#wouldn’t set foot on a battlefield anymore

[kankuroplease]

No because Mama Senju would scrub the ground with that kept woman, pregnant or not💀🤣

Warrior v. 80% bark 20% bite. Truly amazing how she’d birth Madara.

[loosingmoreletters]

Another part of that Wen!WWX AU ft. still-a-hostage LWJ

The missive in his lap burns, his uncle’s hands spelling out impossibility.

“Did you read it?” Lan Wangji asks Wen Ying, who smiles apologetically.

“I had to,” he says, justifies, “for security measures.”

Yes, of course he had. And even without, Wen Ying probably already knew that Lan Xichen— that his brother— Lan Wangji’s fingers tear into the paper of the letter. Lan Wangji has always followed his brother’s lead, tried to conduct himself in a manner he thought wouldn’t cause Lan Xichen any trouble when he knew himself to be difficult to be around for others. He’s never wanted his brother’s position, his burdens.

Xichen was injured, we don’t know if he’ll wake, his uncle writes.

Lan Wangji is still his brother’s heir, would become acting sect leader when Lan Xichen was incapacitated under normal circumstances.

“My cousin is the best healer in our generation,” Wen Ying says as if Lan Wangji doesn’t know himself, hadn’t seen the scar bisecting Wen Ying’s torso that was Nie Mingjue’s work as much as Wen Qing’s.

“My brother’s life,” Lan Wangji says, “my sect. Let me speak to them.”

Let them brand me a traitor, he thinks, as long as you let them live.

“To what end?” Wen Ying asks. “Lan Wangji, what authority do you have over your sect anymore? Lan Zhan, I don’t mean to hurt you, but it has been four years.”

Four years of inaction, his sect nearly run to the ground. Who is even left still? So many of their elders had been killed on the assault of the Cloud Recesses and they would’ve died on the battlefield before allowing their children to set a foot on it. Lan Wangji, meanwhile, is healthy and has been one of their strongest fighters even before the war. There’s no one to oppose him.

“I am my brother’s heir,” Lan Wangji says. “They will acknowledge me.”

I’ll make them, he doesn’t promise, but Wen Ying’s expression turns soft anyway.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll talk to father, Lan zongzhu.”

It is for the best. It is this or death and Lan Wangji wouldn’t allow his sect to die.

They’ll have to make concessions, but if they stop fighting now before the Wen decimate them entirely, there’s still something left to hope for.

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Kate maybe?

It has always been you

Summary: Loving your best friend and crushing on your mentor. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Kate Bishop x female!reader, mentor!Natasha Romanoff x female!reader

Warnings: angst with a happy ending

Word count: 1179

a/n: based on this request, except Yelena is changed to Kate :) I hope this is what you had in mind!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me

Kate rambles on about her latest session with Clint as she and Y/N sit in the tower’s kitchen, eating lunch together. However, Y/N isn’t really listening. Instead, she is staring at Natasha, who is on the other side of the room, talking to Steve. She has had a small crush on the older woman for a while now, nothing serious. She knows it couldn’t happen, Natasha is her mentor after all, but she can’t help feeling flustered around her.

“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” Kate glances behind her. When she sees Natasha, she rolls her eyes. Of course. “Isn’t she a little old for you?” She mumbles, turning back to stabbing her dinner.

“She isn’t that much older than me.” Y/N scoffs, finally turning back to Kate. “Besides, didn’t you have a crush on Clint at some point?”

Kate shushes her quite violently. “You aren’t supposed to tell that to anyone! And that was different, I was a teenager and he was my idol.”

“Right.” Y/N nods. “Wouldn’t that be considered weirder? You two have like a big age difference.”

Kate groans. “It’s not like I still have a crush on him.”

“I know.” Y/N giggles. She enjoys teasing Kate. “Who do you have a crush on?”

Freezing, Kate turns to look at her plate. “No one.”

That’s a lie. Kate has had the biggest crush on Y/N since they met, but she hasn’t dared to do anything about it. Mostly because they’re best friends and because of her crush on Natasha. She’s nothing like the redheaded woman. Y/N could never someone like her.

Y/N hums, slightly disappointed. “Well, whenever you do get a crush, they’ll be the luckiest person to have gotten your attention.”

Kate chuckles. She shakes her head and moves the food around her plate, suddenly not feeling so hungry anymore. “I doubt it.”

“What do you mean? You’re so kind and protective and seriously, the perfect girlfriend material.”

“Can you just drop it.”

“Oh, sorry.” Y/N drops her head down, eating the rest of her food so she could leave the room quickly. Kate sighs, glancing at Y/N. She didn’t mean to sound as harsh as she did. She’s just getting so tired of hiding her feelings from Y/N. “I’ll see you later.” Y/N stands up and sets her plate to the sink before leaving the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Kate stared at Y/N’s back as she leaves, desperate to yell after her. She doesn’t know how long she can do this.

Y/N doesn’t see Kate until the next day. She is training combat with Natasha when Kate walks in. “Hey, Kate!” She waves at her, which gives Natasha an advantage to kick her legs from under her and straddle her.

“Eyes on me when we’re fighting. You don’t have time to talk in the battlefield.”

“Sorry.” Y/N mumbles, quite flustered by the closeness. “Though I do enjoy this position.”

Natasha slaps Y/N arms before standing up. “And here I thought I’d take it easy on you today.” She pulls Y/N up with a slight smirk. She is aware of her little crush, but she isn’t too worried by it. She knows it’s innocent. Although, that doesn’t stop her from teasing her.

Kate frowns at the sight in front of her. She shouldn’t have come here. The door slamming turns Y/N and Natasha’s attention to the door. Kate is gone. “I’m gonna go see what’s wrong.” Not giving Natasha time to answer, she jogs after Kate.

Knocking on Kate’s door, she waits for it to open. The door opens. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have training with Nat?”

Y/N’s brows furrow. “Yeah, but you seemed upset so I wanted to come and check.”

Kate sighs. She shakes her head. “Just go back to Natasha.” She goes to close the door, but Y/N slips her foot in between.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing.” Kate goes to sit down to herbed since Y/N isn’t going anywhere.

“Kate, you’re my best friend. I know when you’re lying to me.” Y/N steps fully inside and closes the door after her. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. First Kate got upset about crushes, and now she is pouting because of who knows what.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What?”

“You!” Kate yells, standing up. “You are the problem. Us being friends is the problem.” Her arms swing around the room in anger. “I don’t want to be your friend!” She turns to look at Y/N when the silence goes on for too long. She’s crying. Kate lowers her shaking hands. She didn’t mean to say those things, she didn’t mean to make Y/N cry. This isn’t her fault. Idiot.

Y/N plays with her fingers, looking down at them to hide her sadness. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles. “I didn’t realize you..you felt that way.” She shuffles her feet, glancing at the door. “I’ll go then.”

Before Y/N can leave, Kate grips her wrist. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.” She groans, not knowing what to do or say.

“Then explain or let me go.”

Kate stares at Y/N, who stares right back at her. Tears have started to build up in Kate’s eyes as well. After a while of silence Y/N nods and pulls her hand out of Kate’s. “I’m in love with you!” Y/N freezes at the door. “I have been in love with you since I saw you, but I’ve never said anything because you like Natasha and I thought I couldn’t beat her.”

Y/N turns around, even more tears steaming down her face, but from a completely different reason now. “I’m in love with you too.”

“What?” Kate’s eyes widen. “But- but you like Natasha.”

Y/N shakes her head. “It’s just an innocent crush, nothing serious.”

“Oh.” Kate looks at Y/N for a while. “Then I’m not going to wait any longer.” She strides up to her and pulls her into a kiss from her waist. They stumble backwards a bit, but once they find their footing, Y/N puts her hands in Kate’s hair, pushing her closer.

Panting, they back away from the kiss, still staying close to each other. “Wow.” Y/N has a wide smile on her face.

“Wow indeed.” The pair’s head snap into the direction of the third voice. “I really didn’t need to see that.” Natasha is half cringing, half smirking as she leans against the wall. “Glad you two finally admitted your feelings though.”

Y/N groans, hiding her flushing face against Kate’s neck while she tightens her hold on her, also blushing. “Yeah, well, she’s mine now. So, you better watch out.” Natasha snickers at Kate’s threat. She lifts up her hands in fake surrender and walks away.

“She’ll tell everyone.” Y/N mumbles.

“At least everyone will know.” Kate rubs her hand on Y/N’s back. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[badlydrawntransformers]

*cocks gun* Ship’s Haunted

Duuuuuuude okay so my friend @cuppajj has an AU where the Lost Light is a titan and the Shattered Glass version has sparked so much horror art and writing it’s great and I love it here’s my attempt at horror I hope you guys like it this isn’t my forte whatsoever

Ever since the Great Cybertronian War came to an end, there’d been no shortage of ghost sightings all across the galaxy. The spirit of one of the former leaders of Cybertron drifting aimlessly through the halls of his former office. Ghostly, unnatural fog over battlefields, where when you walked through, you could still faintly hear gunfire. The Tetrahex Ripper showing up again in their old territory, but far less deadly than they had been in ages past. Part of a duocon desperately searching for their missing half.

But what there had really been an abundance of in the past few decades were accounts of ghost ships.

You were always a little skeptical about the supernatural, but you found an interest in it regardless. The ghost ships were your favorite thing to research. They weren’t the actual ghosts of ships, of course, but rather old, abandoned ships, drifting through the cosmos with hardly any sign of their crews to be found.

Sometimes the explanation was obvious. One account of hearing the voices of the old passengers of a ship was just the security system malfunctioning, resulting in the audio recordings playing throughout the ship. Another ship was abandoned when the fuel ran out halfway between galaxies, prompting the crew to send out an SOS to pick them up, forgetting to turn it off when they boarded the other ship.

But one day, while you’re sitting in Maccadam’s with your fellow ghost hunting buddies, somebody brings up a peculiar case: the Lost Light.

Rumored to have been under the command of the last Prime, there’d been numerous sightings of the run-down space cruiser drifting around in random parts of the galaxy, but if anyone got too close, it would speed away seemingly completely on its own, not letting anyone board. 

One of your friends suggests that maybe some of the old crew is still alive in there, but that’s quickly shot down, since nobody’s seen it dock on a planet to restock food and fuel. You make a joke about how people have said you look like the Prime, so maybe you’d be able to check it out. Everyone laughs. Your friend pays the tab, and you all decide to go see a new horror movie that everyone’s been saying is terrible.

That was about five days ago, and now here you were, staring down the Lost Light itself, your little ship absolutely dwarfed in comparison to it. You take a deep intake, and try to send it a ping: ‘Hello, may I come aboard?’

The only response you get is an uncomfortably long radio silence, before you spot a door opening up to the vehicle bay towards the underside of the ship. Steeling yourself, you drive your tiny ship towards the dock. As you park, you see the door close behind you. No turning back now, you suppose.

As soon as you stepped out into the hangar, you very quickly noticed that it wasn’t completely silent. There was the distant hum of something, perhaps the engines, and the shrill creaking of old metal. You figured the ship wasn’t as structurally sound anymore, and watch where you step as you head further into the great ship.

Even though you’re completely alone, you can’t shake the feeling of something watching you through the cracks in the walls. Was your friend right about some of the old crew still being alive? You call out to see if anyone responds, and your voice echoes through the corridors, remaining completely unanswered.

There’s a total lack of any life in this place. It creeps you out. What you wouldn’t give to see some crude graffiti- any sign that someone still alive had been here before you. It’s clear that you’re the first living bot to set foot on the Lost Light in years. 

You come across the laboratory, where two of the greatest scientific minds Cybertron had ever known were rumored to have worked, their old experiments sitting scattered on the lab tables. You ignore what looks at first glance to be their grayed forms sitting intertwined in the corner.

The bar, no doubt once full of music once upon a time, was a mess. Tables and chairs were thrown about all over the room, and there were shards of glass smashed on the floor. Some of the energon bottles behind the bar itself were still full, but you didn’t trust the contents enough to drink them. You take a rest here on one of the barstools, and check your comms to see if anyone sent you any messages.

…why did it seem that you hadn’t received any comms since you boarded the ship?

You decide that after you check out the bridge, you’re getting the hell out of this place. This was far more unsettling than you were comfortable with, frankly.

The creaking of metal got louder as you approached the captain’s quarters. You feel like your spark has jumped up into your throat. Was the captain still alive? There had to be someone in there, still trying to manage the decrepit starship.

You slowly open the door…

[yandere--stuck]

(This is the anon about ur zagreus fic! sorry for sending this as an ask, your submission box is closed as far as i can tell,, either way, enjoy <3)

You’d seen the Prince of the Underworld, for the first time, on the day you set foot here.

Dying was a lot to take in, to no one’s surprise. One moment you were merely falling asleep, the next you were clawing your way to the surface of a crimson river. You were sore all over, legs trembling as you walked. (No, gods, did you even really have legs anymore? Were you walking or floating?) It all went by in a haze. The person (shade, man, god?) listing your cause of death after startling awake, and having you take your place in the line.

Your mind drifting to better times became much more difficult when you’re faced with the near obliterating gaze of Lord Hades, looking straight through you for his judgement. Maybe you wouldn’t be as eager to sink through the floor if he hadn’t shown his displeasure with the person in front of you for an ‘ignorant request’. Was it possible for shades to cry? You supposed you were about to find out.

Then, a flash of red made you jump, cutting in front of you as you were about to take another step forward. You blinked, and there was now a man. His skin gray and hair dark, he had a striking resemblance to Hades on his throne. Even the wreath matched. But his actions couldn’t be more of a stark opposite with the stern god in front of you. He cooed at the dog, the exact words he was saying lost on you, and it leaned toward him. It was such a ridiculous sight, the gigantic Cerberus sticking its tongue out and wagging his tail, craning its head for more scratches underneath its chin, that it broke you from your panic and made you muffle a laugh.

Not even Lord Hades snapping at, what you assume to be, his son to cease bothering the dog, got you nearly as scared again. You never got the chance to, in one way or another, thank him. Despite being dead, you were certain you would’ve never lived it down if you burst into tears at the moment of your judgement. Your sentence was given, and received.

Elysium is beautiful.

It’s a privilege to be here, of course you’re aware. To share these hallowed grounds with the greatest heroes of history, ones you’d only heard wild tales about, and to roam these fields of endless green is a wish for many. The reward you received for a lifetime of servitude as one of Artemis’ hunting attendants, and never falling out of your goddesses' grace while doing so. But, even in a gorgeous place such as this one, there are still things left to mull over. Besides regrets made during your life, you sometimes think back to your first day here, and to the prince that saved you from humiliation, without being aware. You had made your mind up to, if you ever encountered a second time, to pay your dues.

There are few things for the dead to indulge in. Rumours are one of them, especially ones as grand as the supposed escape attempt of the prince, Zagreus. The whispers among the shades spoke of an upcoming battle between him, Theseus and Asterius. You’re sure everyone is welcome to watch as Theseus enjoys fighting in front of as large of an audience as possible. The thought makes you giddy, too. Not only do you get to see the prince again, you can show him your appreciation in such a direct way, too. You’d used flowers for the red of your banner, at first. It took ages and wasn’t bright enough for your liking. With enough travelling through the fields however, you came across more and more puddles of dried blood. Whose it used to be, you don’t know, but you used some. They wouldn’t be needing it anymore, would they? Your clothes were still dyed with flowers, though.

When the rumours turn out true, you’re one of the first in the line. You’d expected most of the visitors to be in support of the minotaur or his friend, but you weren’t anticipating being the sole person cheering for Zagreus. There’s no time to care for it. Your shame died along with you. Either way, you’re much more enthralled by the scene unfolding in front of you. The movements are so quick they’re hard to keep track of, a flurry of attempted hits, the prince dashing around as he shoots a flurry of arrows. (You swear he catches your eyes one, and as selfish as the thought is, you think you made him smile.) A spear pierces his chest, and his body falls to the ground.

He returns, dies, returns, returns and dies. You are there for every battle. At one point, you pick up the habit of waving at him as soon as he enters the battlefield, and he returns the gesture. During the fight, you call out his name, your voice lost in the ocean of cheers. (Once again, it’s a self indulgent thought, but Zagreus always moves towards the part of the arena opposite of you, glancing in what you think might be your general direction.) To soften the ache in your heart every time he is forced to sink to his knees, you observe. He lasts longer every time, gets better at dodging, manages to hit more, and then- No longer is he the one forced to accept his losses. Just like during his fights, it’s impossible to tear your eyes away from him.

