored him with a smirk, a feeling that only deepened into an ache of anticipation when Walter gave what was undoubtedly his best attempt at a discreet gulp. Let’s see what I’m “so very capable of”, shall we?

The kiss she gave him was comparatively chaste to what had happened earlier, something to ease him in, a lovely lull into a sense of security before the gut-punch of seduction. So to speak.

It was tender and teasing, a soft toying of lips and teeth and tongue, and Barbara let herself thoroughly enjoy both it and how it dragged several shudders from Walter, his brow furrowed as he kissed her back. So eager to let her control, call the shots – no man had ever let her—

“This isn’t the ER, honey. How about we cool it with the control issues, okay?”

Barbara banished the sting of that memory by turning her attentions to his neck, the crook of it calling to her with that gorgeously masculine scent that she honest-to-God wanted to roll around in like a kitten with catnip. She dropped her head to his shoulder, and Walter kissed the crown of it, his nose nuzzling scarlet strands as he inhaled deep, his murmur muffled. “Barbara…”

She nuzzled back before breathing in, and was nearly knocked out by her swoon. Sweet Jesus—

It was expensive, undoubtedly, but also wild – rich yet subtle, something that reminded her of deep forests and ancient archives, expensive papers and cold stone—

Not wanting to move her hands, she managed to nudge the collar of his sweater away enough to bare a satisfactory amount of skin. With the methodical intent of a doctor and the torturous teasing of an incredibly sex-starved woman, Barbara Lake M.D. licked up the long line of Walter Strickler’s neck to find if he tasted as decadent as he smelled and oh holy hell, yes he did—

She would have laughed at the whine Walter gave, but her mouth was too preoccupied with sucking on his pulse-point. He shook beneath her, yet what was far more intriguing was how a rasping, wet heat now passed over the sensitive skin of her neck.

Barbara moaned as she closed her eyes, her skin breaking out into delicious goosebumps under such phantom caresses. God, what was going on?

And honestly, did she want to question it?

No.

No, what she really wanted to do was to see what sound Walter would make if she—

There was a noise like a curse catching between gritted teeth as Barbara bit into the soft shell of Walter’s ear, dragging it free and giving it a pass of her tongue to soothe the bite. Her own ear now throbbed, but she was done pondering, done patiently waiting, done worrying about making a mess of things because right now she was making out with a man who said her name like a prayer and kissed her like she was—

Walter’s hands were hovering over her, obviously unsure whether to hold her or not. Barbara was puzzled–she made it pretty clear she liked his hands on her – before remembering how her own still held his shoulders firmly against the wall.

Tempted to laugh, she settled for smiling against his mouth. Worried you might get marked down for moving, Mr. Strickler?

Well, she could take care of that. Nothing wrong with teaching hands-on, after all. So to speak.

One hand left his shoulder, passing over well-twilled tweed and soft wool in a slow, sensual stroke, her thumb brushing lightly over the skin of his neck, still moist from her attentions there. Walter’s murmur of pleasure caught in her mouth and made the sudden shift into a breathless moan even more dramatic when such innocent petting became a hard and hungry dragging of fingers down his chest, the dig of them deep with a desire that would not be denied.

Barbara’s hum of pleasure was almost a purr what with how utterly delicious it was, the sound and sensation of her nails scratching – clawing – the cloth of his jacket, the skin beneath it warm and so firm. God, she could just imagine what he would feel like without clothing in the way – thin but solid, lean muscle compact against her own curves, hard heat pressing her into the softness of her mattress, her pillow—

Walter moved his head, catching her by surprise as well as her mouth, the new angle allowing deeper access and oh God, oh holy God, talk about exploiting—

Barbara couldn’t keep back her heady moan but knew retaliation was due. And that means concentrating, Dr. Lake.

Moving away from his shoulder to curl her fingers around the nape of his neck, Barbara let her hand continue its journey down, down down down…

She peeked just in time to see Walter’s eyes pop to an almost comical degree as her fingers, now light and teasing, brushed over the edge of his belt buckle, nails scratching soft. His hips jolted seemingly of their own accord, and the noise he made was a messy muddle between arousal, embarrassment, and pure panic.

Her giggle was a bit impish, but Barbara found the mercy to move her hand away to twine it into his, fingers lacing sure and strong. Without breaking their kiss, she guided it to her back, smoothed clasped hands down in a stroke until they reached her desired destination. When his knuckles brushed over the soft swell of her rear, Walter’s inhale was sudden and strong, and Barbara could only let her own hand drop away even as her heart started hammering. Don’t force it don’t force it don’t force—

But then she felt his fingers flex over her, curling over curves, and he was pulling her against him, and this time his hips did not jolt but rocked, sure and steady and oh God, so achingly sensual—

Barbara could have swooned but focused on sliding her free hand up and under his jacket, fingers sneaking up between the silky inner lining and his sweater to scratch at the line of his spine, claw him closer. God, but here they were, a thirty something doctor and a forty something principal, kissing–no, making out like a pair of randy teenagers, her tongue in his mouth and him squeezing her ass. She should have been embarrassed over the highly likely fact that he had probably lectured more than his fair share of couples for fooling around in hallways in ways that were positively tame to what they were doing—

And still there was that feeling, that echo, want and touch and taste multiplied to a magnitude where Barbara could do nothing but obey, her hands hungry, her heart aching with something she hadn’t thought she would ever feel again. God, to want someone so, to be so wanted—

As if in encouragement to her thoughts, Walter gave another of those so unfairly gorgeous growls, his hands sliding away from her rear to slip up under the top of her scrubs, those beautiful hands spanning her spine, skin on skin and oh—!

Barbara’s sigh was a shuddering, shallow thing, and she slumped against him, the slide of her body against his making her core positively throb with thwarted pleasure, and—

She glanced down, lashes fluttering low upon flushed cheeks, and felt her heart stutter. OH.

His hands flew away from her like she had suddenly morphed into a hot coal, and Walter plastered himself back from her, his expression one of desperate desire and wretched guilt, his voice ragged with both. “Darling, I’m so—”

His chest heaved as he took a steadying breath, one hand dropping to smooth his jacket, discretely tugging it down. His throat worked with his swallow, and when he spoke, his voice was still thick with both desire and desperate fear. “I’m… so terribly sorry, love, please take no notice of it—”

Barbara crushed her mouth to his, tongue delving in once more as she let her hand go far beyond the belt buckle, thankful for all those hours in surgery that had installed an endless trust in her own touch. Like this—

Any words Walter had been about to say was replaced by a dazed groan, and then he was slumping forward, and she was falling backward—

They amazingly didn’t come apart when they fell against the pillar, nor did she experience any kind of jolt, which she put down to how his hands cradled her skull like she was something precious, something to be protected. Only her glasses had come loose, and Barbara spared just enough attention to shove them up upon her head before getting back to the truly important task of sucking on Walter Strickler’s tongue.

