#you look at countless people who fell in love despite the circumstances like war or famine or just simply the pains of growing up

[katierosefun]

and when i realize all my original stories are just about the same thing over and over and over again as though i’m sitting in front of a white board of crazy

[cafeinthemoon]

The Senju brothers finding out their little sister is going out with Madara 💥

Lately I’ve been into family drama and such, so when anon requested this I couldn’t say no lol Btw thank you, anon, for this scandalous incredible idea 😘

In this scenario/list/idk we have the Senju brothers finding out their younger sister and Madara are seeing each other. As you might expect, the news provoke different reactions in each of them, but the main point is how she will deal with this situation.

So I’m gonna shut up now and leave you with this:

Fandom: Naruto | Senju Brothers

Warnings: none, just a heated argument and a looong list ahead

Symbols: 💙 | ◻ | ▶▶

Hashirama

Being Hashirama and Tobirama’s younger sister, of course you and Madara were known to each other, but being more than just a friend to him wasn’t in your plans… until now 😳

You used to admire and respect each other, not only because of the alliance between your clans, but mostly because you both were worthy being praised. Plus Hashirama has always been talkative about his best friend’s qualities, which slowly transformed the way you saw the Uchiha leader, but you only noticed this a few weeks ago

During a meeting/party/whatever at your brother’s house, Madara and you spent more time than usual talking to each other. Turned out that you discovered many things in common beyond the fact that you two were shinobi, including your views on life, politics, etc.

If Hashi noticed something, you couldn’t tell, but it was strange that during all the time you were there together he didn’t come to join you (not that you complained about it)

You and the Uchiha saw each other a few times on the next days, and the feeling of familiarity between you only grew. You weren't sure of how to call it. You were fond of each other, but saying that you were just friends didn’t seem to be enough now

You both agreed that it was too soon to name it as a date or something, so you didn't tell anyone, not even your brothers

You wanted to be sure of your own feelings before making a statement. Were you still friends? Were you really in love? Was it just a crush, a superficial attraction? You wanted to understand what was going on

During this time, Hashirama didn’t make a comment or anything that suggested that he was aware of this situation, so you were a bit surprised when one day, he came to talk to you about it

“So you and Madara are engaging in a secret romance and you dared leaving your big brother out of this, y/n? Where did you learn such behavior?!”

“Don’t you really know?”, you smirked

“Excuse me?!”

“Am I the first person in this family to keep secrets that involve Madara, Hashi?” 😑

THE REDNESS ON HIS CHEEKS WAS PRICELESS LMAO

Hashirama was your elder brother aka the person who has been taking care of you since your parents left this world, so not only his worries were valid, but he also had the right to know, so yeah, he was a bit disappointed that you didn't tell him first

Now, I think his feelings about this were not as plain as some can imagine. In fact, he had a mixture of contradicting feelings and ended up talking about them more than demanding an explanation from you

On one hand, he was happy because he loves you both, so finding out that his little sis and his soul brother might have started a relationship was exciting 💖

On the other hand, he was worried because you were even younger than Tobirama, while Madara was not only older but more experienced than you and he knew his friend’s flaws better than anyone else

However, Hashi was an understanding person and was willing to listen, so you explained your feelings and your reasons to him, as well as part of your conversations with Madara, pointing out that making things this way was a mutual decision, for the best of you two and the people you knew

He pointed out that despite not calling your meetings a date, you two were already thinking as a couple 😏

You blushed and asked him to keep quiet, at least for a while

He promised you he would not say anything, but not before hugging you tight and crying about how his lil sis was growing up so fast saying how much he was happy for you two 💓

Tobirama

Prepare yourself to get your ass smacked and burning for an entire week lmao

Okay, so as you can easily imagine, it didn’t take much effort from Tobirama to find out that something was going on between you and Madara

It wasn’t that you two were reckless, it was just that your second brother was not stupid an observing man (and tbh how hard it must be to keep a secret from a smart sensor shinobi, uh?)

Unlike Hashirama, who took some time to connect the dots, he noticed small changes in your routine and behavior since the start

Why have you been so quiet, distracted lately? What has been occupying your mind? You were spending more time alone and/or out, and (yeah, he noticed that) you weve more concerned about your looks and manners than usual. Of course you were up to something 

Besides, you’ve suddenly became too defensive towards Madara and the Uchihas in general. Anything Tobirama said that sounded slightly negative about them was promptly refuted by you. You seemed to have a deeper understanding of their ideologies now, as if you were having long conversations with their leader

So, it was with no surprise that you saw the storm coming ⚡

One day, Tobirama came to your room without warning and just by looking at him you knew he figured it out 

How did he find out? Hashirama and his big mouth, probably. Or did he follow you and saw you two together? Well, he could have simply traced your chakra and once he sensed Madara’s close to you, the riddle was solved. But did it matter now?

His first words: “What is it?”

You don't need an explanation: you little sis + Madara Uchiha problem™ + maintaining your privacy keeping secrets from him

And now you were a brat possessed with the Uchiha evil, and not just with any Uchiha evil but with MADARA’S Uchiha evil 🔥🔥🔥

There was no way for you to have a normal conversation in the current circumstances. You had a heated argument, and I’m sure you’re capable of imagining what it means to have a heated argument with Tobirama

“Tobi, listen to me, I-”

“No YOU listen to me you brat possessed with the Uchiha evil”

Your brother didn’t even let you speak. He stated that not telling anything to your elder brother was not only wrong, but some sort of betrayal, then started remembering serious sh*t from the past when you were so young that you couldn’t even carry a sword the right way and everything you’ve already heard from him countless times before

But now you were done with his incapacity of simply listen, so you just stated that your elder brother Hashirama already knew it and that it was you who asked him to keep it a secret just for a while

“Hashirama is our leader, and if he knows and approves it, that’s enough for me and that should be enough for you too!”

“Hashirama is too soft with you, and this is why you behave like this!”

“Like this how? Living my life without asking for your permission? Is that what you mean?”

“Being unnecessarily connected with a man with whom we need to be careful in our treats, that’s what I mean. Our elder brother purposely ignores the fragile spots of this alliance and you know it, so there’s no excuse for your attitude!”

“Speaking like this about our ally could be considered some sort of betrayal, Tobi. If I was you, I would be careful!”

“Why? Are you going to tell him in your next date?”

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

“Yes, I’m getting out and having a serious conversation with our brother about this!”

“Tobirama, the war is over! We all have to move on, whether you like it or not! So instead of wasting your time with something that’s none of your business, you should go and live your life as well!”

Yes, you lost your temper, and you only realized it when your brother fell silent and lowered his tone

“You are right, lilttle sister. But let me tell you something. My way to show that I care about you might not resemble Hashirama’s, but my feelings towards you are not less deep than his”

You were heartbroken after he left, yes, but you had to stand your ground. Tobi could be very controlling if he was given space to, so you had to learn to deal with this early in your life. In this point you were better than Hashi, who was too easygoing for his own good, so you felt like you had to be strong on your resistance for both of you, otherwise Tobirama would dominate every aspect of your life without even realizing. You loved him as well, but your decisions didn’t have to always gravitate towards him

Still, you weren’t proud of your words about the war. That was a sensitive matter for Tobi. Despite his silence about it, you sensed he was offended. You knew you went too far 💔

The conclusion

Later, Hashirama came to mediate the conflict, and he had some words for both of you. When Tobirama and you found ourselves in the same room, you were about to start a new argument, but your eldest brother elevated his chakra and demanded you to be silent, bc now it was his time to speak

“Brother, I understand you are worried about our sister and I am sure she acknowledges your efforts to protect and guide her, but that doesn’t give you the right to interfere in her decisions regarding her own life. She’s right to remind you about our alliance with the Uchiha clan and to say that we need to move on. If moving on means starting a relationship with Madara in her case, things are what they are. It is her life, not yours. And do not think I haven’t talk to her about this. Y/n is no longer a child, Tobirama. She’s aware of the challenges of maintaining such connection with the Uchiha leader”

“Little sister, I understand that our brother’s way to express his worries uses to irritate you. It happened many times when you two were little. But that doesn’t invalidate the honesty of his intentions. He loves you and cares about you as much as I do. Besides, I’ve already talked to you about thoughtless mentions of the war. That was a though period for all of us, which includes your brother. You were not with us at the battlefield, that’s true, but you weren’t immune to the dark consequences of what happened at it. You mourned our siblings with us, but you were too young to understand everything that was involved. That was not Tobirama’s case. He doesn’t talk about it, but he has his reasons for that, and this must be respected”

Hashirama left you two hoping you would be capable of getting along again, which eventually happened, but at its own pace

The next day you found Tobirama working at his desk. He already acknowledged your presence, but that didn’t discourage you. You hugged him from behind and said you were going out to the river, and he could come with you if he wanted to fish. His first response was a groan

“Is there more people coming with us?” = “Is there any possibility of Madara showing up?”

You kissed his bristly hair

“No. Just us. I promise. And when we get back, I’ll cook fish for you”

Your brother’s next groan meant many things at once, “I agree”, “Thank you” and “I apologize” being some of them 😜

[an-ambivalent]

Bleeding Heart [Yandere! Prince! Namjoon]

Word Count: 1.8K 

Warnings: It obviously goes to say that since this is a yandere work, it deals with uncomfortable things that may be uncomfortable or triggering to read. This work is rather angsty? I’d like to say lol, and it contains mentions of violence so read at your own risk.  I do not condone this behaviour, nor do I believe any of the mentioned members would display this type of behaviour in real life.

With certain genius-ness that is marveled at because it exceeds the human expectation comes a certain extent of ostracisation. The man lost himself behind his mask and amongst the very people who cared so little. Then, once darkness shrouded him for long enough and he stopped seeking, he found a pair of hands in the utmost unexpected circumstances that held the answers to all that he searched for. 

To what many may not believe, the reality was that life of a royale could be rather complex. There were those who developed minimum brain cells and stayed blissful in their ignorance -- the one’s with an IQ lower than the room’s temperature; they were the one’s who only selfishly cared about their own needs. To be this type of person was the easiest because these individuals never cared about others. Then, there were people like him, the extraordinary, the exceptional buds who only bloomed once in a blue moon if given the right circumstances. Prince Namjoon was an innocent child of wonder who was forcefully bathed in cold blood of others -- the less unfortunate. If nurtured with an environment of love and taught to be selfless, he could have been the sovereignty who would have reigned with the power to teach love. But that was not the case. Instead, Namjoon had a rigid upbringing and it was one he was never able to break out of. No matter how intelligent he was, he was never smart enough to understand what terms of kindness and selflessness meant, and he was never smart enough to be able to escape the clutches of his own insanity that drove him to ruin everything. 

 “Strive for more power, you will be stronger, you will be more dignified.” 

The only thing he had felt when he had raided the smaller lands, whom the victory was guaranteed against, and the count of blood of the innocent on his hands simply increased, was a hollowness in his chest. 

“Get rid off those who undermine you. Take their life away and added their earnings to yours. You will be on top of the world.” 

Rather than feeling a sense of gaining like he was told he would, he lost the last glimmer of lustre in his irises that was only flicker left of his innocence. The sheer coldness in his eyes, the lack of humanity, and emptiness of all emotions suddenly seemed to become the more defining traits than his unique monolids; for to be undermined was said to be anyone who gave him the slightest wrong remark, action, or emotion. 

He wondered why he had not killed her in their first meeting and what had drawn him to cling onto her. 

With her delicate hands, skin on them was evident of certain roughness. Her skin was darkened due to the soil coating it. With the utmost gentleness and tenderness of her hands, she tended to the flowers in his personal garden. In Namjoon’s eyes, given the ideals he was raised with, it was pointless to cater to flowers with as much caution as she did. As he watched her, the look of determination to do her best with looking after the plants, and the evident love in her gaze, baffled him. 

It was like a pull from a high power that prompted him to walk towards her -- the first sole meeting that was going to take place to give him a taste of what could have been, before everything he comes to care for is taken away. 

Words left him before he even knew he had spoken. 

“Why do you bother trying to cater to something that is weaker than you? It seems pointless.” His cold voice rung out, causing her to halt in the midst of her movements. [Name] stayed stilled for a few moments processing that someone had called out to her. Usually, while her duties were scheduled in the garden, she was never really accompanied by someone; she was always in her own company surrounded by the fruits and flowers of her hard work. This unexpected greeting had made her freeze, and Namjoon, who would generally have a person’s head off if they took so long to respond to him, was oddly patient. 

[Name] turned towards his direction, and as she looked up at him, she blinked a few times,  before she felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Because of her lower status, [Name] did not interact with royals much if any, so she did not know them particularly by their face or even their name. But with the way Namjoon was dressed, it was evident he was someone of high status. So, automatically, she bowed to him in respect in response to his greeting. 

“Please pardon me, I did not hear what you asked of me.” At this, Namjoon’s eyebrow twitched and now, he was beginning to feel annoyed. 

“I don’t like to repeat myself, listen attentively next time when spoken to,” he began harshly. The lack of respect he held for people below him in status was evident in his condescending tone, which had also caused [Name] to wince inwardly. “I asked why do you bother trying to cater to something that is weaker than you? It seems pointless,” he stated stoically. 

[Name] raised an eyebrow as she stood up to her full height Then, without an ounce of fear or hesitation, she looked into Namjoon’s emotionless eyes with her own challenging stare. 

“Do you wish for me to answer truthfully or give you an answer that conforms to your ideals and beliefs?” 

For a minute moment, the corner of Namjoon’s lips seemed to have twitched upwards. But it was so sudden that it might as well have been a figment of her imagination. 

“Humour me with your honesty,” he responded, and [Name]’s eyes widened slightly, before she earnestly nodded. 

“There’s no particular reason for why I care so much. I just do because like you and I, they’re alive. The value of one life form of life over another is just a human concept. Without our possessions, our status controlled by those who believe they have power, we are nothing, just like everything else. All living beings live and die universally, and all of us, sin and carry regrets. If we’re so similar, it’s only fair we do our best to tend to everything around us,” she explained easily, and smiled at Namjoon. In response to her reply, he suddenly found himself feeling flustered. 

In a poor attempt to call her out for her foolish ideologies, he scoffed at her. 

“That is an incredibly foolish perspective. It is a natural cycle of survival of the fittest. The stronger consume and end the weak,” he stated simply, and [Name] glanced away from him, before she sighed. It made Namjoon believe that she thought he was a hopeless case, and he really wondered why he had not killed her yet. 

“You’re right in saying that and if that’s what you want to hear, then it’s only more important I look after plants here, isn’t it? They don’t exist to just look pretty, each can be used effectively for your gain if you wish to. Many here are cultivated into poisons that people of our kingdom use to kill each other, and to kill someone else from another kingdom. But then, where do we draw the line? Where do we realise that we have more than enough and let ourselves and others be at peace instead of alwaying causing more wars and more bloodshed,” [Name] vented, and there was great sorrow vivid in her irides. She wore her emotions and bleeding heart on her sleeve; it was evident from the way she spoke that she had been greatly affected by the ongoing war. 

Somewhere deep within him, the repressed boy buried within him, who used to, and wanted to wear his own bleeding heart on his sleeve, had started to breakthrough. Namjoon felt an odd clenching in his chest, and her words, as well as the expression on her face, hurt him immensely. It made him wonder: how could she hurt him without physically hurting him?

He was interrupted out of his thoughts and returned his attention to [Name] when she let out a dry laugh, with tears at the corner of her eyes. As he observed her silently from beside her, he suddenly wished he had never started this conversation, so he would not be the reason behind her tears. 

“I also think that life is just more fun when you rebel and do the opposite of what you’re told to do,” she said winking at him through her tear-stained eyes; such a merry expression, while tears — an expression of sadness — streamed down her face, caused Namjoon’s eyes to widen. It was on that day when Namjoon came to admire [Name] for the strength she held without weapons, for the wisdom she spoke of her own being, and for the kindness she showed in such a cruel world. 

And he should have known better than to indulge into her as a way to search for his own innocence in an attempt to wash off the blood on his hands; he should have known better than to become involved with an innocent stranger and to allow her to become his sole weakness. 

Despite the horror etched in his eyes as he looked at his own hands that were gripping the hilt of the sword, both covered in her crimson blood, he did not allow his emotions to show. He did not deserve to have the privilege to express his emotions, not after all he had done. And it was almost comical because although he had killed countless, it was [Name]’s blood, his beloved’s sole blood on his hands that took away the last of his humanity. 

He had promised himself that he would always protect her. By killing her himself, and giving her a quick and painless death by his own hands, before an enemy could hurt her, he reassured himself that it was the best way to protect her. 

He had done it for her. She was his responsibility, his weakness, so he had to be the one to decide what was the best outcome for her. 

Blood spilled from her mouth as she fell forwards into Namjoon’s arms, and whatever gushed out of her wounds, pooled and smeared against his clothes. 

“Y-You had no r-right to decide my fate f-for me,” she murmured, as the last of her life left her eyes, and they begin to dull in colour. 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon apologised pathetically, as he brought her closer. He buried his hand into her hair, and held her dying bleeding heart as it beat for the last time. 

[takadasaiko]

In Defense of Howard Stark

The Marvel Cinematic Universe doesn’t have a shortage of layered, fascinating characters. It’s always easy to hyper focused on the ones we love most, and that’s the excuse I roll with for why it’s taken me so long to find my fascination with Howard Stark. Up until the last few months I looked at him through the lense of who he was to other characters. He was Tony’s father, Steve’s friend, and co-founder of SHIELD with Peggy Carter. He filled roles, but I didn’t look closer for a long time. I didn’t have any reason to.

Then came the Great MCU Rewatch that happened post-Endgame. It wasn’t until I had Dominic Cooper’s Howard stacked back-to-back with John Slattery’s Howard that I started to dig into him. We meet a young man in Captain America: The First Avenger, the Peggy Carter short, and two seasons of the Agent Carter series on ABC. He’s brilliant and goofy, rarely serious unless he’s discussing his work. It’s a stark contrast with the older Howard we meet through John Slattery’s version. Either there was a catastrophic miscommunication between the writers, the directors, and the actors on who Howard Stark was supposed to be, or something caused that shift. The moment I settled on the latter, Howard went from a supporting character whose only use was to help round out others around him to a truly interesting, layered and even broken man.  I became fascinated with piecing together that journey. I needed to know what took this man

to a man that his own son described as cold and distant.

I had been using Howard to help deepen my understanding of others, and in the same way, taking a look at those that he keeps close to him and how he treats them helps to shed light on who he is.

Who Howard Surrounds Himself With

Howard wasn’t raised with the same economic and social privilege that he was able to provide to his son in later years. In S1 of Agent Carter he tells Peggy that he was raised on the Lower East Side to a father that sold fruit and a mother that was a seamstress in a factory, going on to tell her how he’d learned to lie to break through the ceiling society had placed for someone like him.