“I dedicate this victory to you, my Good Shade!” And yet, it still comes as a surprise. To have him staring up at you, smiling widely, as if you aren’t merely one dead among many, on an entirely different, lower level than his. In your journey to show your appreciation for him, you’ve only gained his in return. (Though you’re certain that this is the most personal interaction you’ll have with him; two very separate existences, only interacting for a moment.) You lean over the railing of the arena, and give a smile of your own.

~~~

some noootes…! like i said this was inspired by your yandere!zagreus post,, i wanted to write a little something from reader’s perspective <3!! i added the attendant of artemis detail out of self indulgence,,, they wouldve been sworn to have no relationships during their life so they might not immediately realise how out of the ordinary zagreus is acting later on :P and them using zagreus’ blood for their banner for him was just ironic to me lmao,, hope u enjoyed it <33!!! thanks for ur writing <3

OH MY GOD ANON THIS SO AMAZING!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SUCH A TALENTED WRITER OMG!!!!! I love your prose and the way you write out actions! This is so creative and, using Zag's own blood for the banner?? UGH. I can't get over it. This drabble my beloved.....

I love this sm and I can't thank you enough for submitting this, this is just. Incredible!!!!! :DDDD

[zizygy]

Being a Faerie Knight Sucks

cw: impalement prompt: Write a story using tropes that are comfortable for you as a writer mine were: Situation: Escaping Character: Rebel Setting: A forest

Air whistles through his lungs. Malekodet wished that it wouldn’t, it’s just another thing he needs to disguise, and bird calls and cracking branches can only do so much to hid him. If it were autumn, he’d hide now. Find a pile of leaves to sink into and let the rot and mulch take over. He’d leave a locus so that he could return before rotting away completely. If it were autumn. He presses a hand to the bleeding hole in his chest. It’s the height of spring. Shakran will be at the height of his power while Malekodet is left in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar magic. The flowers here will reveal him before they hide him, there’s nothing to do but keep going and hope an advantage presents itself.

He stirs the wind to whistle louder while he ties his coat around the still bleeding wound, allowing himself the relief of a hiss as he fights the urge to pass out. His hand tightens around the spear that stabbed him and he considers making a final stand. If he was still among the bodies of his brethren, he would. There’s honor to be found in a death on a battlefield, where his blood will mix with his companions’. But it’s too late for that now, he’s already fled. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep going.  There’s still a chance of getting out of here.

The forest naturally forms around a path and he doesn’t bother leaving it. This is Shakran’s territory, he’ll have a much easier time navigating the vines and thorns. Malekodet’s best chance is to wrap the wind around himself and keep running.

And it works for a while. He stumbles on roots and rocks but he always keeps going. Until he reaches for the wind and it doesn’t respond. It’s still there, he can feel it ripping at his clothes, stabbing across his wounds, but he doesn’t have the magic to convince it to listen to him anymore, and worse, it’s turned against him. The next time he trips, the wind is there to punish him, blowing *hard* as he desperately windmills his arms to try to get his balance back. He drops his foot but lands badly, the ankle twisting under him and sending him to the ground.

He scrambles to get back to his feet but the ground falls away beneath him, until he’s hanging by one hand from the lance. And he hears laughter.

It makes him feel colder than anything the wind’s been able to manage and he takes the only action available to him. He lets go of the spear and drops into the void.

Or. He tries to. His enemy controls the very ground, and instead of falling to his undignified but at least strategically important death, he lands *hard* on his back, driving all remaining breath from his body. He can’t get up, can’t move as a dark figure approaches the ledge.

Shakran looks resplendent against the setting sun, the light reflecting like human blood off of his armor and the flowers on his pauldrons emphasizing his figure. Malekodet tries to summon the words to curse but his traitorous breast refuses to fill with air. All he can do is wheeze. Shakran bends down to grab the spear and as he moves from the sun, Malekodet can clearly see his face. The smirk.

“Your self sacrifice is admirable, but ultimately futile. You’ll find the rest of your life much easier if you tell me what I want to know.”

Malekodet bares his teeth in a snarl.

Shakran sighs and raises the spear. “That’s what I thought.”

The spear drives down, straight and true and final and Malekodet whistles one last breath. But his life doesn’t end with a flash of pain. The pain continues as the tip piercing through the previous wound, through blood and muscle and bone, and comes out the other side. Then Shakran *lifts* the spear, and with it, Malekodet’s body.

A powerful motion picks Malekodet off of the ground and into the air, his arc stopping an arm’s length from the lord. Shakran thrusts and Malekodet can *feel* the weapon slide through his body, and his body slide toward his captor, until Shakran can grab his face, nails digging into his cheeks.

“Don’t worry knight. We are to become very well acquainted.”

[silentprincess17]

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Thank you to @braidy-maidy, @zeldaelmo and @zeldadiarist for your help betaing!

Relationships: Link/Zelda Link/Mipha- Onesided Link & The Zora Children Mipha & Revali (Legend of Zelda)

Contains spoilers for AOC. This is my take on the Heart's Escort Mission- specifically what you get at the end of that.Basically- I turn my angst gun on another character whoopsie but I don't leave Mipha high and dry I promise!

Tags: Unrequited Love, Heartbreak, Healing, Emotional angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Link had just got back from the battlefield, and he’d left Mipha there, albeit reluctantly. She insisted she would be the one to check over the Zora troops, alone, “I’ll be able to heal them as I go along Link. Why don’t you go back to the Domain and rest whilst I finish up? You’re not wounded, are you?” He replied in the negative, or well, he’d shaken his head anyway. He’d remained with her still, but she’d sort of stammered for a while, something about final preparations, and it was okay for him to leave. Link wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t want him to stay, but he hadn’t heard her clearly through what seemed to be perpetual rain on Ploymus mountain, and Mipha had become particularly jumpy around him lately, so he opted to leave her be. He just assumed she meant preparations for the healing she was going to do- and maybe that was a private thing? Or maybe she wanted to ask him to train at some point and it was preparations for that? Not that there was much need for it anymore, with the Calamity destroyed and sealed away, but he missed his childhood friend and would like to help her if she wanted it. Just before he left, she’d clutched his arm, and had asked if he could wait until dinner for her because she wanted to tell him something. He saw no reason to decline, so he’d given her a slight nod and then moved to leave.

As he meandered back through the twisting pathways, he realised that it wasn’t that late, but for some inexplicable reason he felt tired. Sunset had just fallen over the Domain, and now the luminous stones started to glow and fluoresce. It truly was a beautiful place, although… he wasn’t a huge fan of the way the water flowing the walkways had started to creep through his metal boots. He sighed, it had been a spur of the moment decision to wear his Soldier’s Armour, he had put his Champion’s Tunic through the wash multiple times since the Calamity fight and it was still drying in his Guard’s Chamber. He felt strangely bare without it, and he certainly missed the increased perception he had whilst wearing it. And, well, for other, uh, sentimental reasons. No, not because the Princess had made it for him. No. Not at all. He was pulled from his thoughts when his foot squelched uncomfortably in his now soaked socks into the metal plate of his boot. The flow of water had never been a problem as a child because he could run barefoot everywhere and no one would care, but now as the Hero it wouldn’t be seen as proper. He would have to polish them later, to avoid rust forming. And change his socks.

He slowly exhaled, it had been a long week of fighting off the remaining hordes of monsters from Calamity Ganon’s revival, today being the day that he had decided to help clear out the remnants in Zora’s Domain. It was funny, because before he wouldn’t have seen a weeklong absence from the Castle as a bad thing, but now… He blushed slightly, before shaking his head. He still had to go clean up, and then eat dinner, because by the Goddesses he was starving, and then meet Mipha… And perhaps he’d teleport back to the Central Tower and then to the Castle. Just to see her again. He missed being by her side, and it left him restless to know he wasn’t protecting her. Somehow over the course of their journey together those feelings of friendship and wanting to protect her had slowly morphed into something else. Or perhaps, he reflected, his reasoning for wanting to do those things had changed. But he could start to smell the aroma of freshly made hasty meat skewers made using the abundance of fleet lotus seeds around the Domain and Link’s stomach audibly grumbled. Ah, food was close, so he hurried the last few steps to reach the Dining Hall.

Just as he was about to go inside, four small bodies ploughed into him, and he let out a startled gasp. They tugged at his boots, and he only belatedly realised it was the members of The Big Bad Bazz Brigade. Bazz was at the forefront with the sword Link had gifted him when they were children proudly strapped to his back. The sword was barely off the ground, though, with the tip jutting into the passageway with every jump he made.

“LINK!” Bazz shouted, a huge smile plastered across his face.

“Hey Link!” Rivan jostled with Bazz and they flailed their arms at each other, with both of them gripping one of his legs. Link looked down and wasn’t sure what to do exactly. Did he try to separate them? Or peel them off him? He couldn’t help but smile at their antics though.

“You’re coming down to our Domain an awful lot recently, aren’t you?” Gaddison, The Heroine, had both hands on her hips but then moved to pull the two squabbling friends off his poor boots. He hadn’t realised how heavy Zoran children were.

Behind them shyly stood Sidon, he was smaller than all of them, and he gripped his Lightscale Trident with shaking hands.

Link nodded at Gaddison, pointed back towards the mountain where the monsters had been. She nodded sagely, understanding what he meant. Link moved to pick up Sidon, he hadn’t been allowed to join Bazz’s group because he was too young, but he still followed them everywhere. Actually, he tried so hard to prove his worth to be allowed in, he’d even climbed Ploymus mountain to face the Lynel there in an effort to prove his courage. Link found him to be adorable, Sidon reminded him of what he was like at that age, keen to please and prove he was capable, but too reckless for his own good. Sidon smiled his trademark smile and wrapped both arms around Link’s neck. Link smiled; aw he was so cute.

“Hey Link! When will you go swimming up the waterfall with us? You’re older now right, do you have your scales yet?” Rivan asked.

He shook his head. He didn’t have scales, and he wouldn’t ever get them because he wasn’t Zoran.

“HE’S A HYLIAN you ninny! He’s not a Zora! He won’t ever get scales like we will!” Ah Gaddison, ever the voice of reason in the group of rowdy boys. She mothered them all, he could remember that from when he used to play at the Domain, and she sprouted logic that the Zora-equivalent of a ten-year-old Hylian probably shouldn’t have, but who was he to judge.

Rivan looked traumatised. “So, we can never swim up the waterfall with Link then?”

“NO.” She paused, “Well, unless someone gives him armour with their scale on it.”

Bazz shoved his shoulder into hers, “Why don’t you do it then?”

She shoved him back, doubly hard, so much so that he ended up slipping in the water and skidding onto his bum. Link suppressed a bout of laughter at his enraged face. “Do I look like I have a White Scale yet Bazz? I can’t give him one if I don’t have one myself!” She bent down and whacked his arm again. “AND ANYWAY, did you not listen to the history lessons we’ve had- you only give your scale to the person you want to marry, basically as an engagement present.” She fluffed her fins around, “And I guess by association love.” She shuddered, “What a disgusting concept. Imagine loving a boy. How desperate do you have to be?”

Link suddenly felt ridiculously embarrassed. He tried going to the shop on the way here, but they didn’t sell the actual chest plate part of the Zora armour and had looked at him strangely when he’d showed them the Greaves and Helm he already had and pointed at his chest. Then again, maybe he should have actually voiced it. He found it bizarre, considering all the other races seemed fine with selling their complete armour sets. He chalked it off as just a Zora thing. But now he knew better. Farore, he had been such an idiot. How had he apparently missed this piece of information? He hadn’t known the Zora Armour was only given as an engagement gift! And to someone you loved no less. No wonder the staff in the shop had looked at him as if he had grown an extra head!

Bazz looked sheepish, scratching the back of his head. “Well, that was the girl side of things, Heroine.”

Rivan looked confused, “Then you don’t love Link?”

Gaddison blushed bright red, “NOT IN THAT WAY! And I’m only 52! That’s not appropriate at all!” She punched them both, “Do you not remember anything about our plan?”

Bazz scratched his chin. “We want to go swimming up the waterfall.”

Gaddison took a deep breath. “Well done, Bazz, son of Seggin. That’s the whole point of this venture, none of the adults will let us go on the waterfall by ourselves because we aren’t that strong.” She huffed and sat down, her legs crossed and both hands holding her face up in what Link recognised as classic-moody-child-face, “We just need some supervision is all. That is what Link would have been ideal for, but he doesn’t have the armour, it was a longshot really.”

Rivan piped up. “WAIT I remember now! Wasn’t this to do with Kodah?”

Up until that point, Link had been watching the three of them squabbling with amusement mostly. He’d been surprised with the revelation of the Zora Armour but how was he supposed to know the intricacies of Zora… courting (?) rituals. It struck him as weird that they hadn’t changed a single bit since when he was a child and when he played with them. Although, it made sense, that they had remained children whilst he had matured, because Hylians aged much faster compared to the Zora. As soon as Kodah was brought up though, he winced. He could still hear her screeching LINNY when he had walked into the Domain with the Princess who had come to recruit Mipha as a champion. It had been mortifying.

Gaddison sighed. “Yes, she said she was making the armour for a Hylian remember! And then that gossip that my mother heard that she was in fact going to propose to the Hero? In case you’ve been living under a rock- that Hero is sitting right there!” She pointed at him, and Link went red-faced, his eyebrows raised high. Oh, thank the Goddesses Kodah hadn’t done anything. He had no idea what he’d even say. How had she ever thought he’d agree anyway- it wasn’t like he’d talked to her properly since when he was four! But then, time passed differently for the Zora… “I thought she would have given it to him by now.” She huffed, “We should have realised that flaw in our plan.”

Bazz was uncharacteristically silent as the three of them sulked over not being able to go up the waterfall. Link felt bemused that all of their extensive planning was over this armour that apparently a lover, in this case Kodah, was meant to give to their loved one (him haha what a joke) so that he could wear said engagement gift and take them to the waterfall. He shook his head, children’s priorities and means to achieve those were always… entertaining to listen to. Bazz suddenly perked up, “Baby Prince!” Sidon looked up from where he had been resting his head on Link’s shoulder. “Didn’t you go blabbing around the other day to the King that Princess Mipha was making someone armour?”

Rivan enthusiastically nodded, “YEAH- you said that King Dorephan was worried about it, so he commi-ssioned someone to get the materials, and he gave them the Zora Greaves!”

Link swallowed; he had a small inclination of where things were going but he wasn’t sure. He pulled out the Greaves anyway and after a round of ohs and ahs, a hushed silence fell over the group, everyone watching Sidon as the small red spots on his cheeks flared a darker red. He sucked in a small breath and slowly nodded.

Bazz nodded, and immediately stood up. “This is a mission for the The Big Bad Bazz Brigade. We hereby announce that we will go searching for this Armour- this is your pre-pre-liminary mission, Rookie Comrade Sidon. We cannot go find Kodah’s armour because we have no clue where it is so that would waste valuable time, but you know where Mipha’s is don’t you?”

Sidon nodded, much more enthusiastically this time. Link held his hands up, trying to get them to stop.

Gaddison stood up then, “Wait, what if she made it for a Zora?”

Bazz shook his head, “We’ll make do. You want to go swimming tonight, don’t you Heroine?”

Link was vehemently shaking his head, and opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. What were they doing? What was he agreeing to?! No, he had to say something, he might not know much about courting rituals, but he didn’t want to wear something meant as a present for an engagement!

“Hey!” They all looked at him, “Is this… okay?”

“We need to ask Comrade Gaddison for that information because we, ahem, didn’t, uh, study the particulars.”

Gaddison paused. “Well, I don’t really know. Do you just propose once in your life and that’s it? I mean technically the scales grow back right? It’s not like you have a gaping hole in your chest. And really, everyone seems to be making one at the minute, so it probably doesn’t hold all that fancy meaning anymore. And Lord Jabu Jabu knows we have so many traditions that no one other than the oldies bother with.”

Rivan piped up, “Princess Mipha is nice too, so she won’t mind right?”

Gaddison nodded, “True, and theoretically, we’re just borrowing it. It’s not like Link here will take it forever or something. It’s just so we can practise going up the waterfall a few times on our own, and then we’ll give it back. She probably won’t even know we’ve taken it!” She shook her head, “I surmise no issues Comrade Bazz. We may proceed.”

“Comrade Rivan?”

“Sounds good! It means we can swim with Link, right?”

Bazz sighed, “Yes it does. Good so, last person, Comrade Link?”

Link blinked. This whole situation had gone from zero to one hundred so fast. He wasn’t even sure what he was consenting to, and he was really confused. Did this armour really matter to the Zora? Apparently, it did to the shop keepers, but maybe he’d just confused them? That was highly likely considering he hadn’t even said anything to begin with. And Kodah had made him one and he’d last seen her when he was four- she couldn’t genuinely believe he would agree to marry her right? But even ignoring that, it made the whole thing seem a bit like a joke- surely the Armour doesn’t mean that much if you’d make it for someone who you haven’t talked to in years? Plus, the way Gaddison was talking, and she was really the only source of actual knowledge on the topic, made it seem like it was something all the Zora did in their spare time. But stealing Mipha’s potentially specific armour for her future husband? That felt really wrong. And he knew Mipha was a very serious person, not at all like Kodah, so he had a feeling this meant more to her. Plus, why exactly was he agreeing - because the kids wanted to go surfing vertically? That just felt ridiculous. He shook his head. No. He wasn’t going to ruin Mipha’s gift for her, um, future husband. It’s not what friends would do.

Bazz’s eyes widened, “Please Link. You don’t… play with us anymore. I know you’re all grown up, and you have like responsi-si-”

“Responsibilities you fool.”

“What she said!” and then Bazz opened up his pouch, “AND we got you a gift! Your favourite from the Domain, Hearty Salmon Meuniere!”

Link sighed, about to decline, but his stomach rumbled again and Bazz shoved the plate into his hand. He always was too susceptible to food. And, they made a valid point. He hadn’t spent much time with them lately and they seemed desperate to go up a waterfall. Maybe this was a Zora rite of passage- he knew when he was younger, he’d been desperate to duel with soldiers, but everyone had laughed at him because he was so young. Perhaps this was the same for them. And who was he kidding- he just couldn’t say no. Especially to food children. And he couldn’t deny a small part of him was intrigued as to what the Zora Armour looked like after all. It was the last one he had yet to collect, having received the Greaves from who he now knew was the king, and the Helm from when Mipha had been recruited. So, even though he felt like it was probably not the right thing to do, he agreed, the reckless and hungry side won out. “One ride up the waterfall. And then we return the Armour.”

A series of exclamations and happy cries of “YES! LET’S GO!” rang out through the Domain.

Next (Part 2)

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter One

Read on AO3

“Miss?” The young man lightly nudged the unconscious woman’s shoulder before him.

Claire felt the tickle of his breath on her cheek, checking for signs of life. Cool slender fingers pressed into her neck and a sigh of relief escaped his chest when the blood pounded through her veins. Her body jostled in the arms of the stranger. He adjusted himself under her shoulders to give more support to her neck before placing a firm backpack under her in his stead.

Darkness wrapped itself around Claire’s body like a vise. The echoes of forlorn and tormented screams lingered in her mind. Her body reeled from the recent trip, seeking peace amongst the waves of unconsciousness. She groaned as the burning pain in her back increased in its appetite for more flesh.

“Dinnae fash miss, I’m going to fetch ye some help. My name is Graham, Graham Munro. I’ll be right back.”

The slick grass grabbed at the man's heels, and his face burned red as he caught himself stumbling down the hillside, almost diving straight first into the dewy grass. Graham slowed his pace to allow his shoes a proper grip on the uneven hill, but broke out into a sprint as the smooth road below met him. He had hiked from Inverness that morning, so had no reliable means of transportation nearby. Graham hoped he could gather the attention of a car driving down the road, one specifically with an occupant strong enough to help him carry the woman at the foot of the stones.

Claire’s body was racked with a wave of nausea and she turned her head to the side to relieve herself of the bile within her throat. Her head split in two from the pressure within. She leaned back against the backpack under her neck and let her eyes close. She pushed back the pain, both in her heart and her body, and focused on flashes of red and blue and a lingering sensation on her lips. Claire reached up to touch her lips, but her arm didn’t allow the movement. She grimaced as the pain that started in her back inched its way towards the front of her body. Her hand rested on top where her child was but it elicited a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, not one of reassurance. She slowly and carefully brushed her fingertips along the outline of her womb, tears springing forth and she tightened her eyes in response.

She wanted to scream, to rage and curse the stones in front of her, but she barely had energy to open her eyes as it was. She wanted to grab Jamie’s head between her hands and vent her frustrations at the Scottish brute, more importantly she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and make her feel safe, but his presence and scent had since faded away in the wind. It felt like eternity between the moments she reluctantly touched the stones and had woken to a stranger’s touch.

After flailing his arms for what seemed like a quarter of an hour and feeling like an idiot during the entirety of the process, Graham finally spotted a streak of shiny black as a car rounded the corner. He started waving his arms vigorously as the car grew larger and larger in view. It slowed to a stop and shuddered as the engine turned off. A man with spectacles pressed tightly against his nose and woman with smile lines sat in the front seats, puzzled expressions at Graham’s appearance at the side of the road.