Walter’s moan at that was almost guttural, and God, did that make her even more hot, sweet spiraling heat striking right to the searing sensitivity between her legs. It was a fact that wasn’t helped at all by how she could feel him as he pressed her up against the pillar. He didn’t have too much on her in regards to height, but he was strong, lean muscles almost like rock as he held her tight, one long leg coming between hers so that she rode up just so—

Barbara almost mewled at the maddeningly magnificent friction, one hand scrabbling at his back while the other ran roughly through his hair. God, that hair, it was just like raw silk and she probably was a pervert for picturing how he would look with bedhead, especially bedhead courtesy of her—

You could find out, he’s right here and he wants you and then you wouldn’t have to imagine, you could know what it’s like, what he’s like, just ask and you could touch him taste him take him, have him touch you taste you take you too, like for like, echo for echo—

Oh God, the sheer eroticism of that echo would kill her. La petite mort.

Barbara broke the kiss, her breath coming in pants as she opened her eyes to look at him, opened her mouth to ask him, her words barely formed from her moan. “Please, Walt—”

Red and yellow flashed up at her, like lamplight and smoldering coals, and she gasped, jerking back—

And promptly hit her head on the pillar, pain splintering into sparks across her skull at the impact. “Ouch! Dammit!”

Her glasses fell from her head with a clatter as she clutched the back of her skull, squinting in pain. Walter was rendered a fuzzy blur as he leaned to her, but his concern was still clear, even if it was only through his voice. “Barbara, are you—?”

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” Barbara assured him, kneeling for her glasses, spreading her fingers wide in her search. God, of course it would be nighttime too, everything shadowy and hard to see—

His hand as suddenly there, warm and strong and taking hers, unfurling her fingers so that her glasses could be placed into her palm, and even with the throbbing ache in the back of her head, Barbara could have melted at the thoughtful gesture.

Walter helped her rise, the green of his gaze a fuzzy glow to her bare eyes, his voice still concerned. “Are you sure? What startled you?”

“Positive,” Barbara assured, settling her glasses back on her face. The evening was thrown into sharp relief, as was Walter’s grimace of worry, his eyes searching her as if to check her status. She touched a hand to his elbow reassuringly. “I’ve gotten a lot worse at the hospital, believe me. I just–like you said, I was startled—”

“What startled you?” Walter repeated, his brow furrowing as his tone and gaze sharpened.

Barbara sighed, running a hand over her head, annoyed at herself. “It – it must have been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn your eyes – they...changed.”

For some odd reason, Walter seemed to pale, though that was probably just the evening light. “…Changed?”

“Yeah, changed. Their color–” Barbara stopped herself and sighed, shaking her head. “It’s was probably just a reflection from some car lights.”

Had there been a car, though? Surely she would have heard it…

Well, it wasn’t like you weren’t distracted with grinding up against your son’s stupidly sexy principal—

Barbara sighed, dropping her head into her hand. Oh God, she had, and for all the world to see.

Meanwhile, Walter had looked away, smoothing down his now considerably rumpled jacket and sweater, his voice strange. “Undoubtedly.”

And now she had made him uncomfortable. Barbara’s shoulders slumped. God, she felt like an idiot. Even if she hadn’t been wearing her glasses, she could have seen that the mood was well and truly broken, and it was all her fault. Making a mess of things again…

That’s what happens when you rush heart first into things, you’d think you’d know that by now—

Barbara chanced a glance at him and felt her heart give a painful twist as she took in the frown his mouth now had, his brow heavy and tense. God, she hadn’t even taken into consideration just how might have been for him, her doing that. Sure, all the single moms (and some not-single moms) had liked to gossip about the tall, dark and handsome history teacher and the likelihood of getting a little bit more than just a parent-teacher conference, but that didn’t mean anything in regards to what he was comfortable with. Honestly, there might be a strong chance that he had gone through an even longer time of being alone.

And God, now she had practically jumped him—

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and her heart gave a miserable throb. Idiot idiot idiot—

The least she could was apologize, even if she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, see any discomfort or regret it might hold. Instead, she turned to look out into the night, the shadows of the evening so very tempting to hide herself in as her eyes burned and her throat got tight. “Walt…I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I have no idea what came over me—”

Because no matter how wonderful it had felt for her, no matter how amazing it had been to be held and wanted and adored, this wasn’t just about her and her long-ignored loneliness and shame on her for putting that before his comfort—

Walter turned back to her sharply, his eyes wide. “What? Barbara, no, you did nothing—”

Barbara’s laugh was a shaky, hollow thing. “That wasn’t nothing, Walt. That was – I never would want—”

She stopped, closing her eyes against the burning wetness that threatened to overwhelm them, and tried again. “I’ve tried to be better at not just focusing on what I want, James always used to say I – I do this all the time, I act instead of think and everyone else ends up paying the price—”

Walter stepped to her, hair still mussed, eyes burning. “Darling—”

Barbara held up a hand, her humiliation hot on her cheeks. “Walt, please don’t try to pretend with me. I don’t want that, I don’t want you to—”

Her voice was close to cracking, and she gave herself the small mercy of looking down, away from him. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

I don’t want you to regret me. I don’t want to make you walk away like he did.

There was a pause, and then a hand slipped under her chin, tilting it up.

Barbara found herself looking up into that gorgeous green gaze, the shade clear and comforting as Walter looked at her, a soft and tender and teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I did not think it possible,” he murmured as he dropped his other hand to her waist, palming the curve of it, “but you’re even more exceedingly lovely when you blush. It’s absolutely fetching with your hair, did you know that?”

And God help her, she couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was shaky. “Walt, don’t try to distract me—”

“By telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, forcing her to incline her head back further to keep her eyes on his. His smile stayed, but his eyes were serious. “By stating that you’re utterly beguiling? Because you are, Barbara, and for the life of me I can’t even begin to contemplate how on earth I could regret you.”

Barbara looked down again, her blush deepening. “It’s just…I usually find a way to mess things up.”

“You mess things up, Barbara, that’s kinda your thing—”

She brushed aside that particular pain from the past as best she could to focus on making her tone light, self-deprecating. “I mean, heck, I practically attacked you there—”

“Then I can only hope I am the victim of such attacks from here on out,” Walter murmured, and oh damn, he was doing that voice thing again and she knew he knew it. He nuzzled her hairline, the soft heat of his words stirring the strands there, and there was a smile in his voice. “I may not be equipped to give a diagnosis as you are, Dr. Lake, but I do not believe my response indicted any type of regret.”

