#they’re engrained in my brain together now

[babywitchofthesouth-responds]

Anyone who’s read metamorphosis by peachcitt needs to listen to Landing Feet First by Bayside in the context of the dance scene towards the end:

‘i hope you weren’t waiting long, i hope this night makes up for time lost’

‘feels like i met you years ago and we’re picking up right where we left off’

Like if that’s not their internal mental states during that scene idk what is

[lixel-5]

THE PINK ROOM IS STANARRATOR

I HAVE ACTUAL EVIDENCE PLEASE JUST STAY WITH ME

i saw this reddit post

like four days ago and it’s been rotating in my mind so much i’m going insane and i need to talk about it

“why do i think the pink room is hinting at stanarrator” you may be asking

let’s talk about it

1) pink.

color is deeply engrained into TSP. i’m not going to go deep into it now, there was a few posts circulating about it and few months ago tho, but you just need to know that color can often hint at meanings in TSP

PINK IS NO WHERE ELSE IN THE GAME.

the closest we get in the game is red (and a lot of it). there’s not even pink in the light show in the zen room!!!

something happened in this room that happens no where else in the game.

also: pink is a lovey dovey color. at there’s a LOT of it. the only non-pink color in the room is the Stanlurine. which i’ll also talk about a bit in point 3.

2) apples.

i never thought much of the apple. until now.

apples represent defiance and forbidden knowledge. also fertility? think of Adam and Eve.

the narrator learned something in this room. he learned something he wasn’t supposed to know, and the memory may have gotten erased.

but the memory is still there, just not explicitly. (the narrator actually demonstrates a LOT of implicit memories, showing that the knowledge isn’t truly erased, just hidden.)

3) figurines.

stanley and the narrator aren’t really supposed to be on the same page. they’re made to rival each other, and the fun of the game is when you (stanley) disobey the narrator

one of the VERY few times the two are working together is the figurines. and the narrator enjoys watching stanley collect them SO MUCH.

the narrator seems to correlate the Stanley-Figs with whatever this pink room represents.

maybe it’s having fun with stanley, or it’s working WITH stanley rather than against him. but all we know is that this room is something good, something the narrator enjoys.

remember what i said in point 1? the Stiggley Wiggleys being the only non-pink thing is the room? yeah. gay.

those pinky feelings are surrounding stanley rather than being stanley. does that make sense?

now, i don’t think the Pink Room is where the event took place, but rather a representation of what happened. the narrator can’t remember details, so his brain filled in the holes. which there’s a lot of.

i do think that the memory that’s manifesting in that room is some type of confession. the narrator is learning that his feelings are reciprocated, that he and stanley are on the same page for ONCE.

and the way the lighting hits the apple so vibrantly makes me think that the whole point of this room is that knowledge, that experience the narrator has forgotten. the pink lovey feelings are just surrounding it.

even when the narrator forgets what he memory means, it’s still so pink. it’s so full of love that it’s literally glowing.

apparently the apple might be a reference to superliminal. fuck you i like that the stanarrator theory more

THE PINK ROOM IS THE STANARRATOR ROOM

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[the-fruit-tea-devil]

I cannot fucking get over him.

It’s taking everything in me to hold back my inner Nice Girl™. But I have never felt so in love with a guy. I’ve never had such a connection with a guy. I thought he was gonna be my first boyfriend. I really did. I don’t wanna come off as too clingy but I just wanna tell him “hey we haven’t talked in while” (even when it’s only been a week) or “hey you’ve been distant lately”. I don’t want to be a burden or make him not like me. I don’t wanna annoy him or have him pity me. I want him to want to talk to me goddamnit. I ask many for advice, they all say to leave him alone for a while and find other things to do. Yeah, easier said that done. I’ve been looking for other things to fill my mind. But there’s a hole in my heart, a void, a need to channel my sexual, sensual romantic feelings and desires. I can no longer look at another guy like I do him. No longer see other guys as potential love interests.

God I feel so fucking insane. Fantasizing and imagining little scenarios with us (nothing big at all, just mundane stuff a lot of people my age have experienced already like hugging, holding hands, etc) gets me by. I guess the idea of us being together is still engrained in some part of my brain. Been going through the same shit 1,000 times. I would love if someone were to talk with me about it. I feel like I’m spiraling right now. I already talked about it with my family (and friends but I try not to too much because I don’t wanna lose the very very few that I even have) and they’re burnt out by it. Because my favorite thing to talk about is THIS FUCKING GUY. I’ve emotionally invested too much, I don’t know how to clean up my mess. If someone has any interest in talking about it with me in my DMs, that would be great :')

Edit: me and this dude decided to take a break from talking. I decided to give him some space. For a month. And tbh to say I’m sad about it is a bit of an understatement. I feel depressed, numb, and I feel like my soul has left my body. But I gotta do it.

[bumpsyp1ains]

So if Surge and Kit reform after issue 56, how does it happen and how does it affect the following arcs?

In my headcanon, It's because of Shadow. Long story short, He joins Tails, Belle, and Sonic because Omega has been controlled. He and Sonic fight Surge together, They save Kit(Even though Shadow and Omega want to kill him), and it all happens how it happens in IDW up to when the final fight happens. Surge turns out to have all the chaos emeralds, turns super using the negative power of the chaos emeralds, and uses it plus the wisps to kick Sonic's ass. Shadow, now knowing Surge and Kit's past, turns super and defeats Surge. Kit is subdued the same way Tails took him out back in issue 50. When they wake up, Rouge looks into the Egg-net and finds out that Surge and Kit's former group of friends actually located them, only to be killed by Starline. This also reactivates Both imposter's memories. Shadow tells them his backstory, about him and Maria, How GUN infiltrated the arc, Eggman reawakening him, him turning super with Sonic to save the planet, The Black Arms and Black Doom, etc. Basically a recap of SA2 and Shadow the Hedgehog. Surge and Kit join Team Dark and the day is saved.

I know this is more than a usual ask, but I just wanted to throw my headcanon into this void known as Tumblr. I have several headcanons surrounding Forces and IDW. If I could draw, I definitely would have posted it on my own blog by now. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

damn that’s a really deep hc. really creative, though!

as for me, i’ve also got an essay.

*cracks knuckles* alrighty…

so everything is the same up until metal sonic tries to grab surge from sonic. kit manages to block him from reaching them. however, instead of taking surge and running off, he grabs tails and sonic and crumbles the base down with eggman and metal underneath, despite sonic’s pleas to cut it out.

eggman and metal barely escape, though, and they zoom away on his usual flying pod.

as sonic and tails are figuring out how’ll they’ll approach him next, kit chimes in, holding the unconscious surge in his arms.

“say i let you take us back to the restoration,” he says. “if we turn ourselves in, and try to amend, will you not stab us in the back?”

tails and sonic look at him for a second, and the latter smiles, and puts a gentle hand on his head.

“we’re not eggman. OR starline,” he assures him. “i can’t guarantee everyone will immediately trust you, but i promise, we’ve got your back.

they don’t make an appearance at eggperial city, cause they’re spending their days and nights at the restoration, with jewel keeping an eye on them (wink wink nudge nudge)

surge is obviously against this at first, but then kit comes in

“we were given a chance to live a normal life, ma’- uh, surge. can’t we just take that chance?”

surge looks at him, upset that he’s turned to them so quickly, but then thinks for a bit.

she hates sonic, but like she’s said, it’s only because it’s been engrained into her brain. there has to be more to her life than that. perhaps… she actually COULD be free.

“…fine. i’ll give it a try,” she gives in.

and that’s where the backstory ends. this then leads up to the “future of freedom” series, where whisper goes to figure out what blew her fuse, surge crushing and jewel, and so on.

(and in case you’re wondering, yes, my whispangle fanfics and “future of freedom” fanfics take place in the same verse)

[taestefully-in-luv]

Our time chapter 4 (The sheer amount of times I’ve had to scream into my pillow to make it through this chapter is kind of ridiculous tbh, but it’s fine. Pure enjoyment 😭🫶🏻):

“You don’t know what it’s uh, what it’s like to live with me so we should probably not jump into that yet.”

I think the above quote confirms my suspicions 😭😭 I don’t even remember that line from my first read through but that’s probably just bc my un-observant reader-brain was like “huh okay *forgets it two seconds later*”. I believe he’s talking about his alcoholism (I’m not saying it’s confirmed bc miss Brinny doesn’t confirm it in the warnings for chapter 6, but yeah)? My guess it that this was the biggest reason why they were rocky even before Nabi or Haru’s kidnapping

Jungkook said something about them (he & Y/N) being together, which further proves that he and his and OC’s parents are hoping they’ll get back together.

Jungkook’s hesitation to get with Y/N physically despite how bad they both want to, makes a lot more sense now, as well. We can assume that he’s more against it because of the fact that they’re divorced and technically not together (plus they haven’t been talking), and not only because he’s worried she’ll get overwhelmed, though I’m sure it’s a factor. I wonder if Jungkook assumed she was overwhelmed about their marriage because he suspected she remembered something relating back to his drinking? Or something along those lines.

Pingsu. Pingsu, Pingsu, Pingsu. This cat is important, for whatever reason. I think, anyway, since he(?)’s one of the only things OC remembers from before the amnesia. Maybe something happened around this time (relating to JK and Y/N’s marriage? Since JK said they had only been married a few years at that point) after JK’s mom got Pingsu that engrained his presence into her mind? That or her brain was like “yeah you love this cat he isn’t a threat all good”, idk.

I wonder if the shadow she (the OC) remembered seeing/ saw by the window in this chapter was the person who kidnapped Haru? Like maybe they scouted out the area before kidnapping him and Y/N remembers something like that? Or, whoever this person was, he was after either JK or Y/N, because of Jungkook’s case. I’m not entirely sure.

I forgot to mention this, but in I think it’s chapter 2, Jungkook mentions how one of Y/N’s favorite animals is the koala, and I’m pretty sure that had something to do with Haru, as well. Maybe his favorite animal was a koala, or he was clingy and that reminded her of koalas.

Pretty much sums up my thoughts this chapter. I have the inkling suspicion I missed something, tbh. I’ve been doing these right after each other, so I might be mushing chapters together in my brain, or I might just miss things because I forgot about them by the end of the chapter.

Again; bad memory lol.

P.s: I really love the way you write your dialogue especially, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but you really know how to insert emotion into dialogue and it’s wonderful!

🤍🤍🤍

chapter 4:

1. so that line has multiple purposes :) yes it can be used solely for his fear that she will know he has a problem with drinking and his whole home life is a mess but also, him being nervous because it’s also a lie—because she does know what it’s like she just doesn’t remember

2. yn’s and jungkooks parents (we will meet them soon) all want them together because they hate seeing they’re children cope with the possible death of their own child suffer all by themselves:/ instead of at least leaning on one another

3. yes jungkook is very against doing anything physical with her because of the current circumstances. he struggled and felt weak giving in to her so easily (in his eyes) because he does love her but he also knows how wrong it would be

4. pingu was used to show she does have her memories tucked away in there and how she could remember a cat but not her son—that’ll get touched on more too later

5. the shadow, another mystery like the lake and the boat. unfortunately yn isn’t sure if the shadow was her imagination, a memory or if it happened in that moment

6. it’ll get confirmed later but a pretty good guess so yes 🥰 she will make that realization herself soon too

thank you!!!! dialogue is my favorite part to write so 🥺 <3

[snek-of-eden]

@mindless-reblogger I’m so sorry I didn’t get to this reblog yesterday, it was like midnight and I needed time to put all of my thoughts together, but first of all

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH OH MY GOSH, ITS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL, EVERYTHING I EVER KNEW I NEEDED!! I’ve been rewatching it over and over, I have the whole thing screen recorded so I can see it in my camera roll whenever 😅 you’ve synched everything up and it’s so fucking GOOD, im blessing you with so many forehead kisses right now holy shit. imma need to go over this one in more detail:

okay. stop. Kirk’s slutty, slutty walk??? the knees crossed on the throne set to the intro?? why don’t you just kill me now and play this song at my funeral. I’m not making it out of this video alive. he’s so sluttyyyyyy /affectionate

SCOTTY AND BONES DOING THEIR GRAND ENTRANCE FOR CHEKOV AND UHURA AS SOON AS FHE LYRICS START is making me kick my feet with joy ohmygosh

the lil chin taps in line with the beat, they’re g o r g e o u s

Kirk’s hand waving at the robots!!! while on that slutty throne!!! that’s what I call poetic cinema bitches

how you managed to get those lights around their necks to flash up in sync is beyond me, but kudos to you :0 that must have taken some time, but it turned out really really great!

NOT THE MR SAXOBEAT “OOH MMH YEAAH OOH MMH YEAH” GOOGLE LYRICS 😭😭😭 that’s one of my favourite parts lmaooo like… OOH MMH YEAH

Chekov being a gymnast and absolutely slaying those jumps, my beloved baby BOY. I’m so glad you found a way to fit those in

”my sexy boy set me free” as Kirk turns to Spock all proud-like YOU DID NOT. I SEE WHAT YOU ARE (thank you sm that is literally the best thing you could have done, ever)

Spock’s hand going underneath his shirt 👀 simp alert

the whole bomb detonation sequence is now forever engrained into my single brain cell set to the time of “Mr saxobeat” and I am So Happy About It

that shits a golf club?? I assumed he made it up because he needed something to bash the thingie with. huh. you learn something new everyday ig

I aM nOt PrOgrAmMeD tO ResPoNd iN tHaT aReA

THE FINAL BEAT TIMED TO NORMAN KEELING OVER AAAAAAH ITS PERFECT

this is the best thing ever, thank you so much dude, I appreciate you doing this!! thanks for all your effort, if you ever need fanart or fic or anything for your own fandoms I’d be happy to help you out in return to the best of my ability!! Xx

everyone else, go watch this edit, it’s supreme 💙💙

@snek-of-eden

it took like 5 days or whatever but i present the tos episode 'i mudd' to 'mr. saxobeat' by alexandra stan

[21burritoseavey]

Hey love!

Hope you’re doing good.

I have cute idea where y/n is having a bad day then she goes to Daniel house and she ask Christian where is Daniel he tells her he is in the studio and Daniel was live on ig but y/n thought he playing piano and recording himself so she sat on his lap , he panicked because they were still a secret and he wanted his relationship private.

I hope that’s not to crazy

Hey! I’m doing great and I hope you are too. thanks for requesting!

Secret Relationship (d.s)

a/n: k just pretend that the background of that photo is the studio lol. I will most likely do a little pt.2 for another request I got:) if you want other scenarios or anything let me know cos this was fun lol. enjoy!

It was fair to say Y/n was having a bad day. The morning rose and fell as quickly as the leaves fell from the autumn trees outside, but once it was time for the sun to descend, the hours couldn’t have inched past any slower, crawling in one by one as she worked quietly behind the wooden desk after school.

It was 4:56pm when she glimpsed over at her lock screen to realise, she had an hour left before the library would close for the day. The school building was quiet at that hour. Most people were revelling in the joys and relief the weekend had graciously brought and only the janitor was seen wiping down the windows in the distance.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she wrote down the last of her notes. Her fingers ached after scrolling through the pages...and documents...and slides on her laptop and her brain went practically numb from all the letters and numbers she’d stared at. The unsteady pile of books beside her was not helping either. All those thoughts of work had her craving her boyfriend’s presence. She just wanted one of Daniel’s hugs at that point. The warmth of his strong arms wrapped around her and the comforting beating of his tender heart right against her ear. Every aspect of Daniel’s affection was practically engrained in her mind. The thought of being with him squirmed in the back of her mind, tugging at her heartstrings until she finally sighed and closed her books. She tucked her belongings into her backpack and made her way out of the library - after giving the quiet librarian a wave - and across the campus.

Y/n found herself standing behind the Seavey’s front door. She knocked a couple times and heard the door handle rattle after a moment. Christian slowly came into view as the door creaked open.

Y/n cracked a gentle smile. “Hey, Y/n,” Christian moved to the side to let her walk through. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay, thanks for asking.” She replied. “And you?”

Christian noticed how Y/n’s shoulders slumped as she walked and the subtle frown playing at her lips, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “I’m great, just finished a self-tape.” He sat on the couch nearby.

“That’s great.” Y/n yawned. She’d come over to the Seavey’s house many times before so making herself comfortable was never an issue. Her blanket was tossed in the corner of the sofa, and she reached an arm to pull it towards her. Christian chuckled lightly as she plunked herself down and closed her eyes. The quiet of the home allowed her to enjoy some well-deserved rest. Only some, because in minutes Kobe was scampering down the hall and jumping into Y/n’s arms.

“Oh my God!” Y/n lifted herself up again and pet the excited dog as he licked her. She turned towards Christian again with Kobe shuffling further into her chest. “Is Daniel home?”

Christian looked up from his phone. “Yeah, in the studio.”

Y/n sent him a quiet ‘thank you’ before she was jumping out of her seat and rushing outside, across the patio. Kobe was quick at her heels.

Y/n had slowed down once she reached the door. She pressed her ear against the cold surface and listened in. The faint sounds of Daniel’s piano playing had sailed along the studio and seeped through the small gaps of the door, dancing with the steady breeze.

The soft, bell-like melodies emitting from the piano had smeared an unmistakable grin on Y/n’s face and she let her hands twist the doorknob quietly to not send Daniel out of his playing. She could sense his happiness from a mile away and today was no different. He was doing the very thing he loved after all.

The heart fluttering sight of him in an oversized, grey hoodie had her shoulders untensing and her face softening. “Hi,” She greeted. She trudged over and rested her palms on his shoulders from behind. His phone leaned against the music rack, with comments and questions gradually moving upwards beside little floating hearts. The live Instagram broadcast on his phone remained totally invisible to the young, tired girl. Daniel was hardly able to utter a warning before she draped her legs across his thighs to sit on his lap.

He couldn’t contain his nervous giggles as she hung her arms over his shoulders, “Hey, b-...Y/n.”

“Hi,” Y/n replied. She nestled her head into his chest and even clutched Daniel’s arms to rest around her waist. The Instagram live played on as the young couple rested together on the bench. Daniel kept his arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend despite his heart’s intense beating.

He looked towards his phone screen again. “She’s just giving me a hug.” He reassured the viewers the best he could. He knew no one was buying it though. The comments were brimming with heart-eye emojis or excited comments in all caps.

Daniel peered down at his girlfriend, tucked comfortably and unbothered in his arms. “Just a really long hug.” He nodded towards the screen again.

Y/n went out like a light. She was perfectly content cradled in her boyfriend’s loving embrace, already drifting into a peaceful drea-

“Y/n.” A sweat broke over Daniel’s forehead. He snatched sneaky glances towards his phone before trying again, “Y/n!” He whispered sharply through the warm toned room.

“What?” Y/n mumbled quietly. She rubbed her eyes to spread her consciousness further.

“People are watching.” Daniel jerked his head towards the phone screen in front of them.

Y/n snapped her head to look at his phone propped up against the music stand. “Oh! Ri-right.” She shifted off Daniel’s lap quickly. He tried to wear a smile for the audience in his phone that were very much engrossed in the situation. Y/n dropped her gaze to the floor and picked at her nails. “I’m just...” She flung her arm to gesture towards the door, “gonna go.” Y/n’s nervous words were barely heard through the room and Daniel’s expression faltered as he watched her stride off for the living room without a second glance.

He felt terrible. He fought the urge to run after her and make sure she was okay, merely spinning back around to face the screen. “Okay,” he said breathily, pressing the keys harshly to produce a muddled mess of notes. He didn’t feel like playing anymore.

---

Daniel dragged his feet out of the studio towards the living room. He noticed Y/n sitting on the couch during the rest of his livestream and desperately wanted to make sure she was okay. Outside, the sunset bloomed beautifully, setting the sky ablaze with soft colours as Kobe played quietly on the patio. He ran towards the main house as Daniel slid open the door.

Y/n gave him a quick upward glimpse before lowering her eyes again. But then she looked up again, noticing his usual soothing smile replaced with a long frown. “You okay?” She asked softly.

Daniel fell back onto the sofa with a deep huff before glancing at her. “No. I’m sorry you had to leave like that.”

Y/n chuckled, “It’s okay.” She shuffled closer to him. Her body was angled slightly towards his and she dragged an arm to rest across his shoulders. Daniel moved to rest in between her crossed legs, and he rested his head on her chest. “We both want our relationship to be private, so...it’s okay.” Y/n consoled with a giggle. “I think your fans are suspicious now though.” She let a smirk tug at the corner of her lips. Daniel raised his eyes to meet her sparkly eyes.