Yet as of S2 of Agent Carter Howard was in high demand at a club that wouldn’t have let him within a hundred feet of if he hadn’t made the fortune that he did with Stark Industries. With that background matched with the contacts he would have made after Stark Industries took off, I think it’s safe to say that Howard knew people from every walk of life.  

There were the less savory types:

Joe Manfredi and Howard grew up together and the mobster had no trouble reaching out to Howard years later for help when his kinda crazy girlfriend Whitney Frost went over the edge and into territory even he was uncomfortable with.

And while we may not know how he met Obadiah Stane, the other man wormed his way so deeply into Howard’s life and career that he was poised to manipulate his son after his death.

We don’t know a lot about those other than the fact that Howard wasn’t opposed to shady characters.

There’s something interesting in the more positive friendships that he keeps though.

Edwin Jarvis is a fascinating character. Howard’s butler is that and more. We see him stick with Howard through thick and thin. Through countless girlfriends that he was the bearer of bad news to

through disagreements, and he was with the Stark family long enough that Tony was influenced by him enough that he based his AI system off of him. Jarvis himself tells Peggy the story of how he met and came to work for Howard Stark in S1 of Agent Carter, shedding light on yet another layer of the complicated man:

Jarvis met his wife Ana during the war. She was Hungarian. Moreover, she was Hungarian-Jew in the middle of Europe overrun by nazis. Jarvis fell hard, but the general that he worked for wouldn’t help, even though he could have done so easily. So Jarvis forged his signature. He was found out and would have been tried for treason, but Howard - who had had business dealings with the general - stepped in and used his influence to save not only Edwin, but Ana as well.

There was no indication that Howard expected anything in return, but Jarvis remained loyal and steady.

And then there’s Peggy.

I could go on for days about Howard and Peggy’s friendship. I love it dearly, and feel that we need more friendships like it on television.

He flirts with her, he teases her, but in the end he respects no one quite like he does Margaret Carter.

Howard is a self-admitted liar. He felt that he had to become one in order to break free from the ceiling that society put over him in his youth. He doesn’t trust easily and, even when he does, he still hides behind a quirky, playboy mask meant to obscure anything of any real depth under frivolous layers. To get to the level of success he found himself in at such a young age he had to build up an imperviousness to others’ opinions of him. He flaunts in most cases, but, for better or worse, he does care about how Peggy views him.

She’s the one he turns to to clear his name at the beginning of the first season of Agent Carter and the only one that can talk him out of the mire of his own deepest regrets at the end of the same season.

The funny thing is that, for all his determination that he doesn’t really care how people see him, Howard seems to keep people closest to him that will keep him in check. Jarvis and Peggy, especially. They don’t pull punches and they call him on his shit.

If it’s a conscious choice or even a subconscious one, Howard surrounds himself with people that will hold him accountable. I’d put good money on the fact that Maria did too.

The Way He Treats Others

One of our earlier introductions to Howard is in Iron Man 2 where Tony tells Fury that his father had been cold and distant. He never told Tony that he liked him, much less that he loved him.

Fury indicated that he knew a very different man, and through Dominic’s Howard we (the audience) meet a very different man as well, which leads me to think that Howard struggles with expressing real, honest feelings rather than actually having them. It makes sense, given his explanation at two different points in the first season of Agent Carter that, to break through the barriers society had tried to force on him, he’d learned to hide behind lies and an indifference to what others thought about him. We see that that often leads him to come across as shallow and arrogant. He doesn’t, and seems not to even know how to express those truer feelings except in very rare circumstances, but we see glimpses in the way he treats people.

Edwin and Ana Jarvis are a fantastic example, as mentioned earlier. Here were people that he didn’t really know, people that he owed nothing to, yet he went out of his way to protect them. He used a favour that he could have hoarded away for more selfish purposes and gave it to them to save their lives. In return he was given loyalty, but there was no expectation on that.

Howard holds true to his playboy persona as well as, if not perhaps better than his son would in later years, but despite the flirtation (which he always manages to work into their conversations), Howard shows time and again the respect that he holds for Peggy Carter. While she’s fighting for her colleagues’ respect in the post-war SSR, she’s the one Howard reaches out to to clear his name. She’s the one that he trusts to protect him when his life is on the line. And when she needs help, it’s hers for the taking. A flight that the Army won’t take because it’s too dangerous? All Peggy had to do was ask. Twice when she needed a place to stay, he offered his own home(s) to her, and in S2 he dove straight in to help her on her case without any hesitation.

In S2 of the Agent Carter series we meet Jason Wilkes, a brilliant scientist who works for a company that becomes the center of the season’s investigation. The rarity of being a black man in his position is used against him when his company sets him up as a scapegoat. Not only is Howard eager to help him, work with him to clear his name, and reinstate his corporeal form (long story, but if you haven’t seen the Agent Carter series I highly recommend it!), but he sets him up in Stark Industries after all is said and done to help him run the Malibu labs on a new pet project.

For all of his faults and complications, Howard has a trend of helping to support and even protect those that the society of his time is set against. A Jewish woman and her fiancé facing the nazis, a brilliant female agent fighting enemies as well as men around her that have faith in her failure, and a talented black scientist whose company has used and thrown away when convenient.  We see the kindness in his actions, in the respect that he gives others that society would prefer not to be bothered with.

So how did he miss the mark so badly with his own son? He gave him things, opened doors for Tony that he’d had to force open himself, but (at least according to Tony) he missed expressing any sort of affection for him. Personally, in light of the other relationships that we actually get to see as they’re taking place, I’m inclined to think that he didn’t know how to express his love in a way that an already struggling child could understand. He tinkered on cars with him and he built an organization that would keep the world (and his family) safe. Perhaps to Howard, more importantly, he kept his distance, thus allowing his son the chance to grow into his own man. Someone not quite like him.

The thing is, even if it went against everything he wanted, there was no getting around that. Just as I imagine that Howard inherited a few more traits from his own father than he would have ever admitted to, Tony inherited some from him. Both the good and the bad.

Howard’s Personality Traits

Marvel is a parallel haven. In many ways the universe that they’ve created feels like one long, fantastical TV show with 3+ hour episodes. One of the perks of that is the multiple nods they’ve made and parallels they’ve drawn. It’s through those parallels that I found between Howard and Tony that sunk me deeper and deeper into exploring Howard’s personality. Robert said it best:

(gif made by and borrowed from @erikisright​)

Much in the same way that we meet Tony in Iron Man 1, the Howard of Captain America: The First Avenger and the Agent Carter short and series secures himself behind a mask of indifference to public opinion. He has a good time and doesn’t give a damn who knows it. When focused on work, he’s focused

but as soon as the war’s over he’s living the life of the playboy millionaire. He spends his time gallivanting around as much as inventing. He flaunts it. His money, his success. It’s the mask he hides behind to protect himself from the world, and the one that he feels like he has to hide behind. Afterall…

There’s no question that Howard has his fair share of less-than-desirable traits, but as we’ve discussed, he has some good ones as well. One that I found surprising, personally, is that he takes responsibility. Maybe not in his personal life (sorry, Jarvis, but it’s on you to handle Howard’s breakups apparently), but in his work. If he feels that he’s fallen short, he owns it, repeatedly to the point of putting his own life in danger.

In the first season finale for Agent Carter, after spending eight episodes on the run to clear his name, he waltzes himself into the SSR to give the full story and offer himself up as bait. It’s his fault, he tells them, despite not designing the invention stolen to cause harm, it’s still his, and he’ll own up to his responsibility there, both at the time and the damage it had caused during the war. In S2, after an invention fails, he offers himself up to go in and switch it on manually (putting himself at exceptional risk) because he ‘designed it poorly’. He doesn’t get the chance to do it, but he’s ready and willing to.

On the flip side (and also a trait that took me by surprise) he gives credit where it’s due.

Despite having to lie and possibly claw his way to the top, he’s consistently willing to both offer a hand to those that he can as well as make sure that he’s acknowledging their contribution, despite the fact that he believes that many successful scientists steal other people’s work for themselves. 

Tony must have come by his tendencies to fixate by way of his father. Much like his son, Howard shows time and time again that he leans into his obsessive personality. It ranges from a hyper-focus on work to coffee to a good time by any means he can find it, and even to the guilt that we see him holding onto in those few private, honest moments we catch a glimpse of.

We see it in the way that he held onto the guilt over what happened to the Russian soldiers at Finow when his Midnight Oil was misused and ended up killing hundreds of Allied soldiers. He did everything he could to set the situation as right as it could be set - he faced down the general that had stolen the oil only to get his ass handed to him, forced the general to step down, ended a seven-figure contract with the Army, and created a vault to better protect designs and inventions that could hurt innocent people - yet we see how it still weighs on him years later.

I think it’s the guilt at never being able to find Steve that eventually shifts him from Dominic’s Howard to John’s. That lively, goofy man is broken year after year by the failure of not being able to find or save a man that he holds up on a pedestal. He fixates on it to the point that his own son feels that he cared more about Captain America than him. Really, there’s so much in this theory that I’ve had battering around my head for the last couple of months or so that it deserves its own post. I’ll put it on the writing docket.

All in all, Howard Stark is an easy character to overlook or to flatten out with partial information. The Agent Carter series does wonders to add depth to him by giving us time to get to know him. Time that we don’t get through newsreels and the off story that Tony tells.

Part of an interesting character is their layers, both the good and the bad. Much like Tony, I feel that the more I learn about Howard Stark, the more I come to realize that he was a man trying his best. Sure, maybe his best didn’t match up in a lot of ways, but I think there’s something to be said for each generation of Starks doing just a little bit better than the one that came before them in whatever way that they can.

[dracox-serdriel]

Orion - Chapter Thirteen: Bird Snare (The Flash)

Title: Orion [AO3] [LJ] [FF] Chapter: Bird Snare Universe: The Flash Pairings: SnowJay (Caitlin Snow/Jay Garrick), SnowHunter (Caitlin Snow/Hunter Zolomon) Word count: ~5,000 Spoilers: All episodes through 02x18 Versus Zoom and all comic books that feature Zoom/Hunter Zolomon. Rating: NC-17/MA Chapter summary: Caitlin and Hunter both make their next moves.

Canon-divergent as of 02x18 Versus Zoom. Caitlin Snow and Jay Garrick meet under strange circumstances, but the attraction between them is immediate and the connection, real. Stranded on Earth-2, Caitlin fights for her survival against Zoom, the seemingly unstoppable meta-human who has fallen in love with her.

Set immediately after the events in 02x18 Versus Zoom, Orion includes flashbacks to missing scenes during canon episodes of the season when SnowJay was developing.

Read Orion from the beginning.

Orion Chapter Thirteen: Bird Snare

Caitlin was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for herself and RJ. Somewhere between cracking eggs and reaching for the toast, a sudden wind rushed through the room, rattling plates and dragging with it a lingering chill.

She should get a sweater.

She turned, and a man was there. He hadn't been there a few moments ago. Had he? Yet, here he was, this man with a painfully familiar face. Who was he?

"Caitlin?" he spoke. "Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you," she replied. "You're right in front of me."

"Hold up, you can - you can see me?" the man asked. Before she could say anything, he blurted, "Oh, man! It finally worked! I'm dream-Vibing you, girl!"

Confusion followed this pronouncement. Why was he surprised that she could see him? Who was this guy, anyway? Wasn't she supposed to be cooking?

"Look, I dunno how long this will last," he kept speaking. "Caitlin, we're working on something, okay? We're gonna bring you home."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused. "I am home."

RJ started to cry.

-----

Caitlin jolted awake, disoriented by the sheets wrapped around her and the wailing from the crib beside her bed.

The image of that man's face - his horrified expression - remained fixed in her mind.

Cisco.

Caitlin couldn't remember any substance from her dream. Had she been eating with Cisco? Walking with him on the beach? Working together back at STAR Labs?

She couldn't focus, not with RJ's sobs. She pulled herself out of bed and lifted the toddler into her arms. His cries dropped to sullen whimpers. Her first thought was that he simply wanted attention, but he remained clearly distressed when snuggled against her chest.

She checked his forehead with the back of her hand. No, he didn't seem to have a fever. She glanced at the clock. Twelve past three in the morning, not a time he was normally awake. At least, not since she started caring for him. Was it normal for him - or toddlers in general - to wake crying like this?

Probably not.

As she walked down the stairs with a fussing RJ, she reminded herself that she could do this and that this was good practice. In a few more months, she'd be dealing with an infant. Frequent nighttime disruptions were definitely part of her future, so she might as well get a handle on it now.

On the chance that he was hungry, she ducked into the kitchen. When she took a sippy cup out of the cupboard, RJ reached for it, which she decided was a good sign. He must be thirsty.

She filled it about halfway with milk, and soon, RJ was busy sipping from his cup.

Please let this be enough to make the crying stop.

They both needed to go back to bed, so once he was finished, she carried the now-much-happier RJ back up the stairs, exhausted out of her mind, and all thoughts of her dream forgotten.

RJ settled back down almost immediately, but Caitlin was not so lucky. She curled up in bed but couldn't get comfortable.

At some point after Hunter had brought her back to the Comet, she returned to her room with a gnawing, rolling numbness that had taken hold of her. She had stared out the floor-to-ceiling window that made up one of the walls to her room for... how long, exactly? Minutes? Hours? Days?

However long she stared, her eyes never really adjusted to the dark. The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, and clouds blotted out the stars. Still, the ocean mesmerized her. Outside, not far from where she stood, sprawling waves collided with a pristine beach, falling back only to resurge again, swallowing a little more shore each time.

And here she was, hours later, lying in bed, and all she could do was think about those waves.

Was that what was happening to her? It felt like it. It felt as if she was slowly losing herself to an inevitable tide, sure and certain to consume her. It was only a matter of time before she, too, disappeared beneath the salt and sea.

Maybe she'd be better off that way.

With that thought, she fell asleep.

-----

About two hours ago on Earth-2, Hunter sped across the world, checking each of the former breech sites for any signs of activity, save for the one deep in the jungle near Gorilla City. It was never wise to trespass on the Great Ape's territory, but it would be particularly problematic now, when it might alienate them from allying with the Cause. They'd soon learn of the horrors Gorilla Grodd suffered, and they'd be out for blood. Preferably, the MTU's blood.

That was a matter for another day.

He could use the breech Vibe opened to draw Zoom back to Earth-1, but Team Flash actively monitored it. The last thing he needed was to become the target of yet another one of their blundering, desperate plans. Any interaction between him and them could result in their injury, and Caitlin already had enough reasons to hate him.

That's what happens to monsters.

No matter what, this monster needed to get to Earth-1 and back without any interference. So he identified the most fragile of the patched-breeches.

Vibe would sense his arrival immediately, and there was nothing Hunter could do to avoid that. But he could enter and exit from two different breeches, depriving Team Flash of any opportunity to intervene.

As he raced into his entry breech, he wondered what Caitlin would think of his tactics to evade Team Flash. Would she see them for what they were - her influence on a broken and angry yet reborn man? Or would she read it as weakness, as fear?

She wouldn't believe it at all.

A patched breech was similar to an opened breach; it just took a bit more effort to punch through to the between to cross to the next universe. Within a few seconds, Hunter burst into Earth-1 Central City.

Part of him envied this universe. Here, metahumans had a future unencumbered by elements like the MTU. In one of the futures he'd lived, he'd even witnessed this universe banning together to protect their metas from the encroaching MTU army of Earth-2. He had given serious consideration to abandoning his own universe in favor of Earth-1.

But then, Caitlin had died in that future. Hunter realized then that Team Flash couldn't keep her alive. He would have to do it, and he couldn't protect her, not in this universe, anyway.

He arrived outside her apartment complex, deciding to enter without his speed. Caitlin had given him - or, rather, Jay - a key, and it'd be nice to walk in, just like old times.

Hunter wasn't sure what he'd expected. A flood of memories? An overwhelming sense of longing? Whatever it was, he braced himself for it, and it never came.

Instead, he was in a very familiar apartment with the ghost of some other man's past joys haunting his footsteps.

As he collected photos from the living room, the phantom was the countless times they'd curled up with one another on the couch.

When he gathered items from the bathroom, the specter staring him down was the bathtub, where they'd spent more than one romantic evening unwinding after a particularly rough day.

As he made his way back to the bedroom, he felt the weight of the next spirit awaiting him long before he opened the door. He hadn't fallen asleep with - let alone, woken up next to - many people in his life. He never let anyone get that close to him. Not until Caitlin.

He packed her photo albums and her clothing in a room full of another man's memories with Caitlin. He felt the whisper of every touch, the sensation of every noise, the ripple of everything spoken here. But it was like all of that had happened with another man, a man he longed to be. A man who had let her in.

And she, in turn, had let him in. Into her life, her arms, her home, and even into her body. She hadn't just let him in, she'd welcomed him, wanted him. This was the first place he'd ever really known that feeling.

And he wanted it back.

But Hunter couldn't catch a ghost. The memories churned up, but he was no closer to getting Caitlin back. He refused to delude himself into thinking she would soften because he'd brought her some of the comforts of home. No, one act of kindness wouldn't be enough. He'd need a hundred - a thousand - acts of kindness before she'd even budge.

It was a good thing he was the fastest man alive. A thousand acts of kindness - even in the middle of a brewing war, soon to erupt - were well within his grasp. And this would be the first.

When Hunter walked out of her apartment and locked the door behind him, he sensed something inside himself shift. The joys of this place did not belong to an apparition; no, they were his now, like they always had been. It was up to him to make sure that they stayed that way.

Despite three heavily packed bags, he paced himself as he exited the building until he found enough cover to conceal the blur of his blue lightning.

He needed to clear his head, so he ran freely, zipping over the Rocky Mountains and down the west coast before returning to the outskirts of Central City. He had one more point of business before he returned to Earth-2.

Reverb had been a problematic minion, but he had had his uses before he overstepped his authority for the last time. He'd designed all kinds of meta-tech, including assistive devices that could, in theory, work across the multiverse, though he constantly lied about the scope and objective of his work to conceal his plans.

Of course, Reverb had been unaware of Hunter's background in physics and chemistry. Had he even an inkling of Hunter's genius, he would've known how feeble his subterfuge had been.

That was why Hunter knew that Reverb had invented a multidimensional communications device under the guise of a "Breecher Detection Alert System." It hadn't been fully tested, but it was based on fairly sound theory.

And unlike Earth-2, this universe still had a metahuman with multidimensional abilities. What Reverb started, Vibe would surely finish. He had the motivation; all he needed was the opportunity.

Earth-2 Linda Park, aka Doctor Light, had arrived at the meeting spot early. She looked pale and generally unwell when he blazed into the dark alleyway.

"You said you'd leave me alone," was the first thing she said.

It was strange how brave she sounded, but the quiver of her lips gave her away.

