#you see her on the opposite end of the battlefield you run and pray she doesn't notice you

[protectors-of-htrae]

Tigress's character sheet!!! :D

[introvert--weeb]

Hello! I love reading your works but can i have request?

If it's not too much i request for a mikey, draken, mitsuya,angry,smiley,ran and rindou (sorry if it's too much, i love them all i can't pick) with a s/o bakugou katsuki? But the s/o is a bit calmer since she have a angry management but when she snaps she became the explosive queen?(lmao) and called someone extras,nerd,shitty and when fight she keeps saying "DIEEE!"

Oh God! I love this idea so much!

And of course I can write for all of them! I really don't have that much of a limit on how many characters I'm willing to write about in one request 😅 I'm also really glad you enjoy my other writings :)

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!!

--

Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, Smiley, Angry, Ran, Rindo with a fem!Bakugo Katsuki!reader

TW: mentions of language, anger management, violence, name calling

--

Mikey

Just like Mikey, you would like to give others nicknames rather than call them by their actual name. However, while the blond would simply add '-chin' at the end of names or change the way it's said, you would create these nicknames by either how annoying they were to you or if you were friends, by their features.

You were like a firecracker. Short fuse and when it was lit, you were explosive in both your words and actions. Many of Toman had learnt this the hard way. Especially poor Baji. He had made a comment that had set you off, next thing he knew he was facing the sky as Draken and Mikey were holding you back. Never again did he make the mistake of saying something that would upset you.

While you were usually OK if not provoked, there were times when you couldn't hold back. This was especially true when it came down to fights. Even the Invincible Mikey knew to not get too close during these moments. After all, he had witnessed what happened to those that had.

You would be the loudest and most explosive on that entire battlefield. It was intimidating for the rival gang when you had gotten into the zone. Yells of you telling all those 'extras' to get out of your way, with each punch you would scream out for them to 'die'. Yep, the others are going to get as far away from you as possible.

Would be back to your calm self after letting all your frustrations out. This is what surprises your boyfriend the most. You could be yelling at people to die as you punched them only to become sweet and innocent afterwards. It did remind him to never provoke you to the point of you losing it.

Draken

No one could understand how Draken had ended up with someone as arrogant as you. You made it no secret that you believed in your skills as a fighter, even looking down on others you deemed too weak.

However, this was mainly to make sure others knew that you should be taken seriously. Being a girl in a gang, especially the girlfriend of the Vice Captain, had others looking down on you all the time. You were strong on your own merits. You didn't need to be dating Draken to get people to notice this.

Most of the time, you were pretty calm and people felt they could approach you without any harm coming towards them. After all, you were actually a nice person under all that harsh exterior. But they still made sure to watch what they said around you, remembering how short your fuse was.

When you snapped, the person who got you to that point best start praying for their life or running as far away as they could. You were known to be quite agile when it came to fights and this would be no exception. A swift punch to their face followed by you yelling for them to 'die you shitty extra'!

Ken would never admit it but you terrified him when you got like this. After all, he was the Vice Captain to one of the strongest delinquent gangs in Tokyo. He shouldn't be scared of a girl that was shorter than him. People reminded him that he could stop you by picking you up. Draken knew this wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Ken-ny, you not going to stop her?" Mikey asked, appearing at the side of the taller blond while munching on his dorayaki. Draken just sighed before explaining that he couldn't. In fact, he doesn't even believe that Mikey could stop you when you got like this. The best course of action was to just let you have your fill so you could calm down.

The poor boy who had lit your fuse was now lying black and blue on the ground, blood pouring out of his now-broken nose. You simply blew a strand of hair from your face before making your way to your boyfriend, not wanting to talk about the incident.

Mitsuya

Being a pacifist, Mitsuya didn't agree with how fast you would turn to violence when you lost your patience with somebody. After all, he was a firm believer in that most situations can be sorted by talking it through. So people were really shocked when it came to light you were dating.

You were both the complete opposites of each other in how you dealt with overwhelming stress. However, you both did make a great couple when it came to other aspects in the relationship. It's just people hardly saw that. And nobody seemed to remember that you were actually quite a calm person who just so happened to have a short fuse.

What seemed to set your fuse of the most is when others looked down on you or your boyfriend. People seemed to think that because he didn't actively fight those he had a disagreement with.

So when someone dared to talk smack about your beloved Takashi, you were not going to take it. And so, that is how Mitsuya was trying his best to hold you back as you were shouting and trying to kick out at the person that had made you angry.

"Let go of me, Takashi! I'm gonna rip that shitty nerd's arms off, that's all!" You may have been trying to convince your boyfriend to let you go but the threat of removing the arms of the boy was keeping him from doing so. Even the boy who had annoyed you had begun to feel scared for his safety and so chose this moment to walk away.

"Oi! Get back here you damn extra! I'll kill you!"

Mitsuya simply held you until you calmed down, softly shushing you as you yelled out more threats. But when you finally had calmed down enough, that was when Mitsuya would begin to lecture you on how violence and threats were uncalled for in situations like that. Although he would express his gratitude that you stood up for him.

Smiley

You both would get on so well together. Same energy and love for violence and threatening people. in fact, you both would tell each other "I'll kill you" (affectionately of course) when the other was being annoying. The best type of relationship.

You would definitely give Smiley a nickname that only you would call him. And Nahoya would reciprocate with his own nicknames he had for you. They would definitely just be affectionate insults.

When you would be on dates, Smiley would love how you muttered under your breath about all the extras and nerds that were getting in your way. Sometimes you may actually call them that to their face if it was a particularly bad day, scaring the poor souls at how aggressive you seemed.

Nahoya would ride his bike with you clinging to his back. You would both ride around Shibuya, speeding around corners just to feel that adrenaline high you both would crave. Sometimes you would both find yourselves in a fight against people that made fun of you both.

Smiley loved watching how intense you became. It was like a switch flipped in your mind, turning you into a small ball of pure rage. Shouts of 'DIE' could be heard throughout the streets of Shibuya as you delivered blow after blow against your opponent. This was when he knew you were perfect for each other.

Angry

You would remind Souya of a female Nahoya, just without the constant smile. No, instead you would usually appear unapproachable with your resting bitch face.

Angry would be the sweeter of the two brothers and so would do anything to keep you safe. But that was easier said than done. As you were a lot like Nahoya, you would get annoyed easily and quickly resort to violence.

The main reasons why you ended up In fights was to protect your cute boyfriend. One comment on how he looked stupid with his angry expression and the person was seeing stars. There was no way you could let someone get away with making stupid comments about Souya! These damn extras needed to learn their place in the world!

Your anger made your vision red. The word 'die' seemed to become a lot more frequent, to the point where your victim was beginning to genuinely fear for their life.

Souya had to grab your arm to get you to stop. He was scared that you could end up getting hurt or worse, you could end up going through with your threat. He didn't know what he would do if you ended up in juvenile detention. Especially if you could be there for 10 years.

"Please stop Y/N!" The fact his voice was so teary is what had snapped you from this rage-filled trance. Turning your attention to the blue haired Kawata, you got off the now unconscious boy and decided it would be best to continue your hang out in an attempt to calm down.

Ran

He would love how you had two sides to you. One side was calm yet arrogant, similar to his own, while the other side happened to be his favourite. You would explode and takedown a handful of gang members on your own.

Ran wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone but you, but he found the second side so hot. Maybe it was how you moved so elegantly as you dodged each punch before dealing your own? Or maybe it was the strength you used behind each throw you aimed towards your opponent? Either way, he thought you were a damn work of art.

It really didn't take a lot to get you to switch. However, you made sure not to explode when Ran or Rindo was testing your patience. You may have agility and strength but you were nothing against their combo. However, Ran would never hurt you and Rindo would only gently restrain your limbs. It would definitely be just to show you that you were not on their level.

You often followed the brothers when they were going to deal with gangs that tried to muscle in on Roppongi. That could not be forgiven. After all, Roppongi belongs to the Haitani brothers.

While the brothers were busy with the leaders, you would be left to take out the others. It would be a struggle but you could manage most of them.

"You damn extras need to learn not to take what doesn't belong to you!" Another one had fallen. This continued until Ran and Rindo finally dealt with the leaders. It was an obvious victory for the brothers.

"You look so hot splattered with blood, baby," he would whisper in your ear before leaning back and sending a wink. You rolled your eyes before starting the journey back to their home.

Rindo

You were like his own personal guard dog. Not that he needed one but he did appreciate how you were always there for him. In fact, he loved that you didn't view him as the weaker brother and instead saw his amazing combat strength. You had to keep reminding him that Ran couldn't actually use his baton as efficiently without Rindo locking them down.

He had yet to really see you in action as the 'explosive princess' people knew you as. It did bother him a little but he never did express this disappointment outwardly. After all, he was a Haitani brother and so had to keep up appearances. Especially if he wanted to be viewed as an equal with Ran.

It was as he was on a date with you one day that he saw the mysterious explosive side of you. And he totally wasn't prepared for it.

It started when a high schooler had approached you both, telling you how you should ditch a weakling like Rindo to be with him. Rindo was about to kill this boy for even trying to get you to leave him as well as to prove that he wasn't weak.

However, he was left speechless when you had thrown a punch into the boy's stomach, causing him to double over and drop to his knees. You used your boot to push him onto his back before starting your assault on his face.

'Who do you think you are, you shitty extra! My Rindo is a hell of a lot stronger than your weak ass! Now do me a favour and die already!" Even as you were talking, fists smashing into his face as blood exploded from his nose and lips.

Rindo could only watch, not knowing whether to be terrified of you or to find this whole display extremely hot. The blood that covered your fists was a sight he wished he could see more often.

Once you were satisfied that the lesson had been learnt, you stood up and dusted your clothes. "Let's continue our date babe!" And now you were back to being the calm and sweet girl Rindo knew best.

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Emotion (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: Kakashi again...can't get enough of this mans tbh. U r an empath due to your kekkei genkai and Kakashi has always been difficult to read. Friend to lovers. Sharing one bed folks, we got some steamyyy shit here. Angst warning as well.

Word count: 6000

He was always alone. Ever since his childhood, he walked the world completely alone with only a few people there to support him. No mother, no father, no mentor, no teammates. He was at the mercy of fate his entire life, things being stolen from him time and time again. 

He just prayed that he could keep her. Y/N L/N, the only woman to have wormed her way into his heart and made a home there.

When they first met, Kakashi and Y/N, she cursed him for being such a weirdo. Apparently his mind was empty and his heart was seemingly full of sand. He was conditioned that way, and that is how he lived for the longest time. It wasn't a surprise for him to hear that.

But she thought it was stranger than anything she'd ever seen, and so she followed him. She would figure him out, bring him back down to Earth from his supposed high horse. That woman was determined, and frankly he didn't mind her being around. She was quiet enough that it didn't matter. Not to mention on the missions they had together, she was quite the partner.

Over time, she'd learned to read him like a book. It was part of her clan's kekkei genkai. The ultimate empath, I suppose. The ability to read a persons every single emotion and then turn that, if they so choose, into power. 

She was never the greatest fighter, but her negotiation skills were the best they could possibly be. She would dive into the emotions of another and manipulate them backwards and forwards to get what she wanted. 

It was overwhelming, walking into a room of people and immediately being bombarded with so many feelings coming at her all at once. Occasionally, if the situation was bad enough she'd have to take a seat and clear her mind, organizing each person in her mind like a filing cabinet of empathy.

But damn, did she try to weasel out every bit of feeling she could. It was just something that came so naturally, she couldn’t help but instigate whatever was brewing up inside him.

"Kakashi, if you're happy, you know you're allowed to express it. You don't have to hide it away," she told him, staring at the masked man sitting across from her at the table. He was watching as she sharpened her kunai, and she could feel the content running off his body in small bursts. He was feeling better. Better than he had in a little while. Of course she picked up on it.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. She was always reading him, he knew that. He just preferred when she refrained from mentioning it. It did, most times, feel like a bit of an invasion of privacy, how she could deep dive into the corners of his mind. There were things no one else could ever possibly know that she did. It was strange, but he was used to it.

"What? Want me to smile or something?"

"No, but you should let yourself go. Just drop the facade."

"Stop doing that. Getting into my head."

Quietly, she set down her blade and picked up the next one, taking a cloth and softly wiping away any dirt. Her eyes slide up to his for a moment, her all knowing gaze filling his vision. "It's basically impossible. Especially if you're the only one around. There's nothing else to focus on except you." He knew that. It wasn't like she had an on or off switch. That was the downside of this dojutsu. Unlike sharingan and byakugan users, hers was always pulling the strings of her brain.

"You've got that mission next week. With Naruto and a few of the other kids, right?"

"Yes."

"It's A rank, isn't it?"

She hummed in agreement. He had a habit of knowing about all her missions, more importantly being the dangerous ones. He wasn't necessarily scared for her, probably not. He was more cautious than anything. There was this nagging feeling in his head that he shouldn't let her go on these missions alone. That it was too dangerous for her to handle. 

But he was wrong. She was stronger than he thought, and could hold her own in battle. He was just a worrier. He'd just lost too many, seen too many bodies in front of his eyes to trust. God, he wanted to trust her, but he couldn't. She was too vulnerable. His friend, one of the only ones who hadn't died yet. For all he knew, her days numbered, that's how paranoid he was about everything.

"You'll be careful?"

"That's a silly question." He gave her a look that said he was more serious than anything, and she sighed. "Of course I'll be careful. I have people that would miss me if I wasn't." He was one of them. She could sense his fear whenever she said goodbye and his relief when she returned. He really tried to remain objective, but his heart said otherwise. 

And she would be a liar to say that she did not experience the same relief seeing him come home from missions, even if he was beaten and bruised to the bone, she was just happy he made it back. So many never got to come home. It was a sick world, they lived in, but she could relish in the little comforts.

"Don't worry about me. I'll always turn out fine. It's you and your dumb students we have to worry about."

"I hear you. Those kids are enough to drive a person mad." He rested his chin in his palm, the mere thought of those kids causing his blood pressure to rise.

"Thankfully my students never gave me any trouble. Sweet little things."

"Well, aren't you just lucky, Y/N?"

"What can I say? Kurenai and I got the luck of the draw with our students. You men had it rough, I have to admit," she laughed. It was funny that he was so unfortunate to have gotten assigned the Uchiha and the Uzumaki, two completely opposite but persistent forces. "Despite your perverted tendencies and your perpetual lateness, you still did a great job teaching them."

"Thanks. But do you really have to call me a pervert? I'm really not."

"Yeah? That explains why you read porn in public. Admit you're a pervert, you dumb old man."

"We're the same age-" he began to argue, but she just cut him off with her harsh words.

"Creep," she muttered, running the sharpening stone along her blade. He narrowed his eyes. She was being awfully annoying, and he knew she could sense his irritation building up. Yet she continued just to be a pain in the ass.

 He warned, "Hey. Watch it, L/N."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop...Pervert." She ducked her head when his hand reached out to wring her around the neck for being so frustrating, and she continued to laugh. It was nice, having a friend she could joke with and be around without having to worry about what she said. He might pretend to be mad, but she could feel the happiness still rolling off his body thickly under all that fake neutrality. 

He was happier than he'd been in a long while, and she found herself swelling with pride knowing that she might have helped make that happen. Her lips curled into the gentlest of smiles as she peered back up at him, and he found himself smiling back even if it was just through the mask. 

He swore in that moment, he'd make sure Y/N didn't end up like all the others. She would live. He'd break this wretched curse just for her. He was sure of it.

______

"How could you be so reckless?! Do you want to die?" Kakashi shouted at his friend who could only stand there angrily, arms crossed over her chest and one foot in the other direction. She didn't need to be lectured by someone who took just as many risks every single mission as she did.

"Kakashi, I really don't want to hear it. You have no idea how it went."

"Yeah but Naruto does, and we were just talking."

She placed her free hand over her chest and exclaimed even angrier than before, "You're going to trust a kid over me? Naruto even?" It was just low to trust Naruto when she was right there to explain herself. Just let her speak for once, she wanted to say but he of course, had something else to say.

He waved his arm toward the ramen shop, eyes glaring. "Don’t be rude. He's right there. What is wrong with you?"

Indeed, Naruto was sitting inside Ichiraku with Jiraiya at his side, munching on pork ramen while the pair fought outside. Kakashi was eating with them, taking a break from his work to just relax with his master and student when out of the corner of his eye he noticed Y/N stumbling down the street on her crutch. 

He heard when she got back home that she was in the infirmary for a couple days. He had no idea for what reason until Naruto explained to him what happened. She was being needlessly reckless on the battlefield, relying too much on her kekkei genkai and not enough on her brain. She threw herself right in the way of an enemy, for what reason, he didn't know. All he knew was that she could have died and she didn't seem to care one bit.

Rightfully so, he was mad. Normally he preferred not to make a scene in the open like this, but there wasn't anyone else around and he was red-hot.

She huffed. "He knows I don't mean anything bad by that. How could he not? I'm also his sensei, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Kakashi brushed off her words. "What you did was dangerous and you don't seem to care. Next time what are you gonna do? Run right into the arms of the enemy?"

"No, I would never. Kakashi, you're just being a jerk right now. I'm literally injured from the hip down and you have to yell at me? Jeez, just be grateful I'm alive, okay? Things happen," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't exactly feeling all that rational.

"Things don't just happen like that."

She groaned, "Well apparently they do, because it happened to me."

His eye narrowed and she noticed the way he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times by his sides. Clearly he was just trying to channel his anger, but he really had no reason to be so upset. She hadn't done anything to him. He really needed to relax. "This is so like you L/N's. Always so emotional. Always thinking you're stronger than you actually are."

"Excuse you-"

"Get a grip, you aren't going to live forever."

"First off, don't interrupt me. Second, don't talk about my clan ever again, you hear me, Hatake? We don't live to please your dumbass," she cursed, how dare he say shit about her clan. That asshole. He was just being so...so unlike himself. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but she hated it and just wanted to continue on her way before he said something else stupid. 

Normally, she didn't expect to be bombarded in the street nearly the second she leaves the hospital, but Kakashi never fails to surprise her.

"I've got to go. Don't bother following me." With that, she took off past him, rushing as fast as she could on her crutch, which was pathetically slow. Silently, she cringed at how ridiculous she must look waddling around like this in a fit of rage. Nevermind that. She had better things to do.

He huffed out the breath he had been holding to walk back into the ramen shop, taking his seat beside Naruto and slouching down into the stool. Immediately, Master Jiraiya met his eyes, wisdom about to drip from his tongue once again. "You need to go apologize."

"Why? She clearly doesn't want that right now."

"Well, to start, you insulted her clan which is a big no-no. Imagine saying that to an Uchiha. You're lucky she let you off so easily."

"Yeah, Kakashi. You kinda just attacked her out there in the street," Naruto added.

Jiraiya continued, "Mainly though, the longer you let her stay angry, the worse it'll be for you in the end. Trust me."

"She said don't follow her."

"And you're actually going to listen?" The older man laughed. "You and her fighting reminded me a lot of young Tsunade and I. And let me tell you, you don't just let a woman like that go. I sure did. It’s not a fun time."

"Yeah, Kakashi sensei, go find Y/N."

The jounin stood from his stool and slapped a ramen voucher onto the counter top to pay for his meal. This really didn't seem like a good idea, he had to admit. But he would trust the process. This was the author of his favorite romance series, after all. How could he get something like this wrong? To put blind faith into Jiraiya on realistic romantic matters was probably the not the wisest thing to do, but it was the only thing he had to go on. "I'll go, but this doesn't sound like good advice."

"If you let this go, she's might run into the arms of another man for comfort. Do you want that?"

Tch, there was no way she was gonna do that. She barely had any friends. If anything she would go see Kurenai. Still, he pulled back the cloth at the entrance and muttered, "I gotta catch up to her."

"'Atta boy," Jiraiya cheered, waving off the copy nin. "Another bowl, Naruto?"

"Yes, please!"

Kakashi walked down the streets, looking for the woman he was sent on a mission to find and apologize to. He searched through the shops and the stands for her, walked by her apartment no sign of her. It wasn't until he stumbled by the bookstore that he found her eyeing down the display out front, leaning comfortably on her crutch.

"Y/N," he called to her, and he watched as she tensed up without a second. He caught up to her, walking to stand beside her in front of the store windows. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you want?" She questioned, peering over at him with a quirked brow. He seemed calmed down by now. Thankfully. "Also, didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

"You did, but Jiraiya told me to apologize."

"So this isn't even on your own accord, you're doing it because Jiraiya told you so." He groaned. Of course she would twist his words and find some way to make things bad on his end. She was angry with him, what did he expect to happen? Her to accept him with open arms?

"Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I was just overwhelmed."

"With what? I wasn't paying attention to anything but the anger." She picked at her finger nails in an attempt to remain casual, but really she was just itching to hear what he had to say. She was willing to give him a second chance, only because he was normally so sweet. This was just out of character for him.

He replied, "I was scared for you. Naruto told me about how you nearly died, and I was upset that you did that. I was upset because I could only think about what if you had been overpowered and the enemy killed you." His explanation was weak, but he hoped she would accept it as truth. He really wasn't lying. When he heard she was in the hospital indefinitely, he nearly had a heart attack himself. He worried for her every time she left on a mission without him. It just meant that if she failed, he wasn't there to protect her himself. He couldn't handle that thought.

"So you were worried?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's sweet of you, isn't it?"

"I'd miss you, you know. If you died."

She froze. That wasn't what she expected him to say. When she looked over at him, he was just staring into the storefront window, but she could feel the sadness in waves running off his body. She wobbled around on her crutch to face him, a hand getting coming up to rest on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"I don't want you going on missions without me because every time it scares the shit out of me thinking they'll bring you back dead. Every time. I don't know why."

"It's normal to worry for your teammates."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

"Ah." And she felt it. Even if it was just a little hint of something, she felt his infatuation roll off his body and she took it in like a drink of cold water. So refreshing. Was he attracted to her? She had no idea before this that he cared so much but from the sound of it, he had some strong feelings attached. She wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it was going to be okay, but that felt too personal. Instead, she leant back and muttered, "You know, Kakashi, I worry about you too."

"It's good we both have someone who cares, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I should be on my way, but, uh, if you need some help getting up to your apartment-"

"I should be fine."

"Okay, good."

"Yeah, so uh, see you," she turned on her heel and started heading in the other direction toward her home when suddenly, his hand reached out to stop her. 

"Wait, Y/N. I think..."

"What is it?"

"It's just that I need you. Please be careful from now on."

She stopped, turning around just enough to get a good look at his face. He only watched her, a glimmer of something she didn't recognize in his eye. 

"As long as you take care of yourself too, Mister."

"Y/N, I…"

All she could feel was a rough fabric rubbing against her face for a second before the full picture came into view. 

Mask to lips. I repeat, mask to lips.

She stared at him, as he kissed her right there in front of their favorite bookstore. When he pulled away after a second, he seemed just as shocked as she was. She pressed a hand to her forehead and struggled to find the right words to say. 

Kakashi Hatake just kissed her. 

And she definitely liked it. More than any other kiss she’d ever had before. She loved it. Mask or not, that was one of the best surprises of her entire life, and she honestly had no idea how to react. She settled for the easiest possible thing, running in the opposite direction, give herself time to think over what that meant for the two of them if anything at all. Kakashi wasn’t the type to have a girlfriend, he was always single. There just wasn’t room in his life for her.

There was plenty room in her life to fit him in comfortably. And there was more than enough room in her bed as well. 

Flustered, with heat coming to sit in her cheeks and run up her neck, she turned and motioned in the direction of her home. She just had too many thoughts to sit here and pretend she wasn’t dying inside from the tension.

"I've got to run home now," she managed to say. "Well, not run, with these crutches and all, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I should be going too. I'll see you around,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. 

"See you."

And into separate directions they went, just as confused as ever.