“Do you need help sir?” An American accent bled through the older man’s voice.

“Aye, there’s a lass at the foot of the stones up on that hill.” Graham squinted his eyes in the sun’s light and pointed, as the words raced out of his mouth with urgency. “I dinnae think she’s hurt terribly but I found her unconscious, thinking she was dead. I couldnae carry her myself and didn’t think it would amount to much wi’ out a car. Will ye help get her to the city?”

“Of course.” The man offered a tight lipped smile. “My wife and I were just going back to our hotel in Inverness.”

The door swung open and he gripped the sides of the car to steady his descent from the car. He limped slightly, a gift from a war king past, but kept pace with the young sprightly man before him.

“Be careful darling.” She offered her husband a small smile and crinkled her eyes.

His wife’s own condition was no better than his, with her hands twisted from the effects of arthritis, and she did not want to hinder their haste towards their destination.

The two men took their journey to the stones in stride, being careful not to slip up on the grass below them. The older man was steady in his ascent, while Graham rushed up in short bursts towards the hilltop, debating between waiting in pace with the older man and getting to the top as soon as he could. The older man made a gesture for him to go on and the confirmation made Graham rush the final stretch up towards the top.

“Miss?” Graham tried to rouse her again by shaking her shoulders.

Claire grumbled out an incoherent murmur in response. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and cheeks feeling a warm flush in her skin, but not enough yet to worry him.

Claire forced her mouth to move but it was hard to place the word. She reached weak arms up to grab the collar of his shirt and trembled to pull on it.

“What- what’s the year?” Her voice croaked.

“Dinnae owerwork yerself miss. My name is Graham Munro and yer gonna be just fine. We’ll take you to the hospital ”

“What’s the goddamn year.” The words were weak on her mouth, almost a whisper, and didn’t create the forceful emphasis Claire desired.

“Why it’s the 17th of April, 1948, what else could it be?” It was a day after the fateful battle, the one that took- no she wouldn’t think about that just yet. It had taken her that long to stir awake.

“Who won?” Claire could clearly see the man in front of her now that her eyes and mind adjusted to the reality before her.

He could be no older than sixteen, with a lanky build and a pockmarked face. His eyes somehow sparkled with the naivety of youth, not yet showing the horrors of the world reflected in their depths. Blond strands obscured his forehead and slivers of his eyes.

“Pardon me?”

Claire set her voice with all the conviction and authority she could muster and shook the collar that was painfully gripped between her hands. “Who won the Battle of Culloden?”

Silence entered the space between the two and Graham tried to hide his baffled expression.

“Did my history teacher send ye all the way out here to chastise me?” He chuckled but the humour faded from his voice as he looked at her grim face.”Well, the English of course.”

Her body fell limp at the words and she crumpled harder into herself. She clutched her arms right around stomach and let the sobs ricochet off of the stones for the world to hear her grief. Hot tears sprang forth and her head hurt even more from the strain of her lamentation. She barely felt the four hands lifting her up as she let sleep win, not able to deal with any of it. The swaying rhythm of their walking gaits lulled her into peace.

***

“Mrs. Randall.” Her body shuddered at the name.

She looked away from the doctor with unshed tears. Her eyes wandered down to the street below. So many sights of joyous families as they strolled along the pavement. She quickly whipped her head away from the sight of a man reaching into a pram before him to pick up the newborn inside of it. He threw her up in the air in his arms and beamed, pecking his wife and daughter with a quick kiss on the kiss each.

The stones had ripped away her husband, her heart, her family, her life. What more could they have taken from her to make their existence only a harbinger of pain and death? She knew. Somehow she knew. It didn’t feel right after she went through, not that anything could anymore. She subconsciously clutched the flat area of her stomach.

“Mrs. Randall it appears that ye’ve suffered a miscarriage. It’s likely the stress of recent events, the dehydration, malnourishment, and burns considered, that…” His voice nulled out as background noise in her mind.

Of course the bloody stones wouldn’t allow safe passage to the both of them. It was a foolish notion. They didn’t even know if the baby could go through the stones when they crested the hill and canons sounded far away on the battlefield. She barely even knew how the stones actually worked. Perhaps they required payment, and they saw fit to take whatever they could from her, the only thing she still had. Her baby’s voice would join the agonising chorus within the stones. She should never have been so foolish. The baby was the last piece of Jamie she had and she lost it, just like Faith. She failed. She failed Jamie. She failed both her children. She failed. She wasn’t strong enough to fight it off.

Her mind seemed to go on autopilot as the hours passed until Frank’s arrival. She originally refused his visit but the doctor insisted, multiple times. She didn’t let herself think of anything besides the rush of cars from the window, their honks, incomprehensible speech, the blurring melodies of the radio, and the squeak of the nurse’s shoes. She hated the bloody noise but it was what kept everything away and her completely falling apart again.

She caught sight of a reflection in the window that made her heart race violently. She gripped the sheets at her sides and tried to calm herself. She tried to look for any difference in Frank’s face from his ancestor’s that could calm her. He slowly approached her side and stopped a good distance from her bed.

“Claire.”

“Frank.” Claire pushed back the venom in her voice, leaving it with a neutral taste.

“I’m back.”

“And I am so grateful.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. With all my heart.”

He reached out his hand towards her arm for comfort, connection perhaps. She flinched and flashes of the deep evil crossed the forefront of her mind.

“Sorry.” Though Frank didn’t know why he was apologising for trying to comfort his wife.

She couldn’t bring herself to smile at him. Or to look into his eyes. His words mushed together into a watercolour of grey, one that Claire didn’t much care for. The only words Claire could seem to retain was something about the reverend.

[lu-undy]

New Sniper/Spy work!

This time I’m going back to the “fluffy request” format. You may send a few lines for an idea, or a bit of dialogue between Sniper and Spy and I will turn it into a short story.

Here is the first one: "Sniper catches Spy reading a book, the title of which is "Solitude, But Two". More curiously, the Frenchman stares and blushes..."

As always, I recommend reading it from AO3, following the underlined link, the formatting is better there. :)

The team's effort had earned them victory upon victory that day, and as it was the end of the week, the mercenaries all gathered in the common room. Some were playing cards, some were watching the television, while others were chatting with a beer in their hands. 

On one of the chairs lay Sniper, his hat on his face and his hands crossed on his stomach, making sure the bottle of beer there wouldn't slide down and fall. His absurdly long legs were flowing straight in front of him, with his feet almost touching the sofa facing him. The noise of Demoman's hearty laughter woke him up from his nap and the Aussie winced as he removed the hat from his face. 

Flash, too bright. He grumbled and blinked repeatedly for his eyes to adjust to the light. When his brow relaxed, his eyes fell on his colleague on the sofa opposite him. His varnished, black Italian shoe was tracing slow circles in the air. Sniper followed the pinstripe pattern of his trousers up to the Frenchman's lap. The man in the mask was sitting with one leg on top of the other, reading a book.

As Sniper's eyes rose lazily from the book, he realised that Spy's cheeks were pink, and his eyes were on the Aussie himself. The second their eyes met, Spy's eyes flashed back to the book and he frowned harder.

Sniper's eyebrows jumped in surprised. He saw his colleague exhale the smoke of his cigarette through his nostrils. Ha, what kind of emotion was the snake trying to convey, huh? 

"Hey, Snipes has woken up, guys. Yo, wanna join up? We're gonna play darts."

"If ye wanna lose again…" The Aussie answered as he adjusted his posture on the seat. "How high's the bet? Wouldn't wanna rob you of your pocket money."

"Right, fine, go back to your nap… Jeez…" Scout turned his back and joined his group of colleagues to play darts. 

Sniper's head turned back to Spy and to his greatest surprise, he found the Frenchman staring at him, with pink cheeks at that!

"What?" Sniper asked. "Got somethin' on my face?" 

Spy's eyes darted back to his book and his brow furrowed. 

"Non. My apologies." 

Sniper frowned for a second, but didn't think much of it. He looked at his bottle and realised it was empty. So he stood up to go and grab another one. As he came back, he tried to read the title of the book. He winced as he managed to catch only the first two words.

Solitude, but…

There was another word but it was hidden by Spy's gloved fingers. Bah… 

Sniper resumed his seat and lazily enjoyed his beer, while listening to the conversations here and there, his ears jumping from one voice to the other. He stretched his arms and legs. "Oh, sorry." He had kicked Spy's foot. The Frenchman buried his head deeper in the book. 

Sniper ignored it and lay back on the chair. When his eyes went around all of his colleagues, they came back to see what was in front of him and again fell on the Frenchman. To say he was absorbed by his reading was the understatement of the century. The Aussie knew that Spy enjoyed reading. It wasn't the first time that his participation in the Friday evening activities consisted solely in sitting on the sofa or the armchair and reading, surrounded by the ambient chatter of his colleagues. And if he wasn’t mistaken, it looked like it had been the same book for the past few weeks at least.

Sniper’s eyebrows jumped in surprise when he realised that Spy had raised his eyes to him. Their gazes hang up in the air for a moment, Sniper’s cheeks turned pink while Spy’s already were. 

Their eyes snapped away from each other and Spy cleared his throat. The end of his cigarette lit up in bright orange before the smoke exited his nostrils in a long laminar sigh.

Often, Sniper didn't even know when Spy would leave. One moment he was there and the next, he was gone. He probably left because of the noise getting to him, or something being a tiny inconvenience for a normal person, but a huge annoyance for the aristocratically mannered Frenchman. 

Sniper's eyes stayed on Spy for a while. He wondered what he looked like under the mask, like everyone else. All he knew was that he had light blue, almost grey eyes, with black and long eyelashes. His nose was slightly hooked and his lips very thin. They always held a cigarette, to the point where Sniper wondered if his colleague slept or showered with them too…

Spy's eyes were scanning the printing lines at a constant rate, and sometimes, his eyes would stop, he would squint and come back a few lines ago to read a paragraph again. Sniper noticed with amusement that whatever Spy was feeling, it would leak through the subtle movement of his eyebrows. Lightly frowning or relaxing them was more than Sniper usually saw him show.

Curious and mysterious man he was that Spy. But a good teammate and undoubtedly redoubtable in his trade. An assassin as loud as a shadow, but his seconds would be counted upon being found out, a bit like Sniper himself. And similarly to him too, he wasn't one to be very talkative. He would say what was required of him to say, and not more. Small talk wasn't something the Aussie was well versed in but no doubt Spy was different. With the successes he was said to have with women, surely he was very good at it but just chose not to partake in it with his colleagues. 

He respected them as far as work was concerned, but beyond that, Sniper didn't think that Spy would call his colleagues "friends". Ah, actually, did he even know what a friend was? Had he ever sat in a pub and enjoyed a few beers with friends? 

Spy’s mind wasn’t in the common room at all. He was in the setting described by that story. Australia, the bushy and red desert. Wide and wild empty spaces, where the only noises would be those of the exotic birds. Ah, the descriptions really made his mind travel. He had never been to Australia, despite being fairly well travelled. His work had never taken him that far from home. Ha, home… If anyone asked him, he would answer that France was his home country, but it wasn’t his home per se. He didn’t feel more at home in France or right there, in the base. Such was the problem with travelling that much, nowhere is really home anymore.

Spy’s train of thought was interrupted when a bottle of beer appeared between him and the book.

“Here.”

Spy realised that Sniper was standing behind the sofa and handing him the bottle over his shoulder.

“Merci.” He accepted the beer and took it in his hand. 

[Thank you.]

Sniper smiled.

"What’cha readin'?"

"Not over my shoulder." Spy shut the book.

"C'mon, you've been stopping every other minute and looking up to me. Just wanna know why, is all."

"I was not looking at you. I was just taking a break in my reading to process what I just read. Not everything has to do with you, Sniper."

"You've had that there novel in your coat for weeks, and you never let it leave your side; must be a damn good one, Spook."

"I enjoy some kind of literature. It takes my mind off of the fact that I live with lunatics."

"Well, I certainly understand the feeling." Sniper pointedly glared at Scout, who was in the process of unwedging his baseball from the rafters. "Mind sharing that little corner of sanity with me?"

"Non." Spy turned to Sniper. "Now, do you mind? I was in the middle of a chapter."

Sniper resumed his seat further away. He put his hat over his eyes and pretended to sleep. He let his breathing stabilise and knew Spy was watching him to make sure that he was asleep and no longer a disturbance for his reading. But Sniper also knew he was certainly more patient than the Frenchman.

Spy resumed his reading, raising his eyes from time to time in another direction. When he was convinced that Sniper was asleep, he raised his eyes and stared.

He stared…

Sniper could fall asleep anywhere at anytime in any situation, a great quality for a spy, when sometimes situations called for gathering strength in the least comfortable positions.

Sniper suddenly moved the hat away and stared back and Spy got startled, almost jumping on his seat.

"Gotcha starin' again, Spook...."

Spy frowned and left the room to go to his private one. He was obviously furious and fuming but Sniper noticed the blush on his cheeks, the embarrassment. God knew that man hated being embarrassed more than anything else.

Sniper decided to wait for a few minutes before he followed and knocked on his door.

"Who is this?"

"It's me."

"Non merci, see you tomorrow on the battlefield."

[No thanks]

"Spook..." Sniper insisted still behind the door.

"Would you understand it better in French?" Spy asked, irritated.

"C'mon, Spook, just a minute.... Or maybe you'd prefer me to say everythin' I want out in the open, in the corridor...?"

Spy rolled his eyes and shut the book. He pushed himself to stand up and stood off of his armchair to open the door.

"Come in and make it quick."

"Right, right... Can I sit down or do I have to pay extra?"

Spy gestured to the sofa, next to his armchair.

"What is it you seek?"

"You were starin'. Just wanna know why. I checked my face, I don't have anythin' on it, so what is it?"

Spy frowned and put a hand on the bridge of his nose.

"Is that about that book you've been reading?"

The Frenchman looked away, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Seems to take you places, that book. What is it about...?" 

Spy reached for it on the coffee table but Sniper had the same idea. Both withdrew their hands.

"Hey... I just wanna understand cause uh... those looks you give me when you stare at me. Even Engie noticed the blush on yer face."

Spy put a hand on his face.

"Oh, merde...." Spy sighed.

[Oh, shit...]

"I just wanna understand, is all. If it was a magazine, I'd thought it was one of those that Scout's gettin' delivered, eh...."

"Bushman!"

"I know, I know, not your style. So I'm just wonderin'. What the hell gets your cheeks red?"

"I hardly blush. And you cannot see it with the mask."

"Maybe, but I can still see it up there...."

Sniper raised his finger closer to Spy's face, on his upper cheeks. Spy’s eyes followed the finger until they got too close to his personal space and slapped the hand away.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

Sniper took advantage of the Frenchman being destabilised for a fraction of a second to snatch the book away and run out of Spy’s quarters.

"BUSHMAN!"

Spy ran after him, racing the man with taller legs than him, until the Aussie locked himself up in the back of his van.

"BUSHMAN, GIVE ME BACK MY BOOK!"

"Hold on! Need to read the back page, what's this about....?"

Spy banged the door repeatedly with a furious fist.

"BUSHMAN!"

Sniper read, loud enough for Spy to hear from the other side of the thin door.

"After a decade out of his job, the retired Frenchman is called again by no less than the Minister of Defense himself. There is a case to solve, that only the ex-spy can deal with. So he puts on his suit and tie again and flies to Australia where his target is.

He does a good job on his own, until a certain wild kangaroo barges into his mission, and his life."

Spy had stopped knocking on the door and gulped down his constricted throat, sweat breaking on his brow.

"Sounds like something you could be in, eh?"

"Bushman, give me my book NOW!"

"Or what? You gonna disguise yourself as a sheet of paper and slide under the door?"

Sniper couldn’t really hear or understand what the Frenchman mumbled under his breath, and just chuckled at how ridiculously Spy had reacted, chasing him down the base and outside, all the way to his van. But now that he had the book, let’s just open that thing and read bits…

“Oh… Oh hold on…” Sniper frowned, his smile vanishing more as he read line after line.

From the other side of the thin door, Spy got his cigarette case out, opened it to retrieve the pins he concealed there, and started to pick the lock.

"Oh bugger... I get it.... I.... Wow.... That's why you were starin' at me and blushin' like a sheila...? Wait, hold on, if you're looking at me like that and all, does that mean you-Woof?!"

The lock yielded and Spy barged in the room full force, tackling Sniper to the floor.

"Give me back my book!" Spy roared.

"Hold on…" Sniper looked at Spy with wide astounded eyes.

The man in the suit took the opportunity of Sniper being distracted to snatch the book back and stand up. He dusted off his suit.

"Spook...?"

"Good night." Spy turned and headed away.

"Hold on!" Sniper jumped to his feet and held him back from his shoulder.

"What now?! Can't I be left in peace?!" Spy was infuriated.

"Hey…"

Sniper’s voice was much softer than Spy’s raging one. Their eyes met.

"How far were you in the book?"

"What?" Spy squinted.

"How far were you in? Beginnin'? Middle?"

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer! Closer to the beginnin’ or the end?”

Spy sighed and his shoulders sank. 

"Closer to the beginning than the end, why?"

"Wanna... Read it together?" Sniper gestured to inside his van. "I don't have a couch or anythin', but there's a bench, or the bed if it's too uncomfy for you…"

"Wh-...?" Spy was at a loss.

"I only read bits. Don't leave me hangin', eh?" Sniper smiled. The Frenchman stared in disbelief.  "C'mon, I wanna know what happens to the French Spook in Australia."

"If you ever speak of this…" Spy raised a threatening finger to his colleague.

“I know, I know, tiny knife between my shoulder blades, yada yada yada.... Now come in and let's shut the door before someone sees us."

“I would do so much more than just backstab you, believe me.” Spy threatened but nonetheless entered the van fully.

Sniper stared in astonishment as Spy removed his jacket and loosened the tie on his neck before removing his shoes and climbing the ladder to the bed.

"Oh alright…"

"Do you have any water in this ridiculous dwelling of yours?"

"Yeah, I'll get you a glass. I'd tell you to get comfy but you already did...."

"Come on, I don't have all day...."

"A minute! Jesus, you're supposed to be patient and all, aren't you?"

Sniper climbed up and joined Spy on the bed before switching on his night lamp. The light was yellow and not too bright.

"How can you take so much space with yer skinny arse?"

"I am not! You are the one pushing me! Also, I could do without any remarks on my behind, thank you very much Bushman!"

"I’m not pushin’ you... Anyway, here, yer bloody water, now... You can pick up where you left off, don't need to start at the beginnin', eh."

"Merci. I was not going to anyway. Now...."

"And I read slow, so don't go and turn the pages too fast, yeah?"

"May I start already?" Spy rolled his eyes up, part of him still wildly surprised. 

"Yeah, yeah, alright, go ahead…"

Spy took a sip of water and started reading out loud.

"Hold on, what are you doin'?!"

"I am reading, wasn’t that what you wanted now, Bushman?"

"Out loud? I know how to read, eh!"

"A pleasant surprise.” Spy answered. “Now, you wanted the story, yes or no?"

"Yeah?"

"So keep quiet."

Spy took a deep breath and resumed the reading. Time passed, pages were turned, Spy only stopped to drink a bit of water from time to time. Sniper enjoyed himself. Spy knew how to read well. His tone, his voice and the way he played the characters in the dialogues were very pleasant to the Aussie’s ear.

Sniper leaned his head on Spy's shoulder, following the text on the page with his eyes. Spy was taken aback for a split second, but carried on, choosing to ignore it rather than making it more awkward. After all, he was in Sniper’s bed reading him a story...

Holy dooley…

Sniper wasn’t expecting that. Spy was now reading a moment of… romance between the French spy and the Aussie in the story. The Frenchman kept his composure, force of professional habit, but Sniper started to get uncomfortable, a bit like when he was watching the TV with his parents and a hot scene came on. What made it all so much real was Spy’s voice acting of the characters. For the French spook, he wasn’t changing his voice at all but for the Aussie hunter, he sounded strikingly like the enemy Sniper. And the flirting written in the story, the banter, it all sounded so real.

"Bushman?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you shaking?"

"I-I'm not. Keep goin'."

"Sniper…"

Spy looked down on his shoulder. Sniper avoided eye contact, his eyes remained glued to the book as if his life depended on it.

"You lie very poorly."

"Well... good thing I'm not paid for it then I guess...."

"Indeed. Now, what is the problem?"

"Nothin'. C'mon, continue, or I'll read it...!"

"You are trembling, you can barely speak and you try to make me believe that you will read this out loud? Go ahead then, humour me." 

A smirk crept across Spy's thin lips.

"Uh... Right... Where were we... Uh... I-I can't find the line anymore!"

"I have my finger on it, Sniper.”

"Yeah, well…"

"Now, what is it? Have you never read un roman à l'eau de rose before?"

"A what now?"

"Literally, a 'novel with rose water', it is an expression we use to describe a romance novel. Have you never read one of those before?"

"N-not really.... They're books for sheilas…"

"Do I look like one?" Spy asked.

"No…"

"Then, it is not."

"It's not what?"

"'A book for sheilas'. Now, shall we resume?"

"Spook...?"

"What?"

"I'm just... It's an Aussie hunter and a French Spy in the story, right?"

"Oui."

"Is that why... I mean..."

"You are trembling for the same reason that I was blushing." Spy answered. “Now, may I?”

"'s bloody ridiculous, I'm sorry."

"It is fine." Spy leaned his head on top of Sniper's.

"Shall we resume now?"

"Uh, hold on... Ahem... I-I'm sorry.... I-it's worse now...."

"Mon Dieu.... Wait, can you hold the book for an instant?"

"I-I can try...."

Sniper held the book open with shaking hands and watched as Spy removed one glove, then the next.

"I can hold it now, merci."

The Aussie gave him back the book, Spy held it with one hand, as he slithered the other to Sniper's.