"Did I?" he asked in his modulated Zoom voice. "I told you, so long as you continue to work with STAR Labs on this world, you and your family will be safe from me. And that deal remains."

She visibly relaxed as she realized he had not come here to kill her.

"I have something for you," he continued. "Something I want you to finish, and a message to deliver."

"A message?" she repeated incredulously. "Am I just supposed to tell my new 'team' that I had a chat with their old buddy Zoom?"

"Tell them whatever you like," he replied. "Tell them everything about our arrangement. Tell them nothing. It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" she repeated, clearly confused. "Is that because you're going to... are you going to kill them?"

He considered her question. Doctor Light hadn't been a killer before she came to Earth-1, and her crimes had never been violent. She used her metahuman abilities to pull off bigger and bigger heists without any kind of physical harm. He once assumed that she did all this it because she knew that violent crimes attracted more heat, more cops, more retaliation.

Yet here she was, asking if he planned on killing her newfound team as if she genuinely cared about them.

Light had defied him. He couldn't let that stand, yet he also admired her for it. He decided against killing her when he realized he could use her to monitor Earth-1's STAR Labs, but that didn't mean he couldn't punish her just a little bit more. He'd let her stew with whatever unsettling thoughts she had.

For now.

"It doesn't matter what you tell them," he said. "Because soon they will know the truth for themselves."

With that, he left her with the package and raced back to Earth-2.

-----

Caitlin woke far too early in the morning for no reason at all. RJ was fast asleep, so she wandered into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

As she stood under the searing hot spray from the showerhead, she became alert and aware in increments, as if she hadn't quite finished waking up yet. Even so, accusation after accusation inundated her, refusing to abate.

She'd been so certain that Hunter had known about the baby, but his reaction had been all wrong. He'd been concerned and curious, but most of all, surprised. There was only one plausible explanation: she'd been wrong. He hadn't known about her pregnancy, and in her anger, she'd essentially locked her - no, their - prison forever. Whatever excuses Hunter made about holding her captive to protect her would be pale in comparison to the rationalizations he'd invent under the pretext of safeguarding his child.

No, not his child. Yours. Never his.

She tortured herself, reiterating those same thoughts until the water turned cold. But, as she toweled dry, she faced a particularly bitter truth: nothing had actually changed. If Hunter really was keeping her prisoner out of some twisted emotional connection - and she was starting to believe that was the case - then he was never going to let her go, pregnant or otherwise.

And how long could she have kept her pregnancy a secret from Hunter, anyway? Even if she could've concealed her test results, he would've cottoned on soon enough, either from all the adjustments she'd be making over the next few weeks or when she started showing.

At worst, her misstep had clued him in a few months early.

Assuming he hadn't already known.

Caitlin hadn't brought a change of clothing, so she returned to her room clad in the largest towel she could find. She fought the urge to collapse on her bed and sleep the day away. Now wasn't the time to give in or to give up, so she turned to her closet for something to wear.

She gasped - literally gasped - when she saw her favorite sweater. She pulled it out, and her fingers found the slightly loose right cuff and the wear spot at the right elbow. This was no replica; this was hers, from Earth-1.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she felt overwhelmed at the gesture.

Damn hormones.

Nothing had changed, whether or not Hunter had known about the pregnancy before. But she had successfully manipulated Hunter into crossing a breech to acquire some of her Earth-1 possessions.

She thought it'd feel like a victory, but instead she felt horrible. This wasn't her. This wasn't her.

Before she finished dressing, RJ woke up, unhappy and not afraid to express his dismay, so she carried him downstairs with her hair still damp, hoping breakfast would settle him.

And she spent the entire meal dreading Hunter's arrival.

Like always, food had been set out before her arrival: blueberry waffles - one of which was diced into very small pieces - and yogurt.

RJ fussed the whole time, unwilling to eat anything in front of him, but crying vehemently when Caitlin tried to take any of it away. It was enough to make her wonder if she was ready or motherhood. She had no idea what was wrong with RJ, and her patience for all the incoherent screaming was quickly evaporating.

She resigned herself to the sound of sobbing after fifteen futile minutes, leaving the inconsolable two-year-old to his own devices while she sat down to her now-cold meal.

Maybe she should run a few tests on RJ. He showed no signs of fever or congestion, but he could still be ill.

Or he might just be a two-year-old.

She decided she'd speak with Killer Frost just as RJ threw the remainder of his meal on the floor. Surely his mother would have some insight.

Thus, she rode down to the Comet, bypassing her "office" in favor of the second floor. She slipped into Unit C, but Frost wasn't there. Undeterred, she went to the floor's nurse's station, which was staffed by a familiar face: Roy Harper.

Not your Roy Harper. Earth-2 Roy.

"Where is Killer Frost?" she asked.

He seemed amused by her question. He sat back in his seat and asked, "What, are you, like, her sister or something?"

"You could say that," she replied. "Where is she?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Bellatrix," she answered.

Her response elicited an immediate reaction. His slouch vanished, and the smug half-smirk fell from his face.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. " I didn't recognize you without your suit. Let me look up that patient for you."

Did Roy Harper just call you "ma'am"?

Roy typed something into the computer before he continued, "She's been moved to an intensive care floor for critical patients."

"Critical patients?" she repeated.

"Yes, ma'am. Level seventy-one, unit A. And, uh, children aren't allowed on critical floors - that's seventy to seventy-nine - not unless they're patients. But levels sixty-five and eighty-five have short-term day care for visitors."

"Thank you, uh - I'm sorry, I haven't asked your name."

"Berserker, ma'am."

"Thank you, Berserker."

Caitlin returned to the elevator and punched the number for level sixty-five. She didn't like the idea of leaving RJ in someone else's care, but she'd have to if she wanted to speak to Frost. So she dropped him off with a young woman who recognized him as soon as they stepped off the elevator. At least he wasn't with a total stranger.

"It's just a few minutes, Frostbite," she explained to him. "Just a few minutes."

She felt supremely guilty as she got back inside the elevator without him.

There were only two open units on level seventy-one. Most of the floor was a dedicated to Unit C, a biocontainment unit with an attached decontamination unit.

Caitlin spotted Doctor Midnight - one of them, anyway - working on a chart at the nurse's station. Unwilling to be held up by more questions, she ducked into Unit A.

Frost had been weak but definitely stable and improving yesterday, yet today her vitals had gotten weaker. Her first instinct was to consult her chart, but the patient was awake and starting straight at her.

"What are you doing here?" Frost snapped. "Didn't I tell you to get out already?"

"You did."

"You didn't bring him, did you?" she asked.

It was clear she meant her son.

"No," Caitlin replied. "What happened? Why did they move you here?"

"You mean the reject floor," she replied. "According to Doctor Midnight, I stopped breathing last night. Not sick enough to be on life support. Not well enough to get better."

"Don't say that," Caitlin said. "You just need time to heal."

"What for?"

"What for?" she repeated, indignant. "For your son."

"He's better off without me."

"How can you say that? He needs his mother."

"A mother who can't even touch him?" she shot back.

"You don't freeze everything you touch," Caitlin pointed out. "You're not freezing the bed you're lying in or any of the equipment touching you."

"No, just everything living," Frost said. "The only one who could survive my touch was Deathstorm. Our son didn't inherit that ability. My mother was a cold-hearted bitch, but she could hug him and wipe away his tears without freezing his skin."

"So that's it?" she asked, getting angrier by the second. "Ronnie dies, Mom dies, and you - you just give up?"

"You think I want to die?" she snapped. "I don't do make believe. I'm not getting better."

"But - "

"Remember your promise to me," she interrupted. "And whatever you do, don't bring him here. I don't want him to see me like this."

"You're not dying," Caitlin said stubbornly. "Not so long as I can help it."

"Tell me, why would you waste your time trying to save me?" Frost asked. "I'm a murderer, you know that, right? I've killed dozens of people. Possibly hundreds. A few of them were bad people that needed to die, but most of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time... near me when I needed a nice, warm snack."

Caitlin asked, "If you're such a horrible person, then why did you save me? You could've used me as a battery like anyone else, but you didn't. You stopped that man from killing me."

Frost had no response for that.

"Maybe you think you're not worth saving, but I'm going to save you anyway," Caitlin said before she stormed out.

She made it to just outside the elevator before she realized that she'd said nearly the same thing to Jay - no, Hunter - only a few months ago back on Earth-1. Why was it that she was so dedicated to saving other people? Was it because she couldn't save herself?

No, saving Frost was strategic. She didn't have a clue - let alone a plan - for escaping, but she knew she'd need allies. A murderous ice queen with common decency and possibly a heart buried under years of detachment and resentment wouldn't be her first choice, but something told her she could trust her doppelganger.

Besides, she had worked with plenty of less-than-desirable people back on Earth-1, like Captain Cold and Heat Wave, and even Harrison Wells - or, rather, Eobard Thawne - after discovering his true identity. Even Team Arrow had worked with Malcolm Merlyn when times became desperate enough for such an alliance.

Screaming abruptly drew her attention. No, not screaming, an alarm. It was coming from Unit C.

She ran to help, but a flash of silver hurtled into her path, forcing her to come to an inelegant halt halfway to her destination. It was Hubris the fox.

Had he been following her this whole time?

Caitlin tried to go around him, but he kept adjusting his position to block her. When he started to growl and looked ready to pounce, she relented and backed away.

All she could do was watch from a distance as the alarm continued to howl. Doctor Midnight was in the decontamination area, donning some kind of helmet before his voice boomed over the intercom.

"All patients must be gagged before I enter."

What the hell kind of protocol is that?

The alarm went off because one of the patients was enduring a prolonged seizure. One of the healthy patients unceremoniously shoved a rag into the seizing patient's mouth - which was not safe or remotely acceptable for anyone having a seizure. Doctor Midnight didn't open the door until the other two patients were both gagged in their beds.

By the time the doctor entered to administer diazepam, the patient had been seizing for over five minutes, increasing the risk of status epilepticus and other dangerous complications.

But, why? Why did the patients have to be quarantined? Why did Doctor Midnight insist on gagging them before delivering even the most basic treatment? It didn't make any sense.

It makes sense if they're MTU employees. Maybe this is Doctor Midnight getting some revenge.

That wasn't right. She couldn't just let this stand.

"Bellatrix," Totem said as she entered from the elevator. "You are needed elsewhere."

"You expect me to leave after what I just saw?" she asked. "What kind of medical protocol requires patients to be gagged?"

"I understand your concern," she said calmly. "But the precautions here are all necessary. If you come with me, I shall explain on the way."

Caitlin wavered a few moments between standing her ground and leaving, but ultimately, staying here wasn't going to help anyone. Before she could remedy the situation, she needed to know what was happening.

So she went to the elevator, led by Hubris and followed by Totem, with an especially nasty bit of suspicion embedded in the pit of her stomach.

Before the doors even closed, she asked, "What was all that? With the gagging?"

"Those patients are all biologically related to a metahuman with speech-related powers," Totem explained. "The Metahuman Tactical Unit experimented on those three for over a year. We do not yet know the full effects of those experiments, so precautions are being taken."

It hadn't escaped Caitlin's notice that Totem had not only omitted the metahuman's name but was also vague about the meta-ability in question. But she'd recently let her anger drive her to some unfortunate choices lately, and she didn't want a repeat of that.

After all, the Comet had just been inundated with patients. Was it fair to expect Totem to know the name of every patient off the top of her head? Probably not.

Caitlin would consult the digital patient charts once she got back to her "office."

So, on to the other business at hand. She asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"To a patient only you can treat," Totem replied cryptically. "But before you meet her, you must put on your suit, Bellatrix."

-----

Hunter had unpacked Caitlin's Earth-1 possession as soon as he returned, sneaking into her room as she slept. His watched her for a little while, hoping that their next conversation would go better than their last. His plans to speak with her over breakfast, however, were foiled by reports of increased MTU activity along the west coast.

He couldn't ignore it, not with the proximity to the Comet. So he left to deal with it himself.

It was much worse than he'd thought.

In response to the Siege, the MTU had initiated global mobilization. And it wasn't just the MTU. All kinds of government agencies and private corporations were suddenly moving weapons and personnel. Even local law enforcement was out in full force, collecting any associates of known metahumans.

Zoom ordered the Cause to retreat completely underground. He couldn't risk his metas being caught, which meant desperate rescue missions needed to be taken off the table entirely. As a result, the Cause's network abandoned its intelligence gathering work, even the most remote monitoring posts.

Only a handful of metas could collect the kind of intelligence they needed to prepare for their next move. Totem's familiars could assist and blend in, unnoticed by counter-intelligence agents, but they wouldn't be enough.

Zoom spent the majority of the morning reassigning resources and crippling enemy supply lines. Slowing the MTU down would buy the Cause enough time to prepare.

Though, part of him knew he was also stalling. He was dreading the conversation he needed to have with Caitlin. It was far easier to burn cables and smash caravans than to face her again.

Which was why he was standing in her room in the middle of the day, knowing that she would be down in the Comet. Why is it that everything had to be coming to a head all at the same time?

"Hunter?"

Her voice made his heart jump into his throat. He turned to see her heading for her closet.

Somehow, she was even more beautiful then she had been just this morning.

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked.

"I came to drop something off," he replied.

"If you mean my clothing, I've already see it," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. "But, Caitlin, we need to talk about what comes next."

She crossed her arms, but otherwise didn't respond.

"If you are plan to keep it - the baby, I mean - there are things you should know," he said. "I thought it'd be easier to... I put all the data on this."

He held out a slim laptop, and she reluctantly walked over and took it.

"So, what?" she asked. "This is about genetic disorders in your family?"

It was a shrew question, and, admittedly, one he hadn't even considered.

"No, it's more general than that," he hedged. "And that laptop has been set up with an inter-dimensional intercom. It's not fully functional yet, but when it does - "

"I'll be able to talk to Earth-1?" she asked. "Why? Why would you suddenly be okay with me talking to my friends?"

He knew she was going to be suspicious of his motives. He couldn't blame her for that, but he also wasn't expecting the accusation in her voice to hurt him so deeply.

"Because, after you read what's on that computer, I think you're going to need them," he replied. "Caitlin, please, I - "

A blaring alarm interrupted him. Moments later, Blink appeared, running up the stairs to Caitlin's room.

"Sorry to interrupt," Blink said. "But Gigawatt and Geomancer have gone insane."

"I'll meet you at the usual location," he said to Blink.

She nodded before she ran back down the stairs.

"I have to deal with this," he said. "Whatever other work you have today, Bellatrix, it can wait. You need to read that first."

With that, he followed behind Blink, down the stairs and probably into the Comet, leaving an incredibly confused Caitlin in his wake.

Chapter notes: The title of this chapter, Bird Snare, is from the Maori name for the constellation Orion, Pewa-o-Tautoru, which means "Tautoru's Bird Snare."

Author notes (somewhat spoiler-y): This fic has previously mentioned dissociative disorders, specifically from Caitlin's perspective as a possible diagnosis for Hunter Zolomon/Zoom. While Caitlin, as a character, considers this a real possibility, I want to state here that that is simply not the case. Caitlin Snow considers the possibility that Hunter has a dissociative disorder because those were the insights inspired by her limited background in psychiatry/psychology.

I'm writing this note because I know that dissociative disorders are poorly represented and very often mishandled in pretty much all forms of media, and it's important to me that anyone reading Orion understands that this story is not meant to represent or describe someone living with a dissociative disorder.

[bellarkefanfiction]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

written by: Josefine / @selflessbellamy

prompt: AU where Bellamy is a soldier and Clarke is a medic? Any time period works. Preferably happy ending! for anonymous

word count: 3728

If anyone had asked eighteen-year-old Clarke Griffin to talk about her dream for the future, she would’ve painted a picture of old Parisian cafés in mesmerizing watercolor; talked about how she’d spent hours there doing art like all the great French painters, eating croissants in her true element. This romanticized ideal is so far from her current reality…

… Which is a warzone. Afghanistan, to be more precise.

While Clarke thinks that wars are always pointless, causing destruction and mayhem when it isn’t necessary, the countless lives that are put on the line still matter, also the non-American ones. So for the past six months, she has spent her days in a military tent on constant watch over the wounded, her hands cracked from the harshness of the hand sanitizer.

As always, you can’t save everyone. The deaths keep her up at night, haunt her, and each time she finds herself wondering why the hell she agreed to take this job if all it does is leave her in pieces. However, she saves people, too. That’s important to remember.

For what it’s worth, today has been less hectic than usual. When the stars come out from their hiding, Clarke Griffin and the pre-med student Maya Vie have only treated two soldiers with minor, non-conflict related injuries. Running a hand through the back of her messy hair, Clarke walks to the tent opening to get some air while it’s chilly; her forehead is still clammy with sweat from the heat.

She tries to think about things back home that make her heart swell, such as her dad’s homemade dinners and a good cup of coffee, but it all seems very distant now — like she’s in another world, or at least in some place where everything she used to care about and value is out of reach. Sensing tears gather in her eyes, Clarke releases a ragged breath.

Wait. What is that?

Quickly, she blinks to chase the blurriness away and some figures take shape in the distance as they move closer and closer. Over her shoulder, she yells to wake Maya up. In this world, there’s no time for naps.

Two minutes later a couple of soldiers burst into their tent, carrying a comrade of theirs on a makeshift stretcher. It’s too dark for Clarke to make out his face, but the unharmed tell her that he’s lost consciousness. Three gunshot wounds to the chest.

He’s losing blood fast.

When the two other soldiers — sergeant Miller and corporal Monroe  — place the wounded man on the makeshift operating table, all of the air is knocked from Clarke’s lungs. Oh god no. The whole world shifts as its axis as he comes into view, and she can barely make out the words. “I need blood, Maya! O positive!”

Fetching the pints and hooking them up for transfusion, the med student looks utterly baffled. Meanwhile, Clarke’s heart pounding against her ribcage, because it’s him. Naturally, he’s gotten older, but age doesn’t fool her — it’s the same freckles, curly hair, and broad shoulders. She’d recognize him anywhere.

Sure enough, as she turns on the lamp so she can stitch him up, the embroidered name tag on his front pocket becomes clear: BLAKE.

“How do you know his blood type, Clarke? We could—“

“I know him, Maya!” she doesn’t mean to yell, but desperation is clawing at her chest, making it difficult for the words to emerge. While she bites her teeth and stitches him up to the best of her ability, a million questions wage war in her mind, the most dominant one being: What in the name of the universe is he doing here?

Sweet, book-loving Bellamy Blake.

In the end, all she can do is wait until the transfusion is done to see if he’ll wake up from this. Her hands are trembling, covered in his blood as she sinks down beside the makeshift table and struggles to catch her breath. Through all the chaos, she barely had time to process the fact that this man she just tried to save is not some heroic stranger.

He was someone who changed her life — someone she never forgot.