His voice then got soft, oddly serious. “I would never regret what exists between us due to your actions, Barbara. That I can promise you.”

“I know, Walt, truly I do.” Barbara leaned back and sighed as the ache in her heart eased, her eyes dropping down once more. “God, you can tell I’m out of practice with this. I really don’t know how to do these things.”

But Walter merely gave her the same smile he had before, the clasp of his hand on hers as warm and comforting as it had been on their date, his voice as soft and reassuring. “You’re doing just fine.”

Maybe it was just the fact that he was so willing to work with her issues. Maybe it was the afterglow of that make-out. Either way, Barbara couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face. Instead, she bit her lip whilst arching a teasing brow voice, not even hiding the coy tone of her voice. “Just fine?”

A blush immediately came to Walter’s cheeks, but he huffed out a laugh, his hand going to the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost boyish. “Perhaps that is rather an understatement.”

Barbara hummed as she came back to him, her own smile going lopsided with bashful happiness, her arms looping around his neck as his circled her waist. God, it feels so natural. “Didn’t mess that up, then?”

Apparently he hadn’t spent all of his smoldering glances, given the look he now gave her. His voice was rough and silky when he spoke, sending shivers over her skin. “The only mess from that, dear doctor, was my clothing.”

“And mine.” God, she had totally made out in her scrubs. Classy.

She looked up and couldn’t keep a snort back, covering her mouth with her hand. “And your hair. Sorry about that.”

Walter rolled his eyes elegantly as he smoothed a hand over it, not looking too terribly fussed. “I managed to do the same to yours. We can simply call it a case of like for like.”

Like for like, echo for echo—

Barbara pushed that thought away and smiled, her fingers brushing at her low bun and yup, definitely looser now. “I don’t think it’s as nearly attractive on me as it is on you. You can definitely stand to have your hair messed with more.”

She meant it as light teasing, but the look he gave her was positively wicked, his voice low. “Oh, could I?”

Barbara felt a thrill sweep through her. Oh.

The image of him in her bed, hair ruffled even more upon her pillow, came to her, and she bit her lip against the hot and heady pulse it brought forth. Goddammit, get a grip.

But still Barbara stayed in his arms, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from looking over his shoulder into the house. It was dark inside, but that didn’t mean Jim wasn’t home. Though she hadn’t seen his Vespa in the driveway. Still…

She licked her lips, biting the lower one. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. Given how prickly Jim still was over her dating his teacher, the risk was too much.

When she glanced back at Walter and met that green gaze of his, so dark and so full of unspoken desire, her knees went weak. God, but she wanted to.

Think, don’t act.

Barbara sighed and set her shoulders before giving Walter a soft, apologetic smile. “I’d…like to…invite you to stay,” she said, knowing it sounded like an admission. Walter’s hands tightened for a fraction of a second, and she knew her double meaning had come through quite clear. 

She continued, determined to get it all out, to not be sidetracked by temptation. “But…Jim will be home soon.” She then frowned. “Or he should be. But…”

She looked up at him, hoping to heaven that she didn’t look too pleading, her voice didn’t sound too pathetic. “Maybe…another time? If you wanted?”  

Walter’s answering smile was slow and sinful, sending another thrill through her, and his voice was just shy of smoldering when he spoke. “It shall never be a question of want. As I said before…you are a woman who makes desire very easy, Barbara.”

Barbara laughed breathlessly, shaking her head in admiration. Talk about exploiting.

And seeing that he wanted to make this a “case of like for like”—

—and you want one more experience of that echo—

—she would give him just that.

Her hand curled at the lapel of his jacket, and Walter scarcely got the time to blink before Barbara had pulled him back to her, her mouth meeting his and her hand once more in his hair.

In the resulting hedonistic haze, Barbara wasn’t quite sure how long the embrace had lasted when she finally did pull away, giving one last languidly sweet tug on his lip. As if a kiss like that could be measured by mere minutes when there were such other attractive alternatives. Like how deliciously dizzy she felt, just like she had been after drinking that Pinot Noire he had brought…

That, Barbara thought with smoky-edged satisfaction, had been a masterclass in exploiting.

She looked up at Walter through lowered lashes, drinking in the sight of his dazed expression with an almost decadent sense of delight, savoring how his own heavy-lidded eyes, his head still bent to hers. When she stepped back, he followed, and Barbara flattered herself with the thought that he had done so unthinkingly.

Tempering her beaming smile into a soft, smolder of a smirk, Barbara managed to open the front door of her house to step backwards into the dim blue-gray shadows while keeping her eyes on his, silently thrilling that she had pulled of such a move without any fumbling.

She paused at the doorway, her smirk replaced by a slow smile. Her voice was soft and sincere as her eyes met his, heated with heavy meaning. “Then…I guess I’ll be seeing you soon, Mr. Strickler.”

Walter nodded almost numbly, and Barbara had to fight to keep some honest-to-God girlish giggles back at his expression. Wanda had once said something applicable to this, hadn’t she, what had it been—?

“Yes,” Walter said, and holy hell, his voice was still dazed. “Yes, we…we shall. You shall. Soon.”

Fuck-struck, that was it. Barbara wasn’t one for needless vulgarity, but when a word was applicable, what else could you do?

Her exhale was almost a laugh, her giddiness was so great, and her heart gave a throb so sweet it was almost painful. “Goodnight, Walt.”

Walter nodded, his smile almost one of wonderment as he stepped back. “Goodnight, Barba—”

He suddenly stumbled, payment for not looking as he had walked backwards and meeting the stairs.

With a curse and an inelegant scramble he caught himself, but Barbara couldn’t stop her cry of alarm, reaching for him. “Walt, are you—?”

“Fine, just fine,” he assured her, quickly composing himself and rolling back his shoulders in a determinedly nonchalant manner.

He then aimed that half-smile of his up at her, the slant of it almost mischievous. “A damn sight more than just fine, actually.”

Barbara fought the burble of laughter and instead grinned at him, and God, she felt like an honest-to-God girl again, getting walked home and so utterly enthralled after a kiss. Or two or three or twelve. “Goodnight, Walter.”

As he stepped back into the night, Barbara could have sworn his eyes glowed at her. Probably just a trick of the lamps. “Goodnight, Barbara…”

She stepped back into the shadows of her house, closing the door as calmly as she could before her knees gave out. She then slid down it, the odd twinge in her ankle easy to ignore what with how her heart was hammering and her face was aching with her smile, the echo of his voice, his smile so plain in it, still in her ears…

God, but were all the single mothers gonna hate her come the next PTA meeting.