______

"Kakashi, I swear to God, if you don't stay on your side of the bed, I'm gonna-

"You'll what? Hit me? Go ahead. You're the one that keeps snoring."

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, rolling over in the bed and planting her fist directly in the middle of his chest. He didn't even flinch, she hadn't meant to hurt him anyway. She was just so annoyed. You would think that the stoic Hatake would be easy to sleep beside but no, he was a pain in the ass. He was rude. He was way too hot under the sheets. He still smelled like dog even after taking a bath. Just overall a bad experience, definitely 0 out of 10.

"What? It's the truth."

She groaned, throwing one of her arms over her eyes, burying her nose in the crook of her elbow. "Whatever. Don't ever mention my snoring again. It’s embarrassing me." She was self-conscious. She was usually so good at maintaining a cool and calm presence and now Kakashi was seeing that all crumble. Great. 

"Fine."

"Can't you just stay on your side so we can both sleep comfortably?"

"Can't you just stop snoring so I can sleep comfortably?" 

What a bastard. She could practically feel him snickering beneath his mask, and she felt frustration bubbling up in her chest. He was annoying. The audacity of this man, laughing and causing trouble in the night when they clearly had a mission to continue tomorrow. She could actually feel the delight radiating off his form.

She jumped up from her spot and threw herself onto the man beside her, attempting to make a vicious grab for the throat so she could maybe shut him up for just a few seconds. He dodged easily, taking her wrists in his calloused hand and lowering them to rest on his chest. Still, he continued to laugh at her. She felt like an utter joke sitting there on his stomach, looking at him through loose strands of her hair. 

She grumbled under her breath, her cheeks puffing out full of embarrassment, "Stupid."

"Me? Stupid? Look at you."

She replied swiftly, "What about me? You're the one with that ugly grin on your face." Quickly, she snatched her hands out from under his to cross her arms over her chest. She rocked back a bit on her knees to get a better look at his indeed ugly face. 

Except he definitely wasn't ugly, and that grin was more devilishly handsome than anything else. And honestly, she felt herself starting to get flustered in the position she'd put herself in. Of course she didn't hate Kakashi. He was one of her friends and coworkers. It was just that sometimes he could be casually attractive and she found herself falling under his spell. 

He just looked so fucking good lying there, staring up at her with a glimmer in his dark eyes. She could see the smile outlined under his mask. His hands had felt warm and firm around her own fingers. She missed his touch, there she said it, any touch on her body from Kakashi Hatake felt like heaven. He was far too cute, and the soft contact between them drove her crazy.

She wanted to punch herself for thinking such silly things. This was Kakashi, one of her frenemies. Not boyfriend material. Stupid. Silly. 

If only he didn't look so good, Jesus christ. Get your brain out of the gutter, Y/N.

Little did she know, his mind was already waist deep in those damn gutters and he was loving it.

"You really think that?"

"What? That you're ugly?" She asked, tilting her head to the side just a bit as if to think about it. Only a second later, another mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Of course."

He lifted his fingers to slid along her waist and down to her hips, fingers curling ever so slightly around her curves. She shuddered as his hands slid down to hold the sides of her bare thighs in his hands, his warm, strong hands with the softest fingertips. She wanted to die.

Had they kissed before? Yes. We're they somewhat romantically involved? Maybe. Did that give him any good reason to rest his rough hands on her thighs like that? Probably, and her thoughts were running a mile a minute at this point. 

"Kakashi...stop that," she said softly, her voice lowering from how it was before. She suddenly felt a lot smaller, scared even. Hooking up with Kakashi wasn't something she planned on doing anytime in the near future, if at all. He was her friend, and she felt strange sitting in his lap with his hands all over her. It felt so right but wrong at the same time, like she was breaking the law. Well, laws of friendship that is.

She cared about Kakashi, more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't just a friend, he was something weirdly in between and she couldn't exactly put her finger on how she felt about him. All she knew was that if she was going to have sex with this man, it would be the right way. They would have to date first. She wasn't just gonna sleep around this time. He was different. 

She wanted to impress him, to make him smile and laugh, to take him out to dinner and hold hands on their way home, to kiss at her doorstep. She wanted all of that before any of this.

His hands dropped from her sides and she crawled away from him, grabbing her blanket and cradling herself in it. "Listen, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it."

It was quiet. Just the sounds of both their breaths filling the air and the crickets chirping in the darkness outside. She shifted in her blanket to rest her head on the wall, leaning against it with her shoulder. He remained on his back, staring up at the empty ceiling tiles. 

It was now so terribly awkward. Thanks, Y/N.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You, uh, don't snore all that much. I was just teasing you."

"Thanks," she exhaled. "You're not as ugly as I said."

"I know."

Wow, Kakashi. So modest.

Her words fell right into place as she spoke, emotions slipping out with each breath. She looked at his profile in the dark, the way his bedhead stood on end, his nose pointed upward and his lips sat calmly, the curve of his chin under the edge of his mask, the way his eyes just sat there unmoving and gentle, brows soft above the eye. She took in all of him as she confessed, "I just don't want it to be like this. I don't want to fall for you this way."

"I get it."

"I just think that you and I could be something different. You're not like the other guys to me, at least, I don't think of you that way," she took a deep breath. He still stared deep in the ceiling, and somehow it made her comfortable enough to confess everything she'd been feeling. It was as if he could just lay there and listen without words forever. "I don't want you to just fuck me before we really...well I don't know, we've never even been on a date. I...I think I'm ready to fall in love with you."

"Then let's do it."

She peered over at him, lips agape with surprise. She hadn't expected much at all, but certainly not that. "What?"

"When we get back to the village, I'll take you on a date, more if things go well. We can take it as slow as you want," he told her, turning to lay on his side, facing her. He watched as she cuddled further into the comforter, only a peek of her face in his view. She was actually kinda cute through all those worn and torn layers. "I don't think I can let you go this time."

"Really?"

"Anything for you."

She ducked her head down to stare at the hardwood beneath her feet. She was overwhelmed by how nice he was being. Normally, it didn't go like this. Things normally got sexual so quick there wasn't even a chance for these sorts of conversations. It was just different with Kakashi. She could say no to him and expect better, because she knew he could deliver. "No one has ever treated me like this before."

He smiled. "Well, it's about time someone did."

"Can you hold me?"

"Come on." He lifted his arm up with the covers attached so she could crawl over and burrow herself next him, tucked right against his side. He rested his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his chest. Things were looking good for the both of them. Better than they had in a long time.

He wished this kind of thing could last forever. The beating of her heart, the laughter in her voice, the shine in her eyes. He just wished he could have bottled it all up and held it close to him for the rest of his life. 

But he waited too long, and the opportunity slipped from his grasp.

______

The pair fought hard. Kakashi was better than her, everyone knew that. The enemy targeted her for that reason. It was clear as day that she was important to Kakashi, and the enemy quickly caught onto that. He was quick to bring the knife to her neck, pressing the woman’s back tightly to his chest. The blade stung her skin, already piercing the flesh from the bit of pressure he applied.

She cried out, feeling a trail of blood begin running down her neck. Her nails clawed at his arm, desperate to get him to release her from his clutches, but he persisted. One hand held onto her chin tightly, keeping her face from thrashing, and the other continued to apply more and more pressure into the blade. 

For the first time in a long time, she found herself feeling unrestricted fear. She was scared. Scared for her life. She’d never been in this situation before, feeling so completely and utterly helpless like a deer caught in the headlights. Kakashi was right there, she should have known everything was going to be okay. After all, she had the village’s strongest veteran on her side.

It wasn’t the pain that caused the tears to bubble up in the corners of her eyes, no, it was Kakashi. The way his eyes darted over to the them, and she could feel his heart beginning to race, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and the fear creeping up into his heart. He never wore his heart on his sleeve. He was so closed off, sometimes she could only get a wisp of emotion from him, especially the ones that showed such vulnerability. 

Now it all seemed to come tumbling out like a landslide. She was drowning in fear, his and her own. 

“Let her go,” he called out, practically pleading with the man across from him, but it was in vain. 

“Like I’d listen to some filthy leaf shinobi,” the spy replied angrily. He felt so hot, burning up with so much anger she wanted to throw up. What had they done to upset him this badly? Her jaw was starting to ache from being held so tightly, and she swore she could taste blood running down her throat. This was bad. This was so terribly, miserably bad. 

Kakashi stood there, his hands hovering at his sides, unknowing of what to do. She was already bleeding out all over the collar of her shirt. If he made a single move, the man could easily finish the job with one fatal swipe. The copy nin felt cornered. Hopeless. What was there left to do? He’d let the love of his life fall in the hands of some petty criminal. 

Come on, think of something. Anything. Just think of something.

“What? You upset I’ve got your little girlfriend here?”

God, he was so desperate. The man taunting him didn’t help at all. He just felt himself spiralling deeper into hopelessness. He bargained, “Please, just let her go. I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

It wouldn’t work though. This man was set in his ways, and there was no changing that. He came into this fight knowing exactly what he wanted to do. And he was going to finish the job. 

“This is for what you shinobi have done to my people,” he sneered before she felt the knife dip further into her neck, sliding painfully across her throat. He dropped her head from his grasp, and as soon as he had, her body crumbled down to the ground. She collapsed in a bleeding heap on the dirt. 

The criminal quickly ran into the forest behind them, getting lost among the trees and the bushes within seconds. None of that mattered though. Kakashi could only run over to her limp body lying there on the ground, sputtering and coughing on thick blood filling her throat and lungs. Her cheeks and lips painted red now from spitting so much up. He fell to his knees beside her body, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a tear drip down his face.

She cried, hot tears running down her cheeks into the dirt on either side of her head. She cried for her pathetic self, having been attacked and injured in this way. She cried for Kakashi, feeling the pain and sadness, the panic, radiating off his form. She took in every emotion he was feeling, wanting to savor being with him for as long as she had, to fully take him in one last time. 

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, his hands running over her hair and cheek, smearing blood on her skin and his fingers. “We’ll bring you back to the village. The Hokage can fix you.” His words were so soft into the air, like if he spoke any louder he would hurt her.

They both knew that none of what he was saying was true. She was as good as dead.

She lifted her hand weakly to sit on his other hand. “I…” The woman took a labored breath.. “Love you, Kashi.”

“No, no, no. Don’t say that,” he hushed her, feeling his heart grow heavier in his chest with every second that passed, every look at her bloody neck and face, her laboring chest as she took hopeless breaths. He was falling apart in this moment, desperate for fate to change, for her to magically be better. He choked, “You can’t die, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” Her words were slurred and hard to hear, liquid bubbling up in her throat to the point she was almost incomprehensible. “I love you,” she confessed once again. She wanted those to be her last ever words to him, the words he would remember for the rest of his life. To know someone out there loved him more than anything else.

He had to know that he was her everything. He was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she was going to miss him so terribly wherever her soul went after this. She just wished there was more time to tell him everything she felt. Yet, time was passing faster than she thought, and all those words felt impossible.

“I love you, too. You have to live for me. Just keep breathing, it's going to be okay.”

“It...hurts.”

More misery erupted his chest, and he found himself wanting to scream. Tears dripped steadily down both his cheeks now as he watched this woman die in front of him, one of the only people he truly needed in his life. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry I let this happen to you.”

She nodded faintly, her eyes beginning to close. He was starting to panic. Was this his last moment to say goodbye? Their time together was so short, how was this fair? He’d already lost everyone he ever cared about, and now this? He felt like the gods were laughing down at him and his misfortune. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.”

She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. 

“Y/N, please.”

And he watched as her chest fell still and her labored breaths were silent on his ears. He found himself gathering her form up against his chest, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, just sobbing into her hair, weeping for a long lasting love gone in an instant. 

 He carried her body home that day himself. Something he never anticipated happening, but should have prepared for. He always thought he was going to watch as someone else carried her home to him, death long gone before he had the chance to see. He never thought it would be right in front of him. He thought he could protect her, save her from the clutches of fate. He was so wrong.

Kakashi was alone once again.

[neighborhoodparker]

Book: Cacoethes

Word count: 2,244

Summary: Draco finds Isobel after the war. But it’s too late.

Drabble, Cut Scene, or Request: Cut Scene; was once another short ending option to Cacoethes.

The battle was raging across the Hogwarts ground. She tried not to pay attention to those around her that had fallen - tried to ignore the various shades of house colors laid across the lifeless victims. It looked wrong, beyond wrong, to see fellow students splayed out across the ground, to see them lying mangled, broken, dead on what was once their home grounds. Her heart ached and her lungs burned at the thought of all who she would never get to see again.

She shoved the thoughts down and rearranged her grip on her wand, forcing her tense body to relax - just a tiny bit. She was doing all she could. It was overwhelming, jumping and dancing and bouncing from one stand off to another. She was trying to save everyone she could, throwing curses and spells and even unforgivables. She didn’t care that she was breaking the Wizarding law. She had people to protect. The Ministry would have to understand that she had to do all she could to save the students. She had to give them their futures, had to give them more time to live out their dreams. 

She was beyond overwhelmed. Her body was worn out, running on its last stretch of energy. She was determined to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep taking hits meant for those who looked up to her. There was a small part of her filled with pride at all the houses coming together to fight. It kept her going to know that her fellow students were all fighting to protect each other, to protect their school, to protect their world. She had never been more proud of all the students that snuck into the Room of Requirement to learn how to defend themselves from the war that was creeping across the horizon.

Her adrenaline was starting to wear off. She was beginning to feel the full extent of all the hits she had taken. She was starting to move slower and all of her knowledge was beginning to slowly leave her head. It was a struggle to keep fighting, but it was also a relief for her to see that the war was winding down. They; the students of Hogwarts, their parents, their professors, their Wizarding world supports; were winning. The Death Eaters were retreating, running the opposite direction of those fighting on the right side of the war.

In a split second, she was tossing her arms up - sending a spell to protect a younger year from a Death Eater’s last attempt at ending their lives. Her brain gave her one more spell, allowed her the time and energy to petrify the wretched Death Eater. She sent a faint, tired smile to the young boy before she stumbled. Her knees met the harsh, wet ground. It took her a moment to realize it was wet with blood, her blood, that had been sleeping from the wounds that her body had sustained. Her eyes widened as she uncontrollably watched her wand hit the ground, focusing on her left forearm. The mark. She watched as it stopped moving, as it slowly became what would have been a simple muggle tattoo. They had done it. She tried to choke back a sob as she realized that Harry, the boy she had grown up hearing vehemently about, had succeeded. He had killed the Dark Lord.

She brushed her hands slowly against the damp earth, allowing the soaked dirt to ground her to the world. She was slipping. She could feel it. She was barely holding on, barely forcing her lungs to breathe and her eyes to blink and her heart to beat. The world was blurry, churning, turning and she felt that she would fall into a blissful state of sleep at any moment - sleep she knew she would never wake up from. But she had to find Draco first. She had to say goodbye. 

She mustered up the energy, thought of all her memories with Draco, in order to produce a gleaming silver Dragon. She sent it forth into the ruins of the battlefield, knowing, hoping, and maybe even praying that it would find him, that it would get him to her in time.

The time it took for it to reach him wasn’t something she had the mental capacity to track. She just knew that one second she was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely holding her torso up right. And then in the next, Draco was screaming at her, yelling frantically for Neville - telling those that he ran past that they needed to get Neville to him. Neville knew so much more about healing than he did, and he knew that he needed the other teenager to help him.

She barely registered as he slid onto the ground next to her, pulling her body against his. She recognized that he was warm, that his body felt nice against her cooling skin. That he was pleading with her to talk to him, to wake up more, to stay with him. He was holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her, that he was pressing down on the wounds he could cover with a button up she hadn’t even realized he had taken off. The world was muffled to her, like she was listening to everything while her head had been shoved underwater.

Draco yelled out again, struggling to come up with his own patronus without his wand. His wand had been the reason that they had won the war; Harry had used it to get rid of the main threat. He couldn’t say he wished he hadn’t done it, but he wanted more than anything to have his wand so he could try to heal her in whatever ways he could. The panic that was overcoming his body was paralyzing, making everything feel red hot and tingly and making it hard to breathe. He forced it away, forced himself to try to calm down as her hand gently found its way to his moist cheek. He had started crying.

“Bel, we did it. We won. We can live our lives now. We… we can be free.” He told her, feeling more tears rush down his face. “We can be whoever we want to.”

“You…. you can. . . be a healer. Treat everyone…. Live… for us.” Her voice was quiet, her breathing wheezy and strained. “We…. did it.”

“We can both be healers. We can, well, we can finish our last year here and then work together at Saint Mungo’s and live together and just be…. us.” He choked out, softly brushing hair away from her forehead. He needed Neville to be here now, and it broke his heart further to know that they couldn’t apparate because of Dumbledore’s stupid rules.

She gave him a smile, one that looked so sad and broken and hurt. But her eyes showed no trace of her pain, of her knowledge of what would come next. They radiated pure adoration, showing him how much she truly cared for him. 

“I’ll never leave your side again, Isobel. I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere ever again. You’ll always have me to fight by you, okay? Just stay here. Don’t leave me. Fuck, don’t leave me. I know you can fight through this. We can live through this, Bel. We can. I know we can. Don’t leave me.” He stumbled over his words, a lump growing in his throat as he felt his heart slowly begin sinking in his chest. He was pleading, begging her to stay with him, to not leave him. She was the one thing he had always had, the one person who always promised to never leave him. He couldn’t live without her. He didn’t want to.

“Hey….” Her voice drew his attention, her hands slowly moving to cover his, the ones covering wounds. “Dra… It’s. . . . It’s okay. Y-you know..? Let . . . Go. And…. and. . . L-l-live..”

“Not without you, Isobel. Not without you. I have so many plans for us, so many things for us to do. You… you can’t leave. Not now.” He was shaking, trembling, trying to stop himself from crashing down, from breaking, from shattering. Trying to stop her from leaving him.

“D-Dra-Draco…,” She shuttered for a moment, struggling to keep talking, to keep conscious. “M-Malfoy. . . I. I lo-love….. you…” 

His heart plummeted as her eyes started fluttering shut, her chest making its way to a paused position. And his heart, it didn’t stop, plummeting through the seemingly endless abyss that was his stomach - shattering, collapsing, crumbling, fragmenting all at once. He couldn’t keep track of the pieces as they scattered throughout his body, his chest igniting in overwhelming pain - completely burning as the pain reached a level he had never experienced before. His lungs stalled as his world did, aching and struggling to take in air as he realized that she was gone. The one person that he had always had, that had always been there, had left him. And there wasn’t anything he could do to bring her back. No magic in their world would be able to coax her back to the land of the living. 

And so he broke, letting his world crumble down around him as his sun left. He hugged her tight to his chest. He didn’t miss how she was like a rag doll, body so willingly following the motions he did. She was gone, and the light that had constantly been in his life was diminished. She was gone. His world tumbled and turned and churned and fell apart as he let out a heart-stopping, blood-curdling scream. She had died and all he felt was waves of drowning agony washing over his entire being. All the things he had planned, all the things they were going to do, were never going to happen. And he couldn’t breathe with those thoughts running in his brain.

His head slowly moved as he felt pressure on his shoulder, breaking down even more as he saw Neville kneeling beside him with tears in his eyes. He clung to Isobel, feeling even more shock hit his body as he felt the way her skin was cooling. It was so easy for him to collapse back into Neville, to allow the fellow teenage boy to hold him and his broken world as everything disintegrated around him. In this moment, it was just him holding her mangled body and Neville trying to anchor him back to a reality he no longer wanted to be in, 

“Draco, you have to let go of her. We have to get her inside.” Neville choked out, trying to loosen the boys grip on his best friend. “We need to take care of your injuries.”

“No,” He cried, his body vibrating with panic that Isobel could have stifled by now. “No. No no no nono nonononono. . . She’s not… she’s not gone, right? Neville, she’s still here, we can bring her back. We can save her. Neville, please. I know, I know she’s not gone. She wouldn’t just leave us like this, she wouldn’t just give up…”

Neville’s heart broke alongside Draco’s as he quietly pried his grip off of Isobel, pulling the deteriorating Slytherin into him. “Draco, we can’t. You know that we can’t. There’s nothing we can do. I’m… Im sorry….”

“I didn’t get to tell her.” He blurted out, his words and voice cracking at the realization. “I didn’t get to tell her! She’ll… she’ll never know… Her last words were that she loved me and she died before I could tell her. I’ll…. I'll never get to say it to her…. S-s-she’ll never kn-kn-know….”

“She knew. Draco, she knew.” Neville gently grasped the face of the panicking boy, making him look at him. “Isobel Ville knew, without a doubt, that you love her with your whole heart. She never doubted for a second how you felt about her. She knew…” 

Draco twisted his body around and threw his arms around Neville’s shoulders, collapsing completely into the Gryffindor’s hold. And Neville clung back, holding just as tightly to him. Neville tried to stay strong for Draco, tried to hold back his own pain because he knew that Draco’s had to be millions, billions, trillions of times worse than his. He had loved her, yes, but not to the extent of level that Draco did. He had to be there to help him through it. 

The Slytherin let the brave lion hold him as he completely broke down, yearning to fall into dreams that he would never want to wake up from. Just so he could see her, be with her, even just one last time. So he could hear her laugh and see her smile and look at her, see the life radiating positively throughout her body. She shone with life in a way that no one else could, bringing light into even the darkest times of his life, offering the world her own sunshine. And it was gone. It had imploded, causing his world to collapse within itself - almost as if his own personal little galaxy had collided with the black hole that was now her life, and had been consumed by the Inky blackness. He wanted just one more moment with her. Just one more small second to tell her how he felt, to hold her and be with her and just soak in her rays one last time. His universe would never be the same without its main source of light.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THAT EVENING

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

“...It took me a whole month to track Geirmund to that fortress.” Ulfar said he continued his story, nursing a cup of mead in his hand. He was currently sitting across from Eivor at one of the tables in the longhouse, and entrancing him with a tale from his past.

His voice carried a comforting roughness in the serene bass of its tone, and even though the ambience of the feast around them was full of jovial conversation, Eivor found a unique tranquility in the intonation of Ulfar’s speech, similar to when he heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

“Did you go inside the fortress?” Eivor asked, taking a sip of his own mead.

Ulfar nodded. “Against my better judgement, yes. It was a foolish decision, though, if I’m being truthful. I was alone on that island with nothing but an axe, and the frozen wind had seeped so deep into my skin that I could hardly feel a thing. But I refused to let Geirmund escape a second time. So, I snuck into the fortress and prepared myself to kill him for good. What caught me off guard though, was how empty it was on the inside.”

The younger man shrugged. “What happened to all his men?”

Ulfar chuckled. “I asked myself the same thing. I went in there expecting an army of warriors to come charging at me, and yet, I came upon no more than the dead remains of a battlefield, littered with the bodies of Geirmund’s people.”

“Someone already killed them?”

“Indeed, but I did not know who. And back then, I didn’t care to find out. The only thing that concerned me was putting an end to Geirmund���s life. So, I carried on with my quest and searched for the little rat. He was nowhere to be found inside the fortress, but I ended up finding a trail that led outside of its walls, and towards a nearby waterfall. The footsteps he left behind all looked cluttered and erratic, almost as if he had been running from something.”

Eivor found himself intrigued. “Did you ever find him?”

A twinkle sparkled in Ulfar’s eye. “I did. After what felt like ages of searching, I finally located Geirmund at the peak of the waterfall, surrounded by nothing but ice and snow. He was sitting on his knees and quivering in the wind, staring at me with a pair of eyes that nearly bulged out of their sockets. His tongue hung lifelessly from the pits of his mouth, and a large gash separated the flesh on his throat, causing blood to dribble down the front of his clothes.”