“How do you know him? I’m so sorry…” is what Maya says, placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Sighing, Clarke glances over at him for a moment. Is it really his blood that’s stuck like grime beneath her fingernails?

While she looks at him, her burdened mind suddenly floods with memories, and somehow they make her smile, if only a little. Then she tells her assistant, “He was my lab partner in high school… I haven’t seen him in six years.”

Maya Vie is no fool. She notices the tears that linger at the corners of her eyes. “But he was more than that, wasn’t he?”

Oh yeah, he was.

Managing a nod, Clarke admits, “I lost my virginity to him. We dated… for a while.”

And still, that’s far from the whole story. Honestly, it’d be too much for her heart to tell it now, given the circumstances. Her lower lip wobbling, Clarke brushes her fingertips across the bronze skin of his forehead, humming a little, which is something he used to do all the time while he was putting books away or driving in his car.

To her relief, Maya doesn’t attempt to pry for any further information. Instead she goes to one of the cots at the side of the tent to sleep. “You deserve to call it a night, too,” she sighs, empathetic as ever, and yet Clarke can’t bring herself to leave her ex-boyfriend’s side (you know, in case he goes into shock or something…)

“I’ll just watch him for a bit.”

In the end ‘for a bit’ turns into the entire night. By the time her eyes give lose to exhaustion, fluttering shut, the sun has begun to rise. The rays fall on his face just as she remembers, and the sight makes her heart quiver. If he doesn’t make it through this, she’ll never forgive herself.

An uncertain number of hours later, Bellamy’s low groan stirs her awake. Even though her head is heavy from lack of sleep, she feels instantly awake, her eyes widening as they watch his face contort in pain. Because of this, it’s almost inappropriate for her to be this relieved, but she can’t help it.

When he tries to move, Clarke places a hand on his chest to push him back down. “Don’t move,” is her direct order. “I just took three bullets out of you last night.”

At the sound of her voice, Bellamy’s brow furrows, almost as if he’s unsure whether he’s still dreaming. “Wait…” with that, he slowly opens his eyes and turns his head despite the fact that it must hurt like a bitch. Once his gaze settles on her, his jaw — which had been clenched in pain — slacks. “Princess?”

She tears up on at the familiar nickname, though she blinks quickly in order to hide it. “Hi. Long time no see, huh?”

Looking at her, he manages a smile that actually reaches his eyes, making them fill with light. “Yeah, tell me about it. Pity that we should meet again under these circumstances,” just as she’s going to nod, he teasingly continues, “But hey, at least you’re used to seeing me like this. Horizontal, I mean.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke snorts. “Well, how fucking appropriate. I should have expected it,” despite her words, she can’t resist an easy grin. “We haven’t had sex in six years, so it’s a bold statement, Bellamy.”

He only winks at her.

But then he takes her hand, his touch so soft that it nearly startles her. When he speaks again, his voice is marked by an emotion that she can’t identify. “I really loved you, you know.”

Why would he tell her this now, after all these years? Maybe it’s because he thinks he might die, or that he will never have another chance. Although the timing of his words is random at best, hearing him say it makes her heart quiver in her chest.

Managing a smile, she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You proposed to me, so yeah… I know that.”

She still remembers that night, will likely never forget it. Because he knew her well, Bellamy’s proposal wasn’t extravagant or formal; it was a typical night in his car, which they’d parked on a field in the middle of nowhere to watch the stars — they used to do this all the time together. As though it were yesterday, she remembers hearing the sound of soft rock from the radio before he pulled out the ring.

Maybe it could’ve worked out in the end. It’s weird to imagine what her life would be like had they eloped after graduation as they planned. When it all fell apart, their paths taking opposite directions and driving them away from each other, the break was inevitable.

At least she’s told herself that over and over; that he wasn’t the one.

“I still remember the day I received the ring in the mail,” he mutters, frowning. Then he turns to her, his dark brown eyes apologetic. “I figured it was my own doing. That I let you get away.”

Brushing her fingertips across his freckled cheek for the first time in seven years, Clarke hears her own heart break. To assure him, she shakes her head, admitting that they both played their parts in this; they didn’t try hard enough. “We were too young,” she says, swallowing the lump in her throat. This conversation is years overdue. “But you’re right. We really loved each other.”

For a minute, they simply look at each other, reacquainting themselves with the familiar feeling of their fingers interlacing. Suddenly remembering something, Clarke leaves him if only to locate her wallet in her purse that’s been pushed to the corner. Hidden in a secret compartment that she hasn’t opened since she arrived here, Clarke finds it…

… A Polaroid of them; a pair of teenagers frozen in time: This particular one was captured a couple weeks before they made their relationship official: they’re sitting on the rooftop of his house and Clarke’s kissing his cheek, making him grin boyishly. In the border, she’s written: Babe <3

God, they look so young.

“I kept this,” she smiles, handing the photo to him. Seeing it makes him smile, too.

Yeah… they might’ve been young at the time, but they had a good relationship that was a lot healthier than you’d expect. The more she allows herself to think about it, the reason why it didn’t work out becomes less complicated. In the end, their ties were severed because they were too scared to make the commitment.

Getting married is a big deal, especially when you’re only eighteen.

Clarke hears herself ask, “Do you still have it?”

“Huh?”

Worrying her lower lip, she clarifies. “The ring? Or did you give it to someone else?”

Although there’s no hint of judgment in her voice, even at the last part, Bellamy’s brow furrows in confusion. “God, no. I bought it for you.”

Well, that’s true and very clear when you look at it. At both sides of the clear stone in the middle of the ring, there are two smaller blue ones to match her eyes. Frankly, it must have cost him a fortune, and the fact that she was so quick to send it back to him makes her feel a little ashamed. But eighteen-year-old Clarke was too busy mending her own broken heart to think about his, which is tragic.

Before they can continue their much-needed conversation, however, the painkillers that she gave him during the night start to wear off, so she has to give him another injection. Shortly after, Maya wakes up and insists that she can take over, that Clarke needs to get some sleep. Reluctantly, she obeys.

Before she falls asleep, Clarke hears some of the conversation that Maya initiates with Bellamy, her curiosity unsurprising:

Maya: so…. Clarke mentioned that the two of you used to date in high school?

Bellamy: *chokes on nothing* she did?

Maya: Oh yeah. It’s true, right?

Bellamy: … It is. It’s over now, though *sigh*, has been for a long time.

***

In the afternoon, Clarke wraps Bellamy’s chest in bandages, her hands trembling slightly. Since he’s drugged on painkillers, he’s more silent than usual, watching her work like he used to watch her paint for hours while he did his homework on her bed. When she’s finished, Clarke helps him put his jacket back on, and to her own sheer surprise she can’t resist the urge to run her fingers through his messy hair.

At the familiar touch, Bellamy locks his dark brown eyes onto hers, managing a smile through the pain. “… We could go out for coffee when we get back,” is his offer, which makes her raise her eyebrows, the corners of her lips twitching.

“If we get back, you mean.”

Suddenly, he reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. Of all places she could’ve run into him again, the universe chose a fucking warzone. How fantastic… “They’re probably gonna retire me after this. Send me home.”

A flicker of hope lights up in her chest, causing her heart to skip a beat. “But Miller said you are considered one of the best soldiers in the regiment. Are they gonna let you go just like that?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m not much use when I can barely move, am I?”

Honestly, there’s no telling what it is, but once he’s said these words something within her stirs and shifts, pushing her forward until her lips descend onto his, her hand resting on his knee.

What the fuck is she doing?

Wait. No. What the fuck are THEY doing?

As if he’s acting on instinct, Bellamy wraps his fingertips in her hair as he parts his lips, effectively deepening the kiss a bit. It must be some kind of miracle that he doesn’t taste of war and blood, but he doesn’t taste like she remembers either. Of course, that shouldn’t be a surprise, because no one goes through seven years and comes out unchanged. Still, it feels good, like she’s inches away from touching the stars.

When she moans a little against his lips, he pulls away, which has disappointment prickling like needles under her skin. But he doesn’t go far, their noses grazing. “Woah. That was...” he starts, then cringes before continuing, his voice laced with irony. “Way to go, Blake. Kiss the woman you screwed over seven years ago. How fucking classy.”

Clarke furrows her brow. “You didn’t screw me over. I screwed you over. I was the one who sent back the ring.”

“I was the one who decided to go to UPenn instead of—“

She draws back completely. “Are you fucking kidding me? As if I would’ve wanted you to throw away your acceptance to an Ivy League college and marry me instead? You did the right thing, Bellamy. For you, and I… I just couldn’t handle missing you all the time, and yet I did nothing about it!”

His jaw slacking, Bellamy blinks as he can’t help but stare. For some stupid reason, they’ve never talked about why they broke off the engagement before, mostly because they never talked about anything after they fell apart. “Clarke, come here…”

Tears have welled up in her eyes now, so she’s hesitant, but in the end she steps back into his arms. “I didn’t understand,” is what he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. “I mean, we had a healthy and good relationship going on. We loved each other, as young as we were, but it slipped through our fingers anyway. You slipped through my fingers, and I— I’ve never been more upset about losing anyone in my life.”

Because she doesn’t know what to say, Clarke leans in to kiss his freckled cheek instead. As the old Polaroid of them shows, she used to do this all the time. Bellamy’s right: They loved one another so much, and not just in a cliché teensy kind of way. In fact, her dad used to say that they acted like they’d been married for twenty years. That’s how strong and undeniable their bond was, until it snapped. Without warning.

It hurt more than she thought was possible.

But still, her heart is screaming to have him back. “When we’re both back in the States,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb along his jawline, which has become sharper with the years. “You’re welcome to visit me. I have an apartment near Central Park.”

She spends the remaining two months in Afghanistan praying that they’ve sent him home — that he’s safe, and that someday she might see him again as an old friend, not an ex-fiancé. Despite the kiss they just shared, it will probably be best if they try to wipe their history clean. Start over.

***

Three months later - Clarke’s apartment, NY

He still likes black coffee; wears sweaters and glasses. At first, they try to talk about “normal” things, such as their favorite spots in the city, but eventually Bellamy sighs, turning towards her with a serious look on his face. Guess what happens in Afghanistan doesn’t stay in Afghanistan, after all. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

Is he? She pretends that doesn’t hurt and opts for correcting him. “But I kissed you.”

He chuckles around his coffee mug. For a second, she notices the familiar mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. Instead of continuing down this road, Clarke clears her throat before taking a sharp turn into much more comfortable territory. “I’m glad you’re healing up fine.”

As someone who was shot three times at extremely dangerous places, Bellamy is lucky to be alive, to say the least. She hasn���t told him this yet, but when she saw that it was him on her operating table her heart nearly stopped beating. Never in her life had she imagined that she’d stand with her loved one’s life in her hands.

Still, Bellamy must notice something shift in her facial expression, because he brushes his fingertips across the back of her hand. “You saved my life.”

“Yeah…”

When she frowns, staring at the coffee stains at the edges of her mug, Bellamy’s lips press against her cheek for a second, which has a sigh escaping her lips. There are a million things she wants to say to him, but doing so would ignore how she wants to keep their history buried. In the end, after an eternity of struggling, she gives in. “… I can’t remember why I broke it off with you.”

                                           His brow furrows. After a full minute of silence, he leans back in his chair, runs a hand through his chaotic hair, his silence freaking her out.

Fuck, she shouldn’t have said that. Why did she say that?

Because it’s true, and she doesn’t know how to lie to him. Finally, he chooses to say something that he is certainly entitled to, even if it makes her heart twitch. “It took you seven years and a war to figure that out?”

Daring to make eye contact with him, Clarke sighs. “No. I made the wrong choice, and I knew it as soon as I realized that no one could replace you. By then I was too afraid to call you up. I was terrified that you’d found someone else.”

Frankly, it feels so good to get this truth out, as if the world’s greatest burden has been removed from her shoulders. She’s been in denial for so many years, has tried to convince herself that she didn’t break her own heart when she sent the ring back. Of course, this doesn’t mean that she isn’t scared shitless.

Her voice trembling, Clarke asks, “Are you really sorry for kissing me back?”

“… No, I’m not.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that she nearly falls off her chair. Although Bellamy’s always been a complex and therefore somewhat confusing man, he’s never left her more baffled than right now. “Then why’d you tell me you were?”

Worrying his lower lip, Bellamy brings his mug to his lips despite the fact that there’s no coffee left in it. Once he’s realized that, he sets it back down and lets his fingers drum against the surface of the table for a moment. “Because it wasn’t the right time.”

“I agree.”

Without hesitating, he places his hand above hers. “Despite the poor timing, it did confirm that… that we miss each other, right?”

Clarke feels a smile pull at the corners of her mouth. Since he left her medic tent in Afghanistan, she has tried to calculate the odds of him being brought to her like that; as if the stars aligned to let their paths cross again, after seven years. But she didn’t live those seven years without thinking of him. Sometimes, he’d show up in her dreams as a smiling, soothing figure or an embodiment of her biggest regret.

“Yes, I believe it did.”

They fell in love as kids, but it is impossible to pinpoint a moment where they fell out of love. Because they never really did… Two young people who couldn’t tie themselves down yet, let their paths separate — and now, they have crossed again. Clarke doesn’t think fate or destiny has anything to do with it. Nevertheless, seeing Bellamy again has made her long for change.

When he brushes his thumb along her knuckles it somehow feels familiar and unknown at the same time. “Do you think I deserve a second chance?”

Her heart swells in her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. “Yes. What about me? Do I deserve another chance.”

As Bellamy squeezes her hand in reassurance, sparks appear in his eyes like stars. “Definitely, Princess.”

Looking at him, this man who has loved her for years, Clarke realizes that she will do anything in her power to make sure that they don’t make the same mistakes again. This time, Bellamy has entered her life to stay, and they’re going to do this right. They owe each other that.

[theunreliablewriter]

Love To Hate You

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader

Prompts: “I just saved your life - you could at least show some gratitude.” “I didn’t ask to be saved.” & “I hate you.” “I know.”

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence. Very, very, very mild cussing (like two words).

Author’s Note: This is my first imagine on this account, and I haven’t written in quite a while, so please understand that this won’t be my best work. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I’d love some feedback! :)

The clashing of metal. The war cries. The screams. The cries of terror and pain.

In the beginning, those sounds kept you awake at night, despite them all coming to an end hours before. But, now, you had grown use to them.

You always wanted to help people. You wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves. You even wanted to save those who didn’t realize they needed saving...even if they didn’t want it.

The beginning of the fighting between House Stark and House Lannister seemed as though it was a century ago. You had lost count of how many wounded men you attended to. But, you thought there seemed to be enough to fill a century’s worth of battles.

As those sounds once again pounded against your eardrums, the anxiousness to help continued to build inside of you, even though the fight had just begun. The desire to run on to the battle field to bring aid to those already in need coursed through your veins so rampantly you could barley stand it. But, you had been told countless times by King Robb Stark himself that you must stop putting yourself in the middle of the active battle field at the first cry for help.

“Remember what I said, (Y/N),” he told you sternly early that morning. This seemed to become a tradition, since you heard this before every fight. “You do not come within two hundred yards of any of the, until the battle has concluded. That is an order.”

What he didn’t realize was although you were on the side of House Stark, you were not one of his men to command. Even if you were, you still wouldn’t listen. Many would consider your stubbornness a flaw, but it was one of the qualities you loved most about yourself.

Robb knew this stubbornness very well because not only had the two of you clashed heads over when you should help, but also how. Part of you understood why he was always breathing down your neck as you provided aid to one of his soldiers, which was that he cared dearly for all of his men, and this would be something you’d admire greatly about him, if didn’t annoy you so damn much. You were a trained medic. He wasn’t. You knew what you were doing. He didn’t.

Other times, you two would argue and debate over the most ridiculous, irrelevant things, such as the weather, the best way to pitch a tent, and so on.

Sometimes, you caught yourself glaring at him for no reason at all. He got under your skin as if it was his job, and he was a master at it.

A gut twisting scream tore you out of your thoughts of the headstrong King, and it was the final straw. You could not sit there and just wait. No. Your duty was to save lives. And each moment that passed was possibly another life lost. You would much rather defy your King’s orders than live with such an unbearable amount of guilt on your shoulders.

After grabbing your already packed bag of supplies, your legs carried you as quickly as they could closer to those horrifying sounds of war, until you were finally in the middle of them. Immediately, you went to work.

Lifeless bodies continued to collapse around you as you tended to the wounded. Your already bloodstained hands just couldn’t seem to move fast enough, but your focus never wavered.

Not until you heard something different from all the other noise around you.

“My King!” You heard a man scream with such desperation in his voice most would’ve thought it was his own life at stake.

Your head whipped towards the direction the man began running towards, until a soldier of House Lannister blocked his path.

Knots formed in your stomach as you saw your King on his back with an enemy towering above him, trying to bring his sword closer and closer to Robb’s face. If Robb’s grip on his own sword, which was the only thing keeping the soldier’s blade at bay, weakened only slightly, it’d be the end of him.

There was no one around to help him. No one...but you. And you had to do something. You had to, despite the risks.

You grabbed the large, heavy shield of a fallen soldier. Your already tired legs from running to wounded man after wounded man never felt stronger as they ran towards the enemy. With all the weight of your body, with all your might, you slammed the shield and yourself into the enormous man.

The sound of the shield hitting his armor echoed in your head as you fell to the ground with him. You knew you hadn’t killed him or even hurt him, but that wasn’t needed. You just had to get him away from your King.

As you quickly moved, you watched Robb rise to his feet, and within the next second, his sword slashed across the soldier’s throat.

The King’s eyes shifted and met yours. Under different circumstances, you would’ve made a comment about the lack of gratitude in them, but now wasn’t the time for that. There was a battle to be won. There were lives to be saved.

And after what felt like a year all on its own, the fighting came to an end with a victory for House Stark.

You now didn’t have to work as frantically because your fellow medics had joined you on the body and blood covered field.

The sound of clanking armor growing closer to you was enough for you to look up from wrapping a man’s bleeding leg.

“A word, (Y/N),” Robb softly demanded as he walked passed.

The tone of his voice was already enough to tell you this wasn’t going to be a positive conversation.

You stood and went into his tent to find him waiting with his arms already crossed. He crossed them so many times because of you. The small, common gesture drove you mad, to the point you often found yourself wishing the rain would pour, while he was wearing his metal armor, so it’d rust, causing his arms to remain at his sides for all of eternity - doomed to never be crossed again.

“Yes?” You asked flatly.

“Do you go out of your way to ignore what I tell you? Is it amusing to you?”

You had to stop yourself from answering yes. Instead, you opted for, “No, my King, but as I have told you so many times before, I’m only doing my job.”

Frustration showed on his face, as he said, “Your job is to respect my orders!”

“If that was the job, I never would’ve agreed to it,” you told him, your voice full of sarcasm.