“Oh, they’re definitely suspicious now.” Daniel took her hand away from his shoulder and entwined their fingers in a loose grip to kiss her knuckles. He cupped her face with his other hand and kissed her lips strongly. Y/n sighed pleasantly into it, finally feeling that relief she’d been waiting for all day. That reassuring affection that pulled her into a wave of warmth and comfort. They silently enjoyed the love that danced through their bodies and in between them for a few long moments.

Daniel pulled back and intertwined their fingers again. “It won’t be like this forever, Y/n.”

taglist: @chilling-seavey @randomlimelightxxx @marthagryffindor @hackerXavery 

join my taglist!

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Okay new Hotch/Reid headcanon cuz you said to send them to you and I’m watching CM right now and my brain doesn’t stop- Everything about the way Reid dresses screams “don’t look at me”... except his ridiculous socks. Hotch finds this little quirk endlessly endearing.

HE MOST CERTAINLY DOES <3

For those early season Reid actively goes out of his way to try and dress older than he is, and I know that’s probably a tactic engrained into him to make people try to take him more seriously as a doctor and not just a very young FBI agent. And we see his style change and evolve over the seasons, but he does still try to keep that trait of professional, academic aesthetic clothing, and you are very right all of it is designed to basically make people look him over. ‘Nothing to see here, just another agent working the crime scene.’ 

But when he joins he’s still, what, 24? 23? I can’t quite remember how old they say he is during that birthday scene in season 1. So I bet the first time Hotch notices he’s wearing different colored socks he probably thought he just hadn’t found a matching pair that morning. Or forgot to do laundry. And even that little (incorrect) thought would have been endearing because it reminds him that Reid can be subject to human error, act his age. It’s relatable.

But then he notices it’s happening everyday. Different colored socks, and a lot of times they’re solid color but sometimes they have patterns and quirky images like lamas or coffee cups. So one day, on the jet after a case, he has to ask. He HAS to, it’s become this thing he actively searches for now and he should not be having his day brightened by whatever sock patterns Reid is wearing. 

And I know MGG literally does it for good luck, but Reid feels too logical for superstition like that so I’m sure he’ll fall into this big long tangent about order vs. chaos and maybe might get lost in a philosophical debate he’d been reading about because he’s working on finishing his M.A. in philosophy and kind of doesn’t get to his point about the socks. But Hotch, who always listens to Reid no matter what and hears what he says without tuning him out, reads between the lines and realizes it’s basically because it makes Reid happy to have something a little skewed and out of place through his day. 

And years later, when they’re together, I’d like to think he still finds it just so endearing when Reid’s different colored socks show beneath his pajama pants or when he crosses his legs on the table. Or when he’s putting them back on after sex. Never fails to make Hotch smile. 

And after they move in together, when he does their laundry, Hotch will pair up Reid’s socks mismatched for him when he’s folding their clothes. 

[dameronology]

more than anything {poe dameron}

summary: poe can be oddly insightful in his own way, and with the pressure of the resistance pulling you down, it's exactly what you need (for @disastersim !! i hope you enjoy angel <3)

warnings: language, one slight innuendo

enjoy!

- jazz

Working for the Resistance could be exhausting in every sense of the worst - emotionally, physically, mentally. Constantly fighting for a cause that had no guaranteed pay off was beyond challenging and the fight - the wars and the battles and the bloodshed - didn't seem to be coming to an end anytime soon. There were days where you made leaps and bounds towards entirely wiping out the First Order, in the same way that there were days when they made strides towards completely wiping out your side of the fight. It was a constant tug of war between good and bad; of course, it wasn't all that black and white, but it was difficult to see what anyone saw in the First Order's extreme principles. That was especially the case when your own comrades packed up and left the base to join them. With that said, there were more than enough people who left that side to come to yours. Ones who saw the Resistance as a source of hope- a light at the end of an awfully fucking long tunnel.

That's what you had to constantly remind yourself off: light. Hope. Courage. All the things that you'd sworn to fight for as long as you could remember - the very values that you so desperately held onto in an attempt to not completely lose it - and the ones you kept so close to your heart. Sometimes, it was easy to do so; easy to believe that the Resistance was going to pull through and that light would shine on the galaxy once again. Other times? Not so much. It was normal to have dark days and sad days but as of late, it had been dark weeks and sad weeks. Your team of fellow mechanical engineers had done their best to lift your spirits, but the weight on your soul was a little too much. It was just something that would have to pass naturally.

It had been effecting your sleep too, to the point where you found yourself wandering the base alone at night. The only other people who were awake were those on the nightshift, and the occasional droid that would whirr around the corner. From where you sat in the garage, you would hear the clank clank clank of Threepio fumbling about the base - he would sometimes say hello, and other you help with whatever it was that you were repairing or tinkering with. For the most part, though, he kept to himself. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, because his famous catchphrase of we're doomed! wasn't entirely the best thing for your morale.

So, there you were at 3AM, Poe's t-shirt hanging off your shoulders and the contents of his X-Wing laid out in front of you. Really, you were just taking it apart and putting it back together as a past time - like some kind of weird puzzle - but you were also looking at potential improvements. His only request was that you made it faster, which seemed a bit counter-intuitive when he of all people could have learnt the value of slowing down. The man was like a whirl wind, breezing in and out of different missions and meetings, barely stopping to take a break to think. The only time he truly and really calmed down was when he was with you; you were his safe space, and the only place he could let his barriers down. The pilot spent hours upon hours curled up against you, murmuring sleepily about nothing and everything all at once.

"This is a stupid time to be awake." (Speak of the devil, and thou shall appear).

Tossing your spanner down, you turned around to see Poe. He was leaning against the door, brown hair tousled with sleep and dark eyes heavy with his remaining tiredness. He was a heavy sleeper, so more often than not he didn't even realise you were gone - but if he woke up and saw your absence, there wasn't a chance in hell that he could get back to sleep. He needed you beside him at the best times, but especially at night.

"I couldn't sleep," you confessed.

"There's been a lot of that going around lately," Poe replied. He slowly approached you, holding out his arms as he did so that you could fall against his chest.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, there's a stupid owl outside my window that woke me up," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He gently tangled your fingers together and brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. "I sent BB-8 to deal with it."

"Of course you did," you smiled. "I just gotta put this back together and I'll come back to bed."

"What's keeping you up?" Poe asked. "You've been really quiet lately."

You'd always been hesitant to tell Poe about your doubts: he was the epitome of what a good Resistance fighter was, and the beating heart of the entire cause. He never seemed to slip up, or lose hope, to the point where you sometimes wondered if he was naive. It did make sense, after all - his mother had fought hard for the Rebellion, as had his father. Having perfect balance of a rebellious side and a heart of pure fucking gold was probably engrained into his very D.N.A.

"There's a lot on my mind," you admitted. "It never seems to quieten down."

"I get that," Poe gave your hands a light squeeze. "Wanna talk about it?"

"It's probably dumb-"

"- your feelings are always valid, even if they're dumb."

Hopping up onto the wings of the jet beside you, he stuck out his hand and helped you clamber up beside him. The hangar itself was freezing cold - even in the tropical climate of Ajan Kloss - so he wound an arm around your side, pulling you closer to keep you warm. Just Poe's presence alone was enough to pull your mind out the dredges, and the gentle smell of his shower gel and aftershave was a comfort too. It was a mixture of spicy and sweet.

"Go on," Poe said. "I'll be your therapist for the next ten minutes, and then forever if you want."

"What do you charge per hour, Doc?"

He nudged your side with a grin. "We'll get to that later."

You rolled your eyes, but continued all the same. "Everything's just been a lot, lately. All the fighting and the missions, and we keep having set back after set back and I'm tired. I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I have no way of shifting it."

Poe's brown eyes flickered away from you for a minute as he pondered on your statement. Unbeknownst to you, he absolutely related - despite his outwards hopefulness and resilient exterior, he had days where he was exhausted too. It was made even more so by the fact that people turned to him to keep them encouraged too - he did have his own brand of ironic wisdom, after all - and it really took it out of him. It was like everybody around him expected him to keep them afloat when he felt like drowning.

"I understand," Poe replied. "The galaxy is a demanding place and sometimes it's more than we can handle. I have days where I feel like everything is going wrong and I just want to curl up in my bed and sleep forever."

"Sounds so tempting," you murmured.

"It does, but that's not how it works, sadly," he continued. "You just gotta...push forward, you know? That's much easier said than done but I find the trick is to take it day by day. Have some caff, get a hug from your favourite person and just pull through til you can collapse into bed and hide under the covers."

"And you do that? Every day?"

"Not everyday," Poe said. "There are good days too, like the ones where we get to eat lunch together, or the ones where BB-8 hacks the big screen in the canteen and shows the video of Hux falling over."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. The little droid had his own way of brightening the lives of those around him, but it was that video in particular that never failed to make you laugh. He'd accidentally recorded it on a break out mission and whenever people needed reminding that the slimy bastards at the First Order weren't completely untouchable, BB-8 would be on it.

"I love those days too," you gently smiled. "The whole day by day things sounds a lot more manageable than trying to digest the concept of time as a whole."

"Exactly," Poe nodded. "And you gotta find joy in those little things. Like, whenever I'm having a really bad day, I'll come and find you and annoy you. That little smile you get when you're trying really hard not to crack and laugh at me always makes things a thousand times better."

"I like that," you replied.

"Then one day, when we've won this fight and we can go home, we can still take things day by day, but it'll be little steps towards other things, like...marriage? I think that's the next logical step."

You thinned your eyes at him. "Is this a proposal?"

"If you have to ask whether it's a proposal, then it's not a proposal," Poe shot back. "You'll know when I'm asking you to marry me."

"I look forward to it," you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for listening to me. You can be weirdly philosophical."

"I'm smart and good looking," Poe cheekily grinned. "Man, I really am the whole package."

"And moment's gone-"

"- I'm sorry!"

He quickly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His cheek was pressed up against your forehead, stubble tickling your skin as he held you, softly swaying from side to side.

"I love you," he murmured. "And truth be told, that's the thing that gets me through those bad days."

"You going soft on me, Dameron?" you quietly joked. "I love you too - more than anything."

Poe released his grip on you before taking your hand and helping you climb down from the jet. You still had a few hours till you had to be up and now that the emotional weight on your brain had been relieved ever-so-slightly, you were more than ready to collapse beside the pilot and get some much needed rest.

What Poe had said had begun to change your perspective on things; rather than viewing the galaxy as one whole glob of shitty things, you had to go through it with a fine toothed comb. Find the little things that were sprinkled amongst the bad things, like the way Poe looked at you with a sparkle in his eyes, or the way Finn laughed at words that sounded naughty but weren't naughty. Then there were the times when Leia would give you warm hugs, and when Rey would try and make everyone pancakes on quiet moments.

So yes, the galaxy could suck and yes, the Resistance could be tough, but you had the best people around you. They were the life support that was going to help you see it through.

"C'mon, baby," Poe tugged your arm slightly. "Let's go to bed."

"Yeah," you replied. "Let's."

He wound his arm around you and held you tightly, guiding you back to your room.

[babyflossy]

strangers once again | l.ty

pairing: taeyong x reader

requested: yep, my whole ask box is angst atm lol

summary: sleeping with your best friend was never going to end well, you knew that, but you didn’t think it would end this badly (a.k.a taeyong realises his feelings for you after you’ve moved on)

genre/warnigns: angst, sexual references (not explicit), kinda sad i guess?

word count: 2k

perhaps sleeping with your best friend wasn't the best idea, you'll admit. these circumstances only ever had a happy ending in the movies you watched, in the books you read as a hopelessly romantic teenager. in the real world, they only ever ended in heartache and painful longing. and as much as you hated to admit it, this was the real world, there were no soft edges, no plush cushions for you to hit when you fell. only sharp edges and cold, unforgiving rock bottoms.

in your first philosophy class of the semester, a tall boy with baby pink had slipped into the seat next to you, a shy smile on his face. your friendship with lee taeyong, as he would later introduce himself, suddenly became a steadily increasing positive in your life. you shared everything, from food to your darkest secrets, taeyong was the one person you trusted with every fibre of your being. at three in the morning when you were too scared to walk to the convince store alone, he would offer to go with you; when he needed help with his math homework you would offer emotional, not academic, support; every thursday night was a movie night for the two of you. the movies were always trashy, regardless of who's turn it was to pick. if it was taeyong's week, you would wrap yourselves in blankets and watch the newest rom com, passing each other tissues when the sad parts came on, but if it was your week, a fast-paced action movie would play in the background of your conversations, forgotten. friday night house parties followed your nights in, the only time you would ever get dressed up and go out together.

these weekly parties were the downfall of your gradually strengthening relationship with taeyong, however. in the beginning, they were nothing but a way to release the stress of a week of classes, but they grew to be something much more troublesome. every friday after your last class you would get ready, getting dressed into whatever skin-tight and uncomfortable outfit your roommate insisted you had to wear, and meet taeyong outside your dorm building. the two of you would arrive at the parties together, drinking and dancing together and eventually stumble into whoever's dorm was closest, waking up to find yourself tangled in his arms, head slotted so perfectly against his neck.

you couldn't exactly place when things started to change, but if you had to guess, it would be sometime after he stopped coming home with you. every week a different girl would wobble her way back to his bedroom, dress sleeves slipping down before she even entered, emerging hours later, neck covered in dark purple love bites. from the start you knew it shouldn't have made you as jealous as it did, so you did what everyone does when they realise they're falling for their best friend; you ignored it. you avoided your feelings, you avoided the parties, but most of all, you avoided taeyong.

it didn't take long for your best friend to grasp what you were doing. he saw the way you started to talk to the people around you in your shared classes, instead of him, and how you suddenly had plans every thursday night. he noticed it all, but he couldn't figure out the reason for your sudden reluctance to be alone with him.

after weeks of excuses and poorly thought out lies taeyong managed to corner you in the kitchen of some stuck-up frat boy's luxuriously decorated apartment. the drinks you had already consumed made your head fuzzy and blocked out your rational thoughts. the only thing you could focus on was the hurt look covering taeyong's face, his wide eyes sad and puppy-like in nature. it pulled at your heartstrings in a way you knew would only cause trouble.

after a few moments of silence, a few moments of taeyong talking softly whilst you tried to stop your eyes dropping to his pouting lips, you couldn't bear it anymore. you had already ruined your friendship, what more did you have to lose? with shaking hands you wrapped an arm around his neck, ignoring the way his eyes widened a fraction. all sensible thoughts deserted you, your mind only able to focus on the closing distance between you and the confused boy in front of you.

kissing taeyong was everything you expected, and more. his lips were warm against yours and one of his hands came down to tilt your jaw upwards, the other falling down to rest on your waist. the new angle of your head meant taeyong could deepen the kiss, sighing into your mouth when you knotted your hands in his now neon green hair and tugged slightly. time seemed to accelerate as your lips molded against his, the lipgloss you were wearing sweet in your mouths. minutes later taeyong decided your lips weren't enough and broke away from you, panting, only to trial delicate pecks down your neck. his lips got hungrier, the like pecks morphing into hot, open-mouthed, desperate kisses that made your knees weak. you moaned when he hit a particularly sensitive spot under your ear, and he backed you against the wall to stop you falling.

it should have stopped there, you now know. but there was something irresistible about the noises he made when you pressed his body closer yours that made you unable to stop. not an ounce of trepidation passed through you as taeyong pulled you towards one of the remaining bedrooms in the house. you couldn't bring yourself to worry about the state of your friendship, or your heart for that matter, as he pressed you carefully down onto the freshly made sheets of the king-size bed, or later when he made you come undone over and over again, gasping nothing but his name. the way he moaned your name in return would forever be engrained in your brain.

your avoidance of taeyong quickly turned into skipping your shared classes, carefully planning when to walk where to prevent bumping into him. your attempts didn't go unnoticed by the man in question, and you were soon cornered again, this time with nowhere to hide.

taeyong stood in the middle of your dorm room, a deep frown creasing his eyebrows. you struggled to think clearly, his sad expression making your brain short circuit. his hands are fiddling with the sleeves of the black hoodie he's wearing, and you wonder momentarily if you look as nervous as he does. "why are you ignoring me?" excuses shot through your head as you tried to find the one that would cause the least damage, only to come up empty. you can do nothing open and close your mouth, clueless as to what to say. "do you regret it? is that it?"

did you regret it? in some sense, you think you must have regretted it, even if that regret was outweighed by the uncomfortable flipping of your stomach. before that night in the frat house your friendship could have been salvaged, but now you knew there was no chance.

"no, i don't regret it–"

"then why are you ignoring me, y/n?" he was shouting now, and you were suddenly aware of how this must have hurt him. as much as he had been your rock whenever you needed someone to rely on, you were his. and you had abandoned him. the inner turmoil was clear on your face and tears started to fill your eyes as you truly understood what you had done. this was all your fault. "did i do something? because if i did, you need to tell me–"

"i'm in love with you," although he was still shouting, your quiet words easily registered in his head. frozen, he waited for you to continue, ignoring the tears now pouring down your face. you had kept this in for too long, watched him flirt and date and sleep with so many other girls that weren't you, and you needed him to know it. the only way you could diminish the hopelessness in your chest was to make him understand your reasons, "okay? are you happy now?" you hiss, voice quickly rising to the volume his had previously been, but you couldn't look at him. instead, you focused your teary gaze on the photos you pinned up over your desk; you and taeyong at the beach, you and taeyong on the ferris wheel, you and taeyong… you and taeyong… the memories accompanying the photos drifted through your head, days of unbelievable warmth, happiness. the time you spent with taeyong made you forget the hardships in your life, like a lighthouse guiding you to safety. "i've been in love with you for months, taeyong, months. every time you brought a girl home, it killed me, okay? so forgive me if i didn't want to watch anymore."

the air was still as you waited for him to say something, anything. the strength to look up evaded you, and you stayed focusing on the once happy memories printed out on your wall. oh, how that had changed now. but taeyong didn't say anything. the sound of the door opening brought you out of your thoughts, only just seeing the back of his brightly coloured hair before the door slid shut. it clicked closed loudly, the sound echoing in the now cold room, shutting out the voices from outside. shutting out taeyong.

the next few weeks were hell for taeyong. locked away in his head, he would spend hours at a time missing you, thinking back to your soft, sweet lips against his. reminiscing on the days you spent at the school library, muffling your laughs in your hands so you wouldn't be kicked out. about all the times you would sneak into the basketball court after dark to see who could shoot from further away. about the cafes you had tried out together, the museums you visited together, the late-night car rides with no destination in mind. he didn't know why he left you in your apartment that day you confessed to him, and weeks later he couldn't fathom it. under his carefully crafted exterior, he knew he was scared. he was scared to ruin it with you, to break your heart like he had been doing so well before. in his eyes he would be nothing but trouble for you. and so, he buried his emotions, as per usual, moving on and trying anything to forget about you.

only when taeyong saw you on a date with someone else, your outgoing history partner, did he truly fathom his mistakes. you when you were laughing at something they said, the careless laugh you used to save for him – eyes crinkled at the corners, hand not covering your mouth – and he knew you had moved on. he had waited too long and destroyed whatever was left of his chance to make things right again. a weight settled in his chest as he watched you drag your hand down the boy's arm, interlocking your fingers and kissing his knuckles with a content smile on your face. as much as it hurt him, you looked happy. it was a stark contrast to the last time he had seen your face, red and blotchy with tears, lips quivering as you tried to supress your quiet sobs.

as much as it pained him, he knew you were better off without him. you would be happier with someone other than him at your side. his heart ached when he realised the two of you were nothing more than strangers again. he had nothing left of you than those cherished memories. nothing more than strangers with lasting memories.

a/n: one of the first fics i’ve edited lmao

[starshipsofstarlord]

Clarity

There were so many things that you wanted to change. Most of those being things, crimes, that you committed.

Before the Avengers, you had taken lives, ended them in less than a blink of your eye.

The faces haunted you, reminding you that one day you would be punished for your irreversible mistakes.

Bucky had done bad too. It wasn't just you. And so had Natasha, before her tragic fall for the soul stone.

They had been a part of your past, and now it was all dying. But it was still marked into your skin, engrained into your brain. Guilt rolled from you in waves.

Fury stood beside you as you looked down with sorrow at Natalia's grave. It was him, the real him. Not some skull that had disguised himself in the dark man's meatsuit.

"I can't do this job anymore." You told him. It was a simple sentence, yet it held so many complications. "Everyone I started with are gone. Tony died saving the world, Steve gave himself the life he always wanted. Nat died so that we could get this far, Thor left with the Guardians. Clint is retiring, again, for how long I don't know, but I'm sure he'll get a replacement. And Banner, I don't even know. I need to figure out what I'm going to do Nick."

Fury looked at you with understanding. He was aware of all you had done, including the moment when he met you. Yet he still gave you the folder containing the information on the tesseract.