Ulfar leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the look on Eivor’s face. “Holding him in place... was a woman unlike any I’d ever seen. She stood behind Geirmund like a giant in human form, and carried a ferocious-looking weapon in her grip. Her gaze was wild with the rush of a fresh kill, and her teeth were bared like the fangs of a wolf. She took one glance at me, and then hurled Geirmund off the edge without saying a word.” Ulfar’s lips stretched into a smile. “...That was the moment I fell in love with Linnea.”

The young man chuckled. “Wait, a woman slits a man’s throat and throws him off a waterfall... and you fall in love with her?”

Ulfar shrugged. “You wouldn’t? I suppose I’ve always had a strange taste in women. It turned out for the best though. Linnea and I were wed two years later, and I finally found true peace with the world. She tempered the fury that burned inside me, but also kept it alive. She was my guide in a storm that never seemed to fade away.”

Eivor fidgeted with the straps on one of his bracers, recalling some of his childhood memories. “I don’t remember that much about Linnea. She died when I was still so young.”

A wave of nostalgia washed over the older man. “Linnea loved you. She didn’t get the chance to know you that well, but... she knew the pain of losing her parents too. In fact, she was one of the people who encouraged Arngeir to take you in.” Ulfar let out a sorrowful sigh, turning away from Eivor. “All she wanted was to ensure that you had a better life than her. I just wish she could’ve watched you grow up.”

“How did she die anyway?” Eivor asked. “What happened to her?”

Ulfar gestured loosely at the scene around them. “...The same thing that happens to most people these days. Kjotve. He cornered her in the sea whilst she was out on a raid, and slew her in the end.”

Eivor frowned out of sympathy. “...I’m sorry.”

The other man shook his head. “Don’t be. Linnea may have departed from this realm, but she now awaits me in Valhalla, roaming the afterlife of a warrior at the Allfather’s side. I couldn’t be more proud of her.”

“And do you still miss her? Even after all this time?”

“Of course. Though, I must admit, it’s becoming harder and harder for me to remember what she was like as a person. As the years have gone by, I fear that Linnea has become no more than a memory to me. I’ve... almost forgotten how I used to interact with her. How we used to talk. If you were to put me in front of her at this very moment, I’m not sure I would know what to say.”

Ulfar cleared his throat and decided to flip the subject to Eivor, clearly feeling somewhat mournful at the mention of his wife. 

“And what about you, Eivor?” He questioned. “Have you found someone you love?”

“You mean in the same way you love Linnea? No, not yet.”

“Well, you’re still young. You still have plenty of time. And even if you don’t find someone, there’s more to do in life anyway. All that matters is that you do it with honor.”

Ulfar finished the rest of his drink, allowing the alcohol to sheathe him in warmth. “Ah, but this old man has bored you with enough of his tales for one night. Go on and enjoy the feast, little cub. We can always talk later. I’d like to be alone for now.”

Eivor nodded and stood up from the table, taking his cup of mead with him. “I understand. I think I’ll go get some fresh air for the moment. We’ll speak another time. Until then, skål.”

The other man raised his drink. “Skål, Eivor.”

Leaving Ulfar to his thoughts, the blond viking swiftly removed himself from the old warrior’s company and returned to the bustling activity of the feast, immediately finding himself in the midst of jubilant merrymaking.

All around him, Eivor saw people from both the Raven and Bear Clans singing cheerfully as the mead soothed their sea-weary bones, allowing their minds to break free from their restraints for one night.

A symphony of laughter could be heard bouncing off the wooden confines of the longhouse as their celebrations drifted off into the evening, and sitting amongst all the wondrous chaos at the front of the hall, Eivor spotted Arngeir conversing with Styrbjorn, accompanied by Thora and Randvi.

Something that seemed odd to Eivor however, was the fact that Styrbjorn’s son was nowhere to be found. He assumed that Sigurd would’ve been spending the entire day wandering around with his new betrothed, but the man had made himself scarce.

He was probably bored of circling political discussions all day long, especially considering that there was a wedding coming up in the next two weeks. And the fact that Randvi was here by herself led Eivor to believe that she might’ve felt the same way. 

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

Making his way out of the longhouse, Eivor rounded a corner at the end of the hall and stepped through an ornate archway, only to come to a screeching halt when he suddenly rammed into someone.

The mead in his cup went spilling over the rim due to the impact and splashed everywhere onto the person’s clothes, causing both of them to let out a surprised grunt. Eivor’s tankard went tumbling to the ground shortly after the bump, and once the pandemonium finally settled, Eivor found himself standing there in silence, sheepishly trying to utter out an apology.

“Shit...!” Eivor cursed, waving his hand dry. “F-Forgive me. I’m a clumsy fool. I didn’t see you--”

The young man paused abruptly, astonished by the person he had just run into.

“--there.”

Standing on the opposite side of the archway, Eivor saw a tall man dressed in an opulent gambeson gazing down at the mess that now stained his clothes, attempting to dry himself off. His long hair stood out from the blackness of the night with a distinct shade of red, and his eyes practically pierced through the shadows due to their glacial tint.

His forehead was decorated with a uniquely-shaped rune resembling the image of a tree, and on his back, Eivor spotted an impressive longsword resting proudly in its sheathe.

It was a fierce-looking weapon that he would’ve loved to wield himself someday, but for the moment, Eivor was simply praying that the man wouldn’t use it.

Pinching his shirt, the stranger pulled the soaked fabric away from his skin and gave Eivor a neutral expression, surprisingly unbothered by the incident.

“Have no fear, my friend.” He replied with a sincere smile. “They are only clothes.”

Eivor felt the sudden need to ask for his name, admittedly not recognizing him. “Are you new here? Your face doesn’t seem familiar.”

The man nodded. “I’m from the Raven Clan.”

“Ah, I see.” Eivor said in understanding. He reached a hand out. “Well, my name is Eivor. I’m from the Bear Clan. I promise, not everyone’s as clumsy as me.”

The stranger displayed a hint of hesitation, almost as if he didn’t want to share his identity.

“...Gunnar.” He finally responded, shaking Eivor’s hand in a firm grip.

“It’s good to meet you, Gunnar. Again, I apologize for the mess.”

Gunnar waved a pardoning hand. “No need to worry. I can always replace them.”

Eivor shrugged. “Well, I still feel like I should repay you somehow. Is there anything I could help you with?”

The other man thought for a moment, stroking his beard in silence.

“Well, if you insist on repaying me... perhaps, there is something you could do. What say you to a walk around the village?”

The reply took Eivor by surprise. “A... walk?”

“I know it may sound like an odd request,” Gunnar conceded, “but I fear that I haven’t been able to see as much of Bjornheimr as I’d like. I was originally on my way back to the feast after a few minutes outside, but I think I’d like to spend more time in the nature of this place. Care to join me?”

Although a tad confused by Gunnar’s unique proposition, Eivor had to admit that he was intrigued. He was definitely in need of some fresh air himself after being trapped in the longhouse for a couple hours, and he couldn’t deny that his heart skipped a few beats at the sight of his new friend.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

“Alright, Gunnar.” Eivor agreed. “I’ll walk with you.”

The man beamed gladly, beckoning his companion to follow him through the archway. 

“Wonderful. Where shall we go?”

Eivor stepped in front of him, taking the lead. “Follow me. There’s a place I can show you. It’s not too far away from the longhouse. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m right behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

Sauntering through the snow-smothered paths of Bjornheimr, Eivor accompanied Gunnar as the two of them strolled leisurely under the clear night sky, steadily distancing themselves from the boisterous sounds of carousing that bled out of the longhouse.

At the moment, there was no one else occupying the frozen roads that twisted their way throughout the town, and the only other creatures that seemed to be roaming around were a handful of hares and birds, scuttling away back to their homes.

It would’ve seemed lonely to Eivor on any other given day, but with Gunnar there to provide him some company, the man felt a celestial grip of solace holding gently onto his heart.

Eivor couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but something about his new friend seemed to put his mind at peace. A soothing aura clung onto Gunnar with every step he took, and a sense of nobility radiated from his naturally tall stature. He gazed at the auroras shimmering above them as if he had traversed the very lights himself, and despite the silence, his mere presence alone was enough to send Eivor’s head bursting with a multitude of thoughts.

Just who exactly was this man?

“May I ask you a question?” Gunnar suddenly said, pulling Eivor back to reality.

The younger man nodded, his boots crunching in the snow as they walked. “Go ahead. What’s on your mind?”

“You said your name was Eivor,” his friend recalled. “You wouldn’t happen to be Arngeir’s son, would you?”

Eivor smirked. “Ah, so he’s told you about me already. I hope he left all the bad parts out.”

Gunnar chuckled. “He uttered nothing but the highest of praises whenever your name was mentioned, I assure you. Why else do you think I asked you to join me?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Though, I must admit, you look different than I expected. There’s quite a contrast between you and your siblings.”

“I wasn’t born into the family like my sisters,” Eivor explained. “Arngeir adopted me when I was nine winters old. My parents...” his voice sank a bit, “...had just been killed when he took me in. By Kjotve.”

Gunnar sighed in empathy. “...Ah. I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eivor was quiet in response, leading the other man to feel a pang of guilt clutching him in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” Gunnar quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry. I... I should’ve known better than to bring it up.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Eivor reassured. “It’s just... strange to talk about, I suppose. I love my new family with all my heart, but... part of me wonders what would’ve happened if my parents were still here. How my life would be. It’s a question that’s hounded me for years.”

Gunnar allowed himself to open up a bit. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m also familiar with the loss of a parent.”

The younger man lifted a brow. “You are?”

“I’m afraid so. My mother succumbed to a battle wound when I was only a child. I don’t remember much of her, but I still think of her often. Sometimes, I find myself sharing the same thoughts as you.”

Eivor’s tone softened in heartache. “Then you understand.”

“Indeed,” Gunnar replied. “Many people told me that my mother was in a better place after she left this realm, but... I don’t know. Surely, the best place a mother could be is at her child’s side?”

“I’d say you’re right,” Eivor agreed. “My father gave up the chance to enter Valhalla in order to save me.”

“Then it just proves that nothing can surpass that type of love. I suppose we should be grateful.” Gunnar paused for a second, breaking out of his melancholic state. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean for this conversation to take such a grim turn. My father says I’m too forward with my thoughts sometimes.”

Eivor scoffed in amusement. “Please, be as forward as you’d like. We could use more of that nowadays. Nothing irritates me more than running around in semantic circles with someone, but I digress. We’ve reached the place I wanted to show you. Come on. It’s just up here.”

Leading Gunnar up a hill, Eivor guided his friend to the same peak where he’d been relaxing earlier that day, eager to see his reaction to the view that sat in front of it. The sun wasn’t there to illuminate all the corners of its beauty much to Eivor’s dismay, but he still wished for his companion to take in the sight.

“Here we are,” Eivor said, coming to a halt at the top of the hill. “What do you think?”

Gunnar froze in his tracks, absolutely amazed by the remarkable view.

Stretching out for miles in front of him, Gunnar saw nothing but a sea of Northern Lights gently gliding along the edge of the sky, kissing its divine darkness with a mystical green glow. Hints of magenta sat delicately atop their beams like a crown fashioned by the gods, and the colors elegantly danced with each other like waves in an ocean. 

Countless stars could be seen dotting the vast void hanging above them, and lying calmly just underneath the horizon, a plethora of waves softly caressed the saltwater tides, brushing against the shore in a rhythmic motion that seemed to hypnotize the nature around it.

It wasn’t quite as striking as when the sun’s light managed to hit its surface during the day, but Gunnar felt a transcendent sense of awe blooming his chest nonetheless. Something about the way the mountains were formed seemed to draw him closer to the sky, and for a brief moment, part of him even forgot he was still standing in Bjornheimr.

“It’s... beautiful.” He whispered in astonishment. “I’ve never seen such a clear view of the fjords before. Not even in Fornburg.”

Eivor took a seat on the bench and stretched his legs out, allowing himself to relax as he marveled at the sight in front of him.

“It’s definitely something to behold. I spend most of my mornings up here. I’ll usually come here to meditate, or to pray, or to think. It helps clear the mind. I only wish you could see it during the day.”

Gunnar sat down beside the other man, tilting his head up towards the sky.

“I can understand why you come here so often. The solitude on this hill -- it provides a feeling of peace that I’ve not experienced in ages. I wish we had more places like this back home.”

Eivor turned to his friend. “Things are stressful over in Fornburg, I take it?”

Gunnar sighed. “Very much so. Especially with Kjotve’s fortress standing so close to our shores. We have many capable warriors looking after the village while we’re gone, but... I still question our king’s decision to leave it unattended during such a dire time.”

A sudden thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “Hey, Gunnar. You’ve asked me a lot of questions so far, but do you mind if I ask you one?”

“Go ahead.”

The younger man took a second to think about how to phrase his next sentence. “...What can you tell me about your prince?”

The question seemed to catch Gunnar by surprise. “Our prince? You mean Sigurd?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard a few things about him already, but I’d like to know more. He’s going to marry my sister in two weeks, after all. I’m curious to hear what kind of a man he is.”

Gunnar struggled to think of an answer, unsure of what to say. “Well... people say he’s a great warrior.”

Eivor shook his head in disappointment. “Ah... that’s what they say about everyone these days. It means nothing to me anymore. I want to know what Sigurd’s like as a person; as a husband. Do you think he’ll treat my sister right? And with respect?”

Gunnar let out a deep breath, finally deciding to abandon the pretense he had been holding up.

“You wish to hear the truth? The truth is... Sigurd is human like everyone else. His father describes him as a ruthless warrior driven by an undying ambition, but I fear that he likes to embellish his tales sometimes.”

That piqued Eivor’s interest. “And the other people in your clan? What do they say about him?”

“Some people say he’s charismatic. Others say he’s serious, or sad, or angry.” Gunnar hung his head low in a humble manner, forming his own opinion. “...I believe he’s all four.”

“Do you consider him to be a man of honor?”

The older man paused, attempting to conceal the same hesitation he showed back in the longhouse.

“...I do. Sigurd’s judgement may not always be the best, but I’ve never known him to be a man who indulges in the suffering of others. He’s a man with many flaws, and...” Gunnar gazed downwards at his hands, fidgeting with them in timidness, “...and I just hope that others can see he does have a good heart. Even if he doesn’t know how to show it.”

Eivor took on a more serious tone, latching onto the honesty in Gunnar’s voice. “And Randvi? Do you think he’ll do right by her?”

“Yes,” he answered sincerely. “I know he held some reservations when the king first told him of this marriage, but I believe Sigurd will do everything he can to keep your sister safe. He understands the necessity of this alliance. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

The younger man found a hint of relief in that statement and finally decided to let go of the subject, allowing himself to be free of his worries for a minute. Part of him suspected that Gunnar was simply telling him what he wanted to hear, but there was an undeniable sort of candor hiding in his speech that Eivor felt naturally compelled to believe him.

Though, he couldn’t deny that he found it rather strange how Gunnar’s mood shifted so suddenly. It was only a few moments ago that the man was parading around like a king in a crowd of peasants, and yet... all it took was one mention of Sigurd’s name to shatter that facade entirely. He now carried himself like a man being tried before God, and stared at the ground in a despondent fashion.

It only made Eivor wonder who Sigurd was to Gunnar.

“Sigurd?” A third voice called through the darkness, causing Eivor and Gunnar to jolt their heads towards the source. “Sigurd! Are you there?”

Trudging his way up the hill, an unfamiliar man abruptly emerged from the shadows and came trekking through the snow, approaching Gunnar as he tried to speak through labored breathing.

“Sigurd!” He greeted upon seeing the man. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father requests your presence back at the longhouse. There’s something he wishes to speak with you about.”

Sigurd exchanged a brief glance with Eivor at the sound of his true name before quickly turning away from him, clearly unhappy that his friend had just exposed his real identity.

“Thank you, Dag.” He replied solemnly. “I’ll go see him right away.”

Dag offered no more than a formal nod in response before hurriedly taking his leave from the scene and backtracking towards the longhouse, eager to return to the warmth of the feast.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained seated beside his new friend as the younger man came to a sudden realization, finally understanding why their talk had caused “Gunnar’s” demeanor to switch so drastically.

“...You’re Sigurd?” Eivor asked, his expression blank with shock.

The prince sighed quietly in remorse, linking his hands together out of anxiety.

“I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to be deceptive, but... it’s difficult to get a genuine reaction from people when they know you’re a prince.” He shifted in his seat slightly. “In truth, Gunnar is the blacksmith of my clan. I only hid behind his name because I wished to take a break from all the political discourse for a moment. I hope I haven’t tarnished your impression of me.”

Eivor shook his head, resting a hand on his knee. “No, not at all. It must be a tiring endeavor, having to constantly pry the honesty out of people’s fake smiles. I think I can understand, being the son of a jarl myself.”

Sigurd smiled brightly, relieved that he hadn’t ruined the other man’s opinion of him. “It gladdens me to hear it. Not everyone is so willing to lend their ear as you are, Eivor. I... I enjoyed having this conversation with you.”

The prince rose to his feet, finally ready to return to his royal duties.

“Well, I suppose I should see my father before he sends out a search party. Thank you for spending the evening with me.” A bashful tint kissed the surface of Sigurd’s cheeks. “I’d... love to see you again. If you’re alright with it, that is.”

Eivor stood up from the bench, chuckling at his friend’s shyness. “I’d like that too. And I promise, I won’t spill my drink all over you again.”

The older man smirked. “Can’t wait to see my father’s reaction when I return to him soaked in mead. He’ll probably be mortified. Not exactly a good way for a prince to present himself, you see.”

Eivor shrugged humorously. “On the contrary, I’d say it’s the best.”

Sigurd laughed heartedly at that. “Well, let’s just hope he shares your point of view. I don’t fancy bearing the brunt of his wrath today. In the meantime, though...” he softened his voice, admittedly wishing he could stay a bit longer, “take care of yourself, Eivor. It was a pleasure getting to speak with you.”

The man mirrored his affection. “You too, Sigurd. I hope I get the chance to see you again soon.”

“Don’t hesitate to approach me if you do. I’d love to spend more time with you. Until then...” he shifted awkwardly in place, almost as if he had to restrain himself from giving Eivor a hug, “...farewell, my friend. And may the Allfather watch over you. These are dangerous times for all of us.”

Turning on his heel, Sigurd reluctantly parted ways with Eivor and slipped off into the night, vanishing behind the thick layers of darkness surrounding them. He had no more than a few scattered torches to fend off the shadows that threatened to encompass the path, and his limbs were somewhat stiff from having been in the cold for so long.

Despite his rather uncomfortable situation however, Sigurd left Eivor’s company feeling more fulfilled than he had for the entire day. Something about the man’s spirit seemed to harmonize with him unlike anything else, and it honestly frightened him somewhat how easily he opened up to the man.

It wasn’t normal for Sigurd to pour out the contents of his heart to a complete stranger within minutes of meeting them, and yet, part of him felt as if he had already known Eivor for his entire life. There was an indescribable force binding them together, and it only seemed to strain more the further Sigurd distanced himself from his friend.

As for Eivor, the man couldn’t help but wonder if this was the “chaos” Ingrida foretold. Initially, he assumed that no harm could come of this wedding considering the motive behind its arrangement, but now... he understood what the seeress meant. 

The war she spoke of would not originate from within the marriage, but rather from outside it. It wouldn’t be forged in the fires of bloodshed or in the heat of battle, but rather in the defiance of the Nornir’s plans.

It would start with a spark, and spread until it couldn’t be contained.

“Dammit...” Eivor muttered with a sigh, pacing around the hill. He wanted nothing more than to pursue a friendship with Sigurd, but the pragmatic side of him knew it would end in mayhem. 

Sigurd had already been promised to Randvi. He would soon be a married man. He couldn’t afford to have Eivor distracting him from the sidelines, or tempting him with something so problematic. 

It would clash directly with all the plans Styrbjorn and Arngeir had in mind for their people. They had a war to focus on with Kjotve’s men, and couldn’t bear the risk of brewing even more conflict between their clans.

But even then... Eivor knew what he felt, and he knew it would be pointless to fight against it. He had seen for himself how this kind of force could shake the very earth beneath their feet, and he assumed it would only be a matter of time until it triumphed.

Still, Eivor had no intentions of speeding along the process. He had a responsibility to carry out for his people, and right now, their safety was depending on the sanctity of this marriage. He would have to do his best to stifle the affection in his heart, and keep things on their course.

It was what the gods intended, he presumed, and the last thing he wanted was to interfere. 

[shanastoryteller]

Hi Shana! I'm a big fan of your work, especially your Gods and Monsters series! Speaking of, can you do a bit on Nike please? Only if you want to of course! Keep doing what you're doing and have an awesome day!

Styx knows Ares needs help.

Hades knows this. Charon knows this. Persephone knows this.Icarus knows this. Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Hera, Artemis and Apollo knowthis. Possibly everyone who’s not Zeus knows this.

But there’s only so much any of them can do.

Hades and the underworld is always a place that he can cometo, a place for him to rest. Ares will go to his brother’s volcanoes and soakhis aching muscles in the magma, Artemis finds him on the battlefield, Apolloplays him to sleep, Hera turns the tide of wars by whispering in the ears ofmothers and wives, but it’s not enough.

There’s so much war in the lives of mortal men, and Aresstruggles to shoulder it all, to endure it all.

Athena had helped the most. Having another war god to sharethe load helped, and it’s not like Athena is displeased with her increase infollowers. But the wars didn’t stop, or even end more quickly, and if theyweren’t all praying to Ares they were still praying for aid in war.

Styx wants to do something to help. But she’s tied to thisriver, to this place, and she doesn’t mind, exactly, except of course for whenshe does.

That’s okay. The underworld is where everyone ends up oneday, and there’s someone right here who can help her.

She’s not afraid to go into Tartarus. Her river flows even there,and unlike those who are imprisoned there, she can leave whenever she likes.But just because she’s not afraid doesn’t mean she likes it, doesn’t mean it’sa place she goes often.

The edges are lined with active volcanoes, and the light oftheir magma is all there is to see by.

Those titans who retain their sanity, their personhood, arein the center of Tartarus. Those on the edge are more monster than god. Theytend to eat every soul that they find that’s less powerful than they are, andStyx wouldn’t say she’s less powerful, but she is differently powerful, and shedoesn’t want to have to call out for Hades to save her.

She can’t die. She is the space between life and death, but beingconsumed by a titan isn’t something she wants to experience regardless.

Unfortunately for her, the titan she needs isn’t the type tohang around the center of Tartarus, not causing trouble. He’s right on theedge. He’s always looking to cause trouble.

Pallas is large even for a titan, standing at the sameheight as a giant, so big that Styx could stand in the palm of his hand. Hisskin is mostly intact, but it’s stretched taught over his bones, and his mouthlooks like it’s filled with jagged glass rather than teeth. “What does thegoddess of the river of the dead want with me?”

His breath comes out putrid and rotten, like something diedin it. Probably several somethings did. She wrinkles her nose. “I need tocreate a person, and I want your help to do it.”

She’s a child goddess, and she can’t bring about a child likeother goddesses can. She may be one of the oldest being of the universe, but itdoesn’t change her body, or her mind, doesn’t change the fact that in many waysshe’s just the age she appears.

Besides, even if she was old enough to conceive a child, Pallaswouldn’t exactly be her first choice.

Pallas laughs, sending more of his rotten breath into herface. “Why should I? Why me? You’re powerful enough to make a person all onyour own.”

“Any being I make on my own will be of me, will be a pieceof what I am, and that’s not what I need,” she tells him. “You are the titan godof warcraft, of battle campaigns. I want your power, and I want your domain.”

He leans over, his eyes as large as a wagon wheel and soonall that she can see. “Direct little thing, aren’t you? You still haven’t toldme why I should help.”

