#this quickly caused all out chatter war with each side calling for the others death

[miracleghast]

does somebody know what each streamer in pirates smp calls their chat cause for now I have

Seagulls: Acho's Chat, Tubbo's Chat

Sea Salt: Owen's Chat

Rats: Martyn's, Olives, and Eloise's Chat (her mods are cats which is cute!)

Magpies: Scott's Chat (Mods are Crows ?)

Parrots: Kyle's Chat

Ghost Parrots: Sausage's Chat

Adoring Fans: Krow's Chat

The Voices: Michela's Chat, Cleo's Chat

The Waves: Ros's Chat

Crabs: Oli's Chat

I can only watch so many perspectives, so please tell me about the ones I've missed or need to add, or if I've gotten any wrong!

I know this information is pretty trivial but I'd be fun to learn (especially after the war that happened after scott raided acho)

[ziracona]

It’s my Birthday today and I wanted to start it off with updating a fic I’m enjoying writing. Hope you enjoy the read. : )

[Fate Grand Order AU fic] The Kid (pt: 1, ... 8, 9, 10, 11, ?)

----

“Okay so, sorry, I’m still doing a little catch-up,” mutters Robin as we reach another corner and pause. Ahead, Emiya holds up a hand for us to halt and we do.

“Robin, do you have the mana for May King?” I hear Emiya’s voice in my head. Which, I appreciate being looped in on. Kind of thought he was going to be more of a pain to work with just because he could be, but he’s surprisingly practical and easy to work with for the uncooperative introduction we have. He seems real familiar with Robin’s abilities; gotta wonder where and when exactly they did meet—'specially since Robin barely seems to remember him at all.

Unlike me, poor Ritsuka looks like the frequent mental chatter is still something she’s trying to get used to; zones out a little every time someone communicates this way. I get it—took me a while to not be weirded out myself my first time summoned, and that was with the ability coming naturally, since I was a spirit.

“Hold that thought,” whispers Robin to me, then mentally to us all, “Yeah, a few times if it’s short. This important?”

“It’s not a difficult hall,” replies Emiya mentally, “But there’s too many people interacting with their security measures, and we haven’t gotten enough of us free yet. If we can’t disarm the magecraft security system and their personnel at once, someone might stay up just long enough to hit an alarm, and I’d prefer we free as many of us as possible before they figure out what we’re up to, since-�� He almost hesitates, glancing at Ritsuka for a split second, but he doesn’t. “-they might just start to kill them.”

Makes sense. I know it. They have catalysts to get us all back, and we have no idea where those are. I hate it, but he’s right—they’d definitely do it. Pretty sure I see Ritsuka connecting the same dots.

“Roger. I’ll move ahead into position,” says Robin mentally, cracking his neck as he moves up, “Give me about six seconds to find a good vantage point, then I’ll go as soon as I sense mana from you going after the security system.”

“Can we help?” asks Ritsuka worriedly in my head.

“If something goes wrong,” replies Robin telepathically, “Hopefully we won’t need it.” He stands then. “Sorry Mast—Ritsuka. I’m going to take a little bit out of you with this, but it’s only a skill, utilized this way, so it shouldn’t be too bad.” At my side, Robin glances down and gives a nod, then vanishes—not to spirit form, just flat out invisible. God it’s so cool! It always has been. Wish I could vanish like that; be useful as hell when dodging pursuers or trying to get an edge! Wish it was a thing he could teach me, but it don’t work like that—it’s a skill earned in life, and it’s all the thief of the forest’s.

Ahead, Ritsuka’s eyes widen as she watches him vanish, but she follows where I think he might be—she’s connected more than we are to each other, so she probably has a better idea than I do. Honest, it’s weird to have a guess where he is at all; I...don’t think I’ve ever been co-servant to someone before. It’s different, but, I like it. I like having a team. I mean, I’ve had allies before, but this ain’t the same. I can sense Robin a little myself like this, but I gotta wonder just how different it feels to be a master.

Emiya places his hand against the wall and whispers somethin’, and I feel a pulse of mana from him and hear the sudden ‘flishk’ of drawn bow strings releasing and movement, plus one choked, barely audible cry, then several quiet thuds all in rapid succession.

“Clear,” comes Robin’s voice in our heads.

Emiya smiles and steps out, Ritsuka and me behind him, and Robin materializes ahead of us between five guards sprawled unconscious along the ground. Kinda amazed how well we’re doing so far—damn it I’m gonna jinx us, but still! Non-lethal is way harder, and we’re still doing ok.

Looking amazed by the scene, Ritsuka rushes up to Robin. “Wow, that was incredible!” she whispers excitedly, “How do you do that?  —How did you know he could do that?” she adds, turning big eyed to Emiya.

Robin and Emiya share a glance, slightly awkward. Huh, don’t seem like Emiya knows him too well, from the way he’s lookin’ at him; which makes it weirder he knows so much about his skills. Maybe…they fought? They don’t seem hostile to each other at all, but somethin’ like a Holy Grail War, where mages force you to kill each other, God knows I’ve fought my share of people I had no desire to kill and who really had no desire to kill me either. I could see it bein’ somethin’ like that. …Maybe?

“It’s uh, an inherited custom from the Celts,” says Robin, “I picked up some tricks, when I was on the run so much, and I guess it was pretty good, because as a servant, it lets me do that.”

Ritsuka looks at Emiya for his half of an answer.

“...We’ve met,” offers Emiya vaguely.

“Oh,” says Ritsuka in surprise, “So. You and Billy and Robin-?”

“—No, we never met,” I interject, gesturing between me and Emiya.

“Okay, so, different times?” checks Ritsuka, “When-”

“-I don’t mean to be rude,” says Emiya gently, “But we don’t really have time to discuss this.” He gestures to the waiting door and Ritsuka flushes.

“R-right—I’m sorry—it’s just interesting how you all meet and I want to know more—“

“-Hey, don’t worry kid,” says Robin, clapping her on the back, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know later. To answer your question,” he adds casually, moving to the door and drawing back a leg to kick, “I’m not sure about him, but I don’t remember.” With one solid slam from his foot, Robin snaps through the remaining physical lock on the door so it slides open, and in the one second before I’m distracted by what’s inside, I notice Emiya raise an eyebrow. Huh. So you do remember.

I get a glimpse into the room ahead then, and every thought goes out of my head. Except ‘The...hell?’

It’s different. It’s so different. I know it’s only been me and Robin so far, but it’s not the death bed with a withered corpse I expected at all. The spirit in this room is very much alive, and it is furious.

The cell is circular, with more seals carved into and drawn on the floor and walls and ceiling than I can process, and the spirit is dead center of them all, with heavy, bulky, painful looking restraints locked around his feet and forearms, another thick band around his waist and more on his thighs, his neck, his upper arms, each attached to a different heavy chain drawn taut, tugging in opposite directions of each other and making it as close as it can to impossible for him to move at all. He’s got a blindfold on too, also metal and painful looking, and a gag, but he’s not kneeling under the weight of it all like I was, or immobile and weak like Robin; he’s thrashing madly with the tiny, limited movement he has. His head snaps in our direction when we enter, and I hear his muffled, angry shouts even from here. He’s choking himself and ripping at the skin on his arms and legs and neck, but still, he’s fighting—and wildly. In fact, I’m pretty sure the seals around the room are the only thing keeping him captive at all.

It hurts to watch, seeing one of us rip blindly at his restraints, trying to break free like a dog being forced into in a fighting ring. But, I’m also impressed. Astounded. He doesn’t seem scared at all, just angry, and there’s something reassuring about it. ‘Specially since he’s short too.

“Huh,” says Emiya, the same look on his face I figure is on mine, and is definitely on Ritsuka. She snaps out of it first though, and starts to rush toward the blinded spirit, then hesitates because we’ve all balked too.

“...Can’t one of you break the locks? Like for Robin?” asks Ritsuka worriedly, half-turning to face us.

“Probably, but we don’t know what happens if we step in the circle,” explains Emiya, indicating the etchings above, below, and all around us.

“Yeah, I don’t speak mage runes, but I’m pretty sure that says some version of ‘if you’re a heroic spirit, get fucked,‘ ’cause I can feel that from here. —I got you though,” I add quickly, “move a little left and I’ll shoot one from here.” Thank God for long ranged skills! Both of the others seem chagrined I’m the first to think of this; can’t decide if I should be proud, or insulted by that.

Ritsuka hops to the side, and I aim, but I hesitate again with my gun drawn. The man in front of me is blinded and I don’t think he can hear well, because he ain’t reacted to anything we’ve said—only our presence—and he’s flipped out. If I free him, he might lash out, and Ritsuka is closer than we are. I’d rush in, of course, but I have no idea if stepping in that circle would paralyze me.

“Hey Boss—Partner?” I correct, lowering my gun just a little, “I don’t think he can hear well with that thing on his head. He’s panicked and angry—might be a bad idea to cut him loose without explaining who we are. Even if he don’t attack us, he’s probably gonna make a lot of noise, and we don’t need that.”

“Oh,” says Ritsuka, looking from him to me. Ahead, the spirit lunges in our direction with a fury I understand and makes me pretty sure I’m right that he has no idea who we are.

“Think you can calm him down? I could shout from here, but we don’t wanna he heard, and you probably got a better shot anyway. Not sure how much he can hear, but he’s gotta be able to hear a little, since he seems to know where we are without his eyes. Try talking to him—let him know we’re here to help ‘fore I break him free?” I suggest.

“Uhm,” she says, looking from him to me, “I’ll try.”

I feel bad immediately, seeing the moment of fear in her before she moves forward, so I take another step, close as I can get without hitting the circle, and call after her, “Don’t worry! Promise; he makes a move to hurt you, I’ll stop him before he even gets close; easy shot from here, ‘n I’m a crack shot—I won’t miss. ‘N don’t worry—won’t hurt him too much, either,” I add with a wink.

She glances back and smiles at me, worry mostly evaporated, and I grin back.

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, and then she turns to the bound figure up ahead.

He hears her coming, and there’s a muffled scream of rage from him as he tears at the chains holding him back. We’re not any of us an easy thing to contain, and I can sense how much he knows it, how furious and how ready to make whoever did this pay.

Beside me, I sense movement and out of the corner of my eyes, and I make out Robin and Emiya both moving, Emiya first, materializing a bow and readying a shot like I am, Robin doing the same with an arrow on his crossbow, but pivoting to keep an eye behind us, on the hall. Bases covered.

Carefully, Ritsuka takes another step, edging closer. About fifteen feet from him now in the big room. He definitely knows where she is—even blindfolded, his head moves with her and he thrashes in her direction as threateningly as he can like he is. The restraints on his legs and arms are bulky, so I can’t see his hands or feet, but the places they end on his forearms and calves are bleeding from his attempts to rip free.

“I-it’s okay,” says Ritsuka, taking another careful step over one of the taut chains, and putting her hands up calming and nonthreateningly as she proceeds moving closer. He can’t see her, but of course she still is. “It’s alright. We a-”

The spirit uses his neck to rip the chain around it back with all his might, and I realize almost too late it’s the one she’s just now carefully stepping over.

I can’t think of a way to stop it long-distance, so I bolt. The second my foot goes over the first seal though, I feel an intense amount of mana hit me, and I knew it was coming, but it’s SO much worse than I expect, and I can’t move. It’s so much. It’s agonizing, like being hit with a bolt of lightning! The hell kind of seal-! Fuck! I—can move, damn it! I will!

I can! I can. I just... It takes immense effort, but I feel my muscles starting to move. I’m gonna be way too late—I should— 

Arm throbbing with pain, I drag my hand up to level a shot as the chain snaps into her leg and she yelps and pivots forward. If he has a real plan and some way to grab her, least I can shoot him first, but something closes around the back of my vest and I’m flung backwards with force onto the safe ground outside.

“Idiot!” calls Emiya irritated over his shoulder, “You don’t have the magic resistance of an Archer! Stay out there!”

He’s...right, but. Even Robin and he shouldn’t...?

How is he doing that?

It’s been less than two seconds and he’s already there. He barely even lost steam throwing me. I-I am watching him shoot to her side with such speed I could almost swear he teleported, through a bounded field. He catches Ritsuka like it’s nothing while she’s still in the air, and rights her as she yelps in surprise, then jumps and flings himself back out of range of the circle, landing just outside it far on the right side with a little wince and a grimace. I gape at him from on the ground. It did hurt then, doing that. The field—It did hit him. He just...got through? The hell kind of magic resistance you got? I know Archer’s a knight class and that gets you some, but...

This is something else. I don’t know what. I-I didn’t think any of us could move in there, once I felt it; that can’t just be magic resistance can it? But it’s something. I want to ask, but I know it’s not the time. He glances at me though, after making sure Ritsuka is fine and giving her a nod when she checks over his should to see if everything is okay and she should keep going, and I realize to my surprise I’m pretty sure he’s doing the same with me—checking in to see I’m okay. I manage a nod as well.

“You okay?” asks Robin from behind me.

“Yeah,” I answer. My gun’s been leveled the whole time, but I’m only now remembering to get to my feet again, and do, eyes on the chained spirit the whole time, “Those things always sting, but it ain’t as bad as some other recent memories.”

I kind of expect Robin to say something back, but he doesn’t, so I turn 100% of my attention to the people in the middle of the room.

“It’s okay!” tries Ritsuka again, facing the bound spirit but hesitating to move forward out there now, “Please stop fighting us! I’m not an enemy; we’re trying to help you, I swear!”

I don’t feel a change in the atmosphere at all—the spirit is still radiating anger—but he stops tearing at his bindings for a moment when she speaks and just stands there breathing hard, blindfolded eyes turned towards her and blood running down his neck and limbs.

“Thank you,” says Ritsuka, smiling and holding up a hand in thanks with the word even though he can’t see it, before moving forward again, “If you just listen, I-I can explain—I promise, we’re not here to hurt you. We aren’t with the people who locked you up. We broke in here to try and help. Everyone but me in here is another heroic spirit, and we’re all trying to help you—help all the spirits trapped in here!”

The man stays still and tilts his head slowly, considering her. Mistrustful, I think, like I was. But he’s hopeful, or desperate, too—not sure why they’d send her to lie, which is enough to make you hope.

“I-I’m gonna get a little closer now, okay?” says Ritsuka, edging towards him again, “And see if I can get any of those chains off you. The others can probably do it if I can’t, but they’re all spirits so they’re having a hard time getting past the uh—the seals.”

He tilts his head back upright and then the other way, and tracks her movement by sound as she gets closer. The guy is still breathing heavy and clearly on edge, but he lets her get close this time. 

When she reaches him, Ritsuka holds her hand up. I don’t think he’s going to lash out, but I don’t trust like that—‘specially knowing the pressure he’s under firsthand—and so I keep my gun trained on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay? To see if I can figure out how this is fastened. P-Please don’t hit me.”

She stutters nervously on that last line, and I see just a little of the tension in the man’s shoulders loosen. Interesting. I guess that means whoever he is, he ain’t the most hardened sort, if he’s feelin’ empathy for a stranger while trapped like that.

Ritsuka moves a little to the side for a better look and touches the back of the shackle blinding him, and he flinches and pulls away a half-inch on impulse, breathing quickening for a second, then goes still again. This must be agonizing for him.

“Really is okay!” I call out in a hushed voice, even though like that he probably can’t hear me. I can’t risk drawing security, but-

Emiya side-eyes me for a second. I can’t tell if the look is annoyed or amused. Guess it don’t matter.

“Okay—it’s pretty simple. Just a little bolt again,” says Ritsuka in relief. I hear a metallic ‘click’ and then she’s pulling the metal blindfold off him, and there’s a fairly young man—maybe early 30s at a guess—looking back at her then. He’s not very bulky, and taller than me, but not tall, kinda long and shaggy green hair, and a face I don’t recognize at all with red marks all over it where the metal bit in, a few little trickles of blood runnin’ down his forehead and cheekbones from it. The most notable thing though is the expression on his face. He registers Ritsuka’s form as she lowers the blindfold and his eyes go wide. The man blinks at her a few times, then quickly looks up, clocks me and Robin and Emiya, seems relieved, and looks back questioningly at Ritsuka. Almost all of his readiness to lash out has vanished in an instant.

“Hi,” says Ritsuka, smiling at him, “I’m Ritsuka Fujimaru. Nice to meet you. Thank you for not hitting me.”

The man blinks again, and gives her a little nod. I see more of his tension ease. 

“I’m really sorry this happened to you. We’re here to help—those two were stuck here too.” She pauses to point to me and Robin, and I give him a little hat tip, Robin a two-fingered wave in acknowledgement.

Our Master—I mean partner—friend? —Ritsuka, she looks down at some of the other oddly bulky shackles, and then back up at the now much more calmly waiting man. I’m trying to guess who he could be. We had letter, earring, kunai, and a pot, according to her, ‘long with my and Robin’s catalysts. He’s definitely not Asian—looks maybe...middle eastern, Semitic? Not sure though. Either way, I’m willing to bet he’s not the kunai, so that leaves broken pot, earring, and letter. None of which help much. I don’t have a good guess, and that’s only if they haven’t gotten more since Ritsuka saw catalysts anyway, but, whoever he is, he seems level-headed and decent at least, so I’m takin’ this all so far as a good sign.

“The ones on your arms and legs have real locks, so I’m not sure I can get them—I’ll have to have one of the guys shoot them off from outside the circle,” says Ritsuka, looking sorry. 

I look at Robin and Emiya, because what I got’s loud; the two of them exchange looks, and Emiya sighs and turns to study the chains for a second, then summons a long, thin…arrow? and draws.

“But let me get the gag first—I think I can get that too,” says Ritsuka smiling at the man as she reaches up to do it. Much less on his guard now, he stoops for her to make it easier to reach, still watching her carefully though. Or, actually, interested more than careful, maybe, at second glance. Huh. Very level-headed man.

The gag makes a snap sound, and Ritsuka pulls it off. Relieved, the man opens his mouth and kind of rolls his jaw, trying to get the taste of it out, then straightens back up and smiles at Ritsuka. “Well thank you very much, for that and the rescue.”

Unbelievably calm. But I don’t think he’s being fake—he’s just got some kinda personality.

“Where did you come from, Miss...Fujimaru, yes?” he asks, and she nods, “How did someone as young as you end up-” he tries to gesture, immediately hits already taut chain, and winces, “-here?”

“Wrong, or, right, depending on how you look at it, place at the right time,” answers Ritsuka.

He’s definitely curious, but he just gives a nod of acknowledgement.

“Oh—before you do that,” she says to Emiya, then turns back to the man, “Uhm, you’re probably connected to the building somehow, and if we break those, you’ll run out of mana. Or. You aren’t actually that hurt,” she adds like she’s only just now really thinking about it, “But you’ll still vanish pretty fast if we sever your connection to mana, won’t you?”

“Yes and no,” says the man, clearly surprised by how much she has figured out, “You’re right they somehow altered the contracts to let the technology itself provide us with mana, and we can break the contracts physically, like you would killing a Master, by breaking the machine.”

“Why?” she asks, lost.

“They want to sell us. This makes us easily transportable, and it’s not like a mage could support one of us alone outside a ritual easily anyway,” says the man, a bit of that earlier rage and spite sinking back into his tone. He refocuses on Ritsuka and smiles again. “But I’m an Archer, so I can survive for a little bit on my own—week or two—without an anchor, since I’m not in terrible shape.”

“Another fucking Archer?” asks Robin without thinking, almost affronted disbelief in his voice and his face when I turn to look and see him gaping.

Wait.

“Oh shit, he’s right! Did they only take Archers? Why??” I ask.

“That is almost upsetting somehow,” says Emiya thoughtfully, “They didn’t summon me, but two and a half out of six of you so far is still super weird.”

“You’d think we’d be less good picks, since we can survive so long on our own. They should be grabin’ Casters or somethin’,” I agree in confusion.

“Wait, all three of you are Archers?” asks the man.

“I’m a gunner,” I say like ‘kind of’ while Robin says “Yeah,” with irritation and Emiya says, “I guess.”

“That is weird,” says the man to Ritsuka, “but I don’t think we have time to discuss it. Their security might not be perfect, but they aren’t idiots.”

She nods. “Uhm, okay. Well, in that case, I guess you don’t need to contract right now to be okay, but if you’d like to—to help you fight better or without worrying about disappearing, you can contract with me—if you want.”

His expression is one of a man hearing something that made complete sense until suddenly it made absolutely none at all. “...C. ...You? But.” He looks over at the rest of us, then back at her, “are none of the others...? -You know, outside a ritual, even a strong mage will be exhausted by that?”

“Oh, I know,” says Ritsuka quickly, nodding, “I’m not good at magic yet, and can’t do almost any spells, but my circuits are weird and apparently I have such a massive pool of mana I can support multiple heroic spirits on my own without a grail or anything!”

He stares at her like that straight up can’t compute. Blinks slowly. Looks at us.

“Yeah,” I say. She looks so proud of herself. It makes me happy! And weirdly proud too.

“It’s true,” agrees Robin, “Got no idea how many she can carry, but we’re three so far, and she hasn’t slowed down a bit.”

“Wow,” says the man, looking back at her with big eyes, “That’s quite a skill.” He considers for a moment and then smiles to himself. “Todah,” he says quietly, almost fondly, and then, “What a blessing; God never ceases to surprise. I will happily take you up on your offer Ba’al, I accept.” He gives a little, awkward and slightly painful looking bow as best he can still bound. “My true name is David, and I am an Archer. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh,” says Ritsuka, surprised and flattered. She flushes and holds out a hand, then realizes he can’t take one the way it is. He smiles at her and bows his head forward instead, resting it against her outstretched fingers. “Uhm.” She takes a second to find her footing. “My soul becomes your will, your spirit becomes my destiny. If you hear me and agree, accept me and join, Archer.”

It’s softer than I’ve heard her say it before. Funny how many ways I’ve heard it now. Desperate, to me, afraid of losing me. Intense and pleading, to Emiya, begging for help. Kind and intent and sincere to Robin. And now here, soft and happy. I got no idea why that’s all so significant to me, but it is. I feel like I’m gonna remember it. I hope I will.

…I…

….Haven’t thought about that for a while, but now that the thought’s there, my gut sinks and my heart with it.

I might not. …So often, the Throne won’t let us remember anything from a summon once we die and get dragged back to it. God only knows how many Ritsukas I didn’t want to forget as bad as I don’t wanna forget this now, and don’t even get to know to be sad I can’t remember.

I hate that thought. ...

In the center of the room, a light flashes from Ritsuka’s hand at the point of connection, and I can feel a faint attachment of my own to David now. Try to focus on that instead. On how odd it feels to be under the same master as someone else, but not bad—just so different, in a way it’s hard to really get over.

