#this woman entered a battlefield screaming for her baby brother

[mxtxfanatic]

Jiang Yanli's Sacrifice of Love

Something that's bothered me for a while has actually been how Jiang Yanli's sacrifice at Nightless City is discussed. It was neither a spur of the moment decision nor something that she would have avoided had she "had more time to think." For one, the reason why Jiang Yanli is at Nightless City is to speak to Wei Wuxian. It's pretty clear that this is the reason, because when Wei Wuxian had gone to Koi Tower to retrieve Wen Ning and Wen Qing's ashes, he was discovered by Madam Jin outside of the palace where she and Jiang Yanli had been mourning over Jin Zixuan's coffin:

Madam Jin had good sight. She saw the features submerged in the darkness, and her face twisted at once. She yelled in a shrill voice, “Everyone! Come, everyone! Wei Ying—he’s here! He crept into Koi Tower!” Wei WuXian leaped down the roof. Suddenly, he heard a series of hastened footsteps. Somebody hurried out of the palace. He could only make a run for it.

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

Jiang Yanli hears that Wei Wuxian is in Koi Tower and immediately leaves her vigil over Jin Zixuan's coffin, but Wei Wuxian avoids her. Her only other option is to go to the Nightless City pledge banquet, because she would not get another chance. The cultivation world was planning on besieging the Burial Mounds the next day:

Jin GuangShan raised his hands, signaling for the people to be quiet and listen to him talk. When the cheers slowly died down, he continued, raising his voice, “Tonight, the ones whose ashes had been scattered were the two leaders of the Wen Sect’s remnants. And tomorrow! It will be the rest of the Wen-dogs and—the YiLing Patriarch, Wei Ying!”

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

So now we see that Jiang Yanli's presence at Nightless City wasn't an accident or plothole, and she wasn't there without the knowledge that what she would walk into would likely be bad. She simply did not care because she needed to see her didi, if only for the last time.

Jiang YanLi managed, “... A-Xian. Before... why did you run away so fast... I didn’t even get the chance to look at you, or say something to you...” ... And so, she didn’t know what else she could say to Wei Wei WuXian, under such circumstances. It was just that she felt like she had to see this brother of hers once more.

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

Now let's discuss the second part:

Jiang YanLi, “I’m... I’m here to tell you...” To tell him what? That it’s fine? That I don’t hate you? That everything is fine? That I don’t blame you for have killed Jin ZiXuan? It was impossible. But she couldn’t say anything that was the opposite either. And so, she didn’t know what else she could say to Wei Wei WuXian, under such circumstances.

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

I've seen this section analyzed in a way that makes it seem like Jiang Yanli does wholly blame Wei Wuxian for everything that has gone bad but simply has no will to speak that hatred into existence. That is clearly an overly simplistic and mean-spirited interpretation of Jiang Yanli's internal dilemma. Jiang Yanli's hesitance is not a reluctance to give validity to her hate but that she doesn't know how to directly face the contradictions in her relationship with the man she sees as her didi. When they were both children in Lotus Pier, the contradiction between she as a master and Wei Wuxian as a servant could be ignored because the strictest enforcer of them, Madam Yu, spent most of her time away from home. After the Jiang Clan massacre and Jiang Cheng assuming leadership, there was nobody who would override her stance on seeing Wei Wuxian as a true brother. When she had Jiang Cheng sneak her to Yiling to show off her wedding outfit to Wei Wuxian, she was making a conscious choice to act as if the dynamics between them have not been irreversibly changed despite Wei Wuxian's defection from the Jiang, his subsequent exile from the cultivation world, and her impending marriage into the main clan pushing for his persecution. She even invites Wei Wuxian to Koi Tower for Jin Ling's one-month celebration despite surely hearing about how terrible his reputation was at the time!

But the Qiongqi Path Ambush crushes her dreams of peaceful coexistence and pushes the contradictions to the forefront where they can no longer be ignored. Wei Wuxian is not just her didi. He is the feared Yiling Patriarch, loathed by all, and now the murderer of her beloved husband/father of her child. Her other brother and father-in-law are gathering cultivators to kill him, in turn. She is hurt and grieving, and this pain is for more than just the loss of her husband. This is the same dilemma that Jin Ling finds himself in at the end of the novel: he suddenly has to contend with the fact that his favorite uncle, Jin Guangyao, is the real reason why he was orphaned, and he must contend with that betrayal atop all of his memories of Jin Guangyao's acts of love and kindness towards him as well as the fact that the man is now dead. Does the love cover the hurt? No, but the hurt also doesn't erase the love nor convert it into hatred. Likewise, for Jiang Yanli to say otherwise to Wei Wuxian would be a disservice to both of them. Yet despite not having words prepared beforehand to discuss all of these conflicting feelings inside of her, Jiang Yanli still rushes out of the palace to catch a glimpse of Wei Wuxian, still finds her way to Nightless City, still calls him by his pet name and speaks gently to him despite having just been slashed in the back by one of his corpse soldiers.

And while she wasn't expecting it to be the last time they'd see each other because of her death, that doesn't make her sacrifice any less meaningful for the fact that she did not predict it prior to it happening. She—a notoriously frail woman who had just had her back cut open—gathered enough strength to push a grown man out of the way of an incoming attack that only she saw coming:

Shyly saying a few words to Madam Jin, [Jiang Yanli] walked to the edge of the watching platform and tossed out two flowers at them. This used up as much strength as she could muster. For one second, Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng were even worried that she’d fall off. Seeing that Jiang YanLi steadied herself, they finally relaxed.

—Chapt. 70: Departure, exr

Suddenly, Jiang YanLi’s eyes opened wide. Her hands conjured up an explosive current of strength from nowhere and pushed Wei WuXian hard! Wei WuXian was pushed onto the ground again by the force. The next time he looked up, he saw the gleaming blade of a sword pierce through her throat.

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

If that wasn't an act of love, I don't know what is.

[arronlannister]

Not for the first time in his life the Prince of Fair Isle crossed over the threshold in time with stranger, entering the room as he the sound of the bowl crashing against the ground and the muffled screams of the Mistress of Ships. It took him a moment to register the sound came from her and not his wife because his wife was dead. His was dead. Babies were crying on the other side of the room and their lay dead in her bed. The supposed battlefield of a woman, as he stared at her, she had been butchered. She appeared to be butchered. There was so much blood in the room he stared around and then glance at the maesters.

The hard stare of emerald green eyes caused the men to freeze, even the handmaidens paused briefly before the oldest of them clapped her hands and set them back to cleaning up and wrapping the boy. The boys who screamed and cried. The maester said something to him about the boy having difficulty. Making a hard choice for the best of the realm. A choice required to protect the line, he didn't know where the man was going with his words as he hands wrapped around his neck. He lifted him off the ground and pressed him against the wall. Were it illegal to kill a maester?

Arron let the man go, watched him gasp for air and then he stared toward the other. Someone was going to tell him something he wanted to hear, something he could tell her mother and her brother. Something he could tell her family as he stood before them and watched as they stuttered and failed to say anything. The prince looked toward the ceiling, then the window then back at the maester who seemed to understand immediately as he dropped to his knees and begged for mercy.

Why should he be merciful? Why should he give them a chance at another day when the smell of death filled the room?

As he removed his sword belt he forgot the mistress of ships stood in the same room. The scabbard fell to the ground as he wrapped the belt around his hand. Atonement would not be easy on them.

who: @arronlannister when and where: the princess meredyth lannister's birthing chamber, some long hours into the night; the atmosphere is busy, chaotic even, and lucrezia redwyne is one of the women attending to the princess in her hour of greatest need. both are aware of the severity of the situation, despite meredyth slipping in and out of consciousness.

there came a sound that was animalistic as it's very core, the sound of bloodcurdling scream one would only think to hear in myths and legends, the most far off stories from beyond the wall: or the common birthing bed, when the gods had decided one's time had come. regardless of how many times the lady of the arbor attempted to bring her to some form of consciousness, there was no denying the harrowing of her breaths and the increasing whiteness of her skin; the lingering shadow of death which had once again clasped her around the neck.

the screaming, the howling, seemed to only add to the heat in the room: and yet, one touch of meredyth was enough to send a feeling of ice to spread through lucrezia's being. for she felt the impending coldness in the limpness of her limbs, and the way in which warm orbs seemed to roll backward; the hours had blended into one, strenuous stretch of time. the people of the west wanted their second prince of fair isle.

lucrezia could see it in the way both maesters and midwives looked upon the situation, with a calculating look in their eye; as though this were some formula, some sum of a lump of gold.

they had paid for meredyth rowan, and they would get what they had paid for. a hand rested upon her closest friend's clammy face, quietly muttering words of endearment in the moments of consciousness, assurance that all would be well and it would be over soon. the babe would turn into the correct position, and could once again push - push to relieve herself of the bone crushing pressure which no doubt felt as though it would split open her pelvis.

but in those moments of no consciousness, when the eyes rolled back again and the body seemed to go into some state of limp, stiff, shock, lucrezia muttered prayers through eyes that were blind with tears, what small amounts of kohl she had worn earlier in the day running down her cheeks. her prayers were feverish, frantic, nothing akin to the steadiness she had uttered at her own mother's birthing bed: even when her voice shook. there came the quiet request for water to keep the princess cool - and the reminder that her husband had asked for her wellbeing.

and in that simple, small request laced with falsehood, lucrezia redwyne made the biggest mistake of her life. unclasping a clammy hand from mimi rowan's as she was being propped up, lucrezia assumed they would be trying to stir her awake by sitting her up - by trying another position, and allowing the natural position of a woman to take hold. she stepped out into the foyer, her mind blurred with the sounds of meredyth's screams and that of her own mother's over a decade ago; and as she walked, she did not realise the bowl of water she carried had spilled everywhere.

because there had been a scream. a different scream. and what she pushed her way back into, was a bloodbath. her gown pushed over her stomach, baring her before the maesters - lucrezia almost wanted to scream at them to look away, to force their heads back to crash against the candelabra again and again. but it was the open flesh of the stomach which she saw first, and a bloodied, screaming babe which was wrapped in a blanket.

why was she silent? why could she see the insides of her hycathith? why could see her mimi?

the bowl of water came crashing onto the ground and her hand moved to clasp over her hand, masking a gasp that was half shriek of shock, and half a mournful cry. like a wounded dog. she did not even feel the king's rage barge by her, suddenly becoming part of the furniture. a shadow on the wall - and yet, her hand remained clasped over her mouth the entire time, to the point she began to bite down on it as her breathing tightened. to stop from her own bloodcurdling sobbing from coming out of her chest.

and then the anarchy began.

[tanyawritesstories]

The Soldier and the Senator | Fives x Reader

I was listening to The Cowboy and the Lady by John Denver and came up with this idea. I was originally going to make it quite similar to the song, but I made it saucier, because, it's Fives. 😉

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, flirting, urgent sex, dirty talk, Fives is oblivious again, fluff, Echo is tired of his brother's shenanigans

•••

There were nights that Fives just preferred to drink by himself. Sometimes he needed to think, and he usually couldn't do that when Echo was chewing his ear off with his chatter. The cantina he had entered was small with only one bar and a handful of patrons. Perfect for the relaxation he needed.

The planet that the 501st was currently occupying was peaceful when all the droids were gone. Their invasion wasn't as advanced as it had sounded when the planet asked for Republic aid. They were able to be eradicated much easier than everyone had thought.

Fives swirled the liquor around in his glass, listening to the rain fall heavily on the roof and getting lost in his thoughts. His mind wandered, to the war, his brothers, everything that usually haunted him. He tried to push it out of his mind, downing his drink and asking for another. He heard someone sit down at the bar a few chairs away from him but paid it no mind. Until he heard their voice.

He looked to his right and found himself looking at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She looked like royalty as she sat on the barstool, waiting for the bartender to make her drink. Fives was instantly mesmerized by her. She was clothed in a fancy dress that only enhanced her beauty and her hair was done in a way that drew attention to her face. He couldn’t stop staring and his first impulse was to try and talk to her. He watched out of the corner of his eye, waiting until her drink was almost gone before engaging her.

“Can I refill your drink?” He asked. The woman turned to look at him. “I don’t see why not,” she said with a smile. Fives motioned to the bartender, “Put her drinks on General Skywalker’s tab.” That seemed to catch the woman’s attention. “That’s right, you’re with the army, aren’t you?” Her voice was upbeat and cheerful, Fives found himself smiling just hearing it. He nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” She smiled. “I’m so thankful for your help. Maker knows how much destruction those droids would have caused. Thanks to you, the planet is safe again.”

Fives blushed. “Well, it wasn’t just me. We’re all doing our part as a team, my brothers and I,” he explained. “Well, tell your brothers that I extend my thanks to them as well. You all saved my home,” the woman said kindly.

Fives picked up his drink and moved to sit next to her. “I will, they’ll be happy to hear it. I must ask, why is a woman as beautiful as yourself visiting this unworthy joint,” He said, turning on the charm. “Oh,” the woman blushed, looking at her drink, “That’s awfully nice of you umm...what’s your name?” Fives was shocked for a split second, when most people asked him for identification they asked for his number, not usually his name.

“I’m Fives,” he answered, tapping at his tattoo. She giggled at his action. “I see,” she said, her hand lifting towards his face subconsciously. She realized what she was doing a second later. “I’m so sorry, that was improper of me,” she apologized. “No, don’t worry,” Fives took her hand and guided it up to brush against his tattoo. She smirked adoringly. “It suits you,” she said, “But I don’t know why it’s a five, I think you’re a ten out of ten.”

Fives was taken aback, he hadn’t expected her to flirt back at him. Ok, this could be interesting.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart. What’s your name?” He asked. “Y/N. Correct me if I‘m wrong, but those mean you’re important, right?” She asked, pointing to his kama. “You are correct, I’m an ARC trooper. Second in command to the Captain,” he winked. “I wish you were the Captain. Your current one is...a little...serious. No offense,” she said hesitantly. Fives laughed, “None taken from me, darling. Rex can be a bit stingy sometimes. But he’s a good leader.” “He is,” she agreed, “I saw him in action and I think it was you who was next to him. Your skills are impressive.” Fives put his elbow on the bar. “Which skills?” He asked with a suggestive smirk, looking her up and down. She smirked right back. “I’m sure you have many. Is it hard to shoot a blaster? I’ve wanted to learn.”

“I could teach you,” he offered. “I’d love to learn,” she said enthusiastically, “Perhaps you could teach me a few other things as well..” Fives raised his eyebrows. “You think you’re up for that, princess?” She sent him a challenging smirk. “Trust me Fives, I could handle anything you give me," she said, her voice tapering off into a whisper.

Fives almost couldn't believe this. He was infatuated with this woman who he had only just met and she was interested in him back! He almost never got this lucky and he wasn't going to waste his chance, he was half hard already.

"You know that for sure, do you?" He said. He leaned in towards her and whispered in her ear. "I'm a tough guy, sweetheart. I won't go easy on you." He heard her chuckle. She took a finger and ran it from his ear down his jaw to his chin, turning his head so she could whisper back. "I like it rough," she whispered. She then proceeded to place a kiss to his ear and lick a few inches down his jaw. He shuddered, feeling himself harden completely, his armor getting tight around his groin. He slunk an arm around her waist, pulling her tight to his body. "Where is your place, princess? You're being awfully naughty, and in public. I do need to teach you a few things," he said, his voice deep and husky. She giggled wrapping her arms around his neck, "I'll lead the way." Fives smirked devilishly and landed a light smack on her ass as she took his hand and led him out of the cantina.

~~~~

He shoved her into the door as soon as it closed, their lips immediately crashing together. Her lipstick was undoubtedly smeared all over his face but he didn't care. Fives kissed and bit his way along her jaw to her neck, undoing his armor at the same time. She helped as best she could, freeing his upper half of it's plastoid restraints. Once he finally got it all off, she pulled the shirt of his blacks up over his head. She marveled at his body, running her hands up and down his exposed torso before diving in to give his neck the same treatment. He fumbled with the zipper on her dress for a brief second, but got it undone and practically tore the outfit off her body. He moaned as she bit and sucked on his skin. Their hurried actions fuelled by lust and need.

He unclasped her bra and pulled it off, taking her warm tits into his hands, kneading and playing with them. She threw her head back and moaned when he pinched and pulled her nipples, the action sending bolts of pleasure through her body. "That feel good, princess?" Fives teased, she could only nod in response.

Fives yanked her panties off and picked her up, her legs wrapping around his middle. Their lips met, tongues clashing with fiery passion and want. Fives held her against the door with one arm, his other hand coming down between her legs to stroke her soaking folds. Her head hit the door again and she mewled when he rubbed her clit.

"Fives, please I need you to fuck me, please," she begged. "Anything your dirty little mind wants, princess," he complied. Fives tugged his blacks down just enough to free his aching cock. He rubbed it up and down her slit, earning a few impatient whines from her. He pushed in steadily, making sure not to go too fast so she could get used to him. He growled as he sheathed himself completely inside her body. She gasped, feeling just how full she was, her eyes falling closed. Fives groaned, "fuck, you feel good. I fit your pussy perfectly." She dug her fingers into his hair, begging him to start moving. Fives put one hand on her hip and the other in the bend of her knee before beginning to pound into her.

She let out a wail as he repeatedly drove his length into her. She had never been fucked this fast and good before and the feeling was mind-numbing. Fives changed his angle after a minute and began to abuse that special spot within her. She screamed at the sensation, a mix of curses and his name spilling from her lips. He was relentless.

"I gotcha now, princess. Cum all over my cock," he urged. He reached down and swiped at her clit a few times and she was falling off the edge, her mouth opening but no words were able to come out. Fives thrusted his hips a few more times before he was spilling inside her with a loud groan. He buried his face in her neck waiting for their breathing to even out. That's when she noticed something.

"Are you still hard?" She asked in disbelief. Fives chuckled, his breath warm on her skin. "It's all in the genes, baby. Enhanced endurance doesn't just come in handy on the battlefield," he joked. "My bedroom is the second door on the left," she breathed, "fuck me until you're spent. I want the full experience." Fives growled and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her from the door and walking to her bedroom. He pulled her off of him and tossed her on the bed. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed, removing his pants and boxers. She rolled over, getting into the requested position and wiggling her ass in the air. Fives couldn't resist and spanked her, causing her to gasp. "You're a little minx," he growled, "You look so innocent and sweet when really you're a filthy little thing." He climbed onto the bed, kneeling behind her and smoothing his hands over her ass. "Anything for you, sir," she purred, peering at him over her shoulder.

Oh fuck, that got him.

Fives full on snarled, lining himself up and slamming into her. His hips pistoned into hers without mercy, the pleasure intense from both their recent orgasms. The only sounds to be heard was the slapping of skin on skin, his growls and her high pitched moans. With every thrust his balls collided with her clit and got them both closer to release. Her body felt like it was on fire she felt so good, all cohesive thoughts escaping her mind. "Fuck, princess, fuck fuck fuck! I'm almost there," Fives groaned, his movements getting sloppy. "I'm close too, Fives! Oh fuck, you're good at this!" She wailed. Fives reached around her and rubbed furiously at her clit, triggering her release almost immediately. She shouted his name as she soaked his cock for the second time, clamping down on him. Fives gave a few more thrusts before burying himself as deep as he could and painting her walls white with his seed.

He collapsed over her back, their skin sticking together from the sweat. They both stayed like that until their pulses came back down. "You want a shower?" She suddenly asked. "As long as it's with you," Fives replied, kissing her shoulder.

~~~~

Y/N woke up to find that the lovely warm body she fell asleep next to was no longer there. She was sad to see him go but she knew he had a duty, as did she. Walking out into the kitchen, she found her datapad with a message on it.

Sorry I left right away, princess. Duty called and I had to get back to the men. I had fun last night and I hope I can see you again before we ship out - 5

She smiled at the message and the delightful memories of the previous night. She couldn't revel for too long, she had a big day ahead of her.

~~~~

Fives inspected the love marks on his neck in a mirror. She had really done a number on him last night. He hadn't wanted to leave when he woke up, but his comm went off and Rex asked him to get back. He admired the dark blotches for a few more seconds before pulling his collar up to hide them.

"So that's where you were last night?"

Fives looked in the mirror to see Echo standing behind him. A smirk worked its way onto his face. "Jealous, brother?" He asked. Echo sighed, "That depends. How hungover are you?" Fives turned around to face his twin. "Hardly at all," he answered. Echo seemed slightly impressed. "Just a bit then. And she was drunk enough to sleep with you?" Echo teased. Fives elbowed his brother, "hey, I'll have you know that plenty of women want me." Echo laughed. "Yeah, they want you to leave." Fives picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm. "I don't see you getting pussy on a regular basis," he jested. Echo grabbed his helmet as well. "Maybe I don't want pussy on a regular basis," Echo pointed out with a smile. Fives shared a laugh with his brother. "C'mon, let's get to the hangar. Rex will be briefing us soon."

They arrived in the hangar and listened as their Captain detailed their next mission. They were to guard the Senator of the planet on their journey to Coruscant. Apparently they were going to ask for protection of the planet. Fives didn’t exactly pay attention to the politics side of things. The General, Rex, Fives and Echo were waiting on the ramp for the Senator to arrive. Fives switched to a private channel inside his helmet so he could talk to Echo without anyone hearing.

"So, we're just escorting a Senator. That's it?" He wondered. "Yep, that's it. Boring, huh?" Echo replied. "No kidding." They stood in silence for a few more minutes, watching as their Captain struck up a conversation with the General. "Was she any good?" Fives turned his head slightly towards Echo. "What do you mean?" He asked. "How was she, last night?" Echo restated his question. Fives chuckled, "oh now you're interested."

Echo rolled his eyes under his helmet. "At least tell me what she looked like so I know who to charm when we go out next," he said. "She was stunning, the visage of royalty. Her hair was a beautiful H/C and done up all fancy, and she was wearing this dress that complimented her skin tone, and her eyes were just-"

"Evening, gentlemen. Apologizes for being late."

Fives froze. He recognized that voice, it was the same one he had heard screaming his name last night. He slowly turned his head and was met with the sight of her, Y/N. She was dressed just as beautifully as when he'd first seen her, if not more so now. The General greeted her and explained how the trip was going to go but Fives heard none of it, he was stunned dumb.

Y/N walked up the ramp into the ship, nodding to both him and Echo, her gaze lingering on him for a few seconds longer. Fives was still frozen in place, he barely registered Echo calling his name. Echo, on the other hand, had figured it was something to do with this woman. Once she had passed, Echo lowered his eyepiece and zoomed in on her neck. He knew his brother well and it looked to him that she, despite desperately trying to hide it, had some familiar marks on her neck as well. Echo wasn’t stupid.

"You have got to be kidding me," Echo said with exasperation. He looked back at his brother who had yet to move or speak. "That's her, isn't it?"

Fives swallowed, hard enough that Echo could hear him, "Yep." Echo's shoulders sagged in disappointment. "Seriously Fives!"

"What was I supposed to do, I didn't know!" He defended himself. "Fives, you had sex with a Senator, do you not realize the repercussions that could have?" Echo said.

The realization hit Fives like a kick to the chest. He cursed under this breath and tried to think up a solution. "I'll go talk to her. Maybe if I explain the situation and apologize, it'll be fine." Echo sighed and patted his brother on the back. "I hope it will."

~~~~

Fives was nervous as he walked to the Senator’s quarters. He had a feeling she knew it was him but he wasn’t sure, she’d never seen his helmet, had she? Maybe she had no clue it was him. He knocked on the door.

“Give me a second!” He heard from the other side. The door opened and revealed the breathtaking woman again. “Was there something you needed, trooper?” She asked. Fives shook himself out of his stupor, “May I come in? I need to discuss something with you.” She stepped away from the doorway, allowing him to enter. The door slid closed and Fives timidly removed his helmet.

“Senator, I need-”

“Please call me Y/N when it’s just us, Fives,” She said with a smile. He blushed and became even more nervous, she had known it was him. He fidgeted with his belt and tried to come up with a way to tell her what he needed to. He should have thought up the entire thing beforehand.

“Are you alright, Fives? You weren’t this fidget-y last time we met,” she said with genuine concern in her eyes. “That’s what I need to talk to you about,” he said.

"Should I have done something differently?" She asked, worriedly. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong-"

"No no, that's not the issue," he assured, "The issue is that it happened and now I could be in serious trouble." Her eyes widened, "Why? You didn't do anything wrong. I mean, we both enjoyed it and it was consensual so I don't understand.."

"What's wrong is that, since I'm a clone, this scenario could be twisted any which way to make me seem like a bad guy," Fives told her. "I just wanted to apologise to you and explain that when I first met you in the cantina, I had no clue you were a Senator."

She smiled fondly at him. "That's alright, Fives. That's actually why I go to smaller cantinas. I don't want anyone recognizing me, it's nice to feel normal every once in a while." Her shoulders sagged and she walked across the room to sit down on a sofa. "I just don't want you to see me as a whore because I was easy to get into bed."

Fives walked over to her, kneeling at her feet. "I could never see you that way," he consoled, "you'll always be royalty to me." He placed a hand on her knee, that got her to smile. "Thank you, Fives. So know that it's ok that you slept with me, nothing bad will come from it, I promise. Not to mention, I enjoyed it," she said with a wink.

"You'll be the death of me, beautiful," he said with a smirk. "You know where to find me if you ever get lonely, we do have quite a long journey ahead of us." The insinuations behind his words were all too clear. "I may have to take you up on that," she chuckled, "Do you think your brother might like to join? I saw him zoom in on me as I was walking away. Only if it's alright with you, of course."

Fives swallowed hard, "uh, I'll have to ask him, he's quite shy." She shrugged. "It's up to you, you have first dibs after all." Fives stood, cutting an imposing figure standing above her. "I'll come check up on you in an hour," he said, donning his helmet. "I want you naked and spread out on that bed when I come back."

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part VI

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word count: 1,993

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

The Hound was fighting an unarmed opponent atop the Walls of the Red Keep during a tourney to celebrate your brother’s nameday. He knocked his shield away and the man fell hard into the courtyard below.

You were seated next to Myrcella, Sansa was on the opposite edge, faking smiles to keep the King pleased. You grew closer and closer with each day that passes, so as your feelings.

“Well struck, Dog!” He said out loud.

“Did you like that?” He turned to Sansa. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a well struck, your grace.” She replied.

“I already said it was a well struck.”

She waited a few seconds to confirm. “Yes, your grace.”

“Who’s next?”

“Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard.” The announcer exclaimed. The last one didn’t appear to be in his five senses. Joffrey gestured him to have more wine, Ser Meryn Trant and another Kingsguard began to pour the liquid down the funnel and the poor knight gurgled and struggled to continue drinking.

“You can’t!” Sansa suddenly shouted before the man collapsed.

“What did you say? Did you say I can’t?”

“I only meant... it would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day.”

“What kind of stupid peasant’s superstition...”

“The girl is right.” Sandor tossed.

“Yes, she is. You’ll reap what you sow on your nameday.” You added.

“He’ll make such a better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” How kind of the northerner to save the life of someone she doesn’t even know. Those small actions make you admire her.

“Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From now on you’ll be my new fool!”

“Thank you, your grace. And you, my lady, thank you.” They took him away.

“Beloved nephew.” Your uncle’s voice made you instantly smile. He was accompanied by multiple men.

“We’ve looked for you on the battlefield. Joffrey sat down. “You where nowhere to be found.”

“I was here, ruling the Kingdoms.” You almost sneer.

“What a fine job you’ve done.” He jokingly said.

“My dear niece! You look older and prettier.” He kissed your forehead. You grinned.

“You look younger and more handsome” He winked.

“Look at you!” He smiled at your sister. “More beautiful than ever.”

“And you! You are going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking.” The three of you laughed.

“We’ve heard you were dead.” Joffrey unconcernedly said.

“I’m glad you are not dead.” The little princess assured.

“We’ve missed you. We have to catch up.” He nodded towards you.

“And we will. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world.” He looked at Sansa. “My lady, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor!” The blond angrily screamed.

“But still her father. Surely having recently lost your own you can sympathize.” Not his, but yours. You closed your eyes before the grief took over you.

“My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.” All she can do is pretend and say the right words. The loathe she had for him was only getting bigger.

“Of course you are.” Tyrion smirked sympathetically. The redhead looked your way and you gave her a sweet smile.

He left the tent with his group of people ignoring the King’s questions. It’s so good to have your favorite uncle back. You were still concerned about Jaime. Will the Starks trade him for Sansa? It was sure that Robb was not going to come to the capital. Arya was still missing.

You wanted her to be reunited with her family. The other part of you was shattering at the thought of her leaving. If there was an opportunity you would definitely support her, after all, what mattered to you was her safety and happiness, you tried to provide both but nothing can really fill that hole. Not with Joffrey tormenting her. You would be sad but relieved if she left, you couldn’t be selfish.

“Walk with me, my lady.” You offered your arm to Sansa what she gladly accepted.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to steal you.” You quipped and saw she blushed a little. “Would you fancy visiting the streets of the city?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” Two soldiers were accompanying you keeping their distance.

“I remember when I used to wander around the castle in Winterfell. They were all warm to each other.” She seemed to recalled.

“The people who live here... some are happy and some are not. They don’t have enough resources to subsist. They manage to survive.” You gave silver and gold coins to the elder and children who roamed.

“My mother used to tell me... humility makes people great. Envy and selfishness makes them small.”

“And she’s right.” You halted in the market. Spotting the tent you usually go to. They make beautiful things. Such as purses, necklaces, bracelets, etc. They are not made of the finest materials but they are nice and these merchants work really hard.

“Princess Y/N! You honor me with your presence.” The black-haired woman said, a friend of yours.

“Hello, Addy. What did you bring today?

“I have these pins. And the two lions you have it made.” She showed you the wood pieces with flawless details.

“Do you like them, Sansa? Choose the ones you want”

“For my siblings and my mother.” She picked five wolf brooches.

“Thank you very much. Say hello to little Cass. And remember, anything she or the other kids on the orphanage need, tell me.” Addy nodded with gratitude and bowed.

“It’s very generous what you do for them. You are truly an angel.” The lady smiled warmly.

“I know being in the Red Keep can be suffocating. I’ll get you out of there anytime I get the chance.”

“You are my hero.” You part ways once you entered the big castle. You headed to your uncle’s new room.

“The Hand of the King... I didn’t see that coming.” He waved at you.

“Me neither, sweet niece. It’s so good to see you! How is everything in here? I just had a meeting with the council. The summer is over. Your mother was quite angry with the fact I’m the Hand in my father’s stead. She brought this on herself. The North has risen up against us when your moron brother called for Ned Stark’s head.”

“I tried to stop him. It was useless. He thinks he owns the world now, he is not ruling cautiously, I fear for my siblings life, for everyone’s life.”

“Luckily I’m here to supervise his moves. Advise him. Save the city. Not as easy as it sounds I’m afraid.”

“Did you stayed out of trouble?” You asked him well knowing the answer.