“Why not?” she counters. “A piece of you will be walking theearth once more, a reminder of you to fly in the face of all the gods who stolewhat you had. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

He makes a motion with his face that Styx thinks is supposedto be a smile. “And if I refuse, you’ll take it by force, is that right? Youcould take me on your own, and even if you couldn’t, Persephone could.”

It’s true. She wants to do this on her own, as much as shecan, because she doesn’t want anyone to try and stop her. But if she asked Persephoneor Hecate or Hades, or anyone else in the underworld, for help, then she’d getit. “It’ll work better if you give it willingly.”

Pallas laughs. “Very well, little girl. But remember this. Youasked me for something, and I gave it.”

He raises his hand to his mouth, bites his thumb, and holdsout his hand. Styx realizes what he’s doing just in time to summon a basin underneathit, to catch the couple drops of blood that falls from his thumb.

He’s so large that it’s enough to fill it, enough to fill abath with, even if just the idea of it makes her stomach roll.

Pallas has already turned away from her, lumbering in theopposite direction, and Styx peers down at the titan’s blood. It’s not red, butblack, the same consistency as oil. It’ll do.

She drags the basin to the edge of her river, not willing torisk any of her magic altering it by transporting it alongside her. She hasn’tdone this before, hasn’t done anything like this before, and she’s only goingto get one shot at this. Possibly two, if she makes a small person.

Now she’s grateful that Pallas lurks on the edges ofTartarus rather than the center. It makes hauling the basin to her river a muchshorter process. She can see other titans in the distance, nothing more thanhulking, dripping figures, but they don’t come too close. She wonders if it’sanother favor of Pallas’s, or if it’s just because they know that messing withher means messing with Hades, and their bloodlust isn’t quite that self destructive.

Once she makes it to her river, it’s easy enough to guidethe basin upstream, until she’s out of Tartarus but not quite back to the innermostcircle of the underworld where the palace it. It’s in one of the many in-betweenspaces that Hades and Hecate have made, because she wants to be someplace wheresomeone won’t accidentally stumble across her.

With a tug of her hands, the basin widens, doubling in size,and she uses her river to settle it on the bank of her river, make sure she’son the side of the mortal world. She buries her hand into the earth of hershoreline, the soil damp and dark, and drops it into the basin.

The blood bubbles and steams as the soil hits it, and itsmells just as bad as Pallas’s breath had. That almost makes her pause andreconsider what she’s doing, but instead she bends over to scoop up more soilin her hands to add to the basin. What’s she’s trying to make won’t comeeasily, after all, so there’s no reason to think that it’s gone wrong.

She keeps adding soil, and the smell gets worse, like sulpher,but she ignores it. She has to mix it together evenly, but she tries using astick and it just evaporated as soon as it touches the bubbling mixture.

Fine, then.

Styx plunges her hands in the mixture, ignoring the tinglingon her skin. Her waters are more corrosive then a titan’s blood, but not by much.She beats the mixture until it’s the right consistency, moldable but stillkeeping its shape, until it’s more clay than anything else, and when she pulls herarms out they’re irritated and tinged purple, but her skin is still intact.

Now for the hard part.

She’s no artist, she’s not Athena or Hephaestus, she doesn’thave an eye for beauty like Aphrodite.

“Helen,” she says, and she doesn’t use her powers often, butshe’s of this place more than anyone. She can command the dead just as well asCharon or Icarus.

There’s a ripple, and then Helen of Troy is standing infront of her, head tilted to the side. “Yes, my lady goddess?”

“Can you just,” she bites her lips, looks down at her hands,then says, “Can you just stand there?”

Helen raises an eyebrow, but says, “Yes, my lady goddess.”

Styx forms the clay into roughly the shape of a person, eyesflickering between her creation and Helen. She’s not talented, so she can’t usetalent to make this. Instead she pushes her will into the clay to make it intothe right shape, until she’s got a copy of Helen standing in front of her. It’snot exact, her mouth too wide and her nose too broad, her hips slimmer and legslonger, but it’s clearly a person, clearly a woman, and it will have to do.

“Thank you,” she says, and then dismisses Helen back to her homein the underworld.

There’s one more step to this, but she doesn’t look justright, there’s something missing.

“Icarus,” she sighs, because she’s exhausted and sore andwants to be done with this now, the whole idea had seemed much simpler in herhead.

She’s not summoning him, just calling out for him, but there’sno hesitation before he’s beside her, ink smudges on his hands and his hairaskew like he was running his hands through it. “I’m in the middle of,” he cutshimself off, and his eyes go wide. “Styx. What are you doing?”

She tells him, and he shifts his weight from side to side,nervous, but he doesn’t tell her that it’s a bad idea, doesn’t kick hercreation into her river. “She’s missing something,” Styx says.

Icarus rubs his arms, but looks into the basin, then says, “Ihave an idea.”

He’s not as resistant the effects of titan blood as she is,and he winces and curses as he works, and several times he has to take a breakto wait for the skin on his hands to grow back before he can continue. But hedoes continue, and even though it’s been so long since he’s done this, since hewas trapped in the labyrinth, his movements are easy and confident.

There’s no more clay left in the basin, and on her back aretwo large wings, just like the kind Icarus was wearing when he plunged into thesea.

It’s perfect.

“Now what?” he asks, and she stands in front of hercreation. This isn’t easy for her, to breathe life into something when death isall she knows, but she’s not just death. She’s the River Styx, the barrierbetween the living and the dead, and so she is both living and dying andneither. She breathes in, goes on her tiptoes, and then breathes out. The aircoming form her lungs is golden and sparking, and when it touches the figure’sface it spreads, until she’s a figure covered in liquid gold.

Then it all sinks in at once, the glow that’d been surroundingher gone, but she’s not clay anymore.

Her skin is dark and her hair is the same shade, curled andfalling to just below her chin. The lightest thing about her is her eyes, a softbrown.

Well, except her wings, of course.

They’re golden, unfurling from her back and spreading wide,and those soft eyes focus on her, and she says, “Hello, Mother.”

Icarus shifts on his feet, and it must be as strange for himto hear this as it is for her. “You know what I made you for?”

“Yes,” she says, because how can she not, when Styx pressedher intent into every inch of her.

“Go to Hera,” she says, “tell her. She’ll help you.”

Her creation nods, but Icarus coughs, and then in his handsis a short white chiton and a pair of sandals. “She may be more amendable ifyou don’t show up at her door naked, my lady.”

A smile curves around her lips and she takes the clothes fromIcarus’s hands. Styx is running her eyes over her, looking for any mistake, anysign that she was once soil and blood and not a goddess, but there’s nothing.

For her first time making a person, Styx thinks she’s done arather good job of it.

Her creation takes several steps back, snaps open her wings,and then is soaring into the air, flying away from them and towards Olympus.

Icarus is silent until she disappears from sight, then asks,“Are you going to tell Hades, or shall I?”

Styx gives him a reproachful look. “I really don’t think that’snecessary.

“I suppose,” he says, and Styx is relieved until he follows itup with, “It’s not like he won’t find out all on his own soon enough.”

She scowls and jumps in her river, where Icarus can’t followher and tell her true things she doesn’t want to hear.

~

Hera feels the moment someone dares touch her throne, andshe’s there the next moment, fury in her veins and power gathering in herhands, because whoever dares be so disrespectful of their queen is soon goingto find themselves nothing more than a pile of ash.

It’s a woman, pretty but mostly unremarkable.

Except for the huge golden wingsattached to her back.

Hera pauses, mouth open, thrown enough off kilter that thewoman has time to say, “I apologize, Queen Hera. I needed your attention.”

“You have it,” she says, and there’s power in this woman, enoughof it that if she’s here to steal herself a seat on the pantheon she just mightmanage it. How could Hera have missed this?

She steps forward, and Hera’s prepared for a threat, but shedoesn’t offer one. Instead the woman whispers in her ear, “I was created tohelp your son, my queen. But first I need you to help me.”

A goddess cannot be truly formidable, cannot consider herselfa true deity, if she doesn’t have a domain.

And she was created to have one very specific domain.

She doesn’t have the time to build it naturally, but withHera she won’t have to.

Hera will speak her name and her dominion into existence,and it shall be hers.

When she hears the details, Hera throws her head back andlaughs. There’s a grin curling her lips as Hera opens her mouth to announce herto the world.

~

Ares is exhausted. That’s not new, or unusual, but his limbsfeel heavy and his movements sluggish. A sword gets past his defenses and splitsopen his shoulder, and he doesn’t even have the energy to wince. This battlehas been raging for weeks, and he’s been fighting for all of it. It feels likeit’ll never end, and he can’t even slip away. The solders believe in him sodeeply, they call out his name in their sleep and give him offerings every hourof the day. No matter how badly he wants to rest, if only for a couple hours,he can’t, not when their belief pins him in place.

Then the battle begins to shift.

They’ve been struggling to hold this ground the whole time,but now they’re gaining it, pushing their opponents back, and Ares lifts hissword with renewed vigor. They’re winning. If they win, then maybe he canfinally rest.

“You’re welcome,” a voice whispers in his ear, but when he swingsaround, sword outstretched, there’s no one there. For some reason, his eyes aredrawn up to the nearest tall hill, and someone is standing there, glinting goldin the rising sun. He thinks it’s Apollo at first, but the silhouette is allwrong.

He’s beside her in the next moment, this goddess with darkskin and golden wings and an eager, greedy mouth. “Who are you?”

“I am who will soon replace you in the hearts of men,” shesays. “Not all of them, perhaps not even most of them, but many. Their beliefwill make me stronger, and I will answer more of their calls, and even more ofthem will flock to me, until I’m as powerful as you or Athena. They pray to you,but what they really want is me.”

“Who are you?” he repeats, and there’s something familiarabout her, something he can’t quite place but that puts him at east in spite ofwhat she’s saying.

She smiles, tilting her head up towards the sun. “I am Nike,the goddess of victory.”

Victory.

Victory is how wars end. Victory is how he gets a chance tocatch his breath.

All his exhaustion is gone, replaced by joy, and he liftsNike up by her hips, spinning as he holds her up in the air, her golden wingsgiving off a kaleidoscope of light all around them.

As soon as he touches her, he knows why she feels sofamiliar.

It seems he owes Styx a thank you. He wonders if she’ll takehim distracting Hades from whatever lecture he’s intent on giving her asgratitude enough.

Now that he’ll have the time to do it, after all.

gods and monsters series, part xxxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

[lizzy-frizzle]

Haha, jk....unless?

Taken

“Listen, what will it take to convince you I’m worthy to take you out on a date?”

A small au ra raen looks sternly up at the xaela.

The xaela responds, “You are not of the dotharl tribe, you can never be worthy.”

Lizzy, frustrated and not to let fate stop her, takes a moment, and looks around the area.

“Ok, what if I help your tribe?” she spots numerous people immediately with pained expressions, surely they need some help, “After all, you lost some people after the naadam. If the imperials were to come back and attack your tribe, you’d be wiped out.”

Sadu takes a moment and considers her words, “You would help a tribe you don’t belong to?”

“Of course, I helped the mol, I did some light chores for the oronir and buduga. I’ll gladly help the dotharl!” Lizzy finished her sentences and beams at Sadu.

Sadu thinks about this, she can’t exactly turn down help, but at the same time she doesn’t want to offer what Lizzy wants.

“Let’s see how serious you are then.” she scowls, but Lizzy doesn’t let that deter her.

Lizzy spots a dotharli warrior she helped before, “Mauci! Hey, you wanted a teacher right? Let’s go learn to fight!”

The warrior looks startled, and stammers out, “O-oh, Y-yea! OK! Sure, can you kill some beasts for me to watch your technique?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Lizzy, daggers already out, starts marching away from the khaa.

~Out in the steppe~

“Alright, you’re watching?”

Mauci shouts from a safe distance, “Yea! Go for it!”

Lizzy approaches several beasts, daggers drawn and ready to attack, the monsters take note of Lizzy’s presence and one dashes out. Lizzy jumps up, and thrusts a dagger down through the monsters skull, [Nice and easy, now the other one.]  The other one attacks in response, lashing out with a claw. Lizzy ducks under it, and slashes one of it’s legs with her left dagger. [The least you could do is give me a challenge though.] Then in the same motion jumps up again and uses the right dagger to create a handle on the creatures back. It flails it’s arms in an attempt to shake her off. [Oh, I can show off here, hold on.] Lizzy leaps off, and in the air, she uses a series of hand motions, [Raiton time!~] Suddenly a bolt of lightning strikes the creature, killing it instantly.

Lizzy lands with a flourish, dusting herself off, now slightly covered in blood.

“How was that?”

Mauci scratches his head, “Ah, your motions are certainly unfamiliar. Not to say they aren’t natural. I think I see the style though. Let’s return to the khaa, there’s a practice session later today. I’d like to test myself against the others.”

Lizzy looks over and sees smoke coming from the peaceful spring, “Is that accompanied with a bonfire?”

Mauci turns, and looks worried for a moment, “No, no it’s not.”

~Back at the Dotharl Khaa~

When Lizzy and Mauci return, the winds have picked up into a gale.

There’s numerous imperial soldiers fighting with various dotharli warriors. Lizzy wastes no time throwing daggers at the nearest imperial soldiers, dispatching them immediately. With speed Mauci can hardly believe, Lizzy seemingly teleports within range of 3 other soldiers and just as fast the group is engulfed in a fireball, he feels the intense heat from at least 20 yalms away. When the smoke clears, Lizzy is holding an imperial soldier by the collar. The scowl that reads on her is unmistakable through the crimson dripping down her face.

“Where is she.”

The soldier’s eyes are closed, the body is limp.

[Ugh, perhaps that was too much.]

Lizzy scans the area a bit, anything, a sign, a hope. Anything.

[She should be here, she wouldn’t have run away from the fighting. But where.]

A couple more troops fighting with dotharl are nearby, Lizzy runs over and takes them out, still looking for Sadu.

[Even if she was killed, I’d be able to see her.]

Panic starts to pool inside of Lizzy. Then, she spots them. The imperials with a group of hostages, Sadu one of them.

“No..” Lizzy wants to run after them, but there’s too many innocent tribe people in danger right now.

[I can always ask Thancred for help tracking the hostages, I have to save the people in immediate danger now.]

~Later that night~

“Thancred?”

“Yes? What, pray tell, would the warrior of light want with me at this hour?”

“They took Sadu and some other Dotharli people.”

“Work then. Who took them?”

“Garleans.”

“Ah, serious work then. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Please hurry.” Lizzy couldn’t hide the slight worry in her voice.

“Oh? Is that the Fearsome Warrior of Light AND Darkness with some fear in her voice?”

“Shut it. I still haven’t kneecapped you for making fun of Heliox.”

“Very well, I’ll be off.”

With that Thancred disappears into the night. Lizzy waits with baited breath.

~The Next Day~

Lizzy’s linkshell wakes her up

“Yo, what’s-” Lizzy yawns, “-up?”

“It’s like noon, why are you asleep?”

Lizzy shoots up in bed, “Thancred, where are they?”

“Oh I have your attention now?”

“Thancred.”

“Ok, ok, don’t tear my head off. They’re just being held in a nearby imperial prison, not a huge deal. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re worrying about them, it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone important there.”

“I’m going to go rescue them.”

“OH WAIT YOU-”

Lizzy hangs up on him. Lizzy gets out of the tent, and looks at the Khaa. The smouldering remains where the fires burned made her remember the battlefield at Ghimlyt Dark. The smell of imperial gunpowder, and the view of bloodsoaked sand.

[It’s ok. You can save her, and there weren’t any casualties on the dotharli end.]

Lizzy sighed, and shook her head free of the memories. She whistles for a yol and without a word she’s off.

~~

Lizzy was never one for a plan when her emotions played a large factor. Luckily, being the warrior of light means not many can actually cause enough trouble to halt her.

That being said. Not every prison can just be brute force’d into letting her have her way.

[Ok, maybe this should be a more stealth based mission]

Lizzy peers out across the layers of soldiers.

[Lasagna Soldiers]

Lizzy let out a small chuckle at her thought.

[So, get in, free Sadu and any other dotharl’s, get out, without being seen. Easy. Just like Oboro always tries to convince me. Stay hidden.]

Lizzy begins infiltration. Staying hidden while possible. Ducks down a hallway, dodges a patrol group.

[All in all, this is going better than most cases.]

Just then, she turned a corner, and two roaming soldiers nearly collided into her. She jumps out of reflex and somehow managed to avoid both of them.

Lizzy lets out an audible sigh.

“What? Hard day?” one says.

[Oops.]

The other responds, “Hm? No? Why’d you ask?”

The first guard turns around, and starts looking as if he could see Lizzy.

“I thought I heard a sigh. It wasn’t you?”

They draw their weapons.

[This isn’t great.]

Lizzy unsheathes her daggers.

[I tried, oboro, please don’t be mad.]

She breaks hidden, and lunges towards both guards.

[If I can just kill them both before they say anything, maybe it’ll be fine]

A flurry of daggers, and two thuds from the bodies hitting the floor.

[Nice, ok, back to]

An alarm starts blaring.

[Oh. Ok, well, running time now.]

Turns a corner, another one, a third corner.

[HOW MANY CORNERS ARE IN THIS PLACE.]

She turns another corner and slams into a door, knocking it open and nearly off its hinges. Lizzy spots the dark blue skin and black scales.

[Dotharli people?]

Lizzy bolts to the cell.

“Hey, is this everyone?” she asks.

Scanning quickly, her heart drops. Sadu isn’t here.

~~

She spits at the guard inches from her face.

He wipes the spit off his mask, and repeats the question.

“So, are there any secrets in the Steppe? Why was the Warrior of Light there?”

No response.

“Very well, we can continue doing this until your spirit gives up.”

The guard takes an imperial device, and touches it against her skin, sending electricity through her body, and burns across the skin where the metal touched.

“If you think I’m afraid to die, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

The guard takes the device off her.

“Clearly.”

He wipes it clean and puts it back on the trolley.

“Well, perhaps you care more about your fellow savages.”

Suddenly an alarm starts blaring.

“An intruder?”

Sadu’s heart races slightly.

[Could it be? Did that foolish woman follow us?]

The guard speaks into his radio, “Who’s the intruder?”

The other side isn’t heard, but Sadu could feel it. No one else could have found them.

“I see, well, stop her immediately.”

[Her, so it is her.]

“I don’t care if she’s the Warrior of Light, she bleeds like anyone else!” the guard turns his focus back to Sadu, “Well, I must have someone mighty important to merit a rescue from the dreaded Warrior of Light herself.”

Sadu remains quiet.

“You are proving to be very difficult. I don’t tolerate difficult people. If you are worth something I can still utilize you.” he pulled his gunsword out and aimed it right at Sadu, “But maybe you aren’t worth the trouble.”

An explosion shakes the facility. The guard looks towards the door, even through the mask Sadu can tell he’s worried.

Another explosion, this one on the opposite side.

“Is it more than just one intruder?” the guard says into his radio.

Sadu is unsure if he gets a response or not, but the guard points the gunsword at her again.

“Ok, I don’t have time for you anymore, pray to whatever god you believe in and be prepared to meet them.”

The door slams open, and is shortly followed by a lightning bolt aimed directly at the guard.

A shot rings out.

~~

“Ok, listen, I’m going to create a diversion, a big one. Can you take these bombs and plant them near the exit? Just throw em anywhere, hit the button, and run. You’ll have a minute or two to get away.”

Lizzy hands a pouch of bombs to one of the xaela she recognized from the Naadam, and gives the group directions out of the base.

“Trust me, they’ll be more focused on me, I promise.”

Lizzy bolts off down the corridor, leaving the handful of xaela to escape.

[Ok, time to find the most explosive room in the building. They keep bombs around here somewhere, right?]

Running as fast as her legs will carry her, she covers numerous hallways in a handful of moments. Hoping to catch some indication of something to make a big boom.

More hallways.

[I’m wasting time, surely there must be something I can use.]

Then she found it.

[Well, it’s not bombs…]

She walks into a room storing multiple energy tanks.

[I was never one for subtlety to be honest.]

Lizzy prepares her shadeshift.

An explosion goes off across the prison.

[That sounds like where I told the Dotharli people to go. Alright then.]

Lizzy takes a deep breath, and braces herself for impact.

[Chi. Ten.]

An explosion across the room erupts, engulfing the entire room in flames, followed by several consecutive explosions, and launching Lizzy backwards down the hall.

“Is it more than one intruder?” a muffled voice behind the door next to Lizzy rings out.

[Well, let’s see.]

Lizzy charges at the door with her shoulder.

[Ten-Chi.]

As the door opens, she spots an imperial soldier with their gun aimed at Sadu.

[Fuck no.]

The Raiton sails through the air, hitting the soldier square in the chest.

A shot rings out.

The lighting spun the guard, the gun was aimed at Lizzy.

She begins to feel a stabbing pain in her side.

[This is fine.]

Lizzy moves over to Sadu, “Good evening princess, care to be rescued?”

The blood starts to leak out of Lizzy, the red staining the otherwise blue outfit.

“I’m not a princess.” Sadu says, noticing the red, “You’re hit.”

Lizzy let’s out a fake chuckle, “Listen, even you have to admit that was a pretty good entrance.”

Sadu, growing irritated, “Untie me so we can get out of here, and get you some help.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, loss of blood. Hard to focus.”

Lizzy uses her daggers to effortlessly cut through the binds.

Sadu grabs Lizzy, and begins to half-carry her.

“How do we get out? Sadu asks.

“Ah, I didn’t think that far ahead to be honest. Should just go down a couple dozen halls, right?”

Sadu groans.

[Of course she didn’t think of a way out. How did this woman beat us at the Naadam.]

~~Dotharl Khaa~~

“So, Lizzy is going to be ok, right?” Sadu asks, impatiently.

Thancred looks at Lizzy laying in a cot in one of the xaela huts, “Yea, I’m sure she will, it’ll take more than a single garlean bullet to take her out.”

Sadu sighs with relief.

Catching herself, “It’d be a shame to lose such a fierce warrior so soon. After all.”

Thancred looks at her, trying to measure her feelings.

He opens his mouth, but decides to shut it, and walks away.

As he leaves, Sadu goes inside, and sits next to Lizzy’s cot.

After all, she shouldn’t be alone right now. That’s all.

“Oh, hi Sadu.”

She jumps, “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am,” Lizzy says defensively.

“What, no sarcastic remark?”

Lizzy waits a beat, “No, not this time.” she pauses. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

[iwrestledayaoguaionce]

A lil 3 am drabble (jk it's an excerpt from chapter 9 of American Bliss) because I feel like it. Cry with me. (I'm putting it under a cut bc it isn't wholesome)

"Let me go," Sadie demanded through a frenzy of tears. She yanked as hard as she could, but every time she moved, he gripped her wrist tighter. "Julien, I said let me go."

"I keep telling you," he said, grabbing her wrist and holding it tight so she couldn't run, "it matters. It matters because you want it to - I want it to - and that's good enough."

"I won't. I can't." Admittedly, he felt a twinge of guilt since he could've been hurting her, but he was only doing what he thought he could to help. Ever since he'd come home, she'd had an episode once a week - at least. He thought they'd stop once Shaun was here, but he couldn't be so lucky. Not even with her, not ever.

It made sense, however, and he couldn't blame her. Never in his life would he hold her emotions against her. His disease, he'd called it, wasn't her fault; it was the opposite, she had tried tirelessly to prevent him from returning to the battlefield and lost the argument many times. She would never tell him that this was a result of it, would never wish to cause him to feel like her behavior was his fault. Their mutual habit of being unable to assign blame to one another had begun as an innocent thing; they had each always taken responsibility for their own actions, as one should. But it had snowballed into something hideous, toxic with the purest intention. What neither of them realized was that there was a way to say "yes, your actions are detrimental to me" without it being accusatory, but they'd feared it coming off wrong so much that they skipped straight past communication and landed in turmoil. They loved one another so deeply that it only made it sting a little worse. The roots of this inability to calm down and talk certain things outstretched past when they'd met and were embedded in how they had interacted with their mothers growing up. The fighting cost them quality time and energy whenever it occurred, and now, with a baby in the house, crying could be heard in the distance.