David, he said? Right—which David? WAIT.

“David?” I ask way too fast, interrupting this beautiful moment without thinking, my mind completely blank outside of one sudden fear, “Wait, which David who’s an Archer—you’re not-?”

He looks over surprised and then gives me a kind of sheepish smile. “King David of Israel. Son of Jesse and Nitzevet, father of Solomon, my successor.”

Oh my God. Oh God; fuck—I’m so glad I didn’t shoot him.

Emiya is taking this in stride, but Robin looks at least a little something, and Ritsuka’s eyes have gone huge. “You’re a king? Wait. You’re from. -” She’s floundering, so I step in to save her.

“-King David? I—Hi, Billy the Kid; I’m so honored to meet you! I never met a Biblical-uhh-T-Torah-ical,” shit now I’m floundering worse god damn it; I was trying I—I just never seen someone from the...th-the actual religion that—I practice, before—I.

Totally nonplussed, King David shakes his head dismissively with a smile. “I know what you mean; pleased to meet you all. Please though, just call me David. My days as a King are long past, and on the Throne, I have been called to serve others again. I was a shepherd before I was a king, and I have always been the both. Think of me as just another companion, because right now, it’s who I am.”

“Whoa,” says Ritsuka, still a little pale and in awe, “Th-thank you. Okay, David. I-It’s great to meet you too. —I’m so sorry! What am I doing?! -Emiya, can you?” She glances over and sees his bow drawn, nods, and hops out of his way. 

King David glances at Emiya, then holds perfectly still, and the archer draws a quick series of shots that tear through the restraints nearly simultaneously in a little shower of sparks and screeching metal. Some kinda style; don’t think I’ve ever seen someone shoot what was clearly swords just now off a bow string before. Huh. Who are you?

The chains fall away, and King David raises his arms and looks at his hands, flexes them, and takes in the bruising and lacerations on his body from trying to get free.

“I’ll try to heal you,” offers Ritsuka, stepping up to him. He glances over at her. “I’m still learning, so I’m not sure I can fix it all, but I’m sure I can help!”

He smiles and gives a nod, stoops a little and offers her his arms. She takes them in her hands, scrunches her face up and shuts her eyes, and I sense a quick, small pulse of mana. It’s amazing how much she picked up in one night. I’m kinda in awe, watchin’ the worst bruises fade, and the cuts that are still bleeding close up and start to heal. It ain’t perfect, like me, like Robin, but it’s a hell of a lot, and King David looks pleased and maybe a little impressed himself.

“Thank you, Ba’al,” says King David, “I’m good to go now.”

Ritsuka opens her eyes and beams at him. She’s sweating a little again from the effort, but it ain’t bad. She’s holdin’ up like a champ so far. “Great!” she says, “Let’s get moving, then!” She takes a step and spins right back around back to face King David. “—Oh. Can you walk out okay? Do I need to carry you?”

Kind David looks incredibly tickled by that offer, but he shakes his head. “I’ve got extremely good magic resistance, even for an Archer—I’d love to get out of this seal now though—it’s quite agonizing.” Without extra comment, he slides his hands under her armpits and lifts her up, then speed single-hops right out of the seal, like Emiya did, and sets her down gently. 

“Oh—uh—thanks,” says Ritsuka, surprised but not bothered, “okay—sorry for taking so long,” she adds to us three, “Let’s get to the next one!”

Emiya gives a nod and moves to take point again, motioning us after.

“Question,” says Robin quietly as we slide out into the hall, watching King David’s surprised and little else expression as he takes in the unconscious guards, “I’m uh, really glad for you that you weren’t on death’s door like us—don’t get me wrong—but I thought that was their whole thing. Why were you just kind of...imprisoned? It’s a weird break of form. Might be significant.”

“Oh, that,” says David, “it is a break of form, but it’s not very significant, except I guess as proof they’re not exactly the most seasoned of field mages, no matter how much money, staff, and technical skill they have. They didn’t know which King they were going to get, summoning me. Just the general power of the catalyst���guess they got it not very legally, even for a catalyst. And unfortunately for them, I’m not a great candidate for death-battery-whatever they’re doing, because I died peacefully in my sleep as an old man.”

“The dream,” I say just loud enough for only Robin next to me to hear, and he shoots me a barely restrained smile.

“So then,” continues Robin, “Why keep you? Dangerous to leave one of us alive and motivated to rip shit apart.”

“Mmm,” agrees King David with a nod, “But they weren’t going to keep me. They were going to sell me, contract and all, to the highest bidder. Contacted a lot of mage groups.”

Ritsuka looks so horrified hearing that. It’s sweet, and a little sad, because Robin and I aren’t even surprised by it. It’s not really even odd; it makes sense. That’s how mages act, and that’s how we get treated.

“Any idea who or what for?” asks Robin.

“Hey,” comes Emiya’s voice in our heads, “Uh ahead. Sensing a containment field like the rest, but no guards at all this time.”

“That’s...weird,” says Ritsuka back mentally. She keeps closing her eyes to talk in her head when she starts, and it’s endearingly funny to watch. “I mean...I don’t want to jinx us, but hasn’t this all been...too easy? When I got Billy out, I had a huge explosion and the element of surprise, and no tripped alarms and a working pass, and I still barely got out. Here they’re already on high alert, and we’ve freed three heroic spirits now, and they’re not guarding the rest or checking their rooms?”

Huh. I mean, I’m not as familiar as she is with building security, but she’s right that they’ve been...weirdly placed.

“Yes,” agrees Emiya, tone firm, “it is strange. There are a lot of armed people here, and security, but even with all the luck in the world, it’s almost unbelievable they haven’t pinpointed us yet, and we haven’t hit more security. It’s like...”

“...A trap?” I ask nervously.

“...No,” says Emiya out loud as we all reach a corner and pause together, “It’s like someone’s helping us.”

“What?” says Ritsuka, taken aback.

“There’s too many people weirdly scattered for it to feel like a trap,” says Emiya, “It’s more like watching moves on a shogi board where someone is trying very hard to make sure they lose. The pieces are all here, they just keep...being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or, sure not being in the right one anyway.”

“Nobody helped you before, right?” I ask.

Ritsuka shakes her head.

Considering, King David tilts his head and lets out low ‘hmmmm,’ then says, “…There are people here right now, for me.”

“Hm?” says Robin.

“Other mage groups—their representatives. Rivals, some of them. To bid. It’s possible, not sure, but, someone might be grabbing this opportunity for a little self-serving corporate espionage.”

“God willing,” says Robin, cracking his neck again, “Love it if some selfish spineless little prick picked now to do something that helps us. Enemy of my enemy, and all.”

“That seems plausible, but since we can’t be sure, I know there’s no point saying ‘stay alert’ when we all already are, but, be ready for something to go wrong. It might,” says Emiya, and then he grimaces like ‘maybe shouldn’t have said that,’ looks at Ritsuka, and says, “it also might not. Just pays to prepare.”

She nods, and we all turn to face the hall. Emiya places his hand on the wall again and I feel a faint pulse of mana from him.

“Yup, definitely a servant up ahead. One floor up, almost directly above us. ‘Bout one room further,” says Emiya, pointing, “We can take the elevator shaft—probably less likely to draw attention than destroying the floor, and if we do have someone helping us with some corporate espionage or just a really incompetent new security staff, let’s not make it hard on them to keep going.”

[forever-rogue]

Ezra x Reader: the heating system goes out, and it's freezing.

It is freezing. Absolutely freezing. You’re positive that you’ve never felt anything so boning chilling and cold before. You weren’t even sure what planet you were on, to be quite frank, you’d left all that up to Ezra’s discretion. You thought about a cracking a joke and comparing this planet to the one called Hoth from Star Wars, which were old films you’d never seen but had only heard of. But Ezra had been quiet...stoic. It was uncharacteristic of him, and you weren’t sure if it was something you’d done wrong, or he was just deeply invested in the book in his lap.

You pulled the thin blanket you had closer to your frame and tried to stop the chattering of your teeth. You were wearing several layers already, including one of his thick, woolen sweaters and socks but you didn’t manage to find reprieve from the chill. You cursed your ship; it was slowly breaking down and you surely had to replace it soon. Or at least get the heating fixed. Ezra had tinkered around with the system but had been unsuccessful in getting it fixed. He had been irritated with himself, but you reassured him that it wasn’t his fault.

Ezra was...an interesting man. He was loud, boisterous, and well spoken, but there was another part of him that others didn’t get to see. But you did. You weren’t sure exactly how or when you’d earned that privilege, but somehow you had. For as much as he was, he was also calm, quiet, and thoughtful, often retreating into himself and seeking reassurance. He was a good man, although he often didn’t believe. You tried to show him, and it was enough to cause him to think that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all, that maybe he was good. Maybe he wasn’t as pure and gentle as you were, his most treasured friend and companion, but he wasn’t the horrible, black-hearted man that he made himself out to be.

You weren’t sure what to call your relationship with him...it was...friendly, definitely more than friendly, but...something. It had turned from a stiff partnership that had came to fruition out of necessity to a friendship that included jokes at each other’s expenses to....this. It was a lot of wanton glances, lingering touches, soft words whispered just so the other could hear it but pretend they didn’t, to you stealing his clothes, to the accidental brush of lips when you’d fumble around in the dark. But you’d never been bold or brash enough to ask about him about anything, or to take it further. What if you’d concocted all of this in your mind, and made it to be much more than what it was? What if -

“You are thinking much too loudly, pretty little bird,” his voice caused your head to snap in his direction. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his book, but a soft, lazy smile was on his features. You pulled the blanket up to your chin as you narrowed your eyes at him, wondering how he always managed to know, to read you, “you can glare at me all you want with those pretty eyes, but it will not deter from the fact that you are clearly avoiding what is going on.”

“There is nothing going on, Ez,” you insisted, silently rolling your eyes at him, “I’m just trying not to freeze to death. I dunno know how you can stand it.”

“I am quite content right here, just as I am, “ he gestured to his blanket covered body, looking over at you with his big, brown eyes inquisitive as ever. You tried not to let your gaze linger too long on his large thighs, the same thighs you’d spent many hours fantasizing about, or how small the book he was reading looked in those large hands. You wondered exactly how skilled those large hands were - but no. You couldn’t let your thoughts get too far away from you, “I am larger than you, and it undoubtedly aids in keeping me warmer. You have absolutely paled, pretty bird.”

“That’s because I am trying not die,” you insisted, making a dramatic show of chattering your teeth to let him know you were freezing, “pardon me if I don’t look the best right now.”

“You are just as stunning as ever,” he insisted, marking his page by turning the corner down slightly and snapping the book shut. The sound lingered in the air for a few moments before he set it down and turned to face you. Had he always been this handsome, or were you just completely sold on him? He lifted the blanket up and gestured for you to come over, “for surely the moons and the suns are all beautiful, even if they present a vastly different picture. You are as lovely now as you are on the warmest, finest day.”

“Ez, how do you still manage to be so eloquent while I’m here barely to string two sentences together?” you sighed and pulled the blanket up higher, unsure if you should go over to him, unsure if you trusted yourself enough. You didn’t like to relinquish control, and you weren’t sure if you able to hold onto it if you went over and joined him.

“I wish I had an explanation for you,” he admitted, as he let out a small breathy laugh, “now come over here before you become a solid ice block and I have to thaw you out.”

“Are you...” you started trailed off, letting the question linger in the frigid air. You both knew what you meant, you both knew where this could lead to. There was only so much build before something had to break. You were on the precipice of that break, each word, each calculated movement bringing you closer. Closer to relinquishing control and giving into your desires, the kind you didn’t have to think about, the kind that just took over.

“Come on, little bird,” he jerked his head for you to come over and slowly, ever so slowly, you slid out of your own small cot and let your feet hit the ground with a dull thud. Grabbing the blanket, you padded silently over to him, standing over him as you looked between those sweet brown eyes and the space he had made for you.

Clambering in, you laid down next to him, your body instinctively curling into his side as you put your head on his warm chest. He quickly pulled the blankets around the two of you and wrapped an around your back so in an attempt to help warm you up. It quickly worked; he was like some kind of a furnace and his body heat radiated onto you, warming up to your core within a few minutes.

But then...before you knew it, something inside you just snapped. And Ezra must have felt it too. The hundreds upon thousands of unspoken words that hung between you were dissolved as you were scrambled to sit up and you effortlessly straddled his waist, planting yourself firmly, and resolutely in his lap. Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, his skin tantalizingly golden and warm. You faced him, your chest heaving with a mixture of exertion and nervous as you studied his face.

His large hands were firmly on your waist, his fingers finding their way under the multiple layers and grazing across your now burning skin. His honeyed gaze never fell from yours, and your brought your face closer and closer and closer until just the tip of your nose was gently brushing against his. A low sound came from his throat as his hands slid to your backside and gave your soft flesh a firm squeeze.

“Ezra,” his name rolled off your lips with ease, a sound of prayer and salvation as he closed the almost nonexistent distance and crashed his lips onto yours. It was gentle at first, slow, delicate, like he was testing to waters to make sure this was okay with you. To make sure such a pure thing could even stand to be kissed by a man like him. He quickly received his answer as you wrapped your arms around his neck and rutted your hips forward ever so slightly so that you could get as close as possible. He tasted sweet, sweeter than you had thought possible, and you never wanted to forget the feel of his hungry mouth on yours. It was...a mess, a tangle of teeth and tongue as you tried to figure everything out, and not get too ahead of yourselves before you fully realized what you were doing.

“I’m sure this must be some sort of fever dream,” his voice was rough and low against your ear as he worked his hands up your sides, almost as if he was wanted to make sure you were real flesh and blood in his arms, “surely I cannot be deserving of this moment, of holding such a gentle, sweet thing.”

“Ezra,” you carded a hand through his dark locks, gently scratching your nails against his scalp as he craned into your touch, “you deserve this. This is real, very real.”

“Pretty little bird,” he nuzzled his strong nose against yours as he let his hands roam your torso, touching every inch, every curve of your soft skin, “you have no clue as to the effects you have on me. Every day with you has been better than the last, and I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I sure am thankful for whatever blessing has been bestowed upon me.”

“Ezra,” you drawled out your name as you shifted slightly, feeling every effect you had on him, very clearly, “you are a good man. Despite what you think. You have saved me in more ways than you know.”

“How can I be when I’ve convinced you that this is what you want?” he rested his forehead against yours as he let out a long breath, “you just wanted warmth and I’ve fully taken advantage of the situation, welcoming you into my bed and lap like a wanton man that has never seen a woman. Although it is true, I have never seen someone of your beauty and grace before.”

“Ez,” you put your hand under his chin and tilted his face up ever so slightly, “I want this. I do.”

“You are speaking from the chill that has set in your bones-”

“No,” you insisted firmly, putting your hands on either side of his face, tracing your fingers over the light stubble that littered his cheeks, “you have done nothing wrong. I know what I’m doing, what I’m saying - and I want you. I want this.”

“Oh my sweet little bird,” it was a blissful sigh, “I must be the luckiest man that has ever lived, to be deserving of such affection from you.”

“Ezra,” you let your lips slowly brush against his, “for once in your life, please stop talking. I love hearing that voice, but right now, I need you to touch me.”

He sat up further and pulled you so tightly against him, that you were sure his strong arms would crush you. But his touch was saccharine and his kisses sweet than the finest honey as your name rolled off his tongue with such passion and reverence that you knew he had wanted this as much as you did. His touch was like worship and you wondered why you had ever waited this long to experience it, why you had questioned his devotion.

“Little bird,” he rasped against your lips as he trailed a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, “I do not know if I will be able to contain myself.”

“Then don’t,” you bit your bottom lip as he found your sensitive sweet spot and nipped at the delicate skin, “don’t hold back.”

[chaoticspacefam]

6.  “How do you think this will all end?” for D'leah, please <3

Pinky once again picking THE juiciest possible combo of prompt + characters, everybody go thank her bc I had a blast with this 👀 I’ve been wanting to write a oneshot for this part of the story for a while and this is the perfect excuse mwahaha 

@palepinkycat here you go! Sorry this one took a little while, I haven’t had time to sit and write it out till now, but hopefully it’s a decent enough length to make it up to you! 👀

I have more to say about the body language I described in here (namely the significance of the “under chin�� snuggles & also why D’leah Yelled At Abe When He Tried To Do It To Her At The End), but I have a Worldbuilding tag somewhere in my mentions so I’mma save it for that basically. More Tomato Lore gonna drop sometime in the next week or two once I’m done with the drawings skshsks I tried to do one for this one too but it was not coming out right so maybe some other time XD

I’ve seen a lot of fics explore what it’s like to have a Force bond and communicate with it but I’ve seen very few that deal with the “what if it breaks when one of them dies” side of it, so this is my take on what happens and how it probably feels for the “surviving” party; I usually describe my Force bonds as a sort of ethereal “thread” type thing that then connects their emotions/souls/however you want to see it and yadda yadda, so...you can’t tell me that snapping that thread wouldn’t fucking hurt ;-; For extra heart hurty, the song quotes were the main two songs I listened to while working on each “part” of this fic, so you can use them for ambience if you want ;)

As always I use the Coruscant Translator for (most of) my High Sith, translations are included on the bottom however :) (since the quote from the prompt is said in Sith, they’re gonna talk in High Sith sometimes being well...Sith :3)

Abaron is the best brother-in-law, I do not make the rules. D’leah you need to apologise to this man immediately 😂 she does, immediately after this (not shown) dw, I swear

Timeline/Setting: 3729 BBY (roughly/according to the still-holey timeline I’ve been working on since the “canon” one was released) Immediately post-Valkoriate takeover. As in, literally just happened slash is happening as this occurs.

Warnings: Character Death mention (Kissai), Breaking Force Bonds, Plenty of angst (it was from an “angsty” prompt list, after all! 😬) , possible slight gore (?) in the form of description of a former  injury from a concussion grenade (just to be safe lol), and ofc some Cuss Words (™) 

^^ these are ur warnings, click past this cut at ur own risk and I am not responsible for how you react bc you chose to pass the warning k thanks ^^

“Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not. He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got. Oh lord, oh lord, I’m begging you please...don’t take that sinner from me -” ~ The Civil Wars, “Devil’s Backbone”

It all happened so fast, they had to react fast if they were going to save the twins, and D’leah knew that. She’d tried so desperately to help her husband, pouring as much of her Force energy as she could through the bond they shared. It had always worked before, why wasn’t it working NOW?! D’leah didn’t know, but she could feel him growing weaker and weaker by the second. 

D’leah - his voice was so distant and faint, she almost didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of it. No, no no, he wasn’t dying he couldn’t be dying, no no no…. D-Don’t do this. Sai��� her grip on the control cluster tightened until her knuckles turned pale, they were already in the air. It would be easy to do what she knew he was about to ask...but it would mean leaving him to his fate. Could she do that?

Dimly, D’leah could hear Abaron chattering to the girls behind her as he made sure they stayed in their seats, but she couldn’t hear the words any of them were saying, there was just him and that horrible, ominous weakness bleeding from her husband’s end of the bond. 

You need to run… Kissai urged her. PROMISE me. The girls-

I can’t...not without you! her mind-voice caught as if the words were difficult to form, she felt him slip further away and frantically tried to bolster his strength up again, but somehow, she couldn’t put her finger on how, it only seemed to make the other Pureblood weaker. Sai, snichi… she pleaded, and she could feel the barest attempt at a smile from her husband as he gave her his final farewell, 

Nu aki j’us, D’leah. RUN. For me...

His words were far weaker now, more forced, as if even Kissai knew he was running out of time to convey his plea. D’leah realised with a growing sense of horror that they really didn’t have another option, she had to protect their daughters. She reached towards the navcomputer to punch in the quickest hyperspace code she could think of that would get them as far away from Imperial Space as possible, but never managed to get there. 

The pain hit her so fast that D’leah had no time to prepare for it even if in reality, she’d known it was coming. First, came the white-hot metal rod of pain that jammed right down the center of her spine. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire and it was this that was enough to cause her to cry out in pain and lose her grip on the ship’s controls as the Pureblood was thrown sideways in her seat. She managed to fall with just enough grace to get herself out of Abaron’s way and as she hit the floor and the pain kept coming, she faintly heard the man curse in High Sith as he lunged across to take her place in the pilot’s seat before they nose-dived into Force-only-knows what, out here in open space like they were. 

Then she felt the thread of Force energy between herself and her husband straining, threatening to snap, and before long, it did. D’leah knew logically there was nothing she could do to stop it, and that trying would make it hurt more, but she was desperate and on reflex she could not help but try. Frantically, she reached out with her own Force energy and clasped for each thread as it tore away from her, bit by bit, as if clutching at the strings would somehow, futilely, keep him here. Would let him live. But still, the pain came again, and again, and she fancied that the sinews of flesh being ripped from bone when she lost part of her face to that concussion grenade had been less painful than this. “No...no no no no please...please! NO!!!” Everything else was so faint and far-away in comparison that D’leah didn’t realise that her scream had been out loud this time, her fingers fumbling for her heart, though she couldn’t rightly tell if that was where the pain was truly coming from and it was simply a reflexive reaction. 

For a long while she clenched her teeth through wave after wave of pain, and while it didn’t stop, it became easier with every breath for D’leah to push it into the background. Slowly, the Pureblood’s blurry vision cleared and she realised the twins were staring down at her, wide-eyed in horror. 

She needed to get up. She needed to go to them, she needed to be strong. For them.

Saarai reached for her first, but she scooped both of them up into her arms as best as she was able, all but falling into the seat where the twins had been huddled moments before. The girls both clamored to settle themselves as close to her as they could without pushing the other out of her grasp too. D’leah held onto them as tightly as she could, only vaguely aware of Saarai’s voice as she chattered a question up at her, catching every second word or so. “Moooom!” as she reached up towards her again, and “Dad...gonna find us...right?” 

Their mother shushed them softly, adjusting her grip to fit both of the twins, as best she was able, beneath her chin. Safe. They were safe there.

“Shhh, shh-shh, my little one.” she croaked shakily, a tremor passing through her frame as she tried to keep her voice steady and convincing through the lie. “He’ll catch up later, don’t you worry.” 

They sat in silence, D’leah clutching them against her chest as if they, too, might disappear if she let them go for even one second, and Abaron took over piloting the ship so that she didn’t have to. He’d practically done all the work already, anyway. She risked a glance down at her daughters, and caught the wary glint in Saarai’s golden eyes, the sideward glance at her sister, and she knew that they knew it was a lie. But she had not the heart to tell them that yet. Not now, through the tears that had begun to stream from her eyes despite her attempts to hold them at bay. She did not mean to cry, but what else could she do??

Saarai’s tiny fingers reached up shakily, when she realised what they were, to brush the liquid tracks from her chin and the spurs on her jaw. It only made her cry more and hold them tighter.

“Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja…” she breathed soothingly, hoping it was convincing enough for the twins. “Mom’s got you...nothing is ever going to hurt you while I’m here.” She held them like that right until they landed.

“The daughter of a lawyer, told the fallen priest “it’s a cold, cold place in the arms of a thief”, And tapping at the arrow in her heel, she said “LEAVE ME ALONE! ...but just don’t leave me here, alright?” Alright..” ~ Iron & Wine, “Arms of a Thief” 

By the time they arrived at their destination, some planet called “Rishii” that she doesn’t ever recall knowing of before - but perhaps that’s a good thing - and Abaron managed to find them a place to stay, the pain she had felt had dulled to more of a phantom throbbing than anything else. But her consciousness felt vulnerable and empty without Kissai’s own Force presence winding around hers, she felt alone, even though physically she was not. D’leah had sung and rocked the twins to sleep, with some effort, and glanced down at them as they slept, Ni’kasi’s arms curled around her sister as she burrowed under her chin for comfort beneath the blanket their mother had tucked around them.

The pain was gone, and in its wake came the FURY. It bubbled to the surface all too quickly, and D’leah began to tremble again, a growl rumbling deep in her throat as she realised that first, the girls were theoretically out of danger, and secondly, she still had a ship. She could go back. 

“I’m going to kill that fucker.” the Pureblood wheeled for the door, only to find it blocked by Abaron, who seemed to have pre-empted her outburst. She stopped short, a hiss slipping past her teeth as her lip curled back to show her fangs briefly. “Abe. Move.” she snarled, resisting the urge to shout so as to not wake Saarai and Ni’kasi from their slumber. The tips of Abaron’s jaw spurs shook as, for once in his life, he declined to follow her order. 

“No. My Lord, I can’t let you do that.”

It took every ounce of her self control not to do worse, but as it was, D’leah tried to lunge for him so she could force her way past, he might not have been taller than her but he was stronger, and heavier too. The man reacted just as quickly, his own hands closing around her wrists to push back and keep her in place, his own feet firmly rooted in the doorway as he grunted. “D’leah! Listen to me, please!” 

The tears threatened to come to the surface again, her eyes burning hot, though this time the matriarch forced them down, though her voice still quivered as she spat, each word punctuated with a quiver in her voice.

“You have no idea how I am feeling right now!”

“Not wholly, no.” Abaron argued, releasing her arms as she dropped them back to her sides, her remaining spurs still rattling softly in agitation. “But I know that going back there now is foolish, my Lord!” 

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” D’leah hissed, though she didn’t have the strength left after the manic dash away from Kaas to call the lightning to her fingertips and lend to the threat she was trying to punctuate. “H-He is sitting there, on our homeworld, w-with our people’s blood on his hands!” she tried to shove him again, but her fist connected dully with the plated armour on the other Pureblood’s chest and didn’t make much of an impact on him. “They’re all dead and y-you just want me to -!!” 

“I’m trying to protect you, my Lord!” his teeth flashed back at her, yet another thing she would not have stood for if she was half as lucid as usual. He continued on further, his voice a low, agitated growl as he lowered his face to hers as if to punctuate his point. “That is my charge, it’s what you bid me to do and I will not have you risking your life for such a foolish venture, you’re not thinking straight! We are the only ones left! It’s my duty to make sure that all three of you stay alive!” 

She flinched at the reminder. Them, and Vowrawn, perhaps...if he was sneaky enough. But Abaron was right, going back would put him at risk, too. His eyes searched hers frantically, and his hands remained raised as if Abaron wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t need to hold her back again. D’leah was in half a mind about it herself, she wasn’t sure how to react now. And what her brother-in-law said next put the nail in the coffin, so to speak: 

“Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit?” he urged, the words a muttered whisper.

The Pureblood matriarch felt her anger fizzle out almost instantly as the realization sank in. The girls....they were only children. They were far too young for this. Too young, they were too young for this talk of death and loss and grief; too young to have to understand if she left them here and did not come back either. Their father’s passing would weigh heavily on them for the rest of their lives, they didn’t deserve to have to lose their mother, and on the same day, too...

She deflated, her shoulders sagging in defeat, and another tremor wracked her frame as she dropped her own gaze to the floor for the moment. “Abe...I-” 

“I know.” he sighed, relaxing as he stepped up to draw her against his chest sympathetically. She almost didn’t react, until she felt his chin brush the top of her head and she realized what he was trying to do. Despite his attempt at the gesture being comforting, D’leah jerked herself away from him to growl warningly. “Dari nindz.”

He looked momentarily taken aback, holding his hands up amicably as he apologised. “I was just...I thought you needed-” “Nu sûa nindz zo ardira!” she snapped at him, but mercifully, turned away from the door and stalked further inside once more.

____________________________________________________

Sith translations, in order:

Snichi... - please... 

Nu aki j’us. - I (romantic) love you.

Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja. - Sweet little one, it’s alright.

Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit? - How do you think this will all end? 

Dari nindz - Don’t.

Nu sûa nindz zo ardira! - I’m not a child!

[spicykoreantatertots]

Sleep Alone - Part One

Pairing: Namjoon x Female Reader (ft. Hoseok and Seokjin)

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: PG-13

Genres: SFW, Soulmate AU, Angst (Future Fluff)

Summary:  The timer on your wrist is ticking away until the moment you get to meet your soulmate. You often spend time daydreaming about your him. The time remaining on the timer has fluctuated throughout your life. Each big decision you or your soulmate makes can have an affect on the timer. A week before you finally get to meet, the timer gets extended by an additional forty years.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug dealing, drug lording, meth labs, death, murder, blood, scary guys being scary dudes, someone gets arrested, but there is not smut lmao. 

A/N: Proud to be part of Bangtan Scenery’s April Showers Bring May Flowers Collab! This is the first part of this fic. Part two will be coming in May! I may also do a NSFW one shot later this year. I’m excited to continue working on my soulmate series (one for each member). They are all based on songs by Waterparks, check out Sleep Alone. 

Big shout out to @megahwn and @ho-baebae​ for beta reading and thank you to @lovely-literati​ for always being supportive. Love y’all! 💜

~~~~~~~

The street is deserted, only one parked car about a few feet away. He sneaks around the corner into the alleyway. Careful not to step on any debris or in any puddles, he slinks past the dumpster overflowing with garbage. He can barely make it out in the dark, but he’s found the door with the marking. 

He reaches into his back pocket for his lock picking kit, but when he begins to work on the door he finds it unlocked. He pauses, unsure if he should continue inside, but the overwhelming metallic scent of blood floods his nostrils.

He rushes into the building. The first room is large and dim. But he can see boxes, buckets, beakers, tubing, and trash everywhere. It’s a meth lab. The smell of ammonia starts to overtake the smell of the blood. Until he sees two bodies in the next room and one big puddle of blood between them. 

As he approaches cautiously he begins to recognize one of the people. Dae-hyun. He falls to his knees. The one person he was trying to protect from all this. Before the grief strikes him, there’s a crash from the other room. And footsteps. And then his chest is on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, a knee in his back. A booming voice.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for the murders of Jung Dae-hyun and Yoo Young-jae. You have the right to remain silent...” 

~~~~~~~

It’s the same dream you always have. Following the path of rose petals up the hill. The sun is setting and at the top you can see him: your soulmate. You’ve never been able to see his face. You always wake up just before you reach him. This time as you approach the hill, he’s nowhere to be seen.

The gentle thunder from the approaching storm wakes you from your sleep. An early morning thunderstorm, one of your favorite types of weather. The gray sky and light drizzle almost lull you back to sleep. But just as you’re dozing off you see it. Your timer. 

44y:67d:54h:23m

You have to do a double take. Forty-four years? Just last night your soulmate timer was counting down from four years. It’s not uncommon for it to change. 

Each decision you make could potentially affect the timer. You changed your mind about college three times before you settled on the one that only added two years to the timer. One day, your timer went from 5 years to 3 minutes, but then quickly returned to 5 years. You had just been watching TV, so you often wondered what decision your soulmate made that brought you so close together and why he would have changed his mind. 

But you couldn’t have done anything in your sleep last night to cause this... what did he do?

~~~~~~~

It’s the story of the year. Of all the exciting cities across the world, it has to be breaking in your hometown. The sexy new drug lord, Kim Namjoon, finally caught. It’s sick, but it makes for good news. Or whatever Buzzfeed is. They’re taking it as far as possible with their quizzes and bullshit articles. 

Are you compatible with Kim Namjoon?

10 reasons why Kim Namjoon is the sexiest drug lord of the century. 

Which paradise should you and Kim Namjoon escape to?

22 things to know about Kim Namjoon’s life before drugs. 

Kim Namjoon as exoctic birds.

It’s not something you would normally be interested in, but during your morning social media scroll, one article catches your eye. 

Could Kim Namjoon be your soulmate? Click here to see his timer. 

There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach. It really really couldn’t be. The fact that the story broke the same day your timer had 40 years added means nothing... Right?

You check the comments, refusing to give into click bait. 

Kim Min-seo

President Namjoon 2020

Steven Borden

Why do we care about this? He’s a murderer and drug dealer. 

Karen Smith

prayers for the family

Jae Lee

He can murder me any day of the week. 

Julie Ann

Can’t imagine having a half empty bed for 44 years. Thank god I got my mans already.

The feeling in your stomach radiates throughout your body. It can’t be. You give in and click on the article. A picture of Kim Namjoon. A close up of his wrist. It’s not exactly the same as yours, but it was taken two days ago. At 3pm. You do the math in your head. Then you do it again on a piece of paper. Then you plug it into Google, just to be sure. 

It’s him. 

So if any of you ladies or fellas out there have the matching timer, you can find him at the 48th Police Precinct before he’s transferred to a maximum security prison upstate. Click here to stay up to date on all things Kim Namjoon. 

A gif of Namjoon being escorted into the police station plays on a loop at the end of the article. He is beautiful isn’t he? He could be a murderer, a full on drug lord. But as it begins to fully sink in, you know there has to be more to the story. Your soulmate couldn’t really be a killer. 

~~~~~~~

There was no air conditioning on the bus to the police station. The warmth of late spring is making you sweat. You might think it was just your nerves, but the overwhelming smell of body odor confirms that everyone else is sweating too. 

Looking around the bus at the other passengers, it’s hard to imagine where they might be coming from or where they’re going. Most people are probably doing normal things, shopping, going to work, visiting friends. Is anyone else on their way to face their soulmate?

Some chattering from the front of the bus pulls you out of your head for a moment. Everyone on the bus begins looking out the windows on the opposite side. You crane your neck to try to see what everyone else is looking at. It’s a crowd of people, but that’s about all you can make out. 

“Stop #27: West 12th Street!” The bus driver announces over the intercom. The bus slows to a stop, your stop, right in front of the police station. 

Fiddling with the strap from your bag, you exit the bus slowly. Soon you’re able to get a good look at the crowd. It’s mostly young women, all crowded near the entrance of the police station. They’re holding signs, it must be a protest of some kind. 

As you get closer you can read some of the signs. 

HUGS AND DRUGS

LEGALIZE

FREE KIM NAMJOON

END THE WAR ON DRUGS

PRESIDENT NAMJOON 2020

The protest signs seem... inappropriate? Especially considering he was arrested for murder and not his alleged drug lord-ing. 

“Free Namjoon!” Shouts the girl wielding the “President Namjoon 2020” sign. 

“He’s too hot for prison!” The girl next to her screams.

“Ji-woo shut up! You’re invalidating the cause.” You don’t stay to hear Ji-woo’s rebuttal, instead opting to duck inside the police station before they engage you. 

It’s a bustling place. Lots of people in the waiting room. A woman with two small children is ahead of you in line trying to reason with the woman behind the counter. She’s trying to convince her that the $10,000 bond for her husband’s DUI is unreasonable. 

“Ma’am, the judge sets the bail amount. There are bail bonds services down the street. Next!” She motions for you to step up to the counter.

“How can I help you?” She asks, not making eye contact, but instead clacking away at her keyboard.

“I’m here... to see Kim Namjoon?” It comes out as a question, without looking up she responds.

“You can go join the group of your friends waiting outside. No one can see him. Next!” There is a grunt from the man behind you in line when you don’t move immediately. 

“I think...” You start quietly. “I’m his soulmate.” The woman stops typing to look up at you. You reluctantly pull back your sleeve and show her your timer, still ticking away. 

“I see.” She stands and disappears down a hall and out of sight. You fight the urge to look around the room, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who might have heard you. The forty years on your timer don’t change and you’re not sure what this means. Maybe they still won’t let you see him, soulmate or not. 

After several minutes of awkwardly standing and waiting, she returns with a police officer. 

“Ma’am please come with me.” The officer motions toward a door that leads out of the waiting room and the woman returns to her keyboard. The officer meets you on the other side of the door. It’s quieter than you expected. A bulletin board of wanted flyers stares back at you. 

“He doesn’t want to see you, but he was willing to add you to his phone call list.” Your stomach drops. How could he not want to see you? He’s the one who’s been arrested, it’s you that shouldn’t be willing to see him.

The officer continues down the hall to a small conference room. There are two other people in it, another police officer and a man. The officer guides you in and then leaves. 

“Hi please have a seat and fill out this form.” It’s a fairly simple form. Name, address, phone, relationship to detainee....

“Who are you?” The man next to you asks. He’s looking at you trying to fill out the form. You don’t respond to him at first, because who is he? He looks like any other guy off the street. Well maybe not quite. He’s dressed in basic dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, but he is very handsome.

“I’ve never seen you before, why are you here to see Namjoon?” He prompts you again. He must know Namjoon. But if he’s friends with Namjoon... Namjoon the potential drug lord and murderer... can he be trusted?

“I’m his soulmate.” The words still feel awkward falling out of your mouth. But you don’t have much choice but to trust him. He’s your only line into the life of Namjoon. The man tenses up, drops his head into his hands. He says nothing, the lights in the room flicker slightly.

After too much awkward silence, you push your completed form toward the officer across the table. He tells you that you may receive calls from the station or prison when Namjoon is able to call, but the only way for you to reach out to him is to send letters to the prison. You thank him for the information and pause, waiting to see if Namjoon’s friend will say anything. He doesn’t, so you get up and leave the room. 

You manage to get out of the police station and through the crowd of weird fan girls before the tears start flowing. What are you supposed to do now? Just wait around and hope he calls? 

“Hey! Hey!” You turn and see the man from the conference room running toward you. You quickly wipe the tears away and straighten your posture. He slows a bit before approaching you cautiously. 

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know... God. I don’t really know what’s going on to be honest. I just know that what they’re saying... what they’ve accused him of. It isn’t true.” Even though he’s a stranger. Even though you have no reason to trust him. You feel relieved. 

“Who are you?” You finally ask him. He smiles a little and stretches out his hand.