“Well... I pissed out in the edge of the Wall. I slept in a sky cell. Lady Arryn almost sentenced me to die. I fought with the hill tributes. So many adventures.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh I see, that must have been a lot of fun.” Both of you laughed.

“You can’t imagine.”

It has been an unsteady week. Being with little Tommen and Myrcella has been a distraction from the incoming war you’re dealing with. Renly and Stannis proclaimed themselves Kings. You like to be up to date, so you talk with your mother about these matters.

“My uncles... they’re going to get here anytime soon. We have to be prepared.”

“They have no claim. Let them try. We’ll kick them off the moment they set foot on the shores.” Cersei declared dryly.

“I’ve heard some... disturbing rumors about-“

“You believe them?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just curious.” You shrugged.

“Everyone’s intention is to tear our family apart. Destroy us from within. This gossip is just feeding those who don’t want your brother on the throne.” And you said nothing more.

“You’re losing the people, do you hear me?” Tyrion tried to make her listen.

“The people, you think I care?”

“You should.” You told her, annoyed by her apathy.

“Yes. You might find it difficult to rule over millions who want you dead. Half the city will starve when winter comes. The other half will plot to overthrow you. And your gold-plated thugs just gave them the rallying cry, “The Queen Slaughter babies.” She remained silent. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it.” You scowled. “It wasn’t you who gave the order, was it? Joffrey didn’t even tell you. Or did he? I imagine that would be even worse.” Your uncle growled.

“He did what needed to be done!”

“No. They were innocent. What’s wrong with you? What kind of King is he becoming? You objected.

“You don’t even know who they were, Y/N. This is what ruling is! Lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep.”

“I’m no king, but I think there’s more ruling than that.”

“You’ve never taken it seriously. It’s all fallen on me.”

“As has Jaime repeatedly. According to Stannis Baratheon.” You averted your eyes.

“How dare you say that kind of filthy lies in front of my daughter!” The Queen Regent gave him a withering look. “You’ve always been funny. But none of your jokes will ever match the first one, will they? You remember... when you ripped my mother, open your way out of her and she bled to death.” It hurt to see the look of your uncle’s face.

“She was my mother too.”

“Now she’s gone, for the sake of you. There’s no bigger joke in the world than that.” She stormed out, you followed her.

“You shouldn’t be so cruel with my uncle. If I had lost you when either Myr or Tom were born I would never blame them. I know it must have been pretty hard growing up without your mom, but don’t take it out on him.”

“She died so he could live. A little freak. An abomination.” She spat poison.

“Don’t speak of him that way.”

“Why you defend him so much?”

“Cause he is my family. He is a good person.”

“Joffrey is also your family. And yet you detest him.”

“He has a serious problem. You don’t want to see it or maybe you’re okay with it. Remember when we were kids? I was four and he was five. He used to find pleasure on pushing me, you just stared at us and said it was a normal thing. I grew up and I was able to defend myself, one time I did it and you freaked out, you yelled at me, made me feel so small... you held him while I was sobbing, just because I moved when he tried to hit me making him fell to the ground. Of course, it was my fault according to both of you. How many times did Joffrey hurt me? Said I was ugly cause I wasn’t blonde like him? That I didn’t deserve to be a princess, he was so mean to me and you never lectured him. I recall how many nights I spent crying alone in my room wondering why my mother didn’t care enough to stand up for me when my big brother treated me like I was worthless. You broke my heart a very long time ago. I learned how to pick up the pieces. I’m not that helpless little girl anymore.” You could feel your eyes starting to get teary. You didn’t expect her to say something soothing. Cersei apparently ran out of words, you thanked for her silence instead of lying to you, deep down you hoped she’d embrace you. It was too much to ask for. You lingered a bit more before turning and leaving. Heartbroken once more.

[moiraineswife]

His Father’s Eyes - A Kholin Family Fic

RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS 

GO AWAY IF YOU DON’T WANT RHYHTM OF WAR SPOILERS

THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. GET OUT OF HERE.

Title: His Father’s Eyes

Summary:  Set in the middle of Rhythm of War: Dalinar has a late-running meeting so Wit suggests that he and Jasnah can watch Gavinor for a few hours. Jasnah is very awkward and unsure around her baby nephew because this woman will look into the face of god and spit cheerfully, but if you confront her with a toddler she will crumble. Wit encourages her to bond with him and it gets incredibly soft and emotional.

Teaser: ‘Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her. 

Irrationally, she found herself sitting up straighter in her chair, gripping its arms, bracing herself. As if this was a chasmfiend hauling itself from a black pit on the Shattered Plains, advancing menacingly upon her, mandibles clacking, not her toddler aged nephew. Ridiculous. And yet. 

He stared up at her with big, green eyes. Her father’s eyes. Her brother’s eyes. Both now gone. Dead. In part because of her failures. Now Gavinor looked at her with them, and the fear that she would fail him, too, assaulted her in a wave so strong and unexpected, it was almost overwhelming.’

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Jasnah allowed herself a moment to pause her work. She had been going without pause for several hours now, and she could tell it was starting to have a negative impact on her. Reviewing troop casualty reports from the latest battle was a grim task indeed.

Letting her mind wander, she glanced to the opposite side of the tent where Wit was entertaining little Gavinor. 

It was...Nice, she allowed, to take her mind off the cost of this war they were fighting, to remind herself who they were fighting it for. She felt partially responsible for every one of the deaths listed before her. 

Not only did she, irrationally, wonder if there was more she could have done to support them on the battlefield. She had sent them. She was their Queen. In Alethkar that meant she was also their ultimate military leader. She had ordered them to die for her, and her cause. And they had.

It was a worthy cause. Not fighting would lead to all of their deaths. To the destruction or domination of their entire world by the oppressive power of hatred. But it was still hard to read those numbers. To know their fear. To feel their blood upon her hands.

Gavinor reminded her why she was doing this. Not just for her family, but for all of the children on Roshar. She would win this war for them, for their futures, for the chance at peace for them that still lived. Its heart fluttering, lungs filled with blood, wheezing. But still. There was a chance. 

Dalinar typically kept Gavinor with him. He had taken very seriously to being more involved in the little boy’s life, which Jasnah approved of, in general. However, he’d had a meeting with the army generals today, who had wanted his perspective on today’s assault, as he’d been the one of the two of them on the field. 

He’d asked Jasnah if she wanted to spend a few hours with her nephew. Wit had jumped in to agree on her behalf. He claimed afterwards, in response to her cool glare, thought it would be ‘good for her’. Maybe it was. All the same, she wouldn’t have allowed it to continue without his assurance that he would stay with her. 

Jasnah loved Gavinor. As the last good thing she had left of her little brother, and in his own right as her nephew. He was her family. That meant there was nothing she would not do for him. But he was still very young, and she had never been entirely comfortable around small children. 

They seemed so...Strange. So alien. They felt unpredictable to her, unknowable, irrational. That unsettled her more than she would ever openly admit.

An adult you could ask questions, you could track patterns and learn to read their emotions, their moods, their personality. You could predict their future behaviours based on observation of their past. They were far easier for her to understand and respond to. 

Children were precisely the opposite. And they seemed so...Fragile. Not simply physically. It was so easy to say the wrong thing, to cause unintended distress. They were as changeable and flighty as the seasons. Happy and content one moment, screaming with some unknowable torment the next. She hated the sound of their crying. It cut through her, and it made it very difficult to focus on anything else. 

Wit, meanwhile, was so natural with Gavinor, it was as though he’d been made for this purpose. 

This being, so ancient and alien in so many ways, seemed able to do so easily things that seemed impossible to her. The ease with which he seemed to communicate, and connect with other people. How he seemed to instantly understand them. 

His long life experience no doubt assisted with this, but she knew it was more than that. This was who he was, who he had always been. He had not needed that experience to know how to do this.

He had used another form of Investiture he called Awakening to bring her nephew’s little Kholin doll to life. It now walked around, allowing Gavinor to chase it, hugging him when he caught up to it. 

The child had been quite upset at first that his little soldier would not pick up a sword or fight. All it did was hug him, and play with him. She’d caught Wit’s eye when this had first come to light and an understanding had passed between them. A gratitude she had not been able to put into words. 

Jasnah understood her Uncle’s desire to have Gavinor with him, and why that meant he had brought him here, despite it being a warzone. He was trying so hard to avoid making the mistakes he personally had made before that he was ignoring the others they were making. 

She didn’t know a great deal about children. Though she had done as much research as her current schedule would allow. But she did not think encouraging a five year old’s preoccupation with violence and revenge was a healthy thing. 

She would be damned if she allowed her brother’s only son to be drawn into continuing the same cycle of pointless, painful revenge that had killed him. 

Whatever else Elhokar might have wanted for Gavinor, it would never be that. 

They had talked, a little, before she had left the Plains for her research. On quiet evenings alone in his palace complex save flamespren dancing in the hearth. She wished, sometimes, she’d made time for more of those. 

They had spoken together about the revenge against the Listeners for what they had done to their father. It had been a complex thing within Elhokar, though it had never been a driving force for her. 

Emotion was a difficult thing for both of them, but in different ways. Jasnah often felt that she didn’t have enough input. That everyone around her got so much more from the world around them than she did. That in turn made their own responses so much stronger, and more consuming than it had ever felt for her.

Elhokar...Elhokar had gotten far too much input. 

Jasnah loved their Uncle Dalinar. And she had loved their father in his own right. She knew they had both tried their best for him. But they had never allowed Elhokar to be his own person. Every decision he made. Every path that he took. Every feeling he had. Every thought that entered his mind was subject not only to his own will, but to theirs. 

It was not enough for Elhokar to do what he’d thought was right. He also had to do what he thought his father, and Dalinar, would think was right. Their approval and judgement had always seemed to have more weight in his mind than his own.

Declaring war on the Listeners had, in part, been a reaction of grief and pain at losing his father. But he’d confessed to her, in private, and under the strictest oath of confidence, that he had also partially done it because he felt it was what was expected of him. 

The Alethi were a warlike people. It was how they dealt with almost everything. This was something Jasnah was working, with Wit’s help, to change. The foundation of a people’s society being violence and conflict could never lead to stability or longevity. The formation of their own storming unified kingdom had only come because of war against their own. 

It would be unthinkable, then, that the Alethi would not go to war with the Listeners in retribution. It was not enough to execute those who had ordered Gavilar’s assassination. It was not enough to exile them from their lands. It was not enough. It was not enough. It was never enough. That was the problem. 

Everyone expected Elhokar to declare war, and so he had. 

They all expected him to relentlessly pursue vengeance for his father, and so he had. 

Anything less, anything other, might have implied that he didn’t care, and he couldn’t have that. 

Some had suggested that of Jasnah, when she’d left the Plains to pursue her research. Foolishness. But she had felt able to do what she thought was right. Elhokar...Elhokar had always been forced to do what he thought others felt was right. 

Her heart ached for her brother in that moment. She did not often think of him. There was so much to do. So much else to focus on. Something she did deliberately, perhaps, to avoid this second grief and failure that now haunted her. But when she did…

She still remembered him as the child he had been. Eager, and earnest, and so desperate to please everyone. To do good. To live up to his father’s name expectations. 

That had never been possible. And that had been the true tragedy of her brother’s life: it had always been doomed. He had spent so much time chasing that impossible dream, trying to attain a thing that he had been destined to fail at before he’d ever begun. 

Sighing, she stopped her thoughts as they began to spiral down into a pool of grief. Instead, she focused on Wit and Gavinor. 

He had used Lightweaving to create a whole scene for him to play in. Something gentle, and calm. Dalinar wouldn’t have approved, likely, but it made Jasnah smile a little. 

There was thick green grass that did not pull away and hide when the little boy ran through it. Gavinor was giggling, chasing small round, furry creatures with too large ears that kept popping in and out of holes in the ground. 

Every now and then he hurtled past Wit and made some request of him to add something else to the scene, and Wit would bow and comply, weaving the boy’s imaginations into life around him.

Gavinor had started referring to him as ‘Uncle Wit’. Which was as endearing as it was concerning. 

As if sensing this thought, Wit glanced up suddenly and caught her watching them. 

He smiled, rather slyly, and she immediately felt a flicker of concern. He allowed the illusion to fade, and she frowned at him, though Gavinor didn’t seem upset. 

She watched as Wit crouched down and whispered something in the boy’s ear, smiling encouragingly. Then he lounged against the desk behind him and folded his arms, watching, smirking. 

Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her. 

Irrationally, she found herself sitting up straighter in her chair, gripping its arms, bracing herself. As if this was a chasmfiend hauling itself from a black pit on the Shattered Plains, advancing menacingly upon her, mandibles clacking, not her toddler aged nephew. Ridiculous. And yet. 

He stared up at her with big, green eyes. Her father’s eyes. Her brother’s eyes. Both now gone. Dead. In part because of her failures. Now Gavinor looked at her with them, and the fear that she would fail him, too, assaulted her in a wave so strong and unexpected, it was almost overwhelming. 

Fortunately, she was well-practiced at controlling herself, and gave nothing away. Not that the little boy seemed to pick up on, anyway. Wit, standing in his corner, cocked his head slightly at her. But uncharacteristically he said nothing.

Without saying a word, Gavinor handed his little doll towards her. Cautiously, she took it, and held it in her lap, tracing her fingers over the stitching on the buttons. The top one was coming loose. He could pull that free and choke on it. She would need to speak to his nurses and ensure that they took the time to repair it for him before-

Gavinor tugged gently at her havah, trying to get her attention. She forced a smile, looking at him instead of the doll, and said, in what she hoped was a warm, friendly voice appropriate for a young child, “Thank you, Gavinor.” 

Wit, the insufferable bastard, was being of no help whatsoever. He was still lounging at the back of the tent, watching, as if he were at some sort of play. 

She glared pointedly at him, but he glanced down at the desk at the exact moment she looked up and pretended to be busy rearranging his papers, so apparently did not see. Storms. She was going to kill him. She- 

Gavinor tugged again, gentle, but insistent, on the edge of her havah and she looked back down at him. He seemed...Expectant? 

Stormfather, why was this so difficult? 

A part of her wanted to call Wit over, to ask him to deal with Gavinor instead. Though she very much doubted he would deign to hear her command. But looking down into those eyes, she couldn’t. She couldn’t just give him away, pass him off on someone else. Make him feel less wanted, and more alone, than he already did.

This was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was hard. It felt storming impossible at times. But this was her nephew. Her brother’s son. Her family. 

She was not as some people whispered. She was not a heartless monster. A thing that was more creature than human. A being that did not feel, did not care, could not love.

 She had difficulty connecting to people. But she wanted to. Storms but she did. Most of the time. She cared, and she loved, and she tried. In her own way, a way most didn’t see or understand. But that had become enough for her, now.

Biting her lip, she looked down at the doll in her lap, then stood him on his little booted feet. 

“He’s very nice, Gavinor,” she said, a little stiffly, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. 

He nodded solemnly, “It’s my daddy,” he told her, very seriously. 

Jasnah nodded back, which seemed the right thing to do, “I see that,” she told him, though she didn’t. 

Gavinor studied her face for a moment, as though it was a book with text he could almost translate, but not quite. He wasn’t sure what he saw. Some cold, distant person he was supposed to call ‘aunt’ and love because they told him she was family?

Then he said, very matter-of-factly, “You look a lot like my daddy.” 

Something caught in her chest at that, it was so unexpected. But she just nodded and said, “Yes. He was my brother.” 

“I know that,” the boy answered, in a tone that implied she was stupid. 

She found herself smiling, “Of course you do.” 

“Grampa says that he was brave,” Gavinor informed her, “He says daddy was a hero.” 

“He was,” Jasnah agreed, and meant it this time. 

To his little boy, he had been. And that would have been what mattered most to Elhokar. To him. Not the pressures exerted by others. But deep down. In his heart. Being a hero to this little boy would be more important to him than anything else he had ever done. It would eclipse his perceived failures entirely. 

Gavinor scrunched his face up in an expression she struggled to place. Was he upset thinking about his father? About that terrible day in Kholinar when that bastard bridgeman had murdered her little brother in front of his young son? 

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hands towards her, looking expectant again. 

Oh Storms. 

He looked as though he wanted her to pick him up, to hold him, perhaps to offer him comfort, as Navani had probably done for him countless times before. 

Jasnah couldn’t do that. She couldn’t be what this little boy needed. She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t even Wit, or Dalinar. They would have found some way to reach out, to soothe him. 

She was not them. She was cold, and distant, and sterile. She was the last thing this child needed. She would only disappoint him, leave him worse than he had been before, confused, as well as upset.

She looked at Wit for assistance but he just inclined his head and gestured for her to proceed.

Storm him. He was probably right, but storm him. She wasn’t ready for this. She couldn’t do it.

“Jasnah,” Ivory observed, helpfully, voice so soft only she could hear him, “I believe that the small human you are related to would like you to pick him up.” 

 Storms. Even Ivory was better at this than she was. She resisted the impulse to bury her face in her hands in answer.

Carefully, hesitant, certain she would somehow do this wrong, she put her hands under Gavinor’s outstretched arms and lifted him up. 

He sat quite happily on her lap, so that was something, but continued to watch her with those impenetrable green eyes. Eyes that had seen too much for his age. 

“Grampa says you’re Radiant,” Gavinor told her, little hands picking with vague interest at the embroidery on her havah. 

“I am,” she confirmed, with half a glance at Wit in a desperate plea for help. But he just continued his idle lounging from a distance. 

She might actually kill him. 

It would be both instructive, giving her an insight into how he returned after he died, which he’d implied he could do. It would also be an excellent remedy for her fury towards him. A scenario with no downsides whatsoever. That made a delightful change for her of late.

“Do you have a friend spren?” Gavinor asked her, distracting her from her wistful fantasies about how, precisely, she would like to brutally murder her partner. 

‘Friend-spren’ was what Gavinor referred to the Radiant spren as. Children, from a young age, came to understand regular spren as features of the landscape. It had taken a little extra explaining on Navani’s part to help him understand Radiant spren. He had some...Unfortunate experiences with more intelligent spren who were always around. 

“I do,” she told him, “His name is Ivory.” 

“Can I see him?” the boy asked, a little bounce of eagerness in him, which was good to see. 

Her mother said he was too solemn, for his age. Even Jasnah, with her limited experience or instincts towards children, could grasp that fact.

She hesitated, “He can be quite...Nervous sometimes,” she said cautiously. 

Gavinor’s face fell at once, and her heart plummeted at the sight, “Is he afraid of me?” 

“No, no,” Jasnah said, scrambling to fix her mistake, “He just likes to be careful,” she tried to explain. 

Gavinor nodded, as if that made sense. Which was strangely heartbreaking. 

“He-” Jasnah began, but she broke off as movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Ivory had grown to a visible size on her shoulder. He liked to ride on the inside of her collar, usually, which allowed him to be invisible to most, but close enough to speak with her as needed. Very practical. 

Now he stood, around the height of her hand, clearly visible to the little boy, whose face lit up at the sight of him. 

“He’s very pointy,” he observed, after contemplating him for a long moment.

This was a rather shrewd observation, though he might not know it. ‘Pointy’ described Ivory rather well, in her estimation. 

He reached out, then, surprisingly, stopped himself, and looked at her, “Can I touch him?” he asked. 

“That is not for me to say,” she said. When he frowned, confused, she added, “You would need to ask Ivory.” 

He considered this, then addressed her shoulder, “Can I touch you?” he asked, eagerly. 

Ivory sniffed, “You may, young relation,” he said, at last. 

That surprised her. Making himself visible was already a large allowance on Ivory’s part. She had expected him to refuse this latest request, but felt a rush of gratitude at him for allowing it.

The little boy frowned at this, however, “My name’s Gavinor,” he said, a little indignantly. Jasnah smiled. 

“Gavinor,” Ivory agreed, stiffly. Then he said, “Hold out your hands.” 

She loved him for the effort he was making in this. For her. She could sense his discomfort at being seen, even in this relatively private setting. But he did it for her, for her family, which he knew was of the utmost importance to her.

Gavinor glanced at Jasnah, who nodded, which seemed to encourage him, for he cautiously did as he was told. 

Ivory walked briskly down her arm and then onto the little boy’s outstretched palms. 

“I can’t feel him,” Gavinor said, looking disappointed. 

“That is because I exist largely in the Cognitive Realm, young Gavinor,” Ivory informed him in his clipped voice. “I have very little presence in this Realm, despite my bond to your aunt.” 

Gavinor blinked at this, then looked at Jasnah, who suddenly became very overwhelmed by the thought of having to try and explain Realmatic Theory to a five year old. 

Fortunately, at that moment, Wit decided to make himself of use, finally, and glided over, squatting down so he was on Gavinor’s eye level. 

“Ivory is a spren, remember,” he told the boy, “He has his own spren world where he stays. That’s why you can’t feel him. You can see him because your aunt Jasnah lets him be here talking to you a little bit.” 

Gavinor scrunched up his face, trying to understand this, “Like the bunnies?” he finally said, looking at Wit for reassurance. 

Wit laughed lightly, “A little like the bunnies, yes.” 

Jasnah made a mental note to ask Wit what on Roshar a ‘bunny’ was once Gavinor had been safely returned to Dalinar’s care. In the meantime, the arm Gavinor was leaning against was starting to feel numb, and she really had to get back to those troop reports, and- 

To her consternation, Gavinor yawned and settled down against her. Amusingly, he coaxed Ivory off of his hands back onto her shoulder first, as if he was a cremling. Ivory complied with characteristic dignity

“Aunt Jasnah?” Gavinor said, sounding sleepy. 

“Yes, Gavinor?” 

“You’re gonna stop the bad things, right? Like, like what was at home,” his lip trembled slightly, and he grabbed at her havah’s embroidery again before saying, “So they don’t hurt anyone else?” 

There was still innocence in those eyes of his. For all seen before their time. There was still the belief, the hope, that someone else would be able to put it all right for him again. 

She had sworn herself to this task years ago. Had taken the burden of protecting Roshar and its people onto herself. It was why she had bonded Ivory. It was why she had done so much, sacrificed so much, given so much all this time. 

In this moment, looking into those eyes, she felt that burden grow all the heavier. She was the person Gavinor looked to to make everything right in his world again. She would do that for him. She had to do that for him. Or else die attempting it. 

She tried to smile for him, and awkwardly patted his head as she said, “I’m going to do my best, Gavinor.” 

He nodded, apparently approving of this answer, then, without further ado, he closed his eyes and snuggled into her. One hand held tight to his Kholin doll, the other held a bunched up clump of her havah. 

She widened her eyes significantly at Wit and gestured wordlessly at this rapidly developing situation which was not something that could continue, of course. 

Wit nodded reassuringly and moved away. She hoped he might return with Gavinor’s nurse but instead, infuriatingly, he just came back with a blanket which he tucked around the two of them. 

“Wit,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the child, “I can’t. I-” 

“I do believe he’s already asleep, my dear, and so technically you already are,” Wit replied, sounding entirely too amused by this. 

“Wit,” she growled, threateningly, though with a sleeping child nestled against her, she was not entirely sure what she was threatening him with.

She stared down at the little boy cuddled against her, and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong. 

How could he find comfort in her? How could he feel safe enough to sleep in her arms? How could he trust her when she did not even trust herself? 

“This is a good thing, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, “Dalinar will be here to pick him up in an hour or so. It will not kill you to let him stay here and be held by you for that length of time.” 

“This isn’t about me,” she whispered back, glaring. 

Usually he always understood, always knew, so she did not have to struggle to try and put her emotions into words. This was something which had endeared her to him very quickly, yet now... 

How could he not see the problem here? How could he not understand that this little boy was setting her up to be something that she could not be? He was going to look for things from her that she didn’t know how to give him. Things she had never known how to give anyone.

“I know,” Wit said, his voice gentle, “But perhaps you’re better at this than you think you are.” 

“I think he’s just desperate,” Jasnah muttered. 

“That’s rather harsh, dear one,” Wit commented lightly, “He is only five after all. And an orphan.” 

“He is not an orphan,” Jasnah replied fiercely, resting a hand protectively on Gavinor’s back, “He still has his family.” 

“Yes,” Wit said, quietly, “He does. I think he knows that. I think he may even know it better than you.” 

“I still have work that needs to be done tonight,” Jasnah said, trying to be cold, and practical, trying to force Wit to take this child away from her, to show him why she could not be what he wanted. 

Wit only gave her a soft smile and rested his hand on her back, “The dead shall wait, Jasnah,” he told her quietly, “The numbers will not change. Nor will the status of the war, or the analysis you will be draw from it all. They cannot be what you need right now.” 

“And what do I need?” she asked, tone caught between frustration and curiosity. 

“Life, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, “You need to be here for the life that is happening around you right now, that will continue to happen around you, as you spend time buried in things that have not been, missing it.” 

She swallowed, recognising that he was right. She took a deep breath, then settled into the chair, allowing herself to slouch into a more comfortable position. Reaching down, she took Wit’s hand and gave it a small squeeze in silent gratitude. 

She knew now that he had set up this whole appointment with Gavinor for her. To give her this moment, this much needed reminder amidst this flood of blood, and violence, and death, that life was still there. Like new vines pushing up between the splayed fingers of fallen corpses on a battlefield. Unseen. Unnoticed, amidst the grief. But still there. And worth pausing to take note of.

“Could you fetch a cushion for me, please?” she asked, quietly, “I would like to make Gavinor more comfortable before his Uncle comes to collect him.” 

Wit smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, leaving to do as she’d asked, a mixture of pride and smugness on his sharp features.

***

A/N: First of all I have no idea how children work. I am Jasnah when it comes to small humans. If this is not how they do I apologise. I am a hopeless gay who tried my best. 

Secondly: this was supposed to be short and fluffy. It failed on both counts but I’m kind of okay with that tbh. It’s criminal we’ve had legitimately no Jasnah and Elhokar content whatsoever - not even after he died. So I PRODUCED this content. And finally: Jasnah being low empathy is SUPER important to me and it was a lot of fun to explore that in this. Okay Taryn out. Pls throw comments at me. I’m a thirsty comment slut. 

[writtingfiction]

May I request a Xander x Corrin fic revolving around the birth of Siegbert? Thank you and have a nice day

Ask and ye shall receive! This one was really cute to write and I hope I’ve done Xander some justice. I’m still trying to write him right.((´д｀))

pairing: Xander x Corrin

words: 1.3k

There was always something that seemed to excite Corrin, especially when it came to family. There was the time when Elise had asked for help setting up the tea for her and Leo, although she ended up getting wrapped into having tea with them, not that she minded, There was another time when Leo had asked for help, even though he was reluctant and bashful about setting his collar right. Another time was with Camilla, helping her engrave her axe with blessings that will help her in the battles to come. Last but definitely not least, Xander, the kind but strict man kept a constant eye on her, battlefield or not. Especially when she told him she was pregnant with their first child.

“Corrin, how are you feeling? You’re not sore, are you?” Xander questioned as he entered their shared room. Corrin gave him a strained smile.

“Xander, I’m feeling just fine. There is no need to ask me ten times within the hour.” Corrin chided gently. Xander had only seemed to hover around her whenever she mentioned something was off, major or minor. She loved her husband dearly, but surely he could relax a little. 

“Ah, I was unaware that I was doing such a thing. Forgive me, little princess.” Xander said in reply, setting himself beside her on the bed. “However, if there is anything that is bothering you, do not be afraid to let me know.” Corrin places her hand on top of his. 

“If there is anything, I shall let you know, my dear.” Corrin smiled softly, as she saw Xander visibly relax. She motions for him lay down beside her, which he does with little protest. Having the loving embrace of his wife was much preferred compared to sitting at a desk and attending to minor duties. “Don’t have any pressing issues to attend too?” He looks at her and hears her giggle as her fingers play with his hair.

“You are, my most pressing issue. Siegbert is to arrive within the next few weeks, I only wish to be here with you when he does decide to come.” He murmured, and Corrin hummed in response.

“I understand, just try not to fall behind alright? It would not do good if the King of Nohr were to fall behind in his duties because of the Queen.” She says it airily, a joke, and he can’t help but smile. Idle chatter continued between the King and Queen, enjoying the quiet evening, well, as much as it let them. Retainers on a mission to find their lord before long.

— — - 

Xander was dressed in armour, Siegfried in hand as he took on his retainers in a mock battle. Testing his skill, making sure they would not rust. He could not rest, he needed to stay sharp, to stay in top form in order to protect his family. Even though he wishes to be by Corrin’s side as she goes about her day, he cannot. After the training, he is then carried away to a meeting, one that is essential. Queen Hinoka had made special arrangements, making it as close as possible to the birth of their son.

He wasn’t the only one excited for the birth of the soon-to-be prince of Nohr. Elise and Camilla wouldn’t stop talking about which cloth would be better for the babe and what he would like for toys. Leo wondered if the newborn would grow with a talent of magic, saying he would love to tutor the small babe. Queen Hinoka and Sakura were ecstatic at the news, happy that their family was growing bigger. So, he wasn’t surprised when they had made a meeting near what the healers had guessed Siegbert would arrive. However, he would have never had guessed this was how things were going to go.

A nervous looking young lady had interrupted the meeting, it was the youngest handmaiden that was with Corrin, if he remembered correctly.

“Y-your M-Majesties…! The Queen has gone into labour!” The young woman stuttered out, bowing towards Hinoka, Sakura and Xander.

“Where is she? Is she all alright?” Xander fired questions at her. She squeaked before getting her composure.

“She’s doing just fine, Y-your Majesty. I-I-I can take you to her.” She wrung her hands together nervously.

“We’ll be right behind you.” Hinoka said, and Xander nodded.

The four of them immediately left the room, closely following behind the handmaiden as she tried not to lose her way with the rising tension behind her. It was such a mix of anxiety, happiness and worry, the handmaiden was sure you could physically cut the apprehension with a blade. It was exactly two minutes later when they heard the pained shouts from Corrin and the doors opening to let Elise out.

“Big Brother!! You made it!” Elise’s smile got wider at the sight of the Hoshidans. “We need all the hands we can get, do you think you two can help?” There was a friendly wink sent their way. Sakura gave a firm nod, saying something about having experience herself. Hinoka showed her shaking hands, and shook her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be much help, I’ll get in the way.” Hinoka spoke. Elise went to speak again but a loud yell from Corrin cut her off. 

“Let me in, Elise.” Xander almost demanded.

“Yes, yes, follow me; and Hinoka just wait right here! If Camilla or Leo come by make sure they don’t come in, the room is full enough!” Elise said quickly, pulling Sakura along with Xander close behind. She directs him to Corrin’s side, while they go off and help, he doesn’t exactly care; his focus is on his wife.

He appears right at her side and the he notices the sweat lining her skin already as she holds the sheets in a death grip. Her eyes shut tightly as she tries to keep her breathing even. He calls out to her and he is immediately met with red eyes filled with relief. Her hand reaches for his, and when she takes hold, he knows he won’t be able to escape. The grip is strong, he fears she would accidentally break his hand if it wasn’t for the armoured glove.