"Now, where were we? Ah," Spy cleared his throat and resumed reading as if he wasn’t holding Sniper’s hand. The Aussie's heart backflipped in his chest the moment Spy's slender fingers reached his. 

"Can you turn the page, please?"

"Uh, sure… Spook?"

"What now?" Spy sighed.

"Thanks, eh."

"Hm."

Spy’s fingers slid between Sniper’s and he felt the trembling fingers struggle but reciprocate. The Aussie shifted on the bed slightly to adjust his head against Spy's shoulder. Spy lifted his head, and then leaned it again once Sniper was comfortable again.

"Shall we resume now?"

"Yeah, I think I'm uh... I'm better."

Spy started reading again.

"Spook?"

Another, longer sigh.

"What is it, now?"

"Will ya… remove your mask too?"

"Non."

"Oh, okay…"

"It is too cold in your van."

"Hold on…"

Sniper hopped out of bed, turning on the heater. 

"Are you serious?" Spy asked.

"It's just to see if you look like the bloke from the book, is all."

Mundy quickly covered them both with the blanket.

"Alright, carry on, sorry…"

"Now it is too hot." Spy complained, thinking that Sniper would snap at him and ask him to leave.

"Will you remove your mask, then?"

Spy’s eyebrows jumped. He didn’t expect that. 

"Non."

"Oh... So you just said that like that....? Alright...."

Spy resumed his reading but his mind wasn’t on the story. His whole attention was on the hand he was holding, on the fingers that now slithered back between his. He stopped reading sharp. Sniper waited, expecting Spy to take a sip of water but the Frenchman didn’t move.

“What?” Sniper asked. “You didn’t finish the page so I’m not gonna turn it.”

"Would you like to remove it for me?"

“Remove the page?” Sniper was confused.

“Non, my mask.”

The Aussie's eyes snapped wide, his jaw lowering as if it had a mind of its own.

"Wait…" He looked up at Spy. "You serious?"

“Am I ever in the habit of joking?”

“I don’t know, you’re so hard to follow.”

"Do you want to see if I look like Lucien from the book or not?"

"Yeah! I mean…” Sniper calmed down. “If that's ok with you...?"

"Then, go ahead." Spy closed the book and turned to face Sniper, who sat up and turned to the Frenchman.

“You sure?”

“The more you ask and wait, the higher the probability of me changing my mind.” Spy answered seemingly annoyed.

“Right, right…” Sniper raised his hands up and his fingers approached the Frenchman’s neck. He pinched the fabric and looked up at Spy’s face. The man was staring at him with his arctic blue eyes that seemed even more light under the yellow night lamp. Sniper took a deep breath and rolled the fabric up before gently pulling it up.

"Jesus Christ..." Sniper took an instant to discover all the features unknown until then. 

Spy carded his hair back with a nonchalant hand.

"So, does the description fit me?" He smirked, amused by Sniper’s astonishment.

"Ah... I mean... Uh... I... Uhm... Hold on...."

"Come on, just be honest. That should be easy for you, you lie terribly."

"You're gorgeous." The sentence escaped Sniper’s lips and his control. It was one thread of air that slid out of him. Spy’s eyebrows jumped, not that he wasn’t used to hearing it, but as the years passed, he heard it less and less. Besides, it wasn’t anyone who was saying it, but the Aussie hunter.

"Well, thank you. You don't look all that bad yourself. Now, shall we resume?"

"Y-yeah…"

Sniper sat back next to Spy and looked back up at him.

"Sniper…"

"Hm?"

"You do realise that you are staring at my face?"

"Oh, bugger, sorry...." Sniper’s eyes moved away to fall on the book again, but he didn’t see the pages, the ink on the paper, the bed, the van. All that his brain projected on his eyes was Spy’s naked face...

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?"

"I never asked you to stop."

Sniper’s head swooshed to Spy’s with wide open eyes. The Frenchman smiled, sweetly. 

“I uh… What are you doin’? You playin’ with my nerves or somethin’?”

“You were the one to invite me in your bed.” Spy smirked as he knew very well that his comment would make Sniper blush and it didn’t miss. The Aussie exhaled long and hard, before wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. “Come on, will you play the shy card now?”

“What’re you playin’ at?”

“Your invitation and the fact that I am still here speaks at length for what you think about me. But it is curious that you worked up the courage to ask me to remove my mask, but not to just phrase what you feel.”

“Get out of my head, Spook.”

“My apologies.” Spy chuckled. 

“Although I s’ppose if you are in my head, you don’t need me to tell you anythin’. You’ve read it already.”

“I am afraid so.”

“You’re afraid so?” Sniper repeated.

“Oui, I started reading and could not really stop.” Spy answered. “More seriously, you have not kicked me out yet, so I suppose you don’t find my company to be too much of a burden.”

“Yeah, I guess this tells me that you're ok with me too.” Sniper raised his hand, which fingers were still intertwined with Spy’s.

“You guess correctly.”

Their eyes met again and both smiled.

“What do you think of the story so far?” Spy asked.

“It’s nice. Although I don’t think I’m that shy with you.”

“Indeed. But you should read the rest, you become braver.”

“I thought you hadn’t read more of it?”

“Oh, please. I have read it again and again.”

“You liar.”

“When I need to, oui.”

“So you’ve been readin’ this book on loop, eh?”

“Oui, it was a curious find. There is this bookshop I like in town and I was having a look around when the shopkeeper recommended it to me. I read the summary at the back and it caught my attention. Since then, the book hasn’t left my side. And I am delighted to have shared a part that I enjoy with you. But this book, it is the only company I have besides that of that awfully clingy mistress.”

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. 

“You have a sheila?” He removed his hand from Spy’s and the Frenchman chuckled, oddly enough.

“I think you and I share her.”

“What?! No! I don’t have any sheila! I’m-I’m with no one!”

“Sniper?”

“What?”

“Do you want to drive her away with me?” Spy asked, looking deep in the lagoon blue irises of the Aussie.

“Oi, not gonna stand between you and your sheila!”

“Sniper, I am not talking about a woman. I mean the Solitude that fills my days as much as it does yours.” Spy finally explained and Sniper saw his light irises half hide behind a delicate curtain of long, black eyelashes.

“I… Uh… Spy…”

The Frenchman smiled. It was egotistical and narcissistic of him, but he loved seeing it, seeing the moment the person he had in his mind fall for him, and with Sniper, it was just then and there. Spy slid his fingers through Sniper’s again and leaned his head on his shoulder.

“Please?” Spy asked in a whisper, a thin thread of air that punched Sniper’s guts out of his body. That voice, that damned voice, that accent… “Spend some time with me.”

“Gosh…” Sniper felt the soft waves of air against his neck and his heartbeat accelerated. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Spy’s hand. “Y-you serious?” He whispered back, for no one else to hear, in the secrecy of the dimly lit van.

“What do you think?” Sniper could hear the smirk through Spy’s whisper. “Here I am, in your bed, with you, without my mask. Do you think that it is all staged, all a joke, a prank?”

“I-I don’t know… It’s just… It’s just too good to be true.” Sniper’s breath was hard and fast. He screwed his eyes shut harder and leaned his head on the wall behind him, raising it and feeling Spy’s breath periodically blow on his neck, constantly reminding him that he was there, the gorgeous devil in a suit and tie. Oh Sniper wanted to remember it, he wanted to bottle up those whispers, those intense and secret words, those feelings, bottle them up somewhere and reopen the bottle when he felt too lonely. He wanted to believe Spy’s words.

“Too good to be true? Hm…” Spy smirked and raised a finger. Sniper felt it grazing his skin on his jaw.

“S-Spy…”

The Frenchman turned and slid a leg between the Aussie.

“Let us sleep. You are tense and could do with a bit of rest.” Spy pulled him down to lie and threw away his own tie before opening a couple of buttons on his shirt. He snuggled up against Sniper and used his shoulder as a pillow.

“Spy?”

Sniper raised his head to look down at Spy. The Frenchman looked up at him.

“Oui?”

“You serious?”

Spy graced Sniper with one of those smiles that made the Aussie’s insides burn.

“Oui…” The Frenchman went to his ear. “You can call me Lucien, Mundy.” Sniper’s eyes snapped wide. He turned to look at Spy and his body reacted before his mind could hold it back.

Coffee and nicotine were all he could taste on the thin lips of the man he was holding between his hands, in his bed.

[cora-vizsla]

Hypnotic (Taking Over Me) - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eventual Jedi!OC x Sith!Obi Wan

Word Count: 3.3K

Story Rating: E (18+)

Chapter Rating: T

Warning: Swearing. Threats of violence. Calm kidnapping.

A/N: Here is the first chapter! I have a decent amount of this story written due to the fact I wasn’t sure if Sith!Obi Wan was something that would fully call to me. But here we are!

“You can’t be serious.”

“I can’t believe you’re doubting me.”

“It’s a cliff.”

“Yes.”

“You want to jump off a cliff.”

“I’ll use the force.”

“I know we have different Master’s but mine never told me we could fly. I’ll have to ask him about that.”

“I never said I would fly Zara. I said I would catch myself.”

“No, Anakin, you said you would use the force. You never once said how you would use the force.”

“I can’t believe we’ve known each other this long and you think I would do something without having a plan.”

Zara crossed her arms across her chest and looked at Anakin. She peeked down at the space her friend was adamant about jumping into and huffed out a laugh.

“It is because I know you that I believe you would do something without having a plan.”

Anakin smiled fully at her and laughed. She rolled her eyes but returned the smile. As much as he annoyed the hell out of her sometimes, he was the closest friend she had. She looked around and smiled at Cody and the small group of troopers she had brought with her. It had been a fruitless mission, but it was almost refreshing to just enjoy the landscape for a while, even if Anakin wanted to jump to his death.

“Are you ready, General?”

“Yes, Commander, round the troops up. Time to head back.”

Cody started commanding the rest of the troops to enter the ship parked close to where they had been standing. Anakin was still looking down the cliff but before Zara could tell him to take a few steps back she felt a strange energy behind her. Absentmindedly she put her hand on her saber and looked over her shoulder. It was like someone was staring at her the way there was an electric jolt down her spine.

“Anakin, do you feel that?”

He turned to look at her and frowned immediately at how concerned she looked. He barked for the troopers to hurry up and load up.

“Generals, what about you?”

“Stay close, Cody. Whatever this is, you won’t be able to help.”

He hesitated but listened. In the end, he would always listen to his General even if he didn’t agree with the order. Zara turned fully and felt Anakin move so he was next to her. They could joke with each other all day, but in the end, they worked together flawlessly. One of the perks of basically growing up together.

“I’ve never felt something so dark.”

“Me either, Zar. Guess the intel wasn’t wrong.”

“The intel said droids, not this.”

The presence came closer until they finally saw someone walking towards them. The mystery person was wearing all black robes but didn’t move like the shadow his robes could make them be. No, this person was practically strutting. When they got close enough, they stopped and pulled their hood down with black gloved hands.

“Sith.”

Zara and Anakin grabbed their sabers and ignited them. The man in front of them had burning amber eyes and a feral smile.

“Ready to fight already? I haven’t even introduced myself yet.”

“Nothing to introduce. You’re a Sith. End of story.”

Zara gripped her saber tighter, studying the man. Anakin was always ready to fight no matter the situation, not that this situation didn’t call for it. Zara was just more likely to study and evaluate all the aspects that Anakin’s temper caused him to miss.

He was sure of himself. His energy was dangerously dark, but there was almost an air of sarcasm around him. It made all her senses sit on edge, but it wasn’t in the typical way. Normally she would have started an attack. The man was strange and strange meant she could learn something.

She snapped out of her thoughts when Anakin raised his saber. The man laughed and finally pulled his own saber, igniting it to show the deadly blade was a deep red. It didn’t surprise her, but the way it reflected off his eyes did.

“So, the boy is a guardian and the girl a consular. Interesting.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?”

Zara finally spoke and the man’s attention immediately snapped to her. He let his eyes rake down her once before smirking.

“Was wondering if you were mute, darling.”

Anakin let out a snarl at the cute name, but it only brought the Sith more enjoyment.

“Oh dear, did I strike a nerve? I didn’t realize they changed the rules when it comes to attachments.”

Zara furrowed her brows and looked over at Anakin. He was absolutely feral looking. Before she could say much to him, the comm link in her ear started going off. She pressed her finger to it and instantly heard the worry in Cody’s voice.

“General, were down the cliff. A quick jump would get you to us.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was the only way to get to you. Sorry, General.”

“It’s okay, Commander. You did good. See you soon.”

The man was staring directly at her and it unnerved her. She felt like he was looking through her. She nodded towards the cliff while looking at Anakin and he laughed, putting his saber away on his waist.

“Well, Sith, it’s been fun. Time to go.”

Zara and Anakin both stepped backwards until they were directly at the edge. The Sith put his saber back on his own waist and crossed his arms. Anakin jumped and the look of shock on the man’s face made Zara chuckle.

“Are you going to jump too, darling?”

“What other choice do I have?”

She had meant it as a rhetorical question, but her foot slipped slightly when the man responded in earnest.

“You could come with me.”

“Now, why would I ever go with a Sith?”

“Darth Veth. It would be awfully rude for you to go without giving me your name since I so kindly gave you mine.”

“A Sith looking for civility from a Jedi? How odd.”

He flashed her a grin. She had no idea why she answered him but when she spoke her full name, Darth Veth nodded as if he was greeting her. It was as if he were meeting a new friend, not an enemy on the battlefield. It unnerved her even more than his staring, but she wouldn’t let him see that.

“Well, as fun as this has been. It’s time for me to go.”

She jumped and flipped forward, landing on her feet but down in a crouching position. Anakin held his hand out for her, and she took it with a smile. The ship started raising up and they both saw the Sith shaking his head with a devious smile. Once Zara and Anakin slipped back into the ship, she looked back once and saw him putting his hood up not even attempting to chase them.

“What a strange man.”

“Don’t try to make sense of the Sith, Zar. It will just give you a headache.”

---

“Thank you for meeting with me, Master.”

“Of course, Zara. Although you aren’t my padawan anymore I am always here for guidance.”

Zara beamed up at him as they walked out into the garden. It had always been a favorite place for her, and Mace couldn’t count how many times he had found her there reading as a child.

“I know we gave our official report to the council, but I just feel so strange about the whole situation.”

“What is bothering you?”

She stopped and crossed her arms, mimicking her former Master. They faced each other and she shift her weight to one side.

“Darth Veth. Do we know anything about him?”

“Nothing official. Why?”

“He knew about our sabers. He knew that Anakin is a guardian and that I’m a consular. That isn’t exactly general knowledge to the masses.”

“No, it isn’t. What else did he say?”

“He brought up connections and attachments within the Jedi code. He kept.. calling me darling and it pissed Anakin off.”

“Getting under your skin isn’t exactly strange for a Sith.”

“Asking for my name is though. Even once he found out it was more like he was trying to just make conversation. Once Anakin was out of the equation he was almost.. friendly.”

“That is strange. You didn’t feel comfortable telling the counsel this?”

“Oh, that doesn’t bother me. Anakin just never lets me get a word in.”

Mace laughed at her comment and nodded, finally letting himself relax a little.

“Did he give you the impression that he was following you?”

“Not really. He seemed more interesting in talking to me. Anakin he just looked at like he wanted to fight him.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised by that.”

Zara smiled at him and nodded.

“I need to speak to the rest of the counsel, but I think it may be wise to send you out on your own without Anakin. If the Sith shows up, then we know there may be an issue. If not, we will just keep an eye out for him.”

“You’ll be giving Commander Cody less of a headache, that’s for sure.”

Mace chuckled and nodded.

“Go prepare for a mission. I’ll be getting back to you shortly.”

She bowed forward slightly, and Mace returned the gesture. He wasn’t always the friendliest Jedi there was but with Zara he was always willing to give advice and a smile. He watched her go with just a touch of worry. He really hoped that there wasn’t a Sith with his eyes set on her.

---

Zara stepped off the ship and looked at the landscape. Another humid planet with a lot of vegetation. Cody stepped next to her and pulled his helmet off, a smile on his face.

“Don’t look too thrilled that General Skywalker isn’t here.”

He chuckled and scratched at his head.

“Sorry, General. Just nice to have a smaller mission where there won’t be many shenanigans.”

“Are you saying I’m incapable of being a pain in your ass?”

Cody smiled again and shook his head quickly.

“No, General. Would never dream of saying that.”

Zara smiled and nodded towards the set of buildings they were tasked with searching.

“The intel says that most of the buildings have been empty for years. We don’t expect to find much.”

“Can I ask why we’re here then?”

Zara hesitated. Testing to see if the Sith would show wasn’t an official part of the mission. Using a Jedi Knight for bait wasn’t exactly something the council wanted everyone to know. She had no qualms with it but understood why it needed to be kept quiet.

“Just needed to make sure nothing is going on. We can also see what kind of capabilities the area has so if we do see droids here, we will know why.”

“Understood.”

“There is a smaller temple to the east. I plan on checking that out for any artifacts that may be there. Keep in contact with me. If there are any problems retreat back here immediately. We don’t have the numbers to get into a huge firefight.”

“Yes, General.”

Cody barked out his order to his men and they all left. If the Sith knew that she was a consular then he would expect her to be looking for things to learn. No one had been surprised when she ended up with a green saber. She loved losing herself in the forms and movement with her saber, but it was rare to find her without a book in her hands.

The walk to the temple wasn’t a hard one, but she hated how much she was sweating already. Life on Alderaan with a wealthy family hadn’t forced her to deal with the heat often. She tried not to complain but she preferred the cold if she was being honest.

Once she reached the temple she walked in, focusing on the artwork inscribed into the walls. She traced her fingers across the etching and smile at how intricate it was. Her footsteps echoed through the halls until she came to a room that had the walls covered in texts. She smiled at them and easily found herself lost in them.

Looking back, she could have kicked herself for not being observant. Part of the mission was to be bait yet she was so focused on the texts that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hallway. She didn’t focus in on the feeling of darkness coming up behind her and she absolutely didn’t plan on jumping when her name was called.

“Startled, darling?”

She pushed the book now sitting on the floor to the side with her foot and ghosted her hand over her saber. Darth Veth was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“No need for sabers, dear. If I had wanted to harm you it would have been very easy with how distracted you were.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Would you have attacked someone from behind?”

She sighed and relaxed a fraction.

“I suppose not. I’m also not a Sith though.”

He chuckled and pushed off the wall, moving to the books. He picked one up and started carding through the thick pages. Zara crossed her arms and watched him with confusion.

“It would have been a crime to hurt someone looking so innocently enthralled with knowledge around her.”

“I.. enjoy books.”

“I could see that.”

He shut the book with a snap and gently placed it back where it came from. He dusted his hands off and faced her fully.

“Why are you here, Lord Veth?”

“Falling for your trap, of course.”

“Trap?”

“Oh, darling. Do you find me dull? I knew the moment I saw you that the council would use you as bait. They surely wouldn’t send the hot head that was with you.”

“And how do you know I’m not a hot head?”

He chuckled and took a few steps forward. She wanted to back up but if she did it would put her in a rather dangerous situation. She may not have had the advantage, but she wasn’t going to let him box her into a corner.

“You’re far too smart to swing without assessing every possibility of your actions. If you weren’t you would have attacked when there were two of you.”

“You weren’t posing a threat at the time.”

He hummed as he stopped, directly in front of her. She looked up slightly, due to the height difference, and finally saw the different depths of amber his eyes were.

“And what about now? Am I posing a threat now?”

“Your saber isn’t drawn. Your hands are clasped behind your back. Though I couldn’t guess your next move, you are trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. My Master would have told me to be skeptical of you; never trust a move you make.”

“Ah, Master Windu. He is absolutely one not to trust really anyone. You didn’t fully answer me though. Do youthink I am a threat right now?”

She took a breath and felt out into the force. She could feel his darkness, but it wasn’t aimed at her. She could tell he would be fast, probably faster than her, but his muscles weren’t poised to strike. When she squared her shoulders Veth raised his eyebrows slightly.

“No. At least not beyond the fact that you are a Sith standing in front of me in a dimly lit room with only one doorway that you are currently blocking me from using.”

“Master Windu has trained you well. You’re levelheaded. How did you become so attached to the Skywalker boy when he is so volatile?”

“How do you know anything about Anakin?”

He chuckled and reached out to touch Zara’s long hair. She flinched but made no move to pull away.

“I know very much about Ani. It’s you, Zara Fross that I know very little about.”

“Pity we don’t have more time, Veth. I must be going.”

She walked by him, surprised that he made no move to stop her. When she reached the door, he cleared his throat making her turn to look at him.

“Ah, Zara, silly me. I forgot to tell you that there is a reason that I am here.”

“Oh? What reason would that be.”

“You see, it is true that I know very little about you. However, I do not plan on that being the case for very long. My ship is close, and you will be going with me.”

Zara laughed incredulously and crossed her arms.

“Don’t mistake my civility with you with us being friends, Sith.”

“I don’t. You may be the gentlest Jedi I have met thus far, but I figured that you wouldn’t come with me. The fact of the matter is, I need you to. I’m not normally the kind of man to galivant around the galaxy and kidnap young women but in this case, it is my mission.”

“Then we will fight. I’m not going with you.”

“Ah, also expected that response. I’ll make it easy for you both emotionally and physically. I anticipated you sending your men to the buildings. I have them set to detonate if you don’t go with me willingly. I’ve observed you for quite some time and I know how fond of your clones you are. It pains you deeply when you lose a life under your command and you will lose all of them if you reject my hospitality.”

Zara took a step back and glanced down at the comms connected to her wrist.

“I wouldn’t try to warn them. They’ll be dead before the message gets to them.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? This was a trap set for you.”

“One that I anticipated. Though I will be fair and show you this.”

He held up a device that was clearly made to detonate explosives. Zara ran her hand over her face and sighed.