“I’m Jung Hoseok.”

~~~~~~~

Namjoon’s friend, Hoseok, walks with you down the street to a cafe. He buys you a drink and tells you about Namjoon, the English, Government, and Philosophy triple major. The boy set to start law school in the fall. His best friend for years now, the friend who helped him finally find his own soulmate connection. 

And now here you are. Namjoon’s soulmate, sitting across from Hoseok at a coffee shop. 

“So, you clearly don’t think he could have done this,” you mumble across the table, “so what do you think is going on?” Hoseok is quiet for a long moment. He’s looking down at the cup of coffee, stirring mindlessly.

“I think he’s being framed.” The air between you is heavy, the weight of the situation settling onto your shoulders. 

“Namjoon has- had this friend from his childhood,” Hoseok starts again, “he got mixed up into some bad things.”

“Dae-hyun?” You ask before taking another sip of your drink. Hoseok nods.

“I know Namjoon was trying to help him. He asked me to follow Dae-hyun a few times because he wouldn’t have recognized me.” Hoseok shakes his head a bit, as if he’s wiping away some memories.

“You followed him? That was so dangerous, why would you do that?” You question. 

“I owed him one.” A faint smile crosses Hoseok’s lips. 

“Well.... Did you learn anything?” Eager to hear more, eager to figure out how to fix this problem.

“Dae-hyun was dealing something, I’m not sure what. I guess meth, they found Joon in a meth lab didn’t they?” Hoseok takes a drink before continuing. “Dae-hyun was in a relationship with the other guy that was killed, Young-jae. I wasn’t sure, but Namjoon thought they were together. He said Dae-hyun would never do drugs much less sell them, so he assumed Dae-hyun must have been trying to help Young-jae get off drugs, get out of the drug ring.”

“Why did Namjoon do all this, why not go to the police?” You ask, your head beginning to hurt. Trying to connect the dots is taking its toll. 

“If he had reported it to the police they would have busted Dae-hyun and Young-jae.” Hoseok pauses. “I think Namjoon was trying to take down the whole drug ring.”

“By himself?” You laughed to yourself. The stupidity... the guts... your soulmate is something else, isn’t he?

“Namjoon is a genius, but even more than that he’s compassionate and caring. And he must have been close, because they framed him for murder, framed him for running the drug ring himself.” Hoseok was right. The real leader of the drug ring must have felt Namjoon was getting too close to exposing them. 

“Hoseok?” You tilt your head to the side, an idea brewing in your mind. “Do you think Namjoon may have left any evidence or clues for someone to find?”

“What are you thinking?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows. 

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t difficult for you to convince Hoseok to take you to Namjoon’s apartment. It’s proving to be much more difficult to convince him to cross the crime scene tape. 

“Hoseok this isn’t even where the alleged crime took place!” You shout, tugging your hands, trying to break Hoseok’s grip on you. 

“We have to be careful about this. If we get incriminated too there won’t be anyone left to help Namjoon.” You don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. 

“This is the closest I can be to him Hoseok, please let me go in.” Your shoulders droop and you stop fighting him. He doesn’t let you go though. He’s about to speak, but before he does, both of you hear footsteps running down the hallway. 

A tall man wearing a baby pink sweatshirt is running toward the two of you. Hoseok drops your wrists and puts his hands on his hips with a huff.

“Jin what are you doing here?” Hoseok greets his friend with a hand slap and a bro hug. 

“I don’t know exactly. My fiance sent me here to see if I could find anything helpful. She’s headed to Namjoon’s hometown to be with his family. They were close growing up.”

“Oh yeah... does that mean she was friends with Dae-hyun too?” Hoseok questions.

“Yeah she’s really upset about it.” Jin turns to you finally. “So who are you?” 

“She’s Joon’s soulmate.” Hoseok says before you can answer. 

“Bad timing, huh?” You laugh a bit to stave off the uncomfortable feeling. 

“Yeah, well. I know a thing or two about bad soulmate timing. I’m Seokjin.” You shake his hand. He laughs a bit, not bothering to tell you about his soulmate story. The focus is back on entering Namjoon’s apartment. 

Hoseok stands in front of the door, still wanting to weigh the options. Without hesitation Seokjin begins furiously tickling Hoseok’s underarms. Hoseok doubles over in laughter and then dead weights himself, sending both of them toppling to the ground. While both of them are laughing, you decide to reach for the door. 

The door is unlocked, so you swing it open. You step through the tape, trying not to break it. Silence breaks over the three of you. The boys scurry to their feet and enter the apartment behind you.

“Don’t leave your finger prints on anything.” Hoseok whispers. It takes a moment for it to set it in, but the more you look around the room it’s easier to see. 

Someone has been here. The place has been completely trashed. Drawers are open, couch cushions thrown about, pictures and decorations knocked down and smashed. You reach down and pick up a framed picture of Namjoon and his family. The glass falls out, so you remove the picture and slip it into your pocket. 

Before anyone can say anything, there’s a sound from the back of the apartment where the bedroom must be. It sounds like a drawer slamming and then someone curses. Someone else is in the apartment. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you look back at Hoseok and Seokjin. They’re both frozen. Footsteps are coming from the hallway and a figure comes out of the shadows. Hoseok grabs your arm and pushes you back behind him. 

It’s a man, yet another person you don’t recognize. He’s wearing all black and a leather jacket. Hoseok seems to tense further upon seeing the man’s face. 

“What the hell are you doing here Min-jae?” Hoseok demands. The man stills upon seeing the three of you standing there. He puts his hands up and slowly continues walking toward you. 

“Probably the same thing you are. I just need some answers man.” Min-jae stops about ten feet away and puts his arms down. Hoseok turns to you. 

“Young-jae’s brother.” Hoseok mouths this information to you, trying to hide what he knows.

“I need to know what happened! Why would this guy kill my brother?” Min-jae shouts. He kicks a chair over in the kitchen while tears begin to fall down his face. 

“Listen, we came here to figure something out too.” Hoseok continues, cautiously approaching the man. “Namjoon didn’t do this. He loved Dae-hyun, he was trying to help them. Dae-hyun was on drugs, your brother was probably trying to help too, but just got caught up in the mess.” 

Hoseok was intentionally sharing the wrong information. He must have a reason to not trust Min-jae. Seokjin looks over at you and you shake your head once, so slightly as to not let Min-jae see. 

“Well good luck because I haven’t found anything.” Min-jae let out an exasperated sigh. 

“You’ve never been here before, so maybe we should give it a once over. We’ve all seen this place before.” Hoseok says, again, not the truth. You’ve never been here. You play along with Hoseok’s ruse. 

The four of you search the house for anything that might be helpful. It’s more difficult than you thought because you don’t know what you’re looking for. But you are learning about Namjoon. 

In the kitchen you learned that he seems to eat a lot of take away and instant ramen. In the bathroom you learned that he has a full skin care routine and that he uses cinnamon toothpaste. In the bedroom you learn that he probably misses the hamper when he’s in a hurry, and based on the polaroids taped to the wall, he enjoys traveling. Back in the living room, you learn that Namjoon is an avid reader. You’ve parked yourself in front of his book shelf, scanning each title carefully. 

“He’s always got a book with him.” Seokjin says as he comes out of the kitchen. He reaches past you to grab a book from the shelf. It’s leather-bound and has his name printed across the cover. 

Seokjin opens it and the two of you stand there, silently looking through the notes scrawled throughout the pages. Except, they aren’t notes. They’re song lyrics. 

Your phone begins loudly ringing in your pocket, causing both you and Seokjin to jump. You excuse yourself into the hallway. It’s an unknown number, your heart skips a beat. 

“Hello?” You answer quietly. 

“A detainee at the 48th Police Precinct is attempting to contact you, do you accept?” An automated voice is on the other line. This is it. Namjoon is calling. 

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kim Namjoon on the other end of the call, it sounds like he’s crying. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Oh I know sweetheart.” You coo into the phone, it feels strangely natural to comfort him.

“Where are you?” He sniffles.

“I’m with Hoseok at your place.” You continue speaking in a hushed tone.

“Okay that’s good. Stay with him until this is over. You can’t trust anyone else.” The words send a chill down your spine, reiterating the seriousness of the situation. 

“Seokjin is here too.” Your voice is trembling now, your hands shaking. 

“Jin is safe.”

“A guy named Min-jae was here when we got here.”

“Son of a bitch.” Hoseok seemed to be suspicious of him and Namjoon’s reaction confirms that he is bad news. “Listen to me. Listen carefully.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“I can’t say much, I don’t know who is listening. There is a small flash drive taped to the back of the painting above my couch. Jin will know who to take it to. Get away from Min-jae as soon as you can, don’t let him see the flash drive.”

“Namjoon I-”

“You don’t have to do any of this, you can leave now and I won’t blame you-”

“No!” You almost shout it, probably getting the attention of the boys back inside the apartment. “No, I’m in this now. We’re in this together.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“Thank you. Please get yourself out of there.”

“I’ll see you soon, Namjoon.” You say firmly. It’s not an option. You will get him out. 

“See you soon.” He chuckles lightly before hanging up the phone. 

You take a moment, pressing your back against the wall. You try to catch your breath, but instead you cry. The tears silently roll down your face.

Back in the apartment, the three boys seem to be in the back of the apartment continuing their search. You tiptoe toward the couch and reach for the painting. It comes off the wall easily and you set it down silently on the couch cushion. 

It takes a minute to spot it. It is actually very small and painted to be the same color as the back of the painting. You carefully remove it and stick it in your front pocket. You put the painting back up and turn to go find Hoseok and get the hell out. 

Min-jae is there behind you, staring at you. 

“Find anything interesting?”

~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Part Two coming soon! Check out my Not Warriors Soulmate Series Masterlist! 

Want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter Three: Yesterday

A/N: Want to give proper credit to @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore whose thoughtful comments on the previous chapter inspired some of the sentiments and title of this chapter (even though she killed Liam this week and I had to declare war against her).

*One day I will create a moodboard, but, today is not that day.

Warnings: Language and brief mention of infant loss THAT HAS NOTHING to do with this chapter. I was asked by several people how Ellie will be able to continue feeding and it will be explained. Just wanted to be on the safe side there.

Series Summary: After losing the love of his life, Liam is forced to endure another social season. Not wanting to move on, he finds help from an unlikely ally...his late wife

__________________________________

Hana squinted as her car drove through the crowded gates of the palace; the sun hadn’t fully risen above the horizon yet and its rays were projecting a blinding glare. She slammed her brakes to a halt when she pulled into her usual spot, causing the car's tires to slightly squeal. The car door swung open wildly and she walked with purpose at a quick step, hastily swiping at the tears on her cheeks -- a woman determined to fulfill a promise she made months ago. 

She had received the call from Drake only an hour ago, and without hesitation, threw on a pair of white jeans, a tank, and flats. She sobbed as she brushed her hair and tossed it up into a loose ponytail, knowing she had more to do than just grieving the loss of her best friend. Hana, never one to shirk from her duties, had an obligation, one that meant more to her than her own life. 

Approaching the rear landing of the palace, she ignored the chatter and bellows that could still be heard from a great distance outside of the gates. For a split second earlier, as she drove in through the seemingly hundreds of mourners and press crowded at the entrance, she contemplated running them down. It was one thing to offer their support and want answers, however at what cost? Did they even know Riley Brooks? The real Riley Brooks? The American behind the Cordonian Crown who befriended a woman from Shanghai and helped her see she was more than some object -- a show-thing -- her parent’s means to success and notoriety. When Constantine was killed during the Costume Ball, she thought, she didn’t recall him receiving this much outpouring of sympathy and heartache. Riley’s death has yet to be officially announced and yet there they were, waiting anxiously for any word on their beloved queen.

Maybe, they did know her after all.

A Royal Guardswoman watched Hana ascend the stairs rapidly with a fierce look.  She was quite familiar with Her Majesties, best friend, and didn’t hesitate to open the door for her knowing if she didn’t comply quickly, Hana just may bust through it herself.

The atmosphere inside was somber as Hana continued her quest through familiar passageways; she disregarded the greetings and condolences that were offered to her. Even at a time like this, her mind was sharp and clear. She’d be damned if anyone was going to stop her right now. 

When she neared closer to Riley’s office and slowed her quickened pace -- not wanting to make a lot of sounds. Hana had not planned to knock, however what she heard from inside stopped her before her hand could reach the knob.

The voice was gruff but soothing and the song melted her shattered heart. Drake.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine ...”.

Hana had heard Riley sing it to the baby more times than she could count. It was obvious, Drake did as well.

She twisted the knob and eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. Riley had her office completely remodeled weeks ago to accommodate Ellie spending the majority of her time with her when she returned from maternity leave. In the corner of the room, next to a large, open window, Drake sat in an old wooden rocking chair that he refurbished as a baby gift for her office, gently rocking Ellie in his arms. 

With Ellie’s tiny fingers wrapped around his large, calloused thumb, he sensed Hana’s presence and began to blush, “I...uhhh...was just..”. 

She smiles softly, “I know.”

She walked over to Drake and the baby and crouched down beside them. As her hands glided lovingly over the fine hairs on the top of Ellie’s head, knowing she was fulfilling the promise she made to Riley, she looked up at Drake, both with small tears in their eyes. 

“Mind if I sing with you?” She asked; her voice cracked and wispy.

Drake pondered for a moment, not really wanting to in front of Hana, but, nodded..

______ 

Within the hour, Maxwell and Bertrand made the two-hour drive from Ramsford to the Capitol. The limo was subdued for most of the drive; Maxwell glanced at old photos of he and Riley on his phone while a dismayed Bertrand stared out the window, not saying a word. 

Maxwell had wept from the time he found out, that was just the kind of man he was. He is and has always been a very emotional person and shows no fear nor remorse in that fact. Bertrand, on the other hand, accepted the news like a Duke learning his monarch had lost any random member; he had work to do.

After arriving at the palace, Maxwell knew Drake was in Riley’s office, having received the text from Hana several minutes ago. As he headed in that direction, Bertrand moved towards the grand staircase, causing Maxwell to take notice in what appeared to be insensitive behavior on his brother’s part.

“Bertrand, where the hell are you going? I told Hana we would meet them in Riley’s office”.

Bertrand turned to his brother just as he climbed the first step, “Yes, yes...please offer up my sincerest condolences to your friends. I will be in the press office should I be needed...and Maxwell...don’t need me”. 

“But the press office is on the first floor”, Maxwell shot back.

Bertrand straightened his jacket and his posture, “Indeed it is”, before turning away and continuing up the stairs.

The eldest Beaumont, weaved his way through the corridor he had walked literally hundreds of times, stopping in front of one particularly large, wooden door. He peered down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one was the wiser to his presence. 

Knowing there would be no one inside, he pushed the door open and entered. Everything was exactly the same as he remembered. 

He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and rosewood painting a clear picture in his mind, one that haunted him deeply.

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent House Beaumont?”

Bertrand notices the large closet across from the bed and is surprised to find it still full of familiar clothing and accessories; every single piece he remembers fondly as he trails his fingers over each one. The pink derby dress and flashy hat that nearly bankrupted him to purchase and the white gown she wore in Lythikos that showed entirely too much cleavage.  

His eyes narrowed as he thumbed across the Applewood peasant costume and removed it with a growl, “Those two nitwits”.  

Riley and Maxwell had sworn to him they had returned it to that stage production company he borrowed it from -- quite convincingly so. Bertrand spent nearly a week on the phone defending the two of them and insisted the production company must have misplaced this one-of-a-kind piece of Cordonian history. After losing the battle and his temper, he set up a payment plan to pay off the 35000 Euros the heirloom cost.

He rolled his eyes thinking about how insufferable those two were during the social season: staying up all hours of the night giggling like two schoolgirls, the never-ending jokes at his expense, and those god-forsaken, drunken duets as they traveled from one event to the next.  If he never heard, ‘We Will Rock You’,  while stomping on the floor of the limo, it would be a day too soon.

 Riley and Maxwell caused him more anxiety and agitation than any two people have since, yet at that moment, he would do anything to go back and relive every annoying minute of it. 

He held the costume up, looking over it for rips and stains, thinking maybe he could still get his money back, yet that thought quickly dissipated. 

“Long live the Apple Queen.” He smiled, then held it close to himself briefly before placing it back on the hook and shutting the door.

He took in the entire room, recalling all those early mornings: their arguments over propriety and cutlery, her backtalk, and lessons upon lessons that somehow the waitress from New York aced each time. Riley knew he was proud of her, Bertrand was confident in that fact.  

He glanced down at his watch, contemplating whether or not he should meet up with the others. He opted instead to stay longer, to be alone in this room, with the thoughts and memories of his sister, fresh on his mind and heart.  As he sat on the corner of her old bed, he let the pain that had festered within him since leaving Ramsford finally break him down. 

His face fell into his palms as he let out a painful sob.

____________

Liam was still curled in the same spot on the floor in front of the sofa; still clinging to her throw blanket and still wondering what the hell happened just a few hours ago. His eyes were dry, having nothing left to secrete from them. He needed to get up because there is so much to do: arrangements needed to be made, meet with Madeleine to make an announcement to the public, and accept phone calls and messages from international leaders expressing their condolences. 

He pushed himself up from the floor, still holding on tightly to her blanket, and turned to take in the vast living quarters that had become their home. 

On the table in front of Liam were the purple lilies he sent her yesterday -- just like the ones he sent her every week for over a year.  

The flowers he would never send again.

Yesterday, everything was fine. Yesterday, he was a happily married man that was more in love with his wife than he thought was possible. Yesterday, he woke up with his arms around her and she taunted him about the plans she had for him that evening. Yesterday, life was normal, happy, and everything he ever envisioned a life with Riley would be like. 

Liam tossed her blanket on the couch and wondered: if all those things were true yesterday, how can it not be today? 

Their home seemed so empty without her and he shuddered thinking about the finality of that thought: she wouldn’t be home again.  He wouldn’t hear that laugh again, dance with her in the kitchen, or arrive late to another ball because he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. Those thoughts grew, and the anger that it manifested took root in the pit of his stomach and was now pushing on every nerve ending in his body. Liam could feel his face redden with heat and scorn. His heart surged, and his mind became muddled with rage. He lurched to the vase full of flowers and threw them across the room. The shattering of glass against the wall only propelled him further as he turned to the sofa table and flipped it over.

“You said you would never leave!" he yelled towards the heavens, “after everything we went through to be together: the scandal, the assassination attempts!!". 

He swiped a lamp and book off a nearby end table, "Was it all a fucking lie Riley? .Answer me, goddammit!!! Liam shouted.

Liam shoved the couch corner into the glass cabinet and continued to push and slam again with each remark, “We had a life..We had a marriage. We have a baby!". 

He reached for the fireplace poker and didn’t hesitate to bust out the glass covering of the stone hearth, "Damn you for leaving me, Riley Brooks! DAMN YOU!" 

He swung furiously over and over at anything and everything in his path while continuing his emphatic curses of damnation against his wife. The glass of picture frames broke, wood splintered, walls pelted with tiny holes, fabrics stripped.

In all of his rage, he didn’t hear the footsteps that were quickly approaching him from behind, Suddenly, there were two strong arms wrapped around him with a tightened grip and pulled him down to the floor.

“Get the fuck off of me, Drake.” Liam struggled to loosen himself as he laid face down on the floor with his best friend holding him in place.

Drake jerked the poker from his hand and tossed it away, “This isn’t the way, Li. She wouldn’t want --”

“Fuck what she would have wanted and your self-righteous indignation, Drake Walker.”  Liam continued to fight his way out of the constraints Drake had on him, “I remember the looks you would give her, I bet the two of you were going at it behind my back the entire time. Did you enjoy my wife Drake? Did she fuck you and ...”

“STOP IT!”

As much as Drake wanted to punch him, he knew his friend well enough to ignore his gibes; Maxwell, on the other hand, had enough.

Liam and Drake both snapped their heads back to Maxwell, never seeing him that furious or hearing his voice that raised.  “You will never, ever speak of her like that again, treason be damned. Do you understand me?”

A dispirited look crossed Liam’s face, replacing the rage and adrenaline he felt. His face lowered and rested on the floor, having nothing more to give.  “I...I just miss her so damn much.”

Drake quickly moved off and Maxwell closed in on them; the two comforting their lifelong friend as he draped his arms over his head and wept.

“Is it okay to come in now?” Hana asked as she peeked around the corner, holding the baby in her arms.

“Yeah...we’re good,” Drake shouted back.

Liam lowered his arms and looked to Hana when he saw his daughter, “Ellie”, he whispered.

Maxwell and Drake helped Liam up and watched as he crossed through the carnage in the living room to retrieve his baby.

Hana asked if he was okay, wanting to be sure he was calm enough to hold her; he assured her he was.

He held Ellie close to him, taking in Riley’s features, feeling ashamed of the words he never meant to say about her mother. 

Drake, Maxwell, and Hana spent the rest of the day with Liam and Ellie, joined later by Bertrand. 

Riley had pumped enough breastmilk to last several days and Miss Talbert, Riley’s personal assistant, found that bereaved mothers who lost their babies after birth, donated their breast milk to help deal with the loss. Liam gave her the go-ahead to look into that option further and get back with him.  

Liam informed Madeleine to release the news to the press and public, but insisted on privacy, although he knew not only the Cordonian press would be all of this, but the American’s, as well.

As Ellie slept in Maxwell’s arms, the group picked and prodded at their lunch, not one of them feeling like eating, when the doorbell rang.

Liam answered the door and stepped aside to let Bastien in.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“Bastien.”

Bastien handed him an envelope. “I received this moments ago. You’ll want to see this, sir.”

Liam turned it over, studying the large, yellowish envelop skeptically, His brows knitted.  “What is this?”

The head guard stiffened his postured and let out a heavy breath. “It's the results of Her Majesty's autopsy.. You may want to sit". 

[mamandisla]

Did I stay up until 5:00 AM writing Nicky and Joe’s origin story fic? Why, yes. Yes I did.

Here you go!

A Millenium of All and More

Joe/Nicky | The Old Guard

Not Rated

Warnings: depictions of violence, period-typical homophobia, period-typical racism, period-typical religious chatter

1 July 1097 was the day Nicolo di Genova was sure he would die. But he did not die that day. That day would come three years later and would shock him greatly.

On the first of July, Nicolo stood on a hill outside Dorylaeum. They had made camp there and were suddenly and viciously surrounded by the Turks, who charged through their camp and cut down every man they could. It didn’t matter if they were armed or even if they were a soldier, they were relentless. Bohemod’s Crusader army had been taken by surprise.

Nicolo fought on that hill for hours that day and watched countless men fall, and every second that passed, he was sure would be his last. But it wasn’t.

And by some miracle of God, because God was surely with them for it was He that they fought for, the army of Raymond of Toulouse appeared and the Turks were defeated.

And now, three years later, Nicolo was standing on another hill, under the same brutal sun and wearing the same mail coat and helmet, clutching the same sword in his hand as he readied himself to fight.

They were deep in Anatolia now, in a place called Malatya, and the men that fought them were ferocious warriors with great, curved blades that glinted in the sun. They fought as though they did not fear death and they shouted the name of their God as their battle-cry. What Nicolo didn’t yet understand is that these men and their God, they were not so different from him, nor his God.

The last three years had hardened him, had strengthened him. And it was true that he did not fear death any more than the men he faced on this hill. But he would take many of them with him before he went.

He cut them down by the dozens, moving with agile dexterity that was surprising for a man wielding an iron greatsword. And yet Nicolo di Genova was a man like no other.

His face was smeared with sweat and blood and his hair was plastered to his neck and forehead beneath his helmet. Though, in retrospect, it was foolish to do so, he wrenched the helmet from his head and tossed it away in fury. He suddenly came face to face with the enemy.

The man could almost be called beautiful, Nicolo had thought, if he were not an enemy of God. He had dark hair that curled in tight coils and fell around his face and shoulders. His beard, too, was dark, and thick and full and shined in the sun’s rays. He had dark eyes that gleamed bright with fearlessness and he snarled, curling his lip over his teeth as he positioned himself to strike.

Nicolo smiled menacingly and shouted something in Arabic that he’d picked up in his time fighting with Ricardo di Salerno and his cousins. The man cocked his head to the side at this, a smirk crossing his lips. He replied in his native tongue, seemingly impressed in a way that surprised Nicolo.

“Are you ready to die?”

“If you are ready, then I am ready.”

Though they teased one another, they made no jest. They meant to kill each other right there.

The dark-haired man struck first, his blade met by Nicolo’s in a brilliant clang that rang out over the shouts of the other men. But they were locked in battle, eyes trained only on each other, noticing no one else, hearing nothing else.

Nicolo turned swiftly, swinging his sword in an arc over the man’s arm, bringing it down to his shoulder. He cried out in a furious howl of pain and staggered back, but he did not fall. He brought a hand to the wound that was pouring blood and he tasted iron and salt in his mouth. He spat on the ground and lifted his chin defiantly at Nicolo.

“Your God mocks you.”

“I am not dead yet. Come and take me!”

The man gathered all the strength he had left and charged at Nicolo, catching him around the waist and bringing him to the ground on his back. With a great surge of adrenaline, he drove his blade deep into Nicolo’s belly and leaned over him, watching as his sparkling eyes faded and he let out his final breath.

Yusuf Al-Kaysani could die now. His final opponent had been dispatched. He slumped over the dead man’s body, letting his head rest against the stilled chest of the man. And then he moved no more.