"You're scared. You can't keep running from your past though."

"I'm not." If he weren't a trained agent once in his life, he'd have believed you.

Fury would always be right, no matter the circumstances. He was a wise man, one of the few you trusted.

"At least get yourself some clarity before you go with the wind. Barnes is still here, and if you really wish to disappear let him go once and for all."

"That's not necessary." You told him. "He doesn't remember me in the red room, or the terrible things that we did together."

"One day he will." Fury told you. "And its your choice if you are going to give him a proper send off."

It was a difficult choice. "I wish Nat was here. She would know what I should do."

Your hand grazed the top of the tombstone. There was no body underneath, but the grave gave you clarity.

....

The duffel was slung on your shoulder, not too heavily. It held only the things you deemed as a necessity for an ordinary person.

You'd have been fine starting with nothing, but you deserved to give yourself an easy beginning. It was best to travel light though, and so you did.

This would be a new you in a year's time. No killing. No stealing. Just peace.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked as he entered the room.

Over the course of the years he had become your friend. The two of you stood by Steve's side, and now the turn in events had ended with him with the shield.

"Away." There was no specific location in mind, but you wanted to get out of New York. It was your first fight as an avenger, with your original teammates, fighting Loki and his army from space.

"And you weren't even going to say goodbye?" It hurt, the fact that you were willing to disappear without a word. The two of you had been through so much together, and it felt like it had all been disregarded.

"It would have been easier." You told him guiltily.

It felt wrong, treating him like this in the place that had been his home before he had joined the team. You him and Bucky were residing here, until the Avengers, or who of them were left, came together again, probably having a new compound. "But you're here now, so I can and will."

"Why?" You knew what man was asking. It wasn't something that was easy to answer but you would lie to Sam.

"I want a life Sam, I never had one before. Since I was a child I was trained to speak various languages and kill targets. I want to be a civilian, not some bad guy turned hero."

"Okay." He nodded his head in understanding. "Is there anything you need?"

You took the book, what had once been a journal, from behind your back handing it to him. "Give it to Barnes."

"Can I at least get a hug before you ride off into the sunset of some hot country and forget my name?" It'd be cruel to decline, and so you gave him one last embrace, knowing the chance of seeing each other again would be slim.

....

Bucky looked at the book, not understanding why you had gifted it to him. The two of you didn't know each other well, only speaking here and there or fighting on the same side.

"She told me to give it to you, that's it." Sam informed him, walking away from the man's room with mutual confusion.

As he opened the book on a random page, a date lined the top of it.

28th June, 1987

The Winter Soldier. A man with a metal arm. Formerly known as James Barnes. There is no humanity in his eyes when we kill together, there is only a stone cold stare, one that sends shivers up my spine.

From what I have researched, he was a Howling Commander in a war, a comrade and dear friend to the disappeared Captain America. It seems strange how a man loyal to a hero could put his devotion, through forced tactics, into an organisation like HYDRA.

We are just animals to them, they put us on ice when they please, so that they can pull us out to complete an assignment. I know that there is a real man, one that likes to dance and smoke cigars beneath the soldier's cold exterior.

I have seen him smile, even if it could be interpreted as a grimace, as he walks into the red room to train with me. There is a colour of something other than blue in his eyes, pain I'm guessing. He keeps the men away from me, and saved me, threatening to kill every single one of them within the corporation if they went through with sterilising me.

And so HYDRA, being the real monsters, not me and stoic Barnes, used his protectiveness to their advantage. I never got sterilised, I got impregnated.

They never informed the soldier, seeing as the child was lost on a mission. But I feel guilt every time we are allowed to spend the night together. We do the same act that is how people usually populate. I see a man underneath the HYDRA infused rubble marked on his soul. There is no mission, there is only relaxation and pleasure infused in his mind. That is how I like to see him, not as a soldier but a human being that doesn't need to carry a gun or murder victims under orders.

Bucky Barnes is still in there, in the shell of a scarred soldier. One day, I pray he becomes the soldier that fought for his country, not the one that looms in the shadows, with me by his side, spilling blood and ending lifelines.

Bucky sat back, shocked by the information he had ingested. You hadn't fought on their side of the civil war because you were Steve's friend, you did it for him.

He couldn't help himself, he opened another page, a more recent one.

1st February 2009

It's difficult, knowing that I escaped the clutches of the enemy and turned my life around. SHIELD have taken me and my old friend under their wing. We're to be agents although I think she'll suit this life better than me.

She didn't lose a man with the ocean in his eyes to the red room. I was plucked from that room and paired with the soldier. Bucky.

I'm still searching for him, as I have been for years. He's a prisoner, trained and pushed to do their bidding.

I wonder if any of the other Winter Soldiers are like him. If they're victims of war, saved from death but caught up in the outrageous chaos. Even if they are, they're not my priority.

James is the reason I have joined SHIELD. So that I have more resources to find him, so that I can scan the world for any of his bloody fingerprints.

I've seen him at his best and worst. I've seen the Bucky Barnes that has become of the torment and torture. My duty is to save him. To protect him. To love him.

One more insight couldn't hurt. Although it was hurting, he couldn't recall a single thing in his mind that matched with your eventful words. It was like a story, fiction. But it was all real.

There was no date. It seemed hurried, like you were preoccupied with something at the same time. It was the last page.

He's okay, and will be. He has Sam, I trust him. My trust is hard to come by, but that man has earnt it, not from just me , but Steve also.

Perhaps I shouldn't have kept this from you Bucky, I know you don't remember. If you did, you would have said something, even if it wasn't to me.

Our story needs an end. And so this is it.

Overcome what the Winter Soldier did, that was not you, even if I saw glimpses upon the framework. I'll see you in the next life soldier.

He wished he could remember, but parts were still returning and it seemed there was plenty more to come.

If you hadn't have left, you could have spoken, helped him remember the good and bad that ran through the relationship you had once had.

It may have seemed strange, but he wanted to thank you. For having faith in him, for wanting to save him. For believing he wasn't just some killer.

But you were gone, and had delivered your clarity. The rest was history, all he had was filled pages littered with your handwriting.

Somehow you had kept it hidden from HYDRA, and he couldn't be more in debt. You were smart, and he hadn't doubted that once, but you had more to offer than you had initially let on.

....

"West stairwell." Sam barked at him though his earpiece, sending Bucky bolting to the spoken direction.

They were chasing Zemo, he had appeared again. The walls were white, and it reminded him of some kind of maze.

"Stop." He shouted, but Zemo didn't listen. He tried to run, but seemingly didn't get very far.

A body came from the other end, throwing the criminal to the ground with their legs. "Not so fast." You smirked down at Zemo.

Fear crept into the hollowness of his eyes. He knew who you were, who you had all been. He had tried and succeeded in breaking your family up, and so he had known about all of the members.

"Get back." Bucky had his gun raised, Sam coming up behind him, panting from the long run.

You whipped the hair from before your face, your foot remaining on Zemo's chest. "Nice haircut Barnes." It was good to see a familiar face again.

"Holy shit." Sam muttered at seeing your face.

.....

"We don't have time to follow him and see where he leads us. He knew where you were and therefore whoever he's working for does too." You told them, squinting at the man tied to the chair. "There'll be a tracking device in him somewhere, so we should just kill him."

I don't enjoy killing. There's always blood on my hands, but it's the expense of following orders. Bucky remembered reading that, so who's orders were you following?

"We don't kill." Sam reminded you, making you shake your head in disapproval.

"You're not Steve, Sam." You reminded him, making Bucky wince at the mention of his old friend who had recently passed from old age. "If you don't kill him, then his mates will come here and do it to you."

"We need to know who he's working for." Sam told you, abd Bucky spoke afterwards, almost instantly.

"Who are you working for?" The soldier pried, noticing your demeanor shift to a defensive one in prime time.

"No one." It was protocol to lie, but Bucky could tell that that was what it was. A lie. He remembered parts now, and knew that you tended to stand proudly, acting as though you were telling the truth.

"You and I both know that clarifies nothing." He tried to smile at you, but it only came out as a grimace. A real grimace. He knew you were hiding something.

You ignored him, turning to Zemo instead. "One name. I need clarification on one name and that's all."

"I'm not going to help you, avenger." It was a cruel jab. You weren't a part of that team any longer. Yet you still had that association.

Sam was looking at his phone. "Sharon got something." He announced. "Procto. That's the name of his superior."

"Shit. R.P." You sighed. "You fucking knew since Civil War, didn't you?" Your body got the best of you and you couldn't help your leg from launching from its post and dislocating his knee with a venomous kick.

"Possibly." He spoke. His eyes danced between you and Bucky and the soldier pulled you back so that you couldn't harm the hostage further.

"What's R. P?" James asked, for both him and Sam.

"Its initials. For Rebecca Procto." Your head lowered. You didn't want to fight this villain. If you did, you would once more be the monster HYDRA had made you.

"Who is she?" Bucky asked softly but you remained silent. "Who is she?" He repeated louder. No response came from you.

"She goes by another name." Zemo cut in, looking down at his injured leg.

"And that is?" Sam lead on.

"Rebecca Barnes."

Bucky looked at you, you couldn't tell what the expression on his face held. It was a jumble of emotions, most of which were directed at you.

"You said she was dead." He murmured. "In the book, you wrote she died."

"I thought she did." You responded quietly. "And now she's targeting us. She wants revenge. She probably thinks we left her to rot."

Sam was the only one unaware of the situation. "What's going on?"

"She's out daughter." Bucky told him quickly, filling in the gaps that he ahd missed. It was nice to see he had complete trust in the man.

"Wait - you two.." His finger drew a line between you and Bucky.

"Yes." He hissed.

"Well shit, I was not expecting that."

A/N: Please say if you want another part.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Veronica//Everybody Talks

Request: Can I request a Reader/Veronica with/using the song Everybody Talks - Neon Trees, maybe reader moves from new york or visits with Nick st. Clair and decides to stay in town?

happy valentines day gays! 

part 2 

“Well.” You clasp your hands together as you look out the window of Veronica’s bedroom. “Its no New York. But it’ll do.” 

You’re feeling awfully home sick, but your parents wanted you out of the house for a few weeks while they tried to secure as many clients as they could with the lavish house parties they’re throwing, so they sent you to Riverdale ‘so you could catch up with an old friend’, which translates to, the Lodges owe us a favour so they’re babysitting you until we want you back.

Its not really your parents you’re missing, you don’t particularly have the best relationship with either of them. They liked you when you were little and cute and they could parade you around their friends, but as soon as you had your own thoughts and opinions, they kind of just forgot about you. You’re missing New York. You like how busy it is, everybody doing their own thing, following their dreams, doing whatever the hell they want. You blend in there, but in Riverdale you stick out like sore thumb. And Veronica can tell you’re feeling uneasy. 

You and Veronica Lodge had been best friends from 5 years old. The Lodge’s did some business with your family, and while your dad’s talked and your mom’s got drunk, you and her played together. You would be princesses, mermaids, superheroes, anything. 

And you’re friendship grow stronger as the two of you grew up. She was the first person you came out too, both of you whispering about it while hiding under a duvet, too scared to speak any louder in case anyone was listening. 

So when her dad went to prison and she told you she was moving, the two of you were devastated. You gifted her a pair of diamond earrings as a going away present, and she gave you your first kiss, leaving the feeling of her lips engrained in your brain forever. When you’d asked her about it, she’d said it was heat of the moment, ‘i’m probably never going to see you again so i need to do something for you to remember me by’ type thing, and then she never brought it up again. 

“You’re going to love it here. I promise!” She says excitedly. “Oh, you’re sleeping in my room, I hope thats okay.” 

“Ye-yeah. Thats fine.” You stutter. The past few years she’s become even more gorgeous. Her hair is longer than it was the last time you saw her, and she’s actually wearing glasses sometimes, which is a lot more than when you knew her. She also seems so happy here, and you’re unsure how such a small town managed to keep someone with such a big personality. 

“Mom was going to make up the spare bedroom but I said it didn’t matter seeing as though we’ll probably be up all night anyway.” 

“Hu-What?” 

“Catching up.” She replies, a small giggle passing her lips as she brushes her hand over your arm. 

“Oh, yeah, right.” You shake your head, trying to get rid of the many, many gays thoughts that have littered your brain. 

“Come on. Dump your bags in there and then I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

-----

“Guys!” Veronica leads you into a small diner, the red neon sign lights the parking lot giving it an 80′s vibe and you can’t help but smile. At least there’s something similar to New York here, the bright neon signs. However they’re everywhere back home, just here in Riverdale though. But the way Veronica is smiling at you is enough to make you feel less home sick. “This is my best friend all the way from New York. We’ve been friends since we were five and she’s staying with us for a couple of weeks. So everyone, meet the one and only, Y/n y/l/n.” She introduces you to the group of teens sat in the red booth, all with kind smiles on your face, and you must admit, you don’t get this kind of hospitality in New York. 

“Hi.” You wave shyly.

“Wow. We finally get to meet the famous Y/n.” A girl with a high pony-tail teases causing Veronica to blush softly. “I’m Betty by the way. Betty Cooper. And this is my boyfriend, Jughead Jones.” She introduces herself and the boy beside her and you shake both their hands. 

“I’m Josie.” A girl walking past you says and you smile kindly at her. 

“Nice to meet you.” You reply and she nods before sitting at a booth a few away from you. 

“The boy she’s sat with is Kevin. They’re step siblings and the funniest people you will ever meet.” 

“That I am Veronica.” A boy interrupts. “And who is this.” They add, looking you up and down as he sits down in the booth, Betty and Jughead grumble angrily as they move so he can fit in. 

“This Reggie, is Y/n. My friend from New York.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” He holds you hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before winking at you and you chuckle uncomfortably. 

“You’re not her type Mantle.” Veronica rolls her eyes. “Now, I’m going to leave her here while I order food. Anybody want anything?” She asks and they all shake their head, pointing to the food in front of them. “Y/n. I’ll get your favourite. And Betty, look after he while I’m gone.” She says, glaring at Reggie as she does, before spinning on her heel and marching towards the counter. 

“Sit here.” A red-headed boys says and you slide into the booth beside him.

“Thanks.” You mumble. “I don’t think we were introduced.” 

“I’m Arch-” 

“So what is your type?” Reggie interrupts. 

“I’m more into girls.” You reply simply and his eyes widen. 

“Ohhh. Cool.” He shrugs before starting to annoy Jughead. You turn your attention back to the boy beside you and he smiles softly before continuing his previous sentence. 

“I’m Archie. Veronica’s boyfriend.” He introduces himself and your mouth goes dry. 

Boyfriend? She never told you about a boyfriend. Why didn’t she tell you about a boyfriend?

“Boyfriend?” You ask aloud, probably more surprised that you should have but whatever.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Is that so surprising?” He asks. 

“No. I er. I just never heard of a boyfriend.” 

“Oh.” He sighs, looking at the table. 

“But thats got nothing to do with her though. She probably did mention you but I here the word boy and just tune out.” You say quickly and he lightens up a bit. 

“One burger and fries.” Veronica places the tray in front of you and your lips twitch into a smile, however it doesn’t quite each your eyes. Not like it usually does, not the way Veronica loves, and she can’t help the frown that comes to her lips. “Whats wrong? Did Reggie say something? What did you say Reggie?” 

“No, nothing.” You shake your head. “Do you want to sit beside Archie?” You ask. 

“Why?” She replies confused. 

“Because he’s your boyfriend.” 

“Oh right yeah. Sure.” She shrugs and you stand up, allowing her to sit in your seat before you sit down on the end. 

Why wouldn’t she tell you about her boyfriend? You guys were supposed to be best friends. She promised that when she moved that wouldn’t change. But maybe it has, things have changed since the last time you saw each other. You hair is a tad shorter, and you’ve changed your fashion a little, but nothing major. What the hell happened? 

You eat your fries in silence while they talk about the new school year and whats in store for them as being seniors. Half an hour passes and you’ve finished your food, as well as the majority of your drink and you can’t help but think if you disappeared right this second, nobody would notice. 

Hell, Reggie’s talked to you more than Veronica has, and even though you get that she has a new life here, with new friends and new memories, it still sucks that she’s moved on. 

“Have you seen that Y/n?” Archie asks and you blink rapidly, everyone at the table is staring at you expecting an answer to a question you didn’t hear. 

“What?” 

“Sicario? The film.” 

“Yes!” Veronica jumps in and Archie’s eyes widen, the two of them talking animatedly about the film. 

Did we hell see that. When that was at the cinema, you and Veronica went to go see some shitty teen romance movie that made the two of you cry. Why was she lying? The first time she’s shown interest you in 35 minutes and its all a lie. 

“I didn’t think those type of films were very you.” Archie says shocked and she shrugs.

“She’s full of surprises.” You sigh, stirring your drink around with your straw as you lean your head against your hand. 

“She really is.” He replies making her giggle softly before the two of them make-out. 

Why does this always happen? You fall in love with her years ago which ends in disappointment and heartbreak, for it to just happen again the next time you see her. Damn.

------

“Ronnie?” You whisper into the darkness. Everything seems darker in Riverdale, everything is quieter, and its keeping you awake. Its not the only thing thats keeping you up though, the fact that the girl you’ve wanted since you were 13 and just discovering your sexuality is lying next to you, her body so warm as she breathes slowly, is also making it difficult to sleep. Plus, why is she so different than to how she was. Its like nothing major has changed about her, its just subtle things, but when they’re added all together its like she’s someone completely new. And why didn’t she tell you about Archie? Or anything that has happened since she moved here, the rest of her friends told you more in an afternoon than she has in three years. 

”Yeah?” She replies, turning over. Her hair is a mess and her eyes full of sleep but you don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful. Actually. Thats a lie. She’s always looked pretty to you. “Are you okay?” 

“Can’t sleep.” You reply and she sends you a sympathetic look.

“Its okay. Why don’t we play the alphabet game?” She suggests and your eyes widen as you remember the stupid game you made up when you were younger. Whenever either of you had trouble sleeping, wether it be due to nightmares, parents arguing or just that fact that you were to excited to sleep, you would pick a topic and work together to try and think of something relating to it for each letter of the alphabet. On one particularly boring afternoon, you even made a proper game out of it. Scribbling down loads of topics and placing them all in a shoe box. 

“I haven’t played that in years!” 

“Me neither. But...” She trails off as she dangles over the bed. You can hear her searching under the bed for a few seconds before she stops, movements halting as a smile breaks out onto her face. “Aha!” She cheers and pulls a shoe box from under the bed. “Lets hope its the right shoebox.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you groan, pulling a disgusted face making her giggle. “Yes!” She says triumphantly. “I knew I still had it.” She shows you the box and smile brightly. The multicolored paper that you scribbled on when you were 11, and kept adding to as you grew older and learned more things about the world, is in there. 

“Okay!” You bounce a little. “Let me pick. Let me pick!” Your hand dives into the box as you search for a bit of paper. Pulling a bright yellow piece out you read it aloud. “Flowers.” 

“Ooooo.” She muses, placing the lid back on the box before pushing it down the bed. The two of you lie down, facing each other, both of you giggling like children as you try and think of a flower that begins with the letter A. 

“Aster!” You start and she looks at you impressed. 

“Wow, your flower knowledge has improved since the last time I saw you. When we did this five years ago, you said ‘A flower’.” 

“Well, there’s a lot of things I know now that I didn’t back then.” You reply. You didn’t mean for it to sound so serious, but it does and it hangs in the air for a few seconds before her eyes brighten again, something she always does when she’s about to answer these. 

“Baby’s breath.” She says and you hum in approval. “I’m gonna have them mixed in my bouquet when I get married. Them and roses, the classiest flower obviously. And the wedding scheme is going to be royal blue and gold, with lots of activities for the guests to do.” 

“Yeah? And does Archie know all of this or are you just going to spring it on him the day he proposes?” You tease making her roll her eyes. 

“Who says I’m going to marry Archie.” She replies and you stare at her. The two of you make eye contact, your breath hitching at the intensity of her stare, and then you’re leaning in, closing the gap between the two of you. Your lips brush against hers softly, almost as if you’re testing the waters to see if she’ll pull away, but when she doesn’t, when her hand grabs your waist pulling you closer, and she closes the gap completely, her lips completely pressed against you, kissing you like you’re air and she can’t breath, you figure she isn’t going to pull away. 

Until...she does, and you’re left breathless. 

While she’s left more confused than ever. 

“I’m so sorry. I should not have done that.” She pulls away from you quickly, her eyes wide while yours are barely open, she’s definitely gotten better at kissing. Or maybe you have. No matter what, that was pure bliss- “That was such a mistake. Sorry. Lets just forget that happened.” She turns over, facing the wall and scooting as far away from you as she can. Your heart beats faster and your fingers trace your lips, you’re brain running at a thousand miles per hour as you try to remember everything. Everything leading up to the kiss to the kiss itself, while also trying to block out what happened after. But its no use, and your heart sinks when you hear her muttering to herself. “I have a boyfriend.” 