"Sadie, please, listen to yourself," he begged, still keeping his hold on her arm. "You're telling me you're going to leave, that I'll never see you again, but you hear that, yes? Come with me, Shaun is crying for you. You can leave me if you want, but he needs his mama."

"Where I'm going, it won't matter," she resisted. She continued to try and pry his hand off of her wrist, grunting and straining.

"And where, pray tell, are you going?"

He was so calm, unflinching even. This only pushed her farther, made her want to bite his hand. She knew why. They both knew why.

"I said let go. I'm gonna call the police, Julien, so help me-"

"Then call them. But I promise you, they won't just let you do what you're trying to do. You can reach the phone, or have Codsworth-"

"How may I be of assistance, sir?"

"Not now, Codsworth!"

"Does mum require medical assistance? You know, mum, you're looking a little out of sorts-"

She stopped fighting and blinked, her eyes flickering toward the robot butler. For a moment she was perfectly still, gawking at him. Julien tried to ignore his heart racing and continue to appear resolute, glancing back and forth between them, unsure of what would happen next. Codsworth had never interrupted one of her episodes, only offered her reassurance and assistance when they had ended and she came down like the sea after a turbulent storm.

Uncertainty with how she would react terrified Julien, but he had a small glimmer of hope that she might actually listen to Codsworth, realize how erratic she'd been acting and call the doctor in the morning. She instead laughed, manically, as if this were a Saturday morning superhero cartoon and she had been cast as an undefeatable villain. She laughed with her head thrown back, cackling, and when he released his grip, she didn't flee. It wasn't a trick. Her hands flew to her face and she wiped tears away, beginning to sob as she laughed. She tipped her head back down and backed away, slumped against the front door and slid her back down it until she was sitting. Julien watched her bring her knees to her chest and curl into a ball, bury her head and sob.

Instead of saying another word and setting her off again, he crouched next to her and sighed. His fingers dragged along her scalp, they combed through her long brown hair and he just sat. When she was finally ready to look at him again, he smiled and stole her hand. Codsworth had long left the room, focusing on the baby until they could handle him.

"I'm not leaving you," he mumbled. "You can't get rid of me so easily."

"I know," she sniffed. Their eyes met, hers red and puffy from crying. "But Julien...we can't pretend that we're fine. I wish you'd just get help."

He said nothing.

"Exactly. You won't."

"Sadie, baby, I don't know how to explain how this works to you-"

"I know you don't. I know you don't. But it needs to end."

"It won't last forever, I promise-"

"We won't last forever. But, I mean...this will end, too, just like everything else in the world - so why bother?"

"Darling-"

"This will end," she looked away and her eyes fell back to the floor. "This will end, like everything else."

[simpingforthisonedeer]

Chapter 7: Silver

Summary: tw: non-graphic suicide attempt but other than that, the chapter is completely sfw. The final battle with the diamond kingdom.

Notes:

- Today's chapter is shorter than usual bc im working on making the other chapters sfw so rewriting scenes, deleting them, making some stuff into innuendo etc so more people could read.

- I like to write bit more for the side characters because everyone's the main character of their story but they are relevant to the plot trust me ;)

- Be sure to check the notes at the end <3

Aika danced between spells aimed at visible enemies as she strolled towards Julius’ general direction. She took mental notes of his general attitude on the battlefield as she fiddled with her amulet, the same one she used in the Headquarters to move around unnoticed. The Amulet of Ignorance, the single most expensive magic relic Aika possessed, didn’t make her invisible, but it rather made everyone ignore her presence. If anyone were to look in her general direction, their eyes would glaze over and their gaze would move elsewhere.

Her own gaze landed on Julius’ figure, whipping around too quickly for ordinary eyes to track, but her eyes and brain processed images faster than any other man, except perhaps the only other Time Mage. She focused on observing his technique as she ignored the pangs in her heart. It’s been a week but he was still fresh on her mind.

Aika wondered if he would end up being one of her regrets.

She sighed heavily and put her feelings aside for the moment.

Julius may seem like all sunshine and smiles, but on the battlefield, he was vicious as he made split-second decisions and cut down enemies with efficiency. Clouds of enemies-turned-dust flew around him like an Augury, warning any and all of their fate if they foolishly chose to fight him. She noticed how he used the Chronostasis over a large area and immobilized enemies, but the spell only expanded so far if it touched someone first.

“He could improve that technique with mana method,” Aika thought as she moved her attention over to Evan and Jayce who insisted on fighting. Evan with his Hellfire Magic was raining literal hellfire on the enemy troops while Jayce with his peculiar Shape Magic deftly changed the terrain to his advantage as he tested out his newfound swordsmanship. Aika’s lips quirked up in pride.

He insisted she teach him herself but she was reluctant at first because as much as he was a genius, he was incredibly lazy. But Aika caved into his puppy-dog eyes and taught him the basics but he quickly developed his own style with the foundational knowledge and wielded his strangely-shaped sword quite well. He was no match for Aika due to her decades of experience but most mages these days don’t know how to counter swords well so he was pretty deadly on the battlefield.

Aika sidestepped a falling body as she winced at the mage in pity. It was an enemy mage, but she muttered a little prayer nonetheless to ensure his soul would rest in peace. Perhaps she should start praying after battle again. She used to sing a hymn in her fighting days to ensure the battlefield wouldn’t be tainted by restless souls and she could deign to do it again.

Right as she came to a decision about which prayer to use, an arrow struck her chest, more specifically her precious amulet. She stared in shock at the archer who had even detected her in the sea of mana. The masked archer lowered their bow and looked at Aika almost tauntingly before disappearing behind a hoard of mages charging at each other.

She wanted to go after them, but her first priority was to dodge the mages who turned on her because a mysterious woman just materialized out of thin air. She didn’t even have any identifiers such as a crest or a uniform, so as far as everyone is concerned, she was their enemy. She was glad that her scarf at least covered the bottom half of her face.

Aika cursed when she noticed from the corner of her eye that Evan had begun his ultimate spell. 

Another reason why she was observing today’s battle was to contain the range of Evan’s spell, “Hell on Earth,” but this was not the time. She tucked the broken amulet and arrow into her cloak pocket and shot up into the sky with a sigh. She loved her amulet, but she could afford to mourn later.

Aika threw her hood over her head until it covered her eyes and spread her biggest Mana Zone spell—Queen’s Domain—until it encompassed the whole battlefield. She peeled off her black leather gloves, which suppressed her mana, and unleashed her aura of forbidden magic and smirked at the poor bastard who fell out of the sky when he neared her on his broom. The three horns that sprouted from her forehead lifted the cloak and her vision zoomed in on the growing sphere of blue flames, swelling and stopping at the impossible size of 100 meters wide in the distance.

Everyone on the battlefield froze as they stared in dumbfounded awe at the second Sun in the sky. The silence was deafening, but it only served to make the ringing in Aika’s ears louder as she concentrated on immersing her mana into the sphere and ousting Evan’s out.

Mana existed on a different plane, another realm if you will, but it had the special ability to affect other realms while staying in its own. But the opposite isn’t allowed. Controlling mana that wasn’t your own or in a way that wasn’t permitted by your magic was forbidden by the Gods themselves. In fact, interfering with other realms outside the limitations of your own given magic is forbidden magic.

Aika didn’t believe in limitations. She knew her potential was endless, as characterized by her grimoire. She sacrificed parts of herself to break through the ceiling above her, so Gods be damned. They can’t stop her.

A feral grin spread across her face as the Blue Sun slowly began moving as per her command. She controlled her breathing as she controlled two large spells simultaneously. One spell moved the flames, the other was Queen’s Domain, which combined with a sliver of forbidden magic, froze enemies in place at the sheer amount of fear coursing through their veins. She moved closer to the Diamond troops that were about to be annihilated for better control.

This magic brought out the worst in her, and right now, it relished in the screams that filled the air as the army in front of her lit up in flames. Aika ignored the ugly feeling and concentrated on her breathing again as she prayed. They even sounded like the damned.

Aika thought the battle had ended at the horrific scene she had created, but the Spade Kingdom joined the fray, forcing Master Raymond, the Wizard King himself, to join as well. After she had made sure Evan was safely off the field to recuperate his mana, she stayed high in the sky, away from most of the spells as she continued to observe Julius while keeping an eye out for the assassin who broke her precious amulet. Her heart nearly stopped when giant tree roots whipped around her to strike at the ground. How in the world was she supposed to expect roots to sprout from the sky?

As she maneuvered around them, she watched as the eye-catching hair of the Captain of the Silver Eagles fluttered in the distance. To her absolute shock, the man stayed completely still right before spikes of hard rock impaled him. Aika shot towards him with a bone-rattling bang and caught him right before he collapsed. A young man, that was the mirror image of Captain Silva, raised his spears of fluid metal at her, ready to strike but she froze him where he stood with a stasis spell of hers.

“Miss Tolliver?” Lord Silva breathed as blood dribbled down his chin. Aika’s weg vanished as worry and empathy filled her. She quickly threw up shields around them as she rewound the time until the spikes disappeared back into the ground.

“Yes, It’s me. Everything’s going to be fine. I can heal you—”

“No!” he exclaimed, then let out a violent cough. She stared at him in horror at the implication of his words and actions. “I don’t want to be healed,” he whispered, confirming her suspicions.

Aika began closing his wounds at a slow pace, slow enough so he wouldn’t notice.

“Why?” she asked mutely.

To her absolute shock, his stoic face crumpled as tears streamed like molten silver down his cheeks.

“I just want to see her again,” he choked out. He just wanted to see Acier again. 

His tears and the sheer heartbreak in words made her heart clench. Aika steeled her resolve. She wasn’t going to let him do it no matter his reasons.

“No life is worth more than your own,” she spat, caught up in her own emotions. His attempt to take his own life brought back memories she would rather forget.

The Captain slackened in her hold, unable to retort. She instantly healed his wounds and watched as the blood receded. Aika picked him up with a sigh as he quickly lost consciousness at the abrupt changes to his body. Healing fatal wounds in this manner wasn’t recommended but it was necessary during battle.

“Is he alright?” Julius’ voice piped up out of nowhere. Her heart leapt to her throat. She turned around and there he was, a few meters away, brows furrowed, and eyes full of worry before they widened in surprise when he realized who he was talking to.

“Aika…” 

The roar of the battle and the clanging in her head deafened as she took in his appearance. Wild hair, stormy eyes, blood-smeared cheeks and singed robes that whipped around in tandem to spells being hurled behind him. 

She felt a sort of burning betrayal as she cursed her foolish heart because only one thought echoed in her mind:

He was breathtaking.

“Aika!” He exclaimed in alarm.

Julius was suddenly up in her space, forearm pressed against her collarbone as he pushed her aside. He stopped a flaming spear aimed at her back in its tracks as he barked,

“She’s an ally! Stand down!”

The Crimson Lion magic knight lowered his grimoire and looked helplessly at the frozen man next to him.

“Aika, please undo your spell on Vice Captain Nozel,” he commanded softly as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

Her spell fell as per his request and Nozel stumbled into an upright position, an indignant expression strewn across his face as he turned to Aika.

“Who are you? ” he asked shakely, and cleared his throat with an embarrassed flush.

“She is an ally, ” Julius asserted firmly. “We’ll take the Captain to the medical tent and you continue leading your men, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Nozel threw one last look at Aika before he ordered his men to focus on the enemy.

Julius turned to her with a grim face. “I will take us to the tent, if you are ready.” She nodded curtly. He laid an arm on her shoulder and she was whisked away, her vision adjusting to find that she was facing the heavy drapery of the medical tent.

A few healing mages around them jumped in alarm but quickly realized the injured man in Aika’s arms. She was quickly led to an empty bed with privacy curtains and she laid Captain Silva on it carefully as the healers took over and diagnosed him.

She explained his injuries and that she healed him but they wanted to be sure just in case.

Aika stepped back to let them do their thing and looked around to find Julius worryingly examining Silva’s prone form. He looked up and their eyes met.

Strangely enough, there wasn’t a shred of awkwardness in their gaze, but an intimacy of silent understanding, a mutual decision to set their yearning aside in the face of this war.

They both smiled in relief, almost in unison. He cocked his head at her.

“No hard feelings?” He mouthed. Aika nodded back, her heart lighter.

“No hard feelings.”

“I have to go,” he announced quietly as he bowed his head. She nodded again, her mood souring once more as she stared at the unconscious man next to her. She watched his back as he moved to leave the tent from the corner of her eye. She clenched her fist as indecision rocked within her, but she finally gave in to her first instinct.

“Be careful,” Aika called out. Julius whipped around in surprise and a grin lit up his face.

“Of course!” he replied eagerly, happy that she was actually speaking to him. “See you around!” And he vanished.

His enthusiasm brought a smile to her face but her mood was quickly interrupted by the sound of crashing waves as the ground shook. She braced herself against the metal railing of the bed’s headboard as she let out a heavy sigh.

That must be her Uncle Raymond with his grandiose water spells that could wipe out armies. She just hoped he wouldn’t use his mana zone spell that could choke people. That spell horrified even her of all people.

She shrugged off her backpack which stayed secure under her cloak and whipped out a chair. She plopped onto it wearily and glared at the silver-haired man next to her as if he was the reason for all her problems.

Aika slipped her gloves back on and rubbed her face with a groan as memories of friends and fellow comrades who have stood still and let themselves be ripped apart flashed in her mind’s eye.

She knew she shouldn’t care. He was not a friend of hers. In fact, he was quite rude to her, but this needless worry and giving into the empathy reminded that after all these years that she wasn’t corrupted, that she was still alive, that she was still human.

Aika watched with a proud grin as one last final move from Julius concluded the battle. Cheers erupted across the whole field when the Magic Knights realized their victory.

The Captains, with the exception of Silva, and the Wizard King gathered with the Diamond Kingdom’s Shining Generals to negotiate the terms of surrender. She desperately wanted to eavesdrop on their discussion but General Whomalt was still alive by the end of this battle and Aika promised him that the next time she saw him, he would be dead.

She made her way back to the medical tent and Silva was already up and about. He sat up on his bed and stared at his blanket-covered lap as emotions raced across his face. She silently strode over to her chair by his bed and he made no indication that he noticed her but Aika knew he did. He was most likely embarrassed by his moment of vulnerability in front of a near-stranger but she didn’t particularly mind it.

She sat down patiently and waited for him to speak but they just sat in silence.

“We won,” Aika informed in a subdued tone.

He grunted. His response irked her but she held her cool.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” She assured him kindly.

“See that you don’t,” he snapped at her. She held her tongue but couldn’t help but sneer at his tone. This was exactly why she didn’t work with the Magic Knights as closely. Most of them she had observed were quite rude and had a superiority complex. His attitude was only making her miss her amulet even more.

“Arian!” A familiar voice exclaimed as the tent flaps flew open. It was her Uncle. Mages and injured Magic Knights around her suddenly scrambled to attention as the Wizard King homed in on the silver-haired Captain.

“Sir,” the embarrassed Captain gritted out. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment paper as Aika and Raymond nodded at each other in acknowledgement. She would need to tell her uncle at the very least so she can make sure that he talked to someone.

“Are you alright, Arian?” The Praying Mantis Captain boomed as he walked right in after the Wizard King. He pointedly ignored him and the other Captains as they voiced their concerns as well. He tossed his blanket aside and stood up as he handed the paper to her uncle.

“My resignation, Raymond.”

“What?!” His eyes darted between Silva’s cool face and the crumpled paper. “But the war just ended! You have still got loose ends to tie up before the resignation.”

He adjusted his uniform gruffly as he said, “I’ll let the Vice Captain take care of it.” He pushed past the captains, eager to leave. “He is more than capable.” He turned and looked back one last time. “But now, I must say my goodbyes to the men that served me.”

“What's the hurry, Arian?!”

Raymond’s question was followed by silence as Silva left. Everyone watched tensely at the bizarre exchange that raised more questions than anything.

“Well,” the Blue Rose Captain began as she cleared her throat. “We did say that we were going to resign right after the battle.” Her sharp eyes turned to the Wizard King. “I will hand mine in, tonight.”

All Captains except one echoed her sentiments and Raymond’s shoulders fell as his age seemed to catch up to him.

“And I would be the last to resign,” he sighed. He looked up at Julius and everyone’s attention turned to the Wizard King to-be. “I hope you are ready, Julius.”

The young Captain stood up straighter, his eyes eager and attentive for the responsibility that will soon be thrust upon him. 

“Though, I hope you do like paperwork,” Raymond laughed, knowing very well he doesn’t. “Because there’s going to be three times more work.”

All formality melted away as Julius groaned at the thought and the Captains laughed.

Aika released the breath she didn’t she realized she was holding. She just witnessed history firsthand, yet again, but it all felt so new to her. She touched her chest. 

Oh.

It wasn’t newness, no. She had witnessed far too much to feel as if anything was new. It was actually the gratitude that set her heart racing.

Notes:

- In the future, Julius will get character development, because as lovely as he is as a person, he can't be a centrist as a leader if he wants to create real change. - In this fic, you'll see him be more proactive with the kingdom's problems and actually use his power outside the Magic Knights. - I'm not only planning development for his character but also his powers. As I have heavily implied throughout my fic, Julius is not human here and we will see that more in the future as the secrets unravel. - I'd personally recommend reading the wiki page on the tree of sephiroth and even better, catch up with the manga. But you don't have to, bc by the time i get to the manga spoilers part of my fic, the anime will prolly be there(fingers crossed).

[iturbide]

Character Breakdown! - Marianne 💖 and Dorothea

MY GIRLS

How do I feel about this character?

I love her.  I love this gentle girl who has gone through so much pain and hardship, who’s lost her parents to what she believes is a curse that she shares, who is afraid of herself as much as she fears the hatred of those around her.  I can’t tell you how many times I started talking to my screen while going through her supports, because you’re wrong Marianne you do deserve happiness you are good at things I believe in you even if you don’t believe in yourself.  She’s very relatable, honestly, with her shyness coupled with self-deprecation as a defense mechanism to keep people away, not to mention the deep depression; again, mental health issues are generally a taboo thing in media, so I was more than a little shocked when I got her A support and realized just what she’d been praying so fervently to the Goddess for.  But I also love that about her: she held strong, and she made it through to a better place, which is such a wonderfully hopeful story for anyone with similar struggles, showing that things can get better if you just hold on.  

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

I have an answer this time and technically I spoiled it in an earlier character breakdown.  Because it’s Dimitri.  I love these two broken people and the idea of them managing to support each other, using one another as an anchor to keep from falling further and slowly pulling themselves back out of the lonely places they’ve fallen, both with the other’s help and with the other in mind.  I think they would make a wonderful pair since they understand the other’s struggles so deeply, and I’m aiming for their paired endcard in my AM run in progress.

Also, not gonna lie, I do low-key ship her with Hilda because cotton candy girlfriends.  I just think they’re sweet and I love how Marianne laughs in their A support, how bright and open and cheerful it sounds.  It just does my heart good.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Marianne deserves to have so many friends.  Aside from Claude (who is friends with just about everyone, this is non-negotiable with me), I really love her supports with Ignatz, and how he’s so gentle in coaxing her out of her shell and reassuring her that he enjoys sharing time with her.  They’re sweet, and I love their friendship dearly.  Also, surprisingly, Lorenz is another one who comes to mind; their A support was one of those that hit me right in the heart, and the fact that he’s so conscious of her feelings and urges her not to force herself to talk about things that upset her makes me think they would be very close friends, with Lorenz looking out for her and even running casual interference for her when she gets overwhelmed before inviting her to tea so she can calm down.

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Okay so I know that Fandom loves the idea that Marianne is Berkut and Rinea’s kid.  And my unpopular opinion is that that is a terrible, terrible thing to do to her.  

It’s not that I don’t find the idea appealing, because in all honesty, I do.  The notion that Berkut and Rinea, or some reinarnations of them, had another chance in Fodlan and fell in love and had a daughter is delightful, and I would love to see it.  But let’s not forget that canonically, Marianne’s parents disappeared and are presumed dead, deeply traumatizing her and leaving her terrified of her own Brand and the monster she might become.  After what happened with Berkut and Rinea in Valentia, having them meet a fate that scars their daughter so utterly in another land and another life is utterly devastating, so I would much, much rather have her parents be anyone else than see these lives destroyed again and in the process destroy their child’s peace of mind.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

Okay so this is maybe a weird one but I wish she could appear in every route even if you don’t recruit her.  Because I obsessively collect every student I can recruit in my own runs, I’ve had to do a fairly substantial amount of digging for fic writing purposes, but everywhere I look for non-VW runs...you don’t see Marianne.  She doesn’t appear at Gronder in AM, nor does she appear at Myrddin or Derdriu in CF.  And while it’s entirely possible that her absence has a benign cause...well, if you’ve read her Supports, there’s a far more likely, far more dire explanation -- and that thought breaks my heart like little else.  So I wish she could have appeared somewhere over the course of non-VW routes, just so that we can see she made it through her depression and found something to cling to.  Even if it does open up the possibility that she might fall on the battlefield, the idea that she might have fallen outside it where no one could see or know hurts somehow worse.

and of course the diva herself

How do I feel about this character?

Glorious.  Stunning.  Inspired.  Dorothea is a phenomenal character, someone who I endlessly enjoy seeing and talking to through the game.  She’s cultivated this perfect image of herself for the monastery to see, but as you get to know her the truth is so heartfelt: while she comes across as just a girl looking to find a husband during her time at Garreg Mach, she came from nothing, enduring abuse during her life on the streets of Enbarr before she was found by chance and brought into the Mittelfrank Opera Company; she’s terrified of going back to that when her looks and her voice no longer pass muster, and she’s looking out for her future with a keen and critical eye, even though she has no real expectations of finding love through it.  And this can all come out before the timeskip, no less: afterward it’s...honestly a little heartbreaking, to see how deeply the war has affected her.  

While Marianne has found something to fight for and managed to get her depression in check, Dorothea has gone in the opposite direction, seeming to succumb to depression instead.  The war has had a dire effect on her mentality, such that she feels it’s stripped her of all but the ability to survive (”only thorns left on this rose,”) and so many of her lines and comments just feel bleak and lost.  There aren’t that many characters in 3H who really embody the impact that war can have on people, because so many of the characters are stepping up specifically to fight for what they believe in and holding strong to their resolve for the sake of their loved ones and their homes.  Dorothea is the standout example of someone who’s fighting just to make this all stop, because she can’t take it anymore.  The war affects her so deeply, in ways that it doesn’t seem to hit other students, and I end up feeling like she more than anyone is at risk in the War Phase because of it. 

Her character is just very raw and very powerful in surprising ways and I love her.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

hhhhhh

it’s Lorenz okay

It’s always been Lorenz and you know what I’m already under the cut so just skip to the next header if you don’t want to read my long rambling explanation of where the fuck this comes from.

So in my first playthrough (Golden Deer forever), I spent...roughly 170 hours getting to the end.  This is almost entirely because I played on Normal mode and did an endless number of auxiliary battles grinding supports between all the characters -- and since I did, in fact, go the extra mile of recruiting every single student and professor I could in my first playthrough, I had a lot of characters to work with.  (I actually still missed out on some because I didn’t unlock their C’s soon enough -- Marianne with Ashe and Ingrid with Annette didn’t get unlocked until my next run since I knew what to look out for.)  This is a big part of how I ended up liking Lorenz in the first place: I worked through all his supports this way, and saw the full measure of him rather than just writing him off after how rough his C supports were mostly across the board.