[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 30

"It is time, Inquisitor."

Amelia drew her gaze back from the windows, turning to look across the war table to where her advisors waited. It was time. Long overdue in one case, according to popular opinion. She couldn't put this off any longer. With Leliana's people and their allies closing in on Corypheus' position in the Arbor Wilds, this might well be the last space to breathe any one of them could expect for some time to come. That meant she had to perform a duty she had never cared for, a duty that many people expected of her. It was also a duty she had not performed since before she had discovered the truth of the Anchor and the Divine. For the first time, she would be passing judgment in the sure knowledge that the words were wholly her own.

"All of them?" she asked, her voice trembling. They knew what she was really asking. Two of those who had to come before her for judgment were closely tied to her, in blood and in friendship.

"Florianne du Chalons was executed yesterday morning, by her brother's hand," Leliana answered the unspoken side of the question. "In exchange, Orlais has formally relinquished all rights to the judgment and punishment of Thom Rainier."

Or Blackwall, as they had known him. Just when he had shaken off the past he had been running from, he had given himself up to the Orlesians, claiming his true name and accepting responsibility for the terrible crime he had committed years before. And, despite her horror, Amelia had not been able to leave it there. Whatever else he had once been, he was her friend. With Cullen's help, she had petitioned the Empress for a prisoner exchange - the former Grand Duchess for Thom Rainier, and, to everyone's surprise, the petition had been granted. And now ... she had to sit in judgment over a friend, his life in her hands.

"How many, Josephine?"

The ambassador checked her notes. "Four, your worship," she told Amelia gently. "The nobles have been summoned. Everyone is waiting for you."

"And still no word from my father?" she asked, tense with quiet hope.

Josephine shook her head, her expression a mask of concern for her friend. "Only that he accepts your authority to judge his heir."

Amelia sighed. She had been hoping someone would find a way to lift that particular burden from her shoulders. But no. This would likely prove every bit as unpleasant as she imagined. "Then we'd best get to it, hadn't we?"

The main hall was packed with bodies. Visiting nobles stood shoulder to shoulder with officially appointed ambassadors, soldiers, scouts, workers. The low hum of chatter peaked as the Inquisitor entered, flanked by her three advisors, walking with slow purpose to the throne that stood on the dais. Amelia mounted the steps, taking a moment to compose herself before she turned back to the hall, taking her seat in silence. That silence spread as she let her eyes travel over the gathering before her, the quiet buzz of voices stilling in the wake of her gaze.

"The court of the Inquisition is now in session," Cullen intoned, formal words falling like lead into the expectant silence. "All evidence has been heard; all defenses weighed and measured. We gather now to bear witness to the passing of the Inquisitor's sentence."

Josephine moved to stand at Amelia's right hand, her expression grave. "Your worship, I submit the case of Lord Lorent Trevelyan of Ostwick," she said, each word clear as Lorent was escorted to stand before the throne, his hands bound. "His trial proved beyond doubt his attempt to assassinate both yourself and Commander Cullen during the course of the masquerade at Halamshiral. He is also known to have been complicit with the ambitions of the executed traitor, Florianne du Chalons. He has made no declaration of innocence, but no confession of guilt, either."

Amelia looked down at her brother, shackled before her. He was defeated; she knew him well enough to recognize that in the way he held himself. Yet, despite his defeat, he met her gaze with contempt, confident that there was no punishment she could hand down to him that would not reflect badly on her, and the Inquisition as a whole.

"Do you have anything further you wish to say, before the sentence is passed?" she asked, giving him one last chance to dig himself out of the hole he had so willingly jumped into.

"I do not recognize the authority of this court," Lorent declared contemptuously. "Nor will my father accept the judgment of a heretic on his sole heir."

"Bann Amadus Trevelyan has, in fact, set his seal to a declaration in support of your trial and sentencing," Josephine informed him, nodding to her assistant, who showed the prisoner the declaration in question. "While he does not openly support the Inquisition, he has accepted the authority of the Inquisitor in this matter."

As she spoke, Lorent's eyes widened, his gaze scanning the document shown to him in dismay. He had been the favored son for so long, he had forgotten that his father was no fool. If the title was the survive this, if the family was to survive, Amadus would have no qualms in abandoning a son who had been caught engaging in treasonous international politics. And he should have known that. Amelia herself had been disowned, after all. Lorent's own actions had placed him here. His dark gaze snapped to the throne, and for the first time in her life, Amelia saw her elder brother afraid. Of the power she held, of the consequences of his actions, of her.

"I will not beg for mercy," he said then, his head held high. "But I acknowledge my guilt. I ask only that you remember that we are kin."

"Yes, we are," Amelia acknowledged in return. "A fact that did not prevent you from plotting my death, in association with an executed traitor. You told me yourself that you shared her ambition. Your personal ambition is at the heart of your crime; your callous indifference to the wider consequences makes you a danger. Yet you are my brother, and though we have never been friends ... I find your sentence too hard to pass."

The murmur that passed among the gathered witness was sympathetic, but uneasy; if she was unable to pass sentence on her own kin, how could she expect her other pronouncements to be obeyed? Lorent's shoulders straightened, a sickening expression of satisfaction on his handsome face.

"Lord Lorent Trevelyan, I offer you a choice," Amelia pronounced, her voice silencing the hall as soon as she spoke. "To die a traitor's death by my hand, or to join the Grey Wardens and risk their initiation."

Lorent swayed back as though she had struck him. He had clearly never believed that his timid baby sister would ever have the courage to sentence him to death. But as her words sank in, Amelia could see him weighing the options. Death was an end, certainly ... but if he was accepted by the Grey Wardens, he might still find some way of exacting his revenge on her for failing to die when he chose.

"I do not deserve the honor you offer me, but I accept your offer," he declared, making a show of gratitude for the sake of the watchers around them. "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly join them to atone for my actions."

Solemn, Amelia turned her head to where a small contingent of Wardens were watching these proceedings. "Warden Stroud."

Her friend stepped forward, touching his fist to his heart in salute. "Inquisitor."

"This man is the responsibility of the Wardens from this moment on," Amelia told him, aware that Lorent's shackles were being loosened as she spoke. "He renounces all claim to title and land. I would suggest you initiate him soon."

"We shall, your worship." Stroud nodded to two of his fellow Wardens, who moved to escort Lorent from the hall. "With your permission, we will maintain him in his cell until that moment comes."