-----

“Y/n?” A soft voice lulls you from your deep sleep and you shuffle a little, turning around to follow the voice. “Y/nnnnn.” They continue and your eyelids flutter open to reveal Veronica smiling at you. 

“Morning.” You mumble, stretching your muscles while you sit up. 

“Morning.” She replies. “Here, I got you a drink.” She hands you a mug and you take it from her gratefully, blowing the steam away. “Listen.” She starts, her voice changing from soft to serious and your eyes flicker up to meet hers. “I really want to hang out with you, but Archie’s had a disaster so I need to go help. But, fear not, because Cheryl Blossom may be the biggest bitch in Riverdale, but she throws the best parties and we are invited to one tonight! So pick out your sparkliest and shortest dress and be ready by 8. Okay?” She kisses you on the cheek before grabbing her purse. 

“Bu-” 

“Bye! Love you!” She calls over her shoulder and you sigh, taking a sip of your drink before looking around the room. 

The room screams Veronica, some of the old Veronica, and some of this new one that you aren’t entirely sure of. The pearls hanging on the jewelry holder, pictures stuck in the mirror of her vanity, that is more make up products than actual wood and glue, some of you and her back in New York, some of her family, some with friends, but most of them are her with Archie and you feel your heart drop to your stomach, you sigh and push the covers off you, throwing your legs over the side. Its barely 10am, meaning you have god knows how many hours to kill before she comes back. “Oh.” She comes back and you whip your head to look at her. “About last night, can we just forget anything ever happened?” 

“Sure.” You nod, forcing a smile. “My lips are sealed.” You add and she grins at you. 

“Great. Bye!”

“Yeah. Great.” 

--------

“Y/n?” Veronica whispers. Your mom had turned the lights off in your room hours ago, but the both of you remain wide awake. She stares at the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling, trying to find constellations, while you stare at her face, finding constellations in the freckles that dust her cheeks, freckles that will soon disappear after she leaves and decides she doesn’t like anymore. 

“Yeah?” You whisper back, deciding to join in with the star gazing, thankful that she hasn’t looked at you yet.

”Do you know when you were a kid and you wanted to talk to everyone and anyone?” 

”No. I was an anxious child.” You reply making her giggle. 

”Fair enough.” She shrugs. “But you know what I mean though. Like everyone seemed so fascinating to talk to, and you just wanted to learn everything about them. You become friends with them within seconds no matter who they are.” 

“Yeah. I know what you’re talking about.” 

“I feel like that everyday with you.” She admits, both of you blushing but refusing to look at the other. 

“You think I’m a stranger?” 

“No.” She replies and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I mean that if you were a stranger, I’d still want to be friends with you. No matter what.” She says, the words weighing heavy in the air as she says them but they make you feel light. At that age, nobody knows who they’re going to be in a month, a year, five, ten, but both of you knew you’d still be friends. 

Veronica and Y/n against the world. 

“Veronica?” You ask.

“Yeah.” 

“I like girls.” 

“Oh.” She looks at you with a puzzled face and you sigh, knowing whats coming next. ‘i hope you’re not in love with me’ or ‘thats great, but just so you know, i’m straight’ and ‘get out’, are a few that come to mind. But she smiles at you, that smile only Veronica can do, grabs your hand and simply says, “I love you.” And you grin back at her, because she supports you and you still have your best friend and it doesn’t matter who you love. 

“I love you too.” You reply and then the moments gone, she starts talking about cute girls you go to school with, but your hands remain intertwined and thats the only thing you can really focus on. 

------

“Are you almost ready?” Veronica shouts from her bedroom and you roll your eyes at her patience. Studying your outfit one last time in the mirror, you re-apply your lipstick before smoothing out your dress and flicking your hair about until your happy with how you look. 

You’d decided on a classic black dress with a bold red lip and sparkly shoes, very New York chic, you finally felt like the old you. Sneaking out to parties with Veronica by your side and fake ID’s in your purse.

“Yes I’m ready. But what the hell happened to you, Miss ‘start getting ready at 4 and don’t get out at of the house until 10′. Living here has really changed you.” You tease but when she doesn’t say anything you stop putting your phone in your purse to look at her. She’s already staring at you, a look in her eyes that you can’t quite read, but her lips are parted slightly and the sight is enough to make you fee breathless, a blush creeping up your neck. 

“...wow.” She mumbles as she stares at you. “You look amazing.” She snaps herself out of whatever she was in and you smile bashfully at her. 

“You look even better.” You reply. 

“Not possible.” She rolls her eyes. 

“So, is Archie okay?” You ask and she pauses putting her shoes on.

“What? Oh yeah. Turns out he just missed me. He’s such a dork.” 

“You saw each other yesterday.” You laugh awkwardly. 

“I know.” She laughs. “Hey, are you okay?” She asks, noticing your frown. 

“Yeah fine.” You shrug, pushing the feeling that you’re being pushed out deep down. “You ready?”  

”Always.”  -----

‘Hey honey you could be my drug You could be my new prescription Too much could be an overdose All this trash talk make me itching’ 

You and Veronica are more shouting the lyrics than singing at each other. 

Veronica was not wrong, Cheryl was a bitch, pointing out three things she didn’t like about your outfit as soon as you walked through the front door, but boy did she throw a good party. The house was packed, people squeezed into each room and spilling out into the garden. The music was loud enough to be heard in Greendale and there was enough alcohol to last everyone at least a year. 

Unfortunately, Veronica had started on the drinking pretty much as soon as she walked in the front door and there was only one reason she would binge drink, she was conflicted about something. However, she refused to talk to you about anything other than another drink, dancing, or cute girls that you could hook up with. But the only cute girl you wanted to talk to was drunk, swaying and about to puke into a very expensive vase. 

“Come on Ronnie, we need to get you to a bathroom. You need to sit down.” You gently reach out to her but she continues to sway, swallowing whatever was trying to crawl back up her throat and you crinkle your nose in disgust.

“No.” She shoves your hands away, stumbling slightly. Your arms are around her instantly, keeping her up right but she pulls away from you, staring at you as if your a stranger. 

“Ronnie. You need a sit down and some water.” 

“No!” She shouts. “The only person that calls me Ronnie is Archie.” She adds and tears prick your eyes. 

“But Archie isn’t here. I am. So please, come with me.” You plead.

“No! God, you just can’t deal with the fact that I have friends other than you. You’ve been following me around for the past two days like a lost puppy and I’m sick of it. But I have a life outside of you and New York. I have friends, a family that supports me, and more importantly a boyfriend. And I don’t need you coming into my life and making everything all complicated. You-you should have just stayed in New York.” She shoves you out of the way, leaving you crying in the middle of the dance floor. 

People start talking as she pushes further and further into the party, and the songs thats just ended seems oddly fitting, everybody does talk, no matter if you’re in New York or Riverdale. Just before she completely disappears into the crowd you hear her shout one last thing that completely shatters your heart.

“Hey! Lets play the alphabet game!” 

“Oh hey Y/n.” Archie greets you as he walks through the front door, but you ignore him, pushing past him while wiping the tears from your face. 

“Where’s Ronnie?” He asks making you cry harder. 

“Somewhere where she doesn’t need me.” You reply before disappearing into the night, walking the unfamiliar streets back to a home you know longer felt wanted in. 

You never thought you’d live to see the day where Veronica didn’t want you in her life. But here you are, and now you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself. Should you call your parents and ask if you can come home early with a promise that you’ll hide out in your room? Or should you go to a hotel for the remainder of the trip? 

You decide to stay at Ronnie’s Veronica’s for the night and then go to a hotel tomorrow. 

Riverdale sucks. 

Friendships suck.

Especially when you’re in love with your best friend. 

Everything sucks!

-----

“Hey.” Veronica’s voice is quiet as she walks into her bedroom. You glance at her, her make-up is smudged, her hair messy and she’s carrying her heels, but she still looks cute. 

“Hey.” You reply, placing another dress in your suitcase. 

“Soooo. What are you doing?” She walks into her room cautiously and you roll your eyes. 

“Packing.” You shrug. “I rang my parents this morning about staying in a hotel and they wanted me back early so they can parade me around like when I was 2. I think one of the possible clients they’re talking to has a son around our age, so I think they’re planning on ‘setting’ us up.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yep.” You pop the p and she huffs. 

“Listen.” She starts, moving some of your clothes so she can sit down. “Before you go can we talk.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about Veronica. You said exactly what you thought of me yesterday. So I’m doing what you want, I’m going back to New York and you don’t have to worry about me confusing you and getting in the way of your new life. Which by the way isn’t as great as you think it is. Your friends seem lovely, but they know nothing about you, you know Cheryl forgot your name twice yesterday. Betty doesn’t know what you’re favourite food is, and as for your boyfriend, he seems lovely, but you are way out of his league. And you feel the need to lie to him so he likes you more. Veronica, I think you are the greatest person I have ever met, and I’ll always follow you wherever you go, because I’m your best friend and I love you, but if you’re over this friendship thats fine. Just don’t be an ass about it.” You rant, flopping down beside her. 

“Wow.” She mumbles and silence takes over the two of you. You’re waiting for her to say something, to do something, but she doesn’t. So you sigh before standing up and starting to pack again. A few minutes go by before she speaks up again. “I made a new category for the alphabet game.” 

“Yeah?” You reply while folding a pair of jeans. 

“Its things that remind me of you...and I er, I don’t need any help with this one.” She adds and you pause. 

“A. The Adorable way your nose crinkles when you see or hear something you don’t like. B. The fact that you love Bees and that you’ll do literally anything to help them. I watched you sprint across a road because you saw a bee lying by the curb and to this day I have no idea how you saw it from that far away, but you picked it up and put it on a flower so that it would be safe and I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more...also B, because of how Brave you are to be yourself. Even when you have a family like yours. C. How much you hate Cauliflower, and how when you were 7 you were convinced it was a snowy tree for fairies to live in, and how upset you get when your mom first showed you one because you thought she’d cut their house down. D. The fact that you love Dogs more than anybody I have ever met, and every time I see a cute dog in the street I always think of how happy you would be if you saw it. And how every time you see a dog you always send me a picture, no matter what time it is or what you’re doing. E.-”

“Ronni-Veronica.” You stop her. “I get the point. You don’t have to do all of them.” 

“Okay.” She nods. “But I can do all of them if you want.” 

“Its okay.” You smile. 

“Can I skip to L?” She asks and you quirk an eyebrow, but nod anyway. “Okay. L. The fact that I am so in Love with you and that I have been since I was 12, that I turn into an idiot whenever you’re around. I’m so sorry, I was just confused and I didn’t know what to do because I love you but I didn’t want to upset Archie, and I’m just sorry.” 

“Its okay.” You cup her cheek. “I love you too.” She lets out a breath before sending you a soft smile. “Why don’t you skip back a bit to K?” 

“K?” 

“Kiss me.” You whisper. 

[neioo]

what’s your thoughts on the black triangle dynamic like not necessarily romantic but platonic like them as a group

An unexpected ask 🤔 Well rochu is way to engrained in my brain, so like. part of the dynamic (in my head) is the fact that I really like Russia and China as a pairing  This response is going to be based heavily on my own headcanons (that others may have different views from which is 100% fair), and this is a word barf of a post, BUT Just in general for me, I like Russia and China entering this weird sort of relationship with America after the cold war where they’re all friends and the two of them like fucking with him. I headcanon all of them struggling with their mental health, but America is the most outward about it, so they’re also protective of him. Because in my AU’s, every single government treats their Nation like shit in some way in modern times, but their three countries are some of the worst (in different ways). They then bond over that I like the dynamic of America third-wheeling Russia and China too, sometimes being oblivious, sometimes annoyed as all hell.  If we’re examining each relationship with each other (in my head): Russia-China: Romantic. Feelings started arising pre-WW1 after the Boxer Rebellion in China when Ivan and Yao actually got to be alone together for the first time in centuries. (I go into this in my fic WDWW so I won’t regurgitate everything here But)  The two treat each other as equals and as humans, and during the beginning half of the Cold War when Russia and China were allies, the two admit their feelings together. When the Cold War is over, they’re allowed to see each other again and develop a comfortable relationship they try to keep secret, but all the Nations know about anyway Russia-America: While Russia and America the countries interacted with each other prior to WW2, I don’t see Ivan and Alfred as being alone with each other until WW2, and even then Arthur is always there so the two don’t talk alone much. Any interaction they don’t really know what to make of the other, though. And then the Cold War happens. And now we’re getting into my other fic AWH’s story -- but I like the idea of them developing a friendship during it despite everything because the other can really relate to their situation. They develop a mutual understand and even come to find they share many of the same hobbies. Their friendship is a teasing sort of one and they have mutual respect for one another.

China-America: China and America had no interactions with each other until Asia was forcefully opened up, and then never spoke alone each other until WW2, and even then those conversations were more stilted than America’s with Russia. I see the two developing an understanding and friendship after the US started recognizing mainland China as the legitimate China (instead of Taiwan) during the Cold War. And now I’m an ameripan hoe and I like aph South Korea so: I see China as having a deep, complicated relationship with Japan and SK. Because America and SK are very good friends, and America and Japan are in love with each other, Yao has to deal with hearing Alfred brought up a lot. The two have mutual respect for one another, even if Yao often looks at America in bewilderment sometimes if he does something stupid So yeah! Long post, but I really like these three together ^^ 

[louiserandom]

Choose Your Own Adventure - MadaTobi Soulmate AU Arc I

Heart’s Desire (Ice and Fire)

Rated: E

Summary: A touch is all it takes, to find one’s soulmate, to initiate an exchange of chakra natures and powers that would later intermingle and make both of them stronger. Madara craves this—or at least thinks he does, until he awakens one morning sans Sharingan, his chakra alien and freezing, and watches an angry Senju Tobirama crash into his room, glaring murder at Madara with what used to be his exclusive Mangekyō pattern.

Or, Soulmate Idiots in Love and you get to choose how these fools get to the love part

Read it on AO3 or under the cut :3

(just in case, all the survey comment replies will be on AO3)

Chapter 1

Madara went to bed in a begrudgingly pleasant mood following the ostentatious celebrations Hashirama had organized to mark the first anniversary of Konoha’s founding.

He wakes up feeling parched, freezing, muscles aching all over, like he’s been hit fist-first by a Susanoo or several.

And perfect eyesight.

Madara blinks.

No. No, that can’t be right.

There’s no familiar prickling pressure of the Sharingan’s chakra behind his eyes, so it should be impossible for him to see the world in such perfect clarity.

Except, he does. Madara looks at his hands, now trembling from the unrelenting cold. Fever, some kind of psychedelic poison, perhaps. He shuts his eyes for a few moments and reopens them, slowly. Every irksome scar on his palm, every little wrinkle on his blanket, almost every strand of wild bedhead hair is visible to Madara in a way nothing has been since his Mangekyo had awakened at sixteen.

He tries to activate it and fails. And that’s when it finally hits him.

Soulmate. He sighs with no small measure of relief. Right. No need to panic.

Just a harmless exchange of powers which would easily lead to Madara’s Chosen since they’d end up, presumably, with his dōjutsu and a very distinctive fire nature chakra. Another shiver runs through him. Oh, how he misses his chakra now.

Regardless, once he’s next to his soulmate, he should feel better. Presumably, they’re still in the confines of the village, the longer delay in the bond’s manifestation is an inconvenience of adult soulmate bonding that Madara will have to deal with.

The icepick jolts of pain in his muscles aren’t easy to ignore, but Madara stands all the same, rushing to the bathroom to make himself presentable, mentally running through the list of people he’d touched last evening. Unfortunately, a lot. Mostly handshakes, because he’ll never be quite as comfortable with casual touches as Izuna and Hashirama are, and it already takes a lot of his willpower to drop the gloves and expose the mess that is his fire-charred skin.

But this is what he’s been waiting for, dreaming about since the times he was a starry-eyed child first hearing about the concept of partners made perfect for each other, chosen by fate. There was no harm in a platonic soulmate, of course, but Madara has secretly been craving his bond to be a romantic one. If only to feel, to taste, to have the chance to cherish the intimate closeness everyone around him seems to enjoy, with or without a soulmate, while Madara struggles, miserably at that, to connect with anyone on a deeper level than a shallow fling.  He’d never admit that this is the reason he’s suddenly become less averse to handshakes and touchy-feely attitudes, but there’s no point lying to himself, at least.

“Fuck.” The ache trickling through his veins gets so strong he has to pause mid-dressing and close his eyes to come down the force of it. What is…

“Godsdammit, Uchiha,” an unfortunately familiar voice bellows from within his house, for some inexplicable reason, “where are you?”

The world is spinning somewhat uncomfortably as Madara’s eyes fly open and he stumbles out of the bathroom to face the intruder—none other Senju Tobirama crashing into his room, glaring murder at Madara with what used to be his exclusive Mangekyō pattern.

“Senju?”

1) Maybe, Madara supposes, there is a tiny, infinitesimal advantage to self-deception.

“No,” he whispers, a shudder running through him from what he knows isn’t the nagging cold this time, “you can’t be my soulmate.”

2) Madara stares. Perhaps rudely, but he allows himself the indulgence as his brain scrambles to find a half-coherent answer to what the fuck is going on. “You’re my soulmate?”

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p.s. a sketch for this chapter based on a comment that cracked me up XD

Chapter 2

Madara stares. Perhaps rudely, but he allows himself the indulgence as his brain scrambles to find a half-coherent answer to what the fuck is going on. “You’re my soulmate?”

“Evidently, Uchiha, the gods have a strange sense of humor.” Tobirama narrows his eyes.  “Now, care to explain why I’m suddenly near-blind?”

Ah, Madara’s brain supplies eloquently, right.

“It’s the,” Madara stutters, because how does one explain that one of the most powerful and useful dōjutsu in existence also leads to blindness? “It’s the effect of the Sharingan. It affects eyesight.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Tobirama takes a step forward. Madara realizes, acutely, that he can feel the waves of anger radiating from the man. “Are you a complete idiot?”

Madara crosses his arms. “It’s none of your business, Senju, what I do and don’t do,” he says, barely managing to refrain from shouting.

“It is, apparently, because we’re bonded now,” Tobirama says, voice dangerously low, “I can barely see anything without this accursed thing,” he points to easily the most revered dōjutsu in existence, “your pathetic excuse for a sensing ability doesn’t compensate for it in the slightest and this migraine won't go away.”

“Well, deactivate it, genius,” Madara says, remembering his own suffering through the ache this morning that’s still wracking through his body. “And my sensing abilities—”

“Are bullshit,” Tobirama cuts him off, “and how would I know how to turn this thing off?”

“Oh.” Again, a show of eloquence. The fact honestly throws Madara off, because he can’t imagine having the Sharingan and not being able to intrinsically control it. “Just—just relax!”

“I can’t, Uchiha,” Tobirama growls, “because any time I focus on these godsdamned eyes, the pain only grows worse. I’m haunted by visions I can’t seem to stop—or unsee—and you want me to fucking relax?”

That is a fair point. He looks beyond distraught, just as agitated and disheveled as Madara—only that’s a look Madara’s never seen on him. Tobirama’s eyes gleam with a more potent red now and the deadly pattern engrained on them makes him look more threatening than usual, his hair is sticking at odd angles and so are his hastily thrown on clothes, his shirt barely tied, sandals askew, his attire showing so much skin when it’s usually barely visible.

Also, Hashirama had warned Madara that being near Tobirama is ‘unsafe’ when he starts to swear. Regardless, Madara only crosses his arms tighter and huffs; he will not be intimidated.

“Yes,” he says, “I want you to calm down and act rationally like you claim you always do. Every second you use the Mangekyo, you’re only making it worse.”

“Worse?” Another thing Madara has never seen the Senju express: panic. He takes a step back just as Madara takes one forward, raising his arms in a pacifying gesture. Panic and a Mangekyo with an unpredictable special ability never mixed well. “What do you mean—why wasn’t it a problem for Tōka when she and Izuna exchanged powers?”

“Because his is different,” Madara says. “He uses it less.”

“Why would you abuse it to this level then?” Tobirama’s new eyes were starting to bleed around the edges. Oh, perfect. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

“Senju, you need to calm down." Madara takes another tentative step towards him. "And if you have trouble remembering, just a year ago we were at war. I needed to.”

“You’re almost blind,” Tobirama says, as if Madara didn’t hear him the first time.

“Why would you care? Those are my eyes and I will ultimately deal with the consequences,” Madara growls.