Xander is by Corrin’s side the entire time, telling her how precious she is to him, how he can’t wait to hold his son, how he can’t wait for the three of them to be sleeping side by side. Even though he’s met with shouts and grunts, there is the occasional nod of agreement and hum. However, the cycle didn’t end till hours later, Corrin’s grunts were challenged by their babe when started to cry.

From that moment it was all a blur for him; one moment Corrin was pushing the baby out of her and the next there was a cry from the child before it appeared in his field of view in a bundle of blankets, still crying out loudly. Siegbert was gently placed Corrin’s arms, and she held him close, whispering words to calm him. Xander himself was in tears, he couldn’t stop himself. The scene in front of him is one he’ll remember forever. Corrin, exhausted and crying herself as the babe quieted down.

“He’s beautiful.” Xander whispered as he moved closer, taking note of how sore his hand was. Corrin gave a chuckle as she trailed a finger across Siegbert’s small forehead.

“He’s absolutely stunning…” Corrin said in return, eyes fixated on the babe.

Siegbert was quieting down and soon fell into a deep sleep, having his parents watch over him carefully as he slept in his mother’s arms. However, at sound of the rest of his family coming into the room, he was ready to start screaming again. Small lungs expelling force and sound as if it was all too much. Nevertheless, it was a moment in time where no matter what happened, this memory would be burned into their memories. Waiting to be fondly remembered down the long road ahead.

[gotboredwrote]

The Lily of Death Valley // ES!JFM

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader Word Count: 7.5K Style: One-Shot Warnings: Fatal injuries, wartime discussions, angst, language, cat-calling/unwanted sexual advancements (nothing explicit but some general talk), fluff at the end (because remember, I can’t end a story sadly)  Summary: World War Two. A terrible time for all. Bloody. Not the most obvious time to make friends, but it happened anyway, at least for Leckie and Sledge’s crews. They’d also befriended you, begrudgingly at first, and who’s to say the battlefield is not the most obvious place to find love, either? Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: Couple things to be mentioned up front: 1. Yes, I am completely aware that women were not allowed to enlist back during WWII, and 2. Yes, I am also completely aware that Eugene and Leckie’s crews did not serve together in real life or the show, but for the sake of this fic, imagine that. Also, special thanks to Lena for helping me hash out a title for this for like 15 minutes lol.

Masterlist

~

It never got easier. That part was simple to admit. But you never lost hope that maybe one day it would, or better yet, you would get to go home. Based on how things were progressing, though, you could not see that day coming anytime soon. You always remained hopeful, though. Hopeful that one day men would stop treating you like you were worthless, or just a sex object. Hopeful that eventually you would get to be part of a squad that appreciated both your strengths and your weaknesses in stride, knowing that your weaknesses do not define you and your strengths make you a better person.

You were hopeful that he would not die that day, like so many people did not hours before. You were hopeful you could save him from that damn hidden grenade. You were hopeful that you would never have to talk about the most heart wrenching day of your life thus far to anyone ever again.

All of those things happened.

~

[4 months ago.]

 All you could hear was the wind moving the foliage around you. No one was moving, not an inch. They knew better. You lot had been fighting this war for almost 5 months at this point, and this specific stand-off was heading on to hour 7. It was tireless and relentless work, but it had to be done, for the safety of your country.

You and about 6 other men, one of which was your twin brother, were plastered up against a makeshift mud wall with rifles lined up in front of you. Ready to fire when needed. You had been like this for a while, listening to the occasional distant gunfire from another location and some various screaming, too. Some of the new recruits were sick to their stomachs from it, but not you. Everything that had happened had made you numb. All you thought about, and all you allowed yourself to think about until the moment you set foot in your home again, was war. Killing Japs. It was your sole purpose on this hellhole.

“I’m going to get us some water, anyone need anything?”

Your brother was the one who spoke, barely audible, but you all had trained to hear someone speaking that quietly. You had to, otherwise your positions would be given away. The 6 of you that were still leaning against the mud gently shook your heads, hearing your brother inch backwards on the ground. He was not allowed to stand, either, because he would be extremely obvious amongst all the trees.

It stayed silent for a few more moments, but once your brother had moved back about 10 feet from his original location, everyone in the area heard it. That distinct hissing sound that could only come from one thing. A grenade. None of you had moved, so none of you could have set it off. There were also no signs of Japs around. By process of elimination, you all knew who had triggered it. Your brother.

Everything happened quickly. First, there was the instant whiplash created in all of your necks as you whipped your heads back in the direction of the sound, eyes all locking onto your brother, who was frozen in fear and had a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. Then, you all scrambled to removed yourselves from where you were seated to get as far away from the blast as possible, but your brother did not do the same.

Next came the explosion.

Shrapnel everywhere, screaming all around you, ringing in your ears and blood running from your neck and cheek. Instantly, your gun went to the ground, an instinct you did not know you had in you taking over. You went and took out as much debris as you could from the few men scattered around you, including the piece that had wedged itself in your neck. You made sure as many men on your squad as possible were fine, despite the shit they constantly gave you for simply being female. Then it hit you – you had not taken care of your brother, assuming there was anything left of him to take care of.

Frantically, you ran through the dust and smoke radiating around his body, dropping to the ground next to him, staring at the injuries he had sustained. If it were not for the gaping hole in his torso, he would have barely had a scratch on him. But you could see it – a literal hole on his lower left side, so bad to the point where his uniform had gone almost completely black with blood, and a small portion of his intestines were visible without close examination. Made you want to vomit. And scream. You held back on the prior, but not the latter. After letting the surface layer of your feelings out, you began your attempt to fix him. Trying your absolute best to do exactly what the small amount of medical training you had gotten had taught you, but in your haze, basically just attempted to restuff his abdomen with the parts it had lost. There was absolutely nothing you could do about the blood, and your guess was that he had lost over a gallon in that short time. He was going to bleed out, and there was nothing you could do.

“Y/N s-stop.”

“Harry, no, don’t. Don’t fucking tell me to stop. You’re bleed-bleeding out, and-and your guts, they’re-”

“It’s…too late, baby…sis.”

“It’s not, don’t say that to me. You’re gonna come home with me. I fixed those assholes, I can fix you! I only joined this damn army because I couldn’t bear being apart from you! We fought for this! Harold, please. Please!” 

But you could feel his body already go cold.

“Harry?”

The sound of gunfire was piercing your ears as you spoke to the corpse of your brother.

“Harry… please…”

Your body slumped over. Heart completely wrenched from your body. You had lost a part of you. The part of you that helped you beat the system. The part of you that when it was gone you thought would surely take you with it.

Yet here you were. Sitting on a dirt floor, next to the corpse of your 1-minute-older twin who always insisted on calling you his baby sis, not caring if a bullet went through the back of your skull and through your brain. All you wanted was to see his smiling face again.

[Present day.]

Most people would think that after going through something like what you and your squad went through that day, you would all be discharged and sent home. The 5 men who survived had that happen. You? Not so much. The men had talked to your captain about how diligent you were in taking care of them after the explosion, and apparently done so well enough that your captain thought it would be a terrific idea to send you for more medical training. To hone in on the skills you clearly had rooted deep within you that had to be coaxed out. ‘For the better of the entire US Army,’ he had said once.

Bullshit.

You just wanted to go home. To rest. To not see any more blood for the rest of your days. It was enough. You had been through enough. Yet your captain did not think so.

You had completed about 3 months of new medical training, and was given your army doctor certification. You were given all the possible utilities you may need, including a personal staff to help you with amputations and other surgeries. You were also taken off of active-duty and were to simply travel around with whichever squad you were placed with, to take care of them and the people around them. Truth be told, it was not the worst gig within the army you could have gotten. It still pained you, though, knowing that Harry would no longer be around to see you help people.

Initially, your captain had bumped you from place to place, before getting the call that the men needed a permanent doctor on Seipan, as the old one had been, well, shot to death. So, you packed up your belongings once again and set a course for Seipan, where you were told you would basically be spending the rest of your time in the military. Whether that ended in death or coming home, you could not tell, but that was the deal.

Unbeknownst to you, the men were informed about your scheduled arrival, and the group of men you would be bunking with were given special instructions.

“Listen up. I know what you’re probably thinking. How the hell did a woman make her way into the army? That, is her business and her business alone. If she ever tells you on her own accord, fine, but if we hear about any of you hassling her in any way, there will be serious repercussions. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, sir.” All 6 of the men seated in the bunk responded at once.

“Question, sir,”

“What is it, Private Shelton?”

“How’s it that woman made it into the army? Who’d she have to get off?”

“What the hell did I just—”

“Sir.” A private none of the men in the bunk knew popped his head in, ceasing the light chuckles that were floating about the bunk. “Nurse Y/L/N is here.”

As if on cue, the curtain to the outside had been swung open and you, carrying your giant backpack and all belongings, entered the bunker. All the men in the tent, including your new captain, were staring at you.

“What? Y’all ain’t ever seen a woman before?”

Your new captain stood to address you as you tossed your bags onto what would become your new cot. You turned around to face him, knowing that despite how unhappy you were with the living arrangements, you were in no position to argue.

“Madam, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Richard Johnson, and the 6 men you see behind me will be your new squad. I know you are no longer active duty, but in order for you to remain as a member of the army given your specific circumstances, you are required to still be a part of a squad, even though you will be attending to all injuries on all men.”

“Yes, sir. Now, may I have a moment to put my stuff away before one of these boys gets a papercut I have to kiss better?”

“As you wish. I’ll let them introduce themselves. Welcome to Seipei, Nurse.”

With that, Captain Johnson walked out from the tent, leaving you alone with the men behind you, all of which were just staring at the back of you as you started to put your stuff away. You were seriously hoping that you could postpone talking to them as long as possible. You knew what type of people they would be. All men treated you the same. Like an object. You were given no reason to think that any of these men were going to be any different. Your suspicions were confirmed when one of them began to speak to you.

“So. Young, gorgeous, smart enough to be a doctor, a sharp tongue, and a delightful southern accent to boot. Golly, what don’t you have going for you?”

Instantly your hands dropped what they were holding and fell to your sides. You had an immense amount of trouble believing that they were already treating you like this. Hell, you were not even sure they knew your first name yet. You spun around in the attempt to address whichever one had spoken to you directly, but you could not tell which one it was, so you addressed them all.

“What don’t I have going for me? The ability to put up with your bullshit. If you don’t mind, I would prefer it if you did not treat me like some kind of object for you to mess around with. That goes for all of you little shits. You’re new to this whole thing, I’ve been around the block with this whole ordeal for over 6 months now, so I know a thing or two that you don’t. But I’m also not the type of person who likes to start relationships off on a bad foot. So, let’s start over, shall we?”

The 6 men were all looking at you intently, some of them with smirks on their faces, some of them clearly believing in the intensity you presented yourself with.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, former PFC, active nurse. Maybe one day, if y’all can learn to be gentlemen, I’ll tell you my story. But it’s earned, and hardly anyone has earned the right to know it. You’re turns.”

Each of the men rattled off their names and titles. The one who had spoken to you earlier was PFC Robert Leckie. Also part of your squad was PFC Eugene ‘Sledgehammer’ Sledge, PFC Sidney Phillips, PFC Lew ‘Chuckler’ Juergens, PFC Merriell ‘Snafu’ Shelton, the one who had made the rude comment you had not heard, and PFC Wilbur ‘Runner’ Conley. You had given them the nod of approval at their good behavior before continuing.

“Like I said before, I’m an active nurse now. Meaning, if you ever have a problem with anything, you need to come find me. I may have a tough outer shell, but if you seriously need me, trust me, I won’t be an ass about it. Maybe once you’re better I will be, but not in the moment. I know when to be an ass and when not to be. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I want to lay down. Assuming none of you have any pressing issues at the moment and no one comes bursting through the door with a limb barely attached, I’m going to do just that.”

“Well, there is one thing.”

“What is it, Snafu?”

“My dick is unusually soft considering I’m in the presence of a woman, do you know why that might be?”

You threw the first metal thing you could find, which happened to be a metal comb, directly at his head before covering your body with a blanket and facing opposite to them. You heard them laughing a little bit, and you could not help the tears that welled up behind your eyes. You tried to be hopeful again that these boys would be different. You were beginning to give up on the prospect of hope.

~

Little did your roommates/squad members know, but despite the tough demeanor you presented yourself with, you had always had a soft heart. The tears that had welled up eventually fell, but you drifted off to sleep not long after. How they had treated you did hurt, but you had put up with it for so long from so many people that you knew how to act like it did not. You had a shell, a tough one, and it took quite a bit to break it.

When you woke up the next day, all your squad members had already left for the morning, leaving you in peace. Truly at peace, considering no one had rushed in needing your assistance yet. You had decided to pull out the book you had been reading for the last few weeks and lay back on your bed, prepared in case anyone needed help.

Then you saw the curtains pull back carefully and cautiously, revealing one of the members of your squad. 

“Mobile.”

You looked up at Eugene, confused as to why he brought up the name of your hometown out of nowhere.

“What?” 

“Mobile, Alabama. Your accent, madam. Is that where you’re from, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Y-yeah, actually. How’d you guess?” 

“I live on Serenity Drive, off the center of town. I’d recognize the sound of home anywhere, especially after being in a place like this.”

“…Juniper Street.” 

“We’re practically neighbors, then! What a small world this is, Miss Y/L/N. Please, don’t let me keep you from reading.” 

Eugene went over to his cot to grab something before making his way back to the entrance. You were so in shock at how much different this boy was from the rest of his squad, you could not believe they all got along so well. Your mind could not help but wonder what his real reaction to what had been said to you last night was.

“Y/N.”

“Wh-what?” Eugene spun around in the entryway, not expecting you to willingly talk to him after being associated with the idiots he was with last night. 

“Y/N. That’s my name, remember? For you, it’s just Y/N.”

Eugene gave you a bashful smile, which you returned. It was your way of showing him that you truly had a soft side, like the one he had just shown you. You just hoped he understood.

Later that same day, you had helped out with a few injuries people had that needed to be rewrapped or bandages needed changing. You even got to take out a few happy men’s stitches, scolding most of them for letting them rip. You had been working on someone’s bandages in a tent maybe 100 feet from where your bunk was when Chuckler walked in. He was the only other one who had not laughed at Snafu’s joke the night before, you eventually found out. Except you did not quite feel you could show him your soft side just yet. Something about Eugene brought it out of you, and you could not quite explain why.

“Chuckler? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Leckie, the asshole. He’s been having a problem that’s clearly affecting his mental state but refuses to come to you about it.”

“What is the problem, exactly? Because I have a lot of people to get to today and—”

“He refuses to leave his bed and we need him to help with drills and in weaponry. He’s being a nuisance.”

“That’s not what I asked you, Chuckler.”

“Just come with me when you’re done with him, please. None of us can take his bitching and moaning anymore.”

“Fine, give me 5 minutes. Wait there. 

After you had finished changing the man’s bandages, you stood up and cleaned up all your equipment, and followed Chuckler from the tent. You had made it to your own and saw that Snafu, Eugene, Runner, and Sidney were all talking amongst themselves in front of where Leckie was laying. All their heads turned in your general direction when you walked in, and you were completely mentally prepared to put up your shell, even with Eugene in the room. Except the way they were all looking at you told you that it was not the time. They seemed extremely concerned for their friend. You looked at Chuckler, and he now had the same expression on his face. So, you felt as though that was your cue to walk over and see what you could do.

When you started to move over to Leckie, the four boys cleared out the space to let you in. You gently placed your bag down to the floor and kneeled down next to Leckie’s cot. You knew he could hear you, but was clearly ignoring you. You felt as if there was only one thing you could do in order to get his attention. As much as it made you nervous, you felt a stronger sensation for the need to help than the need to be an ass right about now. He looked tense from the back. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and rubbed lightly, trying to coax him.

“Leckie?”

No response.

“Leckie, I want to help you, hon. Could you roll over and face me?”

You felt him shift a little bit. You were getting somewhere.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, honey. I promise I’ve heard worse. You really don’t have a reason to be embarrassed.”

You could feel him let out a sigh, whether it was one of embarrassment or one signaling he caved was up in the air, but then his body shifted. You had won, and he rolled over to face you. First you noticed how red his eyes were, and how puffy his cheeks had become. He had clearly been crying, probably while you had been speaking to him. It broke your heart a little bit.  A tough soldier, so broken down over something that more than likely is not his fault. Made you wonder what would happen to the men who made it home.

Then you saw his problem. What the boys were all concerned about. His pants had become a darker shade of green all down the front.

“Oh, honey… how long has this been goin’ on?”

“Few days. Maybe… maybe a week.”

“I think I know exactly what this is. Assuming you aren’t in any pain, that is. Does this happen frequently? And when it does, is there pain involved?”

“No pain, but usually once, sometimes twice a day.” He was talking so quietly. You could easily tell why he did not want to tell you. It was not pain or fear of loss of masculinity, since apparently everyone else knew but you.

It was because all of them respected you and they did not want to seem like they could not take care of themselves.

“Well, the good news is that it is probably exactly what I’m thinking it is. People who undergo extreme stress and traumas can develop issues with their pelvic floors without knowing it, except when their bladder decides to completely empty itself without any warning to you. You just need a little bit of rest and I’ll need to teach you how to do some pelvic floor exercises to bring it back up to strength. If that doesn’t seem to work, I can have the proper paperwork drawn up to send you over to a rehab facility on an American territory nearby. We’ll get you fixed up, pumpkin, I promise, okay?”

Leckie just nods his head and sniffled gently. You place a hand on his cheek to help steady his breathing before grabbing something out of your bag. Something you think will help him. You also write up everything you said on a prescription sheet so he can remember everything you told him, plus wrote down the basics for the therapies he will be starting.

The five boys had watched the entire scene unfold with you and Leckie. Clearly, despite the impression you first gave them, you really did care about them, and was willing to put aside their buffoonery and idiocracy for the sake of their health. What was an army without its men, anyway? An unspoken promise was made through the looks they gave each other, one that said they would no longer be assholes to you. Clearly, you did not deserve that. Not after how nice you had been to all of them despite what they said to you. How they laughed at you.

Plus, it had been burning in the back of their minds that you had a story they could earn, and that spoke numbers to them about what kind of life you had before them, that it probably was not good, and interesting to boot.

They wanted to ensure that the bad half of your story ended with them and the good part started with them, too. 

~

A few more days had gone by since you had treated Leckie, and the techniques you had been teaching him were working. He had not had an accident in almost three days. You were really proud of him for doing what he needed to do, and clearly, he was thankful for you. He practically waited on you hand and foot. The other boys were doing the same. You honestly were not really sure what had changed, but you were not complaining. You were finally working with men who did not treat you horribly. It was a nice change of pace, and one that you were not about to jeopardize.

Other things you had done included helping the boys out with small injuries they received through various things, and you even helped them out in weaponry once since you knew about it, having been a soldier yourself.

After a particularly grueling day, you had all returned back to the bunk for the night, and you had just crawled in to bed. You were about to turn off your oil lamp when you realized all of them had been staring at you. But in the low light, it was hard to read their expressions.

“What?” 

They all looked at Eugene, who they had apparently selected as the best person to ask you the question they so desperately wanted to know the answer to.

“Y/N, we were… just wondering… have we earned the rights… to your story yet? You know about us. We’d love to know about you.”

You took in a deep breath, shakily exhaling it, internally debating if these 6 boys were worth the trouble. Clearly, Eugene was. There was no debating on that. Chuckler was also nice, considering, and Leckie had shown his appreciation for you after helping him. The other three had gotten significantly nicer, too. And they had never seemed like the type of people to abuse the knowledge, anyway.

You started with the catcalling. Something you were prepared for in some degree, but not for how much of it you really got. It had never happened back home, people in Mobile were extremely nice. You knew that things would be different in the army because these men had been starved of their natural preferences and instincts the moment they arrived at boot camp. You told yourself you could ignore it, and for the most part, you did. It was always just out-there, lewd comments you knew had no foundation or real threat behind them.

Except for the one night that it did. There was one night, about a month before your brother had died. You had been given your own bunk, despite the wishes of your old captain, and there was a night where you and almost every squad were on patrol for nearly 16 hours straight, with almost nothing to show for it. Sitting still, feeling stiff, tired, hungry, and downright frustrated. You all eventually made it back to your bunks, and you decided not to shower. You just wanted to lay down on something that was not the rock-hard ground. Despite the fact that the cots were not the most comfortable, it sure as hell beat the soil. You did not know how long you had been laying there, but you were in and out of sleep, that stage right before you truly drift off. You were finally comfortable. So comfortable that you never heard the opening of the doorway to your bunk.

He had made no noise, having taken off his shoes, and kept his breathing as quiet as possible. You never even heard him start to take off his clothes. You only knew what was happening when you felt him press his front against your back. As soon as you felt him, you pushed him to the ground, screaming bloody murder. He crawled off of you, and tried to leave, but your brother had gotten to the doorway in time. Beat him to shit. Made sure you were okay. You were not, and your captain only made it worse by not transferring the guy away from you. You never went a day without waking up in the middle of night anymore out of pure fear.

You then told them how your brother was the only person who managed to keep you sane while you were still on active duty, but you only had that peace of mind for another month. Because you had to watch him die. You had to take another deep breath before talking about the story, because you were fighting back tears remembering how it felt to lose him. And then you told them how your old captain did not even give you the decency to leave and return later so you could go see his funeral.

“I… never even got to say goodbye. They buried by own fucking twin and I wasn’t there! I never got to tell him I loved him again! He was just gone! Fucking gone!” You had started weeping and screaming. You refused to talk about these events with hardly anyone, and now, it was like you could no longer hold back.

You pulled yourself together as best you could, wiping away the streaky tears adorning your face, and when you looked up, all 6 of them were looking at you with such sadness you thought they might start crying. Through some heavy breathing, you managed to allow a bit of your sass to come through.

“… are y’all happy with yourselves? You made a gal cry.” You had smiled a little bit, letting them know that you were going to be okay, despite how you currently looked.

They all remained silent, which made you concerned that you had said too much. You remained convinced of that until you saw Eugene move to stand up. Your smile faded as you watched him move over to your cot. When he reached you he simply stopped and kneeled to the ground. He let his head hang for a moment before looking up at you with glossy eyes. He did not speak right away.

“…what?”

“Lily.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“Yeah what are you going on about, Sledgehammer?” Snafu piped in for surprisingly the first time that night.

“Lily. Your new name is Lily.”

“Why, Gene?” 

“Like…” He was caught off guard by the affectionate nickname. He had not thought he had earned something like that from you yet. “Like the lily of the valley flower. They grow in my front yard, back home in Mobile. It’s a beautiful and delicate flower, one that germinates and spreads its beauty wherever it is planted. But they aren’t what meets the eye. They’re actually extremely dangerous. You don’t want to mess around with them if you plan on keeping ‘em around. …just like you.” 

You were taken aback. You knew the boy was quiet and sweet, but you never took him to be the smooth type. Even if that was not how he intended for it to come across. You felt your face flush, and began to get bashful. You dropped your head lightly, and you felt your face heat up even more when you heard the ‘damn straight’s’ coming from the other 5, completely in agreement with Eugene.

“…shut up, you fuckers. I could kill y’all in your sleep.”

“Just like the flower!”

You threw your pillow in their general direction, and you all broke out into laughter. You were in such a state of shock and disbelief at what was happening to you. You were beginning to believe in hope again. Then Runner spoke up.

“How about we push our cots together for the night? Lily, you can be in the middle. We can keep you safe from all the assholes that are littering this island.” (in this house we support the idea that guys can do this and not feel the need to crack a joke because fuck toxic masculinity)

“I’m great with that, s’long as Leckie keeps his problem under control.” Sidney chimed in, always ready with the jab.

The boys all goofed around with each other, while you just watched them with bemusement. You were completely unaware that Eugene was just staring at you. Awestruck. Dumbstruck.

Lovestruck.

Quite frankly, he was not sure when the feeling started feeling that way about you. Might have been when he first told you about being from Mobile. Could have been just now seeing you laugh and light up bright. Could have been from the first moment he laid eyes on you. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he got to spend his time on this hellhole with you, and he would not have changed it for the world.

He was brought back to reality when he felt you grab onto his arm so he could help you guys move the cots. Once they were all in place, they made you get in first and then decided what order they were going to lay in. Their main concern was not the men they laid next to, so much as who the two would be that got to lay next to you. You made it very apparent that you did not care about the other side, so long as Eugene was to one of them. He was standing at the head of your cot, unsure of what to do like the others, but he turned his head down to face you when he saw you lean your head backwards to look up at him, and you lightly grabbed the fabric of his pants. Eugene crawled into the cot next to yours, and you just looked at him with a tired smile. His heart swelled and started beating wildly.

Once everyone else had clamored into bed, Chuckler being the one to your other side, you all settled in for the night. Before anyone really tried to fall asleep, Eugene said something only loud enough for the 7 of you to hear. 

“You know we’re gonna protect you, Lily. You know that, right?”

You looked at him in the dark, his face barely visible with hardly any moonlight entering the bunk. He was not looking at you, he was looking up at the ceiling, that much you could see. You reached up with one of your hands to pull his face to face yours.

“I know, Gene.”

~

A few more days and plenty of emergency surgeries and bandage changes later, you were starting to feel really burnt out. Plus, the boys had been away for those few days, so you had hardly anyone to talk to it about. Even Snafu and his ways would have been better than nothing. The boys did return earlier than expected, and when you got back from your most recent emergency surgery, you were more than thrilled to see them back in your bunk. But what made you the happiest was telling them to stay put so they could watch your equipment while you went and showered for the first time in a few days. That way, when you got back, they could block the entrance to your bunk so you could change peacefully. They made no objections, seeing that their few days were uneventful and you clearly needed the shower more than them, you looked like you had been to hell and back.

You took as minimal as possible over to the shower, which including not carrying your spare uniform. The thing weight more than it looked like it would, so you opted for just a tank top and a pair of shorts. As you were walking back to the bunk, you managed to make it within eye sight of your bunk, and you were met with a really sweet sight. The boys had all sat outside and played cards while they waited for you, ready to block the entrance while you changed just like you had asked them to.

You were about to call out to them to get their attention, when another squad beat you to it. For the first time since you had been with this squad, you were catcalled by another group of men. Their bunk was visible from where the boys were sitting, and the second your name left one of their mouths, all their heads shot in that direction. You just kept walking to get as far away from them as possible. Turns out that was not the best option, since that gave them more ammunition to talk about your ass as it moved. You jogged the rest of the way back to your bunk, fighting off tears as you did so, and the minute you were safely back in your own territory, Eugene, Leckie, and Chuckler all went running off to the group of men who were hassling you. They did not see it coming, but you knew that you would be tending to some serious injuries tomorrow by the looks of it.

When they make it back to you, they are out of breath and lightly sweaty. You are worried they got hurt, but when they smile at you, you knew they were okay. You walked over and hugged each of them. Somewhat unintentionally, you let Eugene’s hug linger a little bit longer than the other boys. He wanted to act like he did not notice, but he completely did.

 “Do we get hugs too, Lily?”

“Now, why would y’all get hugs, Sid?”

“Um, because we’re your friends, too? And we made a promise to protect you, so the next round is on us?”

 You just chuckle at them, and lean down to give them all hugs too, before retreating into the bunk to change.

All of them turn to look at Eugene, because like him, they saw his hug linger a little bit. They knew about his little crush – he had told them about it when they were going on a day straight of no sleep and getting delirious. At one point, one of the men had said something to the effect of ‘honestly, she’s so tough she’d probably break you but someone like you was meant to be with someone like her – she’s broken and needs someone who can love her properly, and none of us are really qualified to do that. Plus, she’s from Mobile so go for it, Sledgehammer.’ Little did he know though, is that they were hatching a plan to get him to admit it to you.

~

You had been cleaning some of your smaller tools in the bunk when Snafu runs in with Eugene at his side, and Snafu is trying to frantically tell you what happened but all you register is that you see Eugene and his blood pouring out of his arm. You push Snafu aside mindlessly telling him ‘yeah, yeah’ as you pull Eugene down to sit on your now back-in-its-original-place cot. Eugene clearly looks like he is in pain, so you want to help him as quickly as possible. But you know how painful it can be to clean an open wound, so you come up with a way to distract him.

“Gene, this is really going to hurt. Both parts, the cleaning and the stitching. I want you to talk to me, okay?”

“About what?”

“Anything. I just like hearin’ you talk. But… how about books? You’ve loaned me a book or two before. Tell me about things you’ve read about. Talk through the pain, honey.”

As soon as he comes up with a topic he knows he can talk about for more than two sentences, you start to clean the wound as best you can with him writhing around from the pain. Once the area is clean, you tell him he has to sit still while you stitch him up, otherwise he will have a needle where it does not need to be.

He talks as best he can, but with every poke of the needle, his voice would get hitched and stuck in his throat, and you started to feel awful. At one point he was starting to look a little pale, and he had stopped talking, so you just looked at him so he would look you back in the eyes.

“Genie, lay your head down on my shoulder. Close your eyes. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

He did as he was told, his head plunking down onto your shoulder. You could immediately feel it through your uniform that he was sweating terribly. You felt awful for doing this to him, but he would thank you later when he did not have to lose his arm from an infection.

You had finished stitching him up, and you just let him rest his head on your shoulder for a little while longer. That way he did not make himself dizzy when he stood back up. You even laid your head on his to try to bring him back to you. To calm him down.

Eventually he looked back up at you with eyes that spoke for themselves. He was wiped out.

 “Let’s get you into bed, hon. You need to rest.”

 You helped him walk over to his cot, very shakily, and laid him down and gave him a glass of water. Once he was comfortable, you got up to clean up your cot. And you heard him weakly ask you something.

 “What in God’s green earth did I ever do to deserve meetin’ someone like you?”

 You just chuckled lightly at his accent, accentuated because of how tired he was.

 “I should be asking you that, Gene.”

 ~

 Another round of emergency surgeries happened over the course of the following day, 8 to be exact, and all you wanted to do was go back to your cot and read. Eventually, you practically crawled your way back to the bunk, but was met with what, in that moment, was the worst site you could have been met with. Someone had broken into your bunk and tore the book Eugene had loaned you to shreds. The only people who would have had any motive to do such a thing would be the jerks who catcalled you earlier in the week. You assumed it was them. The assholes.

You were feeling so burnt out, though that all you could do was sob. You were sobbing so intensely that you fell onto your cot. And you just laid there, crying your entire soul out. The boys had been coming back from dinner, wanting to invite you, but knew you were still in surgery. So, they went without you. When they were back standing in front of the cot, they could hear you crying before they walked in. They all wanted to barge in and make you feel better, but instead they practically shoved Eugene in there to help you.

He first sees the book on your bed, shredded beyond repair, scattered around your heaving body. Then the adrenaline kicks in and he is on his knees by your side in an instant, rubbing circles onto your back. When you finally can breathe normally again, you roll over to look at him through red eyes.