“Alright, fine. I have a stipulation though.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“Let me leave a message for my men that they can give to the council. Since I have no idea where you’re taking me, I couldn’t give them a single clue. They already know you exist, and it will stop Anakin from doing something extremely reckless.”

“Very well. Let’s go.”

He walked past her, and she sighed. The trap that had been laid was not going to according to plan at all.

---

Once a message was left, Zara followed her sort of captor to his ship. It wasn’t anything fancy and it wasn’t meant for long trips. When they reached their destination, the man held his hand out to her expectantly. She looked down at his hand then back at his face.

“Saber. Can’t exactly let you keep a weapon that you’re trained to kill with on your persons.”

“I’m not giving you my saber.”

“Then I kill your men. I thought we went over this?”

“Maker. Fine.”

She ripped it off her side and slammed it into his hand, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Ah, there is that Skywalker influence.”

“I’ll have you know I was just as capable of sarcasm and being snarky before I met Anakin.”

He laughed and motioned for her to climb in. She shot him a glare before climbing in, plopping down into the copilot seat. Once he was situated, he started the ship up and began the trip to wherever he was taking her. She huffed out a sigh and looked out at the lights streaking by.

“Don’t look so glum, darling. Think of this as an extended vacation for you.”

Zara chuckled darkly and muttered just loud enough for the Sith to hear her.

“A Sith and a Jedi climb into a ship..”

He laughed fully and clapped his hands together once.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

“If this is fun, I’d hate to see what your definition of torture is.”

[dreamiguess]

Day???: Coronation

A late submission for @fundyfiles FWT week. 

Summary:

Some twisted, selfish part of him wants someone to walk in, to witness the first and last time he’ll be able to love Dream publicly, to cause such a scandal he’d be removed from the line of succession entirely.

On AO3: divine rights

“I shouldn’t have found out from your father.”

No. He shouldn’t have.

“Found out what?” Fundy lies, thin as silk and half as smooth.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he answers, the ice in his voice melting. The disappointment is worse than the steel, and he feels as if he were to peel back another layer he would find nothing but raw hurt. Because it hurts, doesn’t it? For Fundy more than anyone else, maybe. Dream would come at a close second. He stares at the floor somewhere between them, not ready to face either.

“I didn’t know how.”

It’s a half answer to a question that wasn’t asked, tired and barely audible. He hadn’t known how to process it for himself either, with one sleepless night to churn the news in his head over and over again before preparations for the ceremony began. The work made it easier at least, kept him too busy to think or feel. But standing in front of the captain, his captain, in an empty hallway, there is nowhere to escape it. As the silence settles between them, he finds the courage to look up.

Dream looks vulnerable, too vulnerable to be out in the open like this. He wears only a half plate and sword belt, still more lethal than most would be in full iron but it looks unnatural for him to be patrolling the castle in anything but. It’s standard off duty garb, but it’s too fitting for him to still protect his heart at a time like this. He had pulled his mask to the side, and it’s more intimate than if he were completely naked, green eyes staring him down. They’re not angry, though, and he thinks that’s what breaks him.

“It was supposed to be Tommy.”

He’s in Dream’s embrace before the first tear can hit the ground, cries muffled in his shoulder before they can echo against the stone walls. It’s terribly improper, to be seen in the arms of a soldier, especially in such a public place. Some twisted, selfish part of him wants someone to walk in, to witness the first and last time he’ll be able to love Dream publicly, to cause such a scandal he’d be removed from the line of succession entirely. Even as the tears subsides he can’t bring himself to step back, just moves so the crown of his head is pushed into Dream’s chest instead of his face.

“It was supposed to be Tommy,” he repeats.

It was always supposed to be Tommy. On the surface level, he was a direct descendent rather than a grandson. But more than that, he was charismatic and loud, had strong opinions and voiced them frequently. He was loyal to a fault and way too sharp for his age. Most importantly, though, he wanted crown prince and, one day, the throne. Fundy wanted a street kid who climbed the ranks too swift and too violent.

With war brewing in the South, his Majesty was forced to choose the next successor far too early, and Tommy is still too young and brash for that weight to be placed upon his shoulders.

It haunts them. Laying in bed at dusk, a luxury they only allow themselves on the darkest halcyon nights, and tracing patterns down Dream’s back. He savors the moment, lets it melt in his ribcage and swallow him whole.

“What does this mean for us?” he asks, as if he wasn’t the one who should know better than anyone. They both know what he’s talking about, the glass shards lying on the floor for them in the morning.

“The end, probably.” Dream lifts his head enough to look Fundy in the eye. One would think he’d have forgotten how to hide his emotions after wearing a mask so long, but his face is as guarded as if he hadn’t taken it off at all. It’s a privilege, a blessing even, to see it at all and one he doesn’t take for granted. He venerates every scar and treasures each freckle, because he’s beautiful even if Dream himself cannot see it.

“You can’t marry below your station anymore.” He rolls to his back and sighs. “And if your uncles do not, you’ll be expected to produce an heir.”

Fundy can’t help but laugh.

“You really think they won’t?” he asks, disbelieving. It earns him a smile.

“Still. I have no noble blood.”

“Fuck the nobles.”

Like sin it follows them to the training grounds, dancing around it lest they reveal too much to the knights nearby.  The entire family is expected to be military leaders in the event of conflict, and now doubly so for Fundy. Who better to practice with than their rising combat specialist?

“I’m on duty for the coronation,” he mentions over the clash of their practice swords. Fundy wants him to use steel, to put his life in the hands of his love and trust him fully and recklessly. The captain always refuses.

“I feel infinitely safer,” Fundy replies, pulling his weapon back and aiming for a slash to his side.

“I am honored to bring you peace of mind, your highness.” He blocks the attack and catches the blade with the hilt of his sword, turning his wrist to fling the broadsword from the prince’s grip. Before Fundy can react there’s a hand in his tunic and a swift heel sweeping his right leg off the ground completely. Dream lowers him to the dirt slowly, only truly letting him fall a foot at most. He falls all the same. The tip of his sword is cold underneath Fundy’s chin, it’s wielder haloed by sunlight above him. The instinct to bare his neck is too strong and Fundy is too weak, and he doesn’t have enough shame to delight in the way Dream swallows at the action.

“I yield.”

He takes the hand that’s offered, staring into the mask’s eyes the whole time. Their hands stay clasped for far longer than necessary because they’re equally terrible, it seems.

“I’m thinking about taking the promotion.” Dream drops his hand and turns to retrieve his discarded weapon, leaving Fundy to reel in his shellshock.

“For General?” He asks mechanically, another question they both know the answer to. He’s had a lot of them lately, and this time Dream doesn’t even respond. Just strides back to their arena and extends the handle out, ungloved hand wrapped around the blade in a mirroring act of faith. They’ve put their stone sword in the hand of Themis to balance her scales on, where the head that wears the crown rests opposite the hand that bears the shield. The power to absolutely ruin, offered freely.

Fundy doesn’t take it at all.

“I hate to leave early, but I feel a bit faint after that fall. Would you escort me back to the castle?”

Dream bows his head, never one to slip from their polished act.

“Of course, your highness. I should have been more careful.” After returning their equipment and strapping his swordbelt – his real swordbelt – back into place, Dream falls into step with him out of the arena.  The October air is kind to them, leaving goosebumps where sweat had stained their skin just moments before. It’s peaceful for a few minutes, as morning doves and starlings steadily replace the ringing of steel and their gentle footsteps drown out the thumps of bodies hitting the ground. Time slowed since Dream broke the news to him, far too casual for something they had discussed for far too long, and Fundy can almost believe that the route he’s taken isn’t far too long to lead back to the castle.

“I thought you,” he starts once they’re well beyond hearing distance. “I thought you wanted to remain a captain.”

It’s difficult to phrase what he wants to say. Fundy is not Dream’s keeper and for his love’s sake if nothing else, he won’t act like one. He wants to, though, wants to hold on to him like a child and repeat every debate they’d considered since the offer was made. I thought it was too dangerous. I thought it was too much responsibility, you liked your squadron too much, hated meetings. I thought, I thought, I thought.

And of course, the drumming song beneath it all: I thought you wouldn’t leave me.

“I’ve always been a strategist,” he replies, voice too even to be genuine. A sigh escapes him, and he entwines their fingers and lets his head rest ever so slightly on Fundy’s shoulder. He’s living in the illusion, Fundy can tell, basking in the feeling of lovers talking a walk on an Autumn day. The prince can see right through him, can taste every thought he’ll never acknowledge, much less share.

“And the position needs to be filled sooner rather than later.”

This is what he means: We need to end, and I can’t stay if I can’t have you. He means to save Fundy from himself, to cut the chord so Fundy can’t try to keep him. To force Fundy to follow the rules.

“Bullshit.” He surprises himself with the outburst. “Leaving for some war won’t make me stop loving you. You don’t need to fucking protect me,” he throws their connected hands in the air and fights for words. “Protect me from-“

Dream tugs free before he can finish, unclasps his mask and throws it to the forest floor without even looking. He cups Fundy’s face in both hands, eyes shining with renegade tears.

“I don’t know how to do anything else.” He sounds broken and Fundy feels it like glass. There are too many things he should say so he says nothing at all, wraps a hand into the collar of his shirt like a man possessed and pushes until Dream’s back hits the tree and he can’t get any closer. He kisses him like he’s dying, kisses him like the world is ending, like they’re already on their future battlefields and Dream is his only lifeline.

The coronation arrives all too fast. He lives in a limbo between the grand hall and his chambers, between the seamstress and the head chef. The ceremony is beautiful, with green and gold filling the room and glass sparkling in the setting sunlight. He’s reached a state of calm he hadn’t believed possible only two weeks ago, looses himself in the dull ache of kneeling and the rhythmic voice of their Sage. No matter how foreign the crown feels, he doesn’t have to lie as he repeats the oath; he loves the kingdom, can swear to benevolence, to serve the people. The promises settle deep in his bones. The responsibilities, the service, was never really his problem.

“I present to you your crown prince,” the vicar finishes, and Fundy stands to face the people. He’d practiced the ceremony, knows he’s supposed to wait for quiet to settle once more and kiss his grandmother’s hand, to bow before his Majesty and show humility. Instead, he walks straight back down the aisle in long strides to where the guards are posted at the doors. The murmurs and gasps don’t matter, have faded from his awareness completely by the time he reaches Dream. And with sure hands, he pushes the stupid mask up enough to free the bottom half of his face and buries a hand in blonde hair, and finally falls into his love. He kisses him gently, and gentler when his love unfreezes enough to return the affection. In front of his father and his father before him and anyone else who cared to show up, Fundy claims his divine right.

Fuck the nobles.

[sabraeal]

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, on the occasion of her becoming older than me once again. Old as dirt really. Practically middle aged...😂

It had snowed the night before.

Kai can taste it; it’s a sharp bite in his nose, a vivid chill on his tongue. There’s nothing to show for it now; the engawa creaks beneath his tabi, but there’s no crunch, no wetness to tell it was once there. Only the lingering scent remains, and only for those who know to look for it.

Hah, reminds him of someone he knows. Oh, how it would annoy him to hear it, to hear his shadow wrapped in strokes and made solid on the page. Maybe he would whisper it in the Vice-Commander’s ear one day; at least then that bit of poetry could come from a welcome mouth.

He takes in another breath, the cold burning deep in his lungs, and-- ah, it’s not just winter on the air today, but something else. A buzz, a jangle of bells; something dissonant with the usual bustle and boom of the compounds. This is a place filled to the rafters with young men; it should be boisterous, a raucous din of swords clashing and chatter threading through the air, but instead--

Instead it is silent. Kai is not one to put a hand to hilt, not when there is no reason to draw, but in this loud lack, he considers it.

Kai is not a small man; we could put you in the ring, Nagakura would tell him when his wallet no longer made the sweet music it ought, really give those sumo a run for their money, eh, Raki-san? He would laugh-- what man wouldn’t, when Nagakura rolled his words in his mouth, undaunted by sake or sense-- but it was true he was of a size with those men, that he could make the ground thunder under his feet should he choose it.

But when he paces the engawa now, no boards sing beneath his feet. Sound is a choice, but silence takes practice, takes precision. Babes are born into this world wailing, but it takes a lifetime to learn how to stifle a step, how to sit with a quiet mind and a calm heart. When they write of him, they will say that Shimada Kai moved mountains when he walked, but only the Watch will know that he could breathe so slowly that dust would lie still.

Well, the Watch and Gen, who slides open the shoji with a sigh, wiping at his tonsure with a grimace, and promptly jumps.

“Shimada-san,” he laughs, weakly. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Kai would assure him that he wouldn’t be the first, but considering his reputation, he doubts that will be much of a comfort. Besides, this is hardly the first time he’s caught one of the captains unaware. I’m going to put bells on you, the Vice-Commander told him more than once, frowning at his spilt tea, then at least I’ll know you’re coming before your shadow arrives.

There’s voices coming from behind the paper; the Vice-Commander’s low, intense rumble is one of them, as well as Okita’s higher, prodding tones. The two of them sharing a room without shouting was rare enough, but for Gen to have subjected himself to it-- “There’s a meeting of the captains?”

Gen’s men call him stern, an exacting task master as relentless as any dojo’s sensei-- but they never fail to remark upon his kindness either, nor the open warmth his smile radiates, like the gentle heat off a hibachi. Expressive, a learned man might say; it makes him a good captain, a lethal warrior, and a terrible diplomat.

“Ah...” His mouth pulls tight, a grimace that flashes before he is able to school his face. “Yes. Er, or should I say, among some. There was quite a commotion last night.”

“A commotion?” It had been Okita in that room and the Vice-Commander. It would be a necessity to have Kondo as well, to keep them from nipping at each other’s throats. Captains, with Gen but one among them, but not all-- the arithmetic alone makes his blood run cold. “You mean with the Furies.”

The word alone sets Gen’s face slack, his eyes pulsing wide as he searches the courtyard, fearing the ears that might hear them, unwitting. “Yes,” he replies slowly. “Two ran free last night.”

If Shimada cussed, he would be sorely tempted to do so now. “There were bodies then? Has Yamazaki-kun--?”

“Toshi sent him out last night,” Gen assures him. “Just after he returned with Saito and Souji. There will be nothing for anyone to find when they wake this morning.”

He would be back soon, then. Dawn leaked over the horizon, lazy as it always was in these last few winter months. “Then why have the captains met?”

Gen’s breath tumbles into the air, troubled. “There was a witness.”

“A witness?” Kai shifts, restless. That would make things complicated-- or simple, depending. With their luck, however...well, anticipating the worst made more answers seem sweet.

“It’s a boy, barely more than a child.” Every word bobs heavily between them, weighed down by Gen’s disapproval. “We’ve had him in custody since last night.”

“Even a child can hold a knife.” Something a man who knew Okita as a boy should know, if half of what he’s heard is true. “And those that can’t have eyes and tongue still.”

“You would say that,” There’s no heat behind Gen’s words, just a reluctant fondness. “But you still let them beg you for candy in the marketplace.”

Ah, he would bring that up. “Even a child can hold a knife,” Kai blusters, “but that doesn’t mean every one does.”

“Then you see what I mean.” Gen shuffles down the engawa, casting a thin scowl toward the shoji. “This boy’s cheeks are smooth, not a threat of stubble on them, and yet we have him bound hand and foot like some common criminal. And all because he had no choice but to witness...”

His words stumble, but Kai does not need to hear them to know just what those child’s eyes have seen. Yamazaki may be the one that cleans up after the Fury’s missteps, but he has seen what their bloodlust leaves behind. Pieces, never enough to be made into a whole; hardly enough to throw into furnace for ashes.

“Toshi wants me to bring him,” Gen mutters when Kai matches his recalcitrant pace. “A boy not old enough for a razor, but they’ll interrogate him to see what he knows.”

“No.” The answer rattles around in his chest, hollow. “They want to know what he thinks he’s seen.”

“They might as well ask a man asleep in his bed for all the good it will do them.” Gen’s mouth is little more than a blade’s edge, hardly parting as he grits out, “Fear paints uncertain memories, and the terror this boy must have witnessed...”

Kai does not speak, but in his silence, he agrees. The Vice Commander could fire his barrage of questions, as relentless as any Black Ship, but for a child to remember anything but the beating of his heart as he waited to die-- he would be a true warrior, not to be wasted on Okita’s blade.

“It won’t be so bad,” Gen says with a wave of his hand, as if the movement alone could banish their concerns. “Heisuke is of an age with him. You know he could hardly stand to see a potential comrade in distress.”

True enough. Shinpachi used to tease him about Serizawa’s page; to hear him tell it, the boy had barely awoken before Heisuke asked him to call him by the same, bandying about the name Ryunnoske like they were brothers rather than strangers. He doesn’t, not anymore, not since...

Well, perhaps this time Heisuke would not be so quick to adopt a stray. Not when the last had hardly washed clean from the river’s shore.

“And Shinpachi-san and Sano-san won’t suffer it either.” Gen’s voice bubbles brightly, like the sunshine over a still river’s rapids, danger lurking just beneath the surface. “They might sit quiet now, but once they see this child...”

That, Kai doubted. Both were good men, but they made better warriors. Perhaps if this boy were as pitiful as Gen claimed, he would have the right of it. But otherwise, his age might work against him; boy he might be to men such as them, but to two that were used to thinking of Heisuke as an equal rather than a child--

“Okita will want to kill him,” Kai reminds him instead; the largest danger. Shinpachi and Sano would bend whichever way the Vice Commander’s wind would blow, but Okita is ruled by his own whims-- or Kondo’s word. And Kai knew which of those were faster.

“There’s few enough men he doesn’t,” Gen grumbles. “He can say what he wishes. I doubt his word will carry much weight among the captains, after...”

Everything. The Shinsegumi’s name might be new enough to shine, but already it is smeared with blood, and most of it from Okita’s blade. No one would be eager to follow his lead, not when Serizawa’s influence sat heavy on him as a yoke.

Gen hesitates, steps stilling on the boards. “You’ll watch for him, won’t you?” He turns his head over his shoulder. “Yamazaki-kun, I mean. Toshi will want to speak to him, once all this is...decided.”

Between a body and a hostage, he means. “I will,” Kai promises. “We will be ready, when it’s time.”

One way or the other.

Kai knows better to linger when Gen brings the boy out-- he needs to make a show of normalcy, of everything being what his men expect to see, even if Shinpachi is not there to drill them when they stumble from their quarters, bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. He does, however, catch a glimpse later when he lingers at Nagi’s well. 

The boy’s a narrow thing, undersized, not dressed in the more subdued kimono of the emperor’s dictates, but a pale salmon. Not that it makes him strange among the men here, but still-- it’s odd, as is his lack of haori, and the way his hakama sit on his hips. There’s something strange in the way he walks too, in the flexibility of his spine, but Kai can’t put his finger on it, the answer just out of reach.

“There was a witness.”

He does not startle as Gen did; instead Kai peers up at the roof, gaze catching on the shadow that doesn’t sit right until it resolves into a man instead. Yamazaki isn’t a small man-- though he’s not tall either-- but he seems it crouched there, dressed in unrelenting back.

“There was,” Kai confirms, “but the captains mean to keep him.”

Yamazaki nods, eyes too serious above the cloth of his mask. “Until they know what he knows.”

Yamazaki had always been serious; Kai noticed it that first day in Nagi house, when they swore to uphold the name of the Roshigumi. Such gravity is not often seen the young; it marked him to Kai’s eye, made it easy to take him on as a colleague in the Watch, despite their difference in ages. But he had hoped, as he watched this young man take his first stumbling steps toward friendship, that it would lighten him, give him back some of the boy he still should be.

Whatever youth Ibuki had brought out in him, there’s no trace of it left now. All that remains is that stern intensity, that arrow-like focus.

It makes him afraid. Not of Yamazaki-- he is not the sort of man one needs to fear without reason-- but for him. He’s too young to throw himself away on the dreams of other men, but it’s useless to tell him so. At his age, Kai would have been much the same.

“Yamazaki, perhaps--”

There is a commotion in the courtyard; one loud enough that his hand is on his hilt before his thoughts catch up to him. The captains have converged already, all of them on a single door, and he can’t imagine why, until--

Until he catches that glimpse of salmon, and the wide, determined eyes of their captive.

“Idiot,” Yamazaki grumbles. “Who would try to escape when they know they have the notice of the Vice Commander?”

“I don’t think...” Kai slows his tongue to match his thoughts. “I don’t think he did. I think...he doesn’t know he’s of interest at all. He hardly even knows what he saw, let alone what it means.”

The air prickles with silence.

“Enough,” Yamazaki says, decisively. “He saw enough.”

By the time the Vice Commander calls for them, Yamazaki has changed into his jinbei; no longer the lethal ninja, but a mild-mannered acupuncturist. Still, it does not change the intensity his eyes take when he kneels across from Hijikata, nor the way his hands clench at his pants.

His head bows. “Vice Commander.”

“Shimada. Yamazaki. Thank you for handling our problem last night.” A faint smile lingers around his lips, but with his next breath, it’s gone. “But I’m about to hand you another one.”

Yamazaki jerks up at that, eyes pulled wide. “Sir?”

Every word is sour when Hijikata replies, “We’re keeping the girl.”

A pin could drop, and they all would hear it.

“Girl?” Kai’s voice lifts an octave. “You mean that the boy was--?”

“A poorly disguised girl? Yes. And that’s not all.” His mouth pulls thin with distaste. “She’s Kodo’s daughter.”