“Because the consequence is you going blind, you idiot!” Tobirama explodes, even as he gasps and takes a few staggering steps back. He must have noticed the blood clouding his vision. And to top that, Madara feels familiar erratic energy gathering in the room. “What is…"

How does Izuna always calm him down from his rages?

“Listen, Senju,” Madara tries, approaching him slowly, “I get it, you’re upset, blindness, that’s—that’s bad. But we’ll talk about it,” he promises, “I’ll explain everything, and I’ll help, but you have to calm the fuck down.”

“How?” Tobirama is breathing heavily, Sharingan flitting wildly, unfocused.

“Choose any object in the room and focus on it, or, or on me.” Madara winces. He really doesn’t have Izuna’s talent for this. “And just—Senju, you’re not listening.”

“I can’t, Madara.” More shocking than Tobirama’s use of his first name is the intense surge of Tobirama’s chakra rippling through the room. Surprisingly, that suddenly makes Madara’s pain die down to a low buzz. “Everything’s—”

“Red and blurry and painful, I know,” Madara tries to ground him. “Kneading chakra into it isn’t how you deal with it.”

“The visions—”

“Aren’t real,” Madara lies, knowing that Tobirama is probably seeing figments of his memories, most likely not the pleasant kind.

“Madara, I can’t do this!” Tobirama shouts, all but huddled against the corner now. He’s hyperventilating, desperately trying to wipe away the blood only flowing harder from his sockets, and it’s all Madara can do to hope he doesn’t attempt to claw them out. “It’s getting—it’s—I…”

Madara watches him in a bit of a stupor. This isn’t like their usual shouting matches or heated arguments during yet another meeting where their interests clash. Tobirama is never vulnerable. He shouldn’t be.

This isn’t right.

Part of Madara wants to touch him, knead their bonded chakra together and comfort him, while the other urges him to run away, to use the Hiraishin Tobirama so favors and escape this strange, unfamiliar mess.

Madara finds he has no idea what to do, and the intimate knowledge of just how dangerous his Mangekyō can be keeps him frozen in place.

Madara swears under his breath and, throwing caution and his own mounting panic to the wind, closes the distance between himself Tobirama, all but wrestling his trembling frame into a hug.

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Chapter 3

Tobirama tenses up at once, his breath hitching, but doesn’t do much else to break the hold. Madara doesn’t die instantly, which is good, all things considered. The world doesn’t distort and disappear and there’s no hint of his Sharingan’s ability spontaneously acting up.

“What—” Tobirama finds his voice.

 “You’re okay, Senju. Just breathe.”

Tobirama shifts against him, muscles twitching in a half-hearted attempt to break free, but Madara doesn’t allow him, only drawing him closer and wrapping him tighter in his arms.

“You’re okay,” Madara says with as much conviction as he can muster. “Don’t mind those visions and try to ignore the pain. You’re going to be okay.” And that’s more of a truthful statement, because the way Tobirama keeps shaking as he tries and fails to catch his breath is more than a little unnerving.

He’s not supposed to be like this.

“You’re going to be okay,” he repeats, trying to calm the both of them, really, and to his surprise, it seems to be working, if just a little.

Tobirama doesn’t quite relax, but stays silent and doesn’t move, forcefully leveling out his breath as he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in the mess that is Madara’s unkempt hair. It’s a bit awkward, and Madara has no idea what to do with his hands, placing them stiffly on Tobirama’s shoulders. That makes their position more awkward and Madara settles for his lower back, trying for soothing motions that just end up being stilted pats of sorts. That has him giving up entirely and ending up completely still, staring at a single point in the wall and willing his mind stop repeating its incessant, panicked mantra of fuck.

A few still moments pass before Tobirama says, “Chakra.”

Madara blinks. “Chakra? What about it?”

To Madara’s steadily increasing surprise, Tobirama leans more into his embrace, willingly, and finally manages to take a deeper breath.

“Feels good,” he says simply, and it finally hits Madara that… something has changed.

Tobirama’s—well, Madara’s chakra now embedded in his coils—has spread out significantly, filling up the space around them like thick, almost tangible steam, feeling hot, familiar and comforting. So much so that, apparently, the last remnants of the ache bothering Madara since he’d woken up are gone.

Which is strange, considering how the pain spiked up after he had presumably sensed Tobirama approaching. Soulbonds do have the ability to calm and even heal soulmates in certain cases, but Madara had always assumed that soulmates had to have an accepted bond for that particular part of it to work.

Or at least be fond of one another. Not hate each other’s guts like he and Tobirama do.

Fuck.

It’s all a gigantic, confusing mess.

Madara closes his eyes, mimicking the pattern of Tobirama’s breathing. Just for the hell of it, he pushes out the alien chakra from his coils in a tentative attempt to further comfort Tobirama, and the effect is immediate. Both of them feel the intermingling of the energies—ice cold and molten hot. Usually clashing when they lose control during their fights, now merging instead into a force that makes Madara’s skin prickle in a surprisingly pleasant way. And judging by the feel of Tobirama finally relaxing into his hold, it seems to affect him similarly as well.  

“Senju, do your sensing abilities cause you chronic pain unless you’re overwhelmed by a particularly strong chakra signature?”

Madara doesn’t know what compelled him to ruin an otherwise blessedly peaceful moment, but he does want to find out if Tobirama is being hypocritical when chastising him for keeping self-destructive secrets.

Tobirama draws away, staring at Madara in confusion, Sharingan still blazing, almost blending in with the inflamed blood vessels as thin trails of blood keep trickling from them.

“No?” he says. “Why, are you in pain?”

“Fuck. No. Shut up,” Madara says, mentally kicking himself, “never mind.”

He doesn’t break eye contact and moves his hands to grip Tobirama’s shoulders, still kneading chakra into the space around him to ground them both.

“Now, Senju, like I said. You need to focus on something—anything in the room. Can you do that for me?”

Tobirama nods, keeping his gaze where it is, dead set on Madara’s eyes.

“Me. Okay. Right.” Madara’s face grows a little hot, probably due to the rising temperature of the room from Tobirama slamming his stolen chakra around like an untrained amateur. “Focus on the little things you can see. It can be anything, any details. You can say them out loud if you want.”

Tobirama gives another nod. Takes a deep breath. Runs his eyes slowly over Madara’s face. He looks so strange like this, his expression lacking the usual frown, lips trembling slightly, hair in disarray, eyes bloodshot and full of fear. Madara would pity him, were he a better man.

(Maybe he is a better man.)

“I can see every little strand of your hair,” Tobirama says suddenly, with a hint of awe, “and every tangle. It’s half over your face, like it always, but… there’s more of it sticking everywhere.” He tilts his head to the side. “You look a little stupid.”

Madara bites his lip to hold back his retort and motions for Tobirama to continue.

“Eyelashes,” Tobirama says next. “They’re wet. Waterdrops and…” He frowns, gaze growing a little distant. “There’s so much—so many particles on them?”

“No, no, no, no.” Madara shakes him slightly by the shoulders. “Don’t go that deep, ignore the particles. Keep your attention on the droplets, on the bigger picture,” he stumbles through the words quickly, hoping he isn’t too late and won’t have to deal with the impending chakra depletion his eyes’ ability entails.

Tobirama seems to refocus, but still asks, “Why not? Does every Sharingan allow you to focus on the atomic level?”

Madara shakes his head.

“Only mine as far as I’m aware, and that’s a power you do not want to test out, believe me,” he says in lieu of a proper explanation. That mess can come later. “Go on.”

Tobirama scowls, clearly unsatisfied, but complies.

“Right. Droplets. Your whole face is wet, actually.” He frames Madara’s face with his hand, hovering, barely touching. “Your cheeks, your lips. I didn’t notice before that your cheeks were so… not chubby. Fuller, I guess?”

Madara wonders if drowning in Hashirama’s tears is a price he’s willing to pay to commit a very satisfying murder. It’s tempting.

“And there’s,” Tobirama lifts his fingers to brush against the side of Madara’s face, suddenly grinning, “toothpaste.”

Madara swats his hand away and hastily brushes it off.

“Calm enough now?” he snaps, rubbing at his other cheek for good measure.

“I think so,” Tobirama answers, blinking. “It’s still not gone, though.”

“You have to refocus on your eyes now,” Madara says, “but don’t channel chakra. Just feel how the Sharingan influences your eyesight, your perception, simply be aware of it. And then—let go.”

A few heartbeats later, the black dissipates from Tobirama’s eyes, leaving him with his usual dim red irises. They both heave sighs of relief.

“Finally!” Tobirama shoves past Madara and starts pacing around the room, wiping away the dried blood clinging to his eyelids.

“Yeah, finally,” Madara grumbles. “And what do you mean my cheeks are chubby?”

“That’s what you want to focus on?” Tobirama says, turning to glare at him. “Not the fact that you’re steadily going blind and haven’t told anyone about it? Does Hashirama know? Does Izuna?”

“Yes, no, no and yes,” Madara says, rolling his eyes.

“Not funny, Uchiha.”

“Not trying to be, Senju.” Madara pinches the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, now that they’re apart again, the low buzz of the ache in his joints has returned and is getting worse by the second. “It’s how the Mangekyō works. I didn’t make the rules.”

“Walk me through it,” Tobirama demands. “What exactly does this form of the Sharingan do and why is there no way to fix it?”

“There is,” Madara says. “The Mangekyō gradually destroys all the living cells in your eyes unless you get an eye transplant of another pair of Mangekyō, preferably a sibling’s.” He shifts his gaze from Tobirama’s horror-stricken face to an empty wall which suddenly looks so very mesmerizing. “Which is obviously something I refuse to do, and Izuna doesn’t want to, either.”

A few more beats of silence pass.

“And Izuna’s is better, you said.”

“Yes.” Madara chances a glance at him. Tobirama is frowning, eyes narrowed in his usual ‘thinking and analyzing’ expression Madara is used to seeing on their joint meetings. “I forbade him to use it unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hm. So that’s why he never used it when we fought.”

“Correct.”

“Pity.”

Madara almost chokes. “W-what?”

Tobirama shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to try going up against it. Anija always had so much fun with you, I felt like I was missing out a little.” It’s such a ridiculous admission, and Madara can’t seem to do anything but splutter harder. “I didn’t know it was causing you so much pain, though. That changes things.”

“Well—well, that doesn’t matter!” Madara throws up his hands. “Gods, Senju—people are terrified of this dōjutsu, you know!”

Tobirama hums, noncommittal, and Madara comes to the conclusion that Hashirama isn’t the only reckless idiot among the Senju after all. Before he can say anything else, though, Tobirama’s face lights up with the slightly manic expression he gets when he comes up with a new idea.

“You’ve tried transplanting both pairs of the Sharingan, of course?” he asks. “Just exchanging the eyes, I mean. What happened then?” He looks at Madara expectantly, only managing half a minute of silence. “Well? Madara?”

He still receives no answer.

“Please tell me,” Tobirama says slowly, voice pained, “that look means that my question is redundant, and you’ve obviously tried that before. Right?”

Madara doesn’t, in fact, know for sure if the Uchiha have attempted anything of the like.

But never let it be said he isn’t ready to defend his clan’s honor.

“Of course!” he says, flailing a little before forcing his arms to cross over his chest, a bit defensively. “Or, well, I think so. I’m sure,” he corrects himself, “I’m sure someone has done that and it evidently didn’t work, because then…” Madara thinks about the blind Uchiha he knows and had helped take care of, when he could. The hollow eyes of too many of his clanmates, haunted by tragedy and death. “Then decades of problems wouldn’t exist,” he finishes lamely.

 Centuries, more like. Gods does Madara hope he’s right.

“Let’s hope so, Uchiha,” Tobirama growls, “or I’m going to have to assume everyone in your clan lacks basic logical thinking skills, not just you.”

“Keep your mouth shut about my clan, Senju!”

“How can I, when I’ve got this damnable keepsake from you?” Tobirama says, gesturing to his eyes, which, thankfully, don’t switch over to the Sharingan despite his very apparent ire.

Madara takes a deep, calming breath.

“I get that it isn’t exactly pleasant, Senju,” he says in the most level tone he can muster. “Your abilities seem to cause me pain too, if to a lesser degree,” he can’t help but complain. “But the fact is—we’re soulmates. You’ll have to deal with my eyesight for… a while, until both of us learn to control and give our powers back to each other. Then the Sharingan will be solely my concern once again. All right?”

Tobirama stares at him like he’s said something stupid. Again.

“No, Madara. The fact is that we’re soulmates, and from what I’ve gathered about a concept I care little about, we’re going to have to support one another.”

It’s so strange for Madara to hear someone say they care little about the concept of soulmates, one that’s so sacred to his clan. It’s baffling. Though fate has chosen one who seems to be the complete opposite of what Madara wants and needs, the fact itself has him wondering about the possibility of—something.

“Which means,” Tobirama goes on, “I will not leave this alone, whether you like it or not.”

Tobirama tone is both a promise and a threat, and Madara finds he has no idea what to think about it, how to feel. He wants to tell Tobirama off for butting into his personal affairs, but knows, of course, that Tobirama is right. There’s no ‘his’ affairs anymore—just ‘theirs,’ per the gods fickle, incomprehensible whims. 

And of course, there’s one thing he has to know.

“Just because we’re bound by fate, Tobirama?” he asks, abandoning his carefully conscious use of Tobirama’s last name when they converse. “You won’t leave this alone just because you have to?”

That stops Tobirama short. His eyes never quite left Madara as they talked, but now he focuses on him fully, just like he had when his Sharingan had been activated.

“I need to think,” Tobirama says quietly, something shifting in his face, rending it cold and emotionless—Madara’s least favorite expression on him. He takes a few steps back towards the window. “I’ll find you later. Or you find me. Later,” he repeats firmly.

Madara feels rage starting to boil inside him.

“Now wait just one minute!”

Tobirama doesn’t pause and promptly leaps out of the window, flickering away, leaving Madara alone in an empty room with a brain buzzing with questions and a body prickling with renewed bouts of pain.

“What a fucking bastard,” he swears, “fucking impossible. Why couldn’t you be bonded to an asshole just like you are?!”

He knows screaming at empty space is a little weird and most likely very useless. No matter. There’s no one around but him to witness it anyway.

Only he turns out to be wrong about that, because apparently, their argument was loud enough to wake Izuna in his house across the street.

“Technically, nii-san, you’re kind of an asshole, too,” Izuna says with a yawn, shuffling into Madara’s room wrapped up in a blanket, eyes still sleep-heavy. “Hashirama and I are obviously the better brothers in our respective duos.” He grins, dodging the bedside table Madara throws at his head. “I think fate has chosen well.”

He doesn’t dodge the barrage of pillows, letting them land smack center onto his grinning face.

“Get the fuck out,” Madara growls, and Izuna moves to do just that. Madara scowls. “Wait.”

Izuna stops in his tracks, turning back to Madara with, shit-eating grin still in place. Madara sighs and comes over to him to wrap him into a particularly bone-crushing hug, ignoring the wheezing protests that follow.

“Channel your chakra, would you?” Madara asks. “Please?”

Izuna is a bit confused by the request but does as he’s told, thankfully silent this time, pushing Madara away for something more akin to a hug and not a suffocation attempt. The gentle crackle of his hearth-like signature soothes Madara’s nerves once more, numbing the pain to an extent, though not even close to the way Tobirama’s closeness had helped.

He will have to make do with this for now.

“You’re now my temporary personal painkiller,” Madara announces, “and I will not be accepting any complaints about this arrangement.”

“No idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I can’t wait to hear the whole account of your lovers spat, nii-san,” Izuna deadpans.

“Shut up, Izuna.”

“You’ll want me to give you advice, though,” Izuna says, tone teasing. “After all, I’m the one with the experience of being soulbound to a Senju.”

“Whatever. Shut up. Let me think.”

Izuna doesn’t in fact, let Madara think, because he is an incorrigible little shit and an utter menace.

“You know,” he says, “make-up sex is just the best way to—”

He gets cut off when Madara breaks away to grab one of the scattered pillows and starts attacking Izuna with it, unmindful of the feathers flying everywhere.

Izuna only laughs, arms himself in kind and gives as good as he gets.

*

The Uchiha are confusing, Tobirama decides as he finishes perusing what seems to be the thousandth text out of the documents he’s borrowed from the atrocious Uchiha Libraries. Plural because the clan has thousands upon tens of thousands of archived records. Atrocious because most of them are either redundant, incomplete (as if the record-keepers only wrote their accounts when inspiration struck and were prone to abandoning them half-way) or completely nonfactual, useless opinion pieces that Tobirama can’t base any of his theories on.

And gods, does he have a lot of theories in need of testing.

He takes a pain reliever as the Sharingan-induced migraine acts up again; he’d been careful not to activate it throughout the day, but the headache still lingered, making it a challenge to stay focused. Tobirama manages to, though, just barely, and there’s at least a little progress to show for it.

He’d left Madara early morning, obtained his free ticket into the Libraries almost immediately and has spent the whole day researching a dōjutsu that proved to be all the more incomprehensible with every piece of ‘research’ Tobirama got through. After hours of historical accounts (and thrice damned opinion pieces), Tobirama did stumble upon one instance of the Mangekyō having been exchanged between two Uchiha. The experiment failed, with both subjects ending up dead, was declared unholy and was never attempted again.

The sheer audacity of that made Tobirama’s eye twitch. Honestly, where would he have been if he had stopped at his first unsuccessful Edo Tensei attempt?

(Probably lacking in his brother’s occasional tearful, very annoying admonishments about desecrating the dead, but that isn’t the point.)

The attempt was done centuries ago, back when most of the shinobi clans were nothing more than nomad tribes wandering the then empty, nationless continents, trying to figure out how to use the Sage of Six Paths’ gift of chakra properly. With no established iryō jutsu practice at that time, of course the switch had a high chance of failing. For some reason, the Uchiha didn’t seem to take into account that an overwhelming majority of the simple eye transplants from the younger Uchiha brothers to their elders were unsuccessful, too. It really was an inexcusable abuse of the scientific principle to assume the worst after one godsdamned test.

It’s downright confusing, bordering on stupid, really. And even then, Tobirama can think of a dozen other ways to solve the Mangekyō problem without resorting to transplants and possible mutilation, most of them simple schemes of directed chakra manipulation and perhaps a little tinkering with DNA. But to do that—

Ah. He’s forgotten.

“Hikaku?” Tobirama says to the depths of his enormous lab. The size is suddenly an inconvenience, because he can’t really see anything that’s further than two feet away clearly—and sensing through Madara’s chakra is nothing but an exercise in futility.

“Right here.” Hikaku appears before him with a shunshin, holding a book on the latest discoveries in relativity—something Tobirama could be researching right now if he weren’t stuck with Madara’s problem.

Tobirama takes a deep breath, taking another pill for good measure to help him deal with the persistent headache. Not Madara’s. Theirs. He promised—they’re soulmates and that obliges him to have his partner’s back, no matter their evidently mutual dislike.

(Tobirama refuses to think about Madara’s question now, isn’t ready to contemplate impossible possibilities and delve through his complicated net of feelings for the person who annoys—and intrigues—him most. That can come later, because he’s otherwise preoccupied and definitely not running away.)

“You there, Tobirama?” Hikaku asks with an understanding smile, waving a hand in front of Tobirama’s face.

 “Yes. Sorry. And—sorry I made you wait this long. I shouldn’t have invited and ignored you like that.” Tobirama sighs.  “I got distracted again.”

“Don’t worry,” Hikaku says, inching a glass of water to Tobirama, always the one making sure Tobirama hydrates, his mother hen tendencies second only to Hashirama. “We only got here an hour ago. You know I adore your lab and I think Kagami’s busy with some of the chemicals you’ve labeled kid-friendly over there.”

As if in answer, the hiss of a chemical reaction and a triumphant whoop sounded from somewhere in the distance, making both of them smile.

“Right,” Tobirama says, “well, I’m ready now for the inspection. May I?” He stands, raising his hands. Hikaku gives an affirmative, and Tobirama pushes chakra into his palms, now glowing a faint green. “Activate your Sharingan, please.”

Hikaku does, without question, and Tobirama nears his hands towards his eyes, registering the feel, structure and movement of the distinct chakra, cataloguing the way cells behave more actively, how every one of them feels amplified by the Sharingan’s power.

“Now your Mangekyō.”

A swirly pattern replaces the tomoe, and the very essence of the chakra generated by the Sharingan seems to change. Tobirama frowns, making note of every little shifts, how the momentum of the chakra seems to increase exponentially, carrying with it potential for an enormous burst of power. The cells seem to be otherwise fine, expectantly.

“You have the Eternal Mangekyō, right?” Tobirama asks, tentative, remembering what Hikaku told him this morning.