 “Want to talk about it?”

 He opened the doors to a floodgate. You start rattling off all the surgeries and how something went wrong in every single one, and then you tell him all you wanted to do was read his book but now that was ruined and you promised somewhere in there to replace it, and then you were overcome with happiness when he places a book you never saw him grab by your side as a replacement. All the emotions eventually just cause you to stop in your place and stare at him, completely overwhelmed. The look in his eyes tells you something that your body felt before your brain registered it, and before you knew it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was not much, and you instantly pulled back, realizing that you could have just made a huge mistake based on a huge misunderstanding. You start blubbering to him, saying you were sorry and asking him to not report you to your higher ups, and in the middle of it, he just throws himself at you. Clearly desperate to taste you properly, almost sobbing himself at just how soft your lips were compared to the harshness of the war going on around him.

While he was relentless in the moment, eventually you both pulled away to breathe, just staring into each other’s eyes, pupils slightly larger than usual. The moment would have been perfect if it were not for your friend, Snafu.

 “Is it safe to come in there or are y’all screwing each other, already?”

 You both break and laugh, and the boys outside take that as their cue to come in. They look thrilled for you. Once Eugene had had enough of the looks they were giving you, he looks at you and not-so-shyly says,

 “This is only the beginning, darlin’, just wait until we’re back in Mobile and can be together properly. I’ll treat you like a queen.”

 ~

 A few close calls later with Eugene being on the front lines more often than you would like, you two finally come back home. Initially, you went to your house first, the joy of having their other child home being more important than discussing the elephant in the room. You introduced the man you brought home, and to your happiness, he fit right in. Your parents loved him.

Then, he takes you to his home, where you get to meet his family. You imagined you would be liked enough by his parents for them to want him to keep you around. Especially after the way Eugene introduced you to his doctor father.

 “Dad, meet Y/N. She’s the one who causes all my heart murmurs now.”

 Permanent Taglist: @bensrhapsody @chlobo6 @gardnerlangway @xtrashmammalstefx

 Eugene Sledge Taglist: n/a

 // If you want to be added to either taglist mentioned above, or the one for another character I’ve written for, send me an ask here! //

[muffincactus]

The Oath | 1

Red on Apollo’s yellow walls

In the last moments of Nereidyan’s siege, you think about the imminent future for you and the remaining people. Where will you go? What will be of you?

Pairing: Warrior!Jimin x Healer!Reader

Genre: Angst, Violence, Fluff, Greek Mithology, (eventual) Smut, Enemy to Lovers (au), Historical (au), Fantasy (au).

Words 1.7k

A/N: Heeeeeeeeeeeello! Finally, the first chapter, my baby, I feel like crying. I am excited/worried/terrified about this fanfiction and I really hope you will like it. I plan on a slowly narration for the first chapters while presenting all the characters and, then, the plot will start to move. So, please be patient! If you have any advice, suggestion, comment, impression feel free to send it to me! Enjoy

The chamber was full of wounded soldiers that groaned with pain and healers that worked ceaselessly to save the lucky that were retrieved from the battlefield before being finished by the enemies. You took some clothes full of blood to wash them in a room that before being turned in a hospital was the kitchen of the inn. Well, to describe it as a hospital, maybe it was too much for three chambers overcrowded and smelling but, during a siege of three years, shortage of people and basic materials, it was the only one that was constantly running. And the healers too were constantly running. Right now, the number of them that fell due to the fatigue or to the illness was unknown.

It was hot and humid, it was difficult to breathe. Not only for the scent of wounds, blood and sweat but also for the tingling fear that lingered in the air. You could hear the screams of encouragement and pain, the clashes of swords and spears against the shields near the walls of Nereidya. The war that seemed like the others became the last battle for this city and everybody was conscious of their destiny: the once named Apollo’s Walls for their bright yellow color now were painted red and could not resist much more. And what will happen after, only the Gods know.

Nereidya was called the “Pearl of Poseidon’s bay”, a beautiful reign near the Sea of Poseidon, blessed by the protection of Apollo, God of the Sun and the Arts. Always in the center of the most ambitious conquerors for its fertile lands and for its whispered treasures, it was not the first time the city was attacked. But this time, the situation was different. Three years ago, during a political visit to the allied reign of Kashbah, the second-in-line Prince of Nereidya was discovered in the chambers of the Queen of Kashbah with his hands covered in her blood: the Queen was stabbed and the Prince of Neredya was accused of this heinous crime. Nereidya never heard the motivation behind it, the Prince was killed even before he could explain himself without a trial, usually guaranteed for the upper classes. And then, war happened as if the most natural consequence: Kashbah was known for its ambition of expansion and their King said that “the only way to repair to this insult is to see Nereidya crumble in front of my eyes” and, on the other hand, Neredya was dealing with the unjust treatment received by its once allied. And now, after three years of victories and losses, the scale of Zeus, Who that all decides, leant for the Kashbyan and for the plate of Nereidya, bright as Apollo’s sun, there was nothing else to decide.  

As If the army could hear your thoughts, suddenly a noise of wood being broken was heard and you whipped your head to the direction of the sound. There was only a thing to do in this case: to prepare yourself to the worst. You left the dirty clothes in the basin and started to walk rapidly to find your tutor. He was an aged man with a pure passion for healing illnesses and wounds because “the mission of us healers is to make everybody feel better”. Really, he was the reincarnation of the Oath of the Healers.

“Master…” He was bent on a leg of a young soldier that was hit with a poisoned arrow. They took him there yesterday and, during the night, the wound became infected and the fever rose. The herbs that were necessary to cure him finished a while ago and you couldn’t find others to use.

“Yes, Y/N. I heard.” He said, with a concentrate look on his face while disinfecting the wound.

“Do we need to prepare ourselves-“

“No.” He interrupted you. “Our job is to assist the wounded until we cannot do it anymore. The army will come here soon but, until that moment, I will continue my job as if these walls were still protecting us. And you should do the same.”

“Yes, I understand, master.”

He sighed and straighted himself, looking at you in the eyes. “Go to the women and try to calm them. We do not need more panic in a moment like this.”

“Yes, master.” you turned but he called again.

“Y/N… We do not know the plan of the Gods and we humans are so little in their hands. But I wanted to tell you that you are a skilled healer, you are passionate, and I will do everything to save you and this hospital from their dirty hands. These people do not deserve it.” And then, he continued to heal the wound. You observed him with tears in your eyes, but you knew that you couldn’t cry, not in that moment. He was a very capable man, with a great heart but he was not so open and often misunderstood: to confess his feelings so openly like this, that meant that the end was near. So, you nodded and sprinted toward the chamber from which women’s laments, laments of a spiritual pain, could be heard.

Rage, fear and pain ran in your body for the injustice of the situation. Why should normal people suffer for the whims of somebody who just has the fortune of being born in a rich and powerful family? Why the Gods decided to punish Nereidyans like that? Lot of questions but very few answers for you that were at the other side of the Olympus. But in the hospital, everybody knew their destiny: even if the war was usually unpredictable, in this phase everything was clear and what the consequences will be, that can be retrieved from every books of history. At first, the soldiers will look in every house to find wounded men or escaped soldiers to kill. The elderlies, the men, the children will be the first to go. Then, they will look for precious objects in the same houses to take with them. And last, will come the turn of the women, the most ambitious prize for soldiers far from their homes for years. And how can you blame the victims? How can you reassure women that probably will never see their children and husbands again and will become slaves for the enemy? But you needed to be strong for them. So, while erasing every trace of emotion from your face, you entered in the chamber upstairs of the hospital in which all the women stayed.

The room was crowded with women crying, from newborns to children of twelve years old that played together. Before the women started to ask, you sprinted toward the stairs that led to the roof and protruded from the little wall of dried mud. And the view was something nobody would ask for. Bunch of soldiers entered through the broken gate and went into the houses. The guards near the walls tried to defend the city but the force of the enemy was unstoppable. The Kashbyan were a nation of élites warriors and everywhere they went, it became a wall of fire and blood. You observed the scene and left the roof to go down to the women. Near the stairs, as if afraid of the force of the words you needed to say, you gulped and started to speak.

“Everybody, please, try to stay calm and do not leave for whatever reason this place. For a while, here we will be safe. The army, as you could hear from the noise outside, breached the portal and is entering in the city. We are Nereidyans and we all are brothers and sisters, let’s try to stay unite.”

Some women started weeping, others were looking outside as if they could already see what attended them. The children went near their mothers. A woman with a purple dress spoke.

“Why did the Gods leave us? What did we do? We did not deserve this…” a tear streamed down her face. Other women started to cry and nodded to the words of that woman. You looked outside too and your throat closed. Then, to avoid being suffocated by your fear, you left that chamber and reached your master to help him with the other patients: you were a healer and you must behave as one, a pillar for struggling and suffering humans in the moment of need.

When the army reached the hospital, it was already dusk, the sky tinted of violet, red and blue. They knocked over the door and started to massacre every wounded patient without mercy. It was a sea of blood and pain, the only noises were the soldiers that, even if wounded, tried to defend themselves and the enemies with their clashes of armors and swords. Silence fell too soon, from the other part, only noises of walking figures. You were listening in the chamber with the women, your heart in your throat: was the Master safe? Why you did not hear the sound of his voice? After few moments, the steps stopped near the door, the women began to squeeze themselves behind you to form a compact group as if this could protect them. Finally, they opened the door and, now, you could see the enemy. Soldiers so young that they could be friends of your fallen brothers and sisters, children of the women in the chamber and of the men died for Nereidya. How many of them too will not return home? Three years are a very long time, how many families did the war destroy?

A man with a uniform different from the others, decorated with the colors black a red typical of Kashbah looked at you.

“I assume you are a healer.” He said looking at your once white uniform now tainted with red. You were not able to form any words in that moment, so you just nodded, quite surprised that he could speak your language. You felt like a bird in a cage with many cats near you: even if trying to escape from their claws, you knew that sooner or later, they will catch you. “My name is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. Please, do not be afraid, we will not hurt you. We Kashbyan are gentle with women and children. And we need your abilities to help our wounded. Our healer died of illness a while ago and I command you to serve your new king by helping his army.” And then, your throat closed. A healer must heal everybody in need but if the person in need were your enemy, the enemy that slaughtered your brothers and sisters, your friends and family, what will you do? And, more importantly, have you any choice? The answer was clear: no, you don’t.

[happy-smiling-things]

Sacrifice (Nessian)

Summary: Velaris is attacked, and bad things happen.

Cassian was giving his all on this battlefield, his siphons bright red as he was slaying every enemy coming his way. This attack was a complete surprise, so long after they had won against Hybern, and no one was prepared for it. Of course, Rhysand and all the Inner Circle knew there were some people out there who weren’t done trying to defeat them, but none of them had expected such a strong opponent.

Swirling his sword expertly, Cassian scanned his surroundings quickly, observing Illyrians fighting everywhere, some on earth, some in the sky. An arrow pierced his calf and he groaned, his eyes narrowing to find the one who had shot at him. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Cassian to find and kill his target, wiping the blood from his face, taking a few breaths.

They were doing good but it wasn’t enough, and the Lord of Bloodshed shouted his orders to those near enough to hear him before trying to reach for Nesta through their bond, tugging at it, calling her.

“Is everything okay in town?” He asked.

Adrenaline was pulsing through him, making it difficult for him to wait for an answer. He had left the others in Velaris to make sure their people would be safe, guiding the Night Court’s army in first line so only a few warriors would be able to pass through his lines and attack the city, where Azriel and Rhysand were waiting for them with Amren and Mor. Feyre was winnowing everywhere she was needed, guiding the crowds onto safe places. Elain had volunteer to take care of the injured with their healers, and Nesta was left in their house, protecting the children.

“Nesta, answer me!” Cassian insisted, tugging harder in the bond.

“Focus on the battle, you stupid bat!” She shouted back, and he had never felt so glad to be insulted by her.

His relief was short. Turning his head back into the battle, Cassian discovered new squadrons flying toward Velaris, avoiding him and the battlefield to go directly to the city. Opening his mind so Rhys could be informed of what was coming, he clenched his sword tighter and went back to war, letting his rage explode.

Lost in the battle, he let his instincts take the lead in a macabre dance, slaughtering anyone getting too close without a second thought, trying to reduce the number of warriors going to the city. Things were finally starting to calm down for him when he heard piercing cries behind him.

Some of the assailants were falling like the rain in the Sidra, but some were flying over their defenses and were attacking the people Feyre hadn’t succeed to hide inside shops and houses yet.

“Make everything you can not to let too many soldiers pass,” Cassian ordered before spreading his wings and taking off to the sky.

Flying through several salves of arrows, the Illyrian warrior made sure to take down as much enemies as he could on his way to Velaris, going full speed to help his family. They seemed to contain the squadrons coming directly at them, but some smarter soldiers were flying on the east-side of the city, where no one was.

Landing brutally on a street where some civilians were encircled by four lesser faes ready to murder everyone, Cassian rolled his shoulders and played a bit with his sword, whistling at them.

“Hey, why don’t you come here so we can have some real fun?” He said, his eyes on the woman holding a baby in her arms, indicating the nearest door with a movement of his head.

The four warriors smirked and directed their weapons toward him, one of them even laughing before launching himself on Cassian. The fighting had ended before it could really begin, the four corpses laying in the pavement as the Illyrian was running toward another scream, making his way down the streets to help as much as he could.

“Be careful sweetheart, some of them are in the streets,” he sent down the bond to Nesta.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, everyone’s fine in the house, the kids are safe-”

Cassian stopped dead, his breath short as a wave of panic came through him. Something was wrong, he could feel it, and he needed to be by Nesta’s side as soon as possible.

“Nesta? What’s happening?”

He tugged as hard as he could on their bond as he was making his way up to their house, slaying everyone getting on his way. He couldn’t think straight by the time he crossed the Sidra, all of his thoughts turned on Nesta, and it was only then that he realized everything was… calm. No one was flying or fighting anymore, the street suddenly silent.

The battle was over.

“It’s over Nes, I’m coming to you, don’t open the door until I’m here.”

Walking quicker, keeping his guard up in case anyone was hidden and ready to attack him, Cassian tried again and again to reach for Nesta, is anxiety getting heavier every second passing without any answer.

“You! Come over here, I have a message for you.”

Turning his head over the fae casually leaning against a wall, Cassian settled his hand on the guard of his sword, slowly approaching.

“Shouldn’t you be fleeing for your life right now?” he asked with fake casualness.

“Flee? But why?”

He started playing with a knife, throwing it in the air and balancing it on his fingers, and Cassian furrowed his eyebrows.

“You lost,” he stated, “the Night Court won this battle, so you should go to your commander and tell them-”

“It hasn’t happened yet, does it?” the fae interrupted him with a smile. “No, I’m pretty sure she’s still alive for now, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“What are you-”

Cassian’s breath caught up in his chest as pain won him over, making his vision blurry. He stumbled onto the wall near his strange interlocutor and put one hand over his heart, trying to understand what was happening. He felt like he was dying from the inside, a hole digging further and further in his chest with every breath he was trying to take. Darkness was spreading inside him, nothingness replacing that part of him that had come to life when Nesta and he…

Nesta.

“Silly, arrogant Night Court,” laughed the warrior. “The aim of that mission wasn’t to invade Velaris. You, Cassian, mighty Lord of Bloodshed, were our target, and we aimed straight to your biggest weakness.”

Roaring, Cassian jumped on the fae, snapping his neck before he could say another word. He tried to tug at the bond, but there was… nothing. It felt like their bond had been cut, which would meant…

Cassian took off so abruptly the floor smashed under his feet, and he flew as fast as he could to their house.

Rhysand and Azriel were already there, standing in front of the door, contemplating at the dead bodies of several enemies before the house. They both looked fine physically, apart from some cuts and light bruises, but nothing too serious. Morally though, they looked defeated. None of his brothers dared to look at him as he rushed to them, putting his hands on their shoulders to move them away.

“Cassian,” began Rhys, putting an arm around his torso to hold him back, “we’re here for you, you’re not alone-”

“Shut up and let me enter in my house!” He yelled. “I need to see her, I can’t feel her through our bond, she needs me...”

Cassian pushed harder and Azriel tried to help Rhysand to stop him from going inside, but the fear and anger gave their brother the strength to push them away, and he kicked the door open.

Amren was resting against the wall, arms crossed, her head turned toward the window, but her eyes were looking on the floor. Mor was no where to be seen, and Elain was seating on the floor next to Feyre, both of them turning their back on him, blocking the view. He could hear them crying.

Amren sighed and walked to Cassian, putting a hand on his arm.

“I am sorry, Cassian.” She said before looking over her shoulder. “We arrived a minute before you, but it was too late.”

“Where are the children? What happened to her?” He whispered, his voice breaking at the end of his question, the truth finally piercing his cloudy mind.

The void inside him was growing bigger and bigger with every heartbeat, threatening to swallow him entirely.

“Mor is taking care of them, they’re safe.”

She didn’t answer his second question, moving aside so he could walk further into the room. Taking the few steps between him and the Archeron sisters, he let out a choked sob before falling on the ground, his knees hitting the surface as he stretched a hand to Nesta’s face. A tear had rolled on her cheek, and he wiped it with his thumb before putting his forehead on hers, his muffled cries filling the room. He barely registered Mor going out of the house with the two babies in her arms as he cradled his mate’s body in his arms, letting out a cry of pain that could be heard in all Velaris, swearing he would chase down those who were responsible for her death.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and tell me if you want to be added to the taglist!

Tagging: @dreamerforever-5  / @maastrash /

[helplesslyfictional]

Loki Fanfiction - Remember the Old Ways, Chapter 9 - “Just Hidden”

Author’s Note: I'm aliiiiiiive! That's right, my darling readers, I'm back to update. I hit a creative wall along with a bad stint of depression, only briefly stepping out with a burst of inspiration yesterday. Updating this fanfic is incredibly important to me, so I'll be working hard on another update in a week. However, because my mental health is the most important thing, I'm not going to be pushing myself too hard to meet my (self-given) deadlines. I do hope that you enjoy this. I didn't expect the progression to go quite like this, just like Tolkien didn't expect some of his plot twists until he wrote them. I can't wait to bring the next chapter to you all!

Chapter Summary: Loki's connection to Time strengthens with new visions, exposing painful truths and lies. Pairings: None! These stories are focused on family relationships.

What characters, then?   Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, OCs [Sophia] [Forsetti], Heimdall

When? Pre-Thor 2011: From Asgard to Earth, will go through Thor 2011 Chapter Warnings: Mature themes, non-specific descriptions of battlefield and explosions, emotional trauma, anxiety

Taglist: @loki-the-fox; @i-am-loki-and-now-i-speak-up; @trickster-grrrl; @deviantredhead; @mylokabrennauniverse; @leanmeanand-green; @juliabohemian; @latent-thoughts; @lucianalight; @nox-th-lk-sf; @be-a-snake-stab-your-brother; @myart-reviews Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from tags and I’m more than happy to do so!

AO3 story link; Wattpad; Promo/Master Post (please share if you like the fic!)

tumblr: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

“Loki.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered open as he tried to wake up.

“Loki?”

A woman’s voice - was it Mother?

Then his memories rushed back, putting the voice in its place. Sophia. Turning over, he saw her shadowed figure next to his bed. “What is it?” he asked, squinting a little bit as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“You said if I was overwhelmed to let you know,” she said softly.

Ah, right. Given that she hadn’t come back before he went to bed, he’d almost forgotten. “What can I do to help?” He didn’t want to suggest anything that might be taken the wrong way - her comfort was of paramount importance right now after she’d summoned that memory.

Sophia really shouldn’t have done that, but, in her defense, he was careless at times with experimentation. It was the joy of the unknown, the unexpected, that made such methodology exciting. Even with this new relationship, this new person, he was exploring, watching, learning, and reacting. It was thrilling after the stagnant air of palace life.

She moved a little, the moonlight revealing her face. “I’m not sure what you can do - I suppose even just being with you makes me feel less alone. More safe. But I have to sleep, or I’ll feel worse in the morning.”

“I’ll come to you,” Loki said slowly, stretching, “and keep you company until you fall asleep.”

She nodded, and he closed his eyes to focus on her bedroom. When he opened his eyes again, he had to steady himself against a bedpost. It was disorienting to go from sitting to standing so suddenly. Sophia was clutching her blankets around her, her form diminutive in comparison to to the size of her bed.

He thought briefly about commenting on the awkwardness of the situation, then decided against it. Carefully, unsure of how this form would interact with its surface, he sat on the bed, crossing his legs.

Sophia shifted to lie down, looking up at him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded. Though he was tired, the few hours he had gotten were more than enough to last him for a while. He’d already woken up once that night with a nightmare about his demise, so he didn’t mind being awake for the rest of the day. Though in some ways Thor’s vision assured him he’d live for eight years, the irrational part of him somehow feared he would die in his sleep.

Sophia closed her eyes, but after a few moments she frowned and opened her eyes. A deep-seated fear was coming from within her. Pursing her lips, her hazel eyes met his gaze. “Please - I hate to ask, but could you stay after I fall asleep? I just...I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off as she squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s silly, I’m sorry.”

Loki understood too well. In many ways, he didn’t want to be alone at present either. “I’ll stay,” he said softly. “I won’t leave until you ask, if that’s what you want.”

Tears welled up in Sophia’s eyes as he felt her overwhelming relief. Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed it.

It was what he’d want if he was in the same position.

She gave him a smile, relaxing as her eyes fluttered closed. A few more tears came, a sniffle, and then her breathing deepened as she started to fall asleep.

Leaning back, Loki surveyed the room, which was quite dark with no windows. Then, not wanting to disturb her, he worked on the thought exercises his mother had taught him to hone his mind for magic. He didn’t particularly like to do them, but it would help pass the time.

At one point, Sophia’s breathing quickened and she stirred. Undoubtedly she was dreaming. It seemed to be a nightmare, however, as she began twitching, her breath becoming rapid. Loki reached out and put his hand in hers. Images flashed through his mind, snapshots of buildings crumbling, the earth rending apart. Despite the feelings that came with them, he continued to hold her hand, wishing her peace.

After a few moments, her fingers tightened around his, her muscles relaxing.

As the light underneath her door began to grow brighter, he heard the sound of footfalls upstairs. After a particularly sharp noise, Sophia stirred, opening her eyes, then glancing up at him.

“Oh my god,” she said, “You stayed.”

“Of course.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Thank you, Loki. I slept better, I think.”

Loki briefly thought about asking about her nightmare, but decided against it. Let her focus on her pleasure at his presence instead of the darkness.

“Don’t you need sleep?” she asked. “You don’t seem tired.”

“We only really need sleep to refresh our energies, not as a biological necessity,” he said, straightening, stretching his neck. “As a result, if we aren’t doing much, we can go longer without it if necessary.”

“Lucky you, I’m jealous,” Sophia said with a smile. “I should let you go, though. I’ve taken far too much of your attention.”

Loki searched her eyes. Her smile was genuine, her heart warm. “Very well,” he said, “but if you need me…”

“I know where you are,” she finished. “Thank you, again.” She blushed and laughed. “This is more than anyone’s done for me.”

Loki smiled in response, her warmth infectious. “You’re welcome,” he said, “and no need to be so polite. We might be family, after all.” With a wink, he returned to Asgard.

Afterwards, Loki attempted to return to a normal routine. But as he rushed to get out of the palace to an academic graduation, he passed a feasting hall and heard his father’s strident voice pealing out. “Are you nearly finished?!”

The muscles around his heart clenched as he halted in place, a childish panic growing in his mind. Was Odin speaking to him?

“I’m trying, Odin, just a few moments more!” It was his mother. Her voice was filled with fear and tension.

Something was wrong. Loki rushed into the hall, looking around sharply. It was pillared, less decorated than other spaces, but currently filled with a golden banquet table and flowers.

There was no one in sight. What was going on?

Perhaps they were around the corner. Quickly, he strode toward the other end of the ballroom.

“Are you nearly finished?!” It was Odin’s voice again, exactly the same as before. Loki’s eyes darted around the room as he flexed his hands nervously, preparing to cast his magic if needed. Was this a recording of some kind? Was someone playing a trick on him?

As he stepped forward, a sudden blast sent him backwards, hitting the floor hard. His instincts helped him roll with the momentum; he leapt to his feet to see the other end of the hall smoking. A guard was standing in front of his father as they were attacked by some humanoid in armor. Odin lifted Gungnir and felled the enemy with a blast before turning in Loki’s direction. “Frigga, hurry!”

“I’m trying, Odin, just a few moments more!” Mother’s voice came from behind him.

Loki pivoted to see his mother kneeling before a magical circle, her hands out and wreathed in her signature silver magical energy. Runes swirled in front of her as he heard her murmuring underneath her breath. He recognized a binding spell, but didn’t know the technique she was using. Stepping closer, he looked to see what it was she was binding.

A pile of golden cloth lay on the floor inside the circle, and he gasped as his eyes fell on a baby. Its eyes were open, its small limbs flailing, but it wasn’t crying despite the chaos.

A blink, and they were gone. Breathing fast, Loki looked around the room once more to find it as still as when he first entered.

A vision, his mind told him, even though his heart beat fast from the shock. A vision of the past, like when he was in the Seer’s chambers. What was the meaning of it?

And when had the palace been attacked?

Loki pursed his lips, conflicted about whether to continue on to the graduation as his mind worked quickly to understand what he’d seen. His common sense won out, so he left the ballroom and continued onwards, departing the palace and walking out into the streets.

He couldn’t help but scan his surroundings, looking for hazards. The blast had set him on edge, so that the back of his mind was screaming about danger despite the peaceful streets. A light glinting off a horse’s bridle, a sudden laugh, or the movement of a child’s ball made his muscles tense.

Arriving late to the graduation, Loki stayed as long as was polite before his return home. This time he took a more quiet route, preferring not to be as stimulated by the crowds of the main thoroughfares.

Loki was still disturbed by what he’d seen. There’d been no warning, no slow connection to Time as he’d felt the first time he’d had a vision. Perhaps he’d missed it in his fear upon hearing his father’s voice.

When in the past had this happened? Somehow intruders had made it deep into the palace - his father was telling Frigga to hurry as though something needed to happen. As though he was concerned whether or not they would make it.

And who was the child? Was it Thor?

Loki’s thought were interrupted by a growing prickling feeling in the back of his mind. Oh, no. No, no, this was not a good time for another -

In a moment, the street around him was transformed into one covered in ash and rubble. Einharjar ran, scattered, between buildings. Some turned to fight enemies in bronzed armor as they came upon one another. The sky-shroud was obscured with smoke billowing up from smoldering fires. Looking up, Loki saw ships of an unknown design bombarding the palace shields.

“Come on, men!” Loki turned to follow the sound of the commanding voice. A sergeant of the guard waved his men forward - a small group of four, haggard and bleeding. There was a cry - “Incoming!” - and the group ducked as the building beside them exploded, scattering stones in every direction. Loki shielded himself magically, but a stone that was headed toward him passed through harmlessly.

As the dust began to clear, one of the guards stood up, then began digging in the rubble frantically. “Sir! Sir! Can you hear me?”

Loki’s eyes widened. He knew that voice. He knew it, where did he know it from?

“Sir! No - no!”

It came to him. Loki walked closer, squinting his eyes for visual confirmation. Yes. It was Lord Forsetti, albeit much younger. He was removing debris to find his squadron, gasping in despair as he found each one dead. Forsetti bowed his head, touching his forehead to those of his squad members, murmuring the traditional words, “I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla…”

Forsetti looked up suddenly, and Loki turned to see one of the humanoids in armor, close enough now for him to get a good look.

Whatever type of being could get this far into Asgard must be powerful. It was clear this warrior fit that description. Its countenance was fair and comely, with long hair unbound shrouding pointed ears. Its armor was intricately wrought and well-fitted, shining despite the grime. In its hand was a curved sword, gleaming in the firelight. Its eyes, however, were cold and calculating.

It had seen Forsetti, who had frozen, eyes wide as his hands were covered in the blood of his comrades. It seemed to regard the young lord, then decide he wasn’t worth the time, turning to walk quietly down the street.

The first thought that sprang to Loki’s mind, against his better nature, was “coward.” Any Asgardian would have attacked the enemy on sight; Forsetti had frozen instead. If anyone had seen him, he’d be flogged, if not executed - regardless of his nobility. Shaking his head, though, Loki saw the fear and grief in Forsetti’s eyes. Turning to look at the rest of Asgard, Loki saw his home smoldering and bare under attack; the same fear and grief threatened to overtake him as well.

Closing his eyes, a tear escaping, Loki wished for the past to disappear. Please, he pleaded silently with the universe, please, I don’t want to See anymore.

The sounds of battle around him diminished, and when he opened his eyes, he was in the present once more. Now that he’d seen the street demolished, Loki looked at things more carefully. Some of the buildings were indeed constructed of newer materials, while others had a shift in the color of the stone, indicating the usage of a different quarry. The scars of this conflict were still present, just hidden.

Just hidden.

He needed to know what happened. If Forsetti had been present, this...invasion had to have occured within his lifetime, not before. Quickening his steps, it wasn’t long before Loki was standing before his favorite location to use an informational beacon. It was out of the way, almost hidden, rather than some of the more public locations, such as those in the Hall of Sciences.

A quick search revealed nothing. It’d have to be more in-depth, then. If the two visions were connected - which given the armor of the enemies, Loki believed so - then his parents had a baby at the time. That meant it was shortly after Thor’s or his birth. Glancing at a timeline of events, there was no mention of an invasion. At all.

Loki’s heart sank. Another secret, probably. He was making a lot of assumptions, however, so perhaps it wasn’t the case.

But deep down, he felt that it had somehow been concealed. How could damage of the magnitude he’d seen be covered up? If so, where should he look?

Probably Forsetti was the key to this. A quick check of Forsetti’s age revealed that yes, he would have been the right age for service in the guard, and his records revealed he had served at that time. However, Loki froze as he found the records sealed. They were only accessible by the Crown - which, fortunately, meant he could access them - but still, that meant there were matters of importance within. And it meant that its access could be tracked.

Leaning back, Loki glanced around the corridor. No one in sight.

Anyone could use this beacon. Tapping his fingers against his leg, he decided it was worth the risk, opening the file. There was little to no information, however, despite its classification. Files about his squadron were similarly empty. No information at all was given about their deaths, simply their names. As he attempted to cross-reference their deaths with public records, he found that they didn’t have any. It was as though these squad members had never existed in the first place. Never born, never died.

Surely that couldn’t be the case.

But the names from these sealed files didn’t exist elsewhere. No record of their birth, life, existence in censuses, death, nothing. Their existence had been erased.

Loki bit back the fear rising within him. Had Father done this? Why?

Forsetti had quit working for the guard just a couple years after Thor’s birth. This, he felt, was the indication he needed that the invasion occured around that time. Most likely Forsetti struggled with the aftermath, given what Loki knew. The baby, then, it must have been Thor. The invaders must have gotten quite deep into the palace to have reached that hall.