Out of all his different supports, though, there were three in particular that stood out to me: Leonie, Mercedes, and Dorothea.  With Leonie, he learned to relax his strict notions of separation between nobles and commoners and accept the idea of friendship with her as equals.  From Mercedes, he got rightly scolded about treating commoners as beneath his notice and unworthy of consideration where marriage was concerned, and rightly corrected when he floated the idea of marrying her since it continues to fall in line with valuing nobility and Crests over personal character.  And in Dorothea, he absolutely met his match: not only is she someone who has near-identical motives in her quest for a spouse (not necessarily looking for romance so much as the perks that come with an advantageous marriage), but she’s someone capable of playing him directly, playing his emotions to reveal the folly of his mindset.  The way he laughs in their A support...I don’t think he laughs like that anywhere else.  It’s open and it’s earnest and it’s joyous, even as he concedes that she has utterly bested him.

And that, really, is what sold me on them.  Having grown so much over the course of those years, having met so many people who affected him and broadened his view of the world, when Dorothea bested him at his own game, I think he really did fall for her in truth, rather than just admiring her beauty and her craft.  In the end, both of them get everything they wanted and more: Dorothea gets the reassurance that she’ll be taken care of for the rest of her life, Lorenz can boast if he wants about marrying the star diva of the Mittalfrank Opera...but more than that, they’re equally matched as partners, both bringing different strengths to the table to improve conditions in the Alliance for everyone (and especially the commoners), and able to engage in productive back and forth with one another, challenging the other thoughtfully and coming to agreements and compromises on good terms.  I love how well-matched they are and how well their personalities play off each other and I think that they could have an incredibly powerful, productive partnership.

...also I totally ship her with Petra too because their supports are fantastic and also Petra is wonderful and deserves the best.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Ferdinand von Aegir.  I love their supports so much and how he goes out of his way to try to understand her perspective, and changes her understanding of him as a person in the process.  She understandably has things to work through, given their history and her own misconceptions about him back then, but I love the idea of them banding together as dear friends who do their best to support each other as best they can.  Also, Dorothea and Bernie is a delight, and I love the idea of Dorothea keeping in touch and helping to draw Bernie out of her shell bit by tiny bit.

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Are.  Are there popular opinions about Dorothea?  I actually don’t see that many character impressions about her: most of what I see is fanart, and it mostly seems to be because she’s pretty.  I guess if I had any unpopular opinion, just based on the way I usually see her on my dash, it’s that she’s a whole heck of a lot more than just a pretty face: she’s cutthroat when she needs to be, incredibly capable as a fighter as much as a singer, and would probably make an excellent spy if the situation called for it.  I don’t think it’s fair that she’s treated mostly as eye candy when the truth is that her character is so much deeper than shallow beauty, both before and after the timeskip.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

This is silly but I wish we could have heard her sing more.  The only real song we hear from her if I’m remembering right is in her supports with Edelgard, where she improvises a few lines about the Empress-to-be.  And her voice is glorious!  I would have loved to hear her sing more, rather than getting so much from Manuela (which was...pretty painful, honestly, I do not care for her singing voice at all).  Especially considering how important singing is to her, not just as a former opera diva but just as a part of her life in general, it feels like a shame that we couldn’t hear her sing more throughout the game, either in her Supports or even in the choir sections at the monastery.

Give Me a Character  

[hanadolphieron]

lunar artist!yeojin; chapter five~

warnings; swearing, gun shots, gun wounds, death, explosions, grenades, sky battles, war in general, kissing, (ooo) crying

genre; sci-fi, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, a meager amount of fluff

pairing; im yeojin x gender neutral!reader

word count; 1.8k

summary; your small crater town on the moon was rarely visited. one day, artist!yeojin travels all the way from mars to paint the serene, wistful scenery of your planet.

------------------------------------------------

yeojin moves away from the doorway, toward you and the soldiers. 

“move,” she says, “i can handle this.”

“copy that, general,” they respond, scurrying towards the exit.

wait. general? 

yeojin commands this fucking army?

you have got to be kidding me. here you thought she was about to free you and give herself a cool redemption arc, but no. she’s the general of the army that has decimated your planet.

stalking closer, yeojin stands in front of you, reminding you of all the times you’ve been in this same position- staring at each other silently, understanding completely what the other is thinking.

however, this time, you’re wrong about yeojin.

glancing towards the door to make sure no one’s lurking, she grabs the cuffs around your wrists, unlocks them deftly, her small hands moving as fast as the lunar crabs that scuttle across the surface of the moon, than does the same to your ankles, rescuing them as well.

you fall into her arms. you must have been hanging on the device for a long time, considering the weakness of your joints and limbs.

her scent envelops you. it’s familiar, smelling like muddy vanilla encompassed in sunshine. you almost relax and let yourself stay in her hold, but you catch yourself.

you’re supposed to be repulsed by her. infuriated by her entire being. 

your heart doesn’t agree with that. you push it to the side.

“well? you’re not even going to thank me?” yeojin says accusingly. she seems to have gotten her attraction under control, and doesn’t feel as conflicted as you.

“what am i supposed to thank you for? the destruction you’ve caused to my planet? the thousands of lives lost thanks to your command? do you really think i’m that weak? weak enough to just fall back into your arms? narcissistic enough to only care about my feelings, and not the hearts of all the people down below us?”

“look!” she yells, “i’ve told you before, i didn’t have a choice! i had to take this position or who knows what the government would do to my family! did you never listen to anything i said? any of the comments about how corrupted my planet is? and you think you’re not narcissistic..”

your mouth opens to defend yourself, but you realize you don’t have a response. you do remember all those things she’s said to you. you remember every single moment. you had prepared yourself to treasure them once the two of you settled down together, two hopeless romantics. it seems that image was just conjured up the hopeful thoughts of your mind.

leave, your brain says. you listen, turning away from yeojin, powering towards the door. 

you know it’s a bad choice. walking headfirst into what could be a battlefield is incredibly dumb, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

you couldn’t be near her. it was too much. 

you couldn’t say hurtful words to her, burning through the ties of your relationship that you’ve loved so much, and can’t have taken away.

yeojin seems to regret her words, and quickly steps in front of you, grabbing your arm, “wait, y/n, please, it’s dangerous out there.”

her words aren’t laced with sarcasm or mockery, as if she was calling you weak. you want her to be mean and insult you. maybe then you could hate her.

you still let go of her. ripping your arm away from her protective grip, you storm out of the door. she tries to follow, but you break into a run. today’s leg day it seems.

luckily, the corridor hasn’t been turned into a war yet, and you sprint down it, following the sound of gunshots.

you know the violence will give you cover; yeojin can’t go racing through open fire and survive, she would be an idiot to do so.

rounding the corner, footsteps pounding against the ground, echoing throughout the hallway, you catch sight of red fire.

only a few moments ago, you wanted to run away from the same explosions, but now, you seek their loud blasts and comforting smoke.

everything feels surreal. you push your legs to go faster, powering toward danger. 

you reach the room, which you realize must be the hanger, and slide behind a crate that has been partly blown up by gunfire. you pray that yeojin doesn’t see you, and has enough common sense to not follow you here.

however, you catch sight of her, she’s made it to the entrance of the hanger. you can barely make out her figure, the blasts of bullets and grenades obstructing your vision and making your eyes tear up.

pulling your eyes away from her, you look at the ground next to you.

a lifeless face looks up at you. the right side of it is so messed up it doesn’t even look lunar. the eye is bulging out, sitting off center. a bullet wound cuts through the neck, leaving a gaping hole. the whole face is ashen, covered in smoke and blood. 

you can’t even scream.

you sit there, paralyzed, staring at your fellow comrade. the one who said they were going to be the one to protect you.

this could have happened to you. when that grenade went off and you blacked out, that was a lucky chance. you should be dead right now.

you tear your eyes away from it, the image burning in your mind.

staring across the hanger to yeojin, you realize she’s gone. for some reason, you feel an urgent need to find her. desperation overtakes you. something is happening to her. you can’t place what it is, but you have an aching, pulsing, screaming, crying, guilty feeling in your gut.

your eyes searching frantically through through the smoke around you, you see her.

see her get shot.

it doesn’t happen in slow motion like you hear about in books or stories.

it’s more of a blur. you don’t see the bullet, or when it hits her. you just see yeojin fall to the ground, mouth opening and making a noise you can’t hear. 

red clouds your vision. you don’t know if it’s blood or anger.

forgetting all sense of self preservation, you race over to yeojin. 

somehow, the bullets flying around you seem to miss your tall, slender lunar body and you make it yeojin, and fall to your knees in front of her.

all past regrets and resentment are gone. all you know, all you need, is for yeojin to live through this, and stay with you.

leaning down over her form, you see the wound. it’s a gaping, crimson hole in her side, gushing blood.

ripping apart your shirt like all the cool heroes in the movies you saw as a child, you push it up against her, temporarily stopping the blood flow.

it starts bleeding through within seconds. she’s already unconscious. you don’t want that to escalate. but there’s nothing you can do. she’ll be gone within seconds. gone forever.

and you’ll never see her contagious smile again. or her cackling laugh. or the pitch of her voice raise at the end of her sentence whenever she teases you. or her unreadable resting face.

she’ll just be another body. another number, lost to endless, depressing data.

you’re sobbing at this point. taking her head and resting it in your lap, you can’t stop the tears. you stroke her hair, reveling in its coarse strands. they soon become wet with your tears.

you don’t bother checking her pulse; you’re too scared too. she’s breathing, but for how long?

the salt from your sorrows streams toward the open wound. you feel bad, knowing how salt hurts flesh, and move to stop them, hands shaking.

but something curious happens.

the tears don’t seem to hurt yeojin. they seem to help her.

the small bit of flesh inside the wound that your tears touched is not red anymore, it’s the color of her skin. it is skin, you realize.

your weeping is healing her.

and that’s when it hits you. your from neptune. where some people’s tears are known to heal others. you fucking bimbo. 

you have saved others before?! on the playground, when your best friend skinned their knee, you cried for her, testing your powers out. and another time, when you’d broken your leg trying to open the fridge and was too embarrassed to admit this to your parents. and countless more

and you hadn’t even thought about it now, when you’re in dire need.

panicking now, practically stabbing your tears to make them well up again, and scraping the past sobs from her head and pushing them at her wound.

you’re busy with this, working the fasted you’ve worked in years. you’re useful for once. you like saving lives.

you don’t look at yeojin’s face, still afraid to see it unmoving and ghastly gray. 

however, it is the exact opposite.

------------------------------------------------

yeojin’s eyes flutter open after feeling nurse-like hands stroke frantically against her forehead, arms, and side.

she’s delirious for a moments, and doesn’t know where, what, who, why, or when is going on.

when she finally comes to her sense after a few minutes of blinking, she still thinks she’s gone crazy.

it’s you, the one who has run away from her countless times. you, who she thought was never going to come back. you, who she supposed was going to go back to her lonely life and never be seen again. you, who she guessed couldn’t care less if she was gone. 

and she calls out for you, her voice a scratchy whisper.

you turn to her, wide eyes glistening, face wrinkled in pain and exertion, beautiful, messy hair framing your soft face. 

your features light up, all of them turning up and making her cracked, dry skin brighten in return.

------------------------------------------------

you can’t believe it. she’s alive. when you thought all hope was lost, even if your sorrow somehow created life, a miracle happened.

squealing her name, and cupping her face in your hands, you bend over her and place a sloppy, ecstatic kiss on her forehead. her beautiful lips are parted in a smile that hurts you deep down, knowing that you almost lost it.

and that’s when you know.

and you can’t wait any longer. you need to have her, now and forever.

you repeat what did a few moments ago, except this time on her lips. you lean over her, pressing your chest up against hers, clasping her cheeks in one of your hands, the other reaching around to brush against the back of her neck, and push your lips up against hers.

you’ve never done this before, yet it feels perfect. feels so right, despite everything that’s happened. 

and as your desperately engulf each other, never wanting to let go, as fire burns in the background, as others fall around you, you confess, “i love you.”

------------------------------------------------

masterlist ~ previous

[thedevilsruby]

World War II AU (Clierra Multi AUs)

(Warning: mention of Nazis and blood! And a bit of implied NSFW)

The Cottage Near the Field

Private Cliff gasped heavily as he ran, chest on fire and lungs desperate for breath.

He wished he had been born a girl, maybe that would have spared him from this hell.

He felt horrible enough about working with the enemy but back home, he would rather be burned than become a stars damn Nazi. He was the opposite of a Nazi, he believed everyone should have a fulfilling life, no matter who they were. He hated Nazis.

He damned his German heritage, something his parents always taught him to be proud of. 

Cliff kept running, not caring where he wound up. Anywhere but here on the battlefield was better. 

He eventually wound up in a forest, surrounded by huge trees and a field. Cliff sat against a tree and listened for any sounds of gunfire and yelling and was relieved to hear none. He panted exhaustedly, wheezing for relief.

The young man looked himself over, his uniform a mess of blood, from both enemies and holding his dying friends, and tearing from bullets. His lip trembled at the the memories that replayed in his head over and over. 

“Stop it,” A voice in his mind snarled, “you don’t deserve to cry over what you did.”

That didn’t stop him. He held his head, sobbing desperately for the screams of both enemies and comrades to stop. “Please...” he rasped, tears flowing through his fingers. “Stop...”

“Um...are you alright?”

Cliff jumped. That voice was real. He looked up and saw a woman standing before him.

The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

The young woman looked about his age. She had golden brown hair in a bun, the most innocent honey brown eyes and a simple gold and purple dress with a white overcoat. 

He tried to reply but he couldn’t stop staring into her eyes. He felt himself losing his mind.

“Sir...?” She whispered, tilting her head in confusion.

Fuck. Not only was she beautiful, but she was adorably innocent as well. He would destroy it if he got involved with her.

“I...I...I’m fine.” He finally managed to get out, sitting up. She gasped as she saw his uniform, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You’re a soldier.” She whispered, loud enough for him to hear. 

“I-I can explain!” He exclaimed, covering his blood stained chest. “Please, don’t-” He was cut off when she gently took his arm and started leading him away. “What?” He asked, confused.

“I don’t care what your story is, I’m cleaning you up.” She stated firmly as she dragged him away.

Cliff saw she was taking him to a small cottage on the edge of the field, surrounded by wildflowers and roses. “This must be where she lives.” He thought. “It’s nice.”

She led Cliff inside and he saw her home was simple but comfortable. There was a couch, a small TV, a bed and a small kitchen with a table. She led him to the bathroom where a tub sat.

She stepped out while the water ran so he could strip himself of his uniform in peace. He bit his lip in thought. Why was she being so kind? Didn’t she care that she was risking her life to help him?

It just made his heartbeat get faster the more he thought about her. She was perfect.

She stepped back in, his breath hitched as he saw her hair was down. “Do you need help?” She asked quietly.

“Um...you could...scrub my back.” He gulped. Could he really handle those delicate hands rubbing him and touching him? Scrubbing him clean when he could just get her dirty? 

“Stop that!” He mentally slapped himself. “Mother taught you to be better than that.”

He jumped and shuddered as a warm wet rag met his back, and one hand was on his shoulders. Just as he thought, her hand was soft and soothing. What he would give to kiss and hold-Stop it!

“What’s your name?” She asked quietly. “I never asked, I’m sorry.” 

“My...my name is Cliff.” He stated, deciding to keep his last name from her. He didn’t want her thinking he was with the Nazis because his last name was German.

“Cliff...I like it.” She smiled. “I’m Sierra. Sierra Rossi.”

“Oh so you’re Italian.” He said, smiling a bit.

“Half Italian, Half American. My mother was from Sicily, father was from New York.” She sighed. “They died when I was five.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” Cliff said, regretting saying anything. “I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it.” She said. “It isn’t your fault they’re gone.”

Cliff decided not to reply and let her scrub him in silence, but she had other plans apparently.

He couldn’t help but his as he felt her fingers trace some of the scars on his back. “These are new.” She mumbled. “How long were you fighting out there?”

He winced and she caught it. Immediately, guilt took over her. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn’t-”

“At least a few months now.” He replied. “I know that because my mother always writes the date on the letters she sends. He shuddered as fresh memories of screams and gunfire played in his head. “So many lives lost...” He whispered, voice breaking.

His hands were suddenly held by smaller ones, He looked and saw her at the side of the tub, gazing at him with a soft expression. “Well...I’m glad you’re safe.” She said quietly.

That broke him, he couldn’t help but stroke her cheek softly. She sighed contently and finally allowed herself to lean in and kiss him. 

He melted and kissed her back, war and reality be damned at this point.

Soon, they were on her bed, moaning each other’s names when lips and teeth met sensitive areas, weak spots were discovered. Passion was had and they savored it.

Unfortunately, all good things had to end.

“Must you go?” Sierra whimpered when she saw Cliff gathering his items with a regretful look.

“I need to. If I don’t go back, I’ll be killed for deserting the battlefield.” He stated, his heart crushed at the thought of ever leaving her behind. 

“Will you come back?” She asked, just a glimmer of hope in her voice.

He cradled her cheeks in his hands, their eyes meeting. Despair and sadness in both. “I’ll try.” He whispered, planting a kiss to her forehead. 

He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled it out into a fist. “Here.” He whispered. “Hold it when you think of me.”

She held her hands and took it to see a necklace of wooden beads and a large silver star in the middle. Her jaw dropped slightly. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered.

“Just like the woman holding it.” He said, giving her one last passionate kiss. He felt the tears streaming down her face and pulled away to wipe them. “I’ll write to you. Goodbye Sierra.” He said walking out before she could see his own tears.

Sierra stifled her sobs and held the necklace close to her chest. She prayed to the sky above that he would come home to her over and over. She wouldn’t lose hope. She would stay strong for him.

For her soldier.

--

I have NEVER written a war story before so PLEEEASE go gentle on me if I did anything wrong.

I’ve decided to start writing different AU stories for Clierra like a Multi chapter fic. f you have any suggestions for AUs, send them to me and I’ll work my magic!

I hope you enjoyed!

[missbrightsky]

On My Honor

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6: Feyre

“Flynn Archeron reporting for duty, sir,” I stood at rapt attention, trying not to make eye contact with the blond man in front of me. Pine green eyes swept up and down my form; harsh, critical, assessing.

My poor body pumped out even more adrenaline, I’ve got to run out at some point… I snapped off that train of thought as Lieutenant Verdant’s mouth opened.

“How old are you, boy?” his voice drawing my eyes to his unwillingly.

“Eighteen, sir,” I answered.

“Humph,” he grunted, jotting down my name on his list. “You’ve even been in a fight before?”

“No… well, there was one time my arrow didn’t kill a raccoon immediately and I had to pin it to finish the job,” shut you fucking mouth, Feyre, why the fuck are you rambling to your officer about a raccoon you killed.

Tamlin only lifting an eyebrow at the story. I guess he dealt with enough new recruits to know that they tended to talk when they’re nervous. “So you can shoot?”

“Yes sir,” I said, “Usually pretty accurate or my family doesn’t eat.”

“Any experience with a sword?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. Training starts tomorrow at dawn, you’ll be sharing a tent with Alex.” He pointed me in the direction of my new home for the next several weeks.

You’ll be sharing a tent with Alex, echoed in my mind. Well, if that doesn’t add another layer to my problems.

There was no room for argument on his face so I had no other choice than to follow his finger and go meet my new tentmate. I trudged over to the small structure. It looked to be standard military issue, several more like it nearby. Unadorned white canvas hung over a frame of poles. Simple and easily transportable. And small. So, so small with no room to hide.

Fucking hell, Feyre, what have you done, I said to myself for the millionth time. Looks like that mantra wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Pushing the flap aside, I ducked in, trying to survey the person inside as quickly as possible.

In the dim light, brown skin soaked up the ray of sun coming into the tent. A man who looked more like a boy sat on his bedroll reading a small book. He looked up when I entered, narrowing his eyes against the sudden light.

I warily stepped in, mentally running through all the characteristics of what I thought a man would do and act like.

“Hi,” I said lamely, trying to pitch my voice low, “I’m Flynn.” The effect of the voice was lost by me having to hunch over to avoid hitting the pole that spanned the length of the tent.

The boy/man looked at me and burst out laughing causing my face and ears to burn red. “Nice try,” he managed to say between chuckles, “but you look the same age as me and my voice is nowhere near to that low.”

I looked to the ground, cursing at my failed attempt.

“Aw don’t look so sad, I was only teasing,” he put his book on his pillow and reached out a hand to shake mine. I dropped my sack at the end of the bedroll that was waiting for me and grasped his hand. Calluses brushed up against mine, another person who was used to work.

“I’m Alex,” he introduced himself, giving me an apologetic smile.

I let myself return it with a small smile of my own. “I know, Lieutenant Verdant said we were to share a tent.”

“Fine by me, but my opinion doesn’t matter. He doesn’t look like a guy I would want to get into an argument with.”

“You’ve got that right,” I blurted. It was probably a bad idea to criticize my commanding officer to another who was under him. To my relief, Alex let out another laugh, agreeing with my tone.

I took the opportunity to sit on the bedroll and sort through my bag.

“So where are you from, Flynn?” the question came.

“Couple of days east of here, a small town that no one knows,” it was already easy to chat with Alex. A few days alone on the road loosened my tongue. “And you?”

“Couple of days south of here, a small town that no one knows,” he echoed my words, bringing another smile to my lips. If I had to share a tent with someone, at least it was someone who was easy to get along with. If I didn’t have to worry about letting who I was slip at any moment, Alex and I would have no problems becoming fast friends. I briefly wondered what would happen if he found out, but I shut that line of thought down. Thinking about it would only distract me from keeping up the ruse.

We fell into easy chatter about our lives back home. He was the fifth of seven children, the fourth boy of the family. They were farmers, corn mostly but his youngest sister loved gardening. Him mentioning that made me bring up Elain and how she loved her garden and flowers. I nearly slipped once or twice but recovered easily, I was getting used to the speech pattern of men and how to pitch my voice into a necessary range.

Outside, I could hear more soldiers pour in and walk by. Snippets of conversation floated in the air, men from all over answering the conscription notices of General Knight. There would be no training tonight, allowing those arriving one evening of rest before starting.

It had been midafternoon when first enter the camp. Alex and I had talked long enough that it had become early evening. The dinner bell rang out across the tents and our stomachs growled in response. We both stood to go answer it.

“You can take off your armor, you must be dying in it. No one will attack here,” Alex pointed out.

“Uhhhhhhh,” I drew out, sounding like an idiot. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I mumbled. I prayed to my ancestors that I could still pass as a boy without the chest plate.

Unbuckling the straps, I slowly slung off the plate and greaves, placing them on my bedroll. I stood and pulled back the tent flap to join Alex where he had stepped outside, chanting a string of half-forgotten prayers. He barely glanced in my direction and started off towards where others were gathering.

Whew. I had also added extra padding to my sides to try and get rid of my curves and it seemed to be working. Dinner would be one more massive test to pass before the day was done.

Alex remained oblivious to my fear and secret, starting up a new conversation of what would be for dinner and what training might be like tomorrow. Bodies streamed in from all directions. This section of the camp seemed to be just for new recruits, fresh faces like mine and Alex’s. Most seemed to be about our age, but there were a few that had their age carved into their face or sprinkled on their hair.

Father, brothers, husbands, everyone has a family that they might never see again. The thought pulled my mind down, down, down, the reality of my situation finally settling in. I wasn’t a girl that had run away from home. I was a soldier in the Imperial army, being trained in combat to be sent to the front to fight and probably die.

Some faces reflected my thoughts, those that knew they will most likely meet their ancestors soon. Others were open and happy, shouting greetings and jokes. Alex hadn’t yet seen my face, giving me time to pull myself out of the dark hole I had fallen into. When he turned back to me, I had hopefully rearranged it into something that resembled the ease of before.