Were it in him to goggle, Yamazaki would. “Yukimura-sensei’s...?”

“Yes.” The word twists wryly in the air. “Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Kai shifts restlessly on his knees. “Then does she know--?”

“She doesn’t know a damned thing about Kodo’s whereabouts,” he spits out, mouth rumpled in an irritated knot. “To hear her tell it, it’s been a year since she’s heard a single word. Came all the way down from Edo to look for him.”

“Alone?” Kai asks, too sharp.

Hijikata’s brows lift. “That’s what she said. She was coming down here to find Matsumoto, see if he’d heard anything since him and her dad were old friends. But apparently he’s out of town, and she’s out of luck.”

Kodo Yukimura’s daughter showing up on their doorstep mere weeks after his house burned to the ground with not a body to be found... it’s too good a story to be true, too convenient. Still, Kai find himself believing it, believing this girl he’s only seen a glimpse of.

Hijikata sighs into their silence, leaning an arm against his desk to lounge. “Sanan thinks that if we keep her here, Kodo might finally peek that shiny head out from where he’s hiding.”

“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” Yamazaki asks, every word dripping with doubt.

“Maybe. She’s quiet enough.” The Vice Commander huffs out a laugh. “Well, except when she tried to sneak out. But to be fair, I wouldn’t stick around if Souji said he’d kill me either.”

Yamazaki goes rigid at the sound of that name, knuckles blanching on his knees. Still, he stays silent.

“For the record, I don’t think the girl lying,” Hijikata mutters, already ill tempered from the thought. “But as long as we keep her, I want you two to keep an eye on her.”

“But Vice Commander--”

“Yamazaki.” The name cracks like a whip from Hijikata’s tongue. “Are you questioning my orders?”

He squirms on his knees, mouth bowing into a frown. “N-no, Vice Commander.”

“Good.” Hijikata’s mouth twitches. “Her identity stays between us. The men don’t need to know there’s a woman among us, no matter how she’s dressed.”

Kai considers that. “But if she’s meant to stay here, at Yagi House...”

“She’ll need a better cover. I know.” If anything, the Vice Commander turns...petulant. “Souji had the bright idea of putting her as my page, and Kondo thought it was a good idea--” the implication in his tone that he did not agree was impossible to miss-- “so make sure that’s the story that circulates.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Good, then you’re both dismissed. And Yamazaki?”

The boy perks up, eager as any dog for his master. “Yes, Vice Commander?”

Hijikata hesitates, his face growing lean and wary, the way a hunter’s does before the hunt. “If she runs, you have my permission to deal with her.”

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 16: Night Before the Battle

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry accompanies Y/N to meet the other queen.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

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.

Y/N and Harry arrived at the southern border at dawn and found a single tent with two horses outside. Calanthe and whoever had accompanied her must have camped here overnight. Y/N assumed it was one of The Monks; however, she’d never met any of them, except for the one who had been sent to kill her at the market last year.

Y/N dismounted Thunder, unsheathed the dagger at her side and tucked it into her riding boot. They would be asked to submit their weapons before Calanthe received them, and even though Y/N doubted Calanthe could hurt a single fly, it was still better to be careful.

Mary had come to see Y/N the other night, and if the witch had been honest, Harry’s and Lance’s speculations had been true. It wasn’t at all shocking to Y/N that The Monks were only using Calanthe as a chess piece in their game. Calanthe didn’t seem like the mastermind behind this elaborated plan, starting with the attacks at the borders and Harry’s capture. Calanthe was desperate and angry, but she wasn’t vicious enough to want to take over the world.

Hearing Y/N’s and Harry’s arrival, a tall dark man with a thick beard emerged from the tent, dressed in a large black cloak – the signature look of The Monks. He swept his fierce eyes over Y/N with his thick eyebrow arched. Her heart thudded violently as she held her breath in fear of him acknowledging the weapon hidden inside her boot. Thank Gods, he didn’t.

His dry lips spread in an attempt of a smile, which didn’t look at all genuine and less intimidating. He put a hand on his chest and took a bow before Y/N. “Queen Y/N, my queen was expecting you.” His gaze flicked to Harry’s sword. “You must submit all weapons. And your servant is not allowed to enter.”

“That’s my commander,” Y/N said.

The man gave Harry a scornful smirk as he told Y/N, “If you say so, Your Majesty.” Y/N glanced at Harry to see her lover have his fingers wrapped around his sword-hilt. It must take everything for him not to say something when being disrespected by the enemy.

“If Harry is not allowed to enter, he must keep his sword,” Y/N said.

The man held her stare thoughtfully before another eerie smile transformed his long face, sending chills right down her spine. He didn’t ask Harry to hand in the weapon anymore as he told Y/N to come with him.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her riding clothes, her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She looked small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

The inside of the tent was dimly lit by firelight. Calanthe sat in her chair in her long golden velvet dress with her hair tied up in a braid at the back of her neck. The shadow on the wall looked as though it wanted to engulf her. She appeared small and young and helpless. Without Y/N’s uncle’s crown on Calanthe’s head, no one would be able to tell that Calanthe was a queen and not a young maiden being held captive by the evil man in the black cloak.

“I thought I told you to come alone,” Calanthe spoke once the man had left.

Y/N took some time to study the Queen of Theros. A lot had changed about Calanthe since the last time Y/N had seen her in person. She looked sick with her bony physique, lifeless eyes and pallid skin. What had they done to her? What had she done to herself?

“Harry’s my commander,” Y/N said, keeping a straight face. “It’s not safe for a queen to travel that far on her own. And didn’t you bring someone as well?”

“Vossler’s my new consultant.” Calanthe rose from her chair, eyeing Y/N with contempt. “Since you killed the old one.”

“I’m not here to be accused of murder. I wasn’t in the castle that night.”

Calanthe tilted her head and pouted with feigned innocence. “Who should I complain to then? Your husband?” Her face turned cold. “Let me remind you why you’re here, Y/N. I asked for the witch. Where is she?”

Y/N’s expression remained unchanged. “I told you I came with just Harry.”

Calanthe’s eyebrows knitted. It wasn’t until now that Y/N realised how quiet it was. There was no sound but the crackling of the fire and the sighing of the wind. She wondered if Harry was still waiting for her outside. He wouldn’t leave her by choice. She could take down Calanthe, and hopefully, Harry could handle Vossler, unless this was a trap and they’d just walked straight into it. Y/N doubted it, though. The reckless little girl who’d been forced to put on her dead husband’s crown would probably have Y/N and Harry murdered tonight. However, Calanthe wasn’t playing this game. The Monks were.

“The witch belongs to me,” Calanthe said, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. “You return her to me, and I will spare your life in the war.”

“I don’t ask for mercy in a war I’m not losing.”

“Even if it means you’d get to keep the North?”

“Get to keep the North?” Y/N scoffed. “The North belongs to me. I’m the rightful ruler and heir to the crown. My family is the oldest family that’s ever lived–”

“Said the only family member survived,” Calanthe cut her off. It was a jab in the heart, still, Y/N didn’t let it show. “The first High King angered the Gods,” Calanthe went on with a smug grin. “His bloodline would end with your death.”

“Is that a threat?” asked Y/N.

“I never threaten.” Calanthe’s brows were drawn together. “I guarantee that you won’t live to see your people bend their knees to me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Should it be easier if you kill me now, though?”

“And become the villain in the story? No, darling,” Calanthe asked with fake surprise. “I must win on the battlefield, my dear. But if you give me the witch, I’ll let you live to be a sad loser. You can keep the North, marry your handsome king and live happily ever after in your winter castle. But if you keep the witch, I’ll have to declare war against the South based on the fact that your brother murdered my husband, and you murdered George Wallace.”

“There’s no proof for either of your accusations.”

“Trust me.” A corner of Calanthe’s red lips lifted. “It’s so easy to convince the other kingdoms that you’re just as mad as your brother.”

Y/N swallowed hard, balling her fists. She wasn’t going to let herself be provoked by Calanthe’s harmless words. This woman wasn’t the real enemy.

“If you declare war with the North,” Y/N said, “you declare war with Attwell, too.”

Calanthe rolled her eyes and smirked. “With Rouxvania’s support, I would surely win.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “The East is on your side?”

“While you were too busy looking for the cure for your lover, I was busy nurturing my allies.” Calanthe turned her back to Y/N, facing the fire. Y/N caught a glimpse of two long scars on Calanthe’s right palm. It seemed like she had been learning to wield a sword. Y/N guessed The Monks was going to send Calanthe onto the battlefield where they’d make sure she would not return. They wanted all kings and queens to fight to the death so they’d take over one hundred kingdoms.

“They’re just using you,” Y/N broke the silence. Calanthe glanced over her shoulder, her eyes troubled. “They’ll kill you like they did to my brother and the first High King,” Y/N went on, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. “Egon and Lokesh also believed they were ‘the chosen one’. You’re their next victim, Calanthe.”

Calanthe whirled around as she snapped, “And why should I trust you?”

“Because I don’t want the South for my own,” Y/N calmly said. “And I’m not standing here as your enemy. I’m here as a woman who doesn’t want to see another woman suffer from abuse from men.”

Calanthe’s eyes squinted with doubt. “You’re only saying this because you fear you’re going to end up like every single one in your family. Dead.”

Y/N clenched her fists, now highly aware of the existence of the dagger in her boot. Still, she kept her composure. “I know you hate me because of what my father did to your family and kingdom. I am sorry. If I could go back in time and stop him, I would. But I can’t. I’m trying to help you now by telling you the truth–”

“You don’t know what the truth is,” Calanthe cut her off. “You think you’re so special huh? Just because you found the lake and survived the North Forest, it doesn’t make you special, Y/N. You’re just as twisted as the men in your family. Lokesh sold his baby’s soul for victory, didn’t he? And we both know you didn’t just ask a witch to bring your friend back to life for free. You killed you ba–”

Y/N didn’t wait for Calanthe to finish. She shoved Calanthe into her chair, drew the dagger out of her boot so fast that Calanthe could barely gasp when the shiny blade was held at her throat.

“Your Majesty, is everything all right?” asked Vossler as his shadow towered over the entrance of the tent.

Y/N applied a little bit more pressure to her dagger as she leaned in and whispered into Calanthe’s ear, “I’d cut your throat before he could set foot into this tent.”

She could see that Calanthe was trying her best to look calm while her big blue eyes were showing the opposite. “Everything is fine,” she told Vossler.

Y/N looked back over her shoulder and saw that Vlosser hesitated before he left. He probably suspected something was off but had no choice but to obey the command.

“I know you can’t kill me,” Calanthe said through gritted teeth.

Y/N turned back to her. “I can. I just chose not to because I’m not stupid.” Her fingers relaxed around the hilt of her dagger. “But as you can see, it’s very easy for me to kill you. And we’re not even on the battlefield, Calanthe.”

When Y/N pulled away, Calanthe let out a loud sigh as she immediately reached for her throat as if to make sure her head was still attached. Y/N thrust the dagger back into her boot, smiling.

Calanthe gave her a dismissive wave, too embarrassed to even make eye contact. “You may leave.”

Knowing there was nothing she could do to change this foolish woman’s mind, Y/N kept her thoughts to herself and walked out without a single glance back.

Outside, Harry was waiting with the horses while Vossler was sharpening his blade by the tent. Y/N could feel Vossler’s dark eyes following her as she exited the tent and padded straight toward Harry. His eyes stayed fixed on Vossler as he asked her, “So?”

She shook her head and mounted her horse. “Let’s go.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he knew this wasn’t the right time to have this conversation. Giving Vossler one more glare, he got onto Lightning’s back. Together, they rode away.

When they came across a river, Y/N suddenly stopped, got off her horse and walked straight to the riverbank. She stood there in silence, just gazing out at the water.

Harry came up from behind her. “Peach, what happened back there?” He sounded worried. It made her feel bad.

She sucked in a breath and put her arms around herself. “I had a dagger at her throat, and she still wouldn’t surrender.”

There was a pause. “Peach, you can’t do that. She’s still a queen.”

Y/N whirled around to face a concerned Harry. “She’s an idiot. Now people are going to die. I can’t stop this war from happening.”

He sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything.”

“Everything is my fault.” Her head drooped as her voice cracked. “This all started with me running away. I killed my father and my brother, and my uncle was murdered because of me.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time. You couldn’t have known.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “You’re not responsible for their deaths. If I were to die defending you, it wouldn’t be your fault, either.”

Her heart stopped. She looked up into his green eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. You won’t die.”

A knot lodged in her throat as his eyebrows sloped. “When someone dies, they die, Peach. You cannot stop it. But no matter how or when it happens, it will not be your fault. And you will not waste one moment on guilt.”

Tears blurred his features. Y/N couldn’t even think of something happening to Harry again. Losing him once was already too much. Other than Lance, Harry was the only person in her life who knew what kept me up at night. He knew her more than her own family had. It would be like losing her mother all over again, but she’d known long before her mother’s death that it was going to happen. Her mother had been sick. If Harry died under the hand of the enemy, it would happen suddenly. How could she ever recover?

“Tell me you understand that.” His voice shook her back to reality.

She didn’t want to understand, but she nodded nonetheless because that was what he needed to see. She slipped her arms around his neck, and he hugged her tightly. She never wanted him to let go.

“Your father and brother weren’t good kings.” His voice thickened. “But you are a great queen. You’re the chosen one, Peach. You’ll lead your army to victory. I believe in you..” Stepping back, he squeezed her shoulder once more and offered a smile to fool her into thinking everything was going to be okay. At least it worked. “Come.” He kissed her forehead. “It’ll be a long trip back to the castle.”

.

.

.

It was official. There was going to be a war.

Two days after Y/N and Harry had come home, the news had travelled to all high and low courts that The High Queen of Theros had declared war against Isolde to avenge the deaths of her husband and her consultant. Y/N had faith in her well-trained army as well as Lance’s for they had all expected this outcome. Her father had been well-prepared for this. Nevertheless, this wasn’t at all what Y/N wanted.

The night before the battle, it snowed thickly outside. The castle was too quiet. It was as if the universe was holding its breath for the bloodbath tomorrow.

Y/N rose from the soaking tub. Jo helped her slip on a thick robe, and she padded on her bare feet across the fire-warmed stone to the lone mirror. Using her palm to wipe away a bit of steam, she tilted my cheek and observed the faintly red and bruised skin along her chest and the corner of her mouth. She’d got them from the fall off the cliff; they were barely noticeable now. Sometimes she missed that feeling of free-falling to her possible death. If it hadn’t been for the people she’d leave behind, she would have chosen the easy way out.

Was it easy, though?

Death.

It sounded easy if the choice was given to you. However, her death would only prove Calanthe right. That she was destined to receive the same fate as the men in her bloodline. And she didn’t want to be associated with their crimes and weaknesses. If she were to die, she’d die brave and honoured, holding her sword.

Blinking, she caught Jo’s dreadful eyes looking back at her in the mirror. “I’m scared, Y/N,” Jo muttered as she twisted the towel she was holding.

Y/N turned around. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t know that for sure, but she’d say anything to put her friend at ease. It didn’t work, though.

“If they took the castle, what would happen to me?” Jo asked, her forehead creased. “I’d surely die. I cannot protect myself.”

“I won’t let them take the castle.” Y/N mustered an encouraging smile as she took Jo’s hand. “And you can protect yourself, Jo. I’ve shown you how to use a dagger—”

“Being shown the basics of how to use a blade and using it on another living person are two different things.” Jo pulled her hand back. “I would’ve stood there and screamed.”

“You would’ve defended yourself,” Y/N said, this, she genuinely believed. “I’ve seen how vicious you get when Harry ate your last piece of pie.”

The skin around Jo’s eyes crinkled as she giggled. “I would duel him to the death for that delicious cake.”

A short laugh burst from Y/N. “Just imagine all the attackers as Harry trying to steal your last piece of pie and you’ll be good.”

They laughed about it together and pretended that it was just a joke. In reality, Y/N knew Jo had a good reason to be scared, as was she. She’d failed to save Jo once. How could she be sure she could succeed this time? There was no witch to help her. She’d have to do this on her own.

.

.

.

Sweat dampened Harry’s skin as he dipped down and kicked out. Caught off guard, Lance staggered to the side and froze before he could start striking back. His gaze dropped to where Harry held the dagger to his throat. The corners of his lips lowered.

Harry smirked. “I win.”

“It’s not about winning.” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s about surviving.”

“Isn’t that winning, though?” Harry lowered the dagger and stepped back.

Lance shot him a glare and sheathed the dagger at his hip. “The battle tomorrow isn’t a game.”

“I know that.” Harry put away his blade. “But I still won.”

“Boys, can you stop being boys for a moment?”

They both whipped around to find Y/N standing on the steps in her white fur coat, staring out at the yard.

“She’s talking to you,” Harry and Lance said to each other at the same time

Y/N marched up to them. Her face scrunched up like an angry teacher as she regarded them both. “You two are aware that we’re heading to battle at dawn, right?”

Lance’s eyes widened as he aggressively pointed his hand at Harry. “I’ve been trying to tell him!”

Y/N crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who put on a grin. “I’ll be in serious fighting mode at dawn.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lips arched faintly. Harry knew that she knew he was just trying to keep everyone calm and in good spirits. Deep down, he was a bundle of nerves. He hadn’t been sleeping since they’d returned from the border. Whenever he closed his eyes, he’d see death. He wasn’t afraid of dying. But if he died, he couldn’t protect her. There would still be Lance, but he couldn’t count on anyone else but him and herself to keep her safe at this point.

The three of them headed back inside. Y/N stopped Lance when he was about to retreat to his chambers. “Come to the throne room and drink with me,” she said. “Both of you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get drunk before a battle,” Lance said.

Harry and Y/N exchanged the same kind of look. To Lance, Harry said, “We’re not drinking to get drunk. Besides, this might be the only chance we get to drink together.”

Lance flicked his gaze between Harry and Y/N before throwing his head back and exhaling sharply. “You two are unbelievable.”

Y/N laughed as she slipped her arm around Lance’s and tugged him along. Strangely, Harry felt fine with it. Maybe knowing this could be the last night of his life had made him more sensible. He would think about what she’d said on the night she’d asked him to marry her. About how she loved Lance even though it wasn’t the same way she loved Harry. He would look out for Kenny, too, even though Kenny and Stefan were married and had a baby together. While Lance’s feelings were not reciprocated, Harry knew he’d still jump in front of an arrow for Y/N.

“Here’s to us staying alive,” Y/N said, raising her cup. “Long live the Queen.”

Lance chuckled as he lifted his. “Long live the King.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Long live Harry.” And chugged the wine from his cup.

Y/N sat on her throat while Harry and Lance sat on the step on either side of her. She stared thoughtfully into her cup as she took a deep breath. “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m proposing, Lance.”

“Well, I have a feeling that I won’t like it,” Lance said and poured himself some more wine. Harry gestured for Y/N to continue anyway.

“If you see me having trouble on the battlefield,” she said, “just know I can get myself out of it. I want you to mind your own business, watch your own back unless I scream for help. Do not try to help me and get yourself killed.”

Lance shook his head. “Y/N, you know I can’t promise you that.”

“You must.”

“You’re not giving me orders. We’re equals.”

Y/N let out a soft breath. “I’m not giving you orders, Lance. I’m asking you.”

Harry could see Lance softened at once. The King averted his eyes and stared down at his cup. “I promise,” he replied weakly.

It was enough for Y/N. She turned to Harry. Forcefully, he nodded and gave her his word.

[lemonlushff-iy]

War Bride

Knight Kagome

Mad Scientist

Bakery Inu/Kag (different from Petits Délices)

DT Holiday

Mail Order Husband

Virus

oh! Please! 1, 2, and 6. Can you tell us more?

@kawaiichan67​ I SWEAR I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN!!! I was just waiting to get off work and then also get onto my computer again so I could answer this the way it deserved to be answered!!

Thank you SO SO SO much for the ask!!

In order:

1: War Bride is a fic where Inuyasha is a soldier from America in WWII, and once it’s over...he’s one of the ones occupying Japan. There, he falls in love with Kagome, and marries her, bringing her back to the states as his “war bride”. It was a very common occurrence for these men, and laws were actually made to help expedite things to make it so that soldiers could, in fact, bring these war brides home. I’ve read a few articles on it while doing research for “Not for All the Tea in China”, and I am FASCINATED by it, and really want to try my hand at that once. 

TEASER:

Inuyasha’s breath puffed out before him in the cold, December air. His joints ached as he slowly moved through the cemetery, the stone grave markers lined forming neat, tight rows. It had been a week since he had been here last. He always tried to visit once a week. 

The thought of her here alone…

He spotted his late wife’s marker and smiled. The pang in his heart was still as fresh as the day he had lost her. It still tightened painfully in his chest. His breath still hitched in his clogged throat. They said time healed all wounds…

Time couldn’t dull this pain, however. 

He set up the folding chair on her small polt as he arrived, bending down to rub the marker endearingly. The sun had warmed the stone slightly in the chill of the air, and if he closed his eyes...he could pretend that the hardness he felt under his wrinkled, weathered fingers was her soft, pliable skin. He could pretend that he cupped her cheek as she laid in their bed beside him, the way he had thousands of times before. 

“Merry Christmas, Koishii,” he greeted lovingly, his deep voice rough with age and emotion. 

The wind picked up around him - just a gentle breeze, really - but he chose to believe that she was reaching out to him too. 