The invaders. He’d never seen a race like theirs, but he’d heard of one similar, buried in the history books. A quick search revealed that yes, he had remembered correctly.

The invaders were Light Elves, from Alfheim. The reason they’d fallen from Asgard’s memory was that, prior to the Fall of Arlathan nearly 1800 years ago, the Light Elves could no longer maintain contact with Asgard due to a worsening conflict.

How, then, could they have mustered an army 500 years later to invade Asgard? Though the Elves were reportedly skilled in magic, they in no way in recorded history had the technological capabilities that he’d seen - ships with the ability to bombard the city.

Forsetti might have answers, but he was of low rank at the time and unlikely to know much. However, there were others present in the city at the time, namely one person he hadn’t even considered asking.

Heimdall.

The reason Loki had avoided Heimdall was the sentinel's oath to his father. It seemed likely that they might be discovered if Heimdall were to let Odin know about their inquiries. However, he could hold key information that could answer their questions, since this battle, in particular, was being covered up.

Additionally, Heimdall’s abilities were suspiciously similar to what Thor and Loki had discovered about themselves. Heimdall had the Sight in a way, Loki guessed, but he could instead See the present instead of the past or the future. Perhaps he might have an understanding of the Seers or their magics. Undoubtedly he was aware something was currently amiss between Loki and Thor, if he’d been paying attention.

Loki decided then to find Thor and find out what he thought. Perhaps Thor had heard something different from Father about the attack.

Taking a different path out of the corridor in an effort to avoid detection, Loki went off to find his brother. As he guessed, Thor was returning from the Chanter’s hall after a ceremony. Loki took him aside to a private room, explaining to him what he’d seen.

Thor’s reaction was unsurprising - disbelief, then surprise as the details continued to sink in. “I’ve never heard of this,” Thor said, crossing his arms. “You think the baby was me?”

“Of course,” said Loki with a sigh, “Forsetti quit the guard just after your birth, so I think the invasion must have happened then.”

“An invasion, brother, you’re talking about a massive event. How could we have never known about it?”

Loki spread his arms, giving a shrug. “We didn’t know about the Seers either. There’s lots of things we haven’t been told, we just have to go looking, I suppose.”

“But - covering it up? How could such losses go unspoken? Would they not be venerated as heroes and their deaths mourned?” Thor’s face showed concern. He seemed deeply unsettled by the idea, as though the dead were somehow lost, not in Valhalla or Hel.

“I know not, brother, but the silence surrounding it suggests a greater reason for keeping these events quiet.”

Thor locked eyes with Loki. “A matter of security, perhaps? How the invaders penetrated our defenses?”

“I don’t think a matter that small would require such significant intervention,” Loki said, shaking his head. “I think there must be a more important reason, I just can’t figure out what it could be.”

Loki broached the idea of speaking with Heimdall to Thor, who stroked his beard as he thought. “I think we could speak with him,” Thor said slowly.

“You don’t think he would report back to Odin?”

“Heimdall is extremely loyal to Father, but he can be reasoned with. If we ask the right questions, I think we won’t raise any concern.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor. “You know he doesn’t really speak with me, so you’ll need to do the talking. Do you think you’ll be so deft as to ask the right questions?”

Thor shot Loki a smile. “Loki, you always underestimate me.”

“With good reason. I remember you blundering us right into a brawl with the Wethin family because you forgot their daughter was married.”

Thor grinned, not even bothering to rise to the accusation. “Fine, but even so, I think we can navigate around it. Heimdall could provide us with some important answers to all...this. And what’s the true harm if Father finds out we’re poking around?”

Loki did a double-take. “Well - um - there’s a lot, Thor.” He started ticking things on his fingers. “One, that we have the same abilities as the Seers. Two, that we’re Children of Time. Three, that we have a strange connection with a Midgardian that I think might be a sibling. Four, we know about an invasion that might be covered up around your birth. Need I go on?”

“Alright, you’re right, that is something we’ll need to approach more delicately on our own. Things need to be broken more…slowly to Father.” Thor crossed his arms, tapping a finger against a bicep.

“Yes,” Loki said, rubbing his forehead. He really didn’t want to deal with Father’s temper. At all. “Do you know if Heimdall is busy?”

“I don’t know of any use of the Bifrost today,” Thor said, striding past Loki. “So let’s go.”

Loki closed his eyes, hoping that they weren’t about to cause further problems for themselves.

The brothers decided to walk along the Bifrost bridge instead of riding, since the weather was so pleasant. The wind would always pick up as they began crossing over the water, blowing some of the spray into their faces. A quarter of the way across, Thor halted, squinting, then turned. Loki followed his gaze to see Sophia. He’d been wondering when she’d show up today.

She grinned guiltily, looking around wide-eyed. This was the first time she was outside the palace. “I hope I’m not bothering you,” she said loudly over the wind.

Loki put his hands on his hips. “Of course you are!” he said in a mocking tone.

A smile split Thor’s face and he pretended to shove Loki. “Don’t listen to him,” he said, “Come on! Have you seen the Bifrost yet?”

“Is this it?” Sophia said, walking up and gazing down at the myriad colors underneath her feet.

“No, no,” Loki said with a laugh, “This leads up to it.” He gestured down the bridge to the golden dome.

Sophia nodded and looked around, her brown hair blowing with the wind. “This is beautiful. Probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot.”

Thor seemed to stand a little taller. “Asgard is a beautiful place,” he responded, drawing her alongside them and beginning to walk. “We’re going to see Heimdall, our sentinel.”

“He keeps watch?” asked Sophia, looking up at them.

“Yes,” Loki said, “he both keeps watch over the Realms and is the gatekeeper of Asgard.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought King Odin kept watch over the Realms.”

Thor laughed, and Loki grinned along with him. “He does as King, as Protector of the Nine Realms,” Thor said, “but Heimdall is able to actually see all things in the universe and relays that information to Father.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “That’s quite an ability!”

“Yes,” Loki said. “That’s why we’re going to ask him some questions.” He paused, realizing something. “Please don’t try to take me over, though - I feel like I have to say that all the time now. Heimdall would certainly notice a change in my behavior.” He wasn’t certain if Heimdall would be able to see her in his body. That would certainly be a question to ask later, if Heimdall ever found out about her.

Sophia looked at Loki with a smile, but her eyes were serious. “I won’t do it again unless it’s necessary. I honestly didn’t really know it was going to happen the first time, and I am sorry about that. I suppose it was disturbing for you.”

It wasn’t overly so in perspective, but he appreciated the thought. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t too long before they made it to the golden dome, with Heimdall, in his golden armor, standing ever-vigilant. “Welcome, princes,” he said, stepping down from the central pedestal. “I’m honored you’ve come to visit.” His brilliant eyes drifted downward. “And that you’ve brought a visitor.”

Loki’s heart stopped. He heard Thor inhale sharply. “You can see her?” Thor asked, frowning.

“Of course.” Heimdall’s voice remained calm and unwavering. “Welcome, Sophia Alexandria Florian. I hope you are finding Asgard to live up to the stories you’ve read.”

Sophia was hugging her sweater close around her, seeming to shrink as her fear became evident. “Thank you,” she said tightly. “It is.” Her eyes drifted over to look at Loki, who gave her a confused expression.

He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even processed that this was the first time he’d heard Sophia’s full name. Heimdall could see her, which meant that, potentially, he’d seen all of their interactions.

By the Norns, how much did he know? How much did Father know already?

“Well, Heimdall, you continue to surprise me,” Thor said, trying to make light of the situation.

“Indeed,” Heimdall said, folding his hands in front of him. “But I suspect you’re here to talk about a great many things.”

Thor looked at Heimdall hard. “It will be difficult to continue if we know all will be passed on to Father.”

“I am bound by oath to our King,” Heimdall said, “However, only matters of the utmost importance need reach his ears.”

“A king’s time is valuable,” Thor said, giving Loki a glance. “Too valuable for sundry matters, I would assume.”

Well, Thor did seem to know what he was doing. Loki begrudgingly credited his brother with taking the right approach.

“Indeed,” Heimdall replied, “Or to be troubled with the details of all who visit Asgard.”

Thor gave Loki a knowing look. Yes, fine, you don’t need to gloat, Loki thought.

Thor was considering his words carefully before speaking. “What do you know of the Seers, Heimdall?”

Heimdall’s orange eyes flicked toward Thor. “I know much about them, Prince Thor. They were once an active part of our lives in Asgard. What do you wish to know?”

“Are there Seers who still practice their magics?”

“Yes, but none on Asgard.”

“Where are they?”

“The remaining Seers practice on Vanaheim, often in secret.”

“Why?”

Heimdall looked visibly uncomfortable. “I cannot answer that, Prince Thor.”

Thor frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it would violate my oath.”

Loki held back any expression of surprise. It was difficult, since he’d no idea the Seers were considered a matter directly related to King Odin. Thor looked at Loki, seemingly to gauge his reaction, but he continued on.

“Of the remaining Seers, is there perhaps someone who would speak with us?”

Heimdall relaxed a little, though his stoic nature made it difficult to read his state. “Yes. There is a matron named Evelin of Clan Vidfavne who might be willing to do so.”

“Vidfavne,” Thor said, crossing his arms. “The clan that’s pillaging the countryside. You think she’d be willing to speak with us?”

“She is an amenable woman, and if you seek her guidance regarding Seers, the clan would have no reason to be aggressive particularly toward a prince.”

Thor nodded. “Your abilities, Heimdall, do you know if they’re related to the magics of the Seers? One called it seidr.”

A small smile crossed Heimdall’s lips. “Yes, Prince Thor, it is indeed related to seidr. I possess the Sight, though only for the purposes you know - my ability is specific and honed. I can See the present in all aspects, and for that I am grateful. The abilities that you and your siblings have gained, however, are just as specific, great in power because of its focus, instead of the broad-ranging Sight of the typical Seer.”

So he did know. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Thor pursed his lips. “Have you told Father of what we’ve learned about our abilities?”

“No, my prince.” Heimdall’s answer was terse and unexpected.

“Why not, Heimdall?”

“There is no need at this time.”

Thor seemed to be thinking. “Siblings,” he said. “You said siblings. Do Loki and I have a third sibling?”

Heimdall seemed to carefully consider this. “Yes,” he said slowly. No doubt he was measuring what words would go against his oath. Loki’s heart started beating faster as he began to realize that Heimdall could possibly confirm what they’d been questioning this entire time.

Thor also was carefully considering the wording of his questions. “Who is this person?” he finally said. In answer, Heimdall simply shook his head.

He needed to reword the question. Loki wracked his brain, trying to think of an alternative. Then an idea came to him. Drawing closer to Sophia, he said, “Is Sophia Alexandria Florian our sister?”

Heimdall’s eyes crinkled in a hidden smile. “Indeed.”

The air of the observatory seemed to settle as all present seemed to soak in the implications of what had been said.

Sophia broke the silence. “Well, that’s that then.” Despite her blasé statement, however, emotions were roiling inside her.

“How?” Thor blurted out, then caught himself. “Sorry, Heimdall, you probably can’t say.”

“I cannot. But I think that Prince Loki’s insights in the matter will be most revealing.”

What insights? “I haven’t found anything related to how this could have…..oh.” The sound escaped Loki’s lips as realization hit him. “Oh - shit.”

Thor wouldn’t like this. That is, if Loki was thinking right. Yes. Yes, it must be, that would - but how would it have worked? No matter, it made too much sense.

Loki glanced at Heimdall. He was cooperating enough that it seemed safe to discuss this.

“Thor, that was what I saw this morning. With Mother. The baby, it - it wasn’t you.”

Thor looked stunned. “It had to be,” he said, confused.

Loki found himself getting emotional. “Thor, I’ve thought about another time Mother could have been pregnant, and I could never think of any. There was no other time for a reason.” Loki glanced at Sophia, who was staring at him with tears glistening in her eyes. Then he looked back at his brother. “It’s because you weren’t the only child that was born that day.”

Thor physically took a step back, his mouth opening as he grappled with the idea. “No,” Thor said with a desperate smile. “Loki, that’s not funny. We can’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” Sophia said, wiping at her tears. “That explains some stuff.”

“Thor, I’m not joking,” Loki said, “I wish I was. But it all makes sense. Mother was using binding magic, not on you - but on her.” He pointed at Sophia.

Thor was staring at the floor, breathing heavily, likely in an effort to control his emotions. Sophia moved to go to him, but Loki quickly grabbed her and pulled her back. “Not now,” he told her softly.

Thor was volatile right now. Loki couldn’t tell if he was liable to lash out in anger or not, and he didn’t want Thor to hit Sophia. Even if she wasn’t present, the physicality of their connection made it seem as though she would indeed be physically hurt. As a mortal - or at least someone bound to a mortal form - she could be injured.

Looking up at Loki, tears glistening on her cheeks, Sophia tried to speak, but couldn’t. He couldn’t tell if it was Thor’s emotions cascading through her or her own, but they were understandably overwhelming.

“Heimdall,” Thor spoke, his voice breaking. “Please tell me that Loki is wrong.”

“I cannot,” Heimdall said. “For that would be a lie.”

Thor kept his head down. “Thank you - for your honesty,” he forced out, then walked out of the dome quickly, using Mjolnir to fly away immediately.

“What! Really!?” Sophia said in shock. “He just leaves?”

Loki held on to her shoulder. “He has a hard time when he’s emotional,” he said to her. “I know this is hard, it’s hard…” he swallowed back his own sorrow which threatened to spring forward, “it’s hard for all of us.” He needed to be strong for Sophia right now, because he was the only one that could.

Sophia turned to look at Heimdall. “You knew - you knew all this.” She wasn’t speaking accusatorially, simply stating it aloud.

“He has certain duties - “ Loki interjected to try and calm her down, not wanting to upset Heimdall.

Sophia continued without listening to Loki. “It must’ve been hard.”

That wasn’t what Loki had expected. He looked up at Heimdall to gauge his reaction.

Heimdall nodded. “Duties are always difficult, that is why they are important.” He stepped forward, tilting his head a little as he gazed at Sophia. “You know much of the hardships a duty can cause, and have endured much for seemingly little reward. Remember that such rewards are often intangible and difficult to see.

“If it is a comfort, I have watched you all your life, Sophia. There was always a witness to your pain, though you did not know it. You have not suffered in vain; the lessons you have learned will certainly guide you through the years to come.”

Loki hadn’t heard Heimdall string that many words together in his life. The sentinel's words seemed to hit Sophia right in the heart, panging deeply. She nodded, unable to speak.

He looked up at Heimdall, feeling the need to speak for the three of them. “Thank you for your understanding, Heimdall, and your kind words. Though Thor was unable to express it, we’re grateful for what you’ve done today.”

Heimdall had never been kind to Loki, but he saw the sentinel soften just a little. “Thank you, my prince,” he said.

With that, Loki turned and guided Sophia back down the rainbow bridge.

[twinfanfics]

The tale of the three head beast -The Marching Fishes 6/20

Digimon GoT AU

Second part of the tale of the three head beast series, you can read the first part The chosen children Here and here, or look for the tag  3t3hb  on this blog.

Resume: Three years had pased since Taichi won the hand of princess Sora and both get crowned King and Queen of the living land, now they must faced the duty of the monarchs. The war started on the Honest Island, does the King Joe would manage it?. Mean while at the other side of the sea Takato and Ruki stronger their forces.

Pairs: Taiyama, taisora, Joumy, daiken, and sooo so many others

ACT 1

ACT 2. SCENE 1: THE ARRIVAL

ACT 2. SCENE 2: BROTHERHOOD. (after the cut)

Iory stopped by Mimi’s cell before gone at the war boats. She was sitting with her back on the wall, uncomfortable for the pregnancy, she was hugging his son, both dirty and hunger, but at least the angry yelling had stopped.

“This is going to end soon” Iory said. But Mimi didn’t answered, she kept there, with his son on her arms “I never intend to…” He know he didn’t own her any apologized. “I know Joe Kido is a good man, too good to be King” her eyes were full of tears and he was full of words “but Taichi Yagami on the big Throne are  bad news, a puppet of The Light, the same Light that kills homosexuals and heretics, how much time has to pass before The Light will came at the Honest Islands and started to burn our idols and books.” she closed her eyes and kissed his son on the front as he tied the hug and Iory kept talking “My own father fighted against the capitol, he was trying to independence our home and he ended killed by the sword of the Wolf Knight, a peasant whose only achievement was won the throne for Joe Kido.” The Queen trembled “This is the best for the Islands” Iory said at last.

“Liar” The Queen said at Iory’s back.

The blood of the Forgotten Prince boiled.

The Ikkaku’s Island was at just some kilometers apart, the last defense before the Grand Island. Joe kept all the zone fierced guarded, but now Iory was sure that Joe would give up.

He was wrong.

“War boats at the horizont!” Davis yelled since the watchtower.

The sea was calmed and the warriors ready. The two flotillas encountered each other in the middle of the blue, and the battle started.

“Take the boats and get as many prisoners as you could!” Iory yelled the orders.

Davis jumped from the watchtower and the rebels scream, his sword was fast and certain, his hair was an orange flame that run over the battlefield, no for nothing he was his master’s favorite. Even then, Ken Ichijouji was the first on boarded the enemies boats.

Blood was draining to his sword, sweat all over himself and the screams of his enemies didn’t stop, some of them crying, more of them cursing his name. Ken felt alive on the battlefield, actions and quick thinking, kill the enemy, take the rudder, it was easy. Easier that the other things of life.  

Ken was guarding the cell when the Queen wake up. She found herself trapped, with his son still unconscious next to her over the cold floor. She searched for the weapons under her dress, but they had taken each one of them. She found just the smug face of Ichijouji looking at her. The swerwords of his dying enemies were nothing compared at the treats of the Queen. One beat at the bars of the cell and she stopped the yelling.  He was expecting questions, an opportunity to insult her and make her felt as the vain insect that she was. But the Queen started sobbing without help, uncontrollable murmurs that sound to much as a prayer, but wasn’t the name of god on Mimi’s lips.

“Joley… sister… please… “

“How you dare!” Ken scream.

His angry eyes found her quizzical look.

After everything how she dare to say that name, to called the sister that she betrayed. She had seduced the Sea King to choose her over Joley, when she knows that she was breaking her younger sister's heart. Because Joley’s heart was precious, Ken knows that. Memories of that far warm night assaulted him, the hot skin of the princess of the desert, her enthusiastic kisses mixed with all that alcohol. How long has been? three years? Would he ever seen her again?

Davis blocked one enemy attack against Ken´s back. The young knight turned to saw the face of his lover, Davis was so handsome with that bravery on his eyes, his sword moving gracefully, his mouth yelling at his enemies.

“We had this battle won” Davis said so full of confident that he even had time to kiss Ken before entering at the weaponry room. The smell of the gunpowder and the fire begun.

Davis Motomiya set the boat on fire and watch how his followers did the same with the rest of the enemies ships. His arm over Ken’s waist and both jumped at the principal ship, where Iory was looking them with proud. They had captured all the enemies that hadn’t jumped at the ocean or died on the fire (or in Ichijouji´s blade). His boyfriend was hugging him as his brother and the rebels celebrate the victory. Freedom, justice, the spirit of the Honest Islands will survive and conquer all.  The Queen had been wrong when she told him that he doesn’t belong there.

Davis had been in charge to give the food at the Queen. Ken was always yelling at her and Iory was a prince, he hadn’t had to do those things.

He didn’t understand his brothers, Mimi wasn’t rude at him. If something she looks scary and kept a child in jail was a discussion that he had lost. Back when they were small children The Sea King would had reasons to imprisoned them and he showed mercy instead, because they were children.

“Where are you from?” The Queen had asked after the third or fourth time that he had given her clean food.

“The Honest Island” Davis had responded. The Queen hadn't been looking so convinced. “I can guess that my parents are from some place else, but I am not”

“You guess?”

“Master Ryo bright me at the Honest Island when I was a baby, I don’t remembered live far away of this ocean” Davis had been talking easily “When the King accepted to training me as a Knight I won a place, and when the other King kill him and forgive my live, I won two brothers” Mimi shivered at the mention of the old battle. Maybe after those days with the knights she could understand the story of the Honest Island. Davis himself didn’t understand that much.

“I had been trying to do the same thing” the Queen had said sweetening her voice “I try to belong”

She had been sitting on an old chair, her son had been on her lap hugging at her big mom’s belly. Somehow she made the all thing looked like a throne. Suddenly Davis had been feeling so uncomfortable, Iory maybe was a leader and the right heir, but he had never seen that… royalty.

Mimi didn’t deserve that cell. The Queen moved her big eyelashes and his son coughed a few while Davis’ heart get smaller on his chest.

“You know you don’t belong with them, right?” the Queen had said while Davis had his hand resting over the cell lock “The Sea King had been so generous to you”.

A moment of hesitation. The keys were holding on his waist, he know that his brothers weren’t on the building. Did he really would be able to…

Something hit him. The Queen hit him with the chair. He hit the floor and the hand of the Queen had stretched to grab the keys, and she almost got them. Davis rolled at the floor, give up and dared to watch at Mimi’s eyes, and then, he understand why his brothers refused to see her.  Any of them would brake before her.

He had been left the room as Mimi yelled at him many variants of fool. But she had been wrong, he belongs at the Islands, at this rebelion, with his brothers: Ken and Iory, his lover and his prince.

The rebel flotilla was celebrating the triumph while Ryo Akiyama was watching the Queen‘s  cell on the rebels quarters.  There was something comforting at watching at the Queen. Maybe it was the obvious hate that the Queen felt for him or maybe was the red hair and the purple eyes that remembered him at his own wife. The women of the desert were something else.  

“He is going to kill you” Mimi said with no hesitation.

“Excuse me?”

“He adores at that children, but you… the King despise you”

Ryo laughed a little before answered.

“Oh darling, on this days, everybody call himself a King”  

With no more explanation the assassin left the Queen’s cell. Ryo walked through the building until his room, he closed the door and the windows, making completed darkness, he unveiled the big old mirror, recited the old canticle and slowly, a figure formed on the other side.

“Love of my life” he said as Rika´s image appeared.

“You fool” The woman said with the biggest smile he had seen in her since the first day Takato hold a sword.

“You look happy”

She inclined to pick something of the floor.

“Look this” she said as showed him a baby dinosaur moving on her arms “Takato found saurios! my child is the chosen one”

“For the Light God!” Ryo hide his jealousy behind his surprise. “I hadn’t seen one of those on years” the smiled of Rika only grown “But what about them? for when they grow up enough to be useful on combat MY CHILD had been conquer all the continent”

“Yeah sure” She dismissed him “Your plan is obviously not stupid. How is your lame rebelion going?”

“My apprentices are at two battles to won the Grand Island and when Iory will be King of this place, it will be only matter of time to send his army against the capital. Davis will be King of all the living land before the next summer solstice. You had to see him Rika, the people adore him”

“Well, Takato is a King already”

“A indulged King” he said making her frowned “ You had given him everything, Davis is a survivor, a natural leader”

“You are always over complicating everything” She said “two battles you said”

“Two battles to conquer the richest land of the continent”

“Made yourself sure that Izumi didn’t interfere” She said without hidden her concern.

“I assure you Rika, the Capital bigger mistake is dismissed this war. We are gonna win”

“For the glory of the Courage house” She said as a goodbye.

“For the glory of the Courage house” He repeated.

Ryo allow him to rest a little. All their fights and patience were paying off.

He remembered that night when Rika decided that felt compassion was part of their jobs. She give up everything for a baby that she believed was the chosen one, but he had never been much of fairy tales himself. Takato could had lucky, but his brother, Davis, had been talented since the first time that Ryo founded him hidden under the crib. Rika hadn’t see him, that itself was marvelous. He is going to be King, Ryo would make it. Captured the Queen had been a winning move, they are going to conquer the Honest Island in no time.

Far away, the knights of the Islands shared his master confident, not as his knowledge. The Forgotten Prince leadered the insing ship as Ken and Davis make out on the watchtower of the boat. And then, they see them: The Light banners all over the Ikkaku’s Island, and all their confidence banished.

[ellana-ravenwood]

“...Where is our child ?” - Wonder Woman x fem!Reader

Hey, so because I often receive messages about you guys wanting “more Wondermom” (yes, “Wondermom” became a thing) well...I’m writing this story. This is basically a part 2 of : “take care of my babies or you’ll die”, so if you didn’t read that you can if you want, so this story will make more sense and...Boom, part 2, hope you’ll like it : 

PART 1

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The present :

You and Diana were sitting side by side on an upside down car, looking at the destruction the latest “League fight to save the World” created. 

Fortunately, everything happened after the small town where things went down was evacuated (thanks god your brother, Bruce, was always planning things so carefully and almost always managed to bring the villains where he wanted them to be, in inhabited places). But oh the destruction was still there. 

The small coffee shop that was absolutely the cutest and that made you want to sit in and drink a warm cup of brew was no more. 

The school, a school that eerily resembled the one your son used to go to, was no more.

People’s houses were gone. They all lost everything (though probably, “Wayne Enterprise” would get a new charity and give money and men to rebuild the place). All their possessions  were no more. Pictures of their families, the same kind that hung in your house, souvenirs and all...no more. 

Worst, the library and book shop right next door were no more...You sighed as you see a few pages of destroyed books fly in the wind. 

Your Diana’s arm is around your shoulder, and you cuddle closer to her as you witness the destruction you and your friends were responsible for...But hey, you saved the World again. Small sacrifices were always needed you know ? 

Still, her presence reassures you, makes you feel better. It always have. Having her beside you always made you stronger. 

Your wife’s voice startles you, as you weren’t expecting her to speak right now, in that short moment of peace after the storm :

-Remember when I said that I did NOT want our child to ever fight ? 

You smile weakly and straighten up a bit, turning your head to look at her. She smiles back at you, and you take a wild strand of her hair to put it behind her ear lovingly, brushing your fingers along her cheek, before saying : 

-Yes I do. The good old days. 

-When he wasn’t born yet and we could still hope. 

-Really, what did we expect ? He’s ours, of course he would have to fight one day...

-I just wished there was another way. That he could have had a normal life.

A loud sigh behind you makes you jump a bit and you both turn around...to be faced with your brother and his sons. 

The sigh was from the youngest, Damian and...oh God you couldn’t believe that brat was already an adult. You wished you could turn back time, to moments where he was not that giant man, but a tiny insecure boy who often came to his aunt for advices and hugs (yes, hugs. It was a secret between you and him). 

You don’t even have time to say anything as Damian begins : 

-You know, Thomas isn’t a baby anymore. He’s perfectly capable to handle himself on a battlefield. After all he’s from my...our family, there wasn’t any other way, and such an extraordinary being couldn’t have just a “normal life”. He’s important. Hell, he even saved Superman’s life today. He’s vital part of the league. And...

You roll your eyes and cut him off : 

-Yes yes I know Dami’, you told us a hundred time. 

-And yet you still baby him. You know, he just turned twenty and...

-LALALALALLALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU MY TOMMY IS STILL MY TINY SON LALALALALLALAAAAAA !! 

Diana chuckles lowly, your nephews (but Damian) full on laugh at the face their little brother is making (seriously, it could be the illustration for the word “annoyed” in the dictionary), and even your brother utter a small smile. 

Of course you know your boy isn’t a small child anymore but...you can’t help it. You can’t help but being a little bit sad and angry at yourself for ever letting him become a superhero too. You can’t help but feeling guilty about the life he’s doomed to lead. You can’t help but worry about him constantly. 

Sure, he’s twenty now but...Some things never change. 

Speaking about things that never change : 

-Wait...Where is he ? 

Bruce looks away and his sons do too, but you catch Tim’s look before he can and it’s impossible to avoid your gaze once it’s locked on something and...With a dangerous voice, you ask : 

-Spit it up Tim, my boy...Where’s our child ? 

************

The Past :

“Where is our child ?” was a sentence that was heard way too many times in the Prince-Wayne household. 

It started about a year after Thomas was born. 

The only somewhat peaceful year you had (”somewhat” because of course, you were always worried about him, and Diana had the incredibly strong fear that he would die in his sleep and oh...the entire first year, she would wake you up almost every hour of the night, by getting up from the bed to go check on him, and then coming back and pulling you into her arms...Oh and let’s not talk about the time you had to find a baby-sitter because you were both busy !). 

Yup. Things were still pretty normal for the first year. Just very worried first time parents things really. 

Besides, Bruce was a huge help, and the boys too, always around to help and support you (no one could change a diaper like Bruce, and it impressed you a lot to see that he was that skilled at it, given the fact he never had a kid that young...). He even made the effort to leave Gotham more than once just to take care of his nephew and...really, this made your heart flutter, to think that you were so important to him that he would stop watching over his (and yours) beloved city just to come and look after his baby nephew. To think that for you, and only you, he would “break” his (damn stupid) promise he made to your parents all those years ago...

Yes. Bruce helped tremendously through this first year. And everything was rather fine. 

But one morning, everything changed. 

You woke up to Diana’s screams of panic, and, half-asleep, you don’t quite remember how you managed to rush that fast from your bedroom toward your son’s ! 

But here you were, with your wife, staring at the empty bed you put your baby in the night before...

It took you only half a second to register what happened, and to enter the “detective mode” your brother taught you. 

And as Diana was completely panicking and yelling “WHERE IS OUR CHILD ?!”, you detached yourself from the situation and...observed.

It was important. To not let your feelings overwhelm you. The life of your son was on the line. 

First thing you noticed was that the blanket was gone too and that...A giggle. 

A giggle stopped you dead in your track. Followed by a “mama !” and you raise your head and...Oh boy. 

Crisis avoided. 

Your son hadn’t been abducted or anything. Nope. 

Your son was a meta-human. 

Damn. 

Here he was, his blanket still around him, flying above you and your dear wife. Giggling loudly, clapping his hand and doing flips in the air, cheerfully saying “mama” as he pointed at you and Diana. 

You can almost hear Diana’s heart calm down as she quickly flies to the ceiling and grabs your son. She holds him tight against her heart as she goes down and..is it a disappointed sigh he lets out ? Yes, it’s definitely a disappointed sigh ! He wanted to fly more ! 

He’s pouting now, pointing at the ceiling and saying “up up”. But your wife’s look stops him. Calms him.

It is full of worries. Full of uncertainty. And even a one year old boy understands that something is “up” indeed. He stops and looks curiously at his distressed mother, grabbing her cheek and rubbing it tenderly in the hope to see her smile and...it works. It always works. 

Diana turns to you with tears in her eyes and...You understand. 

Why ? What happened ? He didn’t even have one drop of blood from Diana. He was from an unknown sperm donor and you. He shouldn’t be a meta-human...And yet. Yet here he was, a one year old boy flying. 

You never knew why. Bruce made thousands of tests on him but...he never really found a reason. Maybe it was the time he resurrected you, long ago, with a Lazarus pit ? Maybe it left something in you ? You’d never have an answer. 