Amelia saw Cullen turn to hide a smile, even as she raised a hand to hide her own. Her brother no doubt thought he was a free man; it was a shame she was going to miss the look on his face when he found himself returned to the cell he had already occupied for four months. Straightening her expression, she turned her eyes back to Josephine, nodding for the ambassador to continue as the next prisoner was marched into the hall. This one was bound and held by templars, limping a little as they dragged him forward.

"Adamant's influence continues, your worship," Josephine announced for the benefit of the men and women gathered in witness. "I submit Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus."

"We found him alive, offering extreme resistance," Leliana added from behind the throne. "No doubt because the Wardens will ask for his head."

Amelia frowned as she considered the proud magister before her. This man had set a dragon on her in the middle of a demon-filled battleground, yet here she sat, in place of judgment over him. She genuinely couldn't fathom how much that must gall him. But what was this supposed to accomplish? He had almost destroyed the Grey Wardens of Orlais and Ferelden with the intention of using them to destroy the world, all for the glory of Corypheus. Until Corypheus was defeated, Erimond would not believe that he had been defeated.

"Lord Erimond, your crimes are vast in scope," she said, her tone pensive. "I'm struggling to understand how judging you can make up for anything that has happened at your instigation."

The Tevinter sneered up at her. "I recognize none of this proceeding," he declared arrogantly, though the impact was lost thanks to Lorent's similar announcement not so very long before. "You have no authority to judge me."

"On the contrary," Josephine said in a sharp tone, "many officials, including the Imperium, have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter."

"Because they fear," he snarled. Amelia had to admit, she was impressed - even bound and held by templars, Erimond maintained his malicious belief in his own superiority. "Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you've trod in your pathetic life. I serve a living god. Bring down your blades and free me from the physical."

And there was her answer, neatly provided by the posturing of the prisoner himself. "I am not in the habit of making martyrs for any cause, and certainly not for Corypheus," she told the magister firmly. "Since death is a validation for you, I will delay it. Lord Livius Erimond, you will spend the rest of your days in the deepest, darkest hole we can find."

Anger flared in Erimond's eyes, but he did not give in to it, answering with calm malice. "We shall see which of us outlives our legacy, Inquisitor."

She didn't bother watching as he was lead away, gesturing for Josephine to join her for a moment. "Let's call in a favor from King Harrowmont," she suggested quietly. "I'm sure he can find a suitable cell, and will allow us to rune and ward it so that Erimond's magic will be utterly useless to him."

"In light of what happened in the abyss below Heidrun Thaig, I agree," Josephine nodded, adding to her notes with a familiar flourish of her pen. "And this keeps the dwarves involved in surface affairs. A diplomatic solution, your worship."

"I did learn from the best," Amelia reminded her with a smile. "I have a truly masterful teacher in Lady Josephine Montilyet."

The ambassador blushed, ducking her head for a moment. "Are you ready to continue?"

Amelia let out a long breath. "This is going to be difficult, isn't it?"

"Probably. But there are only two more," Josephine promised her. "You have never yet put a foot wrong in your judgments."

Because I believed Andraste spoke through me, Amelia thought to herself. This is so much worse, knowing that She doesn't. But she said none of this aloud, instead offering her friend and advisor a hopeful smile. "Any more goats?"

Josephine bit down on her own smile. "Sadly, no."

"Shame."

The next prisoner awaiting sentence was already being escorted to the throne. This one, however, was unfamiliar to the Inquisitor. It seemed she was a mage, given her templar escort; she was certainly a Grey Warden. Over time, Amelia had come to recognize a certain look in the eyes of the Wardens - an acknowledgement that they had only a limited time to fulfill their duty before the Blight claimed them. Stroud had it; King Alistair had it; this woman had it. She stood between the templars, her head bowed, as Josephine made her case known.

"Another of the lingering pains of Adamant, your worship," the ambassador announced. "Ser Ruth is a senior Warden of the Order. She was one of the many who slit the throat of another to bind a demon. She does not contest this. In fact, she surrendered to us." Josephine paused, clearly troubled by her next words. "She requests no mercy. She wants the public justice of the headsman's axe."

As her wishes were read out, Ser Ruth raised her head, letting Amelia see the anguish on her pale face. This woman clearly struggled with the knowledge of what she had done, her expression devoid of life and hope. She was already dead inside, slowly destroying herself with her own sense of guilt.

"You're very serious about this," Amelia said solemnly. "But there has already been so much death. Is more really the answer?"

"There is no excuse for my actions," Ser Ruth answered. Her voice was dull, lifeless, reinforcing the impression that she was past the stage of caring. "I murdered another of the Order, a friend I had known for many years. That blood marks me more than the Blight ever could."

"Excepting their actions while thralls of Corypheus, many treaties allow Wardens any extreme if it opposes the Blight," Leliana pointed out mildly.

"I can't do it!" Ser Ruth bursts out, fire showing through her dull visage briefly. "I can't use the greater good to justify my crimes, as if it would create a future I could ever be a part of. It is wrong that this broke me; I've done worse with full sanction. I can do nothing except be an example of the cost."

"When fear clouds our minds, we are all capable of horrifying acts," Amelia said in response. "In your place, plagued by the false Calling, I might well have done as you did. Simply the act of becoming a Grey Warden willingly is an act of courage and sacrifice, often thankless, rarely acknowledged. Would you truly turn your back on the Order, your duty, your life, for one misguided act performed with the best of intentions?"

"If there are no consequences for the worst of us, what will stop others from walking that same path, your worship?" Ser Ruth pleaded vehemently. "Let me bear the punishment for all."

"You are determined, then?" Amelia asked, needing to be certain. "There is no other course you can see, but this?"

"My life ended when I stole the life of a friend to become the thrall of the Blight incarnate," the Grey Warden declared, her voice dull once more. "I have nothing to give ... to the Order, or to the world."

"I understand." And truthfully, Amelia did understand. She could see herself in the broken woman who stood before her - what she might have become, in another life. "But the Grey Wardens are set apart from nations and politics for a very good reason. I have no authority to sentence you, nor will I create a dangerous precedent that others might use against the Order in years to come."

"Your worship -"

Amelia held up her hand, stilling Ser Ruth's protest. "You truly feel your life is over? There's a place for such Wardens. Ser Ruth, you should go to the Deep Roads, where your death may be as quick as you choose. The final act of a true Grey Warden."

"But ... this sends no message," Ser Ruth objected, even as her hands were unbound. "This is just ... an end."

"On the contrary, it sends a very clear message," Amelia corrected her. "That you are a Grey Warden; that no amount of manipulation can change that fact. You asked for death, an end. This is the end that you chose when you became a Warden. You took a friend's life; don't dishonor their death by turning away from the vow you shared."

Chastised, Ser Ruth bowed her head once more. "Then, with your permission, Inquisitor, I will join the Legion of the Dead."