Until he did. It was startling. Though he had never died before, the sensation of death was unmistakable and Yusuf was sure he’d been dying only minutes before. He was sure he’d closed his eyes for the last time and felt a brief wave of calm pass over before he felt nothing at all. Yet, he was here. He was awake and he was alive, the throbbing pain in his shoulder was proof of that.

He heard a groan and quickly realized, to his utter shock, the man beneath him was stirring. The man who had Yusuf’s sword sticking out of him still, whose blood pooled the ground beneath him. What was happening?

Nicolo was having a similar experience. He was dead. But this was not Heaven. The dark-haired man was, somehow, still alive, and glaring down at him in angry confusion. And there was a blade buried deep within him. But he was not dead, at least not yet. Although he didn’t feel like he was dying any longer.

Yusuf scrambled to his knees and yanked his sword from the man’s body. He stood and panted, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening. The man rolled over and climbed to his feet as well. They’d only just killed each other, or thought they had, and now they stood face to face again?

“This time… this time, you will die.”

Nicolo did not respond. He was still trying to comprehend what he was experiencing. But the man would try to kill him again, and Nicolo very much wanted to be the one to kill him.

Yusuf lunged at him, his sword slicing into his chest. Stunned, Nicolo pulled a dagger from his belt and with all the force he could muster, slashed it across Yusuf’s neck. They stood so closely at the end that they caught each other as they fell. And there they died together, a Muslim and a Christian. Lives snuffed out by religious tyranny.

Except that they weren’t.

Again, they groaned, they stirred, they rose in shock and surprise. This time, though, they knew that something was different. They knew those had been killing blows. And neither bore the wounds, no scars, no marks. Their skin was unmarred by the sharp edge of iron.

They repeated their little dance and again they died. And then they woke. It went on like that for quite awhile and at a certain point, it became less about killing one another and more about seeing if they could actually do it. And eventually, they began to accept that they could not. Faced with this impossibility and the eerie sense of togetherness that had developed through the intimate act of killing the other and dying together several times, they finally sheathed their swords and called a truce.

They did not know what became of the other men. No one had seemed to notice when the two rose and fought and rose and fought again. The battle must have ended at some point while they were in their bizarre state of lifelessness and their bodies were left without ceremony by those they’d pledged to fight and die beside. They did not know who was the victor and they found that they no longer cared.

They didn’t say much as there was little to be said. They walked away from that field together. They wandered together. They eventually found a safe enough place under cover of darkness and sparse woods and they made camp together.

They stared into the fire for awhile and finally, Yusuf spoke first.

“You are different. From those men, the Christian men. You act different.”

“Certainly different that I am not dead when I should be. “

“That is not what I mean. All those times that you killed me, that I killed you… it was not cruel. It was not hate. I saw your eyes. Your face. I felt the way you cradled my head the last time, when I went before you.”

Nicolo was silent. It was true, the bizarre circumstance they found themselves in had created a strange attraction to this man. No one knew his secret, the desires and temptation that plagued his mind. How he felt for men, the way the world said he should feel only for women. But he felt that now, for this man. And it was different, still. More than attraction, he was drawn to him in a way he could not explain.

“What are you called?”

“Yusuf Al-Kaysani”

“Nicolo di Genova”

“Nicolo, do you understand what this means? We cannot go back. We cannot return to our armies, our homes, our families.”

“I have no family to return to.”

Yusuf straightened and looked at Nicolo’s face. Their eyes met and the strange feeling returned in force.

“Nor I.”

“Fate has turned enemies to friends, it seems.”

“Why do you fight in this war, Nicolo?”

“Why do you? Why does any man?”

“A fair question. Is it your God?”

“Is it yours? Or is this all for the greed and the power of other men?”

“The world is a dark place and I have no answers for you. But it would seem you are right.”

“Yusuf… I have to believe that this, whatever this is, is a miracle from God. And to believe that, I must also believe it is from your God. Perhaps… they are one in the same.”

“Whatever the reason, the cause… we must face this together. There is no one else.”

Yusuf felt conflicted by his emotions. He was pulled toward this Christian man from a faraway place. Despite that he had killed him, and vice versa, many times over, he believed he was a good man. Maybe even the best of men. Because when he looked at him, he saw something reflected in his eyes. A familiar pain, the same torment that Yusuf had felt most of his life.

Their faiths said that what they felt was unnatural and wrong. And yet they had returned from death, over and over again. Was that not unnatural? But maybe it wasn’t wrong. There must be a purpose. Without thinking, for fear he might change his mind, Yusuf reached his hand out and took Nicolo’s.

Nicolo looked alarmed for a moment and glanced around him, fear that someone might be near overwhelmed him. But he did not pull back his hand.

“There is no one else here, Nicolo.”

“No, there is not.”

Nicolo chose to have courage and to ignore everything he had ever been taught. He chose to listen, instead, to what his heart taught him was right. He closed the gap between himself and Yusuf and looked into his bright eyes for a moment before Yusuf brought his lips softly to meet Nicolo’s.

It was the only kiss either of them had ever had, and it was the only one that mattered. It was an earth-shattering realization and acceptance of the fact that the world they knew before was gone and this new world was one of their own making, one where they only had each other and everything else ceased to be of importance.

[yahboobeh]

Why the f did I never post this: A Papabay companion piece

Everyone remembers the strip @papabay drew a little over a year ago with Neji and Tenten at the hot springs post war. If you don’t remember or just need to see it again. Apparently I wrote a little follow up piece to go with it. I hope everyone enjoys it. 

--

He’d caught her - she could feel it. Her muscles tensed and her face burned with every  glance from across the dinner table. The weight of the afternoon at the hot springs sat heavy over the two of them and not even Lee and Gai’s usual animated chatter seemed enough to fill the expanse of awkward silence that spanned across plates and cups and utensils.

Those stupid girls, thought Tenten bitterly. If they hadn’t called her out, accused her of ogling him... But they didn’t see what she saw. Behind lean muscle and pink scars (and an admittedly thin towel) lay a wasteland of emotional trauma.

She could push it deep, deep down most of the time, only letting the pain surface for the briefest moments. A flash of a memory and an ache in her chest, that’s all she would allow before shaking her head as if the gesture itself could detach the memory  from her brain.

But a sense of shame had latched itself on to the image of Neji’s torso. It made her stomach lurch and her chest ache. Under the socially acceptable guise of dinner, Tenten sought to numb the memory with a stiff drink.

It may have worked if he hadn’t kept catching her eye. She flicked her gaze away as quickly as she could but Neji could read her like an open book. And it wasn’t long after dinner that she heard the long expected knock on her door.

Tenten wanted to act like everything was normal, that his awareness of any issue she might have was purely his imagination. But when she beckoned him in to her room her voice cracked and stuck in her throat.

Neji let himself in and closed the door with a soft click.

Tenten, too ashamed to meet his gaze, let her eyes drop to his chest where she could perfectly recall the raw, pink scars that bloomed under his shirt.

“Tenten, are you alright?”

Her eyes closed. Neji spoke her name with such gentle concern. The low, sweet sound caressed her ears, twinged in her chest and coiled low in her belly.

Her voice was tight in her throat and it took all she had to just nod.

Neji stepped closer to her. His body shifted awkwardly in her peripheral vision as her brain tried to piece together the movement, sluggishly coming to the conclusion that he was pulling his shirt off.

Now when she looked at him the scars were no longer imaginary. She gasped involuntary as images of his near death assaulted her.

He was closer now and his hand was warm around hers, quelling trembling fingers.

He drew her hand to his chest, to the scar just above his heart. Tenten’s fingers brushed over smooth ivory muscle and caught on the pink ridges of the scar. The scar itself was smooth with dips and crevasses and underneath it was his even and steady heartbeat.

Then the whole thing went blurry, a mash of pink and white before she was pulled into a warm embrace. It was then that she realized what had caused the change in her vision.

A shiver and a choked sob - then the tears. Neji held her tighter, rocked her gently and stroked her hair.

He whispered comforting words to her. Had he been talking the whole time? She couldn’t remember.

Between her own whimpers and sniffles the low rumble of his voice in her hair began to take on familiar patterns and settle into words.

“It’s okay,” he murmured and under her fingers, under the texture of the scar was his heartbeat again.

Neji was solid and warm and very much alive. She then found her voice. It was small and muffled by his neck, his hair and her tears - no louder than a sigh.

“Oh Neji...”

He held her tighter and rubbed her back.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head that any other day would have her reeling and speculating, but now it was just more comfort. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before another kiss.

She felt his hand over her own, pressing her palm flat over his chest. Tenten emerged from the crook of his neck and let her forehead rest against his.

“I’m still here.” His breath was warm against her cheek and his chest hummed with his voice and his heart continued to thumb out a strong, familiar rhythm.

Finally, Tenten allowed her eyes to meet his. Her heart soared and a smile tugged at her lips. Neji’s eyes crinkled with his own smile and Tenten realized it would be far too easy to kiss him.

This time, the heat in her face was not the work of shame, but the familiar burn of embarrassed infatuation.

She was either going to kiss him or...

“Neji Hyuuga, if you ever try and do something like that again I’ll kill you myself.”

He chuckled, the tension successfully broken.

“Believe me, I’m very much aware that you would revive me yourself to do just that.”

“That’s right - don’t forget it.”

And then he kissed her. With her threats still warm on her lips Neji had leaned in and kissed her. Instead of harsh words conjured in fear, her drew sighs of contentment from her mouth. He nibbled on her lips and slipped his tongue in to her mouth.

Tenten kissed him back as best she could, but her head was heavy and sluggish from crying and his tongue made her knees buckle, so she mostly allowed herself to be kissed, reveling in the taste of his mouth.

Neji kissed her across the room and to her bed. He kissed her laying down, under the blankets and in the dark. She traced the ridges of his scar aware of the increase of his heartbeat. Very much alive she thought and sighed from under him.

He could have done more, here in her bed, she wouldn’t have stopped him. But Tenten was just as content to let Neji kiss her until she fell asleep and when morning came he would wake her with his lips, drawing sleepy sighs from her and reminding her of his presence.

In the middle of the night, somewhere between kisses and sleep he had promised her he would never leave her, and the morning proved him a man of his word.

She still felt the ache, the heavy pang of knowledge and suffering when she drew her fingers across Neji’s chest. One night of kissing would never fix that. For each physical scar lay a dozen emotional spread across each member of Team Gai.

Healing took time, but Neji had reminded her that it was not a path she needed to walk alone. He would hold her hand and she would curl up in his embrace. And when they drew back the sheets and left her room at the inn, they would have Lee and Gai at their sides too.

[theink-theiron]

Melting Iron

Chapter 1 - A Medival Fantasy Gajevy AU fanfiction

Read Here on AO3 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine Levy; you have nothing to worry about” reassured Princess Dragneel, the motivation however, fell on deaf ears as the bluenette continued to fret over the thought their new arrivals, her eyes unfocused, her heart racing and her mind working a mile a minute trying to figure her way out of the inevitable.

She had no problem meeting new people, sure she was not the most social person in the kingdom, but she could withstand the average amount socialness required to not seem abnormal or rude. It was however a certain group of individuals, that at the mere thought of them had the young lady’s skin crawling and her fight or flight mode kicking into hyperdrive. Scholars, professors, court advisors any job within a kingdom that required a high level of knowledge or education, it was not the position itself that infuriated her but rather the type of people that held these positions. Being a woman had its fair share of challenges as did being small, as did being young, when mixed these three factors create a brilliant target. She had struggled all her life to be taken seriously despite her clear unchallengeable intellect and because of this she could fill a book with all the times she has been unjustifiably belittled, and she fears something similar is going to happen soon.

The day was bright unfitting to her mood as the two ladies strode down the hallways into the entrance hall in preparation to greet their new guests. King Natsu was already stood tall and proud, with guards and servants posted around the hall. All the necessary preparations were already in order, the food was harvested from their thriving farms, and the most luxurious wines bought from the finest vineyards, all put together by Mirajane the lovely head chef and her dedicated team. The palace was scrubbed to withing an inch of its life, and the marble floors glistened and the light from the stained windows giving the palace a magical glow. Everyone was in place as the princess stood at the head of the entrance next to her husband. Levy took her place near them as she was a vital part of what was about to take place.

The giant doors opened and Prince Redfox ‘The Iron Dragon’ emerged, a hulking form of a man, all eyes were drawn to him, his intimidating presence demanding their attention and the room fell deathly silent. He had the eyes of a warrior who had seen a hundred lifetimes, his black steel armour thick and seemingly impenetrable covering him entirely from the neck down as his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the hall. He was quickly followed by several guards and a few servants all impressive in their crisp and tidy uniforms, but that was to be expected, and finally, three old grey gentlemen walking gracefully in their drab and old-fashioned cloaks, by the gods she already bored to death just looking at them.

She could not look away from the fascinating prince as she was entranced by the display. He showed no clear sign of emotion on his face as he marched along to stand at the foot of the Dragneels. A smile graced the royals faces as the formalities began. “Prince Redfox we are pleased to welcome you to the fire kingdom” The king began “I hope you had a safe journey” It was clear to all that knew him that he was trying his best to be formal though it was not something he was suited for or enjoyed, although she can hardly blame him as she felt the same way.

The talked for a small while exchanging pleasantries that neither were that interested in doing, until it was time to depart. “Miss Lisanna would you be kind enough to escort Prince Redfox to his room” It was getting late and the official work would start in the morning. Just before the prince turned to leave his eyes ghosted over Levy, taking in her petite form and colourful dress as she stood out from the crowd with her blue hair and a long flowy orange dress that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, it was only brief but their eyes met and it felt as if she was holding his stern gaze for an eternity. And just like that he was gone, everyone dispersing and getting back to work as the prince and his entourage were all heading to their rooms and getting prepared for a grand meal that would be hosted later that evening.

Levy released a breath that she did not know she was holding when the room was almost emptied, and the new arrivals were out of sight. Turning to the princess, they smiled at each other and both visibly relaxed. “Well that went rather well I think, don’t you?” Lucy seemed pleased as she should, the next few weeks are going to be particularly important for both parties and a good first impression could make all the difference. “yeas, it was quite successful, I think he’s pleased” Lucy’s eyes lit up at this and a mischievous smile appeared on her face “Oh yes, I would definitely say he was pleased with what he saw” She teased. The two women had been friends since childhood, so this kind of informality was common when no one new was around, newcomers would probably be surprised or appalled at the way a servant would speak to a queen so they kept up formalities in front of quest as to appear professional.

A blush covered the smalls girls face “What are you talking about Lu? You are crazy”

“Please, I saw that little look you two gave to each other” She was trying to contain a squeal as she inched closer to the girl, Levy crossed her arms and shook her head. “That wasn’t anything he was just looking around the room and we made brief eye contact, hardly anything to gush about” Natsu just playfully shook his head at the two of them already knowing what they were like and gently wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulling her away muttering something about getting washed up before the banquet, he gave a passing look at Levy and she nodded at him for saving her from her friends incessant interrogation, he really was life saver in more ways than one.

Brushing off those childish remarks, Levy made her way back to library which was basically her second room judging by how much time she spends in there and on more than one occasion accidentally slept there. It was silly teasing and nothing more she assured herself, Lucy did that sort of stuff all the time, even so there was no way a man such as himself, a prince and soon to be king and esteemed warrior would be interested in her and just on look alone no less, she never really considered herself a prize. He wasn’t even her type, most brutish were mean, hard headed and stubborn, who usually wanted nothing more than a simple little wife to sit still and look pretty and birth a healthy heir, and surely prince Redfox was exactly the same, that was not the life for Levy she decided that long ago.

 Later that evening when the moon had risen, a handful servants and butlers arrived and began to serve the food with practiced elegance, everything looked delicious anything you heart or stomach could desire was placed perfectly on the elegantly decorated table, the room was lit with candles creating a wonderfully calming atmosphere, the plates and cutlery adorned with gold, the dining hall was exemplary from ceiling to floor and most certainly fit for a king.

There were few places set at the small table, as this certain dinner was only for the people involved in the plans for the alliance and approaching war, it was meant to make the stay more hospitable and hopefully ease the tension between the royals.

Everyone took their seats Natsu at one end with Lucy by his side, and Prince Redfox at the other with who she expected to be his right-hand man on his right, she heard from Lucy that his his name was Pantherlily. The three ‘ancients’ as she has nicknamed them, sat stiffly together looking as dull as ever, a long blue haired beauty was also there although her role at the moment was unknow, our captain of the guard Erza Scarlet sat opposite me, her eyes were stern as she scanned the room for anything potentially dangerous, she was seriously devoted to her kingdom and her job, she was a lovely woman but she could be truly terrifying when the time called for it, and to her left Jellal Fernandes a brilliantly clever battle tactician and although they never showed any outward affection in public everyone knew they were courting. Levy was a communication expert and all round ‘know it all’ she helped with anything she could usually involving books, scrolls, languages, or even runes and she was damn good at her job despite her young age.

Everyone began tucking into the gigantic feast and the mood lightened as everyone was dazzled by the display of food and put at ease by the abundance of alcohol, light chatter filled the room as people began to become familiar with one another when one of the ancients began to speak up “I am looking forward to this impressive team of scholars that you have spoken so highly of your King Natsu” His words were polite but his tone was dismissive. Thankfully Natsu swallowed the abnormal amount of food in his mouth before he spoke. “You already have” he stated at then motioned towards me with one hand and grabbing more food with the other. The room went silent and all the new arrivals were clearly shocked, it was unusual for a woman to be in such a position so this feeling was hardly new to her, especially the old ones, everyone was looking at her and she began to feel a bit awkward so she did a quick little wave and hoped that would do. “This one woman?” It was not so much of a question as it was an accusation, it was evident that he did not like the fact that I was a woman not many noble men did but he didn’t want to be so open about it and risk damaging a new relationship.

She looked over to the prince to try and get a gage on how he felt about the issue, but she could still tell nothing, his eyes were locked on her but so were everyone else’s. She hoped it would not cause a problem as it had in the past. “Is there a problem with that?” Natsu’s tone was raised slightly. Despite not knowing the king for long he had already grown protective over his wife’s best friend and it was extremely sweet, but she desperately did not want to be the cause of a big scene. “No, no, no your highness, of course, that is not a problem at all” he backed down thankfully, but he shot a nasty glare at Levy before averting his gaze that no one seemed to notice, or so she though, so things slowly began to settle down again.

The prince stayed quite throughout the majority of the meal but their eyes met every so often, she was beginning to worry that he would think that she was weird, so she took to chatting to the fellow bluenette on her left. She was a shy lady, but they seemed to get on quite well and she did not know who this Gray man was but the way she described him made him sound like a god.

Deserts came and went and Erza nearly stabbed the king she swore an oath to protect for trying to take the last of the strawberry cake. All were merry and having a good time just as Cana promised, why we trusted her to choose the alcohol was beyond her as even she was beginning to fell a bit tipsy from the two small drinks she had. As the evening progressed people began to filter out of the room until it was just her and the prince who still seemed unaffected despite the large amount of alcohol he consumed, not that she was watching or anything mind you.

You could taste the awkwardness in the air, as she took another sip of her drink successfully finishing it, and in her mind planning on a quick yet courteous exit. But just as she was about to get up to leave, he grabbed a somehow unopened bottle of whiskey names ‘Los demonios beben’ also known as ‘The Devils Drink’ no wonder it was untouched nobody would dare at an event like this, it was most likely Cana’s work that it was even got here. “Would you care to have a drink with me?” He asked but he was already poring it into his small glass and was moving to grab hers. “I am not sure if I should” She was a little bit of light weight but did not want to admit it. “Why? Can’t you handle it?” There was a small glint in his eyes and a slight smirk on his lips as he challenged her, fine if that’s the game he wanted to play, she would bite. “That’s rich coming from you, a man who’s basically swaying on his chair” It was subtle, but she was observant and just managed to pick up on it.

She was a bit taken back from her own response as her mind stopped working, she had just insulted the fearsome prince! just as her mind started whirling trying to put an apology together he let out an odd little gihi as he placed her drink back in front of her. It was far too strong for her taste but there was no way she would let him know that, after her first small sip she glanced back at him to see he had already finished, his cockiness all over his face, that smug bastard. Now determined she gulped her drink down as fast as she could without spilling and then snatched up the bottle and pored herself another. What had gotten into her? This was not like her, plus this was an especially important mission she could not embarrass herself like this in front of a prince. But it seemed it had the opposite effect as he looked rather impressed. But of course, he had to one up her by taking a large swig straight from the bottle, and as to not fall behind so did she.

Before she knew it, the bottle was empty, and she realised they were entering dangerous territory as his predatory eyes raked over her. “Well I have had a very nice evening, but it is time I turn in for the night” she said standing and giving light bow and hoping it didn’t look like she was stumbling, luckily she didn’t slur her words too much or at least she didn’t think she did. His dazzling smile only wavered for a second before he too stood up and starched out his hand “You’ve been a worthy adversary, but I’m sorry you lost” Ever the diplomat she grasped his hand in a solid handshake and returned his light hearted banter “please I let you win, goodnight Prince Redfox” And with that she left.

On her way to her bedchambers she passed by Mirajane and Lisanna who both smiled at her and nodded she prayed they didn’t realise she and the prince were the last ones out or she would never hear the end of it from any of the girls and that’s really not what she needed right now.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

[berrymascarpone]

For the last few months, I’ve been rereading the Earthsea trilogy by Ursula K Le Guin, and has very beautiful descriptions of idyllic mountain towns and different landscapes. And, of course, being a huge fanfic nerd, I immediately thought of writing a fic like that. So yeah, here’s the result:

Title: Hope Like a Sword, Intolerable

There is no death, there is the Force. The Force is an endless ocean that crashes its unresting waves on all the shores across time and space and eternity, and each life merely an instant of foam on the crest.

One man falls into the Force and tries to keep himself from splintering into foam. He has the knowledge of the Whills behind him, and the clawing desperation of a lifetime. The Force takes, it takes his brother’s betrayal like a red-hot blade between his ribs, the scouring, lonely years in the desert, the candlelight flicker of hope in the war that had no end. The Force takes it all, and leaves the man, clinging, desperate. He thinks he can swim the currents, stay the tide, but the ocean drags him under, into the deep undertow. It draws him in, inexorable, and when it has taken enough, brined the years and sun-bleached distances from his bones, it spits him out like all the beached whales and floating debris on a strange shore.

He stumbles, unsteady, and, with a final crash, he wakes.

===

Obi-Wan Kenobi is born crying.

This is not unusual, but after his first gulps of air, after being cleaned and swaddled and rocked, he continues to wail, thin and reedy, and refuses to stop, except to drink from his mother’s breast and sleep in fits and starts. But his parents, Druma and San-Mai Kenobi, are an older couple who have four other children they’ve raised through sleepless nights and more crying than a Chandrilian tragedy. They are worried, but not overly so. They soothe him with lullabies and gentle rocking, and sometimes a bit of sweet sleep-grass for him to chew on. It’s just a touch of colic, they argue, nothing unusual. He will grow out of it.

He does, eventually, and though he still wakes to his own cries occasionally, he quickly stops as soon as one of his parents comes into the room, staring with wide eyes at Druma’s sleepy face, or San-Mai’s tired smile.

He’s the perfect child, all big eyes and quiet curiosity, and very little fussing. His parents are grateful for a calm child at last, especially because they are busy with the farm and the Shaak herds, and the many things that must be done in a small Stewjoni village around harvest time. Perhaps that is why they don’t notice the way he stares at them sometimes, at his own hands and at the small blue-painted room he shares with his toddler sister Nerva, and the way he reaches out to things with just a bit of hesitation, like he’s reaching for a soap bubble that will disappear once he touches it.

===

He grows.