All you knew was that your baby was a meta-human, and that would make it even more difficult to keep him away from “the fight”. 

************

From that point, everything kinda went downhill. 

You and Diana tried. Really REALLY tried. 

You and Diana tried to keep him away from any danger for a long time. Early on, Thomas understood that he was different, and that his powers (a super force and flying...just like his mom really, which was strange) had to stay a secret. 

Diana helped him control it and...he was good at it. Hell, great. And oh so smart (that he took after you, according to your wife). 

He was the perfect mix between a Wayne and a Prince. Intelligent and strong. Observant and caring. Passionate and compassionate. Every good things about both your family ? He had. 

Unfortunately, it also meant that he was twice as stubborn than any of you and...Well, imagine someone more stubborn than Bruce, you, Diana, or even Jason or Damian ? He was the stubbornest person ever. 

To her great displeasure, Thomas actually resembled a lot Diana in his personality. He had that way about him, that need to...Do things he thought were right. Which meant that in many situations, you and your wife were like “Thomas no”, and he would be like : “Thomas yes”. 

He had that bad habit of doing things he wanted to do. It’s not that he didn’t listen to you, oh no, on the contrary, he was terrified of you and the way you’d scold him with such a calm voice. He was very respectful and polite too and wouldn’t do something that was bratty or anything but...He was also a free spirit. 

One that couldn’t stay away from helping people. 

You realized that very early on. 

************

Thomas was five when he discovered that his beloved uncle and cousins were the famed night vigilante of Gotham. 

He found out by wandering around Wayne Manor one day, a day you all had a family lunch. It’s Diana who noticed his absence first. 

-(Y/N), where is our child ? 

A search party was immediately put on. All of you knew Thomas had an unhealthy amount of curiosity that already got him in trouble a few times.  

It’s only when alarms started to ring in your brother’s pocket that you finally found him...Somehow, he had found the secret passage behind the grandmother clock in the hallway, and infiltrated the Batcave. 

-WOOOOOW ! YOU’RE THE BATMAN !! 

Is what he yelled as he ran toward his uncle. Automatically, Bruce caught him in his arms and looked at you...and oh you weren’t happy. 

Of course, it wasn’t your brother’s fault but...those days of you wishing your son would never have the kind of life you, your brother, your nephews and wife had were now annihilated. 

Now that Thomas knew the uncle he already admired so much was the Batman, and that his cousins were Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Robin ? He was doomed to become one of them. 

Why was he doomed ? Because even though he was just five years old, Thomas already thought that his “abilities” should be useful, and not always hidden. Even though he was just a five year old, he already had this gut feeling that there was something bigger out there ! 

Quickly, connections were made in his mind and he understood as well that his mothers were some of his actual heroes too ! Wonder Woman and (your Superhero name) ! THE GREATEST EVER ! 

You damned the day that someone gave your son such a big intelligence. The day someone decided that he’d be a genius, just like his mom and uncle...

************

The “peace” was longer than you’d thought though. 

Diana was still teaching Thomas how to use his powers, you were teaching him the things your brother taught you so many years ago (how to fight, how to observe, how to fight while observing and vice versa !). He often met with his cousins and uncle and, strangely, didn’t argue too much when they told him to stay behind, to go to bed, when they’d go and save Gotham. 

But you knew better. The only reason why your son didn’t argue is because he knew he wasn’t ready. That boy was too smart for his own good, and if he thought he could genuinely help and not be a burden, he would have been in Gotham City’s street long ago (or in Washington DC, which is where you and Diana settled in). 

But much like you and Bruce, he always planned things carefully, and he knew that now was not his time yet...

His tenth birthday arrived and the most he did was fighting against his cousins “for real”. His tenth birthday arrived and, fortunately, he wasn’t a “superhero” yet. But you could see one day he would be. 

You could see it in his eyes. The way he studied every move from you, Diana, Bruce, Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian...The way he visibly “stored” everything in his mind and all. He would be, but not now. Now wasn’t his time yet. 

***********

“His time” came when he was twelve and a half. 

It was just a regular day in Gotham really. You, Bruce and Thomas were walking down a calm street, on your way to meet with the rest of your family (your nephews were all grown up now, and gathering them all together was always quite difficult...and your wife only arrived in Gotham a few minutes ago. You were in vacation at your brother’s, while she still had to work at the museum in DC). 

Yes. It was just a regular day in Gotham. 

It’s like trouble followed you really. Screams. That’s what caught your attention. 

It was near your lunch date and when you arrived on the spot (already in costume of course), you weren’t surprised at all to find your nephews and wife already fighting. You tell Thomas to “stay put” as you and Bruce jump in the fight. 

Just some regular thugs attacking someone. 

You guys, having fun punching low life criminals, taking this lightly (after all, you were some of the most powerful and mightiest superheroes on the planet, what could some thugs could really do to you ?), almost laughing in their face but...There was one you didn’t notice. 

It wasn’t your fault you didn’t though. You got distracted. By both the fun you were having and Diana’s question. 

“Where is your child ?” she asked, and when you looked where you told Thomas to stay put to find the place empty, your heart drop. 

And so you didn’t notice one of the thugs. 

One lurking in the shadow. 

One with a gun. 

None of you have time to react when the shot is fired. Directly aimed at you. 

Bruce’s scream is desperate. Diana’s is even worst. And you close your eyes, ready for your fate. You know you don’t have time to get out of the trajectory. Besides, ever since your parents’ death...gun shots always have this freezing effect on you, reminding you too much of that dreadful night, even though you remember very little of it and...

It takes too long. Why aren’t you dead yet ? Or maybe you are and you don’t feel it ? You open one eye. Then the other and...Thomas.

Your son. 

He’s in front of you and...something falls from his hand. 

The bullet ? Your baby boy can stop bullets with his bare hand ? 

In the matter of seconds the remaining thugs are taken down by your son, who jumps from man to man expertly, getting rid of them without actually really hurting them. 

Finally, he turns to you and takes off the hood of his jacket (smart boy thought about hiding his identity...probably, even those thugs heard about the famous “Thomas Prince-Wayne”, one of the heir of the Wayne fortune). 

He stands in front of all of you, your stunned ass just staring. 

Until a surge of anger rises inside you. The worries you had a few minutes ago turn into anger and you approach your son, grabbing his shoulders and, with your harshest and yet calmest voice (the one that always gets to him and made him brush his teeth vigorously as a kid, when he didn’t want you and you “convinced him to), you say : 

-Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne ! What didn’t you understand in the words “stay put” ?

He looks at you smugly (and you can almost see a younger version of your brother...the Wayne genes were strong, after all, you looked a lot like Bruce and your son was half-Wayne and..oh he definitely took almost everything from your parts of your family, and nothing from that unknown sperm donor. Good. But still, his smug face right now was exactly the one you hated, that your brother made when he won at something when you two were younger). He says : 

-Oh I understood everything mom, it’s just...I didn’t wanna stay put. Or rather, I couldn't. That guy was going to hurt you ! 

-This is not a reason to put your life in danger and...

-This is the best reason to put my life in danger ! I saved you mom ! And I would do it again if I had to ! Sure I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop the bullet but...I’ve been practicing secretly with Damian and...oh don’t look at me like that my cousin, they would have found out one day or another, and if i’m going to be in trouble, then so will you !...Anyway I was saying, I just had to try ! I couldn’t watch you die mom ! I need you ok ? And...I’m ready. I’m ready mom. I am. I want to be like you guys. I want to help. I have to help. Please, let me help. Let me save people’s mother. Please. Just, let me. Uncle Bru...uh, I mean, Batman, tell her please ! Convince her, I know you agree with me ! 

You know how he’s feeling, and you know that if, years ago, you would have had the ability to stop bullets, you would have gladly jumped in front of your parents and...you can’t really resist can you ?

His pleading look goes between you and Diana and...You  know that’s it. You know you can’t convince him otherwise. Forbid him to go out, and he’ll sneak out without your permission. 

The best thing to do really, is to tell him : “yes”. To let him help. Because like that, you’ll always have an eye on him. At all time. Or...So you thought. 

************

So you thought, because “where is our child ?” was one of the sentence you pronounced the most. 

“Where is our child ?” He’s fighting the biggest and baddest villain on his own, because he’s too reckless, just like his moms. 

“Where is our child ?” He’s at his uncle’s house, training with his cousins. He left a note...

“Where is our child ?” At a charity gala, gaining intels on a suspicious person, he stole one of Dick’s suit. 

“Where is our child ?” hiding behind the sofa, because he doesn’t wanna do the dishes. 

“Where is our child ?” at the League’s watchtower, being formerly introduced by Damian...Oh shit, you were going to be late ! 

“Where is our child ?” flying to the stratosphere and back, just for fun, and to blow off some steam. 

“Where is our child ?” he’s making out with his date, right on the front porch. And it’s past his curfew. 

“Where is our child ?” in the middle of the battlefield, putting his life in danger to save others. 

“Where is our child ?” right there, between you and Diana, in your bed...he was afraid of the thunderstorm. 

“Where is our child ?” Thomas is in the hospital, fighting against death, after he got badly injured while doing superhero stuffs...

“Where is our child ?” he just escaped his bedroom, where you and Diana were forcing him to stay until he recovered from his injuries...Damian helped him, picked him up in the batjet, and now, they’re “purifying” Gotham’s street. 

“Where is our child ?” Grounded. In his room. Pouting. 

“Where is our child ?” ...He’s everywhere, he’s nowhere, all the time. Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne cannot stay still. He cannot ignore a cry for help. He cannot...He cannot not be like you and Diana. 

A hero. 

Someone people admired, someone people needed. 

But there were times, oh there were times where he was just your boy. Cuddling up with you on the couch, watching silly movies. Or bonding with his uncle and cousins. Enjoying his family. 

There were times where he remembered what you told him years ago : to live his life. 

************

The present : 

“Where is our child ?” was a sentence that occurred way to many time in the Prince-Wayne household. 

Like now. As the League just saved the world once again. 

You thought Thomas was with your brother, but here Bruce was, with all his sons, standing in front of you, and trying to avoid your gaze. You had just asked Tim, one of your nephew, where was your boy (that wasn’t a boy anymore) and you knew he was about to crack under your intense look when...

-Relax, I’m here mom. 

Hearing his voice instantly relaxes you and you turn around to look at your baby bo...No. He’s not a baby anymore. 

And right here, right now, faced with him, in his costume, all grown up...You know he’ll never be your baby again. 

His chiseled face is dirty from the fight, and he has a nasty cut on his shoulder...but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he walks toward you in all his glory, wearing his newly made superhero suit (he kept the family colors...red and black). And you can’t help but see the Wayne in him. Tall. Broad. Muscular. Proud. Caring. But also the Prince. Royal. Elegant. Impressive. A warrior. The best of his time. 

And he’s not your baby anymore. 

-I told them to come and find you to tell you not to worry. But I can see by your face Damian is the one who talked first...

Damian makes a very cute pouty face (that is quite hilarious to see...it’s just like the face he used to make when he was just a ten year old kid...except that now, he’s almost thirty). 

Thomas doesn’t let you or Diana answer as he says : 

-I was just checking around to make sure all threats were gone. Uncle Bruce said it was fine but..Well, I’d rather be 100% sure. No offense Uncle Bruce. 

-None taken my boy. Better be safe than sorry. 

-Exactly. That’s what you taught me. 

The fond smile your brother gives your son melts your heart but...You put your “mother cowl” back on and turns to your son, frowning. But Diana beats you to it : 

-Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne. 

It became a habit of your and of your wife, to call him by his full name before scolding or lecturing him. And you can see his eye rolling as if on their own accord, your son too used to it to resist. Your wife continues : 

-I thought that we agreed, all those years ago, that if the fight seemed desperate, you’d fly the other way. 

-I don’t remember ever agreeing to that...I remember you guys forcing me to...

-You signed the contract Tom. 

-Not willingly.

-You still signed it. If your uncle taught you anything about business, it’s the unbreakable sacred thing that a contract is ! 

Thomas rolls his eyes again, and shifts on his feet, ready to just listen to his mom’s lecture without intervening again. He turns his attention to her and cross his arm, just like you do when you’re focused on something. Diana keeps going :

-Thomas. You need to be careful. I can’t loose you. We can’t loose you.I know you’re not a child anymore, but your our child. We’ll never stop worrying and...just be more careful. Stop throwing yourself in the path of danger. 

Your son seems surprised...it’s true that, usually, his mom’s lectures are way longer. But now..it looks like she’s already done ? Is it his turn to say something ? Should he defends himself, even though he noticed the crack in his mom’s voice that he so rarely heard ? That sign that this all situation hit her more than anything ? No, he has to explain to her why he did it : 

-I had to save Superman. He’s too important and...

You have to intervene : 

-YOU’RE TOO IMPORTANT FOR GOD’S SAKE ! 

Thomas is shocked. As are the rest of your family. It’s the first time they hear you raise your voice...Usually, when you’re angry, you have that very calm toned that is terrifying and..They’re just not used to you yelling. And you add : 

-Your mother is right Thomas, we can’t loose you ok ?! I already lost so much in my life, I couldn’t handle your loss and...Listen. I’m so proud of you for what you became, I know you’re not my baby anymore but...stop...stop throwing yourself right in the mouth of the lion...stop thinking you owe anything to the World because you’re a meta-human, stop...Just...stop please...

Your son isn’t sure how to react. Lectures and scolding ? He can definitely deal with it but...his mother breaking down ? His mother that he thought invincible on the verge of crying ? Holding tightly onto his other mom’s arms as if she needs her to stay on her feet ? That, he never encountered...And so he approaches her slowly, his cape flowing in the air making him look majestic. 

He doesn’t expect you to fall into his arms, nor does he expect Diana to do the same and..When his eyes crosses his uncle, he suddenly understands. 

Yes. Yes it had been close. Very close. He almost died. Without a goodbye. He almost...disappeared forever, and he wouldn’t even had had the time to see his moms again. 

He remembers how the World turned into a mess of dust and blood, how everything surrounding his mothers were just orange fumes from the fight, from making the earth move so much. He remembers Diana running towards him desperately, and the look on her face, so scared for him...He remembers you from afar, running too, and he was glad he couldn’t see your facial expression. He remembers his uncle Bruce almost dying because he was distracted by Thomas being in grave anger. He remembers Damian jumping above the fight to come and join him, though he knew he’d be too late. He remembers Dick yelling something to the Flash, and only now understood that he was yelling at him to go save his baby cousin. He remembers Jason aiming to shoot at the one who was threatening Superman and his life, but knowing he would be too late too, not fast enough. He remembers Tim freezing, an expression of horror on his face... 

The reality of what almost happened downs on him like a tornado. So far, he was in the eye of it, calm, not realizing that he almost got annihilated. So far, all he thought about was how he saved the great Superman from an imminent death threat. He didn’t think of the consequences...but now ? He was swept away by the power of the tornado, swirled violently around by it, and understanding that he almost broke the heart of the people that counted the most for him. 

His moms. 

His uncle. 

His cousins. Hell, even Damian looks quite shaken. 

So this is why they didn’t want to come with him to “check” if there were any remnant of threat (they weren’t for sure, he just wanted to double check because that’s what Bruce taught him). He found it a bit odd at first but...they just needed time alone to process everything. They needed to calm down. 

Thomas almost died, and his death would have shattered the entire family...This is why he found his moms cuddling so close. They just needed each others comfort. Their son was still alive, somewhere with his uncle and cousins (and with whom would they trust him more to hang out with ? You knew that with Bruce, Thomas would always be safe). They needed to come down from their feelings. To process things. 

They almost lost their son. For real this time. He did put himself in danger before, but it was always by a long shot. While there ? He almost died. 

And Thomas cursed himself for understanding all that only now, as his moms were clutching at him. Thomas cursed himself for his stubborness and insensitivity. Cursed himself for only thinking about him and what he wanted...

He hugged them back. And made a himself a promise. 

He wasn’t a child anymore.

It was time to stop acting like one. 

It was time to be responsible, and to truly think more. Just like his mom and uncle Bruce taught him. 

It was time to stop with the poor impulse control. 

He wasn’t a child anymore. He had to grow up, and to stop acting so fast. He couldn’t always help it, after all, he was a lot like his mom, Diana. But it was time...Time to grow up. To truly grow up. 

************

Laying in bed besides her, your legs tangled with hers, her hands in your hair, yours around her waist, her face nuzzled in your beautiful locks...You take a deep breath. And you can feel her smile. 

It’s early. Oh so early. But you both have to get up, lots of things to do. 

But neither of you want to. 

Diana kisses the crown of your head lovingly and your arms tighten around her. None of you want to stand up. To face reality. 

It’s not your jobs, or obligations or such that make you not wanna stand up. But the fact that...Your boy is gone. 

Well, that’s ominous sounding. Your boy moved out would be better. 

Yesterday. He moved out to his own apartment. In Gotham at that. It wasn’t that far but...still. 

But you have to get up. And, lazily, you do. You both sit on your side of the bed, one hand still in each others, fingers locked. But you have to let go as you two stand up. Only for a moment though, as Diana is back at your side in no time, her arms around your shoulders, yours around her waist, as you walk toward the kitchen. 

Thomas always thought it was cute and funny, how you wouldn’t let go of each other until you both got your first cup of coffee...The thought of your son makes your heart tighten. 

It’s the end of an era. Your boy is all grown up. 

“Where is our child ?” was going to slowly disappear (which wasn’t that bad really), as he was on living his own life and...Here. 

Your child was here. Flying behind the kitchen window. In his superhero costume. Holding a bag. 

You open the window and he comes in, explaining that he was just dropping bad and that he brought coffee and donuts and...You smile. 

But of course. 

It’s not because he wasn’t a child anymore, that he would stop being your child.

He would always come back to you, and you and Diana would always worry about him. From day one you worried. Hell, Diana even worried before he was born (oh remembering your doctors appointment was something...it was funny now, but at the moment, you would have killed her). 

He wasn’t a child anymore, but he was your child, forever. 

_______________________

This is a complete mess. It doesn’t make sense, it’s too fast and too slow at the same time. Sorry I made you wait so long for such a shitty story yo...I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, I have such difficulties to write decent stories and uh. Just sorry. I tried...Might delete (for real this time) because this is a huge fail. 

[doorsclosingslowly]

Atrocity Exhibition

Snapshots of the life and death of Savage Opress, from seventeen different angles. Drabble collection.

1.7k | also on AO3

I.

The body lies empty in the plaza, half-naked and with twin charred holes in his chest that must’ve done him in and already spotted with purplish death-bruising, and yet, he looks oddly peaceful. She kneels in respect: there is no doubt in her mind that Savage died to protect her Mand’Alor. He tried to, just like the soldiers that Death Watch has already found in the throne room, and just like them, he fell victim to the silent menace none could defend against.

“I’m still alive, but you are dead,” Rook Kast whispers. “I remember you. We will find Maul.”

II.

Her baby is a boy. Kycina had prayed for a girl, not for the sake of his sire, waiting captive in her rooms and soon to be killed for the deficiency in his seed, in the way of her mother and all women before her; but for herself. The boy, Savage, she will give into the care of his tribe, and when he has grown and been taken she will close her ears and weep his death. A girl, she’d have seen grow up, would have delighted in her every move.

A girl, she would have cradled to her chest.

III.

An obstacle, that’s all he is, or—an opportunity. Maul loves him. That long-discarded wretched failure of a traitorous apprentice has thrown in his lot with another of his species, a dumb brute with even less promise than Maul ever had, and he loves him. This is delightful. Sidious makes sure that Maul is fully conscious again by the time he slaughters the animal. He allows them their little goodbyes. It would take long to find physical pain that Maul hasn’t yet suffered, and he is well-acquainted with emotional abuse, but this: this loss, it was worth flying out for.

IV.

Always a step behind Maul, never in front. A trusted lieutenant, because he’s not the leader, not by a long shot, not with the shorter man’s arrogance in play. A shield, instead. And: a loved one. Pre Viszla sees it, in the way Savage stops the knife aimed at Maul, and in the total lack of flinch. Never a doubt he’ll intervene, and it’s mutual, certainly, what with Maul’s easily exploitable concern after the rescue.

That’s why, despite certain security concerns, he gives the order to lock both brothers inside the same cell. This is Mandalore, and family is honored.

V.

The young nightbrother has grown strong, Brother Viscus notes with silent helpless pride. On the field, Savage is straining muscles and cocky grins and there’s nary a yelp when the lance of his training partner strikes true, and then he wrestles the other teenager down and helps him up again. The boy is the very picture of a son of their tribe, powerful and kind with children and someday, Viscus thinks with a rend in his hearts he cannot seem to rid himself of, someday he will make a fine mate for the Sister who wins him as Her prize.

VI.

This new acolyte was a mistake, Darth Tyranus decides. He’d visited the Nightsister tribe in the belief that one of their males had been powerful and cunning enough to murder his own former Padawan, and he’d gone there despite the pain and disgust he feels whenever he thinks of the now-dead Darth Maul’s deed. He found: utter disappointment. Ignorance. Imbecility. Abjection. This is the kind of creature that dared best Qui-Gon?

On the floor, Opress whines and curls and begs for his brother—for the murderous beast that once enticed Tyranus—and so he gifts him another lesson of pain.

VII.

The enemy rushes onto the battlefield, cutting off that brother’s arm in a bright spray of arterial blood and choking this brother with massive claws, and right then Spotlight knows he was wrong. He’s been wondering, see: maybe they’re not so different, him and the Separatist flesh grunts. They look scared, before he shoots them, and Spotlight himself certainly wouldn’t be fighting this war if he wasn’t made to do it. No-one gets anything out of war but the civvies. But the beast has this wild look, like he’s karking enjoying it, and Spotlight was wrong. This is the end.

VIII.

Traitor, the droids name the Sith beast, and they shoot it instead of taking aim at him or Obi-Wan. Frankly, that’s fine by Anakin. He’d like to get a good chop in himself—somewhere, he is still that nine-year-old kid huddled on Naboo who was told that Qui-Gon Jinn was never coming back, that he’d been slain by the Sith, a kid who wanted to beg Who’ll be my Master now and couldn’t—Anakin wouldn’t mind taking on Dooku’s animal, but there’s no reason to risk entering the droid’s blaster-hail. Opress roars out a shockwave and flees. Next time, then.

IX.

It’s terrifying, even with his big brother beside him, and Feral can’t imagine how much worse his first trial would be, alone. Although. He shivers: being killed by the pale Woman, or accidentally by one of the other unlucky sods beside them, that’s bad (and it would already have happened, if Savage hadn’t interceded), but compared to… to being taken (Savage puts himself between another blow and Feral’s body) compared to being taken by the Sister, death is fine, and so’s being struck lame; but Savage will never let Feral get hurt. How are they gonna get out of this?

X.

The Sith looms. Angry growls and quick strikes and then—he shouldn’t be this strong, Adi Gallia thinks frantically, shouldn’t be able to overpower her this easily when she is a General and a Jedi Master and a Member of the High Council to boot, and it gives her terror for the future. He shouldn’t, because the Jedi triumphed and routed the Sith once before and hunted them to extinction; but they have returned, and the force favors them. Opress smacks her against the ship and spears her when she falls, and there is no death. There is the force.

XI.

What a moron. Looks strong—looks like mounds of juicy juicy meat, more like—but with all those nice muscles there’s not much space left over for brain, it appears, because, after that shitty strangling, the offworlder’s actually following Morley meekly to his doom. If he didn’t look as delicious or was a little less of a humorless prick, and what kind of catchphrase is Where is my brother? anyway… if Morley wasn’t so hungry, then he might even find it in him to feel bad for the ugly meathead. As it is: maybe Master will leave Morley some entrails.

XII.

He’s gonna kill her. This dude is actually going to kriffing kill her, not in a pervert way but in broad daylight, in the middle of the restaurant, grabbing her and holding her up and strangling her and everyone’s screaming, and Mikjoo was just going to look at his weird glowing amulet, that’s all. She was gonna make conversation, with a man who looked slightly sad and very lost and like he’d potentially give decent tips.

It’s not murder, in the end; he throws her to the floor and runs off, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total psycho.

XIII.

Her creature drags himself to the table, drags himself home, bruised, a failure and: still alive. It’s a testament to Talzin’s craft that the bespelled nightbrother was able to return, and the result of her own shortcomings that Dooku yet lives. No matter. When young Asajj returns, another path to her vengeance shall be found. As for Savage Opress… in the crystal, Talzin sees her Maul, once stolen by Sidious and finally located, and there’s none more suited to fetching the boy than this durable, obedient tool. She speaks comfort and helps him up. There is further use for him.

XIV.

Her mate—or he would have been, if this was a normal coupling—he washes himself in the sink of the sister’s house where Asajj is staying, for this step in the grand plan of her revenge against her former Master. Trembles wrack his glistening bruised body, and she ignores them, according to her wishes and—she is sure—also his own.

Shock laces through him when instead of a kiss, she presents him to Mother Talzin, that and naked relief; but when he stands after the ritual, what’s left is not a mate. Not a nightbrother. Only—an instrument.

XV.

The foolish apprentice looks up from underneath Maul’s clawed foot, all thoughts of brazen challenge forgotten. There is no pain, not yet. This should be cause for further correction, Maul remembers, should result in screams, writhing and terror, but—a face, a familiar sort of face if Maul remembered his own and more still now he doesn’t, leads him from out his trash cave and into the light. A low voice rings through the nightmare. A hand offers meat. Safety. The apprentice looks up. The brother loves, despite everything.

Maul extends his hand. He doesn’t care to interrogate the instinct.

XVI.

Two brothers and a smoldering pile of corpses, that’s what Obi-Wan finds on Raydonia. Violence, senseless and vile, evident in this carnage and in the shaping of its perpetrators, for he’s visited their village, knows of enslavement and degradation and forced breeding, and knows that none should ever arise from such filth as exists on Dathomir and feel any compassion. Both were doomed from the moment of their birth.

He ignites his lightsaber and faces them. Unlikely though it is, he prays: for victory, but more still, for the chance to extinguish this cycle of violence with both their lives.

XVII.

He wrings his hands around Feral’s neck, or he doesn’t: he is watching his fingers kill, is looking down at them, and they’re not even the right size. A plea, silent, disembodied: they don’t look like his fingers. It’s only the perspective that does it, making them out to be his own body; that, and the self-aimed revulsion. Stop. They don’t, of course. His hands don’t belong to him anymore.

Afterwards, he won’t remember the Mother’s intrusion. He will see nothing but his own flesh, by his own will, killing his own brother.

Afterwards, Savage will only see: a monster.

[dachi-chan25]

Game of Thrones Season 7 Episode 5 Recap Pt. 3

WARNINGS: SPOILERS; not a D@€n€r¥$ fan; Jonsa shipper.

————

8.- Back in Winterfell Lord Royce and Lord Glover are the North’s Mean Girls, talking shit about Jon to his back and regreating not naming Sansa QitN when they had the chance (OK as a Sansa fan I saw lot of my fellow fans were pissed that she got no credit whatsoever for retaking WF and that she should have been queen, I agreed that she deserved to get recognized but didn’t feel she wanted to be queen, but nevertheless it was good to see she has won her people’s respect after all she went through) Sansa thanks them but defends Jon’s claim in a very polite way. Arya watched all the scene, and she walks with Sansa to her chambers (Jon won that argument, good to know) that are her parents’s chambers while Sansa is like I warned Jon the North wouldn’t wait on him like Ghost (my shipper heart is pleased that they disscused this sort of things), Arya is clearly not happy about how Sansa managed things and Sansa being the observant girl she is immediately picks up on it and prompts Arya to speak her mind about what’s bothering her, because that’s what she did with Jon: she talked things through even if they didn’t agree on everything they were never afraid to speak clearly about it they loved and appreciated the other so much mere disagreements would never come between them. Arya is very different though and she is very harsh and unfair to Sansa,I understand her personality is different from Jon and Sansa, she is a more action type of person, she has taken revenge and now she is at home she can’t bear the thought of this people disrespecting her beloved big bro and her sister, the one she had a lot of friction with, just standing there and listening without screaming or hitting them, but Sansa is right she can’t do those things without repercussions, Arya is like there won’t be repercussions if you kill them (tell that to Robb) and Sansa (bless her soul) tries to explain the situation they are in, and how much Jon and the North need this people and that is much better working together than killing everyone (gosh now I really want Sansa to meet D) she gives Arya a reality check on how WF wasn’t just handed to them. Honestly Sansa Queen of everything 2kforever. Arya retorts in a very childlish way about how Sansa just wants to make sure people will accept her in case Jon dies, and Sansa is horrified that her sister would say such a thing (also I think she is horrified by the thought of Jon dying) and Arya keeps taunting her. No fuck I’m out of here, never wanted this Starkbowl stuff, didn’t wanted it with Jon don’t want it with Arya, why do the writers make her Sound like every Sansa hater ever???? Sansa does not deserve this (Dickon come back pls and sweep my baby off her feet in those amazing arms of yours) I understand Arya hasn’t still procesed Sansa’s changes and she loves Jon and hates to see people trash talking him but no sorry, Ned already had told her she and her sister needed each other even if they were so different, and Arya said she didn’t hated Sansa Back then, I just hope this nonsense is over quickly because I Love the Stark Sisters too much.

9.- So the magnificent plan of Tyrion starts with convincing Jaime to tell Cersei to grant the Suicide Squad an audience so they can show her the WW, and they will need to go to KL, Davos smuggles them and then goes off to find my boy Gendry.

My boy is Back on the blacksmith business, and Davos makes a joke about rowing (he is the daddiest dad of the 7 realms) and he is trying to explain their super amazing mission but Gendry is like dude idc I just wanna go away from this shit hole and fight some Lannisters on the way with my magical Baratheon Hammer like the one my daddy had.

#AtrueBaratheon.

Tyrion apparently convinced/payed to Bronn so he would take Jaime to creepy dragon basement, Jaime is clearly conflicted at seeing Tyrion, but still he listens.

Back on the boat some gold capes found their boat, Davos is a Master of manipulation and manages to fool them ‘til Tyrion shows up, fear not cuz Gendry puts that Hammer to use (he is epic guys) and Davos is practically signing those adoption papers.

10.- Jaime goes to Cersei’s chambers, she was talking with Qyburn and sasses the heck out of Jaime when he asks what was Qyburn doing there, anyway Jaime tells Cersei about his talk with Tyrion and the WW, Cersei is very dismissive (must be real easy when she hasn’t seen the Dragons or the WWs) but she thinks she can use this in her favor, also she is preggo (oh god why do I feel this is emotional manipulation or she is reaching menopausia?) they kiss and god Jaime stop.