"I cannot give you that permission, Ser Ruth," Amelia told her gently. "But Senior Warden Stroud may."

All eyes turned to Stroud, standing near the throne. He seemed to stand a little straighter, aware that the world was watching through the eyes of their chosen representatives. "Ser Ruth, permission is granted," he declared for the hall to hear. "Join our brothers and sisters in the shadows and know that, in time, we shall join you. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance."

"In death, sacrifice." Ser Ruth straightened her shoulders, saluting Stroud as the other Wardens saluted her, a solemn farewell for one of their number who had decided her time had come. "Your worship, thank you." She bowed, turning to leave the hall with her head held high, some of her honor returned in the ritualized words that meant nothing to non-Wardens, yet clearly meant something very profound indeed to their Order.

"Thank you, my friend," Stroud murmured as Amelia leaned back in her seat. "She would not have accepted that from me."

Amelia smiled faintly, inclining her head in acknowledgement of his gratitude. It felt wrong to have even suggested a fate for a Grey Warden, no matter the woman's crimes. To know that the other Wardens believed she had done the right thing was a balm to her troubled mind. But just the sight of the next prisoner being brought before her was enough to send a chill down her spine, knowing she could not escape this sentencing as she had her brother's.

"Clear the hall," she ordered sharply. "All but official personnel."

To her left, she heard Cullen give the order, watching as the soldiers escorted everyone who did not have an official reason to be present out the door. And why did she want that provision for this prisoner? Because he was her friend, despite everything he had done. He had suffered enough gossip and hearsay already; even if she could do nothing else, she could preserve what dignity he had left. She refused to allow the visiting nobles from Orlais to treat his tragedy as some perverse entertainment they could titter about in corners for weeks and months to come. The man stood silent between his jailers, his head bowed, his bearded jaw set in what she recognized as anger.

"For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall," Josephine announced in reluctant tones. No one had seen this coming, not even Leliana. It was just a relief that he'd only stolen the man's name, and not his life as well. "His crimes ... Well, you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is yours."

His crimes ... what a long list they were. The solicited murder of a nobleman and his entire family, including the children, for nothing more than gold; abandoning the men under his command to face punishment while he fled; living as another man, a good man, to hide from his crime. Yet he had also joined the Inquisition without a second thought; defended her against many foes; saved her life on more than one occasion. And he had acknowledged his guilt, eventually. But seeing him before her, shackled and steaming with unexpressed anger, she didn't know if she had made the right decision in claiming his sentencing for her own.

"I didn't think this would be easy," she heard herself say unhappily, "but it's harder than I thought."

He raised sad, angry eyes to hers. "Another thing to regret," he said heavily. "It was never my intention to bring you into this, Inquisitor."

Inquisitor, she thought. Not my lady, or my friend. He can't bring himself to even speak to me as the friend he has been for so many months. "Did you really think I would not follow you?" she asked, her voice soft with hurt. "You are one of the best companions I have ever known. How could you possibly think I would abandon you?"

"I wanted you to!" he snapped back at her, taking half a step forward before remembering he was shackled and under guard. "You were supposed to arrive too late, not call in favors to have me released to your custody! I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end. Why would you stop it?"

Amelia sat forward on the throne, meeting his angry gaze with gentle understanding. "Because you are my friend," she told him solemnly. "Will you trust me now, as you did once? Will you abide by what I decide, here and now?"

"I've trusted you since the day we met, my lady," he answered in his gruff manner, his eyes shining with what might almost have been tears at the gentle way she accepted his anger. "You've had my back, as I've had yours; never once have you lead me astray. Aye, I trust you. To do what's fair and right, no matter the cost to yourself."

She drew in a slow breath, sitting back once more. "You were already on a penitent's path, chosen for you by Warden Blackwall," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "He intended that you join the Grey Wardens, and I will honor that intention ... once Corypheus is dead. For now, Thom Rainier, the Inquisition needs you."

The man she had known as Blackwall stared at her for a long time, a myriad of conflicting emotions playing across his face. Anger, sadness, astonishment ... and finally, grateful acceptance. "As you command, Inquisitor."

"Warden Blackwall gave you a chance to atone through action, not merely punishment," she reminded him. "I find I can do no less."

Thom Rainier raised his head, bowing low before the throne. "I am ... grateful for this, my lady," he assured her, a hint of the familiar friendship in his voice once again. "I will serve you until you deem my service done, and I will serve the Wardens as long as I am able."

"And remain my friend, I hope." Amelia felt a surge of relief wash through her at his answering nod, glad she had found the middle way that allowed him to atone for his past, and kept a trusted friend close by for as long as she truly needed him there. "Then this court session is ended. Dismissed."

She watched as Thom's bonds were loosed, as he bowed to her and moved to leave the hall, no doubt to seek out the Wardens or to seek solitude for a time. As the various officials retired to write and send their reports, she rose from the throne, turning as Stroud approached her.

"With the exception of Thom Rainier, Inquisitor, I would like your permission to take our prospective recruits from here at dusk, and perform the Joining," the Warden said in a quiet tone. "When you meet Corypheus' army, we would be there in strength to support you."

"You have my permission, Warden Stroud," she assured him formally. "Be advised that we will begin our march in a matter of days. And thank you."

"It is I who should thank you, my friend," he said, his tone gentle and warm. "You have given us back our honor."

"You never lost it," she promised him softly. "Anyone can make a mistake. It's how you come back from that mistake that truly counts."

"You have the wisdom of Andraste, my friend," Stroud told her through his smile. "For the Wardens, and for myself, I thank the Maker that you found us in time."

She watched him walk away, touched that he still believed in her, even after everything that had happened in the Fade. Stroud was a devout man; those revelations could easily have turned his respect for her to disgust. Yet he was still here, and the example he set in his dealings with her was followed by all the Grey Wardens under his command. She could only hope Lorent would embrace his new role, and leave ambition and politicking behind him.

"All right," she said then, turning back to her advisors. "How long before we march?"

Cullen rubbed his neck. He wasn't exactly pleased they were going off to fight again so soon after Adamant, but he knew his people were eager to end the threat of Corypheus and his army. "Provisions and siege equipment are being packed as we speak," he told her. "We'll begin the march within two days."

"And the scouts?" Amelia asked, looking to Leliana and Josephine, who had needed to coordinate their efforts to ensure Corypheus' search of the Arbor Wilds did not go entirely in his favor.

"Have gathered on the eastern edge of the Arbor Wilds," Leliana reported confidently. "There seem to be a number of elven ruins there, all of which Corypheus has his people searching."