In his first two years, Obi-Wan is a quiet, somber child. He plays with his toys quietly, moves his little stuffed nexu toy around with a faraway look on his face, though he doesn’t touch the toy soldiers his older brothers give him. He tolerates the antics of his older siblings with an unending patience, letting them tote him around the house and dress him in their too-large clothes. He doesn’t cry much, even when Ric, his second oldest brother, drops him accidentally and he hits his head on the side of the dining room table. He stares at the blood on his hands like it’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen, and Ric is the one who starts bawling, drawing their parents over like concerned hens. He doesn’t fuss, doesn’t do anything to cause worry, and his parents are grateful. They have four other children to chase after and placate, including a toddler girl who is just learning to run, a pair of preteen twins, and a teenage son who is just starting to assert his independence, and they are happy for a little peace from him.

His parents do worry when he does not speak for his first year, does not babble and coo like the other infants, though he masters crawling and his first wobbly steps with apparent ease.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, physically,” the village pediatrician says, “He’s hit all the growth milestones, and there isn’t any sign of physical or neurological issues. Maybe he just needs a bit more time.”

His mother sighs and frets and smooths his hair as he sits quietly on her lap, but his father shrugs. A quiet boy is not the worst thing in the world, especially not after the first few months of non-stop crying. They know his vocal cords work, at least. And his sister Nerva only started speaking real words at eight months, he reasons, though he does not mention she had chattered endlessly in nonsense syllables since she could make sound.

And perhaps their worries are heard by some higher power, because Obi-Wan speaks the next day, a quiet, “Mama,” just before dinner.

Then, he looks at his father sitting in the next chair over, and tilts his head, and says, “Papa.”

His mother cries, and envelops him in a hug. His father is proud, of course, but there is a niggling sense in the back of his mind, that says this is not how the rest of your children learned to talk. He ignores it, because what does he care of the proper order of things, now that his youngest child is calling him papa?

It’s a cause for celebration in the house, and they spend the evening trying to teach them their names. Nerva, already four and speaking in full if not always grammatically correct sentences, laughs happily as he murmurs quiet syllables to her. Ric and Mari point and name every object they can find and try to get him to repeat the words. Even Owen, deep in his sulky teenage phase, musters up a smile for his cute littlest brother, who says his name with a frown, stumbling over the syllables with adorable frustration.

===

Obi-Wan wanders.

He starts wandering as soon as his legs are strong enough to hold his weight, with the aimless curiosity of a child, peering into every burrow and hole around their farm. His father, who has grown up in this town and knows the fields and hills as well the back of his own eyelids, sends him out to the pasture with the goose flock and a long switch made of rushes with which to herd them, as he sent all of his children before, and was sent himself as a toddling child. There is nothing in these hills that can hurt him, and the boy should learn some independence. They sent their akk-hound Maruma with him, though. Just in case.

His siblings sometimes catch him sitting on a rock in the hills, swinging his feet into the air and singing little nonsense songs with a marching cadence. Druma hears him once, and he’s reminded of the songs soldiers sing in the capital, ones he’s heard once in his boyhood years, when his father took him to see a military parade of crisply-uniformed militia members singing their way down the cramped streets, feet pounding a rhythm into the cobblestone.

Once, and only once, Obi-Wan wanders off the farm, past the fences and pastures, and into the forests of tall, dark conifers, and does not come back with the geese at dinner time. His parents are frantic, and send word out to the neighbors, who quickly organize into a search party, combing through the trees.

They find him in a field of vetch and clover, face blotched with crying and buried in Maruma’s soft scales. When they ask what happened, he shakes his head and says, “I can’t find him. He’s gone, gone.” And bursts into fresh tears.

They never do figure out who he meant, who was missing. No one in the village has left or died recently, and even the animals have been safe from predators and disease. No travelers in the summer, or visitors from the city. Druma remembers suddenly the old stories, of ghosts and barrows full of ancestors’ bones, and he wonders. But he does not speak these thoughts aloud.

Occasionally, when Obi-Wan stays up late enough to see the dawning stars, his mother notices a shift in his expression, a yearning, bereft look too old for his face, like he is searching for something loved and lost out amidst the black.

San-Mai feels something almost like fear in those moments, because her youngest, her little ember child, seems so far away, seems poised to leap up and join the cold stars in the heavens. Perhaps he belongs out there—far away among the stars and nebulae. Perhaps he is only here on borrowed time, and one day something will tug on the hook already buried in his heart and call him back.

But the next morning, he is in his bed again, sleeping. San-Mai’s heart is still once more, reassured that he is still here, still theirs.

===

He relearns things he has forgotten.

When he is three, his siblings teach him to fish in the cold mountain streams, how to stomp on the ground to make the worms come to the surface, to bait a hook and to lay on his stomach at the riverbank, holding the fishing line, and to jerk the string back quickly when he feels the faint tremble that indicates a bite. The first time he hooks a fish, everyone cheers even though the wriggling silverfish at the end of his line is only as big as his tiny palm. Owen cleans and cooks the fish over a crackling fire regardless, and Mari, his older sister, blows the crisping skin until he can eat it without burning himself.

His mother teaches him the songs of Stewjon, the lullabies, lays and ballads in the high lilting Stewjoni language that they speak in addition to Galactic Basic, and he mimics her in a wobbly voice, singing of fey creatures in the hills, brave heroes on the mountain slopes, maidens lost and maidens found, and maidens who find themselves. His favorite songs, however, are the ones about the old adventurers coming home, the hero returning after years of toil and war to his ploughshare and his scythe, to sing and rest before the crackling hearth fire, warming his old bones. He listens to those songs, which are not at all popular except in the cold winter months when all people long for warm hearths and friendly voices raised in song, and there is something of heartbreak in his face.

===

Obi-Wan dreams.

He sometimes wishes he could stay here forever, grow up again tall and weedy in the cradle of the valley of his birth, away from all power and darkness, forgetting all hope and horror. Live a farmer’s life, herding shaak and nauga, singing the joyful mountain songs, worrying only for the next season’s rains and the next year’s harvest.

But that is his wish, not his fate.

===

Stewjon is an agrarian planet, full of farmers and shaak herders with their mundane problems, solved by the local villagers’ collective experience and rugged determination. They do not, as a rule, receive foreign diplomats or visitors, except perhaps the buyers of nauga wool and local herbs, or an occasional wanderer looking for some peace. So it is with surprise and not a bit of nervousness that the small village cradled in the valley like a hundred other valleys gets word that a Jedi contingent is arriving the next week. It’s only for an Agricorps project, collecting samples from the buckwheat fields, and collecting information on livestock breeding and rainfall and harvest yields.

San-Mai mentions this fact casually to her husband, a bit of village gossip. She does not realize that Obi-Wan is listening, as he always is. She does notice when he drops the bowl of nauga wool he’s combing and looks up at them.

“Jedi?” He says, wide-eyed, “They’re coming here?”

“Yes dear,” Druma says, picking up the bowl and pressing a large, calloused hand over Obi-Wan’s head, ruffling the fine-gold hair. “They are big, strong warriors, like the ones that fight monsters in the songs, you remember?”

Obi-Wan nods, but there is something different in his eyes. It is a look that sets Druma’s nerves on edge with a sudden foreboding. His child looks so far away. Though he���s looking at Druma, he stares also at something beyond his father, beyond the house and the valley, and his gaze is full of longing.

“Are they here to stop a—a monster?” Obi-Wan asks.

“They’re here to help with the fields,” Druma says, “They are scholars too, you see. Wise men and women, who can feel the crops and the animals and tell if they are sick. They are here to make sure that ours are healthy and hale.”

Obi-Wan hums, kicks his feet as they dangle over the countertop where he’s seated.

“Can I go see them?” He asks, quietly.

“Of course,” San-Mai says. The whole village is likely to be out to see the Jedi. It’s not often that such exciting guests arrive. And though it is hard to remember that Obi-Wan is only four, with how serious he seems, it is not unusual for their youngest to grow excited over new things.

But Obi-Wan does not look excited. His face is drawn and thoughtful, and very distant.

===

Obi-Wan leaves.

The Jedi arrive in town, a tall bear of a Master and his sullen, dark-haired apprentice. They visit the required farms, take the samples they need, all the while trailed by a gaggle of curious village children, brave enough to follow but too shy to approach. Master Jinn smiles indulgently at them, and produces candies from the city from his voluminous sleeves. Padawan du Crion scowls, but when his Master is busy talking to Druma about the rainfalls and Shaak births, he entertains them with a magic trick—juggling rocks without use of his hands, and preens as they gasp and giggle with every little leap of stone and wave of his hand.

Obi-Wan does not laugh, but he smiles, reaches out and—the stones fall, but do not hit the ground. The apprentice gapes, his hands still, and he points at Obi-Wan and says, like an accusation, “You’re Force-sensitive!”

The children scatter, like startled birds, leaving Obi-Wan alone unperturbed.

Master Jinn comes over in two long strides. Druma follows closely behind, and he pales when he sees his youngest son, palms upward, and the stones floating about his head like planets orbiting a star.

“Obi-Wan?” He murmurs, more acceptance than surprise because he has always known, somewhere deep in his marrow where the old stories are rooted, that his child has never been his, has always belonged to another world, another fate. That eventually the day would come to let him go.

From the look on his child’s face, he knows that time has come.

He has four other children, but it is still so hard to give this one up.

===

“There is no death, there is the Force,” Obi-Wan says, and Qui-Gon freezes, looks down at the child with the old man’s eyes.

“All life and years and distances,” Obi-Wan says, “All stars and sunlight, all will and hope. That is what one must give, and that is what the Force demands. We are not saints, but seekers, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon Jinn kneels down before the child. Whatever expression his face might hold is obscured by the curtain of his hair, to all except the boy.

“Where did you learn that?” He says, softly. He remembers the words, has read them in ancient texts of Force-ghosts and spiritual presences, as no more than rumors and references in historical accounts. He thinks he might delve deeper to satisfy his esoteric curiosity, one day, when he has finished training his apprentice and has more time on his hands. He wonders, now, if there is some kernel of truth to those whispers.

“From you,” the boy says, quietly enough that no one else can hear, “From life and from loss.”

Qui-Gon is silent for a long time. He says, “What do you want to do, now?”

Obi-Wan’s lip trembles, and Qui-Gon is reminded suddenly that this is still a child in body, despite what his spirit remembers.

He says, “I want to go home.”

[fakeyellow]

50 years after the battle, Kamilah deals with the aftermath of her betrayal and the loss of Laia. 

Meanwhile, Anya is a 22-year-old Londoner who can’t remember the first 18 years of her life.

Summary: Kamilah and co. win the war against Gaius but at great personal cost. Fifty years have passed since their pyrrhic victory when a stranger, looking exactly like the woman they lost, enters their lives. Part 1 here.  Part 3. Part 4.

It was remarkable, Kamilah mused as she walked down the streets of London, how everything could at once stay the same and be different. 

She’d last stepped foot on this island over three hundred years ago, before she’d made the move to America, and while technological advancements had replaced the candlelit lamps with lightbulbs, it was still the same, bustling city she had once known. The New York Massacre of fifty years ago hadn’t even touched this island and their people walked blissfully unaware of the existence of the supernatural.

Her thoughts returned back to her home, New York City. Despite Gaius’s forces ravaging the city and forcing it into a state of evacuation, once Gaius had died, everything had returned to normal. Coming from a small port city, Grant Emerson had successfully burst on the scene, running for senator on the campaign of New York’s restoration and improvement. Adrian had been all too happy to donate to his cause upon sitting down with the man and New York had returned to its glittering city of edifices once more. 

The massacre had been explained away by a gas leak, carbon monoxide leaking into the streets and wreaking havoc on people’s minds until they grew crazy and attacked anyone around them. There had been scientists researching the traces of gas they found, searching for the compound that had caused such mania but even their numbers had dwindled until the massacre was just a footnote in New York’s illustrious history. 

It was amazing how resilient and ignorant mortals were willing to be in order to make everything fit into a neat narrative but then she had seen this happen all too many times before. 

And yet, even with their knowledge of the true events, vampire society had also returned to normal, the Council reforming to continue its all-encompassing rule over New York. Their numbers had been severely diminished in the battles but vampires were not a species that would easily allow itself to become extinct. 

All in all, it seemed everything had returned to normal upon Gaius’s death.

But Kamilah knew better.

She had lost the trust of her friends the moment she’d pretended to join Gaius again and it would take centuries before they trusted her again. Jax was outright hostile to her still, while Lily was uncharacteristically careful around her. Even Adrian, who had said he’d understood her actions, was distant with her, reminding her of the times when they’d first known each other. 

And Laia...

Something had broken in her the moment she’d seen the light disappear from Laia’s eyes, when she’d felt the life pour out of Laia’s body and spill all over the ground.

She had lost not only thousands of years of her life to Gaius, but the only person who mattered. There had been others, of course, whom Kamilah had loved but Laia. Laia had been the only woman to break past her defences and make her feel as if she were living again. 

Kamilah had done despicable things and committed countless atrocities that she had thought put her past the point of redemption. She’d wondered whether death would ever come for her, if her past acts would eventually catch up with her, and she’d resigned herself to a bleak eternity of guilt and shame.

But Laia had made her want to live. Laia had made her see that even vampires were capable of change and she’d made Kamilah want to be better not only for Laia, but for herself. She’d made her see that even despite her two thousand years on this Earth, there were still things unknown to her, experiences that she’d never had. And she had wanted to share all of these things with Laia. 

They just… hadn’t had enough time.

And now Kamilah was alone, and she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. For her to so keenly feel the absence of the woman who should have been by her side. Fifty years had passed but the pain was still fresh and ever accumulating. She hadn’t been able to stop seeing Laia everywhere she looked, smelling Laia’s scent, hearing her laughter, the first ten years, but even now, sometimes she swore she could smell the faint scent of strawberries and violet.

Kamilah froze. 

That wasn’t in her imagination. She could smell the sweet scent wafting towards her from an unknown source and even though she knew it was impossible, even though she’d chased the scent down so many times only to realise it had been in her head, Kamilah began running.

All thoughts of her impending business meeting vanished, her mind consumed by that light aroma as she chased it down with her honed instincts. 

And there.

Kamilah felt the breathe escape from her in one fell gasp as she stared at the woman standing just down the street from her. Her ombre honey blonde hair was gone, replaced with warm chestnut tresses with the slightest tint of auburn, but her eyes were the same. The slanted arch of her eyebrows, the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the dimple in her cheek. They were all the same.

As if she hadn’t died fifty years ago, Laia was standing in front of her. 

—-

Ever since she’d woken up from the accident, Anya had felt a restlessness inside of her. 

The doctors had told her that she was lucky to be alive, that the amnesia, while uncommon, was something that happened in some patients and her memories were just as likely to return as they were to not.

They never returned. And although she had baulked at the thought of living a life where the first 18 years of her life were completely blank, she had learned to move on. 

The first few months had been the roughest and it had only been through the support of Sera, that Anya had finally learned to leave the past behind. The woman had been with her from the very moment she’d woken up, and even though Anya couldn’t remember anything about her, Sera had been an infinite source of comfort and knowledge about who she was.

But still, even as Anya learned that her parents had died when she was a child, that she had been visiting Sera in Paris before she entered university back in London, that she had always wanted to become a museum curator, even as she slowly pieced together who Anya Altomare was… she felt a restlessness in her. 

She didn’t feel whole; it was as if there was something absolutely vital missing in her, an empty hole in her heart that couldn’t seem to be fixed no matter what she did. It had taken a year for her to stop bursting into tears whenever she smelled the scent of lavender and Sera hadn’t been able to provide her an explanation. 

But she had needed to move on and so Anya had gone to university for four years, immersing herself in her studies and making friends even as she felt like she was only masquerading as Anya Altomare and that there was somewhere else she desperately needed to be. 

This feeling hadn’t disappeared even after she’d graduated and Anya had spent a year in an archaeological dig, excavating the ruins of a newly unearthed fortress in the deserts of Egypt, as if she would also be able to discover who she was. 

Yet, even that had failed and still feeling like only a shell of a person, Anya was back in London, looking for jobs as a museum curator. Her friends had decided they needed to celebrate her return to London at their favourite bar, but the nonstop stream of chatter quickly wore away at her. 

That was why Anya was outside right now, reflecting about the half-life she was living and morosely wondering if she’d ever feel whole. Anya sighed and turned to go back inside when she suddenly made eye contact with a woman at the end of the street. 

It was dark but there was no mistaking that this was the most beautiful woman Anya had ever seen and the sight made her heart feel like it would swallow her whole. Her eyes were a bottomless brown that Anya could have drowned herself in, her face framed by gleaming sheets of hair that Anya longed to run her fingers through. 

Her every feature seemed perfect as if they had been lovingly chiseled by a sculptor, but there was something devastatingly tragic about her, as if there was a wasteland of heartbreak underneath her composed exterior. Anya instinctively stepped towards her, feeling a need to comfort the woman, to embrace the woman, to caress her cheek when suddenly-

“ANYA!” 

Her friends called out to her in the bar, and by the time Anya looked back towards the woman, the street was empty as if she had never been there. Only the faint smell of lavender lingered behind and shaking the strange wistfulness that had overcome her, Anya went back into the bar. 

—-

(1 day later)

Kamilah furiously tore at the ground with a shovel, calluses forming and bursting open on her hands only to instantly heal over. She was a woman with a single-minded determination that had caused her to cancel all of her London appointments and fly straight back to New York, going immediately from the jet to the cemetery she was now in. 

There was no way Laia was alive. She’d seen the life leave her body, she’d felt the cold, heartless corpse against her arms, she’d Turned Laia too late. It was impossible. 

Her white silk blouse turned brown from the dirt but she paid no attention to it, focusing solely on the coffin that was slowly being revealed with each throw of dirt. At last, she threw her shovel to the side in frustration and lifted the lid using sheer force only to unceremoniously drop it and slump over in shock.

It was empty.

—-

(5 days later)

Anya cupped a mug of coffee, sipping on it slowly as she checked her email. She was currently staying at a friend’s after having returned from Egypt but she needed to find a job and an apartment soon. She couldn’t stand being a freeloader for long. 

She had sent her resume out to a variety of museums focusing particularly on ones that had ancient Egyptian exhibits (her specialty) but it seemed there just weren’t many museums looking for new curators. Sighing in frustration, she quickly refreshed her inbox only for her thumb to freeze over the new email that had appeared. 

Anya immediately pressed on it, her eyes rapidly skimming the letter that had arrived as if she were afraid it would disappear. 

“Dear Ms. Altomare… highly recommended by Professor Cunningham…  curator for a private collection of Ancient Egyptian artefacts… full benefits and a fully furnished apartment in the company building…”

She let out a scream of delight, jumping up and down as she clutched her phone to her chest. This had to be a dream. There was no way she could get her dream job in her dream field with a staggeringly high compensation rate. Suddenly furrowing her brows in worry, Anya rechecked the email, looking at the signature.

“Sincerely, Gabriel Sapienti, Assistant to Kamilah Sayeed, CEO of Ahmanet Financial.”

A quick search online revealed that Ahmanet Financial wasn’t only reputable, it was the company for all things finance-related and it was in the heart of New York. While she’d always wanted to go to the city across the oceans, Sera had always advised her against it, citing the violent, busy, and dirty nature of the streets. 

Anya sighed at this; if Sera were here, she’d definitely warn Anya away from this job. She could practically hear her friend’s voice in her head talking about how things that seemed too good to be true were exactly that: too good to be true. But everything seemed to check out and Anya wasn’t going to let go of this perfect opportunity. 

With a tremulous heart and a resolve to tell Sera later, Anya emailed back the assistant. 

She was going to New York.

—-

A/N: Bonus points to anyone who knows where I got Anya’s full name from. 

I ended up changing the time skip from 1 year to 50 years because that opened it up to a lot more angst and possibilities. Don’t worry, I have an explanation for all of the years/ages and it’ll all be revealed soon. Just hold tight! 

There should be 3-4 more parts to this and I hope you’ll continue to read. Thanks so much for all the support!! 

[tessimagines]

After All This (Bill Weasley x Reader) - Part Seven

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Moody!Reader

Summary: Both (Y/N) Moody and Bill Weasley decide it’s time to take the step they’ve always wanted to take.

You can find the series masterlist in my bio!

Warnings: Um I guess a tad angst but also extreme cuteness and all the fluffy feels. I feel so warm and fluffy after writing and editing this. 

Wordcount: 4.1k

A/N: You guys are going to love me. 

May 1st, 1998

Harry Potter sat by the stone grave, the sea breeze blowing in from across the ocean ruffling his deep black hair. Even from this far back you noticed the wet of his eyes and the red of his nose and cheeks. He held his knees up against his chest to keep his hands from shaking, his own thoughts keeping him unaware of your footsteps growing closer and closer to him.

In the months since Dobby had been buried, it hadn’t been unusual to find Harry out by his grave. Sometimes, Hermione or Ron would be out there with him, other times he would be out there alone. The elf had risked everything to keep Harry and his friends safe. And it was that fact that caused the guilt to eat away at him day in and day out, that was clear to everyone.

As you grew closer, the words on the tombstone became clearer. Here lies Dobby, a free Elf. And he was free, now in every aspect of both life and death. He was free from the terrors of the war and the cruelties and troubles he had faced in his life. He lay along with the other victims of the relentless war, a figure that seemed to be ever growing. He’d broken free from the hardship, from the pain. There was only quiet nothing for him now, his life stolen from his worn and scarred hands before his time. And only a name, muttered between those who could never forget what he gave so that they could live. 

“Harry?” He jumped when your voice hit his ears, whipping his head around to look up at you. He quickly raised his hands to wipe the tears away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be in in a second.” He rushed his words out to try and hide the fact that his voice was strained and raspy.

“Don’t worry. Bill’s still a little while away from finishing breakfast.” You sat down in the sandy grass beside him, feeling the damp ground wetting your jeans where you sat.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, letting the breeze ruffle your clothes and dishevel your hair. Harry’s eyes were still settled on the words inscribed on the headstone in front of him, almost forgetting to blink as the meaning behind them shone back at him.

“Do you still miss him?” Harry didn’t look over at you as he asked the question, but you turned your head to look at him. You then took a deep breath and moved your gaze to the deep blue water just over the cliff’s edge.

“Of course I do.” The words were spoken like they were a simple fact. Your fingers fiddled with little blades of light green grass in front of you, pulling out strands and playing with them in your hands. “I don’t think the missing ever really stops. I was only five when my mother died but I still miss her, you know? Do you miss your parents?”

Harry simply nodded, running a hand through his dark hair as he tried to think of what to say. “All the time. Except, I never had a chance to know them.”

“Look at us,” you said, a sad smile coming over your face. The early morning sunlight was sharp and bright, lighting up every inch of the ground around you. “A couple of orphans, huh?”

Harry gave a weak chuckle, finally turning his head to move his eyes to your face. He had never been able to see you as looking like your father, but in that moment, you did. You were so alike him in your courage, your intelligence and the way you were not afraid to put your own life on the line to benefit someone in the slightest.

“You’re so much like him, you know.” The sunlight gleamed in your hair and eyes but the smile on your lips shone brighter than the sunlight ever could. Harry caught the glint of a tear sitting in the corner of your eye as you nodded your head at him.

“He taught me everything.” He really had. He had taught you everything you knew. He taught you to be brave. To be empathetic. To be stubborn. To be caring. To do what was best for the people around you, whether you knew them or not. And throughout all the years you had him, he had repeated the same words to you over and over. Do your best and all else will follow. And you did your best to follow it every day in every single possible way you could.

“Let’s get back inside, huh?” You said, watching as Harry rose to stand beside you. “You have a big day ahead of you. You’ll need a filling breakfast.”

The walk back to the cottage was filled with chatter about the day ahead of him. Harry went over the plan that the three of them had devised, little suggestions minted in by the people around them. It was only as you reached the garden bed outside the wooden front door that you felt Harry pull at your arm and turn you to face him.

“I didn’t thank you enough for what you did that day, (Y/N).” His eyes were filled with a look of sincerity as he looked intently at your face. “I’m serious. You didn’t have to put yourself in that position but you did and… I’m just so grateful for everything you did. For what you’ve done.”

He waved around at the little cottage where you and Bill had allowed them to stay for the last month and a half. It had been a tight fit but you had managed, even if it came with immutable loads of dirty washing and countless stacks of dishes.

“Moody would be proud of you, you know,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around you as you embraced him.

“There’s no need to thank me, Harry.” You couldn’t help flash him a deep smile. “Dad would be proud of you too, he always seemed to like you. Your parents would be too.”

Harry smiled and nodded, the sincerity of your words bringing a warm feeling to his heart. Through the pictures he had seen, he knew you looked so much like your mother. And through your actions and words, he knew you were so much like your father. But in that moment, he picked up on how much of a Weasley you were to, even if you didn’t yet hold their name.

But he was sure, that when you did, you would sure make a good one.