He opened his mouth to respond, but your tolerance for this conversation had already been reached, so you began to speak once again.

“I just saved your life - you could at least show me some gratitude.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved!”

You scoffed at hearing such a thing. “I am being scorned for ignoring my King’s orders, and yet, it seems I am also being told I was wrong to save his life.”

Robb’s jaw clenched tightly, and he looked away for a moment, as if he was searching for something to say.

He ran an armored hand through his sweat damped hair, before saying, “You are my best nurse. If you were to be killed, many more men would die.”

“Just as many would die, if I hid away like you want me to,” you argued. “Some need attention within minutes of being hurt, and if it isn’t given, they die. That’s how it works.”

His head fell and a sigh of frustration escaped his throat. “Just return to those who need you.”

Your fists clenched at your sides because you had at least two hours worth of arguing in you, if not much more.

Although it might’ve lead to your execution, you couldn’t help but tell him, “I hate you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of the corners of his lips perking up, as if he was nearly about to smile, before he answered, “I know.”

You simply nodded acknowledgement, before turning to make your exit.

“And thank you, (Y/N), for saving my life. As your payment, I will not bombard you with orders to stay away from the next battle,” the King said, causing you to stop in your tracks.

You looked back and asked, “Is that so?”

A smirk formed on his face, before replying, “But, I am making no promise about the ones to follow.”

Somehow, those words and the hint of the humor you heard in his voice was enough to make your own lips slightly curve upward.

You did hate the King of the North, but as you returned to those who needed you, you thought that maybe you could learn to love to hate him.

| Masterlist |

[aiimaginesbts]

2018 BTS Birthday Stories: He...

What if BTS lived in ancient Japan, not as idols, but as warlords and samurai? In the age where marriages within the higher-class families were normally arranged, would love prevail against family, expectations, war and sometimes themselves? Enjoy the 2018 BTS Birthday Series of seven one-shots and immerse yourself in BTS’ Japanese alter egos!

He Left (Hoseok)

For someone of your status, having an arranged marriage is a given. So when you’re told that a husband has been chosen for you, you couldn’t care less. But that’s only because you’ve never met him before. When love blooms between you and Hoseok but fate threatens to cut it short before you can reach a happy ending with him, what do you do?

He Stole (Yoongi)

Despite being your brother’s right-hand man, Yoongi remains an enigma that most people, including you, have never bothered themselves with. However, when Taehyung’s request forces you to spend time with Yoongi, how do you react to his past and more importantly, your newfound feelings?

He Lied (Jungkook)

Being friends with Seokjin’s cousin gives you an excuse to find out more about the charismatic warlord. Your childhood friend, Jungkook, doesn’t approve until he finds out the real reason behind your moves. Is there anything you can do to salvage your friendship at that point, and do you actually want to save it?

He Shot (Namjoon)

After incessant pleading, your cousin Seokjin finally agrees to allow you to learn archery. Your teacher is not just any man, but Kim Namjoon, Seokjin’s commander-in-chief. Namjoon’s tough lessons are difficult enough without a growing crush on him distracting you. Should you let go when it’s obvious that he’s nothing but professional?

He Fell (Jimin)

Even with his adorable good looks, Jimin isn’t the ladies’ man his best friend Taehyung is. Still, that doesn’t mean Jimin is ready to settle down with his parents’ choice. In fact, he’s so eager to avoid it that he’d even enlist your help. Is it too late to back out when you realise that you’ve fallen for a man who isn’t ready for commitment?

He Loved (Seokjin)

The Kim forces’ leader Seokjin, is not just a powerful commander. Off the battlefield, Seokjin is a charming man with the personality and looks that leave countless broken hearts in his wake. You’ve sworn off him but circumstances reveal to you that there is more to him that meets the eye. Are you able to handle the truth that is Kim Seokjin?

He Decided (Taehyung)

There are two things Taehyung is known for: his leadership and his ways with women. So when he approaches a maid like you, there’s no doubt in your mind what he’s after. Would his persistence and your softening feelings for him change your initial decision to deny him what he wants?

Don your kimono and travel back in time to ancient Japan with BTS! Read your favourite member(s)’s one-shot story on his birthday or enjoy all seven stories as a connected series of stories!

Credit for the banner art goes to SiChen Wang. Check out their awesome art here!

[claroquequiza]

Are you still willing to do some of your behind the scenes things for Afterdrop? I wouldn't mind one for the debrief with Soldier76. Or the one with Jesse and Winston, although that may be too recent and reveal too much plot. If you have too much on your plate then nvm, no worries. Thanks!

Ah shit, I just found your post saying you weren't going to do any more. My bad, nvm, sorry!

Naw, it’s ok! I haven’t done one for a while--I had to stop because it was becoming a struggle not to reveal spoilers! But I think I should be able to pull off the debrief with Soldier: 76!

He neatly stacked everything back in the box almost exactly as it had come. He moved to stand, but the Soldier looked up from his comm again and fixed him with the visor’s expressionless stare once more.

“When do you want to debrief?” he asked.

Hanzo fought down a sigh. “Now,” he said, straightening his back and folding his hands in his lap.

NEEEEVAAAAAAAAAAAR shouted Hanzo as he leapt out the window.

The Soldier nodded. “I understand,” he said slowly, almost carefully, “that you had a mental episode.” Hanzo set his jaw, and his fingers tightened around each other. “In the old Overwatch, you would have had access to a counselor, at the very least.”

Jack Morrison fought a ten-year war against an implacable enemy that gutted cities and countries. He’s familiar with the role of mental illness in warfare.

In the old Overwatch, Hanzo amended mentally, he would not even be here.

are you sure about that

“We obviously don’t have one, so let me just say: if you can’t talk about it, don’t talk about it. We’ll get through as much as we can, and leave anything else for another day.” He tilted his head slightly, as if studying Hanzo’s face.

Jack tried his best to avoid any counseling whatsoever during the Crisis, only to suffer a nervous breakdown that took him out of the fight for almost a year. He never forgot that experience and the therapy that got him back on his feet.

Not that it’s done much good since the Fall.

Hanzo kept it carefully blank. “And if you suspect that I am withholding incriminating information?”

Hanzo understands that a debriefing without trust is an interrogation.

The Soldier’s head fell forward slightly, and he chuckled darkly. “Than let’s start with dealing with the elephant in the room.” Hanzo breathed in sharply, trying and mostly succeeding at keeping it silent. The Soldier looked up, and Hanzo kept his eyes on his receding hairline. 

STOP CALLING THE READER’S ATTENTION TO THAT, HANZO, IT’S RUDE

“Winston and Genji himself briefed me. Never thought I’d find myself on a team with not one, but two former yakuza.” 

Not just on a team with them, but acting as an ad hoc counselor of sorts. Life is funny sometimes.

He paused, as if considering, before saying, “Genji would like everyone to consider your pasts as between the two of you. Winston disagrees, as do I. It’s impossible for us to ignore that, but--” he admonished, holding up a large hand, despite Hanzo’s not having given any sign of interrupting, “--not for the reasons you might think.”

He absently rubbed his chin, despite it being covered with the thick plastic of the visor’s lower half. Hanzo could not help but wonder how he could stand to have it on outside of battle.

How indeed. Just you wait, Hanzo, he takes that thing into the shower with him, the madman.

“Whatever Genji’s reasons are for wanting you to join and whatever your reasons are for indulging him are not my concern. What is my concern is keeping all of us alive during a mission. Avoiding triggers for flashbacks or whatever the hell happened is one thing that will keep you and everyone around you out of the cold ground. Genji tells me you’ve been on the run for ten years from the yakuza, so I know you’re not weak, but obviously there is something that debilitates you. We need to avoid it in the future or it could put the rest of the team at unacceptable risk.” He stopped and seemed to study Hanzo once more. “And if it does put us at unacceptable risk, then you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Jack is on the fence with this whole Overwatch thing, whether he thinks he is or not, so he’s having to perform some mental gymnastics to be ok with Hanzo’s membership. Before, he had Gabe’s no-nonsense yet aggressively protective nature to lean on, which is why a lot of people like Hanzo ended up in Blackwatch. Jack’s leaning on that again, though he has reservations about how well it’ll work.

Hanzo immediately recognized the out, whether or not the Soldier meant to provide it, and his heartbeat quickened.

It would be child’s play to twist this to his advantage, to exaggerate his weakness and make himself appear to be a liability. How indeed could Overwatch know that he would not run off to get drunk on some random rooftop after every mission? They did not know about Hanzo’s inability to use the dragons with a sword or sword-like weapon, nor did they know that he was not normally inconvenienced by it in the slightest. It would be easy to convince them that being so close to Genji, even through the proxy of his comrades, was enough to incapacitate him. Hanzo had played the part of a weak man to his advantage countless times before, in dozens of situations, and he could do it again and be rid of Overwatch forever.

Yeah!!! GTFO of there, Hanzo! Why don’t you?!?!

But he could not be rid of Genji.

Oh.

His thoughts, surging with lightning-like speed, stopped dead. Be rid of Genji . Even the notion was enough to send shame coursing through his stomach and chest. His brother, his victim, was alive. He owed a debt to him, a debt that would never be repaid, though he was duty-bound to give all he could.

Duty. It chilled and sobered him more effectively than icewater injected directly into his veins. Duty had ruled his life since before he drew his first breath. Duty to the Shimada-gumi, duty to the memory of his murdered brother, and now his duty to Overwatch, that Genji had sworn him to.

With a sinking heart, he realized that he must consider Overwatch with the same devotion that he had regarded his former clan. He would do well not to forget that.

And the afterdrop continues to chill him. This is when Hanzo puts aside all the fucks he has to give.

He gave a small internal sigh before meeting the Soldier’s visor head-on. “I do not anticipate problems in the future,” he said quietly. “The circumstances that led to my--episode--have occurred only twice. They will not occur again.”

The Soldier was silent for a few moments before he nodded. “Let’s start at the beginning, just so we don’t leave anything out,” he said at last. 

♪ Let’s start at the very beginning ♩

♩A very good place to start♪

He took a small pen-like device out of his pocket and put it in front of him in the table, pressing a small button on one side that lit a blinking red light. He then placed his comm in the middle of the table. It immediately projected a hologram of the warehouse and the surrounding area into the air, a few centimeters below eye-level. A red marker flashed slowly on top of the apartment building where Hanzo had kept his vigil, with a red dotted line tracing the circuitous route he had taken during his survey. “Everything was as you said it would be,” he said, leaning forward, “but go ahead and explain in your own words what you did, starting with your initial approach to the target.”

Jack’s a big fan of multiple perspectives. He’ll listen to the same story over and over and over just in case someone caught something that everyone else missed.

Rashomon is simultaneously his favorite and most hated movie. He loves the varied narratives, but he gets frustrated that’s it’s impossible to know who’s telling the truth.

The Soldier did not speak much at first. He rotated and zoomed in and out of the holographic map as Hanzo described his movements and actions, only occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification or, surprisingly, to offer a tidbit of praise. He seemed to be especially appreciative of Hanzo’s thoroughness, grunting and nodding with vigor when Hanzo pointed out the three rooftops he landed the minidrone on before he brought it back to his own perch.

Jack was never one for black ops, but he appreciates those who are. A little too much, in at least one case.

Hanzo was about to start describing the start of the battle when the Soldier raised his hand to stop him. “What exactly did McCree tell you about the team beforehand?” he asked. “All I caught from him when he was telling you about the attack was to cover the northeast alley.”

“He did not tell me anything about the team until afterwards,” Hanzo replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Not until he was bringing me here.”

UUUUUUHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH

The Soldier was quiet for a moment.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

“Run that by me one more time. He didn’t tell you anything about the other teammates? Callsigns, roles, positions?”

“No.”

“Were you aware that this mission included a team?”

“Yes, the cow--Agent McCree told me--” 

I’m looking forward to the transition of this nickname from pejorative to affectionate.

Hanzo paused, thinking back. “Ah--he said we are inbound , so I assumed there was a team. He did not explicitly mention a team until about 1900, when he assigned me to the northeast alley.”

“1900? Less than three hours before we got there?” There was an edge to the Soldier’s voice now, one that made Hanzo more guarded. “So when were you aware of the other team members’ presence?”

Hanzo couldn’t help the small scowl that curved his lips downward. “When--I believe his callsign is Reinhardt? I assume he was the one in the battle armor, who yelled and smashed his way in?” The Soldier nodded, the holograph’s light flashing dully in his visor. “That was my first indication of his presence. I did not know of anyone else until they spoke on the commlink.”

I can’t wait for Hanzo to meet Reinhardt. Reinhardt knows what it’s like for your actions to cost the life of someone you love.

The Soldier leaned on the table on one elbow, rubbing his chin with his hand. “So when did you find out Mercy was there?”

Hanzo thought carefully. “She did not speak over the commlink until I reported Agent McCree’s injuries.”

Of course McCree didn’t tell a potential enemy about Angela! YOU GOTTA PROTECT YOUR HEALER Y’ALL

“ Goddamn. ”

The expletive thundered out, and for the first time there was a touch of electronic reverb, as if whatever auditory system the mask employed to relay the Soldier’s voice could not handle the sudden volume of the outburst.

I’m currently on the fence over whether the mask makes Jack’s voice so grouchy and rough or Jack suffered an injury to his throat or Jack’s just being melodramatic.

“And that didn’t strike you as strange?” the Soldier bit out.

Hanzo stared, an eyebrow raised. “Strange?”

The Soldier dropped his arm to the table. “You’re telling me that information about a mission, about your teammates, about your medic , didn’t seem to be necessary?”

Hanzo gave a tiny shrug. “I am not in a position to judge what is strange or necessary. I have only been in contact with Agent McCree before this mission. I assumed he would give me any information that I was authorized to have, since he is my--” he couldn’t help but pause to swallow back his distaste for the term, “--my handler. If there was no information, it was because I could not be--that I was not authorized.”

There was a long silence.

Jack’s the first person to realize just how far Hanzo will go to put himself down.

“Alright,” said the Soldier, slowly, as if it was anything but. 

Not that he does anything about it, with Hanzo at least. He’s not the least bit able to do anything about Hanzo with Hanzo himself.

“So you got into position, essentially blind, before Reinhardt accessed the target.” A small group of differently colored markers made their way onto the holographic map. Hanzo watched with real interest, especially after he noted that one marker, colored yellow, was behaving very oddly, seeming to blip instantaneously from one position to another rather than smoothly move across the map as the others did. Another marker, a grey one, moved to the main entrance of the warehouse, followed closely by the yellow marker plus a red and a blue one, before the holographic door pixelated and disappeared, allowing the yellow, blue, and red markers to enter.

The Soldier called his attention away to the northeast alley, showing him how to add red X’s to the map to show how the Yoneyama had tried to get to the warehouse, and where they had met their ends. Hanzo was beginning to have trouble remembering exact details, but that did not seem to bother the Soldier much; he merely asked for his best estimation and for the most memorable or worrying tactics the Yoneyama had used, for future consideration.

They arrived at last to Hanzo’s ill-fated attempt to retrieve his arrows.

“It’s a goddamn miracle you had so many to begin with,” the Soldier groused darkly. “Winston and Genji told me you’re used to single target attacks. Why the hell did you have so much ammo?”

“My ‘single targets’ are often surrounded by many more incidental targets,” replied Hanzo concisely.

Hanzo’s infinite arrow supply is hilarious to me. Of all the characters to have infinite ammo, you pick the archer?

The Soldier waited to see if he would elaborate, but graciously moved on when he did not. “So you ran out of arrows. That’s definitely something we need to keep an eye on in the future.

eye emoji

Now the question becomes: why didn’t you wait for backup? You knew McCree was on his way.”

The red visor was locked on him once more. Hanzo felt an urge to let his own gaze waver, to look away, but he met it squarely. “There was very little time. I had to take advantage of the lull while it lasted. I believe I said as much at the time.”

Plus, y’know. McCree was coming.

“Except there was no lull. It was a trap.”

Hanzo nodded.

The Soldier leaned back in his chair. “Well, the time has come,” he said heavily. “Do we stop here, or can you explain what happened?”

Hanzo hesitated a bare second. “Did--did the cowboy not explain?”

It was cowardly, and it was a bald attempt to get the Soldier to reveal what he wanted or hoped to hear, one that he did not expect to succeed. The Soldier obviously knew his business; nearly all his questions were carefully framed to avoid leading Hanzo on or revealing information that Hanzo had not already spoken of himself.

I had this idea of Jack avoiding leading questions right at this point when I was writing it. I had to go back and make sure he didn’t, LOOOL

“He did,” replied the Soldier, without pretense. “What did you see happen?”

Hanzo’s body tried to sag, but he did not allow his shoulders to droop a single millimeter. “I do not know,” he began, “how much you know of the Shimada legacy.”

“I’ve seen Genji in battle,” the Soldier responded. “I’ve seen what he can do to whole groups of targets.”

THIS would have clued Genji in to Jack’s real identity if he had a means of listening in. He hasn’t called on his dragon on any missions with the mysterious Soldier: 76 yet.

Hanzo nodded, needled slightly by his brother’s revealing the secrets of the clan to outsiders, but there was hardly any clan anymore, and no ties to it anyhow. 

This recently got expanded a bit in Chapter 14, but the clan had multiple reasons to keep the dragons secret, before and after the fall into the criminal underworld.

“I--had similar abilities with a sword, but more powerful. I am not,” he added swiftly and somewhat haughtily when he saw the Soldier lean forward with interest, “I am not able to use them any longer.” He waited a few moments to see if the Soldier would pry, but he did not, so he continued. “I was able to modify my--ability--into a long range version that uses my bow and arrows as a medium rather than a sword. Had there been more Yoneyama to battle, I might have been forced to use it; it is physically draining, so it is a last resort.”

“Yes, Genji doesn’t use his unless he absolutely needs to,” murmured the Soldier thoughtfully. Hanzo filed that bit of information away, a confirmation that his brother still felt something as human as fatigue. 

One of these days the bros have GOT to sit down together and figure out what they do and don’t know about each other in an atmosphere that doesn’t lead to dissociation and panic attacks.

“But you had no arrows.”

“No.” Hanzo lowered his voice without knowing, his attention elsewhere. “I did not, and so I fell back on old tactics, old strategies, that I hoped never to use again.” More than hoped. Swore.

He had failed.

In more ways than one.

“Do you need to stop?” the Soldier’s voice was sharp, but underlined with something resembling concern.

Gruff!Dad Jack begins to pop out despite all of Jack’s efforts.

Hanzo shook himself out. “I--I do not wish to go into detail,” he muttered.

The Soldier nodded. “Can you at least tell me what happened when McCree was injured?”

Hanzo cautiously probed the memory. He shook his head. “I do not know what to say.”

“In your own words, Mr. Shimada, and in your own time,” the Soldier said softly.

Jack knows how hard it is to break your silence.