"Our allies know the area far better than we do," Josephine added. "Their help has been invaluable in delaying Corypheus' army."

Amelia nodded. "Details in the war room," she ordered. "I'll meet you there. Morrigan has something she wants to show me, which is apparently highly relevant to all this."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

Cullen curled his fingers about hers, lingering in the wake of the others' retreat. He drew her hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to the glittering glow of the Anchor on her palm, his eyes locked with her own. "You did well, Ame," he praised her, his voice low and soft. "You have no idea how proud I am of you."

Amelia smiled, stepping close to touch her brow to his. "It might be close to how proud I am of you," she offered, her voice just as soft as his. "I just want this to be over, Cul. I'm so tired of being afraid."

He wrapped his arms about her, gentle enough not to crush her against his ever-present armor. "Corypheus is the one who should be afraid," he told her fiercely. "You ... we ... are coming for him."

Rising onto her toes, she kissed him tenderly, heedless of the curious eyes that turned their way from the people filing back into the hall to go about their own business. They all knew she was married to her commander; if they had a problem with loving affection expressed openly, they were free to complain to her face, if they dared. "Go to the war room," she reminded her husband in a tone tone. "Try not to kill each other until I get there. I won't be long."

He smiled his roguish smile, brushing a kiss of his own to her temple before stepping away to follow after the spymaster and ambassador. As for Amelia, she turned toward the courtyard, and the garden. Morrigan's apparent wonder had better be worth all the mystery surrounding her invitation to see it. They were running out of time.

[transeuntlight-blog]

Ulrek: Risen [1]

As long as breath comes from my mouth

I may yet stand the slightest chance.

A shaft of light is all I need

To cease the darkness killing me.

There had only been black. Infinite and absolute in authority.

Then a thin needle of light pierced the absolutely, ended the infinite.

The blue sky came like a crashing wave upon dead eyes. Rays of sun warmed flesh it had no business warming and the breeze cooled a body that should have long since been cold.

Ulrek gasped his first breath and sat up. He expected pain, some reptilian part of his brain almost demanded pain. A toll for this reclaimed freedom from that impenetrable veil. Before him sat a machine, smaller than his palm clade in armor of white. A blue insignia made its pupil and Ulrek knew the things was responsible.

“You’re awake!” [Voice claim for Ghost]

The surprise in its voice caused Ulrek to raise his brow, “You seem surprised?”

The machine spun its forward spiky protrusions and began to move, as if it were talking the idea of talking with its hands and modifying it to fit its handless form. “Not surprised, excited!” The machine replied, the way its eye-light dimmed and reignited implied honesty.

Slowly Ulrek got to his knees and, with the assistance of a waist-high island, he got to his feet. He stood within an enormous courtyard of a building that was tens of stories tall but was now reduced to no more than five, the remains of the building lay about his own burial site, for a moment he thought it a fitting monument. That thought was quickly erased and replaced by a panic. He tried to recall the purpose of the building, its relation to himself, any purpose such a building could possibly hold. No information returned the inquiry. Finally, his black orbs fell on the floating machine as a blue light flooded from its eye and fell onto him “Where am I? What are you?”

The machine scoffed “I am a Ghost, I am your Ghost, actually. As for where we are – “

“My Ghost? Am I dead?”

“You were,” it began, “But I brought you back. The Traveler requires your aid.” The Ghost spun its fore-segments again as it began constructing a suit of very basic armor. “Interesting…”

“What?” low-grade armor encases him.

His Ghost hums a tune as it lifts itself up and rotates, searching. Finally; “We have a long way to go, care to name yourself?”

“Ulrek,” he finally mutters as he takes his first steps into a collapsed world, “Ulrek Marcillino.”

The construct turned, as if to appraise the newly minted Risen, “Ulrek? Sounds… old.”

The township of Goldsmine was founded only years after the collapse. Nearly five hundred residents called Goldsmine their home, many lived in huts no larger than a few rooms. Goldsmine was bisected by a road that had, miraculously, come to be a sort of trading route between other townships. A Risen, known to the local populous as Jaden, had claimed the township as his own and, with the muscle provided by a small band of like-minded Risen, had come to rule the small township almost since its inception. He was a kind ruler, the humans who lived under him found protection and aid.

An alarm rang out over the township of Goldsmine, as the sun began to poke its head over the horizon. Jaden had, in his employ, a Risen who claimed to be capable of reading the, for lack of a better word, light of a person’s aura. Called it a sixth sense and had never been wrong. On this fateful morning that Risen burst into Jaden’s office, perspiration flooding his face and dampening the fabric about his collar. “Jaden! Some… thing approaches!” His voice is hoarse, his hands shaking as he slams them against Jaden’s desk, “It feels like… like the entire universe is moving towards us!”

Jaden stands, he isn’t one to take chances. “Get the other Risen ‘rounded up and situate them near the entrance – “

“No! We must run!” Jaden recognizes that its not sweat pouring down his employee’s cheeks but tears. He can feel, now, static in the air. The Warlock speaks again. “You can feel it can’t you!”

“You’re hysterical. Hide then, fool!” And he does.

The Warlock would return, long after the coming storm has passed, and he would be alone.

Jaden steps into the soft light of morning. No animal calls fill the air, only the blaring of the siren. Two of his men rush up towards him, weapons loaded but aimed harmlessly skyward. “Wait here,” Jaden’s Ghost highlights the areas, “Take a few more guys with ya’. Keep a low profile for now.”

The air feels heavy. An ocean is forcing its way upon them, the Risen can feel its pressure. Movement becomes strenuous.

“Oh, it appears a party has come to greet us.” Ghost muses as it falls back behind him. Ulrek can feel it, tiny pulses of energy. Each is a star and each pulse with fear. It’s an ugly, dark vibration that permeates the air and sickens the newly Risen. “Play nice.” His Ghost chides as it vanishes in a wink of blue light, yet remains on vigil, he can even feel it like a distant star, watching.

Jaden stands at the center of the welcoming road. A weapon slung within his hands. Does he think Ulrek is incapable of sensing the other six that hide on either side of the road? The Titan stops and tilts his head “Can I help you?”

The Exo whirs, Ulrek can only guess annoyance. “Who are you? What business have you in Goldsmine?”

“I am Ulrek. Is this Goldsmine?” He half turned and cast an eye at the shacks. The stars wobble, stumble, one drops a weapon and another whimpers. “I am only passing through. I have business beyond this town.”

“Hard luck, fella,” the machine says as it levels its rifle, “I don’t much care for you.” Jaden can feel it. A pressure. Like the ocean is weighing against him. He’s almost surprised his chassis isn’t groaning in response.