“Be safe, okay?”

You stood in front of the three of them, your arms unwrapping from their place around Ron’s shoulders. Bill was beside you, every now and then letting his eyes flicker over to you. He noticed the paleness of your face every time your eye caught Hermione, her face now a carbon copy of Bellatrix Le Strange. You felt his hand naturally slip into your own, the touch of his gentle skin against yours doing so much to calm your erratically beating heart.

“Don’t be afraid to come back, yeah?” Bill said, his eyes flickering between the three in front of him. “You guys know that we’re happy to have you stay here.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, a solemn smile sitting uncomfortably on his lips. “For everything.”

Bill simply nodded, watching as Harry pulled his invisibility cloak over Griphook sitting on his back. Ron and Hermione then held hands, Harry’s moving to grab Ron’s. And then with a final goodbye and an indebted nod in your direction, the three of them apparated off to Knockturn Alley, a large and loud crack oscillating throughout Shell Cottage.

You felt Bill’s arm instinctively move to wrap around your shoulder, pulling you closer against him. You nestled your head into his chest, trying to escape from the now silent home. After a month and a bit of having it almost packed to the brim full of people, each room noisy and warm, it seemed empty and… weird.

Bill lifted your head to place a kiss to your forehead, before leaning down and placing a soft kiss to your lips. You deepened it, your hands gripping their place on his hips and feeling his hand rest on the nape of your neck. Then Bill unexpectedly broke it, a smile crossing his lips as he noticed the red blush along your cheeks and the way you bit your pale, pink lips. Even with the messy hair, battle scars and teasing words you were the most alluring woman in the world. Everything about you was special to him, and after all these years together, you were still everything that he wanted. Despite everything that you had gone through, every jubilant and bitter moment, you were still the only person he wanted to wake up to and fall asleep next to every day of his life.  

And he knew, right then and there, that he wanted to make it final. More than anything in that moment, he wanted to make you a Weasley. He wanted to promise to spend every future day by your side. He wanted to introduce you to people as his wife, and feel a lightness bloom in his chest whenever he heard you being called (Y/N) Weasley. And he wanted it right now, tonight, because the thought of having to wait another day in the erratic chaos of this war seemed too arduous to bear.

“What is it?” You laughed, eyeing the excited look on Bill’s face. He simply looked down at you, pure thrill blazing heavily in his eyes.

“Let’s get married.”

The words took you by complete surprise, expecting to hear anything but that come out of his mouth. You could barely manage to string a sentence together and had to blink your eyes at him multiple times to make sure that this was really happening.

“W-what?” You stumbled, a bewildered laugh slipping out along with it. Bill just let his hands slip down and grab yours, pulling them into the space between the two of you.

“Let’s get married tonight.” Bill was hanging on edge for you to respond, each moment without a ‘yes’ causing his heart to beat faster and faster. “I want to marry you.”

“How, Bill?” You muttered. “We can’t just do this with the two of us, we need someone to officiate it. We can’t just go to the ministry, can we? It’s not the safest place for us right now.”

“I can work something out,” Bill said. There was still a large smile on his lips, and he gripped your hands like it was the lifeline keeping him tied to the planet. “I just want to marry you tonight. I don’t want to spend another day in this stupid war without being able to call you my wife, okay? Let’s get married, right here, tonight.”

You went to say yes but felt the words bubble way in your throat, instead letting out an ecstatic giggle. How in Merlin’s name could you say no? This man, Bill Weasley, was the single most beautiful, caring, intelligent and pure man that you knew. And to be able to call him your husband at least once before you put your life on the line again, meant everything in the world to you. All you could do was nod your head and throw your arms around his shoulders.

“Yes!” You finally managed to squeal, Bill moving to swing your bodies around in celebration. 

“Okay,” You could hear the exhilaration in his voice as he swung you around before letting you stand again on the solid ground below you. “Let’s do this, huh? Oh gosh, I’ve still got to think how.”

You laughed, placing a hand on the side of his face. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Bill smiled a euphoric smile at you and placed another rash yet loving kiss to your lips.

You adjusted the thin spaghetti strap of your dress, catching the glint of the light on the little black beads in the mirror. It was a slim cut in crimson red fabric with black sheer laid over the top, little black beads forming a floral pattern on the front of the dress. It went down to your ankles and the material clung nicely to your body and showed just the right amount of cleavage. You knew it was Bill’s favourite dress out of the ones you owned and you couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw you in it.

You walked your way over to the wooden closet in the corner of your room, swinging it open and grabbing out a black cardigan. It was going to be a crisp night outside, and your spaghetti-strap dress was hardly going to cut it. Slipping it on, you made your way over to the door of your room and carefully made your way down the stairs, the sound of your black heels clicking on the wood as you went down.

Stepping down into the living room, you found your eyes immediately locking with Charlie’s. Seeing him standing there, dress robes on his back, took you by complete surprise. You had expected him to be out there by the cliff side with Bill. But instead, he stood there staring at you, a proud and astounded look on his face.

“(Y/N)…” Charlie said, a smile hanging off his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh, Charlie…” You whispered, making your way over to him. His arms immediately went to close around your body and pull you tight against him. It was the perfect brotherly hug, and you leaned into his comforting body. “I’m getting married.”

A laugh slipped from Charlie’s lips as he broke the hug to look down at your flustered face. You were so clearly emotional, slight happy tears gracing your ecstatic face. You tried to pat them away, in an attempt to save the newly applied mascara that sat on your lashes.

“I’m going to be your sister!” You said, your voice breaking with joy. Charlie just took your hands, the widest and brightest smile sitting on his face. It was so close to reaching his cheekbones.

“You’ve been my sister for a lot longer than this,” Charlie said, giving your hands a tight squeeze. “Even if you didn’t have the Weasley last name.”

You gave an emotional laugh, still patting up the rebellious tears sitting on the edge of your eyes. Charlie let one of your hands drop to your side but kept a firm grip on the other. He then began to pull you towards the front door, his other hand going to guide your back.

The cool breeze hit your skin immediately but you hardly felt it, all you could do was set your eyes on the figure of Bill standing out by the cliff’s edge and the intense smile the sight brought to your lips. At the sound of the door closing and footsteps heading in his direction, Bill’s head turned. His eyes settled on your figure walking over towards him, his closest brother walking along beside you.

In that instant, everything else but the look on your face and your body in that dress faded out of existence. It was only you, walking towards him, the look of bright zeal in your eager (e/c) eyes. There was no sound of the crashing waves behind him, or the sound of his heart beating in his chest. There was only you, the only person that mattered in that moment. You were his past, his present and his future. It amazed him that he hadn’t always known, that there was once a time where you were just a twelve year old who asked to sit next to him on a train heading off to a far-distant school the two of you had only dreamed of. In only a few short moments, you would be his wife and he would be your husband, and the two of you would be joined not only in name and fortune, but also in heart and soul. Your futures had always been intertwined with one another’s, no matter how long or short they were set out to be.

“You look like your heart’s stopped beating, Weasley.” You said, the sound of your voice filling the air around him. You were so gorgeous that he thought there was every possibility that it had.

“I think it has.” The smile on your full, red lips only deepened as you came to a stop in front of him. Charlie now stood between you two and the cliff’s edge, just a little over seven feet away.

“So how do you want to do this?” Charlie asked, his eye flickering between you and his brother.

“I know we just have to sign the papers and do the actual spell but I want to do this as properly as we can out here,” Bill said, his voice as clear as day in the crisp breeze. You simply nodded and allowed him to continue.

“Every wedding has a soppy, cheesy speech, I suppose. But the thing is, what do I say? When we first planned to get married, I had every word of my speech planned out and ready to go. But out here, with just you two, none of that seems important.”

Bill took a sharp breath in, his blue eyes fixed on your own. You gently squeezed his hands and urged him to continue. The moonlight seeped into the deep, jagged creases that had been clawed into his face more than a year ago. They had never changed the way you had looked or thought about him. He was still the same, beautiful man you had fallen in love with – even if he didn’t feel it at times. But in those moments, you would show him how wrong and ridiculous he was, giving him all the more reason to love you.

“We’ve gone through hard times together, but no matter how low we got, we always managed to come out stronger than ever. And some of the pain and loss we’ve already gone through will never leave us, just like some of the pain that we both know is to come. Your father was one of the bravest, smartest men this world has ever known. And I can’t have been more lucky than to have had his blessing to cherish and love his beautiful daughter. We’ll both miss him, and if we are ever lucky enough to have children of our own one day, I promise that they will grow up knowing the courageous man that their Grandfather was.”

“Things aren’t always going to be easy, I think we both know that.” Bill’s eyes were locked with yours and he noticed the little wet rim forming around them. He knew his own hands should be shaking right now, but looking down, he noticed that they were perfectly still in your own. That had always been the way, he supposed. You brought whatever stability possible to each other’s lives. It was hard to imagine a world where you weren’t there on the other side of bed when he woke up in the morning. And it was his biggest hope in the world that that would never happen.

“But if we make it out of this stupid war, then I can’t wait for our own little forever to start. Because you are the only person I want, and you are the only person that I will ever need. You give my life so much joy every day, and for that, (Y/N), I am so, so grateful.”

This time, Bill watched you finally cry a few, small tears. The beauty and transcendence of the moment had finally gotten to you and you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped from your lips, a little emotional giggle coming out along with it. Bill just smiled his perfect smile at you and went on, his eyes sprinkled with little sparks of veneration.

You took a deep breath in of the crisp air, letting it fill your lungs and calm down your racing heart. You managed to bring your thoughts together and settle your eyes on Bill’s face in front of your own.

“Oh, Bill,” you mumbled, your throat closing up on you. Bill chuckled and interlocked your fingers with his own, drawing a circle around your palm. “I feel like I’ve known you for my whole life. And in some sort of way, I have. We were only twelve when we first met, and I can still remember the first ever smile you flashed me on platform 9 and ¾. But each day since the day I realised I loved you, I’ve only grown to love you more and more. And it’s every part of you too. I love every part of you; the good, the bad and the ugly. But you are so good, just like every other Weasley. And to be able to take that name and have it as my own makes me the luckiest woman to ever walk the earth. And to have you walk it with me, makes me all the more lucky.”

Charlie was now looking between the two of you, a proud and excited look on his face. There had never been any doubt in his mind about the love that you and his brother had for one another. It had been as clear as day to everybody who knew you from the get-go. Yet standing in front of you now, the connection between the two of you hit him right in the stomach. It was so strong and so real and so inspiring that he couldn’t help but get emotional along with the two of you.

Charlie then pulled out his wand and raised an eyebrow in Bill’s direction, waiting for a nod from this brother. He got it immediately, and you and Bill grabbed each other's right wrist and cocked them to the side, allowing for Charlie to tie bright white wisps of light around your connected hands.

“Now for the marriage vow,” he spoke, letting the two of you go on from there.

“I, William Weasley, son of Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewett, take this woman in front of me as my Wife. I promise to protect her, to hold her, and put my wand in her hands if the time may come. I promise to love her and enter into this marriage as equals, till death shall cover us with his cloak.”

You took a deep breath in and repeated the same words after him, only making the changes where they were necessary. “I, (Y/N) Moody, daughter of Alastor Moody and Adeline Abbot, take this man in front of me as my husband. I promise to protect him, to hold him, and put my wand in his hands if the time may come. I promise to love him and enter into this marriage as equals, till death shall cover us with his cloak.”

“The vow must be sealed with a kiss.” Charlie spoke, his wand still emitting the wisps of white light joining yours and Bill’s hands. Bill leaned in immediately, allowing your lips to meet in an ardent, passionate kiss. The importance of the moment seemed to manifest itself into it, each movement wistful and intense. It took hold of the both of you, a moment to be contained in both of your memories forever. But like all memories, they must come to an end, yet this time, the end signalled a whole new part of your life.

“And with this last vow, I pronounce you William and (Y/N) Weasley.”

The sound of your names now as one was met with a series of uncontrollable giggles as you leaned up to press your lips to Bill’s in another heated kiss. You trailed them along his cheek and scars, the feeling on them on his damaged skin sending a feeling of adoration throughout his body.

Now you really were his to have and to hold. And hold you he would, for this moment and all to come, safe in the knowledge that you were his wife.

And that he was now your husband.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THAT CHAPTER!

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[neighborhood-newtina-reblogger]

Not a moment to spare

WC: 2.5k

Spoiler: They kiss!

The air was abuzz with the chatter of hundreds of witches and wizards. Orders shouted across corridors reverberated in many different tongues and dark-coated people weaved in and out of the crowd to find their assigned stations. Legions of aurors occupied the green tile hallways, the older ones all bearing the same inscrutable looks. Many of the younger ones also donned serious expressions, though their excitement invariably shined through. Some of their faces were also tinged with fear, but all present nurtured a cautious hope.

A bob of black hair broke free from the crowd and hurried away from the noisy throng. The corridor was endless, the repeating pattern of tiles making it seem as though she weren’t moving anywhere at all. Dark eyes scanning the crowd, she hardly saw a familiar face. But she knew where she could find one.

He would come striding down this hallway any minute now, all bravado and inspiring speeches to rally the masses. Then he would disappear.

It was something she admired about Theseus. Perhaps it was something she shared with him. His ability to steel himself, diving near-blind into the abyss of uncertainty with nothing but his research, his instincts, and his hard-earned skill backing him. His ability to endure great personal loss and yet to emerge with even stronger resolve. And most of all, his ability to remain hopeful. Never was he jaded, never did he doubt his cause, and never did he stoop to unkindness. She had to find him.

The first time Tina had come here, nearly six months ago, the Ministry building was overwhelming and seemingly impossible to navigate. Then, too, Theseus had been her guide. She hadn’t focused on cataloguing her surroundings as she usually did, the events of Paris only weeks prior still fresh in her mind. The pain and indignity of being forced to leave still a keenly-felt sting. She shuddered to remember how Newt’s green eyes were ringed with red and the way he had held onto her for a second too long when she stood in his doorway to say her goodbyes.

Now, after two months of liaising in person with the Ministry, she could weave through the chaos of this building with the same finesse that she could weave through the bustling streets of New York. Most of her daily responsibilities included meetings, paperwork, and bureaucracy, but she’d gone into the field enough times to know the floo network like the hilt of her own wand. This really was the only sensible spot to stage this operation, at least according to Tina, Theseus, and anybody else with a single shred of common sense. She had spent many a meeting in the last few weeks where the location of the offensive’s base was the sole topic of discussion. The building was on lockdown. Everyone involved had arrived at 3 o’clock that morning and passed through four security checkpoints; nobody else would be flooing in or out, leaving this entire floor practically unoccupied. They were therefore able to set up departure stations at every third fireplace and section off the adjacent hallways into mess halls, bunk areas, and secure meeting rooms.

Tina, Newt, and Jacob arrived at the Ministry early that morning. No sooner had she arrived than she was whisked away by Theseus. She hadn’t given it a second thought, already intensely focused on how the hell they were going to get this offensive off the ground in the next twenty-four hours with thousands of domestic and international aurors to coordinate. Now that everything seemed to be running fairly smoothly and the first team’s departure was drawing near, it was a waiting game. In the first moments she could spend alone with her head, she had become keenly aware of their place in history. This was a moment that would decide the fate of the wizarding world. There were guaranteed to be casualties. And she hadn’t even thought to throw Newt a reassuring glance that morning when she left. So now she had to find Theseus.

Her feet carried her at a brisk pace to the room from which she knew he and his lead strategist would emerge in just a few short moments. The same room where she would be sat just one hour later, when it would be her turn for a final debriefing before she led her own team out.

Sure enough, right on schedule, the two men appeared. Theseus’s expression was tight and focused, as it always was before he lighted off on a mission. His features softened as he noticed her jogging towards him. He offered her a courageous smile and a wave from across the way and turned his head to say something to the squat bearded man walking beside him. He made no effort to quicken his pace or divert his course to meet her. So she sped up into a near-run until she reached him and whipped back around to walk by his side.

“Tina.”

“Theseus.”

“Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

A quick chuckle was his only answer. This was how most of their exchanges went. A short volley of words that left so much unspoken yet entirely understood. They were compatible, as partners. And after a few life-and-death experiences, they had even come to trust each other.

“Newt, where is he?”

Theseus stopped, and the older gentleman who had dropped behind to make way for Tina nearly crashed into his back. He scrutinized her for a moment, and a sorrowful look passed across his face. It was a flicker, gone in an instant, but Tina still saw it. She saw how he quickly replaced it with a charming smile. Steeling himself, as always.

“He’ll be across the way. He departs with the sixth group. Right now he’s meant to be securing that case of his and leaving instructions with Ministry officials,” he paused to give another chuckle, and his smile felt more genuine, “both for their care and for their recapture.”

Tina gave him a quick nod and peeled off in the other direction and Theseus resumed his march towards the excited crowd of aurors. After taking a few steps, she paused and called out again to him. He turned around expectantly, his gait never faltering as he continued to walk backwards.

“See you out there,” was all she offered, losing the nerve to say what she really felt. They didn’t need to think about good luck and goodbyes. There was only the present, reality, and a plan. Then it was he who gave her a nod and turned away.

Once again tile after tile was slipping away under her feet. Many things were slipping away.

This wouldn’t be one of them.

Her pace quickened with every minute that passed until she was again jogging down the hallways and around corners. Finally Newt’s blue coat, which suited him so much more than the grey he’d worn in Paris, entered her field of view. Thank Merlin for Theseus.

“Newt!” She called out. He hadn’t heard. She stepped up her pace again. A little closer and she tried once more to catch his attention. This time, he turned from where he was hunched over on the ground, and upon realizing that Tina was practically running towards him, he stood and took a few steps in her direction.

“Tina? Has something happened?”

She nearly skidded to a stop in front of him and took a moment to catch her breath. He regarded her with concern as he waited for her to speak. Concern morphed into shock when she locked eyes with him and said:

“Newt, you have to kiss me.”

He blinked at her, mouth slightly ajar, not quite knowing what to say.

“Newt, we don’t have time for this. If you love me, then kiss me.” The words spilled out of her more quickly than she wanted them to, but as long as they did the trick, she didn’t much care how she came across.

His mouth opened and closed a few more times and he shifted his weight between his feet. There was panic growing in his eyes.

Tina let her head fall backwards for a moment in exasperation. This poor, awkward man. She knew she was putting him on the spot, but with the outbreak of war on the horizon in the next few hours, the time had come whether he was ready for it or not. Whether he wanted it or not. With news of the Ministry’s decision to move on Grindelwald and her hectic days of strategizing and training and coffee and paperwork and arguing with idiot bureaucrats, the two had hardly had time to exchange two words in the hallway over the last few weeks. The scarce moments that they were able to steal had been her saving grace.

And now in less than an hour she would be leaving again, this time to Austria with a team of aurors in tow and straight into the face of danger.

With renewed resolve and a forced calmness, she straightened her back, took a step forward, and held his gaze in what she hoped was a commanding stare.

“Mercy Lewis, Newt! We’re about to start a war, and I came to tell you that I love you, so please, please if you love me just give me this one thing and kiss me before I go!” She said, her steely expression fading with each passing word into something that could only be called desperation. On the final syllable she reached out and grabbed his lapels, holding him barely at arm’s length. She waited for him, watched as her words sunk in, and her breath hitched when he drew his gaze up from where her knuckles were nearly turning white to meet her own eyes. There was desperation in them, too. And to Tina’s delight, in one second the desperation hardened into determination.

“Tina, I—“ He struggled to find the words, and the beginnings of a tear glittered in his right eye. She gave him a sympathetic look. His resolve returned.

“Right,” was all that he said as he took a step forward and pulled her the rest of the way into him, one arm ensnaring her waist and the other crossing her back almost to her opposing shoulder. When he moved, Tina’s emotions bubbled to the surface. He’s actually going to do it! She was beaming as he took one last hungry glance at her eyes, then trained his stare on her smiling lips.

He held her so close he hardly had to move to connect their lips. Tina sighed into the contact and wantonly raised her arms to rest on his shoulders. It only took a moment before Newt deepened the kiss. He tightened his grip around her waist and leaned forward, making her bend backwards slightly to adjust their balance.

Something between a growl and a whimper escaped him, causing Tina to almost laugh into their kiss. She let one of her hands fall to his shoulder as the other moved upwards to catch in the back of his hair. Their lips moved in sync and they’d hardly parted for air. It was her turn, and she pushed her way upright and then some, almost putting Newt in the same compromising position she had just been in. Then, Tina felt Newt bend at the knees and tighten his grip on her again, if such a thing was possible, and in one deft motion he straightened and leant even further back so that her feet lost contact with the ground. She broke their kiss for a second while she laughed in delight. Newt gave her a breathtaking smile in return, and more than hunger in his eyes there was happiness. And it melted her. She dipped her head forward and caught him in a much calmer, slower kiss, though it was no less scorching. He returned it with a sigh and gently lowered her to the ground.

Newt took a full step back when he broke them apart, and put his hand in his pocket as he ran his eyes over Tina. Merlin’s Beard, what had come over him? Her hair looked mussed and her cheeks flushed and her lips indeed well-kissed. And they were in public! Oh, yes. Of course. She’d said the word love. That word that had been clattering around in his head for well more than a year. Breaking his concentration when he was trying to write, or when he was sketching in the field, or when he was preparing dinner. But especially when he would read her letters during the excruciating months of her absence. But even more so whenever he got the chance to look at her, a blessedly more frequent occurrence since she her arrival in England two months ago. But most of all when she looked at him with her big, beautiful eyes. Exactly as she was doing now. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, I’m glad there was time at least for that,” he teased. He resisted the urge to break their eye contact; the feeling her fiery eyes communicated was almost too much for him to bear.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Thank you, Newt.” Her eyes softened and so did her smile. The heat melted and so did Newt. He moved closer and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“No need to thank me, love. I’m afraid that my motivations were at least half selfish. Plus, I’m afraid it’ll be fairly awkward if you thank me every time we kiss.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip in embarrassment, his favorite habit of hers, and he laughed. “And I promise that from now on I will kiss you every chance I get, if you’ll allow it. No wasting time.”

There was that smile again, and her surprisingly delicate hands returned to tracing his lapels. He shivered as the gesture moved light pressure up and down his chest.

“Merlin’s beard, Tina. I bloody love you,”

“Do you bloody love me?” She laughed at the Briticism, drawing out of him that slightly mischievous look he always donned for their banter.

“I absolutely bloody do. And I bloody have for a bloody long time,”

She laughed in earnest now, and with both of her hands drew his face into her for a quick, chaste kiss. The sparkle in her dark eyes nearly took his breath away.

“Tina, when this is over—“ She raised a finger to his lips. An understanding passed between them. This was enough, for now. He gave her a nod and she bustled away, en route to the gaggle of dark-coated aurors. He watched her go for a moment, and she never looked back. His heart fluttered as he reflected on what they’d just done. And said. And he turned back to Jacob, who was still holding the niffler and was wearing the cheesiest grin Newt had ever laid eyes on. He winced and dared to look at the four young ministry employees. All of them seemed incredibly interested in their notepads and quills.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3427 Chapter: 3/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 3

Tobirama’s fingers slid between silk and cotton, playing with the hems of each shirt in his closet. He’d never owned so much clothing all at once before and he had very mixed feelings about it. On the one hand it was only proper that he be given gifts to celebrate his marriage. Similar traditions probably existed in almost every clan, whether shinobi or civilian, in each of the five great nations. On the other hand…

A scowl marred his features as he moved the garment in his hand to one side with a disdainful flick, turning the kimono to see the uchiwa fan sewn in to the back where it would sit directly between the shoulder blades. Everything he’d been gifted bore the symbol of the Clan he now lived among and he hated it. He hated it because it didn’t belong to him and he didn’t belong to them. Why should he bear the mark of a clan that rejected him so obviously?