11.- Our boat buddies are back on DS (traveling doesn’t make any sense what is time? What is distance? Who knows? No really jokes aside I understand they have to advance this plot fast as possible cuz they have only 2 episodes left this season) and Davos warns Gendry not to mention his dad or real name to King Jon, and that’s the first thing Gendry does!!! LMAO, this friendship is epic already (RobertxNed2.0) and Jon smiles for the first time in the south (dude he was almost dead all his time in DS but his bastard buddy shows up and he immediately jokes and laughs) this is my favorite bromance, and Davos is worried for this unruly sons of his (so he is Jon Arryn 2.0 right???)

So the very next day? Week? Who knows? They depart, Jorah gets a sad goodbye with D, and Jon a very awkward one, for real D is tryin to flirt and Jon says 'good fortune in the wars to come’?? Wasn’t it the same thing “The Sword of Morning” told Ned before they fought to death??? I mean one can clearly see Jon can’t wait to get the fuck out of Dragonstone, D makes goggly eyes at the boat (Jon) while Jorah turns back makes puppy eyes at D, and Jon is pushing harder to go as soon as possible.

11.- Back on the Citadel, Gilly is reading (I miss Shireen so much, she would have been so proud) some stuff of a Maester obssessed with registers, and discovers a prince Ragger (Imma call him that forever, thanx Gilly) got an annulment and married someone else in Dorne. We all, know this is about fuckboi Ragger Tupperwere and his rightful wife Elia Martell princes of DORNE, so you tell me this fucker not only humilliated her publicy on Harrenhall’s tourney but also re-married in her homeland?? And made her children bastards???? Seriously most of you don’t know how hard it is as a PoC and specially a WoC and watch this stupid bullshit where a woman of color’s suffering and humilliation just serves to further a white character’s (Jon Snow) storyline, while Raggers gets this beautiful memory lane stories about him singing the Poor, and people justifying his selfish bullshit with OMG he didn’t Love Elia he did it for true wuv!!! Miss me that bullshit who said Elia loved the bitch??? Yet still beared with dignity all the awful stuff he did, not only that but her and her children died (awful, awful deaths, not in a battlefield glorified as a song ones) scorned and set aside by Rhaegar while he was protecting new wifey and his new white super speshul babe.

I am beyond angry at this.

Anyway, Sam doesn’t care (nobody does really, they don’t even say her FUCKING name) cuz the maesters just won’t listen, so he steals some books and fucks out of the Citadel with his family.

12.- Yeah so in WF Arya is the worst spy ever following LF around, and he is purposefully as shady as he can be, Maester Wolkan gives him a copy of a letter and LF very loudly thanks him in Sansa’s name, he get’s the letter inside his chambers and goes away, Arya enters his chamber and finds the letter you know that one Sansa was manipulated into writing to protect her dad and the rest of her family, and Arya buys it. Honestly I am too empty now to care, Arya got played by a obvious stupid scheme but I can’t find the enrgy to care about all this drama.

13.- On Eastwatch, Jon and co. Talk with Tormund, who talks about the Dragon Queen and the one who fucks her brother (tha made me laugh a lot cuz Jon’s uncomfortable expression and Gendry’s smile) and he is frustrated cuz why didn’t they brought Brienne??? Jon’s smile is amazing and I am glad he is among people he is comfortable with. The moronic plan is laid, and Tormund is like well we are not the only ones who wants to go beyond the wall Tormund takes them to the cell, the Bannerless Brotherhood is there, and everyone hates each other suddenly, but the Hound hates everyone and makes them shut up, Jon frees them and they go to their stupid ass mission.

———– *sigh* Yeah so this is all, next week (May the gods help me) I’ll try to stop being so repulsed so I can Watch the next episode.

[kpopfanfictrash]

The 7th Prince

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / GOT7

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,275

Summary: A land under a curse. Seven mysterious princes. A decision that will make or break the Kingdom. (idea from this post here, by @cyjsgirl​)

[Master List]

The birth of his first child should have been a magical day. 

It meant the continuation of his land’s heritage, his bloodline. It should have been a time for celebration but instead the King feels only dread looking at the coal-black sky. The wind whips his face and he shivers, staring into the night.

Inside his castle lies his son, but all he can think about is her. That wild, terrible woman. Once he called her such things in jest – teasing with horror because he knew she was not. He called her those things when he loved her.

But then the King grew up. He faced responsibility and learned what it meant to live a fairy tale and what it meant to have a life of his own. The problem was, she did not – she continued to love him. Out loud, in the open, insistent he felt the same way. And maybe he did, but maybe it didn’t matter. What mattered was his kingdom.

It was law that the King marry royalty. He was required to marry a princess from a neighboring land in order to ensure their peace. It didn’t matter what he wanted, nor where his own happiness lay. All that mattered were his people.

Somewhere inside the castle a baby cries. The King turns from the night, ready to comfort his son.  He halts when he sees her.

Her. For a moment, the King doesn’t know whether to be exalted or terrified.

She stares back at him, a visage of dusk and night. Midnight hair, golden skin. Eyes like violet. She stares and for a moment, the world stops. Dizzying enough for the King to reach out his hand– though whether it’s to touch or not, he’s unsure.

At that moment the door opens, revealing the Queen on the hearth. Inside her arms is a babe with golden hair - quickly hidden as the mother tucks him into her chest.

The dark woman’s lip curls. She looks first at the Queen, then at the child. Then the King, as though in question. But the King says nothing – nothing that hasn’t been said before, anyways – and so the dark woman takes a step closer.

“So this is the child,” she murmurs, examining the baby like an object. “Very… blonde. Marcus.” She reads his blanket’s embroidery.

The mother uses her body to shield him. “You can’t touch him.”

Lowly, the woman chuckles. “Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

When the King steps in front of his wife, the dark woman pales. Just for a second. “So this is your choice, Philip?”

“I never had one, Jamina.”

Slowly, she frowns. “We all have choices. A son, you say? He’s lovely, so bright. Like you, Philip.” Her tone changes looking at the King. “It would be ironic, mm if he turned dark – like me?”

“W-what?” Though the Queen’s lip quivers, her grip on her child remains firm. “Philip, what does she mean?”

“Philip, what does she mean?” she mimics. “I mean a curse, my lady.” Her lips lift in a blood-red smile. “A curse where your son is just as hated and despised as I am.” 

Faster than they can react, the witch disappears. She presses one, singular finger to the baby’s forehead. Then she’s gone.

The Queen screams, gripping her child closer. “What have you done?” She pulls frantically at the blanket, as though able to see traces of the dark woman’s magic.

The witch reappears, giggling. “Darkness is not so easily seen, my lady.” Her laughter is earnest as her head tips back. “A son, a son. Of course a son.” When she looks back, her eyes are full of rage. “What if from now on, the Kingdoms had only sons?”

Philip’s eyes widen. “Why would you possibly want that?”

The woman ignores his question. “What if only sons were born to the seven Kingdoms of Morsus?”

The Queen finally looks up from her child. “That’s… not possible.”

“Possible?” The woman laughs. “What is possible?”

“Jamina, don’t do this.” The King’s voice is desperate, futile. “Think of the Kingdoms, think of the lands! Jamina –”

The woman disappears to re-appear an inch from his nose. “Don’t ever say my name,” she hisses, eyes wild. “What have the Kingdoms done for me, I ask of you?  Besides ruining my love, my life, my heart.”

She turns and, with a flick of her wrist, dark clouds gather on the horizon. The witch says nothing. Does nothing but close her eyes. Her nostrils flare and her face turns bone-white, almost skeletal with the pulse of electricity in the air.  The King crosses the room, reaching out as he’s blasted back by some unseen force. The dark woman doesn’t even look, stretching her arms to either side as a low hum enters her throat.

The world seems to echo, taking on a strange tilt and moving almost backwards. Then the moment is gone, sky resuming normalcy as crickets chirp once more. The woman sags inwards, practically gasping as she clutches at her chest.

Still, she manages to face the King and the Queen. Grinning widely as she starts to laugh. “It is done. From this day on, only sons will be born to the Royal lines.” Her gaze flickers when he glances in the King’s direction. “Oh, and Philip?”

The King doesn’t speak, horrified.

“I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

Then, in a whirl of darkness, she disappears.

“Y/N.”

Light slices your visage, harsh in the otherwise blackness. “Urghasdkfjask.” You grunt, rolling over in bed. “Five more minutes.”

“Time to rise and shine!”

You don’t know why you bother. Cecil is notoriously immune to your wiles. Instead you pull your pillow overhead, burrowing into your covers. “I think I’ll skip today,” you mumble into the sheets.

Your comforter is unceremoniously yanked away. Yelping, you scramble to close your eyes against the sun.

“Too bad.” Cecil snaps her fingers, pointing at the bathroom. “Go take a bath so you can get ready.”

You roll from your bed. Literally roll, your feet almost hitting the floor before catching beneath you. As you stumble into the bathroom you strip your clothes, sinking lazily into the bath. You sigh leaning your head against the hard edge, sighing.

Today is your birthday – twenty one years old. Both the oldest you’ve ever been and the youngest you’ll ever be. Suds reach your ears as you sink lower in the water. Twenty one years of relative freedom. Until today. Softly, you skim your hands over the surface of the water. You hear your parents’ voices in your head: on your twenty first birthday, you’re to marry a prince.

For that’s the law of the land: to preserve the peace between city-states, all princes must marry a princess from a neighboring kingdom. It’s worked remarkably well so far. Over one thousand years of peace and prosperity, due to this time honored tradition. You will marry a prince, become Queen of a different city-state and your younger brother Yugyeom will be King of Senary.

Of course the only problem is that you’re the last Princess left. 

Princes, princes, everywhere. In the past twenty years the heir to each city-state has been male. The siblings of the heirs: also male. Son after son after son has been born.

It’s all because of the witch’s curse – something discussed secretly and in hushed tones. That evil witch and her dark curse. A curse which any reasonable person would interpret as: now royalty can marry whomever they want! But no, the stubborn Kings of Morsus remain convinced they can beat this. Convinced they can beat her and end the curse that way.

As though violence ever solves anything. You sink further into your tub, pressing bare feet flat against the ceramic tile. Today should be a time for celebration - normally you love your birthday. Today though, a cold weight settles in your stomach.

Cecil peeks her head in. “Are you done yet?”

“Nearly.” Sliding the rest of the way underwater, you rinse. “Done.”

Cecil nods at your closet. “The King and Queen are expecting you in the greeting room half past nine. I’ve picked out your dress, come out when you need help.” She disappears back into the main room.

Sighing deeply, you stand. You know that compared to most, you’re lucky. You’re a princess, heir to the royal throne of Senary. One day you’ll be a Queen and have all the privileges that entails. There’s just the tiny, little matter of giving up your life first.

Cecil picked a dress of emerald green for today – deep, velvety and thoroughly royal. You slip it on most way, stopping once you reach the ties. That’s when you need help from Cecil, heading to your room and sucking in your waist. After the dress comes hair. Braided, tied and brushed until it gleams in twisted coils atop your head. Then the circlet, a thin strip of pearls to adorn your head. Pearls are Senary’s stone.

Before you leave you pause, staring at your room’s doors. Gathering your courage to push into the hallway. Your walk to the greeting room is a mixture of smiles, well-wishes and averted eyes. The latter from those who know what this day means to you and how you feel about it.  

You’re introduced to the room amidst fanfare, walking as solemnly as you can towards the dais. Your mother and father watch, faces unreadable before your audience. Yugyeom is next, wrinkling his nose in a face unbecoming of the future King. 

You snort as you step onto the dais.

“Morning,” he whispers, moving aside. “Happy birthday.”

“Morning.” Your gaze scans the crowd. “I suppose it is a happy day, isn’t it?”

Yugyeom shrugs, knowing full well how you feel about it. Knowing exactly how he feels about it. Contrary to what people may believe, Yugyeom doesn’t want to be King. He wants to dance, to perform. His preferred stage is very different than the political one he’s being groomed for.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” your father begins, clearing his throat. “It gives me no small pleasure to formerly introduce my daughter, Princess Y/N of Senary.”

There’s applause and cheers. The King raises his hand to stop the crowd before continuing to speak.

“On the morning of her twenty first birthday, we gather to celebrate. Even in dark times, she is proof we have reason to hope.” Your father’s voice rings in the cavernous space. “Though we fight, on the horizon we see peace!”

“But we do not have to wait for that distant peace to be happy – no, no. We are happy right here, right now. Even in the midst of struggle and turmoil. My daughter’s marriage offers us a symbol of our Kingdoms’ great strength. Together we will win this war. Together we will defeat the witch. We will not compromise our values!” The King nods to an answering cheer. “We will not give up our traditions, nor will we upend our lives to tyrants!”

“This strength continues today. Tonight.” Now your father turns, offering you his hand. You accept despite the sinking feeling in your heart. “Today our daughter is of marrying age. She will continue the proud tradition and marry a prince from one of our neighboring Kingdoms: Unum, Duo, Tribus, Quattor or Quinque.”

There’s no mention of Septum.

Of course not, since Septum is the land which cursed us all. The King of Septum is the whole reason for this war. When it first began, no one knew what was happening. It seemed odd, coincidental, there were so many sons.

Eventually there was a tipping point though, where people began to suspect something was wrong. That point was when the witch began to attack your city-states in earnest. Slowly, the truth came out.

There was debate about punishing the King of Septum further, but by general consensus it was concluded that the King had suffered enough. He and his wife had no heir at all. No children. Rumor has it their only son was killed by the dark witch when the curse began but no one knows for sure.

Since that time, the Queen of Septum hasn’t conceived another heir. Though if this is due to the curse or lack of trying, no one knows. To this day Septum has no son. Which means no Prince of Septum for you to consider marrying.

Your father nods, raising your hand in his. “A decision which begins tonight at our royal ball! We look forward to seeing you there. May the seven city-states of Morsus reign long and proud!”

His words echo back, shouted by the citizens of Senary. You own gaze lowers as you struggle to control your anger. Neither your father nor mother told you about this ball. No one asked. A ball. Just more embarrassment to add to the list.

You smile through your anger for the rest of the ceremony. Smile as each citizen passes through your queue. Nodding and responding as they wish you happy birthday. It’s only once the greeting ceremony passes and your family exits that you explode.

“A ball?” Your voice echoes as you’re ushered into the back chamber. Quickly, your mother shushes you.

Your father winces. “Pumpkin, I’m sorry.” His expression is long. “You know I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“Then change it,” you grunt, stomping past. “You’re King, for god’s sake. Change the rules!”

“I’m a King,” he corrects gently. “One of Seven. And unless there’s a majority vote, the laws of our nation stand. Our customs still stand.”

“The laws and customs are stupid.” Grumbling, you flop downwards on the couch. Making your mother wince at the new wrinkles in your dress.

Your father looks on sadly. “I don’t disagree.”

Yugyeom sits down, gently kicking your leg. “This whole thing is dumb.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Your mother looks distressed. “The rule is barbaric at best, Charles.”

“I know.” Your father frowns. “But unless we want to go to war with the other city-states as well as the witch – we’re stuck. For the time being, at least. Once we win this war –"

A noise of frustration leaves your throat. “Once we win? We’ve been fighting for twenty years now. At what point do we throw in the towel and admit things should change?”

Sighing deeply, your father looks out the window. “I agree,” he says softly. “I argue this point every Council meeting. You will see once you take part, why this cannot be.”

You fall silent, unsure what else there is to say. The one good part of turning twenty one means you’re now eligible to sit on the Council. A weekly gathering of leaders and heirs to Morsus. At last you’ll have a voice. At last you’ll have a say.

Exhaling, you allow some of your anger to ebb. “So. Who all is invited to this ball?”

Your father relaxes. “Love?” he asks, turning hopefully towards your mother. She rolls her eyes, indicating that yes, he can leave. 

Your father kisses you on the forehead before sliding out the door. “Happy birthday,” he whispers.

“The other six Kingdoms.” Your mother is all business now, pulling a wrinkled slip of parchment from her dress. “And their heirs.” She walks to the couch, shooing Yugyeom aside. “Unum and its heir, Im Jaebum. Duo and its heir, Wang Jia Er. Tribus and its Heir, Park Jinyoung. Quattor and its heir, Choi Youngjae. Quinque and its heir, Kunpimook Bhuwakul.”

“Mom.” You roll your eyes. “No one in the entire Quinque calls Bambam anything but.”

“Yes, well.” She shrugs. “They’ll all be in attendance, along with their courts.”

“So no one from the outside?” You glance out the window. “No common folk?”

Slowly, your mother shakes her head. “Not tonight, love.”

You glance at your brother. “At least I’ll have this one to keep me company. That is, if he doesn’t spend the entire night with Bambam.”

Yugyeom grins. “Hey. He’s my best friend. Who else would I talk to during these stupid – I mean, special – occasions.”

You laugh. Yet another reason why this whole thing is so ridiculous. Some of these boys – like Bambam – you’ve known your whole life. Quinque lies directly to the south of Senary and your entire childhood was filled with the sounds of Bambam and Yugyeom laughing. Bambam is more like your little brother than anything else - how could you ever marry him?

Bambam is out, much to the chagrin of your mother. The Queen of Quinque is her best friend and you know your mother would have loved to be sisters-in-law. The other heirs you don’t really know. Only by name, not by person.

Im Jaebum is the only son of Unum. Famous both in name and in beauty. The city-states of Morsus are circular and Unum sits beside Septum. They often receive the brunt of the witch’s attacks and as a result, have a rather formidable army. An army which Jaebum has led since turning eighteen. There are rumors he slayed a dragon but no one knows for sure if it’s true or not. Either way, he’s a fearsome warrior and leader. Highly intimidating both on and off the battlefield.

Then there’s heir to Duo – Wang Jia Er. Often called Jackson. He’s worldly, speaking at least five languages learned studying at school across the sea. You hear he uses a mix of customs and that he’s one of the kindest, warmest people you’ll ever meet. His people love him – truly, really love him. You yourself have never met him, since he grew up in school so far away.

Park Jinyoung is heir to Tribus, but Park Jinyoung you know. Jinyoung has been by your side ever since you can remember. Nerdy as hell, constantly carrying a book and your best friend in the world. You suppose it wouldn’t be terrible to marry Jinyoung – let’s face it, he’s grown up well since you two were children. But then, you’ve never really had that spark. Up until now only friendship.

After Tribus is Quattor, whose heir is Choi Youngjae. You don’t know him either, though you hear he’s close to Im Jaebum. Youngjae is said to be the quiet, gentle type. Fitting since Quattor is the most peaceful of the city-states. Filled with artists, humanitarians and farmers. There’s an old joke that it takes years to get anything done in Quattor, since its citizens are so fair. They look at problems from all angles, sometimes coming back a second or third time before making a decision.

And then there’s Septum, its castle visible from your own, though you’ve never been. Septum is often hit with the worst of the witch’s attacks along with Unum. Your mother absolutely forbade you from visiting before you came of age though, due to the danger - you guess that will change now. The heir to Septum won’t be in attendance tonight, since there is none.

Septum’s court will be, though - all the courts will attend. Groaning, you slide your face into your hands. “But what will I wear?”

Your mother practically beams. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

Peeking through the gaps in your fingers, you look at her. “As long as Yugyeom and I aren’t matching… do your worst.”

After all. How much worse could things possibly get?  

[Master List]

[purple-possibilities]

Sharin-games (Part II) [MadaKaka]

Also on FF and AO3!

not sure if I should be posting the whole chapters here anymore if they’re also over there. Opinions?

SUMMARY: Tatsumi talks a lot. Everyone else listens and nods along, until they start yelling. You will graduate with a degree in Uchiha Eye Bullshit by the end of this. Certificates will be delivered by Kamui, but only if we can figure out how to transverse universes.

AN: Here is the second part of Chapter 3!  It starts immediately after the previous chapter ends, so you might want to read that again to brush up on what’s going on.  This one is +8k words, so buckle up!  Every time I’ve gone back to edit it, another 300-500 words got added on.  So I’m just gonna stop and post this baby already.   Hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes!  Point them out and I’ll do my best to fix them. (I need a masterpost for this now, don’t I?)

When Tatsumi turned her attention back to Kakashi, she was cold and clinical.  The playful woman from before was washed away, and in her place was the level stare of an icy queen looking down on her servants.  It was a look most Uchiha wore constantly, albeit unintentionally; derision and superiority swirled into a face both gracefully beautiful and stomach churningly hideous.  Whatever comfort Kakashi had felt upon first meeting her—that part of him that compared her to Obito, thought she might even be a close ancestor of his—vanished under that callous gaze.  He wanted to leave—he needed to get out of there.  This was not a woman he could trust, this was not a woman he would let near his— 

“Relax, Kakashi,” Madara murmured, as wisps of his chakra slithered soothingly into Kakashi’s system.  Madara’s thumbs gently stroked Kakashi’s shoulders in a pacifying gesture, unconsciously.  “There is no one in this world Tatsumi loves more than her brother.  She will not go back on her word.”

“They took his eyes, you know,” she offered with faux nonchalance, as her hand drew closer to Kakashi’s face.  It was slow, reluctant, but the speed—or lack thereof, rather—made things all the more ominous.  While Kakashi was not one to scare easily, the idea of letting her hands touch him—touch Obito’s gift—opened a fear Kakashi had not felt since Rin’s death.  Still, he remained unaffected on the outside—as he had spent hours painstakingly training himself to do.  “They killed him right in front of me.  My twin—do you know what it’s like to have a twin, Senju?”

Kakashi did not reply, but it didn’t seem like Tatsumi was waiting for an answer. 

“We had never been apart, not for long.  We even unlocked our Sharingan on the same day.  I thought it was hard watching my brother marry—start a new family without me.  But nothing compared to that moment.”  Her hand reached his face, finally, fingers resting gently—ominously—on his brow.  Kakashi could not help but tense, but for some reason, having Madara at his back kept him in his place where he otherwise would have ran.

“There were too many of them.  It was just the two of us, against thirty of them.  Shinobi from Kaminari—those bastards are always after our eyes, them and the degenerates from Mizu.”  Madara’s grip tightened on Kakashi’s shoulders, whether in sympathy or anger was anyone’s guess.  Tatsumi’s fingers lit up with medical chakra, but Kakashi did not feel it enter his system.  “Most of them targeted Tatsuki, thinking he would have the better eyes.  Men are always like that, especially the thieves.  Their chauvinism blinds them.  But, it meant that they left me mostly alone.  I managed to kill five of them, before Tatsuki went down.  Stabbed in the back.  Cowards!” 

Tatsumi’s chakra entered Kakashi’s system with a jolt. 

It was nothing like the calm and security he felt with Madara.  While Madara’s chakra felt warm—like cozying up to the fire on a cold day—Tatsumi’s chakra scorched, fried along his nerves and left him on alert.  It felt like static, but more controlled, slower—almost molten.  While it didn’t hurt, it was decidedly uncomfortable.  Was it a symptom of her mood, or just the feel of her chakra in general?  Kakashi could not tell.

“When he fell, time seemed to freeze.  I could only see the sword in his back.  The sounds around me muted; I could no longer hear the clang of their katana against my kunai.  I could no long hear the echoing bark of triumph the Kaminari-nin cried out.  Of all the sounds that flooded the battlefield, I heard only the choking, garbled breath of my twin, as his lungs filled with blood.”  Tatsumi’s chakra seeped into his system, much slower than Madara’s had.  Was it her hesitance, or a necessity?  Again, Kakashi could not tell.  But he knew the feeling she spoke of.  Had felt it himself, had dreamt about it every night.

“Colour faded, until all that was left—” 

“—was red,” Kakashi finished.  Tatsumi’s eyes widened.  Kakashi continued.

“There was a pulse, as if the world echoed your heartbeat—”

“—and a moment of disbelief,” Madara murmured, “as though it was all just a cruel nightmare.”

“And then, the pain,” Tatsumi whispered, eyes scrunching shut, remembering the break in her heart as the other part of her soul was ripped away from her.

“The pain…” Kakashi and Madara echoed unintentionally.  Each stilled, the memory of gaining their Mangekyou flashing in their minds.  Kakashi felt Rin’s scorched blood on his hand, the terror in his heart amplified to unheard of proportions.  Madara saw his father fall—disbelief at seeing a man so powerful, so great succumb to the carnage of battle—as he and Izuna raced to save him, even though all was already lost. 

The trio sat in silence, lost in their own hell.  Tatsumi lowered her head, her goggles sliding down her forehead to once again rest on her nose.  To distract herself, she fiddled with the lenses, adjusting them so she could see into Obito’s eye.

“I was frozen,” she continued, as if the words would give her strength, “and I would have died—should have died.  But they could not touch me; that was the power of my Mangekyou.  A few had taken Tatsuki away, while the rest stayed to finish me off.  I don’t know how long I stood there, but the next thing I felt was burning pain.” 

“Susanoo,” Madara whispered, one of his hands leaving Kakashi’s shoulders to rest on Tatsumi’s head.  He stroked her hair soothingly, once, twice, before tucking an errant strand behind her ear, his palm resting against her left cheek.  Though her right hand remained on Kakashi’s face, the other rose to close lightly around Madara’s wrist.  Her chakra continued to flood Kakashi’s system, slowly seeping deeper into his brain than Madara had.  Kakashi could feel it oozing along foreign pathways—even towards his neck—felt it prodding at things he didn’t know existed.  

“I don’t remember killing them.  Just spectral, skeletal hands around me, crushing them.  Some tried to flee, but of course I could not let them get away.  Not when it was their fault Tatsuki was dead.”  The foreign chakra in Kakashi seemed to quiver, not unlike a livewire.  Still, it did not jump from where it was supposed to be. 

“When I awoke from the daze, I was surrounded by dead bodies, but Tatsuki wasn’t there.  So I followed the footsteps, the blood.”  She barked a sharp laugh.  It was cold, and warbled almost unnoticeably at the end.  “Fools,” she scoffed, in a tone Kakashi had heard Madara use time and time again.  A cruel smile lit her face, and Kakashi, in passing, thought that he was glad her eyes were covered.  It was not a look he wanted fully engraved in his brain.

“They thought that their comrades could handle me.  Perhaps they thought to gain four eyes that day, instead of two.  So they did not cover their tracks—didn’t even move that far.  I saw one of them bowed over Tatsuki’s body, a glass jar filled with fluid in one hand, an eye in the other.  The other two stood by—one was disgusted by the sight, the other, entranced.  Before I knew what was happening, they were consumed by black flames.”  Her hand moved from Madara’s wrist to fiddle with the lenses once more, before returning to its previous position.

“I can still hear them screaming”—from behind the lenses, Kakashi saw a flash of red—“and I revel in it.”

Kakashi gulped unconsciously. 

“That is what we do to eye thieves,” she finished, her chakra in his system feeling all the more heavy.

“But he is no thief, imouto,” Madara spoke softly, his thumb brushing so, so gently against her cheek.  “Though hard to believe, he was gifted the eye, after sacrificing one of his own to save an Uchiha.  When that Uchiha unfortunately died, he passed on the eye in thanks—” 

“It is not allowed!” she snarled, head titling up to glare at her clan head, her fingers on Madara’s wrist clenching to stop their trembling.  Kakashi watched a tear slide down her cheek from behind her goggles.

“It is forbidden,” Madara conceded, still speaking in that soft voice Kakashi had never heard before today, his thumb erasing the evidence of her sorrow, “but it is a fitting repayment to a life debt, is it not?” 

“But for an Uchiha to gift one of our eyes to a Senju—”

“I wasn’t a Senju, then,” Kakashi offered, feeling, for Obito’s sake, that this woman needed to know.  Her eyes shot back to him like a slingshot, scrutinizing his expression for any hint of dishonesty.  “I was born to a different clan—now extinct except for me—and adopted into the Senju for my own safety.  They rightfully believed that if an Uchiha were to find out about the Sharingan, I would be killed.  They took me under their protection.  Your clan-mate did not betray you.”

The information seemed to placate Tatsumi, somewhat.  Though on the outside, her demeanor would have seemed unchanged, the Sharingan picked up on the slight softening of her mouth, saw the tendons of her neck untense, her shoulders fold slightly inward in relaxation.  Her chakra inside of him seemed lighter, as if it wasn’t pressing against his nerves.  It was still uncomfortable, but the pressure he didn’t quite notice building up in his head suddenly vanished, present only in an abrupt rush of relief. 

“How long ago was the transplant?”  Tatsumi’s voice didn’t hold the warmth it had when the pair had first arrived, but it was no longer the cold, angry tone from before. 

“About ten years ago.” 

Tatsumi was surprised.  “You were young, then.”

Kakashi shrugged.  “We both were.” 

“Too young to know any better?”

Kakashi’s response was a self-depreciating smile behind his mask.  While others might have missed it, the Sharingan picked up the twist of his lips under the thin, stretchy fabric.

“Do you feel any pain?” she asked, letting go of Madara’s wrist to grab the penlight she had previously returned to her smock.  There was a click, and then Kakashi was temporarily blinded as Obito’s eye became illuminated.

“Not right now,” Kakashi hedged, causing Tatsumi to sigh.

“Don’t tell me he’s as bullheaded as you, nii-chan,” she huffed, shooting Madara a playful glare from behind her spectacles.  Madara smirked, shrugging one of his shoulders with faux nonchalance. 

“I’d say I’m more of a goat,” Madara teased, causing his cousin to snort out a laugh.  Her answering smirk, however, was a cause for concern.  Raising her spectacles back onto her forehead—as not to miss even a second of his reaction—Tatsumi struck.

“I see…so you’re admitting you’re horny?”

Madara’s face flushed red, from his chest to the roots of his hair and even the tips of his ears.  The hand on Kakashi’s shoulder tightened, while the one that had been on Tatsumi’s cheek balled into a fist and bopped her on the shoulder in a light reprimand.  Tatsumi started laughing raucously, tears streaming down her cheeks, though her chakra remained steady inside of Kakashi’s head.  He would have loved to turn around and see the expression on Madara’s face, but could not move so long as her chakra remained.

“You—Tatsumi—I—” Madara sputtered—yes, sputtered—as he searched for a retort.  It only seemed to make Tatsumi laugh harder.  When Kakashi began to chuckle lowly, Madara felt a lightning bolt zing down his spine.  So Madara did what he always did when he got uncomfortable; he began to yell.  “You’ve been spending too much time with those Inuzuka!”

Tatsumi only laughed louder.

“I told you to stop associating with those ruffians!” Madara scolded, trying to tame his blush and regain control over the situation.  He was only making things worse.  “They’re a bad influence, teaching you such language!”

Tatsumi only laughed harder.

“Maa… I like the Inuzuka,” Kakashi defended. “And besides, anything that can make a pretty lady laugh like that is worthwhile.”  His words were meant as empty flattery, but they made jealousy coil in Madara’s stomach.  He became eerily silent, and soon, Tatsumi’s laughter faded. 

“Nii-chan, don’t be like that!” Tatsumi whined, a smirk on her face as she dried her eyes with the back of her free hand, “you know I’ve been asked to help train their vets.  I can’t not spend time with them.  And your Senju is right; they’re great company.” 

It was Kakashi’s turn to blush, at being openly referred to as Madara’s.  It was strange; he didn’t know why it made his pulse skip, or his palms sweat.  Madara, on the other hand, seemed to settle down at the concession.