Ulrek lifts a finger to retort. Suddenly a rocket flares to life. With no more thought than one would put into leaping back, Ulrek wills a wall of purple energy to form. The wall of dense energy domes away from the Titan, the rocket explodes against the impenetrable barrier and consumes the Exo before him. More scream. Many more scream curses. Ulrek can only take a step back before weapon fire begins to collide against the purple barrier.

“Impressive,” His Ghost whispers from within his head, “There are many who need to meet you.”

“And Goldsmine?” Ulrek asked, momentarily unafraid of the guns emptying into his Ward.

“You’re not nearly as emotional as I thought you’d be.”

“I don’t scare easy, Ghost.”

It hummed “I can see that.” After a half-second, “You created that Void barrier, Ulrek, shape it.”

The Void barrier wavered as Ulrek placed a hand upon it, the weapons fire stopped. He caught sight of them beyond his barrier. Scared. Many crying. The purple wall collapsed and encased him in blue, ionic flame and, in a wink, his opposition is reduced to ash. Now the civilians cry out, begging for mercy. “I only wish to pass through.”

“They’ll awaken shortly.” Ghost whispered in his head while cataloging exactly what it had just witnessed. He repeated it. The crowed shuffled into huts.

“If you’d like,” he repeated as his Ghost talked, “I will guide you to safety. An outpost. A… A City.”

Jaden sat next to the Titan, nearly a month after they had found their way to the Traveler’s shadow. “Ulrek, I…“ Speech was difficult, Jaden often felt he would be torn asunder beneath Ulrek’s hard gaze, “I swear to follow you,” the two horns of blue Light which constantly flowed from Ulrek’s brow didn’t ease Jaden’s nerves.

Ulrek took his companion’s hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, then stood. “I am needed elsewhere, Jaden. Aid the City, follow the Traveler.”

A salute “Yes sir!” Came his eager reply before Jaden leapt to action.

“Are you sure about this?” His Ghost questioned, as if Ulrek had ever lead them astray.

“Ghost, I died and was risen again only to fight in a war. Its clear conflict is eternal. Here,” he motioned towards the humble beginnings of the Last City, “We want to make something good and the only way to make something good is to make it unbreakable and the only way to make something unbreakable is to try and break everything.”

His Ghost considered this as they walked further from the City, “Even the Iron Lords?”

“The Warlords wanted to make something good,” Ulrek countered, “And the Iron Lords broke them. This is the nature of the universe.”

“I never thought you’d be so fatalistic.”

Ulrek smiled, his horns burned the air and his Light cast an unbelievable pressure, “It is better to know.”

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We passed a few sad hours until eleven o'clock, when the trial was to commence. My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court. During the whole of this wretched mockery of justice I suffered living torture. It was to be decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would cause the death of two of my fellow beings: one a smiling babe full of innocence and joy, the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror. Justine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an ignominious grave, and I the cause! A thousand times rather would I have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but I was absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have been considered as the ravings of a madman and would not have exculpated her who suffered through me. The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning, and her countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her feelings, exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she worked up her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were seated. A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest her utter guiltlessness. The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the charge, several witnesses were called. Several strange facts combined against her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof of her innocence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night on which the murder had been committed and towards morning had been perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the murdered child had been afterwards found. The woman asked her what she did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house about eight o'clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she replied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly if anything had been heard concerning him. When shown the body, she fell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days. The picture was then produced which the servant had found in her pocket; and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court. Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had proceeded, her countenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was desired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible although variable voice. "God knows," she said, "how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears doubtful or suspicious." She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the house of an aunt at Chene, a village situated at about a league from Geneva. On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man who asked her if she had seen anything of the child who was lost. She was alarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him, when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Most of the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that she slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour to find my brother. If she had gone near the spot where his body lay, it was without her knowledge. That she had been bewildered when questioned by the market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed a sleepless night and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the picture she could give no account. "I know," continued the unhappy victim, "how heavily and fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no opportunity afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon? "I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my innocence." Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and they spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they supposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused, when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address the court. "I am," said she, "the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents ever since and even long before his birth. It may therefore be judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion, but when I see a fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my aunt, in her last illness, with the greatest affection and care and afterwards attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner that excited the admiration of all who knew her, after which she again lived in my uncle's house, where she was beloved by all the family. She was warmly attached to the child who is now dead and acted towards him like a most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that, notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action; as to the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value her." A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple and powerful appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with renewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew it. Could the demon who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold. I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to the court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my visit. The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine was condemned. I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon them adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt. "That evidence," he observed, "was hardly required in so glaring a case, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of our judges like to condemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so decisive." This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had my eyes deceived me? And was I really as mad as the whole world would believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I hastened to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result. "My cousin," replied I, "it is decided as you may have expected; all judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape. But she has confessed." This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon Justine's innocence. "Alas!" said she. "How shall I ever again believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray? Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has committed a murder." Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see my cousin. My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to her own judgment and feelings to decide. "Yes," said Elizabeth, "I will go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me; I cannot go alone." The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not refuse. We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine sitting on some straw at the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also. "Oh, Justine!" said she. "Why did you rob me of my last consolation? I relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I was not so miserable as I am now." "And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?" Her voice was suffocated with sobs. "Rise, my poor girl," said Elizabeth; "why do you kneel, if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies, I believed you guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment, but your own confession." "I did confess, but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if I continued obdurate. Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly miserable." She paused, weeping, and then continued, "I thought with horror, my sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed aunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated. Dear William! dearest blessed child! I soon shall see you again in heaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I am to suffer ignominy and death." "Oh, Justine! Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. Why did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die! You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! No! No! I never could survive so horrible a misfortune." Justine shook her head mournfully. "I do not fear to die," she said; "that pang is past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to the will of heaven!" During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth and ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who it was, she approached me and said, "Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?" I could not answer. "No, Justine," said Elizabeth; "he is more convinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you had confessed, he did not credit it." "I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace now that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin." Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation. Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours with Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear herself away. "I wish," cried she, "that I were to die with you; I cannot live in this world of misery." Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice of half-suppressed emotion, "Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend; may heaven, in its bounty, bless and preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever suffer! Live, and be happy, and make others so." And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth's heart-rending eloquence failed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the criminality of the saintly sufferer. My passionate and indignant appeals were lost upon them. And when I received their cold answers and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim myself a madman, but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim. She perished on the scaffold as a murderess! From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and voiceless grief of my Elizabeth. This also was my doing! And my father's woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was the work of my thrice-accursed hands! Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these are not your last tears! Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard! Frankenstein, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he who would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no thought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear countenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life in serving you - he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments! Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair, I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.