“Merry Christmas, Inuyasha…” 

He longed to hear those words from her. 

“Moroha is coming by later,” he began chipperly, shoving his frail hands into his jacket pockets. “She’s bringing the boy and the kids too.”

He still “lovingly” referred to his son in law as “the boy”. It was more of a tease now - something said with a twinkle in his eye. Inuyasha might not have liked the man when he first showed up...but...Moroha was their only child. His special princess. It was something Kagome would tell him to not do, but he and “the boy” had a bit of an understanding now. 

He had seen the look in the man’s eyes when he looked at his little girl. 

It was the same one he had once had in his eye when he had first seen Kagome, back in Japan after the end of World War II. 

“Do you remember the day we met, Kagome?” he pondered aloud, knowing that he wouldn’t receive a response. Still, he asked all the same. 

He liked talking to her, even if he would never again receive a response. 

“You were working at that department store…” he began, closing his eyes, and he was transported to a different time and place. 

2: Knight Kagome is just...me toying with a concept. Inuyasha is the unwanted child of a duke Touga. Kagome is a powerful knight. He marries Inuyasha off to her (for a reason I haven’t decided on...something battley related) and the pair slowly falls in love. 

This is actually all I have for that one...

TEASER:

She was beautiful. 

He couldn’t help but sneak glances at her from under his lashes at the altar. Her wedding dress. The braids in her black hair. If her stormy blue eyes hadn’t been downtrodden, he might have believed for a moment that the smile on her face was real. 

That she actually wanted to marry him. 

But. Then again. Who would ever want to marry him. Inuyasha. Bastard half-breed son of the great duke toga Takahashi, and a maid who had caught his eye. He’s only had to rut her a few times before she’s been whelped. 

He’d never even met her. She died as he was born. She hadn’t even had the strength to look upon his face as he drew his first breath. 

The priest continued to drone on before them, and he found himself stealing another glance at her. 

So beautiful. So powerful. How the hell had his father twisted her arm into wedding him. He hadn’t heard the details. He only knew that Kagome would become his wife, and then, shortly after, she would take their place on the battlefield. As a knight and a magician, she was powerful. She hadn’t earned any titles yet, but that was sure to follow. 

He could feel the power radiating off of her, even now. Her strength. Her magic. 

He shifted his golden gaze away from her as she tilted her head ever so slightly to look at him. His breath caught in his throat and he silently tried to calm himself. 

6: Mail Order Husband...Oh. My. God. I have had this idea since HIGH SCHOOL. Kagome doesn’t have time for love. She’s lonely...but her job is her world and nothing will stand in her way of her dreams of becoming a top exec at a fashion magazine. She thinks she has it all. The looks. The apartment. The friends...but...one night after a long day of work, there’s a knock on her door...and when she answers it, she’s swept into the arms of a stranger who proceeds to kiss her. 

And tell her he’s her husband. 

Maybe she doesn’t have the friends she thought she did. 

...Or does she?

TEASER: 

Kagome sighed as she toed off her high heels, gently scooting them to the side with her foot, next to her island. She peeled out of her blazer as she walked further into her apartment, ditching it onto the closest arm chair, rubbing the back of her neck. 

God she was exhausted. And she wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, but...that was a “future her” issue. She didn’t want to mull over work anymore right now. All she wanted was her grubhub to arrive so she could have some sushi, pour some wine, and watch the real housewives of atlanta. 

Their shit was always worlds better than her own. Their drama made her forget about her drama...and she fucking hated drama. When she was involved, of course. 

She still wanted to know 200% of it. 

Just leave her out of it. 

She meandered over to her bathroom and pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail at the top of her head, removing her jewelry. She would have completely changed, but...frankly...she knew that dinner would be arriving soon and she’d rather open the door with her bra on. 

That didn’t mean that she couldn’t get a little more comfortable first though. Try and wipe away some of the traces of her hellish day at work. 

That fucking magazine…

It was her blood. Her life. And they made her bleed for it. The deadlines were crazy, the stress insane, and her bosses even more so. Yet...she wouldn’t trade her life for anything. It was her dream job, and she had sacrificed a lot to get here. 

A social life, at times. Definitely love. 

This was what the trade off was for working at one of the most in demand, read, and famous fashion magazines in the world. 

She rolled her shoulders, before washing her face, drying it with a towel behind her. It was a bit better, but she didn’t feel refreshed. She felt exhausted, and now that the makeup was gone, she could see the bags under her blue eyes. She loved her eyes...was that conceited to say?

She didn’t know anymore after working for them. 

But she did.

They were large and round...had heard from many men before that it was like looking into the depths of an ocean and...frankly...she had to agree. They were one of her most striking features, next to her delicate features. Nose, cheekbone...brows...If she didn’t enjoy food, she had been told that she could have been a model. As it were, however, that wasn’t a path she wanted for herself anyways. 

She exited the bathroom, flicking off the light as she made her way back into her kitchen, opening the fridge door and taking out a new bottle of wine. Chardonnay. She had picked it up a few days ago, and nothing like her hell day to make her want to dip into it. 

She grabbed the corkscrew and began working it into the bottle as a knock came from her door, and she sighed in relief. 

“Sushi,” she grinned, placing the bottle onto her counter as she strode towards the door. “You have good timing!” she called out, placing her hand on the knob, turning it. “I’m famished!”

What greeted her on the other side of the door didn’t look like a grubhub man. 

Afterall. 

Grubhub brought you food.

Not suitcases. 

“Hello?” she greeted, raising her brow at the man before her. Long silver hair, nervous yet excited golden eyes...His smile was shy but endearing. 

“Kagome?” he whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes?” she replied slowly - hesitantly. Who the hell was he and how the hell did he even know her name?

“Kagome,” he grinned widely, sweeping her into his arms, his lips planting themselves firmly on her lips. 

She squealed as he began kissing her, his hands winding into her hair, his hand gently moving to lovingly caress the small of her back. She had no idea who the hell this man was...or why the fuck he was kissing her, but she didn’t like it!

Well…

She did…

But it was creepy as fuck and she didn’t like it!

She wormed her hands between their bodies and gave him a firm push, staggering backwards into her apartment. 

“What the fuck!” she demanded, running the back of her hand against her lips, and he looked absolutely crushed. 

“W-what?”

“Who the hell are you and why the hell did you just kiss me!”

“W-who...K-kagome…”

She darted over towards the butcher block on her counter holding her knives and grabbed one as he entered  her apartment. 

“Kagome! It’s me! Inuyasha!”

“You say that like it should mean something to me,” she growled lowly, keeping her knife pointed at him. She wasn’t letting him get any closer to her if she could help it. 

If only she were closer to her phone...Then she could maybe call for help. 

“I...We’re getting married,” he breathed, his face confused. Saddened. 

“What?!” she shrieked. This guy had to have a few marbles loose. 

“Do you...Kagome Higurashi?”

“That’s my name,” she nodded. “But I’m definitely not getting married, buddy…”

“I don’t understand…” he whispered. He looked like he was on the verge of crying, and her heart softened a little. This man...Inuyasha...whoever he was...Seemed completely and totally baffled. 

“L-look. Maybe there’s another Kagome Higurashi that’s out there that you’re supposed to get married to. What...why don’t you...Shit,” she sighed. He looked so sad. He didn’t seem like a threat. He seemed as confused and befuddled as she did. She wasn’t going to put down the knife, but maybe she should take a few deep breaths and try and figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe ask him why the hell he had two large suitcases outside her apartment. 

“Why don’t you grab those and come inside,” she began again, trying to keep her words soft. They had gotten off on the wrong foot, but she was willing to start over and try and help him out. He just looked so lost...Like...A puppy. 

She could see him worrying the inside of his cheek, as he thought over her words before nodding and stepping outside to grab his suitcases. 

Why the hell did he need suitcases?

He moved to close the door but she stopped him. She would rather leave it open in case her judgement was inpaired. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was. What was she thinking anyways?

...That there was a strange lost man who needed help...who looked absolutely devastated...and she was going to help him out. Because she was a good person. 

Fuck. 

“Why don’t you leave that open,” she voiced, and he glanced back up at her in confusion, before understanding flooded his eyes. “I have dinner on the way,” she explained, but he didn’t look like he completely believed that. 

It was true though!

God...There went her relaxing night of sushi and wine and reality tv...She could already feel it as she removed her blazer from the chair, gesturing for him to sit down. He jerkily nodded, and slumped down, trying to find the words to explain his sudden appearance. 

Her standing probably wasn’t helping to ease him much...So she reluctantly decided to sit on the couch across from him, making sure they had plenty of distance - and a coffee table - between them. 

“Why don’t you tell me who you are, and why you’re here?” she prompted softly, and he nodded his head. She watched his fingers as they began to nervously pick at his nails, and she had to bite her tongue to tell him to stop. 

“My name is Inuyasha Takahashi,” he began slowly. “And I’m here to marry a woman named Kagome Higurashi. We met online six month ago...And...I’m sorry, I just...You even look like her…” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

He leaned forward, propping his head up on his knees as the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. 

“I should have known better,” he chuckled dryly to himself. “Twelve hours on a plan and you...she...wouldn’t even come and pick me up from the airport?”

“W-what?” she sputtered. “Who the hell is this woman?”

“You! I thought!” he replied in exasperation. “I...Do you have a computer?” he swallowed. “Maybe it will be easier if I just...Can I show you? Please…”

“Yeah. Sure! Of-of course. Hold on,” she nodded, picking up the knife and packing out of the room, keeping her front to him as she made her way into her bedroom. She had left it on her nightstand last night, and now would be the perfect time to grave her phone too. 

Just in case. 

She had left it in the bathroom when she was washing her face, and when she grabbed it off the white and black marbled counter, she was surprised to see a littony of missed phone calls from her friends. Eri, Yuka, Yumi...What the hell did they want?

She shook her head and decided to table that for another time. 

She was already having a hell of a night. She really didn’t want to add their issues to it too. 

She left her bedroom, laptop, phone and knife in hand, and found he hadn’t left his spot. His eyes were red, and glossy, and it made her heart ache for him a little. He seemed so sweet and genuine…

“Here,” she offered, handing him her computer. 

He mumbled out his thanks, opening it and scrolling and typing away. When he was done, he handed the computer back to her, and she was flabbergasted. 

He had taken her to...what appeared to be...A website for mail order husbands?! She didn’t even know that was a thing!

“Kagome and I met about six months ago and it was…” he smiled wistfully. “I felt a connection to her almost instantly. You can...read through everything,” he blushed sweetly, and she absently found herself thinking how precious he looked. “I asked her a few months back if she...would like to move forward with an agreement, and she accepted. We were supposed to be getting married this week,” he whispered, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. 

“Inuyasha...I…”

“Please,” he insisted. “There are photos that we exchanged,” he blushed. “And she...she looked just like you.”

She swallowed and nodded, her fingers scrolling through the exchange of messages...and she was stunned. 

Everything he had told her appeared to be true. He had been in touch with a Kagome Higurashi...He had agreed to come to New York to be with her...And the bitch had stolen photos of her. 

“Oh my God,” she breathed, and he winced. “I...I know when all of these photos were taken...My brother’s birthday...Pool party with Eri...Weekend away with Yuka…”

Wait. 

No. 

No.

Her heart was racing as an absolutely absurd idea struck her. 

Her friends wouldn’t have...Couldn’t have…

She scrolled up further and found a picture of the four of them at her birthday. 

The pictures. The missed phone calls. 

Please. 

Dear god let her be wrong…

Her phone started ringing again, startling them both. 

Eri...

[lilyharvord]

marecal fic plz?🥺 it can be a one shot or anything at all I just need smth lol

Got What I Got

           Jason Aldean probably didn’t write Got What I Got for Tibarias “Cal” Calore VII but he did, so there’s that. No, I am not accepting different opinions on this fact. Also, this isn’t exactly Mare and Cal exclusively. I threw a little Iris in there because I love her and miss her. 

           I watch Mare’s eyes flint over my shoulder to the dais behind me for the tenth time since we started dancing. Normally, I wouldn’t be bothered by her paranoia. But given the fact that her hand is gripping my shoulder so tightly I’m surprised she doesn’t squeeze it out of the socket I do feel like something has to be done.

           When my arm is starting to get sore from her constant squeezing, I drop my chin to press a kiss to her temple and whisper in her ear, “don’t worry, the deepest pool of water Iris could throw me in is still shallow enough that I can sit in it and keep my head above water.”

           I pull away to with a cheeky grin, expecting her to at least try to hide a smile. When her eyes return to mine though, but there is no amusement in her glare.

           “That’s not funny Cal.” She hiss whispers before throwing her gaze back over my shoulder.

           Rolling my eyes, I glance over her head at the beautiful fountain I had been referring to. It spills water from multiple pools starting from the ceiling and trickling all the way down the floor. It’s actually quite beautiful, and perfectly befitting of a Nymph palace. “I thought it was pretty clever.” I admit before sliding my hand from her waist to her lower back to bring her closer to me. She continues to glower around me like she could strike Iris through the chest with her lightning without anyone noticing.

           “Don’t ruin this night for Evangeline, she worked hard to get us here.” I warn her as I smile at the Magnetron across the room. She sits at a decadent table nursing a glass of something golden and bubbly. Next to her, Elane chats sweetly with a Lakelander noble, who may or may not notice some papers missing in his office when Elane’s spies finish sweeping it. Not that it’s likely. Elane had hand-picked every operative for that part of her mission. On top of that, the man’s face was flushed silver from the wine. I doubt he was even going to remember Elane’s face in the morning, let alone a set of papers he had been given at lunch.

           “I told her I didn’t want us to go.” Mare growls when she turns her head to glare at Evangeline instead of me this time.

           Evangeline’s iron irises shine like her pewter dress as she raises her glass to us. Throwing her arm over the back of the chair and delicately splitting the metal of her skirt so that her leg flashes into existence while she crosses it, she looks remarkably like a cat toying with prey. Her lips curl up into a grin as she brings that glass to her lips and sips delicately.

I hope she doesn’t toast to anything too ridiculous. Last time she had toasted—quite loudly actually—at a dinner with Carmadon and our friends to bison, cattle and their fertility. Mare had choked on her wine and spit out the rest in her mouth, ruining a very nice white table cloth while Kilorn had laughed so loud the table across from us had turned around and glared at him. Carmadon had grinned wickedly though and raised his glass with Evangeline to drink to the toast. I hope she wasn’t toasting to something like that again, that’s the last thing we need luck with right now.

           “Even if she hadn’t made us come, I would have been required to go anyway.” I tease as I kiss the top of her head. One of the glittering pins in her hair presses into my lips as I do so. I plan to take my time picking each and every one out of that beautiful cornet when we get back to our rooms tonight.

           “I would have tied you to the bed so you couldn’t.” Mare grumbles, and that brings another smile to my lips that she must register because her shoulders tense.

           “Well I would have enjoyed that very much.”

           “You know that’s not—” she sighs, giving up with refuting me. Tipping her head back to scrutinize me, she says, “I don’t see why we have to be here.”

           “Part of being an abdicated king is proving to countries still struggling with the decision that my life is actually going quite well and that the States are prospering.” I spin her away from me before pulling her back into my embrace and closer than before. She melts into me, and for a moment, I debate pulling her behind one of the massive pillars lines one side of the room. The other side is floor to ceiling windows, opened to the magnificent full moon shining on the lake separating the States and the Lakelands. It feels odd to finally be on this side of it after standing on the other bank for so long.

Mare huffs as I press another kiss to her temple, deciding to stay out in the open for a little longer. “I think we’re doing very well. Iris hasn’t tried to kill me this week, and the loosened restrictions seem to be holding up.” I murmur against her hairline when she stil refuses to smile.

           “They hold up until we leave.” She grumbles before turning her head to glare at me from the side. “The same thing happened in Piedmont.”

           “Piedmont is harder. She’s made up of separate Prince States with very stubborn men ruling over them.”

           “Are you really inferring that women are less stubborn than men?”

           “Mare Molly Barrow, do you really think I would believe that after being with you this long?” I laugh quietly and get a rapier sharp smile from her in response.

           “Do you mind if I cut in?” A delicate, accented voice asks from behind me. Mare’s face pinches in too many places for me to determine if she’s furious or surprised. I glance down at a set of delicate brown eyes that glint up at me under the lights of the ballroom. I try to ignore how my stomach drops at the sight of them. The last time I had been close enough to see those eyes, they had been looking up at me from the deck of a war ship with enough fury to shred me to pieces.

           Mare squeezes my hand tight enough that I grimace and try to extract my hand unsuccessfully.

           Iris raises a well-manicured brow at us before smirking. “I’m here to test how good of a dance partner you are Tiberias. If we are to be working together in the future, I must know if you will step on my feet or crush them often.”

           I really hate political word play. It’s one thing I do not miss. “I don’t go by that name anymore.” I end up saying while looking down at the tips of my fingers that are slowly going grey in Mare’s crushing grip. “Cal is fine.” I say as I finally manage to pry her fingers off of mine.

           “One dance, I promise Barrow.” She throws in Mare’s direction with a little pout that is far too mocking to be genuine. When Mare doesn’t say anything, only sharpen her glare, Iris says, “A dog that bites and is possessive, interesting.” Her smile hints at an inside joke they might have, but Mare is far from amused.

           “As long as you also promise not to throw me in a bay again.” I snort when Mare crosses her arms and appears on the verge of ruining any treaties Evangeline may have created for us to set foot on Lakelander earth.

           Iris’s eyes widen at my words and it looks like she doesn’t understand my reference. Something flashes across her face though and she throws her head back to cackle. When she looks back down from the ceiling, her eyes shine dangerously. “No promises on that front.” She offers her hand and I dip my head respectfully before letting her slide her fingers into my palm.

           “It’s not funny Cal.” Mare jeers near my elbow, but gets a smirk from Iris as she saunters past.

           “If he can laugh about it, then I didn’t throw him hard enough.” Iris says over her shoulder before I can apologize to Mare. She pulls me into the center of the dance floor, and most of the other dancers pull away to give us a wide berth. I’m partially grateful for it. Anything we discuss will at least be semi-private now. The music cues up, and we stap into a frame that both of us know well. She’s taller than Mare, which means I don’t have to drop my shoulder as much for her to rest her hand there. Her other hand is perhaps just as calloused as mine. I always forget that she’s technically a warrior princess, and belongs on the battlefield as much as I do.

           Our steps our quick and measured, practically perfect. It’s a little jarring at first. But we adjust well to each other, like two experienced performers. Which I suppose, we are.

           “You’re a better partner than most of the irritating men here tonight.” She sighs, breaking the silence while she waves the hand resting on my shoulder. “Certainly a better dance partner than your brother.”

           A pang of sorrow rushes from my chest to my stomach. It’s not as sharp as it used to be, but it still aches all the same. Iris must see it flash across my face because her expression softens a fraction.

“Apologies, that was crass.” She tilts her head to the side so the silky hair not tied into her updo brushes against my hand resting on her lower back. “But I’m sure you can understand that my despair doesn’t run quite as deep as your own.”  

           “I wouldn’t expect it to.” I murmur, turning my eyes away from her. Pushing Maven far from my mind, I try focus on her face when I bring my eyes back. She is very lovely, but she has the same cunning look in her eye that Maven always had. They would have made a good match—a formidable one--if he hadn’t been chasing Mare still. While she does apologize for her comment, I have a feeling it was actually a probe, a means of testing me and the waters. “Maven was always a better dancer than me though.”

           She raises a brow at my words, but thankfully doesn’t comment. She shrugs her shoulders and turns her eyes over my shoulder as we continue to move in our tiny box. The music shifts into a delicate, flowing melody and she shifts her movements in response. I suppose it’s fitting that she dances like water, with each move flowing into the next like the fountain behind us.

           “What are your thoughts on the changes in restrictions?” I ask, hoping to end the silence between us again.

           “You certainly cut to the chase unlike him, I’ll let you know that.” She shakes her head, but there is no amusement in the smile she gives me. “That’s probably for the best though, Mare Barrow does not strike me as a woman that likes to mince words.”

           “No she doesn’t.” I admit. “Which is good, because it keeps me honest.”

           “Perhaps we all need a bit of that.” Iris draws her lips into a line, and sets her eyes on Mare who has finally sat down at the table with Evangeline. While Evangeline appears to be having a good time trying to pester her, Mare hasn’t taken her eyes off of us. I wonder if she can read our lips from that far away.

           Iris sighs again. “Forgive me for asking such a personal question, but what exactly is it about her that made you and your brother trip over your own two feet like bad drunks?”

           I stiffen in surprise, and she turns a quirked brow on me when I twist my lips and reply. “I wouldn’t say—”