“Yeah,” Hikaku says, averting his gaze. “Not a pretty story, but one I can tell if you’d like.”

Tobirama shakes his head. “No need. I have an idea of what must have happened and it’s not too relevant to my search for another solution.”

He pushes more chakra through one of his palms, gaining greater clarity, and reaches for ink and paper with the other to scribble down his findings.

“It’d be easier if you used your new Sharingan, you know,” Hikaku says, making Tobirama splutter, of all things, much like a certain Uchiha when caught by surprise. “You’d remember all you need in perfect detail.”

Tobirama stares.

“Hikaku,” he chokes out, “how did you—”

“We’re friends, Tobirama,” Hikaku says, rolling his eyes, “and I’m afraid I’m the more emotionally perceptive of the both of us.”

“Am I really that obvious?” Tobirama asks, frowning.

“Yep.” Hikaku grins. “It also helps that you radiate Madara’s very potent chakra like crazy. Seriously, I’m not even a sensor.” Tobirama scowls, shoving him away. “It’s good you’re not out and about or you’d be giving every sensory ninja in the village a massive migraine.”

“Ugh.” Tobirama groans, sinking back down into his chair. “Don’t remind me that I have his chakra to deal with now. I feel hot all the time. Are all the Uchiha this hot?”

“Depends on what definition of hot you’re using.”

“Hikaku!”

“Relax, Tobirama,” Hikaku says through laughter, hopping onto the table. “It’s a normal soulbond experience, it’s never painless. You’ll get a hang of it, eventually. And I’m sure our esteemed and very composed Clan Head isn’t faring much better.”

“No,” Tobirama says, crossing his arms. “He isn’t.”

Hikaku gives him an appraising look.

“Listen,” Hikaku starts, “I know you both… find it difficult… to communicate normally,” he awkwardly circumvents the word hate, “but it really isn’t healthy to be apart from your soulmate like this.”

“I know, Hikaku.” Tobirama buries his face in his hands. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“And you’ll tell me about it.”

“I’d rather not.” Tobirama opens one eye to look at Hikaku through the space between his fingers. “It’ll probably end in disaster.”

“Tell me all the juicy details then,” Hikaku demands cheerfully. “Come on. You can’t bribe the Chief Record Keeper for an illegal pass into my clan’s secret archives and not provide something in return.”

“A month babysitting your son isn’t enough for you?” Tobirama says, tone sour even though they both know he’ll enjoy every minute of spare time spent with his first ever student.

“It is,” Hikaku agrees, “or, would be under any normal circumstances. As it stands, you owe me a bigger reward for making me break Clan Law.”

“Your Clan Law and its stupid restrictions are the reason you have this stupid problem with your Mangekyō Sharingan in the first place,” Tobirama mutters. “And I’m going to fix it.”

“For your soulmate,” Hikaku says with a pretensiously dreamy sigh.

“Not for him.” Tobirama sinks into his chair further. “Not just for him. So Kagami doesn’t have to deal with similar pain in the future, nor any other Uchiha child.”

And it’s true of course; Tobirama would be just as deep in research if he’d found out about this issue without the added hassle of being Madara's soulmate. Hikaku knows this, of course, because he’s just as much of a dear friend as Izuna is to Tobirama, if not more.

Inevitably, that train of thought leads him to question why he and Madara seem to be so completely at odds when the Uchiha’s general wariness of Tobirama (and vice versa) have all but disappeared. Perhaps they can become friends, if nothing else, if and when they figure out how to talk without losing their cool every single time. He’d wondered about that before, what it would feel like for Madara to smile at him with genuine care instead of the usual derision. It’s honestly a pity they aren’t platonic soulmates. Although—

Tobirama imagines the prospect of being trapped in Madara’s body for an indefinite amount of time and thinks, No. No, it’s good that we aren’t.

“By the way,” Hikaku says, thankfully distracting Tobirama from his thoughts again, “Kagami, come here for a bit?”

“Yes, Dad!” Kagami leaps towards them, light on his feet but still almost knocking down a vial with a moderately pesky virus that Tobirama makes a note to properly seal later. “Tobirama-sensei!” Kagami instantly focuses on him, eyes gleaming as he surveys all the notes Tobirama has piled up. “What were you working on all this time? Did you make any progress? Is it a new awesome jutsu? Will you teach it to me?”

“No, Kagami, it isn’t anything flashy this time,” Tobirama says, ruffling his student’s hair with a smile. “You’d probably find it boring. But we’ll work on your Grand Fireball Jutsu tomorrow, I promise.” Tobirama suddenly realizes he’ll have to spend tomorrow’s training session without his—well, Madara’s—chakra. What a pain.

“Awesome!” Kagami jumps up and down with his usual bouncy excitement. “I’m getting so great at fire jutsu—you’ll see tomorrow. I’ve got so many new tricks I can show you!”

“I hope you’re making as much progress in chakra theory, Kagami,” Tobirama chuckles as Kagami’s expression switches to one of horror. “Don’t forget your little test tomorrow.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. And so as not to keep you from studying,” Tobirama says, “before you leave, may I take a look at your Sharingan, Kagami? With a diagnostic iryō jutsu?”

Kagami gives him a curious look, glancing at Hikaku, then back at Tobirama again.

“Sure thing, sensei.”

As expected, Kagami’s Sharingan isn’t much different than Hikaku’s basic version, but much weaker in energy compared to it, despite all three of his tomoe being fully developed.

That’s an interesting detail compared to all the other data Tobirama has gathered. Hikaku had explained to him earlier that day that Kagami’s Sharingan awakened after a particularly traumatizing experience—his mother’s death—and was one of the strongest in the clan among children. If anything, that motivated Tobirama to work more, faster, better to find an adequate cure for the Mangekyō’s degenerative effect. Hopefully, Kagami won’t have to suffer enough to acquire it, but none of them know what the future holds, and Tobirama wants to squander the potential for tragedy before it manifests.

It's not long after that before Hikaku makes Tobirama swear on the periodic table of elements (“Because you lack any whatsoever respect for the gods, you heathen") to get proper sleep after they leave and continue his work tomorrow. And really, with the amount of chaos he's had to suffer through today, Tobirama is yearning to do just that.

If only…

Tobirama gets back to his empty, sterile home, barely lived in because he spends most of his time in the office, at Hashirama’s place, with his students or in his lab. He tries, unsuccessfully, to get himself to fall asleep. Sedatives have long since lost their effect on him and his body seems to have stopped registering painkillers, because despite all the pills in his system, the migraine and the dizziness that comes with it return full force just as he’s trying to will himself to sleep.

He can’t.

His thoughts unerringly stray to Madara again.

It’s annoying.

And now that Tobirama has no research or people around to distract him, he feels treacherous feelings of guilt encroaching as his mind supplies him with memories of their whole conversation.

There was something different in Madara’s tone, in his expression as he asked Tobirama the question that caught him completely unawares.

Just because we’re bound by fate, Tobirama?

No, Tobirama thinks, I would have helped anyway. 

You won’t leave this alone just because you have to?

It wasn’t the hidden implications of the question that bothered him most. Not even the complete change in Madara’s demeanor as he asked it—a change to a softer, almost vulnerable side Tobirama had never seen before. It was the epiphany Tobirama had in that very moment, realizing that he was, for some reason, genuinely concerned about Madara’s wellbeing. This despite their long-standing status quo of mutual hostility and Tobirama’s self-proclaimed lack of care about the inherently irrational (and therefore irritating) idea of soulmates.

It’s unnerving.

He turns to bury himself in the pillows on his couch, closing his eyes, desperately begging for his mind to just stop. Stop analyzing, stop wondering and making dozens of possible predictions for the future, stop dissecting every one of his actions and feelings and impulses and just—rest.

Well.

Another impossibility, it seems.

And since rest is out of the question, he reasons he can safely break one promise he’d made to Hikaku and make good on the other. Stopping himself just before he reaches for the Hiraishin marker in the Uchiha district, Tobirama leaps through the window and sets out towards Madara’s house for a much-needed conversation.

Preparing himself for a long, sleepless night, Tobirama shifts onto his back and turns to stare out the wide window at the stars glimmering around the full moon. It’s much too soon to deal with this enormous mess, Tobirama decides, making up his mind to let Madara seek him out himself.

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Chapter 4

And since rest is out of the question, he reasons he can safely break one promise he’d made to Hikaku and make good on the other. Stopping himself just before he reaches for the Hiraishin marker in the Uchiha district, Tobirama leaps through the window and sets out towards Madara’s house for a much-needed conversation.

It's grating, being unable to properly sense his surroundings with his chakra all over the place, but Tobirama deals with it as best as he can, for the first time in his life relying solely on his sense of sight as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop. At least this simple chakra manipulation is manageable, though he does almost slip a few times—another novel experience—which leaves him all the more yearning for his former impeccable chakra control.

And eyesight.

He finds Madara in a similar state of sleeplessness, pacing next to the koi pond in the little garden adjacent to his house. Madara stops in his tracks and turns to look in the direction of Tobirama’s approach just before Tobirama jumps down to face him.

Madara looks downright exhausted, disheveled and cold, what with his slight trembling. He’s probably still in pain, Tobirama realizes with a tinge of irrational guilt—which immediately disappears when Madara flicks his hand and the water from the koi pond rises to form a giant wave that descends upon Tobirama, knocking him onto the ground and soaking him to the bone.

“What,” Tobirama growls, body and voice shaking as he blinks the wetness away, “the fuck do you think you’re doing, Uchiha?”

Even with his blurry vision, Tobirama can make out the bastard’s smirk—a crooked, self-satisfied thing. Madara clumsily redirects half of the water back into the pond and crosses his arms.

“Giving my soulmate a proper greeting, of course,” he drawls as Tobirama stands, trying his best to shake off the water that feels wrong, wet and annoying, not soothing and playfully mingling with his chakra like it usually would. “Most fitting for your dashing farewell, I’d say.”

To his credit, Tobirama doesn’t move to burn Madara to a crisp in answer for his glaring stupidity. Yet.

It’s tempting, though.

But there are safer ways to retaliate, he decides.

“Is this a bad time to mention,” Tobirama says, “that my chakra is exceptionally attuned to water?”

Madara rolls his eyes.

“I know you think others inferior to you in intelligence, Senju, and me most of all,” Tobirama nods as Madara says this, just to rile him up further, “but I am not going to fall for your idiotic taunts.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to taunt you, Madara, just to warn you,” Tobirama says, mock-concerned, “that if you go on using my chakra this carelessly, you might just accidentally end up manipulating the water inside a human body.”

It’s viscerally pleasing, seeing Madara’s smirk dissipate, replaced by a horrified scowl.

“WHAT?”

The way Madara shrieks will never stop being amusing, and it seems the absence of his explosive fiery chakra does little to quell his usual temper. He recoils from the pond, looks at his hands like he's considering cutting them off, looks at Tobirama with a look of such disgust that—well, isn’t exactly pleasant but still entertaining.

“Like blood?” Madara asks, voice strained.

“Blood is known to be partially made of water, Uchiha—”

“You idiot!” Madara shouts, starting to pace again, burrowing his hands in his sleeves. “That is not fucking funny!”

“It isn’t,” Tobirama agrees, “I’ve caused enough of people’s insides to accidentally rupture as a child that I find it far from a laughing matter.” He doesn’t mention that those accidents only ever amounted to two events and both victims were enemies; the rest were deliberate targets of Tobirama’s honed, precise chakra control.  

“You mean—” Madara’s eyes grow wide with ever-growing terror. “You mean I could have—I spent the whole day with Izuna, you prick! Couldn’t you have warned me that I’m now a godsdamned spontaneous murder weapon?”

To be fair, you always have been, Tobirama wants to say, but that nagging spike of guilt raises its ugly head again, and he begrudgingly decides to go the pacifistic way. That’s what he came here for, after all—a conversation, not a fight.

“Kind of. But it would only happen if you’re truly angry, far more than you are now, or if you’re on the verge of death, as a defense mechanism,” Tobirama explains. “I’m just messing with you, Uchiha. Calm down.”

“Calm down when you’re around, you infuriating asshole?” The remaining water in the pond ripples in reaction to his anger and he takes another step back, eyeing it warily. “What the hell did you come here for anyway?”

“To talk.”

“Go to hell.” With the way Madara is glaring at him, Tobirama prepares himself for another splash of water, but the assault never comes. “I won’t speak with you on your terms.”

“What if I offer an apology?”

Madara raises an eyebrow. “Really? You? An apology. If I weren’t in such a foul mood that would warrant a laugh, Senju, good one.”

Tobirama counts from five to one before answering, finding it suddenly a convenience how his skin runs hot, how chakra crackles and burns around him, enough so that he’s almost dry and comforted, rather than annoyed by its warmth. Anija would approve, he thinks bitterly

“I’m sorry. My leaving you like that was neither polite nor called for. But I truly needed to think about…” He gestures vaguely in Madara’s direction. “All this.”

Madara is staring at him like he’s grown another head, and it’s somehow even more unnerving than his death glare.

“You—actually—” Madara shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “Huh.”

He crosses his arms again, and as often as Tobirama has seen that gesture on him, he finds himself suddenly curious why Madara likes it so much. Arms tightly locked and shoulders raised defensively, he looks somewhat like a petulant child. His posture is stiffer than usual, though, and Tobirama makes an effort to quell his chakra lashing out as much as possible to avoid causing unnecessary pain.

“Did a lot of thinking then, Senju?” Madara asks with a much more level tone, which is, Tobirama supposes, the only acknowledgement of his apology he’s going to get.

“No, actually.” Tobirama averts his gaze, biting his lip. “I got side-tracked. I spent the whole day researching your godsdamned dōjutsu.”

Madara frowns, confused.

“Why in the world would you be doing that?”

“I told you,” Tobirama says, “I’m not leaving this alone. There has to be another way to stop the Mangekyō from deteriorating your eyesight, and I’m going to find it.”

“Oh, so you think it’s going to be easy,” Madara asks, voice leaking skepticism, “fixing a centuries-old curse?”

“It’s not going to be that hard, considering that over all those centuries your good-for-nothing clan only had the idea to transplant two pairs of Mangekyō once, then gave up on that idea and didn’t even try any alternatives just blinding people left and right.” Tobirama is still avoiding Madara’s gaze, focusing on one the sakura trees in the garden. “I mean, good clan,” he amends, “you’re okay, I guess.”

“Drop the insolence, Senju,” Madara growls, narrowing his eyes. “And how would you even know that? That isn’t in any of the public libraries, did you—did you break into our archives?”

Ah, Tobirama belatedly realizes his mistake.

“I did,” he tries, although Hashirama’s been telling him since his earliest childhood that he’s a hopelessly terrible liar. He chances a glance at Madara, who’s fuming, making wavelets surge through the pond again.

“Hikaku,” Madara says, and Tobirama curses Hashirama for being right, as always. “That bastard. Should have known.” He sighs. “He was a good Uchiha. I’ll miss him.”

“The killing intent isn’t appreciated, Madara, and for the love of the gods, stop your theatrics.”

“When you stop your meddling.”

“I’m not going to stand by when innocent people are suffering because someone refuses to act and fix this!” Tobirama snaps, turning back to Madara and realizing his world is suddenly in perfect clarity again. “Dammit.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and blanks his mind, easing himself back into a calmer mindset. It doesn’t feel as painful as the Mangekyō did, so he deduces he only activated the base version of the Sharingan this time. Thankfully.

“I won’t let innocent people suffer,” Tobirama repeats, “let innocent children suffer, when I’m in a position to do something about it. I’m not doing this because you’re my soulmate. I’m going to help, whether you like it or not, just because I can. Because I want to.”

Tobirama reopens his eyes only to see Madara standing close—far too close—and reaching out with his hands as if to hug him, but Tobirama flinches and takes a nervous step back, strangely comforted by the world becoming blurred once more.

“Don’t,” he says, “I’m fine.”

Madara is staring at him again, shock painted on his face, eyes searching Tobirama’s expression for—something, and Tobirama struggles not to squirm at the scrutiny.

“Uchiha?” The man in question only blinks in reply. “Hello?”

“You’re insane,” Madara finally says with a slightly dazed smile, “you’re actually insane.”

“The insane one is you,” Tobirama snarls, “because if I had the idiotic notion of keeping my progressing blindness a secret, I would at least be actively doing something to fix it.” It’s Madara’s turn to avoid his eyes, it seems. “Is this how you feel every day? The migraines even without the Mangekyō activated? The pain, the random flashes in your eyes?”

“Yeah,” Madara mutters, “what of it?”

“You don’t just keep these things from people, Madara,” Tobirama raises his voice, losing the last of his tenuous grip on his patience, “especially from my brother who may well be able to reverse the damage, at least temporarily!”

“Why do you care so fucking much about that, Tobirama?”

The sound of his name slipping from Madara’s lips is a bit of a shock.

“I just told you, Madara.”

“No. I get wanting to help my clan, I’d get it even if you wanted to fix the Mangekyō just for the hell of it, like your raising the dead thing or whatever other fuckery you’re up to.” Madara scowls, probably remembering what Hashirama has dubbed the Graveyard Fiasco. “But keeping this a secret is—was my problem. I may have acted… unwisely, but why do you care?”

Tobirama shrugs. “We’re soulmates.”

“And you told me you don’t give a shit about the concept.”

“Care little about,” Tobirama corrects him, “which doesn’t erase the fact that soulmates exist, and I feel a responsibility to…” he trails off. It’s physically painful, being unable to express himself when he usually has no problem with eloquence.

“To help someone you hate?” Madara finishes for him. “You don’t exactly seem happy you’re stuck with me now.”

 “Neither do you, judging by all your screaming,” Tobirama parries. “And that’s not the point.”

“What is, then?”

“I’m worried, and not just because of the bond,” Tobirama says, recalling the question they’d left off before, “but because even if we don’t get along, you’re still—” He gestures helplessly.

My brother’s best friend. My close friend’s brother. An admirable shinobi. The cornerstone of our village.

What comes out instead is, “I’m not as emotionless as you paint me out to be, Madara. That’s all.”

A strange look passes through Madara’s eyes.

“No,” he says, “you’re not.”

Annoyingly, he falls into silence once more, tilting his head to the side and watching Tobirama with an appraising look that makes shivers run down his spine for no particular reason. It’s a far cry from what he thought this conversation would turn out to be—a barely salvageable screaming match, an extremely tenuous quasi-truce, perhaps. A physical fight.

(What Tobirama wouldn’t give right now to be able to let out his frustration through kicks and punches. And preferably a Water Dragon Jutsu or several, but he supposes he’ll have to get used to working with fireballs from now on. A tragedy, really.)

“Well?” Tobirama asks after the few seconds of his shortened patience reserves run out. “Are you going to say anything else?”

Madara blinks, then smiles.

Tobirama feels like his heart skips a beat from the shock of it—seeing an actual smile on Madara’s face. Not a smirk or the murderous grins he so favors. A smile. It’s almost unsettling.

“Fine, Senju. Tobirama,” Madara draws out the syllables of his name, as if slowly tasting how it feels to say it. “That’s a satisfactory answer. But don’t think for one second I’m letting you attempt this on your own.”

A finger jabs Tobirama’s chest, making him go almost cross-eyed as he stares at it. Madara’s chakra spikes immediately, sending a wave of soothing pleasure throughout Tobirama’s body; Madara seems to feel the same, quickly drawing his hand away as he continues.

“You’re researching something that directly concerns me—and my clan. Again, despite whatever you may think, I have studied chakra theory and iryō jutsu. I may simply need a little brushing up,” Madara adds, quieter.

“Fair enough. I’m not averse to working together, and I’ll make an effort to put our differences aside if you are." Tobirama offers a tentative smile of his own. "And I’m told I’m a good teacher.”

Does Madara blush at that? Tobirama blinks. No, must be a trick of the light—or lack thereof in the dim moonlight.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make an effort to curb your insult for once," Madara grumbles.

Tobirama chuckles. The hypocrite.

“If you curb it with the drama," he says, "perhaps I'll make an effort."

“You of all people should know that Izuna is the more dramatic one out of us two. And you grew up with Hashirama, for gods’ sakes.”

“True, but Anija isn’t as loud,” Tobirama says, grinning wider. It’s a nice change, this light-hearted feel of their exchange. Comforting. “And Izuna swears he learned everything from you.”

“He’s lying."

“He does seem more persuading, Madara."

“You believe your precious friend more than you do your new soulmate, Tobirama?” Madara scoffs. “Fate disapproves.”

“Fate can go fuck itself.” That makes Madara chuckle. Tobirama doesn’t understand why that feels like some sort of victory, but it does. “And Izuna doesn’t greet me with a scowl every morning I show up at the Tower, at least.”