Hanzo pursed his lips, breathing deep in and out, attempting to center himself. To be honest, it was the memory of his double selves, the feeling of both Storm Bows in his hands, the extraordinary and disorienting depth perception that came from seeing the same scene from two or three meters apart instead of the customary seven or eight centimeters, and the bloody deaths of the Yoneyama that formed the core of the experience. That he had fled from and ultimately drowned in sake and plum wine. The cowboy had very nearly shared their fate, but in the end, by the grace of Genji’s association, he had been spared. Hanzo worked to wall the memory of the cowboy off from the rest of the wretched experience, so as to better examine it, to give the Soldier what he required.

It’s a shame that Hanzo can’t examine the attack itself, though. There’s a pretty critical bit of information in there.

It was not easy, but after two or three tense minutes he took a deep breath and said, a touch shakily. “He came from behind.” He bit the inside of his cheek, willed his voice to steady, and continued. “I disarmed and immobilized him. I was still--” He wavered for a split second. “--I did not come to myself until I realized he was an Overwatch agent.”

He waited to see what more the Soldier would ask, if he would probe further, if he would catch the subtle phrasing.

Key word: Overwatch

“And after you realized?”

Hanzo was not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“I knew that I was on the verge of--becoming compromised. I did not wish to do so there.” He waited again, for the Soldier to question his motives, but he did not. “I have a--protocol, I suppose. It is effective. I only had to deliver Agent McCree to his comrades before I could implement it.”

Hanzo. Hanzo, darling.

Getting drunk on rooftops does not count as a protocol.

The Soldier held up his hand again. “That’s enough for me,” he said. “Unless you feel like you have anything to add?”

Hanzo shook his head, thankful that the Soldier did not require an explanation of his “protocol”. The doctor had probably shared her findings by now, anyway.

“Then I can tell you, Mr. Shimada, that McCree said pretty much the same thing. He came up behind you, saw you, uh, neutralize your opponents--”Neutralize . That was a detached enough term. “--and then before he knew what was happening, you’d broken his wrist and knee.”

The Soldier leaned forward. “Mr. Shimada,” he said heavily, making sure Hanzo was looking him straight in the visor. He ran his fingers through his white hair, making it stick up even more. Hanzo imagined a grimace or lips pressed into a thin line under the mask, to match his tone as he said, “I don’t mind telling you what it looked like when you dumped a half-broken cowboy on the ground and then legged it. It was fishy as hell, and I think you’ll understand what went through my mind. I think you expected me, all of us, to think that, given how hard it was for Genji and McCree to convince you to come in. 

Although Jack is relieved that he doesn’t have to explain why. He’s had to spell out why things like property damage and broken bones are Bad Things before.

Not that anyone listened.

Frankly, if Tracer hadn’t been bringing in the transport, my first instinct would have been to send her after you to see if you had gone rogue.”

And wouldn’t that have gone well...

Hanzo nodded gravely. It was obvious what Overwatch should have thought. The real mystery was why they had not.

“As it was, as soon as Mercy got McCree fixed up, he admitted he was the one at fault.”

Hanzo expected something of the sort must have happened. It was almost a given, since Overwatch had not immediately abandoned him or hunted him down, but it was still a surprise to hear it. The concept of the cowboy admitting a mistake was just as unexpected here as it had been the night before when the cowboy himself confessed that he had been wrong to keep Hanzo out of the loop.

But then again, thought Hanzo, reining in his astonishment, perhaps the cowboy was merely covering his bases in the car. The Soldier was shocked at how little the cowboy had told Hanzo about the mission. Perhaps he had expected that fact to come up in the debriefing, and was owning his actions beforehand in an attempt to appear contrite. Genji had been listening in, after all, a witness to corroborate his “regret” when the full extent of his negligence came to light.

There was a little of that going on, but a lot of something else entirely.

That did not completely cover why the cowboy had immediately admitted his error in the alley, though. Hanzo would still have expected him to use that to discredit him, when Hanzo himself had disappeared and could not defend himself. It would have been the perfect opportunity.

Perhaps the Soldier had expected so, too. “You didn’t expect him to fess up,” he said. A statement, not a question.

Hanzo considered his response carefully. The holographic map rotated silently between them, sweeping the red X’s through the air like spiky stars through an oddly rectangular galaxy. The refrigerator broke the silence with a soft mechanical hum. Finally, he slowly said, “I did not expect him to defend my actions in any way.”

And why would you? Goodness, McCree was an asshole in the early chapters.

Doesn’t help that both he and Hanzo were doing the bare minimum, of course.

“There’s plenty to defend,” the Soldier said brusquely, then he sighed and cleared his throat. “Do you feel that McCree has been withholding information during your previous missions?”

No, he was not, thank goodness.

Hanzo almost laughed. Withholding information? The cowboy had been eager to overshare information, of a certain kind. But that was not what the Soldier was asking, so he merely shook his head and said, “No. All my missions up until now have been reconnaissance, and I was provided with all the necessary information and resources.” A thought occurred to him, and his eyebrows pulled together.

He regretted it a moment later. The Soldier seemed to have caught the small movement. “But?” he prodded.

Hanzo almost sat back, exasperated at his lack of control.

But the thought that had occurred to him could explain much.

“During my previous missions,” he said at last, “Agent McCree has been thorough. He has even warned me to be more rigorous at times, especially in matters of safety.” He was thinking especially of Watchpoint: Niigata, when he had insisted that Hanzo check to make sure he was secure. The cowboy had never disguised his disdain, of course, and many of his orders seemed to be given to annoy Hanzo more than safeguard or help him, but he had to admit that whether or not he was annoyed while following them, they technically did make him more secure. “This mission was the first where other team members were exposed to me. Perhaps he believed he was protecting you all.”

Even at this early combative and thoroughly hostile stage, Jesse and Hanzo understand each other better than they realize.

The Soldier snorted. “Protecting us? If things had gone different, his little omissions would’ve resulted in thirty-plus Yoneyama pouring through that alley and right into us.”

“Yes,” Hanzo allowed, “but no sword is as deadly as the chink in one’s own armor.”

“You think he thought you were more dangerous than the Yoneyama?”

“He need only look at Genji to know it.”

Oh, Hanzo. Dragons and ninja training notwithstanding, there’s a hint of your boastful nature in that statement. Yes, you and Genji are awesome, but you realize you just said you were more dangerous than 30 yakuza with guns, right?

I mean, you’re right, but still.

It was surprising how easily the admission came. It fell from his lips like a Freudian slip, but he made no attempt whatsoever to stop it. The Soldier already knew, anyway, so why should he bother? It did prompt a change in the air, however, as though static was suddenly building in the air that could be discharged if he so much as moved. His skin itched to do just that, but the feeling remained even as he shifted in his seat, ever-so-slightly.

The Soldier was silent and still for a long time. Hanzo was not sure how long, but it felt like several minutes passed before the Soldier reached out with one hand and tapped the comm, allowing the holograph to fade away into nothing. Then, prompting Hanzo to narrow his eyes, he picked up the recorder, turned off the blinking red light, and threw it over his shoulder, sending it clattering down the empty hallway. Hanzo watched it disappear from view with trepidation.

Days later, when Winston is listening to the recording: OW, MY EARS WHAT THE FUCK JACK

When the Soldier spoke, his voice was quiet, yet the rough edges were even more pronounced. “You might think you’re the most dangerous person on the team, but you’d be wrong.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers intertwined. The table sagged a little under the weight of just his upper body. “I don’t know how much you know about the end of Overwatch, but suffice to say, it was inevitable. You just can’t have that many dangerous people cooped up together without it all blowing up .”

"Dangerous!" cried Gandalf. "And so am I, very dangerous: more dangerous than anything you will ever meet, unless you are brought alive before the seat of the Dark Lord. And Aragorn is dangerous, and Legolas is dangerous. You are beset with dangers, Gimli son of Gloin; for you are dangerous yourself, in your own fashion.”

The Two Towers, The Lord of the Rings.

Look at me being all houtytoughty. 

His voice was bitter as loss.

“People know about the big explosion at the end, but what they don’t know, or what they choose to forget, are all the smaller ones that led up to it. There were plenty of incidents that ranged from McCree’s shattered knee up to and beyond Genji, Mr. Shimada. Genji is lucky to be alive. There are those who would be better off dead.” 

WHO COULD HE POSSIBLY MEEEEEAAAAAAAAN

The Soldier stopped. He did not make a sound, but Hanzo could see his broad chest expanding as he sucked in a deep breath, as if to steady himself. His voice was louder, but more tightly controlled when he continued. “McCree’s a fine one to talk about ‘too dangerous’, anyway. There’s more than one reason Winston put him in charge of you, and Blackwatch was not number one. His background and yours are more similar than he’s probably admitted to you. In fact--”

Although not as similar as popularly believed, as Hanzo himself says in Chapter 13. There was a world of difference between Jesse and Hanzo, despite them coming from the same world.

His hand darted to his comm, and he made some swift, stabbing motions at the screen. Hanzo’s comm chimed softly in its patch of sunshine. “--since I can guarantee he hasn’t, there’s his personnel file, so you know who you’re dealing with and why his little stunt was so poorly conceived in every way.”

The Soldier stood then, scooping up his mug as he did so. He stared at Hanzo for a few seconds before saying, “Winston knows how little you want to be here, Mr. Shimada. Genji’s pulled a stunt here, too. You might think your ��provisional membership’ is for our protection, but you should know that it’s just as much for yours as well.” Then he spun on his heel and stalked off into the hallway, bending to retrieve the recorder before turning into one of the barracks and slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jack knows what’s going on. Genji’s pulled enough stunts that Jack knows exactly how well he plans things out.

Hanzo watched him go, his eyebrows knitted together.

Hanzo: His ass--is so flat--

Me, the author: THAT’S STYLISTIC, IRL HE COULDN’T DO WHAT HE DOES IF IT WAS SO FLAT AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHH

I hope this was okay! Thanks so much for the messages!!!

[razieltwelve]

Ark (Final Effect)

When Ifalna opened her eyes, she was surprised. She had never expected to open them again, not after the Grimm had overtaken the Cetran home world and devastated the rest of their colonies. The desperate retreat onto an ark ship was supposed to be little more than a delay, a way of putting off the inevitable destruction of her race.

Yet, still, she opened her eyes.

Her vision was foggy at first, but as it cleared, she saw faces… faces that did not belong to Cetra. She startled and tried to rise, but her body failed her. She would have fallen right out of the stasis pod if one of them, a person with fox ears hadn’t caught her and eased her back into the stasis pod.

“Where am I?” Ifalna murmured. “Who are you? What happened to the Grimm?”

And then, to her immense surprise, the fox-eared person spoke Cetran. It wasn’t exactly perfect. Some of the pronunciation was off, and there was a strange accent to it that she’d never heard before, but it was definitely Cetran.

“Be at ease,” the fox-eared person said. “You are amongst friends.” There was a smile across those mischievous features. “We have journeyed through the stars to find you, and now that we have, we will will not let harm come to you.” There was a pause and then another smile. “As for the Grimm, we have waged a war against them for centuries. First we drove them from our home world, and then we drove them from our system, and now the Grimm are in full retreat across the galaxy.”

“The Grimm are in retreat?” Ifalna breathed the words in wonder. “But how… how can this be?”

And the fox-eared person, a short man with eyes that sparkled like sapphires, told her the story of a world called Remnant. Cetra had fled there, he said, in the long ago days of their history. The Grimm had followed them, and the Cetra had all died to defend Remnant. But their bloodline had endured, and though countless Calamities had occurred, the Children of Remnant had eventually found the strength to rise up and throw down the Grimm. 

And since that day, the Children of Remnant had waged war on the Grimm wherever they found them with weapons that could crack planets and kill stars, with ships that could sail from one end of the galaxy to the other, with single-minded, unrelenting wrath and determination that the Cetra had never been able to muster. For all their wisdom, for all their knowledge, the Cetra, the Children of Planet, had never been a warlike race. It had been their downfall.

“We found records of your people from those ancient times,” the fox-eared man continued. “From those records we were eventually able to find your home system and then your home world. We thought too much time had passed, we thought that we could do nothing more than avenge you. But we found your Ark ships. Many of them were in ruins. We could not help them. But some of them… some of them were intact. However, we didn’t understand your technology. It took us decades, almost a century, before we learned how to bring you out of stasis safely. Your ship is the newest of the Ark ships to be discovered, and you and your comrades are the newest to be awakened.”

Ifalna said nothing for a long time. Slowly, she forced the words out. “How many lived?”

“We have managed to revive almost half a million of your people,” the fox-eared man said. “And they have been given worlds to live on.” His lips twitched. “Duty and honour are things we understand. The Cetra… long ago, they gave the Children of Remnant a precious gift. We are repaying that debt. There will always be a place for the Cetra in this galaxy.”

Ifalna had to hold back tears. “Tell me more. I want to know everything.”

“Rest for now,” the fox-eared man said. “The first day or so after someone is reawakened is always very difficult.”

X     X     X

Over the next week, Ifalna worked hard to regain her strength. She was a World Shepard, perhaps the mightiest of her number, and to be so week and so far from the world she had once guided was troubling. Yet she forced herself to focus, to eat well and exercise as the fox-eared man had told her.

His name, he had said, was Griffith Dia-Farron. From what he had told her, he and his family were mostly scientists and the like, and they were part of a mighty Empire that was presently the most powerful force in the galaxy. His words were easy to believe when Ifalna glimpsed the ships around the Ark ship. The Imperial vessels were gigantic and their weaponry was far, far beyond what the Cetra had been able to achieve.

They were certainly a warlike people, or at least, they were a people gifted in the arts of war. Once, perhaps, she might have looked down on them for that, for not understanding the ways of peace and harmony as the Cetra did. Yet what had peace and harmony done against the Grimm?

From what she had read of their history - Griffith was kind enough to give her access to much of what they called the InfoNet - they were a people of contrasts. Toward their enemies, they showed no mercy, crushing them without doubt or hesitation. Yet to their friends and allies, they were steadfast and loyal.

Ifalna was also heartened to interact with her people. Nothing gave her greater joy than to see so many of them out and about. There was hope on their faces now, and when Griffith told her that they would be returning to the Cetra home world to meet some of the other survivors, Ifalna could hardly contain her joy.

X     X     X

The Planet’s voice was still the same. Ifalna could scarcely believe it. For countless years the Planet had slumbered, withdrawing deep within the planet to protect itself from the Grimm. Then the Empire and its allies had come, scouring the planet of Grimm and seeking out the remnants of the Planet and its Lifestream.

When the Cetra had returned, the Planet had awakened again. Ifalna had never been happier. Her people were safe. Their home world was theirs once more. But then the convention came, a great gathering of the galactic powers. In what seemed like an impossible act of generosity, the Empire and the Alliance offered the Cetra a hundred or so worlds. It was their old territory, with room to expand.

They accepted the offer without hesitation.

And Ifalna fell in love.

She did not speak of it with the other Cetra. Despite all the Empire and Alliance had done for them, they were still reluctant to mingle with them too much. Part of it was pride, but part of it was fear. What if their newfound friends turned upon them? What if something happened? What if the Grimm returned?

As part of an agreement, the Dia-Farron were allowed to study the Planet and the various sciences and arts the Cetra had created using their immense natural affinity with Aura and the Planet and its Lifestream. Griffith was one of those scientists.

Several years after the return of the Cetra, Ifalna had a daughter. Nobody asked who the father was, and if perhaps Aerith’s canines were a tad longer than was normal or if her hair had just a slight tinge of red if the light hit it just right, well, everyone resolutely ignored it. In most ways, she was just like Ifalna.

“She really does take after you,” Griffith murmured one day. “I’ve examined her genetic matrix, you know. She shouldn’t be so much like you or the Cetra, but she is. If I didn’t know for a fact that she’s our daughter, I’d say she was a full-blooded Cetra.”

“What do you mean?” Ifalna asked.

“From the studies we’ve done, half-blooded Cetra shouldn’t live anywhere near as long as the Cetra, but I’ve studied Aerith’s genetic matrix. The markers for Cetran longevity are all there even if they shouldn’t be.” He smiled. “She’s a miracle, and none of the science I know can understand how she exists.”

The answer, as it turned out, was very simple.

Ifalna was a World Shepherd, the most powerful amongst the Cetra. She was not like them, and her children would not take after their other parents. The Planet and the other Living Worlds needed Shepherds. She had been chosen, long ago, to pass on her bloodline by the Planet itself.

Any child she conceived would be like a pure-blooded Cetra. But it would not come without a price. The only reason she’d been able to conceive a child with Griffith in the first place was because his own Aura-based abilities were extraordinarily weak, especially for someone in his family. Had she conceived a child with a more powerful person, the odds were that even the Planet’s gift would not have been enough and the child would have been born a half-blood Cetra, without the long life of a pure-blooded Cetra.

She was glad that she would not have to face losing Aerith so soon. Yet her daughter’s circumstances were a stark reminder that she would be losing Griffith.

X     X     X

Griffith lived to the age of one hundred and forty, making him ancient indeed for a Faunus. He spent almost his entire life on the Cetra home world, and when the time came for him to be buried, a delegation from the Dia-Farron arrived, a full honour guard.

“Bury him here,” the leader of the Dia-Farron said. “He lived here, he loved here, he died here. Let him be buried here too.”

As so it was that Griffith was buried in a grove of trees not far from the home he and Ifalna had shared. When his war hamster passed away a few months later, he too was buried there, beside his master in death as he had been in life.

X     X     X

When the call came, years later, for a World Shepherd to go to the other galaxy where the Empire and Alliance were waging war upon the Reapers, Ifalna thought of the fox-eared man who had awakened her from stasis and who had been the father of her only child. She thought of how he had journeyed through the stars, and she knew what she had to say.

She smiled at the representative of the Dia-Farron and then she recommended Aerith.

[juenger-juenger-blog]

In 1959 Heinz Ludwig Arnold, who later became Ernst Jünger’s private secretary, was faced with the same question as many other young men in Western Germany: whether to follow the mandatory conscription into military service and go through six months of military training to be prepared to defend Germany in case of a Soviet invasion – or to become a conscious objector. Expressing in a letter their moral objections to the military service allowed draftees to instead perform civilian services such as working in hospitals or kindergartens. As an enthusiastic reader of Jünger Arnold decided to write him a letter asking for his opinion. Heinz Ludwig Arnold said of himself that at the time he did not consider himself a pacifist but he thought one had to “learn a lesson from history” and also implied in his letter that Jünger too had learned this lesson, writing naively:

In 1914 you went to war with the enthusiasm of one seeking adventure and defending patriotism. But already in 1939 when the Second World War broke out you – experienced through the First World War – renounced war. In the last war you didn’t kill anyone, would not have done it either – I am convinced of that, if you had not been sent to the headquarters in Paris but to the front. You would have evaded the compulsion of command.