Tatsumi’s penlight was back in hand, and she was on topic once more.  “Alright, Senju—”

“Kakashi,” the man himself interjected.

“Okay then, Kakashi.  Do you feel pain when using this Sharingan?” she asked, pulling her spectacles back down and fiddling with the lenses, the penlight returning to his eye.  Kakashi did not miss her change of phrase; with Madara it had been ‘your Sharingan,’ but with Kakashi it was ‘this Sharingan.’  But despite the different wording, the atmosphere had returned to the lighthearted one from before.  It seemed that Tatsumi was easily distracted once the air was cleared.

“It does hurt when I use it,” Kakashi offered.

“And…?”  Tatsumi pressed, a wry smile on her lips.  Dragging out answers from stubborn patients was old hat for her.

“…And the longer I use it, the longer it hurts.” His mediocre answer just got him another stare down.  He sighed once more.  “It will throb even after I stop utilising it.”

“For how long do the effects last?” 

“Depends.  Hours to days, sometimes it doesn’t stop hurting for weeks.”

“And let me guess, you get blurred vision, see spots, and occasional bleeding from ruptured blood vessels?” she listed, fiddling with the spectacles’ lenses again.  “And don’t think of lying to me—I can see the effects on this Sharingan.”

Kakashi sighed.  “Why even ask the question if you know the answer?”

When she continued to give him a Look from behind her goggles, he sighed again.

“Yes, sometimes, not often,” he answered—in order—reluctantly.  It didn’t feel safe revealing his weaknesses to someone he had only just met—and had wanted to kill him only moments before.

Tatsumi nodded to herself, pulling a contraption from the chair’s handle into view.  It was an eye speculum—a two-pronged device used to hold the eye open—and she made quick work of attaching it to Kakashi’s top and bottom eyelids.  He hadn’t felt so exposed in a long time.  Had it not been for Madara standing at his back, Kakashi would certainly have been panicking by now.  Instead, he was just wary, watching closely—well, as closely as he could—though still confident that Madara would intervene with any foul play.

“This Sharingan has not been getting the required chakra.  However, it seems suddenly flooded.  I can see the atrophied charka capillaries adapting to the new influx of energy.” 

“I adjusted the central retinal chakra artery and vein just before coming here,” Madara interjected, causing Tatsumi to nod thoughtfully.

“That would help.  The surgeon was obviously not an Uchiha, or else the chakra pathways would have been handled better.  There are a few other chakra arterioles and venules that need adjusting, but that’s fairly simple,” she nudged those into their proper places with her chakra as she spoke.  Once more, Kakashi felt tingling in and around the Sharingan as the chakra flow flooded the area.  She continued, “The physical surgery itself, however, is almost flawless.”

“Almost?” Kakashi wondered, feeling a pang at remembering just who it was who implanted Obito’s eye. 

“Yes.  Was it a field operation?  There are small pieces of debris stuck in your eye.  Small rocks, or dust, I’d wager.  Why haven’t you had anyone look at this?” her sentence ended sharply, the voice all medics adopted when their patients weren’t taking proper care of themselves.  Both men were more than familiar with the tone. 

Kakashi ignored the slight rebuke. “Is it infected?” 

Tatsumi rolled her eyes at his avoidance.  No wonder Madara liked him—her cousin became obsessed with people who didn’t give him what he wanted, when he wanted it.  “No, the Sharingan’s chakra is… cushioning the debris, creating a protective barrier around them.  And they’re quite small, almost unnoticeable.  But they’re causing a strain on the eye nonetheless.  I can extract them now, but it will be painful.”

“Do it,” Madara instructed, eager to find a solution.

“Kakashi?” Tatsumi asked, ignoring her cousin.

“Is that the only problem you see?” Kakashi wondered, wanting to get all the information before he made a decision either way. 

“No, there is still more to investigate.  But you really need to get the debris out of this eye as soon as possible.” She explained, preparing herself for the minor operation even though Kakashi had not acquiesced yet.  “While any Sharingan user can strain their eyes from overuse, when your chakra level lowers, the debris lose part of their cushion, cutting at the eye.  I can see areas of thickened scar tissue where the debris lay, in addition to the typical buildup from general use.  Through repeated therapy, we can eliminate the scar tissue, which will also improve functioning of the eye.  You would have to come biweekly for that, at least at first. 

“Then there is also the issue of your misplaced and missing tenketsu, and from my precursory look, I can see that not all the chakra pathways associated with activating one’s Sharingan have developed deeper in your brain—your hindbrain, specifically.  Seeing as you yourself didn’t activate this Sharingan, your brain did not gain the pathways an Uchiha would have developed.  I can tell that you received this eye when it had only two tomoe, and that you developed a third and also the Mangekyou, by the charka pathways this Sharingan has gifted you.  But the ones that come with the initial activation, and the first and second tomoe, are not present.  We’ll need to build them manually, by splitting your existing pathways and connecting them to the proper locations.”

When Kakashi remained silent, Tatsumi sighed, getting ready to work.  “I want to start the procedure now.  It’s simple, and while it will hurt as the debris move through and around this eye and your eye socket, there is a very rare chance of complications.  Once I finish this, we can see about the more complex issues.”

Kakashi wanted to ask for reassurance, for promises that Obito’s eye would not be harmed.  But he could tell that questioning Tatsumi’s oath would only make her mad, and he wanted to keep this warmer atmosphere over the tense one from before.  When he bade his acquiescence, she got to work. 

Tatsumi’s chakra slithered back from deep within his brain towards the back of Obito’s eye.  It encapsulated one piece of debris, before slowly pulling.  She was not lying when she said it would hurt.  He could feel it carving through his eye, felt the strain on the Sharingan’s center pupil as it was held open so the debris could be safely pulled out.  After the first piece was removed from the eye, Tatsumi directed it over to a kidney dish attached to the chair’s left arm.  It fell into the metal dish with an almost silent ping—only audible due to his enhanced hearing—adding credence to her explanation. 

Tatsumi repeated the process several times; through it all, Kakashi didn’t once flinch.  Other pieces of debris were pulled out from under his eyelids, seeing as they were not in the eye, but around it.  Those somehow hurt more.  This was because they were pulled from deeper in his skull, and/or they brushed across the delicate nerves surrounding the eye. 

After about forty minutes of constant work, Tatsumi pulled away, cutting off her chakra and wiping the sweat from her forehead.  There was a small, but visible, pile of dirt in the kidney dish.  She had removed twenty-six pieces from various parts of the eye and the area surrounding it.  Kakashi’s Sharingan was sore—tender, even—and he could feel a headache coming on.  Having the Sharingan open for so long, especially when his chakra reserves weren’t fully recovered, was taxing.

Tatsumi detached the eye speculum, removed her goggles, and then went into the next room.  She returned with a small cold pack wrapped in gauze, and sat down once more.  Lightly brushing Kakashi’s hair from his forehead, Tatsumi applied the cold pack to the area just below his brow, but not directly on top of his eye.

“You can’t deactivate it, can you?” Tatsumi stated more than asked, brushing her thumb gently over his scarred lid so the eye would close.  Kakashi complied without complaint.  Though she had an idea as to what his answer would be, she had to ask anyways. 

“No,” he affirmed. “Keeping the eye closed helps, but it is constantly using my chakra.”

“Can you help with that?” Madara probed, eager to know.  When he thought of bringing Kakashi to his cousin, that was his aim.  However, as it always seemed to happen when he visited Tatsumi, he got a little more than he bargained for.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s,” she drew out the vowel, knowing her answer wasn’t what Madara wanted to hear.  The man was always so impatient.  “It’s possible.  Probably.  Maybe.  Maybe probably.  But not an immediate priority.” 

Madara scowled.  “I’m telling you to make it a priority.”

Tatsumi gave him her signature Look™.  Kakashi wondered idly why her face wasn’t stuck like that yet, she used it so often.  “Other issues take precedence.  And besides, it won’t be possible for him to turn off the eye until the correct chakra pathways are in place.  Fixing the damage to the eye is my first priority, and then we can work on turning it off and on.” 

Madara continued to scowl despite her explanation.

“There is no point to a switch if the proper wiring isn’t in place, Madara.  And besides, I can’t construct tenketsu out of nothing.  Plus, moving his existing tenketsu into more efficient places won’t help, not without access to the lines which control the chakra input.  In fact, doing so would just run the risk of cutting off chakra flow to other vital places, resulting in necrosis, or even gangrene, which would in turn necessitate amputation.  It’s much more important to send chakra to essential areas, to begin reversing some of the atrophy that’s already occurred. 

“Once we’ve”—she raised her hand to list off with her fingers—“gotten rid of the scar tissue, improved chakra flow to the area, and reversed the atrophy, his pain will be drastically decreased, and his usage of the eye more efficient overall.  Then we can worry about him being able to control turning it off and on.” 

When Madara still didn’t show signs of backing down, Tatsumi exhaled a long—long—suffering sigh, and let her face fall into her open palm.  Her hand slid down her face, revealing an expression filled with condescension which she leveled on her stubborn cousin. 

“Okay Madara, we’ll just rush into things and start the surgery now,” she started, sarcasm and false cheer dripping from her tone.  She turned to Kakashi, and he immediately wished she would look back at Madara.  “It’s not safe, especially since your eye needs at least a day to recover from the stress I already put on it, but that’s what Madara wants.  By the way, the splitting of chakra channels is a super dangerous procedure, like, top level delicate surgery, especially since it’s in your brain.  The chances of you dying are about fifty-fifty on a good day, and right now, that number is raised to an eighty-four-percent risk of failure.  That’s supposing the eye itself doesn’t just explode because it’s already under stress and not as structurally sound as a fully healthy eye.  Which, by the way, would likely also kill you, or at the very least, cause some sort of irreparable brain damage.  But hey! Madara over there wants me to get it done now, so I guess we’ll just ignore the risks and barrel on with the surgery, alright?”

“Tatsumi—” Madara tried to interject exasperatedly, but Tatsumi was on a roll.  Kakashi surreptitiously sighed in relief, now that her attention was off him.  She could be a scary lady—it must have been another Uchiha thing. 

“Oh no, Madara, don’t interrupt me now, I’m still not done!  I haven’t been able to sleep for the past week, and the one time I might have been able to catch a few hours, you oh so kindly burst in, but I’m sure that won’t affect my ability to perform this super delicate and complex surgery.  I mean, he’s just a Senju, right?  Hell, he’s adopted.  No one will care!  Let’s just kill the bloody Senju you brought me, after making me swear on Tatsuki’s soul that I would do him no harm.  Okay?  Let’s just go ahead and do it because—”

“Tatsumi!”

“—the great, and powerful, Uchiha Madara, head of the illustrious Uchiha Clan—which apparently has given birth to only one genius, the aforementioned Uchiha Madara—doesn’t want to listen to the Clan’s youngest and brightest Sharingan specialist and Ophthalmologist because hey, apparently ‘Dara-sama over there is actually an ophthalmologist now, just because he knows enough anatomy to tinker around with the Clan’s doujutsu after that same ophthalmologist gave him a few lessons!  He’s aaaaalllll of a sudden surpassed her expertise, aaaaaalllll because he wa—”

“TATSUMI! That is enough!”  Madara’s face was red, his hands unintentionally clenching into Kakashi’s shoulders.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Dara-niichan~” Tatsumi's smile dripped acid. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

 “—were you saying something?  I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your own hubris.” 

Madara glared as steam rose from his ears.

Now, Madara’s glare was a thing of legends.  In fact, even his ‘friendly’ look was renowned as terrifying.  But Tatsumi was desensitized to the look (all one had to do was stand behind him when he was… relieving himself—or, trying to at least—and the intimidation factor would be forever lost).  So it wasn’t surprising that she was just smiling sarcastically back, unflinching, and blinking innocently.

Kakashi would have been chuckling at the scene, if it weren’t for all the information he had gained from that… exchange.

“If the risk is that great,” Kakashi began, drawing the Uchiha duo’s attention, “I’m not going through with it.”

“Kakashi—” Madara started, only to be interrupted—between these two, his fearsome reputation was basically a joke. 

“I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, and what you’ve done for me already, Madara, Tatsumi-sensei.  But I’ve been getting along just fine as I am; I don’t need to be able to turn the Sharingan on and off, if the risk is my life, or damage to Ob—to the eye.”  Kakashi made to get up, but Madara’s hands on his shoulders pushed him back down.  Tatsumi cast him a strangely sympathetic smile.

“Kakashi, those were your odds were I to perform the surgery now.  Meaning, right this second, without preparation, and without you and that eye in an optimal state.  There are several procedures you would need done before we can even know with certainty if turning the eye on and off will work, let alone be worth the risk.  This isn’t a surgery that’s been done before—not to my knowledge, at least.  I will have to do a lot of research—and probably talk with the Nara to see if I can have access to their medical encyclopedia—before I know just how risky it will be,” Tatsumi explained.  Madara made a mental note that he would need to speak with the Nara Clan Head on Tatsumi’s behalf.  He would also need to come up with a better explanation than the truth of the matter.  If others found out about this experimentation, the Uchiha would be at an even higher risk of being attacked for their doujutsu. 

Tatsumi continued.  “But the procedures I wanted to do first—mainly clearing up the scar tissue and working on the atrophied areas of this Sharingan—are very minor procedures that I do quite regularly for many Uchiha.  Scarring occurs from overuse in general, and Madara’s been in here enough times before he and Izuna switched eyes to corroborate that.”  Kakashi looked up towards Madara, who gave an assenting nod.  

“It will take time, of course,” Tatsumi went on to explain, “because I’m going to be cutting off pieces of scar tissue and using iryou-ninjutsu to re-heal the abrasions—and that’s not something you want to do all in one day.  After a few weeks of that, we’ll work on teaching you how to channel your chakra into those newly accessible areas of the eye, if you don’t show signs of instinctively picking up on them.  Either way, I want to give you some chakra manipulation exercises, which Madara can continue to help you with.  You’ll have to come in biweekly for me to check on the Sharingan and make sure you’re not causing more damage to the eye, but there is very little risk to your life or the eye itself.  By training the eye with these exercises, you will lower the risk of damaging the Sharingan when using it full-tilt in battle.” 

Kakashi was silent for a moment as he absorbed the huge influx of information.  When he was sure he understood the extent of what Tatsumi had outlined, he asked the most obvious question: “Then, where does the risk come in?”

Tatsumi sighed, brushing her hand through her hair with her free hand—the other still holding the icepack above Obito’s eye.  Noticing this, Kakashi went to take the pack from her hand, but she brushed him away. 

“Well,” Tatsumi began with a sigh, preparing herself for another long speech, “splitting chakra channels is always risky, as is any form of surgery—brain surgery even more so.  However”—she smiled reassuringly, one finger in the air to punctuate her point—“it’s not a new procedure.  It’s usually used for shinobi who have had their limbs mangled in some way, or those who have undergone chakra-related accidents in which the pathways fused and need to be re-divided.  In rarer cases, typically due to birth defects—either mild, where a shinobi has trouble sending chakra to certain areas not immediately evident when beginning to learn chakra mastery, or in extreme cases, evident in the appearance of unnatural incidents of necrosis and gangrene in infants—there have been instances when the surgery was used to add chakra pathways to the typical locations.”

Kakashi was feeling really lucky that he was a genius at this point.

“In any of these cases,” she continued, lifting the icepack and putting it below Obito’s eye now, “the necessary tenketsu for the pathways are not created, but instead are moved.  The Sharingan cannot see tenketsu, as you probably know from experience, but tenketsu can be detected when directly infusing charka to a patient.  This would be the riskiest part of the procedure.” She paused to make sure Kakashi was following along.  When he nodded, Tatsumi continued.

“Placement is key, especially since we’re dealing with the brain, and as such, each area currently getting chakra is very important as well.  We would be mimicking the standard Uchiha tenketsu layout.  But, in order to put the tenketsu into the proper place, I would have to use my own chakra to nudge your existing tenketsu into position, or even attempt to split them. 

“I’m not sure which would be a safer option at this time,” Tatsumi confessed, a bit sheepish.  “Typically, moving the tenketsu would be best.  However, since we are dealing with the brain, I’d like to make sure that moving any of your existing tenketsu won’t cause a problem.  If there could be any damage from removing any of your tenketsu from their current area of occupation, then I would have to split them.  Since they’re essentially gated-channels, doing so is both complex and runs the risk of completely ruining the tenketsu.  Losing the tenketsu would then result in either too much or too little charka being fed to that area, both of which hold their own dangers.  As well, any spilt tenketsu would be half the size of the original tenketsu, which would mean you would have to be much more careful in channelling chakra to that area.  So if I can avoid doing that, it would be much better for you.  If not, while not ideal, I do think the benefits gained would outweigh the cost. 

“There’s also the matter of your heritage to take into consideration.  Due to the fact that you are not of Uchihan descent means that my knowledge of my clan’s physiology might not line up with your physiology one-hundred percent.  If I could get access to your clan’s health records—if there were any kept—that would be a big help.” 

Kakashi hummed thoughtfully.  “I see.  Then, what are the chances of successful surgery?”

Tatsumi sighed once more, resting her chin on her closed fist.  “I can’t give you those numbers right now,” she admitted, scratching lightly at her chin.  “I need to do some research, and plan out the procedure.  I have performed chakra pathway splitting in the brain before—on Uchiha who have overused their Sharingan and caused the chakra pathways to fuse, and on those with birth defects.  While not standard procedure, the risk involved is far less than an eye transplant—when the correct preparations are in place.  Most important for me would be getting your Clan’s medical records.  If they have any physiology charts, especially related to the eyes and the brain, those would be a big help.” 

“Maa… I don’t think I could get those for you.  But, I’m pretty sure we’re like any other clan without a kekkei genkai…” Kakashi admitted sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck.  While the Hatake Clan was around at this time, Kakashi couldn’t exactly walk up to them and ask for such records. 

Madara, however, began planning how to extract the information from the existing Hatake Clan.  He had found them located towards the coast of Fire, in the direction of the Lands of Lightning and Water.  News from the area stated that they were planning on joining up with one of the Hidden Villages—likely Konoha, based on what Madara knew of Kakashi’s origins, although rumour had it that they were also considering Kumogakure.  It would be easy to sneak in and steal the records during the move, or to demand access to them as part of their entry to the village.  Scheme after scheme ran though his mind, proving why Madara was not a shinobi one wanted to trifle with.

Tatsumi was unpleased by that information.  “Absolutely sure would be better.”  She caught the look on Madara’s face, and knew what it meant; she would be getting those records, from whatever nook or cranny they tried to hide in, regardless of lock or safe or fortress.  Nothing was safe from a Madara with a Plan.  Tatsumi kept this information to herself, however.  Let the hedgehog figure things out for himself.  She suppressed a smile.  “In that case, I’d like to perform a series of tests on you, before we even think about splitting your chakra pathways.”

Kakashi was wary, but he managed to stay as aloof as always; Gai would be crying tears of dismay at his Hip and Too Cool Attitude™ by now.  That thought brought up a wave of melancholy that was promptly ignored.  “What sort of tests?”

“And how long would they take?” Madara butted in, as impatient as always when demanding information.  He could wait an ungodly amount of time for a trap to spring—well, as long as it was within his projected schedule.  Otherwise he got antsy and impatient.  Not counting the giddiness Madara hadn’t quite grown out of—probably never would, Tatsumi wagered—which overtook him at the penultimate moment before his plan was set to begin.  Tatsumi almost wanted to increase the anticipation by keeping quiet, but she didn’t want to be subjected to an irate—err…more irate—Madara when she really just wanted to go to sleep already.

“Well, some of them I would be able to perform while working on healing this Sharingan,” Tatsumi explained.  “I’d just be tracing your chakra pathways, monitoring chakra levels in different parts of your brain—all pretty standard stuff.  It’s part of the yearly Uchiha physical.  I don’t know what your clan does in terms of eye-care, but it’s very standard for us.  The Hyuuga probably do something similar, I’m sure, considering they’re even more obsessed with their eyes than we are with ours.”

Kakashi rose a single brow at the derision.  He should have known it was coming.  Could any Uchiha go more than a couple of hours without claiming their superiority to the Hyuuga Clan?  Kakashi did not yet know the answer, but he was suspecting it was in the negative.

“Hey, we’re not the ones with a crazy seal keeping our Sharingan from being stolen, and enslaving every member save the current Clan Head and his direct heirs!” Tatsumi defended, slamming her free fist onto her knee in emphasis, cheeks puffing up irately under her glare.  It was too adorable to be considered scary, although her red, spinning Sharingan eyes made the top half of her expression fearsome; it was a polarizing contrast.  ‘This woman is very expressive,’ Kakashi noted.  He was once again struck with the idea that she and Hashirama would get along smashingly.  They were similarly contradictory.  “We love our brethren more than our eyes, and you’re damn right I’m proud of that!”  Hashirama would be in joyful tears at this point.  So would Gai, as a matter of fact.  Kakashi suppressed that thought once more.

“Prissy barbarians,” Madara scoffed in agreement, nose up in the air. 

Kakashi rose two eyebrows at that. 

“Saa… ‘Dara-chan,” Kakashi began, innocently, looking up slightly with his heavy lidded eye, “I never thought I’d hear you calling someone else prissy…”

“HEY!”  Madara yelled, leaning over Kakashi’s shoulder to glare at him.  Tatsumi laughed.

“See?  If even nii-chan can tell they’re prissy, then they must be absolutely prim, puritanical, persnickety prudes!”

Tatsumi was met with four (well, three-and-a-half) sky-high eyebrows over deadpan expressions.

“Oh, you two can just shut up!” she huffed, nose up in the air and head twisted to the side, not unlike the pose Madara had just been affecting.  “Alliteration is a sign of intelligence, just as puns are the highest form of humour!”

Madara’s stoic façade broke first as a smirk overtook his lips.

“Who’s prim, puritanical, and persnickety now?” Madara teased.  Tatsumi turned to level him with her glare for the nth time that afternoon.

“Don’t forget prissy,” Kakashi interjected, causing Madara to nod along sagely, and redirecting her ire.  Changing tactics, as intimidation was obviously ineffective, it was Tatsumi’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“Reeeeaaaally funny guys.  You’re just a couple of comedians, huh?”

“It was pretty funny,” Kakashi added unnecessarily, hand on his chin in a facsimile of thought.

“Yes, the highest form of humour, as you well know,” Madara just had to add.

Tatsumi did the only thing she had left; she pouted.  “I hate the both of you.”

“You could never hate me, imouto,” Madara rebutted, ruffling her hair.  She swatted at his hand—to no avail—pouting some more. 

“And I’m actually starting to think you like me,” Kakashi piped in, his eyes creasing into happy little crescents.

Tatsumi scoffed, “I’m purposely going to mess up your surgery now.”

“Ah, your pride in your reputation as the Uchiha Clan’s youngest and most—what word did you use…?” Madara trailed off.

“Brightest,” Kakashi helpfully interjected.

“Ah yes, thank you—youngest and brightest Sharingan Specialist and Ophthalmologist will not allow you to blotch such an easy procedure.  Especially if that meant losing the faith of your beloved brothers and sisters,” Madara condescended, the irritating smirk back on his face.  It was Kakashi’s turn to nod sagely, as if he had known her for years instead of merely a couple of hours. 

Tatsumi could see why Madara was interested in Kakashi.  They shared the same humour, and were both quick on their feet.  They made a great team, too.  She wondered over how that translated to the battlefield.  They would be unstoppable, especially if she could mend the gap between Kakashi’s physiology and the donated Sharingan. Tatsumi was beginning to understand just why Madara was insistent on her solving the issue, and was determined to put her all into the project.  It would be interesting getting to know Kakashi better over the next few weeks.  But for now… 

“Oh, just get out of my office already,” Tatsumi commanded, getting up from her stool and nudging it with her foot into its proper corner.  It rolled gently towards its place, stopping with a light thud as she directed her two human migraines towards the exit.  She even made a point of opening the examination room door and walking up to the store’s exit—pouting all the while.  She opened that door with a flourish, and a glare, but—as Madara had teased—her pride as the youngest and brightest Sharingan Specialist and Ophthalmologist didn’t let Kakashi leave on that note. 

“Before you go to bed, ice that Sharingan again—around the eye, not on the actual eye—and then come see me tomorrow for a more in-depth treatment plan.”  She forcibly grabbed one of Kakashi’s hands to place the still cool icepack in it.  “After five this time, if you would.  I need my beauty rest.” 

“That you do, imouto,” Madara teased on his way out the door. 

He really shouldn’t have said that.  As soon as Kakashi was beside him in the street, Tatsumi struck.

“Oh, just go and make-out with your boyfriend already and leave me alone!” she called with a wink, before firmly shutting the door in their stunned faces.  If either had bothered to look at the other, they would have noticed their cheeks had reached matching shades of red.  (Tatsumi, of course, had this image forever etched in her brain, and was cackling gleefully at being responsible for such an amusing outcome).  Neither was eager to show the other the effect of Tatsumi’s words, however, and they both kept their eyes forward—decisively away from the other.

“She—that’s—she’s just—” Madara stuttered.

“Joking—yes, of course—” Kakashi picked up, clearing his throat while rubbing at the back of his neck.  Madara was quick to agree.

“Yes, joking, joking—she’s horrid, that one.”

Kakashi nodded a little too exuberantly as they both turned in tandem to begin walking away from ‘Sharin-go, Sharin-gone!’ and towards nowhere in particular. “Hmm.  And she really shouldn’t be introduced to Hashirama.”

“Noooooo, no-no no, they cannot, under any circumstances, meet.  Ever.”  Madara could imagine the chaos now; Tatsumi with her too cute pout and Hashirama with his depressive aura, feeding off each other and making a fool out of Madara as he apologised just so the duo would cheer up… only to have them insult him some more.  He got enough of that from the two of them separately, he really didn’t want to see the result of their powers combined.  He just couldn’t help but fall into their verbal traps.  Kakashi was just as bad, actually… they shared a rare talent.

“Tobirama on the other hand…” Kakashi brought up, the safer topic brushing away his blush.  Madara, however, wasn’t so pleased.

“You’re not introducing my imouto to that baboon!” Madara yelled, his face getting uncomfortably close to Kakashi’s in his rage.  Kakashi remained aloof as he walked on, ignoring the way Madara’s warm breath had caressed the exposed skin of his cheek and temple.

“I don’t know,” Kakashi began thoughtfully, pulling out his last surviving copy of Icha Icha Paradise and tapping his chin with its spine, “he could be just what she needs to calm down—”

“Don’t you even think of it, Ha—Senju!” Madara had to correct himself at the last second; they were in public and he couldn’t call Kakashi by his actual last name where other people could hear.

“I really think he’d be good for her…”

“That’s not even funny Kakashi!”

“They could bond over science and jutsu theory,” Kakashi added, only to garner a hard stare.  He, of course, soldiered on, flipping his book open one-handedly.  “And just think of how excited he’ll be to learn all about how the Sharingan works…”

Madara’s eyes opened wide, both offended at the idea that his cousin would betray the clan, and that the bastard would get his hands on knowledge of their doujutsu.  His protest was emphatic.  “SHE—WOULD—NEVER!”

“It wouldn’t be forbidden, since he’d be an Uchiha by marriage…”

“ABSOLUETLY NOT!” Madara was now offended by the idea of the bastard joining his clan.  “And besides, that only holds true if he marries into the Clan!  He would have to forsake his name as a Senju, which that proud bastard would never do anyway—not that I’d let him into my clan!”

Kakashi casually flipped a page of his book, a smirk hidden under his mask but not from his voice.  “Just think of it—Uchiha Tobirama—”

Madara was red once more, but this time for an entirely different reason.  “Don’t disgrace my name by attaching it to that—that filth!”

“You’d be his Clan Head, though.  He’d have to listen to you…”

Madara actually paused to think it over for a moment.  But it was a moment short lived.  “Not worth it.”

Kakashi was not deterred.  A part of him just loved riling the other man up.  It was strangely even more fun than the general chaos Kakashi left in his wake.  He couldn’t quite understand why, but found no need to stop.  “Think of all the great things they could accomplish… I truly think it would be a great idea.  He’d probably love how angry it made you, too…”

“That’s ENOUGH, Kakashi!” Madara snarled, standing in front of Kakashi to block his path.  But oh, who would have guessed it?  When Madara reached out to grab Kakashi’s shoulders and shake the annoying man, there was a poof and a cloud of smoke, which revealed a log in his stead.  The actual Kakashi was already half-way down the block.

“Maa... ’Dara-chan gets mad at such silly things~” Kakashi called sing-song over his shoulder, with a playful, two fingered salute.  Madara—in a flagrant misuse of shunshin—caught up.

“I will destroy you if I have to have that—that—worthless Senju scum as a brother-in-law!  Absolutely not Kakashi!  I—will—end—you!” Madara fumed.

“But think of how pretty their kids will be~” Kakashi’s eye smile could be as cutting as any kunai.

“NO!  Don’t you dare!”  Madara’s exuberant denial did nothing to stop Kakashi from daring.

“Tobi’s pretty red eyes, Tatsumi’s pretty black hair… no one will even know when they have their Sharingan on!  It’s actually tactically in their favour…”

“Dammit Kakashi!”

“Think of your nieces and nephews, Madara!  It’d be an unparalleled advantage~”

“DON’T PUT THAT IMAGE IN MY HEAD!”  Madara had a dirty, dirty mind, and was now trying not to imagine Tobirama making love (not fucking, that would be too much) his sweet, delicate, imouto (he was going a little delusional in his rage, to think of Tatsumi—known within the Clan as the Dragon—as sweet and delicate).

“They could name their first ‘Tatsuma,’ isn’t that fearsome?  Uchiha Tatsuma, or maybe Senju Tatsuma… both sound great, but which do you prefer, Madara?”

“RIKUDOU SENNIN’S BEARD, KAKASHI! I SWEAR BY THE SIX PATHS, I WILL TEACH YOU THE MEANING OF PAIN!”

AN: Yeah, so I was bragging before that this baby would be up a week from the posting of chapter 3.  Well, you now know that Kakashi and I have the same policy on deadlines.  I got lost on the road of eye physiology.  This chapter just kept getting more and more technical, and there was an increasing amount of jargon, and then debates with myself on what was too much jargon and what was too little…so yeah.  It’s here now though, so lets all high-five each other for that.  If you want anything explained because it was too technical/complicated, or you just want to talk about Uchiha Eye Bullshit, drop me a line!  I have so many headcanons for those damn copy eye wheels that I could probably talk about them forever.  This is totally not where I thought I would be when I started writing MadaKaka.  Next chapter will probably have some more eye-bs, as Madara and Kakashi have a fun time getting Obito’s eye to work better.  Maybe, idfk yet.  So I reeeeaaaaaalllllllyyyy hope you guys are still interested in ophthalmology.  Because that’s what this story is about now.  I should make one of the relationship tags: Author/Sharingan