Dinner was a slop of mush onto a dinged-up metal plate with an equally dinged up cup of water and a metal spoon. However, despite its appearance, the mush was surprisingly palatable with a chunk of meat or two hidden in it. Probably a delicacy compared to the food at the front.

I let Alex take the lead as he searched for a fire for us to sit around. Close to where our tent was, he chose a half-full ring of men, taking a seat on one of the logs there with a ‘hello’. A chorus of hellos rang back, as much as permission to sit we’ll get.

In the firelight, more young faces like ours glowed. Introductions were made and I forgot about half of them immediately. I knew the golden-haired one to my left was Will, easy to remember with his missing ear.

“Half crazed wolf tore it right off when I was seven. Killed it myself as retribution,” he declared. A cry of disbelief and jeering rose up in response, calling bullshit on his story.

Elijah right across from me had the most expressive face I had ever seen, seldom without a smile or frown or emotion of his making. His booming voice, deceptive for how young he looked, captured everyone’s attention. His brown eyes were filled with mischief and energy.

Adam was his polar opposite. The only man of the group, he spent the dinner in silence, only answering when spoken to. Even Elijah’s raunchiest stories couldn’t draw a chuckle out of him. But even with his silent demeanor, there was nothing aggressive or rude about him, he was just quiet, content to let the conversation wash over him.

All around the fire were also beneath Tamlin’s command. Alex shared his opinion of him and was met with confirmation. The others had arrived either yesterday or the day before. Tamlin Verdant was a hard bastard who took no excuses and, indeed, was not someone you would want to get in an argument with.

Plates cleared and returned to the kitchen tent, we chatted until the sky deepened from purple into black, the stars overhead watching the new recruits begin to form relationships that could save their lives on the battlefield.

Next Chapter

[moonguilt]

hey! I love your writing it's so pretty! I was wondering if u got around to it would you do either a "heat of battle confession kiss" or an "injury confession" prompt? I would love to read either done by you,, thanks

thank you so much!!! i am so glad you like my writing, little messages like these make me SO happy :) sorry this took so long but here it is--i chose “heat of battle confession kiss” and it got a little longer than anticipated. i’ve put it up on ao3 as well if you prefer to read it on there.

————–

perish the rest, this thought is yours

Pairing: Keith/Lance

Wordcount: 3775

Warnings: Mature language, blood/violence, mild gore (nothing happens to our boys, they’re just in the middle of a battlefield sooo there are dead bodies)

Read on my AO3 here!

————–

It was mayhem on the surface of Xat-lor VII.

Lance kept telling himself that the rest of the team would arrive soon while he steered Red through veritable swarms of galra fighter jets, shooting them down as we went. There were so many of them, too many, just pouring ceaselessly out of the hangar bays of that terrible purple fortress the galra had quite literally dropped onto the desert plains of this little blue moon.

A particularly devious warlord, one of the many hoping to capitalize on the vacancy left by Lotor, had sent one of their best scientists to Xat-lor VII to experiment on the local wildlife in an attempt to imitate the old robeast projects of Zarkon's rule. The galra easily crushed any resistance from the moon's citizens—the Vonn—but eventually grew sloppy, giving the Vonn the opportunity to get a distress signal out to Voltron.

The Vonn's call had reached the Atlas' newly upgraded comm systems at the same time that a similar call from a different quadrant came in, so the team had elected to divide and conquer—Hunk, Allura, and Pidge to the jungle planet of A'ila; Lance and Keith to the desert moon of Xat-lor VII. The Atlas was busy resupplying at a galactic port station, but everyone figured one little moon couldn't be too much trouble for a couple of seasoned Voltron paladins.

Except in their haste, the Vonn did not specify quite the nature of the danger here—or really, even hint at it—until the duo landed in the Vonn resistance base. They sent a call to the team to ask for backup, but the others were dealing with their own mess and the Atlas was still recharging, so it could potentially be vargas before anyone arrived—and Lance and Keith's own arrival had not gone unnoticed. They barely had time to remove their helmets and take a breath of fresh Xat-lorian air (it tasted faintly of … rosemary?) before the galra base was deploying troops and ships faster than Lance could keep track.

At this point, he was starting to have serious doubts as to whether or not it was actually possible for them to pull this mission off. Every time he shot down one fighter, two more took its place. He could only push Red so hard to make it to the enemy's base, and even if they got there, then what? He could see the forcefield and the massive laser turrets all the way from here. And he did not want to get up close and personal with them without a solid plan and some serious reinforcements.

Below him, the moon's turquoise desert was ablaze with battle. The Vonn people—with their cerulean skin and dark hair helping them blend into their surroundings—charged across the shining surface, blaster bolts flying every which way, to attack their enemies head-on. Galra droids swarmed to meet them, the setting of the moon's two suns causing their shadows to stretch long and menacing over the cooling sand. Alongside them, terrible abominations—the Vonn called them “Ygorok,” or “Able End” in their language—snarled and loped over the dunes, their faces now twisted, cybernetic mutations of the wolf-like creatures the Vonn said they once were.

Lance had initially thought the name was a bit apocalyptic and overly dramatic. After seeing a Ygorok tear a Vonn soldier's ribcage out of their chest just minutes ago, he decided the name was far too tame.

Swift movement caught the corner of Lance's eye, and he watched with wide eyes as Black came crashing into the units in front of Red's cockpit. Fighter jets burst into vibrant explosions as Keith wove in and out of their ranks, alternating between slices and laser blasts, until he was right in the thick of the most condensed patch of galra ships.

“Keith!” Lance protested, finding his voice as the initial surprise wore off. “Get the hell out of there, man! You can't just—” He groaned emphatically, blasting several more enemy fighters out of the sky. “I thought we were past your 'Leeroy Jenkins' phase!”

“What the fuck is a—” Keith cut himself off with a grunt as Black took a laser bolt to the side. “Listen, we're not looking good here, and if we want any chance at getting to their base, we need to push.”

Lance didn't like that tone. That was Keith's “I know what's best, and what's best is not caring that I actually don't know what's best” tone.

Keith took another hit. A worse one, to Black's torso.

“Keith!” Lance hollered again, his adrenaline pumping and his fingers clenching around Red's controls. “Are you okay? Jesus fucking Christ—” Sorry, Mamá. “—hang on. I'm coming in.”

His arms taut with anxiety, he angled Red straight for that treacherous cluster of enemy ships and pushed forward, gritting his teeth with the strain of holding back some of the more choice words he was itching to spit in Keith's direction: idiot, reckless, stupid, death wish, I'm going to wring your neck, et cetera.

Instead, he settled on mumbling, “God, you have zero sense of self preservation.”

“Old habits die hard,” Keith coughed. Well, at least he was still alive.

“Wha—that doesn't mean you have to die with them! Idiot.” Okay, so maybe some of those choice words were slipping out.

Before he had the time to contemplate it, Lance's vision was filled with a fighter ship flying in far too close for comfort—straight at him. He tried his best to angle out of the way, but the jet caught Red right in the throat, bursting into flames against her surface with far more intensity than any of the other ships' explosions—as if, perhaps, the pilot had taken explosives on board with them. Intentionally.

“Lance? Lance can you hear—” Keith's voice crackled unintelligibly. “—big hit. Are you—” More crackling, and—silence.

Lance frantically pressed his comm button. “Keith? Keith, hey, uh, small problem maybe—”

The control panel flickered a few times, then sputtered out, and suddenly Red was falling—eerily slow at first, then faster than a bullet. Lance bit back a scream, smashing buttons and yanking at the controls desperately, but Red just kept falling, falling, falling, and all Lance could do was watch as she turned belly-up in the air, giving him a perfect, horrible view of Black taking several heavy shots directly to the cockpit.

This time he did scream. But it did no good, and Lance was forced to watch as Black—as Keith—careened toward the moon's surface, a faint trail of purple dusting his wake like the tail of a comet.

Lance's panic was short-lived, however, as he was soon interrupted by the jolting, bruising impact of Red slamming into the ground at full speed. His teeth rattled so hard he thought for sure he would chip a tooth, and then it was—quiet. Completely still. Nothing but the cold shadows of Red's lifeless interior.

After giving himself a moment to check for broken bones—none, thankfully, just a few contusions—and to try unsuccessfully to bring Red back online, Lance jumped out of his seat and rushed for the exit, praying that none of the doors were jammed. Only the final one gave him any trouble, which turned out to be the result of sand blocking half of the exit. Once Lance managed to pry the door open enough to squeeze out, he was met with a small flood of the turquoise substance leaking into his lion.

“Ah, shit,” he hissed, squeezing himself through the opening despite the sandy blockade. “Sorry, Red. I'll give you a deep cleanse when we—” He inhaled sharply, the sound of shouting and gunfire assailing his ears. “Keith,” he breathed, and clambered up the nearby dune on his hands and knees.

When he reached the top, it was—chaos. Galra droids and Ygorok were locked in combat with the Vonn, any semblance of formation or strategy long forgotten. Bodies and—and body parts—lay strewn across the shimmering blue landscape, staining it dark with blood and making it hard for Lance to process who had the upper hand, if anyone. He hadn't realized it from so far above, but the dunes were incredibly hilly and uneven—he couldn't see more than maybe fifty meters in the distance.

No sign of Keith within those fifty meters either.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, Lance drew his bayard and started down the incline, firing off shots left and right as he ran for the opposite side of the ditch. The droids collapsed easily with hefty clanks, but the Ygorok proved more resilient—Lance found it took several shots to fell one of them, or a very lucky bolt to one of its myriad vulnerable black eyes.

Lance scaled the next dune and trudged across the next ditch in much the same fashion as the first, shooting as he went, calling Keith's name whenever he had the breath to spare. He hadn't caught which direction Black had fallen in, so he could only hope that he was heading the right way. So far, he was not feeling terribly optimistic.

Upon climbing to the ridge of the third dune, Lance staggered to a stop, shocked by the scene before him. This one was not a ditch—this was a miniature valley. This must be the heart of the battle. It was... Lance felt his blood run cold as he viewed the carnage. Hundreds of droids and beasts and Vonn struggled against each other—the Vonn had the advantage of knowing how to walk nimbly through the sand, but the Galra had the advantage of sheer numbers. Lance could see no clear indication of this conflict stopping any time soon—and...

No Keith.

Searching for him in this bloodbath was like trying to play Where's Waldo? with all of the people moving. There were so many figures down below, and Lance was so desperate to see a flash of red, and he could feel the bubble of panic and frustration and fear rising up in his throat, threatening to overwhelm him, and—

“... ance!”

Lance nearly fell off the dune. He squinted and peered down toward the bottom of the decline, where the sound had come from. At first he didn't see anything, and then—

“Lance!” There it was—the flash of red. He could have cried with relief. Actually, maybe he was crying a little bit, but he didn't know because he had more important things on his mind.

Like Keith, who was now pushing through the throng, cutting down any enemies who tried to interfere, and waving whenever he had a free moment. That was all it took for Lance to race, stumbling, down into the ravine. Cyan dust erupted in a trailing puff behind him, sparkling against the backdrop of dozens of Galra fighter jets criss-crossing the golden-orange sky. He could not care less about them right now; he had one thing in mind: getting down there, down to Keith, and he was almost there, and Keith was running too, and—

Lance's boot caught in the thick sand, tripping him and sending him tumbling forward at the last moment, directly into Keith, who exhaled a quick “oof” and wrapped his arms around Lance in a steadying motion even as he staggered backwards from the impact.

“Hey, Sharpshooter,” Keith breathed, and it was soft, and it was good, and Lance instantly felt the tension in his shoulders melt away. “They hurt you?” His grip tightened reflexively as he spoke.

“Mmno,” Lance mumbled, squeezing back in response, hooking his chin securely over Keith's shoulder. “I thought I—” He cut off, licked his lips, started again. “I thought they got you.”

Keith knocked his helmet against Lance's, the clunk temporarily blocking out the cacophony of the war zone around them. “You can't get rid of me that easily.” He inhaled deeply, one hand rubbing soothing circles against Lance's back—though the slight shake of his fingers indicated it was just as much an effort to calm himself as it was to calm Lance. “I'm glad you're okay. Glad you're here.”

The honesty in his voice made Lance pause, pulling his head back just enough to meet Keith's gaze, their helmets still touching. He blinked once, then opened his mouth to reply—

And lifted his arm shield to block an incoming laser bolt from a pack of droids and a Ygorok heading their way.

Both paladins sprang into action, emotion giving way to instinct as they brandished their bayards and entered the fray. Lance felt his fingers curl around his gun before he even realized it had materialized; the familiar weight in his hand was almost as comforting as the sight of Keith before him—a luxury he had almost lost just moments ago.

At least, it was comforting until he realized that Keith was now in melee range of the enemy, clashing with them and—well, admittedly cutting through them like weeds, but that wasn't the point! The point was that Keith was now officially in the Danger Zone, and while normally Lance would enjoy seeing Keith in most places (Keith was easy on the eyes; sue him), the Danger Zone was not on that list.

Blue tinted Lance's vision as he aimed through the scope on his gun, expertly felling a pair of droids in three seconds flat. Their core processing units sizzled as they collapsed to the ground, blaster fire leaving molten holes in their heads. Lance felt a rush of relief as it bought Keith that precious extra breathing room, but he knew better than to dwell on it. He adjusted his aim just in time to see the Ygorok pounce at Keith, knocking him back a step and attempting to clamp down on his arm with its terrible snapping maw.

“Watch it!” Lance shouted, unleashing a torrent of rapid fire shots on the beast, which let out a hideous whinging snarl as its blackened flesh began to smoke from the areas of impact. In a desperate frenzy, it lunged straight for Keith's abdomen, and Lance took the opportunity to lodge a laser bolt right in one of its many soulless eyes. Its jaw unhinged, and the creature let out one last eldritch screech before sinking to the ground and beginning to melt into a disgusting pile of flesh and fur and robotic parts. Whatever biological blasphemy had kept this monster in one piece was clearly unable to continue doing so without the aid of a beating heart. Lance felt his stomach roil.

Keith, however, appeared largely unaffected, judging by the way he simply launched himself back into combat with the next nearest droid. And that sparked a little flicker of annoyance in Lance as he once again took aim.

“Be more careful,” he growled, nailing a droid in the neck with a clean shot. “That thing almost got you.”

Keith grunted as he yanked his sword out of a droid's chest and chopped another one's head off. “I know you've got my back,” he called over his shoulder, turning to face his next opponent and leaving himself exposed to another droid coming up behind him.

Lance let out a wordless noise of frustration and immediately shot down the threat. He opened his mouth to air his grievances, but Keith beat him to it.

“See?” he said, cutting through a metal torso and flashing one of his stupidly attractive smirks. “I trust you, Lance.”

The cadence of his voice and the bluntness of his words left a trail of pink crawling up Lance's neck, all the way to the apples of his cheeks. Was he—he wasn't flirting, right? Keith wouldn't flirt. Right?

Lance tried to hide his blush behind more perfectly aimed shots and a scowl. “Would you quit putting yourself at risk for once, you inconsiderate jerk? I'm gonna have a heart attack!” He was met with another smirk. His blood was running hot now. “And stop doing that! With your mouth! It's distracting!”

And that bastard, while he cut down enemies left and right, had the audacity to smirk wider.

Lance's blood was absolutely boiling now.

“Keith!” he yelled, blasting another droid in the face. “Stop doing that fucking thing or I swear to God I'm gonna scream!” He landed another shot, caught up in the moment, not fully realizing that the number of enemies in their immediate vicinity was rapidly dwindling.

Keith buried his blade in a robotic clavicle and met Lance's eyes over the droid's shoulder. It felt like slow motion as he raised one eyebrow in silent challenge, waited, then let the edge of his lip curl upward tauntingly before ripping his sword back out again and whirling to face the next foe.

Never one to go back on his oaths, Lance did scream.

“Keith Kogane, stop making me want you to kiss me with your stupid mouth!”

Lance's entire body twitched as his own words sunk in. His aim was thrown off; his shot at the last remaining droid merely grazed the visor instead of striking right through. He felt like someone had dunked him in ice water, then pulled him out and left him to air dry.

Keith, for his part, seemed remarkably unfazed. His focus was still on the heat of battle. “Well maybe if you shut your stupid mouth every once in a while,” he retorted in a teasing tone, driving his blade through the jaw of the final droid, “I'd actually be able to do that.”

Lance's breath caught in his throat. The droid collapsed at Keith's feet in a puff of sand, and suddenly everything was still.

It took no more than two-and-a-half seconds of silence for Keith to catch up to the conversation, and when he did, he spun around with wide eyes. “Uh—”

But Lance was already moving, slowly at first, then building momentum until he was running and tearing his helmet off and tossing it to the sand with utter disregard, until he was watching Keith's expression go from alarm to something like confusion and then back to alarm again, until he was grabbing Keith's helmet and pulling it off and gripping it tightly where he let his hands rest behind Keith's head after throwing his arms around the other man's neck, until he was—

Until he was kissing him.

And, oh.

Oh, he was kissing him.

Lance kissed Keith like lightning, like warm wind meeting cold wind in a storm, like wave into rock into wave in a river's rapids. He kissed Keith like an earthquake, like a whole forest engulfed in flames, like a meteorite striking its destination with a blazing and unstoppable finality. He kissed Keith like Keith—wild, reckless, untamed and untameable. Beautiful and devastating. Alive.

Very alive, it seemed. Keith wasted no time in pressing back, meeting Lance with equal vigor, as he always had in everything they did, and as he always would. Keith kissed Lance like he fought Lance in the training room, trading kisses like he traded blows—a constant push and pull; a game of prediction and adaptation and surprise; an unspoken challenge to do more, to give more.

Lance loved it.

He let Keith's helmet slip from his grasp and clatter against the debris on the ground, instead opting to thread his fingers reverently through Keith's sweat-knotted hair. Under any other circumstance, he would have been repulsed, but all he could think of in this moment was getting Keith closer, getting his hands on the crown of Keith's head, feeling the intimacy of exploring this part of Keith that he had never been privy to until now.

Keith, too, seemed similarly inclined to touch. His hands found purchase on Lance's waist, their grip hesitant—until Lance's lips parted involuntarily to let out a small noise. It made Keith desperate to swallow the sound, to elicit another one, and so he wrapped his arms around Lance in earnest and nipped at his lower lip, offering a silent plea with a single swipe of the tongue.

And Lance rewarded his plea with permission: an opening and an offering of his own. He parted his mouth to meet with Keith's, finding a pattern in the chaos, a rhythm to which they both settled, until their movements became languid and lazy and sated. Lance's breath beat in heavy, stuttering gusts against Keith's own in the brief moments when they would part between kisses. Those moments gradually became less brief until the two paladins were simply hovering before one another, their lips barely brushing, their eyes glazed but open, their complexions red with heat.

It was Keith who broke the trance. He placed a single feather-light kiss on Lance's bitten lips, then gently nudged his face past the other's, letting his flushed cheek come to rest against Lance's. And then, with his mouth pressed tantalizingly close to Lance's ear, he said in a breathless, soft whisper:

“There's a pack of Ygorok advancing on our location.”

Lance blinked slowly, his fuzzy brain struggling to process what Keith was saying. He gave a low hum in response, then furrowed his brows and paused.

Wait.

In an instant, Lance's eyes flew wide open. “What?!” He attempted to yank himself backwards, but Keith's grip tightened on his waist, holding Lance flush against him. “Keith!” Lance leaned his torso back as far as he could, smacking his hands against Keith's chest plate. “Keith!” No response aside from a breathy chuckle. “Keithkeithkeithkeithkeith—”

Keith snickered and tugged Lance back in, pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek before releasing and stepping around him, bayard drawn. By the time Lance had turned around, Keith was already rushing forward to meet the pack of Ygorok, fighting with renewed energy, slamming his shield into one's slavering jowls and driving his sword through the roof of another one's mouth.

Lance gaped after him for a moment, cheek tingling, until a stray laser bolt whizzed past his nose. He yelped, fumbling with his bayard for a moment before getting his limbs to finally cooperate long enough for him to get a few good shots off.

“You asshole! Stop distracting me!” he shrieked, shooting a hole through a soft spot on a Ygorok's throat. “You're a hazard! You hear me? A hazard!” He huffed and shot another Ygorok in the leg, preventing it from jumping over the corpse of its fellow.

But Keith just laughed that rough, raspy laugh of his; glanced to the sky, where three familiar flashes of blue, green, and yellow appeared, metallic roars announcing their arrival; and with that stupid, stupid smirk on his face, said, “I'll make it up to you later.”

And he did.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4921 Chapter: 25/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

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Chapter 25

After searching high and low in every other spot he could think to check Madara was forced to admit that Tobirama had probably retreated to the depths of his laboratory and reluctantly head that way. It wasn’t that he was nervous about going back to the place where he had nearly ended his own marriage too soon. That fear still gripped him every time he thought about Tobirama returning here but he had learned to fold the feeling away with memories of how well constructed the new layer of protective seals had been once Mito was finished with them. Rather it was knowing he would have to speak with Touka to gain access to the basement which made his steps unenthusiastic as he turned up the walkway. Now more than ever he found himself wishing he’d remembered to have Tobirama key him in to the wards around the separate entrance. So far he hadn’t needed to drag the man out of any terrible research binges but he had been assured several times that it would happen eventually.

He sort of wished it had happened once already. At least then he wouldn’t be knocking on Touka’s front door and cringing with every blow, almost praying she wasn’t home except for that would mean tracking her down and getting this over with anyway. Madara put on the bravest face he had and squared his shoulders as he felt a half-familiar presence approaching inside the home.

She didn’t look all that impressed to see him but then she never looked terribly impressed by much anyway.  

“I’m off duty,” was her greeting, tempting him to roll his eyes.

“Congratulations. I need you to let me in downstairs.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted me to replace someone calling out sick for patrol again. Softies. If they can’t run patrol on an upset tummy they’re not fit to be a shinobi.” She gave a snort of disgust that Madara couldn’t help but agree with. Village life came with a lot of perks but it was also letting some of their number grow lazy and soft.

Not wanting to let her go off on a rant, he indicated the empty hallways behind her with a vague motion. “Can I get in there? I want to see my husband and he won’t hear me knocking from the other entrance.”

“Ah and you need to get past me, hm? Very interesting. I wonder what you would give me to get through my house.” When Touka pulled her lips back it was more of a snarl than a grin and he didn’t like it one bit. Madara held back the urge to stick his tongue out at her but refused to play her game.

“I would give you the option of letting me pass amicably instead of encouraging me to switch you on to the night shift for a month.” Much as he wanted to stay in her good books Madara had too much pride to beg for something so simple. Too much pride in general, some would say, but he’d never cared about other people’s opinions before and he wasn’t about to start now.

Her feral expression of glee fading away in to a scowl, Touka stepped back with a low grunt and jerked her head in such a way he could tell the offer would not last long. If he didn’t step through now she would find something to match his threat with and he knew whatever it was he wouldn’t like it. A smart man would step through the door. Madara couldn’t say he was as smart as the man downstairs but he did step past his hostess and hurry down the hall to the basement stairs without making any more fuss.

Just like each of the few times he’d been here he walked with extreme caution, wary of touching even the door itself as he knocked and very carefully opened it to let himself in. Tobirama looked up from where he sat at the section of countertop filled with notebooks.

“I could swear I hadn’t even been here that long,” he said with a note of questioning hesitance. Madara smiled as he made his way across the room.

“Not very long at all. I just thought I’d make sure you haven’t rolled your eyes right out of your head.”

“Ugh.” As soon as he was close enough Tobirama leaned back in his chair to rest his head against Madara's chest. “If I had known Susumu’s sense of humor included that sort of idiocy I would never have let you talk me in to going.”

Madara wrinkled his nose with sympathy. “Even I didn’t think she would have the gall to invite your father.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what possessed him to accept! Or to drink that much! One would think the man a fish for how much alcohol he consumed today!”