A little more than a week later Arnold received a letter from Jünger’s wife Gertha, in which she expresses sentiments shared by both of them that are still of great importance today and might be able to sway some budding pacifists.

Dear Mr. Arnold,

My husband asked me to reply to your letter, as he does want to address the questions raised by you, but he had to go to Munich and is very busy at the moment. In the meantime make do with my letter, in which I want to try to convey you his advice, which by its nature can only be advice, and not binding to you.

The questions that occupy you apply to a large section of the young generation. As long as the world existed there has been war, and the last one forced the then twenty-year-olds to face a very particular problem: despite their inner rejection of the system itself, of Hitler, of this war, which was needless and forced, to fulfil their duty to the nation. The situation demanded it, one could not evade it. I have talked to many of these boys back then, our own, 18-year-old eldest, who then fell, was particularly strongly under the pressure of this situation, because he had been imprisoned for political statements. But he did not hesitate one second, even volunteered for the front, because that seemed to him his duty.

Before us now is the question if in face of the gigantic Russian armament and absolute might, if the worst comes to the worst we want to and are we capable of fighting back, or not. Take an easy example: if you have to walk through a forest, which – as you know – is occupied by bandits who are armed to the teeth: do you protect yourself with a club or even better with a pistol, or do you rely on luck! Here everyone can answer depending on his mentality. We, in our personal case, prefer the weaponry. Our view is: the mightier we are, the less we will be threatened. Furthermore we have to think for the 17 million in the eastern zone [DDR], who could not understand if we held a different attitude, because they know and experience daily what it means to live under a Russian regime, powerless, defenceless, weaponless.

So if you do fulfil your military duty, you only do what millions in all countries on earth also do. One can neither evade the demands of the time, nor those of the own country, and to all of you, the young ones, we want to say: look at Hungary [referencing the Hungarian Revolution of 1956]! They still know the meaning of the word fatherland. Keep it inside of you and preserve it. All the other peoples don’t have to be urged for this, it is for them as self-evident as it has become questionable for us. Thank God not for everyone. The real core has to remain unaffected, we owe this not just to us but also the dead of both wars, whose deaths would otherwise have been meaningless. Do understand me correctly: There is no one today, who would approve of a war after the countless sacrifices that have been made. Likewise we can not prevent it, if it should break out anyhow, because we do not decide it. For us there can only be the way that Europe and the West go, therefore we are allies, therefore we are obliged to contribute our part, in every respect. The individual has to align himself with the total, because a total fate is at stake, in that he is irrevocably interwoven, whether he wants to or not.

Finally I have to object if you think Ernst Jünger would not have fired a shot in the Second World War, had circumstances forced him to do so. Many things were different than in 1914, and with that also the inner condition to approve of the conflict. But he was too much a soldier in the best sense of the word to be able to deny that or want to deny that. He would therefore have participated in every combat as good as anyone else too, had he been sent not to Paris but to the front.

One can call it purpose, destiny, where we are placed: if only we ever do our best in the place that has been chosen for us.

Do you honestly think that ever soldier likes to kill? You use this word. In that case you fall prey to certain paroles and scaremongers which we unfortunately are not lacking. You have to assume entirely different things: the class of the soldier is a class like any other too. One does not need to love it, but one should respect it. In the middle of war each individual one of you can not dwell on asking himself the question whether the killing is permitted: if they All had thought that way, no war would have ever emerged. One has to come to terms with reality, because we do not live in a dream world. In war it is only You or I, and you will shoot when you see the barrel of the other one’s rifle pointed at you. Other laws apply then, one can not transfer them to our civil life.

With that I believe I have answered your main questions, mind you in our sense, as we see the things, as we experienced them ourselves. How much you feel called upon to say Yes or No, I do not know, and don’t want to influence you in this,

Best wishes on your way, from Both of us: Yours, Gretha Jünger

Gretha Jünger died of cancer one year later. Heinz Ludwig Arnold served his six months of military training in 1960 and became Ernst Jünger’s private secretary from 1961 to 1964. He founded the literary newspaper “text + kritik” and in 2011, the year of his death, published the book “Ein abenteuerliches Herz” (An Adventurous Heart), a collection of selected texts from Jünger’s oeuvre, which also includes this letter and many more personal anecdotes from his time with Jünger.

[mizukabehana]

Get ready to meet one of your nominee’s for the 2017 Worst Mother of All Time Award!! 

NAME: Naida Yana Vodnaya NICKNAME: Tsunaritsa  ( Tsunami Queen )  AGE: 46  HAIR: Blue EYES: Light Blue HEIGHT: 5′3  BUILD: Toned  STATUS: Alive  OCCUPATION: General in the Imperial Army of Sin MAGIC: Water Magic  RESIDENCE: Alemna, Sin ( the capital )   CLASS: high upper class.  FAMILY: Rurick Lytvyn ( ex-husband ) Juvia Lockser ( estranged daughter ) Erik Vodnaya ( father )  Adeliya Vodnaya ( mother )  Illya Vodnaya ( sister )  Liliya Vodnaya ( sister )  Artur Vodnaya ( brother )

ONE LINE INTRODUCTION: Naida Vodnaya is often liked to the frozen oceans near her home-town; ruthless, unforgiving & frigid. 

WARNING: the contestant’s personal essay, biography && evidence she should win, contains some content viewers may find disturbing, cruel, &&& possibly triggering. Read at your own risk if you are sensitive to any of the following; parental abuse/neglect, graphic violence, illogical choices rooted in the desire for power, abuse of said power & emotional manipulation. 

BIOGRAPHY 

Naida Vodnaya was born in Lyrga, Sin. A large town with a small population, nestled in between a vast mountain range & the most frozen parts of the ocean. Lyrga was known mostly for ice-fishing, if it was known for anything at all. Despite the rough conditions, it was a place of peace. 

Her father, Erik, was perhaps the most respected & feared man in not only the town, but in any town nearby as well. For the Vodnaya family was widely known to possess magic. A trait that while no longer outlawed in the country, was still a thing that inspired terror in those who did not have it. The Vodnaya family had survived generations upon generations of magical persecution without befalling any harm && no one was interested in finding out what powers the family possessed to have done so. No one, that is, except Adeliya Ikanova, who was a travelling huntress known to pursue even the most deadly beasts. She captured Erik’s heart, at least enough to secure a marriage with him &&& the two had Naida. 

Their parenting styles aligned well, as they both believed in forging a child made of ice & steel rather than flesh && blood. Erik, who had trained under his father, ensured that Naida learned what it meant to survive. He taught Naida to harness the gift of the Vodnaya name, Water Magic. While Adeliya taught her how to hunt, how to kill. The two would often leave Naida alone in the mountains for nights, weeks, even months at a time in order to raise her as something vicious. 

Of course, as the years drew on, there were other siblings, but Naida was the first. 

Adeliya was blunt with her daughter, scolding her if she did anything ‘wrong’ but praising her for doing things ‘right’. What this often meant is Naida was met with disapproval every time she displayed tendencies towards ‘softness’ &&& cruelty was met with rewards. Erik did his best to hammer in self-preservation, after the generations of survival despite magic being illegal, this was a trait Erik felt was essential to living. 

When Naida was nineteen, she wasn’t what her parents intended. While they’d given her all the tools to survive, they hadn’t accounted on her ambition. She didn’t crave the same thrill of a chase the way her mother did & she didn’t want the peaceful life her father was desperate for. Naida wanted power. After a blow out argument with her parents, who told her that should she put the family at risk like this, they would sever all ties with her. She packed her things, of which there were not many && headed towards the capital. Determined to join the military there as one of the first mages &&& rise through the ranks.   

However, on her way there, she met a man named Rurick. He allowed her to stay with him while she rested in her travels & ultimately the two fell into bed together. Naida ending up with child, while Rurick fancied himself in love with her. The two married && Naida convinced herself that she would still be able to pursue her dreams of power with a family at her side. 

It wasn’t until the child, which she named Juvia, was born that Naida’s idea began to crumble. The girl was born with magic. Magic like Naida had never seen, not in any of her siblings. Juvia couldn’t control it. The weather was linked to her emotions &&& a rainstorm was ever-present when she cried. At first, Naida & Rurick did their best to keep their daughter happy. But as time passed, they both grew impatient with the task. 

The worse they snapped at the now toddler, the worse the weather became && the worse their moods grew. It was a horrible cycle that led to aggressive fights &&& resentment hanging heavier in the air than the rain. Eventually, when the rain storm grew so large it encompassed the land for as far as the eye could see, Rurick slammed the door shut & left. 

Naida was left alone with the daughter, now six, who had been the beginning of the end. She was sharper now, colder than she’d been before. Whatever heart she’d had when she left her parents was dead or decaying && Naida wanted was that place in the army she’d wanted in the first place. 

She may have been able to do it with a husband &&& a daughter, but as a single mother? Surely not. 

So Naida came up with a plan. She’d leave Juvia somewhere she’d never return from. She decided on Fiore, a country with a drastically different culture, a different language & as far away as possible. It took weeks of research, planning && travel, but Naida was able to ditch Juvia in a shopping square. 

Back in Sin, Naida made a b-line for the capital &&& really truly began to pursue her dreams. Knocking over prejudice & limitations put on her because of her magic. It took years, but through countless battles won, Naida rises to general status. She has her own squadron && no one knows about the daughter she once had.  Naida is considered a mage-rights hero &&& there are young mages all over the country who look at her with fierce admiration. 

It’s not until years later, when Naida is grappling with her newest obstacle of obtaining political power ( you can only fight for so long before your body begins to regret it ), that she hears about a water-mage out of Fiore who’d supposedly died in a great war against Alvarez. Naida doesn’t care much, until it’s mentioned that the water mages name was Juvia.  

MORE ABOUT NAIDA

Fun Facts: 

As of the beginning of her military career, Naida an official win/loss ratio of 43/5 in registered duels against other officers. She currently holds the record for most challenges. 

Naida’s favorite color is the blood of those in her way. 

She is so blinded by her desire for power, she often missteps & winds up moving backwards. 

The tattoo on her chest is the equivalent of a guild mark. In that it is meant to display her allegiance to the Imperial Army. 

Sinean government officals are keeping a very close eye on her, because they struggle to trust her. Though they keep her on board due to her unquestionable value as a soilder. They have no intention of granting her any higher privileges. 

Naida often wears blue lipstick. 

Her family is aware of the name she’s made for herself, but remain as clueless as everyone else that she has a daughter. 

There are multiple serious journalistic articles on her, the impact she’s had on mage rights && still no one managed to find out about Juvia. 

Rurick is re-married, with new children &&& is part of an anti-mage activist group due to his experience with Naida & Juvia. Though he does not share this, because while it would look bad on Naida, it would also look bad for him. The two are currently pretending as if they’ve never met prior to the political circumstances. 

Rurick does not know what actually happened to Juvia. In fact, he assumes that Naida handed her off to her mysterious family. 

Skills: 

As she is a general, there is a certain amount of implied skill to be at that level, of which Naida has. She is a water-mage && has mastered a lot of techniques along those lines. She is skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but relies a lot on her magic. Whereas Juvia can turn herself into water, Naida pulls the water out of other sources &&& can do so incredible quickly. 

Reputation: 

As stated above, Naida is generally looked upon as a hero in mage rights. Though many people dislike her personally, no one disputes her role in the progress of  the sinean mage movement. Opinions on this vary based on political views. People in favor of mage rights view her as a hero, while people against it target her with hatred & even violence at times. 

Her most notable feat however, was during a battle against a rebel group aiming to over throw the government. They’d managed to take over several large cities in the country && Naida was sent along with a large troop to stop them. While the initial goal was just to keep them from gaining any more ground until more backup could come, Naida changed the game pretty early on. As the cities happened to be on the coast. Using the ocean, Naida completely decimated several of their camps. The aftermath was so destructive, it earned her the nickname Tsunaritsa ( Tsunami Queen ).

EVIDENCE

So, let’s go over why you should vote for Naida to win this years award. 

Abandoning her six-year-old daughter.

Choosing a foreign country, with the biggest possible cultural, geographical & language distance possible to do so.

Before this abandonment, Naida was sure to dish out psychological && emotional abuse guaranteed to last a lifetime. 

Upon discovering her daughters ‘death’ as a “Fiorean War Hero” Naida decides to pursue a plan to achieve better political sway by carving out an “in” for herself with Fiore’s leaders by playing up the grieving mother part. 

She still hasn’t had to face any consequences for abandoning said daughter.

What do you think? Does Naida make the cut? Is she a contestant worth your vote, or simply a ‘bad mom’ who’s bitten off more than she can chew with the rest of the competition? Let us know in the comments down below! To find out the results, follow us on twitter, instagram, tumblr or facebook @badmomsquad 

[ivoryandbonerpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS, Ace!

You have joined the ranks of the second Wizarding War as your original character SARIA YOUNG under the Freya Mavor faceclaim. In order to fully prepare for what the Dark Lord has in store for you, it is advised that you read through the new member playbook, create your account within the next 48 hours (as this is a secondary character for you, a sideblog to your main character is acceptable), notify the headmistresses, and immerse yourself into the world of a war-torn wizarding world.

Your journey awaits you--in the darkness, in the light, or somewhere in-between.

OOC INFO

1. NAME: Ace

2. AGE: 18

3. TIMEZONE / ACTIVITY: EST - - I like to think I am a 6 or 7 with activity. I’m starting in my first semester of uni so activity may lag from time to time, but I’ll be around most nights!  

4. PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): She/her

5. TRIGGER WARNING(S): omitted for applicant privacy

6. HAVE YOU READ THE RULES?: omitted for admin use

7. HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT IVORY AND BONE?: Idk…I guess I know the admins somehow and ask them constant questions about everything.  

8. FAMILIARITY WITH RPING?: I’ve been an acitive role player for about six years! I’ve been on tumblr for almost two, and have had the pleasure of being a member of La Lune! I now also play Fenrir Greyback and Ginny Weasley here :)

9. HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FIT?: Saria, in short, is a very earnest sort of girl who truly wishes she can do everything she can to help The Order. She provides a window into what the innocent side of the war looks - she is one of many who have not been directly targeted. She has no qualms, no history, and next to no knowledge of just what exactly is going on - just like many of the younger generation involved in the war does. The whole thing was simply thrust upon her in a way that resembled the countless other refugees, yet just like many, Saria is a civilian forced to take a stand, but stands with what she  believes is right. In addition to providing this look at the ‘normal’ people in a war, Saria is a Seer who wants to do anything and everything she can to help. Though her abilities are confusing and she can’t always figure out what her visions mean, she simply wants to do good and help those who want the same. I think this could make her a valuable member of the group over all, as she can provide some otherwise impossible to obtain information about the Inner Circle and their Death Eaters without risking loss of life. She’s also a lil bug and just wants a family, and I think The Order can provide that for her.

IC INFO

1. CHARACTER NAME: Saria Young

2. CHARACTER AGE: 18

3. CHARACTER BASICS: Pronouns: She/her

Blood-Status: Half-blood

School: Ilvermorny

House: Pukwudgie

Allegiance: The Order

4. TOP THREE FACECLAIMS:

1) Freya Mavor

2) Sarah Bolger

3) Anna Popplewell

5. CHARACTER SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

6. PERSONALITY TRAITS: friendly, shy, clumsy, earnest, clairvoyant

7. BIOGRAPHY: 

 The Wizarding World was one full of magic; one where beings gifted with extraordinary abilities could flourish and grow. Creatures straight from one’s imagination filled the air and roamed the earth, and the humans who could tame them could grow flowers with a flick of one’s wrist or a wave of their wand. The world of magic was straight out of a fairy tale. Yet, not every fairy tale has a happy ending, and this magical world is not always bright. Treachery still lives, and little girls are still abandoned by families who do not want them. Once upon a time, a young woman — a witch born of pure blood — fell in love with a man who had once been clueless of the magic around him. This man came with a reputation for charming women into his bed.  There wasn’t a woman who didn’t fall victim to his charms. The witch thought she might change him, thought she might entice him with her love, her magic, and her powerful family. Her advances seemed to work, and with her heart filled with joy, the two slipped between silk sheets. Yet, come morning, the freckled young woman was no different than all of his other triumphs. He was gone, leaving nothing but the memory of his skin against her own. Once upon a time, a pureblood witch would become pregnant with the child of a no-maj. It would be Rappaport’s Law that would doom the unborn child. Despite that the law had been repealed in 1965, the pureblood families who controlled the southern region of the United States still followed its rules religiously. A wizard, under no circumstances, could marry a no-maj, let alone have a child with one. Worst still, the child would be a half-blood, something despised by the people of the society she lived in. Try as she might to hide the growing swell of her stomach, her parents would discover her secret, and sweep her into hiding until the child was born. The young woman grew ill as the date grew closer, and by the time her daughter was born, the freckled young woman had lost her life. The child was a demon in her grandparents’ eyes. A murderer, spawn of the man who’d killed their daughter, and a half blood with the piercing blue eyes of her father. From the moment she’d come into this world - red faced and wailing for her mother — Saria Young had been destined to be abandoned by a family she would never know. The only reason Saria found her way into the system was her resemblance to her dead mother. Freckled cheeks and a mop of blonde curls, it was what ultimately saved her life, for her grandmother was consumed by guilt. She couldn’t dispose of the small bundle, for it resembled her own daughter as a babe…she found the nearest hospital and left her upon its steps. It was the only kindness her grandparents would ever show her— they couldn’t love a child who had her father’s blue eyes and no-maj blood. From that moment on, Saria would bounce from foster home to foster home - a total of twelve in her life - a ward of the state of Louisiana, a witch who never knew she wielded the magic of her mother. Her magic showed itself early in life, though the no-maj she’d been raised as didn’t have a clue as to what it was. Instead, her strange episodes and dreams were dismissed as a medical disorder. Epilepsy: that’s what she’d been diagnosed with, no doubt given to her by her birth parents. It was hard to make friends when you constantly moved between foster homes, and harder when your eyes would roll into the back of your head and you could collapse at a moment’s notice. Harder still to find a family, when they wanted an undamaged child, one who was normal. We just can’t handle her, they’d say. She’s too much. It became a painful, sickening routine. Each time she thought she’d found a mother and father to call her own, they’d bring her back, too afraid of her episodes to sign the papers and make her their daughter. It caused her to close in on herself; alone and afraid, the little witch would soon become as fragile as glass. As time went on, Saria accepted this fact, and found herself becoming content in the group homes of New Orleans, where she didn’t have to feel bad about her condition and could spend her days cooking and mastering the unique foods found in the French Quarter instead of pursuing relationships. She would age out of the system one day, open a restaurant, and be happy with her life. She was content, that is, up until an owl perched itself in the window of her shared bedroom. She was content, up until she read the letter clasped in its beak. She was content, up until the moment she discovered the world she’d been destined to be apart of. Dear Miss Young, we are pleased to invite you to attend Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Those were the words that would change her life forever. From that moment on, Saria’s place in the world seemed a little more clear, though shy and timid she stayed. It would be only a week before she was sailing towards a new world, away from live oaks blanketed by Spanish moss and the swamps of Louisiana. The Big Easy faded behind her, replaced by the towering mountains of the north. Ilvermorny welcomed her with open arms, and when the Pukwudgie raised its arrow, and the Thunderbird splayed its wings, Saria followed the arrow and shot into her new life. Here, Saria thrived under the colors of pink and white. Shy and docile, yes, and particularly clumsy with her wand, the young half-blood was accepted without a second thought. Her peers found her episodes normal, her predictions amazing and other-worldly — her classmates insisted that she was a Seer, a witch who could see the what others could not. She flourished like a flower in spring in Divination classes, and when she returned home each summer, she discovered others of her kind walking Bourbon Street. Tucked away in the touristic voodoo and physic shops of the Crescent City was the very magic that flowed in her veins. All her life, her culture and her heritage had been right under her nose. Finally, Saria Young had found where she was meant to be. That all changed at the end of her sixth year. Saria collapsed in the middle of the dining hall, her body spasming, her eyes a milky white as images of war and death tore through her mind.  When she woke, it was too late. The news had already reached Ilvermorny. She couldn’t warn them, for The Dark Lord had truly returned, and North America was finally plunged into the horrors that had plagued Europe for months. She had no choice but to flee with her peers, for even a half-blood could be seen as worms in the eyes of his followers — especially one raised in the No-maj world, one who could not prove her suspected line f. To the Death Eaters, she would be no better than what they called a Mudblood. Now, she remains in the safe arms of The Order, where her abilities might be of some use. But what can a Seer do, when everybody alreadyknows the future is as dark as it is terrifying? CONNECTIONS: TATIANA VALENTINA: Tatiana is the sister she never had. Saria couldn’t have possibly found a better friend than the fellow mop of golden curls — the two instantly fell in with one another, forming a bond that was sure to remain until their curls turn gray. When Saria arrived in Europe, it was Tatiana who saw her panic and her fear through the frenzy of refugees, took her hand and told her it would be alright. Without that horrible grasp of English, Saria would have been hopelessly lost. She considers the expressive yet soft girl to be closest friends, and has developed a fierce protectiveness of her. VIKTOR KRUM: Saria’s visions have come and gone her entire life— but one thing that stayed constant was the image of a dark haired boy and his stunning smile through the watery view of the Sight. Each time she’d collapse, she would see him. It began as glimpses — several seconds, at most — but as the rise of the Dark Lord grew closer, they grew longer and clearer. She considered him something of a guardian angel, smiling each time her gift brought a glimpse of the future as if to tell her everything would be alright. But that day — almost a year ago now — she and the Ilvermorny half-bloods stumbled into the waiting arms of The Order, he was there. Ragged looking, and that smile was gone, but it was him. She’s gone a whole year at Grimmauld Place with saying little more than a few sentences to him when he greets Tatiana. A whole year of freezing and dashing from rooms as soon as he walks in, her heart pounding in her chest. The Second Sight is a confusing force, and she doesn’t know why she sees him in her visions, but one thing is certain: Viktor Krum is the man of her dreams.