           “She turned the two of you into love sick puppies. Forgive me if I’m a little confused how two young men that seemed perfectly in control of their inhibitions lost them when she walked through a door—”

           “I don’t have an answer for you—”

           “--Evangeline Samos I could understand. She’s stunning, as is her lover. There are a number of other Nortan girls that I’ve seen that also are very eye catching. So why this one Red girl?”

           I almost stop dancing so the full force of my scowl can reach her. “She tried to pickpocket me when I first met her.”

           Iris blinks at me, waiting for me to elaborate or perhaps laugh at what she might think is a joke. When I don’t do either, she frowns. “You’re serious.”

           “She was unlike anyone I’d ever met.”

           “I’ll say. I don’t know many who would try and pickpocket a prince.”

           “She didn’t know I was a prince.”

           Iris’s frown deepens, before her lips twist to the side in disgust. “Never mind, I don’t want to know anymore.”

           “She made me want to be a better man.” I amend, earning her attention again. Shrugging lightly I say, “She treated me like anyone else, as if I was like everyone else. A part of me had always wanted that I suppose.”

           The music dies around us, and the dancers applaud lightly. Tilting her head to the side again, as if listening to the sound, Iris considers my words.

           “I think she did the same for Maven. Or he may have seen a kindred spirit in her. I’m not quite sure.” I shake my head, before spotting Mare as she approaches us. I give her a little smile, assuring her that everything is fine. A couple steps in her path, forcing her to find a different route and buys me and Iris more time.

           Iris turns to glance at her as well, but loses her in the crowd at the same moment that I do. “You do not regret anything?” She asks aloud.

           “No.” I answer immediately. Maybe a few years ago, I would have hesitated and tried to sort through whatever emotions that question brought up. But I haven’t been tangled in that complicated web in a long time.

           Iris nods once, then twice. “Then I suppose I like the eases in the restrictions.” She says as a flash of lilac purple near her elbow announces Mare. She appears at Iris’s side before setting her hand on my arm. I give her a small smile and take her free hand before turning back to Iris with the same smile.

           “I’m glad to hear it.”

           Nodding once more, she tilts her head respectfully. I nudge Mare lightly as I dip my head as well. Taking the hint, Mare bobs in a quick curtsey before staring openly at Iris with a confused glare when she leaves.

           “What did she say?” Mare demands as soon as the Princess of the Lakelands is out of earshot.

           “Just asked me about things. But she did mention that she didn’t plan to throw me in any bays anymore.” I smile even as Mare sends a strong enough jolt of electricity up my arm that my heart skips a beat.

           “It’s not funny, so stop joking about that.”

           “Alright that was the last time, promise.” I say as I pull my hand away to set it on my heart and hold my other hand up.

           Mare snorts, clearly uncertain, before smirking. “Swear on your colors.” She pokes at my chest to enunciate each word. I catch her finger and pull her toward me so quickly she squeaks as her feet slide across the floor.

           “I swear on my colors that it’s the last time.” I whisper as I give her the one smile I know she can’t resist. It’s my only weapon against the arsenal she commands against me. She doesn’t have to really try where I am concerned. Even when she is sleeping or simply sitting in the window box watching the snow fall outside, a part of me is crushed by her. She strikes me though, with and without her lightning by simply existing.

         Playfully batting my face away, she laughs lightly, her mood finally breaking like a storm that was about to boil over into a hurricane. When she stops struggling against my hold and simply grins up at me, I allow myself another opportunity to drink her in. Under the lights, the purple strands of her hair almost blend into the dark chocolate of her hair, and her eyes shine like glass.

         “I will never want anything but you.” I admit quietly to her. Her cheeks flush red and she blinks in surprise before cupping my cheek softly.

         “I know.” She press onto her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw before I drop my chin further to complete the kiss.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 16

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

TEARS OF YMIR

Sigurd trudged through the snow-veiled woods, wishing desperately that he could veer off this path the gods had constructed for him. His mind was trapped in a perpetual state of fear, and the thoughts racing through his head only seemed to grow louder with every step he took.

He could feel it in his heart that Ulfar spoke the truth. There was merit in the accusations he threw against Dag, and Sigurd had even seen the man’s treachery for himself. He made it quite clear that he wasn’t on their side with the way he manipulated the assault at Kjotve’s Fortress, and the prince could no longer ignore the reality that was standing right in front of him.

But even then, Sigurd’s gut twisted at the idea of causing any harm to Dag. His entire childhood was formed of memories between the two of them, and he still saw him as the same little boy he once loved all those years ago.

He remembered the days they’d spend running around in the wilderness, only to end up covered in mud by the time they returned home. He hadn’t forgotten the way Styrbjorn would scold them for their reckless behavior, and how they’d make the exact same mistakes immediately afterwards.

The joy they shared, the sorrows they experienced, the burdens they had to carry -- it all stayed with Sigurd to this very day. He loved Dag like a brother despite the conflicts between them, and the thought of banishing him from Midgard tore a hole inside his chest. 

But he was a leader now. A future king. With Ulfar dead, Sigurd would have to step up and protect the people he left behind. His position as prince would no longer be a mere title, and he would have to do whatever it took to keep his clan safe. 

Even if it meant making a sacrifice as great as this.

“We’re here.” Sigurd said bleakly, stopping in his tracks once the waterfall came into view. He took a deep breath and gazed at the dreary environment, unable to even recognize the nature surrounding him.

This place once served as a sanctuary for the prince. It used to be a safe haven where he could take refuge when the troubles of his world proved to be overwhelming, and he often found a sense of tranquility in its earthly embrace. It always seemed to breathe with the spirit of the gods, and part of Sigurd even believed they walked with him sometimes when he ventured down this path.

Today though, the forest was barren of any life. The tragedies of the war had burrowed themselves into its very marrow, and it almost felt as if it could sense what was about to happen. The air was leaden with a suffocating anchor of dread, and it only seemed to crush Sigurd more and more the further he progressed.

He didn’t want to kill Dag. Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop. 

Part of even him was even considering simply exiling the man in order to avoid further bloodshed. Deep down though, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He knew that Dag would most-likely run back into Kjotve’s arms once he broke free from the judgement of his clan, and cause their people a plethora of problems that they didn’t need.

It seemed like death was the only option here, and Sigurd hated himself for it.

“...Sigurd,” Dag said, approaching the man from behind. “Will you tell me what we’re doing now? Why have you brought us all the way out here? Is this about what happened between me and Ulfar?”

The prince kept his gaze on the view before him, leaving his hand close to his axe. His back was currently turned to the other man, and yet, he felt as if he could detect his every move.

“...Do you remember the day we met, Dag?” Sigurd asked. “All those years ago?”

The warrior noticed how his friend skirted the subject, but said nothing of it for now. “Of course. How could I forget? I was what, ten years old? Maybe younger? I had just given you a black eye during a training spar.”

Sigurd chuckled softly at the precious memory. “Indeed. And if I recall correctly, it wasn’t too long beforehand that I was boasting about how easily I’d be able to fell you. I was the king’s son, after all. Nothing could touch me.” The prince smirked. “...It seems that arrogance was my greatest enemy back then. The day I met you was the day I learned humility. It was the day I gained a brother.”

Dag leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms. “And do you still feel that way?”

The other man paused, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “...Yes. But I suspect that the sentiment is no longer mutual.”

Growing restless with anxiety, Sigurd finally decided to put this game to an end and shot an icy glare at his childhood friend, practically boring through his skull. He approached the older man and looked him in the eye, trying to keep his breath as steady as possible.

“...Dag,” he whispered, “you know how I feel about you. We may not share the same blood, but you are my family. No matter how distant we may grow, there will always be a link between us. And I will always see you as my brother. That’s why... I need you to tell me the truth.”

Sigurd took a few steps closer, barely shifting his gaze. “...Are you the traitor?”

Dag scoffed at the question and shook his head, reluctant to give a direct answer. “You can’t be serious. You actually believe in the nonsense Ulfar was spewing?”

“I believe his words held merit,” the prince persisted. “You can call it nonsense if you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that you stand as an accused man.”

The warrior stammered for a moment, taken aback by the preposterous notion. “What are you talking about, Sigurd? You were there! You saw what happened. I defeated Ulfar in honorable combat. I cleared my name. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough for the Allfather perhaps, but not enough for me. Everything Ulfar said was true. The way you handled the assault nearly got all our people killed, and I know you well enough to know that you’re too smart to make such a grave mistake. You did it intentionally.”

Still, Dag remained in denial. “I don’t believe this. You would trust the word of a paranoid old man over someone you consider to be a brother?”

Sigurd raised his voice slightly, unable to hide his anger anymore. “I trust what I see! And over these past few weeks, I’ve seen you do nothing but traipse through the shadows like a thief in the night, hiding like coward whilst our men died on the battlefield. I saw you return from Kjotve’s Fortress without so much as a scratch on your armor, and I saw the apathy in your eyes when they fell on Thora’s corpse.”

The prince’s expression darkened with ire. “You claim you are innocent, but innocence always speaks for itself. I see no good reason why I should question Ulfar’s accusations, and I doubt you can give me one. So I’ll ask again--” he leaned in, “--are you the traitor?”

Dag rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the waterfall, furrowing his brow in disbelief. It was evident that he had something to say, but the stone shackles of pride hindered his ability to come clean.

“How do you know Ulfar wasn’t trying to save his own skin by throwing me to the wolves? He was in a much more powerful position than I. He could’ve done anything he liked and gotten away with it!”

“What reason could Ulfar possibly have had to turn against Arngeir? You really think he would’ve been willing to endanger Thora’s life? Or Eivor’s? He saw them as his own children.”

“Who knows? All I’m saying is -- he was awfully quick to pass judgement on me. We had hardly set foot on Bjornheimr’s shores, and he was already prepared for a fight. The way I see it, Ulfar wanted to use me as a scapegoat. He was the jarl’s right-hand man, after all. He knew he could’ve said anything about me without raising suspicion. I mean, just look at how easy it was to fool you.”

Sigurd’s glare only sharpened at that. “You think I’ve been fooled, do you?”

“Am I wrong? I know you held Ulfar in high regard, but typically, the largest shadows are cast by those who stand the tallest. He may have been a good warrior, but that doesn’t mean--”

The prince shook his head in frustration. “--Enough, Dag! Enough with the lies. Enough with the deflection. Just give me a straight answer. I’m done running in circles with you.”

The other man fell silent, completely at a loss for words. “...You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Sigurd lowered his head in sorrow. “...I wish I could, Dag. Trust me. I wish I could. But if I’m going to keep this clan safe, I can’t allow anything to hinder my judgement. Not even when it concerns you.”

Dag let out a sigh and nodded in defeat, staring blankly at the ground. It was clear to him that his arguments were doing nothing in terms of swaying the prince’s mind, and he didn’t know what else he could say to divert the man’s skepticism. 

“...I see.” He murmured, looking back up at Sigurd. His demeanor had completely shifted compared to when they first arrived at the waterfall, and a grim sense of treachery clung onto his shrewd face. “...Very well then, old friend. If that’s how you wish to do things.” 

Dag pushed himself off the tree and straightened his posture, finally deciding to reveal the truth.

“...Indeed, your conviction is rightfully placed, Sigurd. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep up this facade, but I see no point in maintaining it any longer.”

The warrior paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. 

“I was the one who warned Kjotve.” Dag confessed. “I was the one who assisted him when he ambushed Bjornheimr, and I was the one who told him to flee his fortress before our clans could arrive. I told him of this alliance.”

Sigurd’s heart instantly shattered upon hearing the confession, and his jaw clenched in rage as a spark of betrayal flared inside his chest. He knew his suspicions had to be correct, but even then, nothing could’ve prepared him for the immense disappointment he’d receive from a revelation such as this. 

The prince wandered away from Dag in shock and began pacing along the waterfall’s edge, uncertain of how to respond. 

“...And why exactly... did you do it?” Sigurd questioned, his tone alarmingly quiet. “What led you to commit such... foolish treason?”

“I did it for the good of our clan.” Dag answered monotonously. “I did it to protect us.”

The other man threw a puzzled glance at him, bewildered by his justification.

“To protect us?” Sigurd gestured to the distant village, storming towards the warrior. “Bjornheimr lies in a bed of its own ashes thanks to you! The jarl’s daughter has been murdered, and you have the nerve to act as if this was an act of heroism? I grow tired of your deception, Dag. Just tell me the truth. What is the real reason you did this?”

The traitor’s nose crinkled in envy, and a newfound sense of contempt twisted his expression. He was behaving in a manner that Sigurd had never seen before, and yet, the prince felt as if he had known this side of Dag for his entire life. 

“We don’t need the Bear Clan,” Dag said. “All they’ve done is weaken us. They’ve even weakened you. Especially that boy.”

Sigurd cocked a brow. “Boy? What boy? You mean Eivor?”

“Yes. He’s turned you soft, Sigurd. Everyone can see it. Before we came to this forsaken village, you were a warrior. A leader. A man worthy of holding a crown. You led raids on our enemies, and you crushed anyone who dared threaten our people. You were a king in everything but name. But now? You’ve just become another pawn.”

“What are you talking about, Dag? How have I become a pawn?”

The traitor laughed. “Are you joking? I see the way you look at Eivor. That man has you wrapped around his finger. He’s distracting you from the war, and you’re allowing it to happen.”

The prince’s face was plastered with a look of dread. “You know about me and Eivor...? Who told you?”

Dag waved a dismissive hand. “No one needed to tell me. It’s as clear as day. You may be wed to Randvi, but we all know where your loyalties really lie. You’re only fighting this war for one reason, and that’s so you can take Eivor to bed while the rest of us do the hard work.”

Sigurd’s eyes snapped onto Dag with an iron grip, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low level.

“Watch... your tongue, snake.”

The other man chuckled. “The truth is painful, isn’t it? Nothing stings quite like the bite of a harsh reality you can’t accept. But please, by all means -- continue to ignore it. Ignore it like you ignore everything else, and let your kingdom crumble for your own selfish needs.”

Sigurd brushed off the traitor’s taunts and got straight to the point, eager to put this to rest. “So you’re a puppet for jealousy now? Is that it? You did all this... just because you envied Eivor’s position?”

A scoff escaped Dag’s lips. “Pfft. I want nothing that man has. Like I said before, I did this for the good of our people. Whether or not you choose to see it that way doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. The gods know this too.”

“The gods spit on oath-breakers like you! Odin has no need for men such as yourself in his company, and neither do I.”

“Then deliver your justice, my lord. Strike me down with the judgement that you deemed so righteous you had to hide it away from prying eyes. The people of Bjornheimr may not be able to see you here, but the Allfather does. And he will remember.”

Sigurd turned away from Dag and rested a firm hand on his axe, using every bit of his strength to stifle the tears that threatened to spill. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the gods for putting him in such an impossible situation, and he could already feel himself breaking down from what he was about to do.

But he had to keep his promise. He had to. Although no longer in this realm, Ulfar was depending on him to protect their clans, and Sigurd didn’t have the heart to deny the man his dying wish.

...But he loved Dag. In spite of all of his crimes, the prince still saw the traitor as the same boy he grew up with, and his memories of their time together only seemed to be resurfacing with every second he spent delaying the inevitable.

What was he going to do when the man was dead? Sigurd may have despised Dag for going behind his back, but a piece of his soul remained bound to him nonetheless. There was a link between them that couldn’t be broken, and the prince felt as if he was about to sever one of his own limbs. 

A part of him would undoubtedly go with Dag once the man departed from this realm, and Sigurd couldn’t imagine himself ever getting it back.

He just prayed he would be able to forgive himself someday.

“You... you were my brother, Dag.” Sigurd said, his spirit collapsing with every word. “I loved you. I did. You turned my childhood into something that I’ll always hold dear. I’ll never forget the time we spent together, or the joy I’d feel when you were around. Those memories are something that no one will ever be able to take from me.” He tightened his grip on the axe. “But I can’t let you walk free from this. I can’t let you hurt my clan anymore. I... I have to keep my promise. I’m sorry.”

Yanking the weapon out of its sheathe, the prince lunged at Dag without saying another word and buried the axe in his chest, immediately causing the man to stiffen in his clutch. The two of them toppled over onto the snow after a single strike, and within seconds, the traitor was already gasping for air.

He writhed in Sigurd’s embrace like a worm on a hook and desperately tried to pry the blade away from his heart, but to no avail. The other man simply held him down and forcibly kept the axe in place, pushing it deeper and deeper into his torso as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Sigurd couldn’t believe what he was doing. As a child, he always pictured himself leading their clan into a glorious victory that would forever grace the lips of bards across the kingdom, and spread into endless sagas for generations to come. He thought his role in the war would be one of grandeur just like in the tales his father often told him, and he believed his path to Valhalla would be laden with silver and gold.

But now that he was actually here... he was finally realizing just how torturous the nature of war really was. He wept at the sight of Dag’s life vanishing from his eyes, and his stomach churned at the feeling of the man’s blood staining his hands.

There was also the fact that the traitor died without an axe in his grip. He left it with Ulfar back in Bjornheimr, and thus, paved the way straight to Hel’s gates. His soul would forever evade the magnificence of the Corpse Hall, and a part of Sigurd crumbled at the thought of never being able to reunite with his friend again.

Dag was gone for good... and it was all his fault.

Letting go of the axe’s hilt, Sigurd allowed himself to relax and climbed off of Dag’s body, taking a seat beside him as a series of breaths fled from his lungs.

...He did it. He actually did it.

The traitor had been removed from their midst, and their clans would be able to proceed without worrying about betrayal. Kjotve would no longer have an ally inside their walls, and Gorm would give them the last step they needed before taking him down at last.

Sigurd supposed he should’ve been relieved now that things were finally in their favor, but all he felt was emptiness. 

His closest friend lay defeated under the blade of his own axe, and his world remained shaken by the multiple losses it had just suffered. He experienced no pleasure in the face of this so-called victory, and the only thing he had left to hope for was the sight of Kjotve’s head.

He just wanted this war to end. He wanted the constant turmoil of these never-ending battles to become a thing of the past, and he wanted to cleanse the seas of the blood that stained their shores. 

Sigurd dreamed of a future where people wouldn’t have to share his clan’s pain, but deep down, he feared it would never become a reality. 

The war had already lasted for a couple decades, after all. He saw no reason why the gods would allow it to end anytime soon.

“Sigurd?” Someone said abruptly, dragging the prince back to his senses.

The man glanced upward from where he sat and gazed in the distance, only to find Eivor watching him from afar. 

“Eivor...?” Sigurd whispered, quickly wiping his face dry. “What... what are you doing here?”

The blonde viking stepped out from the trees and approached his lover, careful not to distress him even further.

“I saw you leave with Dag earlier,” Eivor answered softly, still drained from the shock of Ulfar’s loss. “The two of you were gone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He paused for a second, allowing his eyes to wander towards Dag. “...You really killed him.”

The older man stared helplessly at the sky, peering into the canopy of branches swaying above him.

“...Yes. I did.” He said, his voice trembling slightly. “I had to.”

Sighing morosely, Eivor pushed his way through the mounds of snow and walked over to Sigurd, crouching down in front of him. He comforted the distraught prince by gently caressing his cheek, and flicked away some stray tears with a simple swipe of the thumb. Afterwards, the young man reached over to the axe protruding from Dag’s chest and carefully removed it, wiping it clean before laying it in Sigurd’s lap.

“You did the right thing. I know it wasn’t easy, but our clan will sleep better at night thanks to you.”

Sigurd loosely met Eivor’s gaze, entirely devoid of life. “...I feel like a monster. Dag was... he was my brother. I know everyone else saw him as a traitor, but to me, he was always that little boy I met in Fornburg.” His expression sank with grief. “...That little boy is dead now because of me. I killed him.”

Eivor held the prince’s face in his hands. “No, Sigurd. You didn’t kill that boy. Dag did. A long time ago.”

The redheaded warrior offered nothing but silence in response, causing Eivor to return to his feet.

“Come, my love.” He beckoned, reaching an arm out. “We should return to the village.”

Sigurd remained motionless on the ground, simply looking over at Dag’s body.

“Wait. Could we... bring him back with us? I’m aware of Dag’s crimes, but even then, I’d like to give him a proper burial.”

“Of course,” Eivor assured. “Many in the clan will question his presence at the funeral, but I’ll send someone to retrieve him once we return. Don’t worry. We won’t leave him behind.”

Sigurd propped himself up on one knee and grabbed the other man’s arm, rising from the snow. “Thank you, Eivor.”

The Wolf-Kissed guided his lover away from the waterfall and called for his horse, leading the prince back home.

“Come on.” He whispered lovingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”