“Perhaps he was uncomfortable surrounded by so many of my clan?”

Tobirama snorted. “Would you drink even a drop if there were that many people around who you didn’t trust?”

“Good point.”

Shaking his head, Tobirama half turned in his seat to rest an ear against Madara's breast as though listening for a heartbeat, something he would have never done if there were even Touka in the room with them. Madara resisted the urge to puff himself up with pride that he was allowed these moments of softness.

Feeling a little daring, he lifted one of his hands to hesitantly fiddle with the pale locks crumpling against his robes. He curled his toes with joy when Tobirama hummed and paused what else he was about to say in favor of letting out a low rumble of pleasure, almost a purr. With bolstered courage Madara ran his fingers through the man’s hair. It was softer than he’d expected it to be but what he enjoyed the most was the tension in his husband’s neck that told him Tobirama was putting some serious effort in to not abandoning all dignity and nuzzling back against him like an overgrown cat.

“You were saying?” he murmured after a few minutes, amused but also slightly guilty for derailing their conversation.

“Hmm I was saying nothing. Don’t stop.”

“No, I believe you were saying something about your father?”

“Don’t recall. I’ve never met the man in my life. Just a little to the right – yes.”

Madara cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, only smiled and kept scratching his fingers along Tobirama’s scalp just to listen to the various humming and purring sounds that escaped him in a broken stream. Evidently he had found the man’s weak spot. The two of them passed a pleasant five minutes or so indulging themselves in their own ways before Madara reluctantly stopped scratching, petting gently to appease Tobirama when he opened his eyes to glare playfully.

“You were saying?” he repeated himself, prompting Tobirama to sigh.

“I…may have forgotten. What were we talking about?”

“Butsuma and your family’s apparent predilection for drink.” Madara was aware of the judgement in his voice but he didn’t take it back. Just under eight months in this place and he’d already born witness to all three members of their family in a drunken stupor.

“Ah. Right.” Tobirama closed his eyes in exasperation. “To be perfectly frank I think the only reason he showed up was in an attempt to make your father look a fool. He’s not a nice man but he’s always been able to schmooze when he wants to. After his remarks at the meeting I think perhaps he figured out why Tajima’s behavior has been so strange lately and he attended the party thinking he could make himself look the better man.”

Madara looked down at him dubiously. “How so?”

“By proving that he can get along with others in your clan. I believe he’s trying to show himself to be the opposite of Tajima with all his sneaking about and underhanded plans.” One pale hand lifted to tilt back and forth. “Not a great effort, they’re still about the same in my mind, but the thought was there.”

“Not a great effort indeed. Maybe he would have gotten along with some people if any of them had remained sober enough to speak.”

Madara preened when Tobirama let out a single bark of laughter, such an unfettered sound gifted to him with no sign of self-consciousness. Every small little bit of himself that Tobirama opened up for him to see was like another mountain climbed on the admittedly rough journey of getting to know each other.

“It’s not the other people who should have stayed sober enough to speak. Truly Butsuma should be making his prayers of thanks tomorrow that his words were too slurred for anyone to understand what he was trying to say.” The scorn in his voice would have been obvious enough even if he hadn’t followed it with a scoff that sounded like it must have scraped his throat on the way up.

“Whatever it was I think I’m a little angry with him.”

“Oh?”

“I’m fairly sure I heard Izuna’s name in there somewhere and I do believe I take a brotherly sort of offense to that. Only I get to disparage the little idiot like that.”

Tobirama leaned forward to scrub both hands through his hair before standing and organizing the notebooks he’d been rifling through back in to some semblance of order. “I can understand that in the sense that I would want to protect my own kin. On the other hand you’re more than aware of my opinions about Izuna so I won’t both you with that.”

“Appreciated,” Madara grunted.

“Still, it does boggle my mind that he would allow himself to fall in to such a state, to say such things, all in front of the company he came with the intent of impressing. Even if he hadn’t been trying to impress them! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but ever since this village was built both of our clans have been steadily flourishing in each other’s company but our fathers have been slowly…deteriorating, I think, is the word I’m looking for.” When he turned back around Tobirama was frowning thoughtfully. “They’ve both been losing their edge and acting out of the ordinary. I think working with each other is slowly driving both of them round the bend.”

“Now that you mention it…I think you’re right.”

And he was. Thinking about it a little more, Madara was able to think of several examples to confirm that theory off the top of his head and that was enough supporting evidence right there. For whatever reason Tajima and Butsuma were having an incredibly adverse effect on each other the longer they stayed in close proximity.

“This does not bode well for the rest of us,” he murmured eventually. Tobirama sighed and nodded.

“Unfortunately not. If the two of them drive each other mad they run the risk of dragging the rest of us down with them.”

“So what do we do?” Madara asked.

“Bury them in a very deep hole?” Tobirama suggested with a careless shrug, making him smile. Clearly he was not in the mindset for solving all the world’s problems.

Not that Madara could blame him. The hour was late and the day had been long, filled as it was with socializing and wrangling Susumu-sensei whenever she came up with some other ‘fun’ prank she wanted to pull that might actually get her killed. Setting off fireworks in a clan of jumpy shinobi with fire affinities had been the least of her terrible ideas. Madara would have felt sorry for himself having to play the adult again as he did every year for his teacher’s birthday but it was some consolation that at least he hadn’t had Tobirama’s job.

Watching over his own drunken father didn’t sound like a very good time. If that had been him there surely would have been several other insults given.

“At some point we’ll need a better plan than burying them in holes or whatnot. If your father’s caught on to the hissy fit mine is throwing we’ll probably both end up running damage control when they drag other people in to this mess with them.” Inevitable, really, and not at all what Madara wanted to be doing with his time.

“I admit, I’m a little surprised to hear you disparage his intentions so boldly,” Tobirama said carefully.

Madara took a deep breath, arms folding across his chest. “Well he’s got absolutely no reason to be acting like this. Somehow he got it in his head that Butsuma is intentionally trying to phase him out or something but he’s jumping at ghosts and everyone knows it. The rest of us are trying to build peace and what he’s doing is only going to tear it down instead. I don’t appreciate that.”

He watched the shadows dancing in Tobirama’s eyes, wondering what thoughts were ticking away inside that brain of his. Until now they had mostly avoided the topic of whether or not he approved of his father’s actions; it was probably Butsuma throwing his own hat in the ring as well that prompted Tobirama to open the conversation. With so much time to mull the situation over Madara had come to the conclusion that if Tajima moved against what Konohagakure stood for then he would not stand with the man, he would not support anything that threatened what they’d all fought so hard to nurture and grow.

And he would not support anything that threatened to take away the happiness he had now with Tobirama. Their marriage wasn’t something he had chosen for himself but it was something he would fight to keep now and not just out of duty. He cared for his husband. Even if what way he cared was something he had yet to define that didn’t matter, this was something he knew he didn’t want to lose.

With that in mind he unfolded his arms and reached out to tug on his husband’s sleeve until he earned himself a warm hug, mumbling in to the strong shoulder he had discovered he very much enjoyed resting his face against.

“I’ve already chosen where my loyalties lie,” he murmured. Tobirama held him a little tighter.

“As have I.”

“Good. Right. Glad we agree on…being loyal. And things.” Madara cleared his throat and nestled in deeper. “Anyway, I just came to make sure you were alright and that you hadn’t boiled your own head with shame over Butsuma’s actions today.”

From above there came a motion he assumed to be Tobirama shaking his head. “He’s not worth such an effort.”

“You’re really not fond of your father at all, are you?”

“As far back as my memory goes we haven’t said a kind word to each other that had no ulterior motive. I don’t think Butsuma ever wanted children for any purpose other than to breed more soldiers.” He shrugged as though the idea meant little to him and Madara supposed he would be used to it if that was how he had grown up.

He and his own father had been close once upon a time and the memory of that still reared its head every so often when he thought too much on how far they had drifted apart. Some part of his heart, well buried and pressed down deep, still carried a remnant of the love he once felt for his father. It was those parts that cried out with a deep-welled sadness every time he looked in to Tajima’s eyes and saw nothing but the same bland regard the man had for all his soldiers, every time he faced the fact that inevitably there would come a time when he had to follow through with this choice he had made.

The other parts of him, the petty parts that were never buried very deep, rejoiced in a sharp kind of triumph to know that someday Tajima might know what it felt like to be rejected by the ones that should have loved him unconditionally.

“Should we take bets on which one of them does something stupid next?” Madara asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Gambling is more my brother’s area – though if I had to guess I would say your father will not be happy when word of this gets back to him. Some form of retaliation can’t be far away.” Tobirama sounded exhausted by the mere concept and Madara realized that perhaps he should move the conversation somewhere else entirely.

“It is getting rather late. Guessing games can wait for later, I suppose. Will you come home?” He pulled away just enough to peer up through his eyelashes in what Izuna had once told him was a devastating look. Whether that was true or not he could tell that he at least had Tobirama’s full attention.

After a pause in which he swallowed thickly and looked away, Tobirama nodded. “Home sounds good. I’m sure I can find something to fill my time for a few hours; I find I’m not tired enough for sleep just yet. Are you going to bed soon?”

“Soon maybe,” Madara admitted, “but not quite yet though. With all the socializing today I never got my workout in, I was planning on running through a few drills in the backyard. Nothing more than a few katas but it’s better than inactivity.” He paused to see Tobirama’s eyes light up.

“Oh? Would you mind some company?”

With his eyes open just a little wider than their usual squint and his brows lifted ever so slightly he looked almost like an eager puppy waiting to hear that he’d been a good boy, the mental image of which nearly caused Madara to burst out laughing. It took a few moments of nibbling his bottom lip to contain himself before he could nod. Despite having been getting along well for months now they had yet to see each other in action more than the tail end of a spar or two, usually when one of them faced off against Hashirama and the other came seeking him for something. Other than the one fight he had witnessed between his teacher and his husband, of course. That had been something on the order of a religious experience.

Madara knew his smile was a little soppy, a little too warm, but he couldn’t help himself and for once didn’t bother to try as he stepped away and tugged on his husband’s sleeve.

“I would enjoy that,” he said. “Now we’ll really know each other. I always say the best way for shinobi to truly know a person is to meet with them in combat.”

“Then I look forward to learning more about you.” As he spoke Tobirama reached out to pull Madara back to his chest. Then he brought his hands together and made a sign Madara didn’t recognize. A split second later they were gone from the lab, standing now in the middle of their bedroom without so much as a blurring of worlds. Madara blinked around himself in wonder.

“You have mastered the Body Flicker. I didn’t even feel us moving!”

“Ah, that’s because I did not use the Body Flicker. That would be the jutsu Izuna must have told you about from our mission together, the one I invented for myself. I call it the hiraishin. Brother declared it a forbidden jutsu due to the necessary chakra control and the, ah, consequences of not meeting those requirements.” Tobirama shifted like he was experiencing the phantom pains of an old memory, stepping away to rifle through their closet for clothing more appropriate for moving around in.

Madara gaped. “You really do invent your own jutsu!”

Rather than preen or brag as he expected the man to do, Tobirama gave one solemn nod as he pulled out an old threadbare shirt. It wasn’t until he was moving out of the room to go change that Madara caught the shadow of a smirk around his mouth and knew he was only playing at being humble.

The two of them took turns changing, Madara distracting his misbehaving mind from imagining things by running through which sets of kata would be best today. Yesterday’s workout had been mostly cardio so probably something to help tone his arms with a bit of ab work thrown in. Tomorrow he could work on his legs and call it intentional that he’d split the entire routine over three days instead of the truth that village life was making him a little bit lazy just like everybody else.

When they were both ready he grabbed a few of the water canteens he kept in the fridge and brought them along outside where they moved to opposite sides of their yard to stretch. Trying to concentrate on his own movements when Tobirama was only a dozen feet away contorting his body in to all sorts of interesting shapes was possibly one of the hardest things Madara had ever done. As well as he had hidden it and as much as he still believed in the culture he was raised with he couldn’t help but admit to himself that he was tempted sometimes. There was really no denying that Tobirama was an attractive man, something that made it a little difficult sometimes for Madara to sort out how he actually felt about his own desires.

Separating his bodily yearnings from what his heart wanted was hard when he’d never really felt either of them this intensely for anyone before. He had found other people attractive, sure, and he had obviously wondered what certain intimate activities would be like when he was alone with no one to see the shame of his wondering but with others it had been more of a curiosity, an ephemeral ‘someday’ that he would find out when it was his time to do so. With Tobirama it was different. That someday felt much too far away, a chaffing restriction, and the curiosity fairly burned in his veins each time he caught a glimpse of more skin than usual.

Looking over at his husband from the corner of one eye, Madara bent in half and pressed both palms flat against the ground while he wrestled through the same problem that had been plaguing him for days now. Was the attraction so overwhelming just because Tobirama was that attractive and they lived in such close quarters? Or could all of these undeniable emotions building inside him truly be called love, making this attraction only an extension of his heart? If only there was some defining factor that would help him figure out the difference.

“Ready?” Tobirama’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, hurrying to bring himself back to a more normal standing position and nodding as he realized he’d been going through his stretches on muscle memory alone without paying any real attention.

“Are we sparring?” he asked. “Or just…”

“Considering both of our abilities I would say we don’t have room here for a proper spar.” His partner sounded disappointed by that, actually, which made Madara feel a little better for thinking the same.

It would have been fun to see if he could go all out with Tobirama the way he could when he was facing off against Hashirama. From what he gathered through rumor Tobirama was only less powerful than his brother by the poor luck of not having been gifted the Mokuton, otherwise they were fairly evenly matched. At some point he was determined to have a proper spar between them.

“Take me through your usual routine,” he insisted instead. What he knew of Tobirama’s style was wildly different than his own, focusing more on speed and precision than brute strength.

“Are you sure?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Just remember those words for later.”

Madara scowled a little and huffed at the man for treating him like glass. He was as much a shinobi as anyone else in this village and there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to keep up with any workout.

Or so he thought.

Within half an hour he wanted nothing more than to eat his own words and call mercy, held back only by his pride. The muscles in his legs burned with an almost mocking sort of irony that he hadn’t meant to focus on them at all. His arms screamed at him to slow down while his heart did it’s best to beat him in to submission just trying to keep up with the quick movements he was forcing himself through.

He’d known Tobirama was fast. Apparently his idea of fast was the dust in Tobirama’s footsteps because his husband could move – and this was only training! More curious than ever to see the man in real action, Madara covered his huffing and puffing as best he could so he wouldn’t look foolish. If he incorporated a bit of these high-paced katas in to his own routine it would be no big deal within a few weeks. Right now his body was screaming at him for throwing himself in to new movements he wasn’t used to so intensely without any buildup.

By the time Tobirama finally slowed his body and allowed them both to rest he was wearing only a light sheen of sweat across his brow and Madara was very seriously considering drowning him in the nearest koi pond.

“Would you like to take me through your routine?” he asked eagerly. Madara snarled.

“No. But only because I don’t want to! Not because I’m tired!” The wobbling of his knees belied his words a little but after a quick glace Tobirama, mercifully, said nothing.

“Very well. I do feel like I’ve had a good workout, so perhaps it would be best not to overwork ourselves. Tea?”

“Gods yes.” Wobbling over to the engawa, Madara snatched up the canteen he had brought out for himself and uncorked the top, nearly missing his mouth entirely in his eagerness to replenish all the water he’d just sweat out.

Tobirama was kind enough to wait until his legs weren’t shaking quite so badly before he suggested Madara go shower while the tea was being prepared. Never in his life had Madara been so grateful to have someone else telling him what to do. His mind was entirely emptied by an exhaustion he hadn’t felt since he was young and untested, fresh to the training fields and only just learning what it was like to push his body to the limits. Over the years he had settled in to his own style and forgotten what it felt like to stretch his muscles in new ways.

Showering was an ecstasy he appreciated more even than the tea, hot water pounding down on his aching muscles while he sat on his rump and offered praises to whoever invented indoor plumbing. Getting up to turn the water off felt like climbing a mountain but he was rewarded for his efforts once he was out and dried and dressed, quickly finding himself tucked away in to a corner of their living room couch with a blanket over his lap and a steaming mug of perfectly steeped tea in his hands. With Tobirama very carefully sitting as close as possible it felt like huddling under a kotatsu together only more comfortable.

Kami but his thoughts could not help going off in all sorts of sappy directions this evening.

“Thank you for the tea,” he mumbled just for something to say. Tobirama leaned in to him a little more and hummed.

“Bed afterwards?”

“If I don’t fall asleep here. You’re warm.” His words came out almost accusatory and Madara refused to take them back, feeling a little indignant. What right did Tobirama have to be so easy to cuddle with no matter where they sat?

He flushed to receive a light kiss on the temple for his efforts. “We do have a blanket already,” Tobirama pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with falling asleep here if you’re comfortable.”

After such a full day of socializing, corralling his wild-child teacher, soothing the ruffled feathers while Tobirama corralled Butsuma as well, adding so much exercise that he wasn’t used to left him feeling much more drained than he expected. Though he wasn’t about to admit it, there was something almost romantic about being allowed to fall asleep on the couch with his husband after a long day together.

Complaining a little just because he didn’t know how to show how much he appreciated it, Madara let Tobirama adjust them both so they were lying down. A clone was sent to bring their teacups to the kitchen while Tobirama fluffed the blanket to cover them both and then Madara found himself held tightly between two strong arms with his face pressed up against a chest that still smelled faintly of sweat.

“You’re going to stink in the morning,” he grumbled.

“I could get up and go shower.”

“No moving.”

“Ah.” Tobirama’s voice sounded amused but he refused to look up and see the smirk he knew the man would be wearing. “Then I suppose we’ll both survive my morning stench. Goodnight Madara.”

“Hmph.”

Only when they had both closed their eyes and let their heartbeats even out, when he was sure Tobirama has fallen asleep, did Madara shimmy around to look up at the peaceful face of his husband and murmur quietly, “Sleep well.”

[leavyes-a]

the prologue of levi talbot; aka, bringing us to anglerfish and the addition of a new staff member; aka, a statement on a conservator of beholding and how they came to belong to the magnus institute in chelsea, london, having been born in boston, massachusetts.

content warning for abuse, addiction, thanatophobia, and mild body horror.

levi talbot was a graduate of mrs. hana talbot’s school of acting, its drama department giving an annual performance of the traditional hooks-in-flesh ballet ( a wordless tragicomedy in a single act, in the grand scheme of things; to levi, an eternity, repeated nightly for an audience of one passive father for eighteen years ). since he was a child, levi talbot wanted to write about movies, and the history behind them, because levi talbot understood the world by watching through a screen. oh, he knew people and interacted with them on a regular basis, because film taught him how where his parents would not. his collection of tapes and discs offered an appealing escape from the stage he’d been carried onto as a baby: he was a knight, a pilot, a lover, sometimes even someone’s child. life didn’t always play out the way it would in a properly-scripted scene, but that was alright. at home, the scenes were pre-established and repetitive, anyways. a childhood split into takes that never ended with him as the victor. that was how he learned that he was not, nor would he ever be, the hero of his own or any story. and when hana reminded him, time and again, that the films he watched were only fantasies, he became an analyst: for films, and for himself, and for other people.

levi talbot was a graduate of miskatonic university. he moved to arkham because it was as much space as his mother would allow without going ballistic. in his freshman year ( levi talbot had credits enough from high school to finish in three; hana had made sure he took enough aps to reflect well on her ), levi begged a trusted mentor, a teacher ( someone who said that hana simply didn’t treat him right ) for a job in the library, working the media desk. his classes and his job veered towards archival work, towards preservation, and he was delighted. miskatonic had strange old films, and levi learned to work the ancient equipment in the basement levels to watch them on loop. they showed him things he couldn’t begin to comprehend, but his mentor was shocked when he tried. he churned out paper after paper on these films, none of them ever being read to the class, and eventually, his mentor called him in for a meeting in his office, and asked what levi liked so much about the movies. well, sir, it was the watching, the knowing. you could learn so much about the world through film, if you knew how to look. you could break it down a million different ways. films were a treasure trove of information, and levi drained them dry, even the most grotesque found-footage equivalents they had to offer. they had to put a limit on how many times he could speak during class. teachers of other courses he wasn’t attending were sending him their syllabi upon request. i want to do the reading, he said. it doesn’t fit into my schedule, but i need to do it.

levi talbot had a hunger, you see. knowledge was power. knowledge meant figuring out what his mother was doing to him, then how it worked, and how to combat it. knowledge meant making a name for himself at his institution, securing a position, being recognized. knowledge meant producing a body of work so large even death, that final, insurmountable obstruction, couldn’t fully erase him from the world. he handled every copy of his assignments the same way he would a manuscript, preserving them in plastic in folders in boxes. it wasn’t enough. the more he learned, the more full he felt, stuffing himself up with facts and data, but it couldn’t stave off death. he prayed at the altar of cinema for an answer. it gave him death equals redemption, and the heroic sacrifice; it gave him last words and blood from the mouth and the last kiss. it gave him a death in full bloom that meant something, and if he couldn’t escape it, he wanted to go out like that.

levi talbot’s mentor was a man with greying brown hair and a salt-encrusted mustache and thick eyebrows that hid too many eyes beneath them. he had been in arkham for so long, he said, that he’d grown into his seat at miskatonic, and could not longer be separated from it. he said he loved to watch levi. levi said he loved to watch him, because levi loved to watch everything. he said levi could become something great, that his altar could be transformed, and there could be something on the other side of all those lenses watching him back. he wouldn’t have to be alone with the screen anymore. his great love, his addiction could serve a purpose. and if he played his role and served their god, when it came into the world, there would be so much to see that they would never run dry of things to look at. and that god would give him a part, a dramatic, heroic part, where his death would have meaning if it came to that, and until it did his enjoyment of everything he took in would be like unto euphoria.

levi talbot said yes. and he became.

his becoming was slow to begin with. he took up with a man named wyatt, the sole employee of a horror-themed interview-taking blockbuster. a tourist trap, if one were being particularly kind. he took the hackneyed statements of visitors and converted them to dvds and sold them at the front counter. when someone who had brushed against the divine came to them, he broke out the same ancient equipment he’d used in college, and produced a special tape. some of them he kept in bins. some he kept inside. but while there was plenty of strange in arkham, there were not a lot of people willing to talk about it. those that came from out of town had decreasing percentages on whether or not they noticed the shop, whether or not they dropped by, if they wanted to tell a story, and if their story was real. levi kept watching movies, and levi kept watching people. they didn’t starve, and they didn’t grow. and wyatt, who loved only himself, found it in him to worry.

when levi talbot became part of the eye, hana was furious. miskatonic kept her at bay until it didn’t, because she was good at weaving her webs, and when she made her move, all opposition tripped on their way to the battlefield. except for the hunter, whom levi had met at a truck stop on a trip to d.c. levi had done them a favor, and they did levi a favor in turn. they took hana talbot from the streets of arkham before she ever reached the video store, and drove her across the country, way out into the desert. when they asked levi what to do with her, levi said that some spiders just deserved squishing. and that was the end of hana talbot.

levi talbot had become very good at producing, repairing, and conserving films, but their connection to the eye remained weak. their feeding was alright, but inconsistent in quality; plenty of people watched movies, and, while levi’s analysis and growing red string catalogue was fresh in many ways, it wasn’t the terror that the eye sought. and miskatonic simply wasn’t using levi was intended; though they had been the ones to figure out his quirks, they lacked the volume of relevant information to make good on his time. so wyatt let go, and sent a letter across the sea -- a real letter, paper and ink, to impress the head of the institute in london. and london was intrigued. they agreed to take the newly-named conservator. they had plans in london, you see, that such an avatar could advance. wyatt added a final request: that levi be allowed to go to school for the degree they’d wanted, taking the year to live amongst people. the institute acquiesced.