8. WRITING SAMPLE: omitted for applicant privacy

[d-clarence]

'Til the End of the Line: A Samurai Jack Fanfiction

As a disclaimer, the following has no correlation with my previous work. This is how I see the ending battle from another point of view and circumstance. I got some inspiration from a Superhero movie I just re-watched.

- — -

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

Aku was dead, slain by the Samurai wielding his magic sword who stepped forth to oppose him. Before the final blow was struck, he summoned his newest toy, his latest minion, his own daughter, Ashi, to try to strike him down.

But he was too late.

If only he kept her by his side rather than using her to lead Aku’s fearsome horde of drones and monsters against Jack’s own cobbled together army of rebels, dissidents, and the inspired, events may have panned out differently. His own hubris led to the eternal demon’s own downfall. He was cut down til the sword pierced his blackened heart, erasing him from existence.

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

Aku’s minions turned and fled when the news hit, turning them into easy targets for Jack’s rebel alliance. A new dawn emerged from the ashes of oppression. Freedom for all, regardless of their race, culture, or nationality. The news will reach across the lands, the stars, and the eons to come. They will remember how it took one man to inspire and lead countless individuals to stand strong and stand together against a seemingly immortal tyrant. They will never forget him til the day they died.

But his war wasn’t over yet.

He still had one more life to save. And she was the one who saved his multiple times before. He did likewise for her, too. They both came to admire, respect, and even find love in one another despite either of them not knowing what the feeling meant. They grew closer and closer, until Aku turned her into one of his monsters, using her to his advantage. The Samurai even gave up at the prospect of mercy killing her, even at her request. He couldn’t. He was lucky the Scotsman’s new army saved him and recovered the sword in time before the black demon tried something horrible on Jack.

The fearsome tower fortress crumbled at the loss of it’s master, and was soon to fall. It was just him and her inside now.

“Ashi!” cried Jack. “You can fight it now! Aku is no longer controlling you!”

She still remained in her Corrupted form, blank, white eyes, glowing with Aku’s fire, still fixated on Jack’s death. She lunged at him at a ferocious speed, seeking to end his life. He blocked and dodged her attacks with ease, being careful not to cause her any harm.

It was the most desperate fight in Jack’s life. Nothing else, not even finding a way home mattered this time. Too many innocents have died under Jack, and he wasn’t just about to add another name to that list. Not. One. More. 

 The Samurai swung his sword to deflect a whip-like backhand, but wound up cutting off Ashi’s forearm instead. His heart sunk. 

 “Aah! Jack!” screamed Ashi. Her face tore through the darkness as her arm regenerated the lost limb in a split second. The tower crumbled some more. 

“Ashi!” “I… I can’t control it! Aku’s… still… there!” 

 “You can still make it out of this! Fight, Ashi! Fight!” The darkness seeped around her face again. 

“Please… Kill me…” and she was gone once more, and the fighting resumed.

 — 

The night before the final fight began, Jack stood outside his army’s camp gazing at the night sky before him. While his men sharpened their swords, loaded their rifles, and prayed to whatever deity that was listening, Jack’s preparation was not yet even underway. He couldn’t even rest. He just stood there, gi waving in the wind, sheathed sword clutched in his hand.

“How am I going to save her now?” He wondered. 

While in his thoughts, his closest ally and friend, the Scotsman, appeared in his ghostly self behind him. “Whatcha doing, laddie?” he inquired. 

 “Waiting…” replied Jack, his gaze at the sky unfaltering. 

 “Waiting for what? Ya know what must be done. Just get it ova’ with and hope ‘er spirit will be at peace.” 

 “But she’s just another innocent.” 

 “Innocent?!!” exclaimed the Scotsman. “Are ye mad?!! She’s pure evil now! She cut through 17 of my daughters tryin’ to reach ya!” 

 Jack closed his eyes, bowed his head in sorrow, and said, “No. She’s lost her way.” 

 “Hahahaha!!! And ye know what dat’s like, eh?” 

 “I don’t want to talk about this anymore…” his face cringed as he spoke. 

Realizing his humor wasn’t going to help, the Scotsman tried his attempt​ at reason once more. He places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “Ye know she’ll be there.” 

 “I know.” 

 “Look, whoever the lass used to be, the she-dog she is now, I don’t think she’s the kind you save, but the kind ya stop.” 

 Jack only gave silence, then answered, “I don’t know if I can do that.” 

 “Well, she may not be even able to give you a choice. She doesn’t know you anymore.” 

Jack turned to face his friend and calmly spoke, “She will.” 

Seeing the daybreak over the horizon, Jack knew it was time and gave the order. “Gear up. It’s time.” 

 — 

 Rocks and rubble fell from the ceiling as the foundation shook. The towering stone pillars carved into flames fell apart onto one another as the former couple fought the last fight in this war. 

 “Ashi! You’re being misguided! I’ve seen it! I have been under his influence myself!“ 

Her only response was another flurry of kicks and punches that Jack dodged. 

“When I gave up, you showed me the truth! You made me see there’s so much more to me than I knew existed! You made me way more than what I was!” 

 Still no response, only more fighting. 

 “The hope you gave me saved my life!” He knew he had to change something in what he was doing, and so he dropped his sword at his feet. 

 “I’m not going to fight you. I love you.” his tears fell. 

She tackled him as the tower shook some more. It was not going to take anymore. She straddled him, grabbed his sword, and prepared to drive it down upon her former love.

 “The decisions you make… and the actions that follow… are a reflection of who you really are…” Jack closed his eyes and was ready for whatever comes. 

Nothing happened. She just stayed there in his lap. Thinking. Wondering. Her grip on the sacred blade wavered. The fire on her eyes extinguished, her pupils returned. Tears flowed down her face to her blackened body. 

Then it hit them. 

 The pillar they battled on collapsed from the fall of another and they went through the wall, sending the pair and a mountain of rocky debris outside. Jack fell as Ashi grabbed on to a large piece of rock. 

 “… Jack…” 

He was hit in the head with a stray piece of rock and was losing consciousness. She launched herself from her position towards Jack. She must save him. Before his vision went dark, he faintly saw a shadowy hand reach out and grab his. 

All went black. 

Rain and thunder reverberated throughout. Ashi carried Jack and his sword through The empty battlefield. Aku’s remaining forces were pushed back far away by the rebels. When she reached the edge of the crater where Aku’s fortress stood, she took in the sight before her. 

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not. 

The black demon’s lair lies a smoldering stump and pile of black and red rubble. Scattered pockets of fighting continued. Gunfire, sword clashing, and explosions filled the air and the scene beyond. The storm raged on. She looked down at Jack, whom she laid carefully to the ground and returned his sword back in its sheath. His gi was torn, blood-stained, and muddy in several places. He was unconscious, fast asleep. Ashi looked at her reflection in the puddle of water that formed next to her. A change was occurring. No longer did her body carry the demon-like contours and shape of Aku. The antlers returned to her natural hairstyle. Her limbs and body returned to normal despite still carrying the black essence of her father. He was gone, gone for good, but his taint still lies within her blood. She was somehow able to speak, but lacked a mouth. She was free, but caged at the same time. 

 She needed to run now. Too many have been slain by her hands in her unwilling service to her father. That makes her a wanted criminal and she will be hunted down as one. At least her father’s “gifts” of enhanced speed, stamina, and strength will aid her here. Wherever she went she didn’t care, as long as it was far from where she was. Would anyone ever come to forgive her? Would Jack? 

……. 

Jack awoke, feeling at peace for some reason. He opened his eyes to behold a marvelous sight. He was no longer hurt, his gi was in pristine condition. The sword remained secure on his waist. 

There he lay in a hilly meadow, surrounded by fog. He then stood to witness flowers of many colors filled the landscape as cherry blossom petals filled the calm wind. The fog cleared to reveal a sight that put him to tears instantly.  His home. 

The Empire as it was, peaceful and just, its people happy and military proud. A voice called to him from behind. A very familiar voice. 

“My son…” he echoed. 

Jack turned to see his mother and father standing before him in all awe and glory. He ran to them and gave them both a big hug, crying tears of joy. 

He stopped to face them to ask, “Is… Is this real?” 

His mother spoke first. “No, I’m afraid. We have come to you in spirit to offer you our gratitude.” 

The Samurai’s heart sank as his smile dropped to a frown.

“Do not sorrow for us, my son.” assured his father.

“But… I never came back home to save you all.” he sadly confided. “All the ways home were destroyed.”

“Aku’s victories are not your defeats.” spake his father. He smiled as he placed his hand on his shoulder. “None have fought more bravely than you have.”

His mother chimed in. “You have won many victories, even to the defeat of Aku in the present, securing the future. Your allies and friends have sent their blessing and are forever grateful.”

“Each blessing is a stone to fortify the future and beyond.” His father taught. “And for that, we are eternally grateful.”

“I… understand.” said Jack. “But I’ll never see you again.”

His mother calmly reassured him, saying, “My son, we will be forever here with you.”

“Here, in your heart,” his father pointed to his chest. “Where we and your ancestors will continue to guide and support you, wherever and whenever you go.”

“Now we send you back into your world my beloved son,” Jack fought back tears as his mother confided to him. “For there is… one more life… you have to save…”

“The one you know as Ashi,” Jack’s eyes snapped open at her name. “We know of your love for her, and her mutual feelings for you. This innocent is the last who carries a part of Aku within her. You have to find her, then cleanse her soul of this infection.”

“But how, father? My attacks only harm and endanger her life further.” inquired Jack. He needed to know another way.

To which his parents smiled and said, “You will know when the time comes.”

His father wrapped his arm around his shoulders as his mother cupped his face as the surroundings slowly turned to light. “And remember, with our last thoughts to you in this plane, we love you…”

“I love you, too. All of you.” and with those last words, Jack’s vision went white, and the feelings with it. 

……. 

Jack awoke again, this time in what he perceived to be some kind of hospital. Everything ached. His head hurt. Left arm was in a sling. All he heard at first was the beeping from the machines that monitored his health. As his vision cleared, he realized he wasn’t alone. 

A few of the Daughters of the Scotsman stood guard over Jack as their father glowed a soft blue and floated in place, facing a window to Jack’s left, overseeing the recovery efforts. Flora and another sister of hers were on the couch to the right of Jack trying to find something good to watch on the holographic TV. 

She stopped at a news channel covering their victory of a lifetime. “Ey, dad! Take a look at this!” hollered Flora. 

He only turned his head and cocked his eyebrow to the news that aired. Little did they know Jack was awake watching with them, too. 

The news anchor continued, “… and authorities from around the world and beyond have seized all remaining assets from our former Shogun of Sorrows, Aku. The Interstellar Road to Recovery Summit led by Queen Mira of Andaluvia will speak in a few moments concerning their efforts.“ 

The camera cuts to a live feed from Andaluvia with Queen Mira on the throne, next to others from the Recovery Summit, addressing the crowd of reporters before her. She was still in her blue armor, damaged from her fight against Aku’s forces, but she was as proud as ever, despite her graying hair. She then stood up and gave her opening speech, addressing the reporters and her people. "Time and time again, we were forced to look to an evil, maniacal tyrant to solve all of our problems and we just paid whatever price was asked of us. In doing so, we lost sight of who we all really are and who we can be, the best version of ourselves!” she continued on, reflecting on her noble service. “A leader must be one who can serve his or her subjects well, not a dictator to enslave us! As a people, as a world, as a galaxy and beyond, we have now been given a second chance. We must never forget what we learned, for the cost of that knowledge has been very high indeed.” She fought back tears as she concluded. “None of us know what the future holds, but we will make it together, with full recognition of all that has been lost, and all that we have found again!!!" 

The crowds cheered in approval, Flora and the others rose their fists in admiration, and Jack gave his nod and smile as well. 

The Queen then looked straight into the camera lens again, as if looking at Samurai Jack. "And now, we must pay our utmost respects to the Samurai known as Jack, who gave it all and more to make this monumental day possible. I would be pleased to hear from him again. Were it not for our… previous engagement together… I would have never rethought my life back home, where I should have been there helping my people against Aku’s tyranny. Jack, if you are watching this, I offer you my thanks. If we ever meet again, I owe you a beer.” She smiled as the crowd chuckled.

The broadcast switched back to the news anchor who reported, “In other news today, the last of Aku’s minions, known only as the alias, Ashi, also part of the heretical Cult of Aku remains at large.” Jack’s eyes widened at this report. “She is accused of murdering several individuals of note who fought against Aku, and has attempted to murder the hero, Samurai Jack. Any information leading to her death or capture will be granted a substantial reward. She is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

“A-a-Ashi…” Jack weakly spoke. Everyone in the room took notice.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” exclaimed Flora. “We got a live one ‘ere!”

“Of course he’s alive!” the Scotsman chastised. “I been through a lot with this man, he ain’t dyin’ anytime soon!”

“Ashi. That is not true about Ashi!” yelled Jack. “She’s the one who saved my life! I helped her break through!”

“Since when does the news get anythin’ right?!!” exclaimed Flora.

“No, wait a sec.” the Scotsman doubted. “How do ya know for sure?”

“You know me, Scotsman,” replied Jack. “She was able to break free of Aku’s curse! She wouldn’t have pulled me out of the rubble if otherwise!”

Still suspicious of Ashi’s intent, he eventually relented his antagonism for her because he trusted his friend above all else. “Alright, alright. we need to contact the authorities b’fore they put a bullet in ‘er head.”

“I’ll get a message out,” offered another of his daughters. He nodded and out the door she went.

“So how do ya plan on stopping her, eh?” the Scotsman asked.

“I do not know yet, but I have to reach her!” Jack hoped. “She thinks the world is after her now. That there is no way to return as the woman I loved!”

The news from Jack surprised them all in more ways than one.

“All right, all right, don’t get all mushy on us now.”

Jack stood from his hospital bed, casting aside his arm-sling. His injuries recovered enough for him to walk. He donned his gi, repaired and cleaned for him, with his sword.

Two of Jack’s militiamen came through with the daughter of the Scotsman.

“Sir, while we may doubt the validity of your claims, you have our trust that you can somehow save Ashi.” commented the soldier.

“With respect, do you even know how to save her?” asked the other. “The only thing in existence that can harm anything of Aku is that sword and that may wind up killing her.”

“No.” replied Jack. “It always seems bad at first, but then I find a way.”

“Alrighty, my friend!” The Scotsman said with glee. “Where do we start?”

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

As Jack and his allies assembled for a rescue mission, he still had to figure out what his parents meant by “You will know when the time comes.” 

He always found a way, always did.

“I’m coming for you Ashi, my love. I’m coming."

Author’s Notes:

Alrighty then, this idea came as a result of re-watching my favorite movie, Captain America: Winter Soldier. The ending (SPOILER ALERT) goes like this;

The day was won, and Cap’s allies took down Hydra, at the cost of their organization, SHIELD. There was only one thing to take care of. Bucky the Winter Soldier. Cap and him Duke it out in a heavily damaged warship and there isn’t much time before it crashes. Cap hopes that he can somehow get through to him, despite his former best friend being brainwashed by Hydra as an assassin they used for decades. When it seemed Bucky would kill Cap, the latter muttered their childhood saying that got him to stop and reconsider, saving Captain Roger’s life in the process.

Many of you have probably noticed I borrowed dialogue from Episodes XCV (Jack and the Puffball Vision) and XCVII (the Seppuku scene) for Jack’s dialogue with the Scotsman and Ashi, respectively. I’ll leave you to guess what quote I used from XCIV. Dialogue from the Aku Infection episode was used here, too. The news speech by Princess(now Queen) Mira is from the ending to Crysis 3.