Madara sobers up, suddenly serious, and there’s that odd, contemplative look again, boring through Tobirama’s own eyes as if trying to find an answer to a question Madara has yet to voice.

“Tell me this, Tobirama,” he says, “you haven’t rejected our bond. We've reached some… semblance of an agreement. I wonder—what exactly would you like to get out of this bond, at this stage, at least?”

The question catches Tobirama by surprise, so much so that he feels the urge to run away once more. It’s stupid, he knows, and another irritating tendency of the day, since he’s prided himself in seldom—if ever—fleeing from uncomfortable situations.

“If you even think about leaving again, I will master that Water Dragon tehcnique of yours and drown you,” Madara threatens.

Tobirama rolls his eyes and promises nothing.

It’s frustrating, because he is somewhat sure of what he would like from this—whatever he and Madara have or will have. Something like his closeness with Izuna or Hikaku, perhaps. No outright aggression and no need to insult each other at every opportunity. Someone he can confide in and ask for advice. Someone who will listen to him and not mock Tobirama for his many oddities and obsessive ideas, like so many others have before.

He knows, though, that the sheer nature of the bond will never let it end there. The hint of something more hangs over his head even now like a sword waiting to strike. That’s what makes Tobirama yearn for escape, because he’s so painfully unsure of what to even think about the implication.

“Just friendship. For now,” Tobirama says, ignoring how his heart starts drumming faster against his ribcage.

“I don’t know, Madara. So I can’t give you an honest answer—yet,” Tobirama says, knowing, though, that it’ll be the cause of many restless nights to come. “What about you? What do you want to gain from this?”

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Chapter 5

“I don’t know, Madara. So I can’t give you an honest answer—yet,” Tobirama says, knowing, though, that it’ll be the cause of many restless nights to come. “What about you? What do you want to gain from this?”

“Such crude wording,” Madara chastises, a playful glint in his eyes. “I want to gain nothing, Tobirama, except what you’re willing to give me. Don’t mistake my annoyance at this constant fucking pain as displeasure at meeting my soulmate. Soulbonds are revered in my clan. Sacred. And I would gladly forge one with you—a bond that would make us both stronger together than when we are apart.”

Madara pauses, looking as if he’s about to say something else possibly even more outlandish, but instead there’s that soft, genuine smile again, which looks so alien on Madara’s face Tobirama feels like he’s been caught in a particularly unrealistic genjutsu.

“But only if you would wish to gift me such a bond, Tobirama.” Just like the smile, Madara’s tone has turned soft, unthreatening, almost tentative, and Tobirama feels—

Confused.

He knows the stories, of course, has read and heard enough about the Uchiha’s dedication to the ideal of soulbonds and love in general. Even today he’s seen more of the clan scholars’ philosophical treatises about how emotional attachment affects the Sharingan’s development instead of actual observation of the process itself.

Madara hasn’t exactly hinted at love or anything romantic per se, but the insinuation of it is evident. And, quite frankly, terrifying. It’s annoying that by evading Madara’s initial question, Tobirama still ends up feeling unsettled by Madara’s answer. It feels as if he’s exposing himself to something terrible, making himself vulnerable by merely thinking about the notion of opening himself up to the man he’s never even been on good terms with.

The reasons stem far back to his childhood, of course, when his only friends had been Anija and Tōka, while the rest of the clan had seen Tobirama as nothing but an asset, a dangerous and unpredictable one at that.

Then came Mito, almost unnoticeably turning from formidable sister-in-law Tobirama cautiously respected to a trusted partner in seal-developing sprees (or crime, Hashirama would argue) and random journeys together into the wild to study near-mythical creatures and underresearched phenomena. And that closeness had taken a good decade to cement—nearly half of Tobirama’s life.

It was smoother with Izuna, who’d shifted gears so quickly after peace was established that it felt as if Tobirama suddenly had another overly loud, clingy Anija stuck to him almost almost every hour of the day. More or less effortless with Hikaku, who’d approached Tobirama with nothing but kindness despite the years of war behind them. It seems safer, in the village they’ve built from childhood dreams, to extend his trust to others.

But Madara is different.

The problem with him is nothing like the fear he had of Mito monopolizing his brother’s love and attention when she and Hashirama had discovered their bond. Not his rivalry with Izuna, which resembled Madara and Hashirama’s almost playful standstill battles with each passing year of the war. It’s an inexplicable, irrational dislike he and Madara have for each other that makes them fight almost at every turn. Their poor excuses for conversations are never boring, Tobirama supposes, but amusement at Madara’s angry shrieking is far from a basis for friendship, much less something more.

Even so, steadfast determination burns in Madara’s eyes, the fire that hasn’t quite left him even though Tobirama’s chakra now runs through his coils. Seeing him open up like this, offering a truce, the possibility of something better—Tobirama can’t help but feel at least slightly curious.

“I’m willing to try,” Tobirama says, not bothering to apologize for his lengthy silence, “and see where this leads us.”

“Good.” Madara’s grin widens. “And, of course, another perk I’ve always wanted from a soulbond is a stable sex life, but we’ll see how that goes, yes?”

Tobirama clenches his fists. Runs through a few mental scenarios of strangling Madara with his mess of black hair and only then reminds himself of the ubiquitous taboo against the murder of one’s soulmate. 

“Out of the two of you, Uchiha, your brother also clearly has the better sense of humor,” he manages a more or less polite reply.

Madara scoffs. “Bullshit. You’re talking about the idiot who still hasn’t outgrown potty humor.”

“Yes.” Tobirama glares. “I am.”

Annoyingly, it only makes Madara laugh more. Even more maddening is how pleasing it feels to see Madara enjoying himself, how it makes Tobirama want to smile, in turn. He keeps his face neutral, though, even as it becomes harder to curtail his amusement.

“Tell me this then, Tobirama,” Madara says as he calms down, “since you haven’t answered my previous question. You said you care little about soulmates. Why?”

Tobirama contemplates weaseling how way out of that one as well, but for fairness’ sake, he opts to tell the truth.

“I’ve always struggled to build connections with people,” he admits. “I only have a handful of friends and most of them are my family, anyway. People don’t usually connect to what I say or what I do.” Echoes of freak, ghost, demon, probably bondless surface somewhere in the back of his mind. Tobirama ignores them. “And the idea of soulmates always seemed strange to me. Two people chosen by the gods to be together for life? Perfect lovers, perfect friends—it all seems like badly written fairy tale. One that I never thought I’d be a part of.”

“You’ve befriended at least two people from my clan easily enough,” Madara points out.

“I know. Things change. It’s…” Tobirama sighs. “Not as hard as it used to be. But I will need some space. And lots of time.”

“You can have those if your promise not to break spacetime again,” Madara says wryly, “like with the Monster Portal Debacle last month.”

“I closed it and all of the yōkai that came out of it were killed,” Tobirama says, sick of the unceasing complaints—and of people invoking his brother’s tasteless monikers for his lab incidents.

“Ridiculous man," Madara says, the sheer hypocrisy of his statement going right over his head, as always. “But to quell your worries, as I’ve said, I won’t push you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. No need to be intimidated.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Uchiha,” Tobirama snaps to hide the relief flooding through him at the words. “I’m not intimidated by you.”

“Oh?” Madara raises an eyebrow, giving Tobirama a skeptical onceover. “I’d say you are.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t lie to me. Soulmates are supposed to be honest with each other,” Madara says in a sickly-sweet tone.

“Well, if we are being honest, you weren’t all that intimidating when you had this thing,” Tobirama points to his eyes, “either. Now you’re just a puff of smoke compared to that Majestic Destroyer Flame you’re so partial to.”

Tobirama can’t help the grin as Madara, predictably, growls a heartfelt curse and tries to soak Tobirama again. Following the motion of his hand, the koi water ripples, rises slightly, then sinks back to the ground as Madara gives up, staring at the pond like it’s offended him on a personal level.

“Not angry enough, Uchiha,” Tobirama teases, squinting to check on the poor koi fish, thankfully still living.

“Oh, it’s funny when I’m angry is it,” Madara hisses.

“Extremely.”

“Fuck you, Senju,” Madara glowers. Tobirama could swear his spiky hair actually bristles in irritation, just like a cat's. “And we should really start getting a hang of our powers.”

“Are you only saying this so you can learn my Water Dragon Jutsu and attempt to terrorize me with it?” Tobirama asks, feigning suspicion.

“There’ll be no attempting about it. I will have my revenge for every single insult.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh. “We’ll see who has the upper hand, Uchiha. I suggest we meet tomorrow then. After my training session with my students.”

Madara nods. “Fine.” He’s picked up Kagami from his lessons often enough, whenever Hikaku was too busy with village and clan bureaucracy, to have memorized Tobirama’s training schedule.

At that thought, Tobirama realizes there’s one thing he unambiguously likes about his new soulmate—Madara’s begrudging love for children.

That’s one thing in common, at least.

Madara shivers and crosses his arms—again—and Tobirama suddenly realizes, now that he’s looking at Madara more closely, what’s been throwing him off about the gesture today. Madara doesn’t just seem uncomfortable; there are miniscule twitches in his muscles, the near-constant grimace marring his face, as well as rigidity and tension that speak of pain rather than cold or embarrassment.

“Tell me,” Tobirama says, finally approaching Madara of his own accord. “How much does it hurt?”

Madara flinches as Tobirama touches his shoulder, then immediately relaxes under the touch, letting out a deep breath.

“It’s fine. It’s manageable. I’ve had the whole day to meditate on it and it’s crazy. Like every fucking living thing flinging its chakra at my senses tenfold, and it hurts,” Madara complains, slightly leaning into Tobirama’s touch.

“It’s only ever been overwhelming for me, maybe a bit dizzying,” Tobirama says, frowning. “It’s probably the added burden of a chakra affinity completely opposite yours.”

Tobirama reminds himself, forcefully, of the inherent irrationality of fear and, before he can think better of it, wraps his arms around Madara’s shoulders, returning his favor from this morning. Madara sags against him after a moment of shocked stillness, letting out a drawn-out sigh of relief as he uncrosses his arms and returns the hug, tentative, gentle, as if expecting Tobirama to withdraw at any moment.

And there’s the guilt again. Tobirama can barely remember the last time he’d felt it nag him so many times in the span of a single day.

“What’s changed?” he prompts, breathing in the soft, slightly sweet scent of Madara's hair.

Madara lifts his head and stares at him for the few moments it takes for him to figure it out.

“Oh. I don’t know,” Madara says, dropping his forehead on Tobirama’s shoulder once more. “All I feel is your chakra when we touch. Well, mine. It’s familiar. Helps me focus and ignore all the others, to an extent. But I can’t focus on one signature at a distance.”

“Hm. Neither can I.” Tobirama remembers something. “Did you spend all day hugging Izuna then?”

“Carried him piggyback style.”

“Can’t imagine he was happy about that.”

“I didn’t give him much of a choice,” Madara says, smirk evident in his tone. “He escaped my clutches just an hour ago to go whining to Tōka.”

Tobirama snorts. What a world it would be if he could embed such moments for blackmail in an image without resorting to drawing from memory. Perhaps using a lens that could gather light and concentrate it… but that’s an experiment for later.

His current experiment is to determine which one of them gives in first and ends the embrace, which is steadily getting more awkward with each moment they stay like this. There’s not much Tobirama can do, and he’s not about to throw Madara back into the pit of chronic pain just because he feels uncomfortable—and even that is questionable, at best. He, too, finds himself focusing on the raging ocean where there was a sizzling fire before, and Tobirama would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

(A little too good, if he were being completely honest, but it’s probably the stupid bond affecting his perception.)

Madara pulls away first after a few long minutes, taking a step back but not quite letting go of Tobirama’s shoulders, touch light and lingering. He mutters his thanks but otherwise stays silent, contemplating Tobirama with an almost imploring gaze.

Tobirama reaches to gently pry Madara’s hands off his shoulders.

“I’d better get going.” Before this gets any stranger, Tobirama finishes in his mind. “I’ll figure out a way to fix this for you. I promise. It’s just a matter of refining chakra control, but I have an idea for a seal as a short-term solution,” he says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

He is, of course, compelled to offer to help but he hates how vulnerable it makes him feel. Madara still hasn’t uttered a word, though, and seems intent on continuing to suffer in solitude. That’s something Tobirama will not—cannot—allow. “Should I… May I stay?” Tobirama flinches at his crooked phrasing. “To help with the pain?”

“Sleep with me,” Madara blurts out and immediately slaps his palms over his mouth, shaking his head and mumbling what Tobirama supposes is a much-needed clarification. He realizes the inherent stupidity of that action soon enough, drops his hands and shouts, “That’s not what I meant, godsdammit!”

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Chapter 6

He is, of course, compelled to offer to help but he hates how vulnerable it makes him feel. Madara still hasn’t uttered a word, though, and seems intent on continuing to suffer in solitude. That’s something Tobirama will not—cannot—allow.

“May I—” Tobirama starts.

“Sleep with me,” Madara blurts out and immediately slaps his palms over his mouth, shaking his head and mumbling what Tobirama supposes is a much-needed clarification. He realizes the inherent stupidity of that action soon enough, drops his hands and shouts, “That’s not what I meant, godsdammit!”

It takes every ounce of Tobirama’s self-restraint to keep himself from smiling and instead give Madara his most unimpressed stare.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Madara shrieks, all but vibrating with fury. “Shut up!”

“I have yet to say anything,” Tobirama says, “while you’re the one waking up your neighbors.” And Izuna, probably, Tobirama supposes, dreading the moment he’ll have to endure his friend’s reaction to this mess.

“You’re talking now,” Madara growls, then manages to take one full breath and hopefully gather his thoughts before speaking, for once.

“What I meant—” Madara tries to clarify, at the same moment Tobirama decides he might as well get another laugh out of this, and says, “You want a stable sex life, yes, and we’ve established that it’s a little too soon for that, have we not?”

“Godsdamn you, Senju!”

This time, Madara is definitely pissed off enough to disturb the koi again and launch hurl another stream of water Tobirama’s way. This time, though, Tobirama shifts to dodge it easily enough.

The water trickles back into the pond as Madara glares murder at him, and Tobirama doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

“I couldn’t resist.” Really, it’s immensely satisfying to watch Madara make a fool of himself, soulmate or not. But because Tobirama doesn’t consider himself a complete lost cause when it comes to politeness, he says, “I’m sorry. What did you mean to say?”

“See if I tell you now, dumbass.”

Tobirama doesn’t avoid the unnecessarily hard punch to his arm, chuckling as Madara huffs and stalks off towards his house, shoulders stiff and head held high.

Tobirama waits.

He’s seen enough of such petulance from Hashirama to know what’s going to happen next. He’s fairly sure he can even time it.

Predictably, Madara stops in his tracks before he barrages through the front door. He slowly turns back to Tobirama, frown and pout in place, looking much like a disappointed child.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Not without giving my soulmate a proper goodbye, of course,” Tobirama teases, echoing Madara’s words from before, and—well. Madara definitely blushes this time. That’s an intriguing point to keep in mind.

“You are so fucking infuriating, Senju,” Madara snarls. “Idiot.” He runs a hand through his hair, releasing another put-upon sigh before gritting out his poor excuse for a response. “I meant that you could…” Madara runs a hand through the hair shrouding his face, managing to only make it messier. “If you want—like, fuck… you know.”

He makes a quick, incomprehensible gesture with his hands and falls silent.

What a disaster.

“I don’t, in fact, know,” Tobirama prods.

He takes the few steps towards where Madara is shuffling on his porch and still blushing furiously, staring intently at the ground. Tobirama does actually have an idea of what Madara is getting at, but he’d like to hear it from the man himself.

After all, if Madara is supposed to be his soulmate, he’d better get a grip of his eloquence at some point, because Tobirama is not willing to spend the rest of his life stuck with a literal child.

“If you,” Madara continues, fidgeting with his hands now, “wanted to—stay and help with—because the pain and I—and you feel okay when we—touch—hugging. Ugh. Whatever.”

“What you mean to ask,” Tobirama finally takes pity on him, “is whether I’ll stay for… a sleepover? So I can help with the pain you’re feeling?”

Madara’s whole body droops in a perfect imitation of Hashirama’s ‘depressive’ episodes. “Yes.”

He’s bent his head so far down all Tobirama sees in front of him is the spiky black mess that is his hair. It looks coarse and tangled, but Tobirama remembers how soft it felt, a part of him wishing he could touch it again.

Tobirama shakes his head at the strange thought. Another side effect of the bond, probably.

“I’d like that,” Tobirama says, softening his smile as Madara’s eyes snap to his.

“You would?” he asks in a high-pitched voice. “I mean. Okay. Oh. Right. I mean of course you would.” Madara flinches. “I didn’t mean to say that last part either. Shut up.”

“Do you have no filter whatsoever,” Tobirama asks, incredulous, “between what you think and what comes out of your mouth?”

“Shut. Up.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh and raises his hands in surrender.

Without another word (but with enough jumbled grumbling under his breath about ‘stupid Senjus’ to make himself resemble a cranky elder) Madara grabs Tobirama by the collar and hauls him into his house, waving his hand at the space in lieu of a welcome.

It’s a much more lived in home compared to Tobirama’s, hints of a clumsy presence all over the place. What Tobirama can see of the kitchen from here is an ungodly mess, and he glimpses a grand fireplace in the living room he’d have loved to curl up to, normally, if not for the sweltering heat of his current chakra. The walls are covered with paintings of Izuna and people who are probably the rest of Madara’s family, of landscapes familiar to Tobirama only from his brief and rare forays onto the Uchiha’s former territory. He wonders if the paintings are Madara’s own, and a love for art is another thing they share in common.

Tobirama would ask now, if the silence they’d found themselves in wasn’t beyond awkward.

“So.” Madara fidgets again, staring at Tobirama expectantly. “Get ready for bed?”

Tobirama shrugs. “That is what you invited me for.”

Madara gives him an annoyed look for some reason; Tobirama supposes he’ll have to get used to those. He has a fleeting urge to mention that he’d wanted to propose the same arrangement for the night, to make Madara more at ease—but the admission feels too vulnerable, frightening even, and so he stays silent, watching Madara flit about bringing him extra clothes and a toothbrush.

Another amusing tendency of Madara’s is his pushy attitude when he’s nervous; he practically shoves Tobirama into the bathroom, ordering him to get ready. Tobirama reins in his teasing this time but can’t help but groan as he unfolds the sleeping yukata Madara’s offered him, the all too familiar uchiwa sown onto its back.

“Don’t you have any clothes without this accursed thing?” he asks, wondering if it’s really worth changing from his rumpled attire.

“Nope,” Madara answers cheerfully. “Deal with it, Senju.”

Tobirama makes a note to ask Mito, when she comes back from her travels, how to deal with a soulmate who’s a constant pain in the ass.

Large amounts of ice-cold water do nothing to quell the scorching fire in his coils, so Tobirama gives up soon enough. Stalling is another thing he isn’t used to but catches himself doing quite a lot of it in hopes of derailing the moment he has to get into bed next to—Madara.

Madara Uchiha.

His soulmate.

It still seems like something out of a lurid dream, if not a nightmare.

They find themselves lying down shoulder to shoulder, staring silently at the ceiling, neither of them willing to break the awkward silence or fall asleep.

Tobirama sighs.

“I have an idea for a seal that can help you deal with the pain while you’re learning to control my chakra.” He intended to say something completely different, like comment on the fact that they’ve ended up lying on top of the covers even though Madara obviously feels cold, but his own nervousness gets the better of him. “A matrix that’s a bit challenging, but if I use the same principles used for chakra masking, only to tune it down to a more comfortable—”

“Senju.”

“Hm?”

Tobirama glances to the side to see Madara frowning at him, seeming genuinely concerned.

“I’ve been in pain all day, but you, too, look like death warmed over,” he says, moving to lie on his side and curling his hand over Tobirama’s forearm. “Think about it tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes but relents, allowing himself to relax as much as he can, still lying on his back as Madara curls next to him. He casts his usual jutsu to adjust his dreams for the night, then carefully, slowly channels some of his chakra outward, hopefully enough to keep Madara warm, and judging by his contented sigh, it does the job.

It’s a testament to how exhausted Tobirama feels that sleep overtakes him almost instantly after he closes his eyes, the soft, pleasant thrum of their intertwining chakra a comforting, grounding force.

He doesn’t know if he imagines the soft ‘Thank you’ whispered so quietly he can barely hear it, but regardless, he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

End of Arc I: Truce

Arc II on tumblr

[thewnchstrs]

Broken Halos: Chapter 3

Pairing: JensenXDanneel, JaredXGen, MishaXVicki

Summary: Y/N attends her parent’s funeral 

Disclaimers: funerals, mention of death, mentions of car accidents, ptsd

Word Count: 3.7k

S E R I E S  M A S T E R L I S T

buy me a coffee?