With a dismissive grunt he pushed that shirt aside and instead reached for one he had brought with him from his old home. The blue color of it was solid all the way around, broken only by the Senju crest stitched in the wide white trim near his collar. Where most of the clothing he had been given was crafted in shades of black and purple, interrupted with the occasional splash of red, Tobirama had always preferred to dress himself in shades of blue. He liked the calmness of the color and the way it made him look like a breaking wave, white foam crashing atop rippling blue waters – though he would rather die a hundred deaths than express such whimsical nonsense to anyone.  

The closet made a quiet click as he very gently closed the doors, stepping back with the clothing he’d selected in hand and striding from the room without so much as a single glance back at the bed. Madara would still be asleep and there was little to be gained from gawking at a dreaming man. It had already begun to take a toll on him, this new habit of sleeping so little, but it was worth it to avoid the fights he knew would inevitably happen if he were to spend more time at home. So Tobirama continued to rise before the sun each day and escape his bridal residence before his spouse had even awoken, hiding yawns with clenched jaws and deep scowls while he prayed no one saw fit to comment on the deep bags growing under his eyes.

As had become his new habit, he changed clothing in the hallway downstairs and tossed his sleepwear in to the laundry room as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. He found it a bit odd that the Uchiha let servants do their laundry – it was strange trusting someone else to clean his undergarments – but it was one of the few things he found that he actually enjoyed here. At least now Hashirama had no way of guilting him in to washing both of their dirty clothes and there was more time each day to spend on other things instead of mucking about with laundry soaps or remembering to fetch his shirts back from the clothesline.

Breakfast nowadays was whatever he could find in the fridge to eat quickly and quietly on his way out the door. He sorely missed the times when he could sleep until the sun was well risen and eat a leisurely morning meal with his brother and Mito. Now he was reduced to sneaking out of his own so-called ‘home’ and making his way across the private Uchiha district market in the dark of pre-dawn.

Not many people on the street greeted him. It had been that way since his first day among these people and no matter that it continued to bother him he refused to let that show. Emotions were unseemly, better kept to oneself and never to be expressed in public like a child who cannot control themselves. As a whole he'd discovered the Uchiha to be a frighteningly expressive bunch with the capacity to overwhelm him all too easily with how freely they shouted their feelings to the world. That he was not in the habit of doing the same had led him to a quiet sort of ostracism which, despite how it ached, was honestly for the best.

These were Madara’s people. What point was there in allowing himself to grow close to those who would obviously take his husband’s side in any argument or in the unwanted event of a catastrophic divorce?

It wasn’t that any of the people passing him by were rude in any way. Were they his own people he would have applauded the decorum with which they presented themselves. Rather it was that he had observed how the Uchiha conducted themselves when interacting with each other and the cold silence they presented to him, the stark formality with no hint of warmth, it was all too clear they accepted his presence only because they believed his marriage with Madara to be a happy one. A deception he hated as much as they surely did.

Distracted as he was by the same thoughts that had so often plagued him over the past four months since arriving in this forsaken village, he very nearly didn’t noticed the small underdeveloped chakra signature barreling towards him, weaving through the legs of the few other people out at this hour. There was just enough time to stop in his tracks and provide a barrier for the small body before him to crash against instead of continuing forward where his bent knee would probably have crushed that delicate sternum without effort.

A hush fell over the street, every eye for dozens of feet in all directions watching with baited breath to see what he would do with this child who dared approach him. Tobirama looked down at the boy now splayed on his rump and bit the inside of his cheek to resist a smile.

“Ow,” the boy groaned. Then he looked up and both of his eyes widened with awe. “Hey, you’ve got no color!”

Tobirama stared back. “No, I haven’t,” he agreed. Children had a knack for spouting truths that adults were too polite to say and it never failed to amuse him.

“Where did all your color go?”

“I wasn’t born with any.”

“Oh. Where’s the rest of your Sharingan?”

“I don’t have a Sharingan.” Tobirama tilted his head and opened his eyes a little wider so the child could see that there were no hints of the tomoe. It made him feel a little bit like a psychopath since his eyes were naturally quite narrow and contributed a great deal to what Touka liked to call his ‘resting bitch face’. “I was not born an Uchiha. My eyes got all the color, I guess.”

The child laughed and Tobirama let his eyes narrow back to a point where he felt less like a serial killer asking for souls to eat. He could still feel many other pairs of eyes watching their conversation but several people had gone back to what they were doing, which was a relief.

“You’re pretty cool.”

Blinking slowly, Tobirama furrowed his brow and asked without thinking, “Are you sure?” He very nearly flushed when someone nearby tittered with poorly concealed amusement. The boy, at least, nodded happily.

“Uh-huh! I’m Kagami! What’s your name? Mom says that everyone in the compound is family and you’re in the compound so you’re family too. Will you teach me a jutsu? Do you know any cool jutsu? I want to learn all the coolest biggest jutsu so I can be super impressive just like Madara-sama!” He chattered on and on while Tobirama continued to stare at him wordlessly, long passed the point when the last of their suspicious audience finally gave up on waiting for him to do something stupid or cruel.

“Ah, it’s very nice to meet you Kagami but I have somewhere I intended to be.” Eventually he was forced to interrupt the ceaseless flow of words, though it made him feel a bit bad to do so. To his surprise the child only grinned impossibly wider.

“Okay! Wait, you didn’t tell me your name!”

“Tobirama. I am…I am Madara-sama’s husband.”

Kagami clapped both hands to his cheeks. “Oh no! Kaachan says I’m supposed to behave super well around you ‘cause you’re super important and stuff! Uh, I don’t know what to- um, should I bow!?” He flustered and worried in the most adorable way until Tobirama took pity on the poor thing.

“No, you needn’t bow, little one. You may come with me if you like. Ah…if your mother would allow that. Is she here to ask?”

“It’s okay! Kaachan says I can go wherever I want as long as there’s someone I trust with me! If you’re married to Madara-sama then of course I trust you!”

“Mn. Of course.” It was lucky a child so young wouldn’t understand the bitter twist in his words. He wasn’t entirely sure any Uchiha mother would feel comfortable handing their child over in to his care but a part of him could not have cared less. Whoever she was, she couldn’t say much about it since he technically ranked higher in their clan by virtue of marrying the first clan heir and the illogical petty part of him sort of wanted to show them all that he could watch the child just fine – that Kagami could even have fun in his care.

Determined, suddenly more irritated than usual with the idiots in this clan he was now forced to publicly claim as his own, Tobirama nodded in satisfaction to see Kagami bounce over to his side and break out in a flood of curious questions about where they were going and what they were doing. In actuality Tobirama had planned on little more than putting together the equipment that arrived today for the laboratory he’d set up in Touka’s basement. His cousin lived alone and she’d been more than willing to give up the unused space to allow him somewhere he could make his own, somewhere he didn’t have to feel like he was playing a part while the whole world looked on with judging eyes.

He had no idea whether Madara realized where he disappeared to during the hours he wasn’t at the administration tower but he had a feeling his husband cared very little as long as they didn’t have to see each other. Each time they crossed paths in public they were forced to assume the façade of a happy couple, something neither of them enjoyed. It was easier and much less painful to simply avoid that burning chakra as much as he could.

Kagami, at least, seemed thrilled to have someone who was willing to listen to his endless chatter, pattering along at his side all the way to the Senju compound where most of the clan hardly noticed his little guest, long used to the way children seemed to follow after him like magnets. It went a long way to lifting his mood as he disarmed the various traps and seals placed around the wooden doors leading down in to Touka’s cellar and when he ushered Kagami in ahead of him he was almost surprised to find a smile on his face. There had been precious little for him to smile about since the day he was married and subsequently ruined said marriage as well; it was nice to have something remind him, even if only for one afternoon, that this entire village had not been built for his sake. The purpose had been to keep the next generations safe and give them a place where they could grow without fear of cutting their lives short too soon.

It turned out that having Kagami along was a blessing in other ways as well. Some of the equipment would have been much more difficult to assemble without another pair of eager hands willing to hold the pieces in place for him to secure them together. Nearly a decade of helping to train the youths of his own clan had him automatically cataloguing how efficiently Kagami used his body and the impressive strength he possessed for his age, the way he knew how to brace his legs and the inventive ways he used to steady his arms when he was asked to keep something from moving. Given the right training he would flourish in to a brilliant shinobi despite the hyperactivity and Tobirama was already halfway through drafting a schedule for which basics to cover first before he remembered that it wasn’t his job to train the mite.

Which was a pity. Training the young ones had always been an excellent way for him to relax and he got along surprisingly well with Kagami considering the clan he came from.

The two of them passed a pleasant day together fiddling with various things in his lab even long after the equipment he’d been delivered was set up and ready to go. Kagami was as curious as any young child and Tobirama was only too willing to answer his questions, happy to encourage even the slightest interest in science. It was always nice to have someone willing to listen to him blather on about one of his greatest passions even if he couldn’t talk about anything much more complicated than mentioning that certain compounds exploded when mixed together. That was still more than most people cared to listen to.

Not that he blamed them, really. A great deal of shinobi were raised with the belief that the only tool they needed was their body. Only those who showed a significant amount of intelligence or unexpected proficiency in something were culled out of the front line fighters to be trained for anything else, leaving the rest uneducated but well trained for the battles that, until now, remained more important than anything else. Tobirama was lucky to have been born in to the head family of his clan. If he hadn’t then he likely would never have been given the leeway to pursue his love of science – and therefore would never have invented half of the things he had gifted the world with in his time, seals and jutsu and theories for advancements in engineering. A hobby it might be but he was too much of a shinobi himself not to find a way to be useful even when he was enjoying himself.

When it finally came time for Kagami to head home for dinner Tobirama was almost startled to find they had whiled away so many hours without truly doing anything. He felt a little guilty for not working on the seal he’d meant to continue researching, though if he went in to the office after dinner he could get a head start on tomorrow’s paperwork to free up some time for it then. There wasn’t anything wrong with taking a personal day every once in a while but he really hadn’t meant to today.

After seeing the boy off Tobirama wandered upstairs to raid Touka’s fridge. He was foiled by how empty it was and it took a few moments of bewildered staring to remember that his cousin was away on a diplomatic envoy to the Land of Tea. With a shrug he let the door swing closed and headed out the back door, hopping over the fence and up another back porch in to Hashirama’s house instead.

“Tobi, is that you?” Hashirama’s head peeked around the corner of the living room. “An interesting time for a social call. Shouldn’t you be having dinner at home right now?” Pausing for a moment to lift his eyebrows in derision for the very thought, Tobirama snorted and continued on to the kitchen.

“I haven’t eaten dinner in that house in weeks,” he grumbled, something his brother should well know. By some miracle he refrained from making a snarky statement about how much he did not consider that place his home. Hashirama still sighed at him as though he’d done something wrong.

“Still having troubles getting along, huh?”

Tobirama rolled his eyes and pulled a bit of cold chicken out of the fridge. “Troubles getting along. Hmph. You make it sound like we’re children who refuse to play nice, like he pulled my hair or something.” He bit in to the chicken with vicious teeth and tried to imagine in was Madara’s neck he was savaging. Except not in the sexy way he’d been thinking about on their wedding night before the whole thing turned sour. To this day he didn’t understand what the big deal was; they were married and married people had sex, it was a well-known tradition that such acts occurred on the night of the ceremony, so he had no idea what the whole victim act had been about.

Besides, wasn’t Madara older than him? Who ever heard of a twenty-two year old virgin?

“You know that the stability of this peace rests on both of your shoulders,” Hashirama reminded him unnecessarily.

“Thank you, I had forgotten that in the five minutes it’s been since the last time you felt the need to throw it in my face.” Hearing the same thing over and over was doing nothing to help him feel welcome and he was starting to rethink his decision to seek free food. Maybe it would have been better to go buy something from the market.

Ignoring the exasperated look his brother gave him, he polished off the hunk of chicken he’d liberated and popped the fridge open for another, making certain to look the other man dead in the eye as he did so just to be clear about how little he appreciated this conversation. His attitude got him no more than a pair of narrowed eyes and two hands propped on sturdy hips. At least Hashirama’s marriage seemed to be going well judging by the way he appeared to have picked up a few habits from his bride. That was definitely the stance Mito took when she was irritated.

“Please little brother, I’m being serious.”

“Miracles never cease.”

“Tobi! Don’t mock me, this is important! Your marriage has to stay together. Can’t you just try a little harder? For me?”

“Excuse me?” Tobirama left off licking his fingers clean and lowered them to glare at the man across the room. “Try a little harder? I’d like to see you go live with that animal! Never in my life have I met someone so ready to fight over the simplest, stupidest things! Try a little harder. Hah! Would you like me to lick his boots and grovel at his feet too?”

Wrapping himself up in anger was much easier than allowing his expression to show how deeply that simple question had cut him. As if he wasn’t trying! It was his duty to try, to be the best husband that he could, but he wasn’t the one making things difficult. That was Madara and his delicate nature and his close minded absurdity, freaking out each time Tobirama tried to touch him until he had eventually been forced to stop trying all together. How was he meant to make progress when he had apparently been married off to a stone wall?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hashirama said, waving his concerns aside as easily as if they were nothing.

“That is usually a statement reserved for you.” Clenching his fists, Tobirama spun on his heel and headed down the hallway, going back the way he came. He had no desire to stay and listen to such idiocy when clearly Hashirama was in no mood to listen to him in turn.

“You can’t run away from it forever, Tobi,” Hashirama called after him.

The slamming of the back door was all the answer Tobirama gave. Try harder indeed! He knew his duties just as well as every other Senju of significant rank, had been trained for the inevitability of a political marriage since he was old enough to understand what duty meant. If this marriage fell apart then it would surely be Madara’s fault for rebuffing each and every one of his efforts to play his role.

But, of course, it would all come down on Tobirama’s head when that happened. That was just the way things had been going for him ever since this stupid village had been proposed.

[monster-or-man]

Monster or Man (working title) -Chapter 1

Hi all. So I’ve decided to post the first chapter of the first draft of my book that I’ve been working on for a long time. This is the first draft so it’s mostly just to get my ideas down, but I am looking for some feedback. If you enjoy it, please let me know. If you think there are improvements that need to be done, also let me know. Thanks!

She kept looking over her shoulder out of fear of being caught. What she was about to do would be considered treason, not only to the facility she was currently studying in but to the whole country. Dr Myrah Liang, in this place, her name wasn’t important, she was just one of many genetic scientists that were forced to work within these walls, however, soon she will be known all around the world. Thankfully, her outfit allowed her to blend in, the white long buttoned lab coat with the brown pants. It was the standard uniform for the genetic scientists, no one really batted an eye when   they witnessed her standing at one of the various metal doors in the long hall. Reaching into her front pocket, an ID card was presented and pressed against the security keypad, little whispers slipped through her bright red lips.              “Please, please, please.”               Genetic scientists only had level one access, which only really opened up most of the labs and research quarters. To her surprise, the little red light on the keypad turned green and a small click notified her that the door unlocked. The lights flickered to life as she entered the room, revealing cabinets as tall as the walls themselves. Jackpot. Closing the door slowly behind her, Dr Liang’s eyes stared in amazement before rushing over to one of the shelves. Her fingers flipped through the folders, she had to find something, something that could expose this whole operation. Each file was labelled;             December 17th 2001 – Afghanistan             December 18th 2011 – Iraq            March 16th 2004 -  Pakistan            April 27th 2018 – North Korea

          Grabbing each file folder, Dr Liang thought that this might be enough evidence to get the media to pounce onto the people running this hellhole. However, she grabbed one more file as as a precaution. It had no date and the folder itself was completely blank. The scientist was so engrossed in looking at the files, she failed to realize that a security camera had been recording the whole time. Her head poked up from the stacks of papers and she began shuffling out. The plan to look as normal as possible was completely chucked out of the window, she just wanted to get out of there quickly before anyone noticed what she was doing.

           Alarms echoed through the pearly white halls as the scientist bolted towards one of the many doors surrounding her. In her grasp were a stack grey coloured file folders, some of which had fallen out of her hands and onto the ground below. She didn’t bother stop and pick them up as the sound of heavy boots grew ever closer. With panicked breaths, the scientist slammed her body against the two large metal doors that separated her from her freedom. Her fist punched the enlarged elevator buttons but a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

         “And what exactly do yae plan on doing with those?”

        That familiar Scottish accented, cold toned voice. She couldn’t help but swallow the lump of fear that built up in the back of her throat realising just exactly who was standing behind her. Much akin to a scared puppy, the woman’s head slowly turned, eyes widened and her body quaking. It was her boss, Dr Achim Lankanotvitch, dressed in a long black lab coat that was buttoned on his chest. His black short hair held was held together with enough wax that it looked like it could stab ones fingers if they were to touch it. The most eye catching feature which separated him from the rest of the scientists in the facility was the large metal arm that had completely replaced his normal limb. Large round glasses with reflective lenses covered his eyes, which made it difficult to read what emotion his face was portraying. However, judging by his straight posture and authoritative stance, he was not happy that this situation was occurring.           “Your operation has to end. Too many innocent people are dying!” She shouted with the files hugged to her chest.            “A shame really, I had such high hopes for yae.” Achim brushed off her statement, it meant nothing to him. “Leak those files and the whole world will spiral into a panic, wars will be started and a lot more lives will be lost.” He held out his blue gloved hand while his fingers twitched, demanding that she hand over the stack of papers.  A ding from the elevator rang through both of their ears causing both of their heads to twitch. The rouge scientist moved to the opening doors, hunched over the files so no more would fall.           “I’m going to put a stop to this, it’s time the world discovers your crime against humanity.” As soon as she said that, Achim almost leapt forward, attempting to grab her arm as she shuffled through the doors. He barely missed, but that didn’t stop the woman from hyperventilating in panic. She knew what would have happened if she got caught, a punishment so severe that she wouldn’t want to wish it upon anyone. Thankfully, getting to the elevator was the hardest part.              Achim remained in his spot as the elevator went up. His left eye was twitching from the sudden stress that washed over him. Behind, several heavily armed security came to a halt.                “Sir… someone is escaping with some sensitive material.” The scientist’s head turned slowly to face the soldier who spoke, his glare only darkened. “I KNOW!” That sudden outburst caused the entire facility around them to fall silent even the chatter from down the hall stopped. “Yae there… put him in the feeder… I need a drink.”             “No! No!” The other soldiers were quick to listen to their boss’s demand, wrapping their arms around him as they dragged him away. Achim on the other hand made his way back down the hall. Luckily his private office wasn’t too far away.

               As the boss walked down the hallway, his hands were linked behind his back. The Test Centre of Classified Somatology, usually known as the TCCS amongst the employees. Thirty years of blood, sweat and tears went into this place, sadly, for it’s creator, it had to remain hidden to the rest of the world. He approached his office slowly, nodding to the two soldiers who always stood guard at the door. They saluted back in a sign of respect as Achim entered. The room itself was large, but the office only took up a quarter of the space while the rest was used as living quarters for himself. In the right hand corner laid a messy double bed with the covers thrown over the side. Making his way to a large wooden cabinet, his metal fingers brushed against glass bottles, most of which were unopened bottles of whisky and wine, while others appeared to be almost empty.

             “Hitting the drink already? It’s not even five o’clock.” A woman spoke from the door, Achim didn’t even hear her come in. She was dressed similar to him, a black long lab coat, but unlike her boss, she kept hers unbuttoned.. Her striking white long hair bounced as she walked before she slapped another batch of files on his desk. Being a much much older woman, she had been apart of the facility for many years, almost the same amount of time as Achim. There was no surprise that she would soon find herself second in command.           “Leave me alone, I’ve had a rough day.” Achim snarked back at her comment while he poured himself a nice tall glass of Malt Scotch Whisky, the events from earlier today called for one of the more expensive drinks in his collection. “What’s this?”           “Paperwork for that soldier you sentenced to death. Come on, you know the drill.” Her nail pressed against the file folder, tapping it.           “Do you really need this right this second Karolinne?”          “Yes, and don’t call me that while we’re on the job… I don’t want the rest of the employees to start…” She retorted with a small huff, still standing her ground in front of his desk. “I heard about the rouge scientist… What are you going to do about her?”              Upon that question being asked, Achim stood up, whisky cup in hand as he made his way to the large window that was one of his walls. Behind the glass were fake trees, which rustled slightly as if something was moving. “It depends on how she plays her cards, if she goes to the media, we can shut it down before anybody gets a chance to see them. Head into parliament, she’d get shot on the spot. I’ll put out a nation wide warrant for her arrest.” Karolinne followed him, her eyes peering down to the area below. “I think you are being way to relaxed about this.” She looked at him before returning her gaze. “You under estimate her, don’t you?”

              “I’m surprised, you more than anybody should know how many people have tried to put a stop to my operation, what is it now? Five? Six?” Achim took another sip of his expensive whisky, not giving her the time of day. She had nothing but respect for him, so when he gave her the cold shoulder, she went silent on the subject.             “The president is going to get wind of this sooner or later.” Only then did the scientist react, shuffling in his spot ever so slightly but it was noticeable to her. On that note, Karolinne made her way to the door. “Get that paperwork done as soon as possible.”             No response. Achim had become lost in his own thoughts. The TCCS had so much potential, however layers of red tape had constricted his ideas and expanding his operation was not possible anymore. Trees rustled below him once more, snapping him out of his thoughts. He slowly walked back to his desk and basically flopped into his chair, starting his paperwork.

          Days had passed since the files were stolen, nothing had really come from it which was rather surprising to Achim. He half expected half of the world to be furious with him but it was all radio silence. The scientist was in his office, observing some of the security footage from that day, when his desk lit up. On the screen below his files, the face of the President himself showed up on the incoming call button.           Great.            He tapped the green answer square as if he was using a normal cell phone. Shortly after a holographic screen appeared in front of him with live feed from the Oval Office. “So nice to see yae mister President.” Achim attempted to clean his desk by just shoving papers back into the file folder, he’ll sort it later. The President of the United States, a man that held tremendous power over many countries around the globe. Personally, Achim felt like he was wasting it. There were so many missed opportunities that would have benefited the country greatly.             “Achim! Why are you killing your own men again!?” He didn’t flinch despite the fact that his boss was yelling at the top of his lungs, clearly furious at him. “First of all, don’t yell at me like that… secondly, that man was incompetent, if you would assign me some people that could in fact do their job, then I’d be more than happy not to send them to the pit.”                  That didn’t stop the president from still screaming his head off. “That’s no excuse! We have people asking questions!”                 Achim held his tongue. As much as he wanted to scream back at the top of his lungs about how that soldier decided to make the smart ass remark, he knew that it would only lead to more arguing. The president continued.                   “We have an investor interested in helping you fund your operations, she will be arriving in the next forty-eight hours, get your act together and make sure you’re ready to show her your best work.”                   That new piece of information really put Achim on edge. His stance shifted while his arms were suddenly crossed at the chest, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “An investor? I told yae… we were getting more orders coming in, people have been paying.”                    “We’re running out of money, even with their contributions. You and I both know that we cannot turn down any interested parties at this point.”

              The scientist rubbed his chin, disapproving by this sudden turn of events. “Fine, we will show her around.”                “Good, now don’t mess this up.” On that note, the screen shut off with a faint clicking sound. Achim moved from rubbing his chin to rubbing his temple.                 Karolinne stood on the side of his desk, she looked rather amused with her wide grin. “On days like this I’m kind of glad you’re the one that has to deal with him and not me.”                  “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.” He sighed deeply, expelling the pent up rage that had been slowly boiling up to the surface. “Either way, I want this place in pristine condition, a little extra funding would go a long way.”                    “Yes sir.”