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I felt the truck before I saw it, slamming into the side of us. I felt the backdoor crumple inward, my head banging forcefully against the window. I watched in slow motion as the car flipped, watching my dad’s hands hit the ceiling, mom covering her head. The car kept turning and turning, the impact sending us flying down the road with so much momentum I thought it would never end.

My seatbelt locked, keeping me tight against the seat even as the car finally came to a stop upside down on the road. My arms dangled under me. I blinked twice, my eyes wide as I mentally checked my body. I felt okay, but as I looked down at my leg, I could see the blossom of blood pluming on my jeans, trying not to look too long at the odd angle it was bent into.

My eyes traveled up to the front seat, dad slumped over the steering wheel, his head bleeding. Mom was crumpled against the dashboard.

“Dad,” I tried, but it felt like every time I tried to speak or even breathe my ribs were jutting into my lungs. “Mom!”

The pain began to grow, starting at my leg and then traveling all the way up my body but I didn’t care. I tried to unbuckle myself to get to them, but it was no use, I couldn’t move my arms.

“Mom!” I screamed again, my body screaming at me to stop. “Dad!”

“Y/N!” Jensen yelled, shaking me awake. I shot upwards in bed, clutching his forearms as I looked frantically around the room, my chest heaving. “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re here.” I looked to Jensen now, my eyes wide as I gripped him tighter, feeling the sweat on my clothes. He watched me in concern, “You’re here.”

I slowed my breathing, looking past his shoulder and seeing Rocco standing at the end of the bed on high alert. I fell into Jensen as he held me close, his chin on the top of my head as he sighed deeply, running a hand up and down my arm. I kept my eyes wide open, scared that if I closed them again I would see them…like that.

After awhile, he looked down to me, “Are you okay?” I couldn’t find the words I needed so instead I nodded slowly, laying back down on the pillow. Jensen moved my hair back from my sweaty forehead. “I’ll go get you some water.” Jensen stood, pointing to Rocco, “Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, alright?”

As if understanding completely, Rocco laid down close to my side, his head resting my chest. I watched as Jensen left the room, smoothing down Rocco’s fur on the top of his head as I willed my nightmare out of my head as I laid in the dark. I tried not to think about the way the metal sounded as it crumpled or the way the sound of shattering glass was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.

Almost immediately Jensen was back, sitting next to me on the bed. I sat up on my arm, taking two long gulps from it before shakily handing the glass back to him.

“Thank you,” I said. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry. Besides, Rocco was the one to come and get me,” he said, patting Rocco’s back as his eyes worriedly scanned my face. “Do you have nightmares a lot?”

I averted my gaze to the wall next to me, “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They’re just dreams.”

“Those didn’t seem like just dreams.”

He was right, they weren’t, they were memories. Ones my brain tried so hard to block out but for some reason they snaked their way back in, bits and pieces from that morning filtering themselves back into my head.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself as I settled back against the bed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jensen hesitated. I knew he was battling with whether or not to prod me to open up on the subject or to leave it at that. However, as he looked at the clock on my bedside table that read nearly three in the morning and then over to my tired face, he chose the latter as he nodded slowly and patted my leg softly, “Let me know if you need anything.”

He left the room, keeping the door open just a crack. I listened as his footsteps went to the kitchen, the resounding sound of the glass cup in the sink, his feet shuffling across the living room and up the stairs to his room.

I turned on my back, using Rocco as an anchor so I wouldn’t spiral any further than I already had. I stared up at the ceiling as I tried to think about anything other than the dream, the crunch of metal that sounded so real I could’ve sworn I was back in that car, the sight of my parents as they laid lifeless in front of me.

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The snow fell steadily around us. I kept my eyes trained on the two oak caskets hovering over the open graves, not paying any attention to the eulogies of those family I didn’t even know we had, family that only ever showed up into our lives when something bad happened.

“They were great people, and even greater parents,” a woman, who I had assumed was a distant family member ended, smiling sadly as she folded up her piece of paper that was wetter than her eyes had been.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts as I realized it was my turn to speak. Jensen gave me a reassuring smile, helping me to the front of the group, the snow not a friend to the crutches I was still lugging around.

I looked up to the faces standing in a half circle around the caskets, trying to focus on the few that I could recognize: Jensen, Danneel, Jared, Gen, Misha and Vicki who were all off to the side. I pulled out a small folded piece of paper from my pocket, my hands shaking slightly, either from the cold, or knowing that this was my last chance to say something meaningful to my parents.

My eyes scanned the first of the words on the paper, reading and rereading them until they were just a useless jumble of letters. I felt the eyes of the people around me, staring me down as I folded the paper back up, stuffing it back into my pocket as I took a deep breath, “There’s a lot I could say about my parents and what all they did for me, but I know I don’t have that much time.” I looked across the group to Jensen who nodded softly, encouraging me to keeping going.

“My dad always used to tell me that everything happens for a reason, that no matter what life threw at you, there was always some…deeper meaning to it all. That one day, we’d look back and see all these little strings that connected one event to the next. For the longest time, I accepted this as fact. I thought, if something were to happen, then surely there would be good reason behind it. But, if I’m being honest, I’m having a hard time seeing the reasoning behind this one,” I swallowed roughly, large snowflakes collecting on my eyelashes.

“So, instead of trying to make sense of it all and driving myself crazy, I’ll focus on all the things I do know: that my parents loved each other more than anything in this world, and that I wouldn’t be who I am now if it weren’t for them.” I squeezed my hands together in front of me, willing my tears away in an attempt to keep myself together.

“My mom was my best friend, the one person that I could go to for anything, no matter how big or small, mom would always be waiting at home with open ears,” I thought about how much I wished mom could be here now, how I would do anything to just be able to talk to her. “But don’t be mistaken…mom was a badass.” A chorus of small chuckles came from the group. “She was the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking back tears, “Dad was my superhero. He taught me everything I know, from changing a flat tire to showing me firsthand never to put dish soap in the dishwasher.” More laughs came from the group and the memory of watching the kitchen fill with bubbles pouring from the dishwasher and dad eventually giving up trying to clean it up.

“Together, they were inseparable,” I said. “Whether it was watching the same movie thousands of times because it was just so awful they couldn’t help but make fun of it every time, and finding it just as entertaining. Or spending every Sunday together going grocery shopping because it was the one day neither of them had to work, and they spent every waking minute together.”

I wiped at my cheeks, knowing that now was no different. Even now, they were together. “So I choose to remember them like that. I choose to remember them the way they were: singing songs too loudly in the car, dancing in the middle of the kitchen while making dinner…” I smiled softly to myself at the memories. “Those are the moments I’ll always carry with me.”

I picked up two flowers resting in a large bin at my feet, laying one on each of their caskets, touching the oak with my fingertips and letting them linger before slowly walking back to where I’d been standing.

One by one, the rest of the group added a flower to the pile while I stood in front of the open graves as people began to file back to their cars in silence. I acknowledged the hugs and the attempt at the encouraging words from attendees, but my main focus was on the two caskets laying next to each other, six feet under.

I was pulled from my thoughts as an older woman approached me, standing a few feet away as we both looked down into the open graves. She wore a long black fur coat, her gray hair hastily thrown to the top of her head and secured with a large clip. My eyes darted over to her, racking my memory for who this woman might be, but coming up short.

“That was a beautiful eulogy you gave,” she said. Her voice was raspy as if she hadn’t used it in a long, long time.

I tightened my grip on the crutches, “Thank you.”

Silence enveloped us again, the only sound coming from car doors being closed and the crunch of snow under shoes. I tried to focus on them, to really engrain this moment in my head as the last time I’d be in physical proximity to them, but my focus instead was on the old woman lingering next to me.

“You remind me so much of him, you know?” the woman said and this time, I looked over to her, her eyes already on me. “You look like her too, of course, but…you have so much of your father in you.”

I began to feel uneasy, my gut instinct telling me this lady was bad news, no matter how harmless she looked. “Do I know you?” I asked, sounding harsher than I meant for it to.

The woman looked slightly hurt, looking down at her gloved hands folded in front of her, “No, I suppose you don’t.” I watched as she turned to leave, hobbling through the multiple inches of snow. I was glad to finally be alone again, but there was a pull of something inside me that made me reach out to her again.

“Wait,” I said before she could get too far. She turned around, looking to me over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’ve seen so many people here today I’ve never seen before. I never knew how close they were to so many people.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, waiting for her to go on. “There’s so much they never told you. Things you deserve to know.”

I narrowed my eyes, “I’m sorry?”

A look passed over the woman’s face, one I could almost pinpoint as triumph, “I should get going, dear.”

“No,” I said, making her stop again as I made my way in front of her, blocking the way to the street. I scanned the woman’s face in confusion, trying to understand. “What do you know about them that I don’t?”

A slight grin danced across the woman’s face, a devious glint in her eyes when Jensen’s voice called out behind me. I ignored it, continuing to stare down the lady as she looked past my shoulder toward where the voice was coming from. She looked back to me, “Your family is calling you.”

“Y/N!” Jensen called again.

“Who are you?” I asked, ignoring Jensen. I took a step toward the woman who continued to stare into my eyes, something so deep and hateful behind them I could hardly stand it.

Footsteps came from behind me, followed by Jensen’s voice, “Hey, you ready to go?”

“We were just saying our goodbyes,” the woman said, not taking her eyes off of mine. “I’ll see you around, dear.”

I watched as the woman stepped sideways from me and retreated to the street. I turned around, leaning against my crutches as I watched her, confusion, anger and a hint of fear boiling inside me.

“One of your family members?” Jensen asked.

I continued to watch as she pulled open the front of a black car with tinted windows, doing nothing to ease my concerns, “I don’t know.”

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That night, Jensen and Danneel planned a small get together for me; a dinner just with our closest friends in order to take my mind off of the day. We all sat around the dining room table, talking, eating and laughing. Even though I was slightly unsure as to whether or not I wanted this, I was glad I’d agreed to it.

My first mistake was vocalizing that I was hungry enough for seconds, sending Jensen running into the kitchen and piling more food onto my plate, the rice becoming a mountain before I tried pushing him away, a smirk painted over his face.

“I can’t eat all of this,” I said, raising my eyebrows when Jared stuck his fork into the middle of the rice pile, transferring it to his own plate.

“Yeah, Jensen, she can’t eat all of this!”

“Give her her rice back!” Gen said, nudging Jared playfully.

“No, keep it, it’s enough to feed a village,” I said as I scooped a small amount of it into my hand and held it out to Rocco who sat patiently next to me.

“There’s more in the kitchen, Jared,” Danneel laughed.

“Will you bring the dessert out here?” Misha called to Jensen who retreated back into the kitchen.

“Go get it for yourself,” Vicki shot to him.

“I got it, I got it,” Jensen said as he came back to the dining room, balancing his own plate and the dessert in his arms, sliding them onto the table.

For the first time since the accident, things were finally starting to feel normal again. As normal as they could be, at least. I smiled at the sight in front of me: being surrounded by people who genuinely love and care about me.

Danneel nudged me, “You alright?”

I smiled and nodded, “I’m good.”

The high pitched sound of the phone ringing from the kitchen was what made Jensen set down his fork and knife. “I’ll get it,” he said, pecking Danneel’s cheek before standing from the table and into the kitchen. I looked over Jared’s plate, stabbing my fork into a piece of his chicken and stealing it away before he could take it back.

I nodded as I chewed, “This stuff is amazing, Vicki.”

Vicki smiled, motioning to Misha with her wine glass, “Misha made it, actually.”

I widened my eyes slightly, looking to Misha, “You made this?”

“Impressed?”

“Scared, actually,” I joked as Jensen came back into the room, looking slightly confused and less cheerful than he was before.

“Everything okay?” Danneel asked, but he didn’t sit down, only looking down at his phone before looking up to me. “It was the police. They need us to go into the station first thing tomorrow morning.”

The clink of forks and knives stopped. I paused mid-chew, furrowing my eyebrows, “For what?”

“He…he didn’t say, just that it was part of the case.”

“Case?” I said. “What case?”

I could tell Jensen was hesitating, trying to decide whether what he was about to tell me would put a damper on things or not. “The car accident. They’ve opened an investigation on it.”

I swallowed the chicken that now felt like concrete as it slid down my throat, “The crash was an accident. Why did they open an investigation?”

The look I got from Jensen told me he had as much of an idea as I did.

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The ride to the police station the next morning was quiet, the only sound coming from the radio. I watched the buildings pass by, slightly grateful for the thoughts racing through my head keeping my mind off of how fast the car was going and how much worse the snow seemed to be today.

The police station was stuffy on the inside. The smell of old books, dust and old coffee filled the small area. Jensen and I waited in the lobby, trying anything to keep our minds off of what could possibly be the reason for us having to be here.

“What do you think this could be about?” I asked, twisting my hands together in my lap after Jensen tried for the third time to get me talking about the news playing on the TV mounted on the wall.

“I don’t know…rob any stores lately?” Jensen joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Just the hardware store.”

“Hm,” Jensen nodded. “Good choice.”

It was then that a man came from the back behind the front counter. He was an older man with a graying beard and stern features, “Miss Y/L/N?”

Jensen and I quickly stood, following the man into a small conference room with a long table and numerous chairs.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he said. “I’m detective Eric Lotz, I’ve been assigned to your parent’s case. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“What are we doing here?” I asked, ignoring his question. “Why is there an open investigation?”

“Miss Y/L/N, I know you must have a lot of questions,” he said calmly. “But there are a few things I need to go over first.”

I didn’t like it, but I knew I wouldn’t get any of the answers I wanted if he didn’t get any from me. Detective Lotz sat down across from Jensen and I, his hands folded on the table in front of him. “Miss Y/L/N, do you remember what the weather was like the day of the accident?”

The question caught me off guard but I racked my brain nonetheless, “It was snowing, and icy. It was one of the coldest days this year.”

Detective Lotz looked as if he were about to tell me something I wouldn’t be able to handle, “Miss Y/L/N, it wasn’t snowing at all that day. It was the day before you’re thinking of. The day of the accident was the first time Vancouver had seen the sun in three days.”

“What does this have to do with the accident?” Jensen asked, sounding slightly irritated.

“What I’m trying to tell you, is that there wasn’t any ice on the highways that day, specifically near the crash.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter, “How is that possible? The truck driver he- he hit a patch of ice and the truck spun out.”

“That’s what we’d assumed,” he said. “Miss Y/L/N, does the name Brian Kemper mean anything to you?”

“No,” I said, the shock of what he’d told me still no processing.

“Think as hard as you can-”

“She said the name doesn’t mean anything to her,” Jensen said, his voice rising angrily.

“Why are you asking me this?” I asked, clenching my jaw when he hesitated. “Please. My parents are gone, and if something happened to them that I don’t know about…” I paused, not trusting myself to not break down if I kept talking.

Detective Lotz hesitated, watching me carefully before he stood, grabbing a folder from a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, sliding it onto the middle of the table. Jensen and I glanced down at it before looking back up to him in confusion.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said, making my heart pound even faster. “We don’t think the crash was an accident.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What?”

“We have a team of investigators working the case now-”

“What do you mean you don’t think it was an accident?” I asked, feeling like everything was moving in slow motion.

Detective Lotz rested his hands on the top of the folder between us, opening the front cover, “We think there may have been foul play involved.”

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[hermionecorfields]

As Alibi’s new series We Hunt Together airs tonight, Hermione Corfield confesses all on nature versus nurture, why this crime drama is really a love story and how she learnt to love reality TV.                                                        

By Laura Rutkowski, Staff Writer

Writer Gaby Hull has a knack of taking cat-and-mouse stories and turning them on their head. Last year, we described her ITV drama Cheat as a “stand-off between two cats”. With her latest series, We Hunt Together, plenty more traps are set (for mice – literally – and for people), with the “characters trying to one up each other and catch the other one out”, says star Hermione Corfield (Rust Creek).

Hermione plays “hustler” Freddy Lane, otherwise known as “premium girl” Zara Thustra, who works in the sex industry, operating hotlines and attending paid-for dates set up through so-called dating apps. As one of her dates is about to assault her, Babeni “Baba” Lenga (Dipo Ola, Baghdad Central) steps in and beats him up.

But this story is not as cut-and-dried as it seems and it certainly spits in the face of the “damsel-in-distress” trope. Freddy is out for blood and has a “set of ideals she strongly believes, whether they’re illegal or not”, whereas Baba is a former child soldier, with the “ability to kill engrained in him”. And that’s exactly what Freddy later enlists Baba to do – to kill her attacker.

Hermione says director Carl Tibbetts explained early on that he didn’t “want the scene in the alleyway to be the whole reason why she commits that killing. It’s got to be in her core to want to commit a crime like that”. Freddy is cunning, charming and deftly glib when DI Jackson Mendy (Babou Ceesay, Guerrilla) and DS Lola Franks (Eve Myles, Torchwood) come knocking to question her about the crime.

While shows including Killing Eve and The Fall operate under the detective/criminal dynamic, We Hunt Together offers “a study into four different psyches”. The two couples, one involved in a work partnership and the other embroiled in a True Romance-style relationship, are fundamentally dysfunctional. “However unconventional,” Hermione says, “it is a love story.” She adds, “Crime and murder are almost the background noise to the individual struggles.”

We Hunt Together tosses around that age-old question of nature versus nurture and delivers a fresh perspective on the dilemma. For one, Jackson doesn’t believe people are masters of their fate, he believes they can’t control their actions – leading to the cheeriest inspector you’ve probably ever seen on TV.

So when the damaged do damage, does that mean it’s not really their fault? “There’s a degree of responsibility obviously and I’m not saying Freddy’s blameless at all, but a theme throughout is that everyone’s doing their best with the brain they’ve been given and the circumstances they’ve been given,” says Hermione.

As your mind grapples with that debate, get inside Hermione’s head with one of everything from the entertainment world that she’s loving right now.

TV show: Normal People

Find it in Catch Up > Channels > BBC iPlayer

It’s beautifully shot and brilliantly acted. It was such a deep one that I came away every single time emotionally exhausted. I’ve been waiting a long time for Succession season 3!

Box Set: Call My Agent!

Find seasons 1-3 on Netflix

It’s a French TV show and it’s about the ins and outs of a talent agency in France, trying to keep it afloat and people pinching each other’s clients. There are subtitles – I do speak French, but probably not well enough to close my eyes. I’d like to think I’m getting there.

Film: Ema

It’s not the Autumn de Wilde one [Emma, starring Anya Taylor-Joy]. It’s about a couple where an adoption goes wrong. It tears their household apart and the music is composed by Nicolás Jaar, who is one of my favourite artists. I re-watched The Grand Budapest Hotel. Wes Anderson films are such a comfort for me.

App: PictureThis

My newest app, which is kind of nerdy, is an app that can identify plants. You take a photo of a plant and it immediately identifies it. I’ve been doing some gardening and my garden has sprung up from stuff I planted two years ago. I forgot what I planted, so I’m going around working out what everything is.

Video game: The Sims 4

I don’t normally [play video games], but I’ve gotten into The Sims 4 again, which is one of the biggest time-eaters I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s a lot of fun, but that’s the only game I’ve ever played. It’s classic. I feel like everyone’s regressing into their childhood selves at the moment.

Podcast: Off Menu

Ed Gamble and James Acaster basically do a dream meal [with guests]. For news, I always listen to The Daily and Beyond Today. I enjoy journalistic narratives that take you through a story. The New York Times’ Caliphate is about this woman [Rukmini Callimachi] going to where ISIS strongholds used to be and collecting documents that have been left behind in bombed buildings.

I watched Tiger King, which was amazing, and I listened to the Wondery podcast of that ages ago. I really enjoy true crime ones, like The Dropout and The Shrink Next Door.

Documentary: For Sama

It’s about the fall of Aleppo and the Syrian War. Another one is Honeyland, which is about a woman in Macedonia who’s a beekeeper in the middle of nowhere. It’s such an amazing insight into a life you’d normally never see.

Guilty pleasure: Reality TV shows

Reality TV shows are definitely my guilty pleasure, because I do always feel significantly guilty when I’m watching them – for ages I’ve fought it. Film and TV is my job, so I guess there’s an element of it not being linked to my work and I can switch off.

I was in the States for a bit and I watched The Bachelor while I was there, which I’d never seen before. I do watch Love Island. It’s just people being people. It’s so interesting to see how people react in those scenarios. It’s like Big Brother in seven different forms.

When is Alibi’s We Hunt Together on TV?

We Hunt Together airs on Alibi/HD (CH 126/212) on Wednesdays at 10pm, with the first episode screening on 27 May. It is also available for 30 days in Catch Up > Channels > Alibi.

(Source/Font) HERE