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omg-imagine · 3 years

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All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif??

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

“V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

Johnny Silverhand Tags: @silverse @overheardatthecontinental @meshlababy @ataraxydreams @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread @savsselfinserts @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @donakamark

*If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to send me an ask or DM!

#johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand fanfic

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

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If Only.

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: Who knew having to work on a Saturday could make your pouty boyfriend turn to petty revenge?

WARNINGS!: Short mention of masturbation. Teehee.

Category: Smut / Crack?

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: A weird short fic I came up with at midnight because I was bored.

Just To Clarify:

Reader and Izuku have been dating for a long while

They do not live together

Izuku is precious but also a little shit.

Of course.

This type of shit always seemed to happen to him.

It had been nearly a month now since he had a weekend off, a weekend to spend time with you, his lovely girlfriend.

Now that he finally had that time off, of course your asshole of a boss had to ruin the lovely date he had been planning to surprise you with by calling you in to write up a stupid ass report that could have definitely waited until Monday.

It really grinded his fucking gears.

Het whined and tried to beg you to stay home early this morning when you called him and told him of this sudden development.

If only you lived together, or if only you had spent the night at his apartment… maybe he could have convinced you to tell your boss off. He was blessed with a skillful tongue after all, one capable of bringing you wave after wave of pleasure as he made himself at home between your glorious thighs.

He sighed heavily, getting up from off his bed where he laid brooding just to go out and collapse back onto his couch.

He could use some of that sunlight pouring in from the large windows.

His room was dark, curtains drawn as if to hide from the world so he could be all pouty by himself.

But it was noon now, and he needed to come out eventually.

On the brighter side of things, he got to catch up on a bit of lost sleep.

That wasn’t enough.

Actually? Fuck sleep.

He’d rather be out on your date he planned with you.

Gah!

Sure, he had tomorrow to spend with you, but who wants to do anything on a Sunday?

Lazy Sunday!

The day reserved for people to relax and.. and be lazy!

A day to cuddle.

A day to use his girlfriends’ boobs as a pillow.

One he’d much rather be using now than the stiff one currently under his head.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, just so that he could stare blankly up at the ceiling fan idly spinning in a circle.

His thoughts drifted to you again.

He wondered what you were doing.

Was it lunch break time for you yet?

No.. you had lunch around 11.

Damn. Maybe he could’ve visited you…

He groaned, flinging himself off the couch, dragging his mismatched sock covered feet over to the kitchen so he could begrudgingly make himself some coffee.

He propped his elbows on the counter, leaning his body down just so he could watch in childish wonder as the tan liquid rained down in a heavy stream from the Tassimo coffee machine he had recently purchased.

Coffee was never really his thing as a kid, but as the stress of his late teen years consumed his exhausted body, he quickly found that coffee could be an amazing friend.

Thus started his addiction, fueled on by his friends, mother, and hell - even you.

Something about.. ‘Joining the ranks of eternal, bitter madness.’

Whatever the fuck that meant.

You’re a goofy shit, he can’t tell what half the crap you say means anyway.

That’s why he loved you, though.

Always kept on his tiptoes.

He could always read people so easily, predict their moves almost to a T, but you? Damn if he wasn’t left with questions every time you met up.

You could say, in a way, you were like coffee.

Something he didn’t know he needed until it hit him in the face and caused him to fall down three flights of stairs.

He smiled to himself as he sipped at his steaming hot cup o’ joe.

That day was painful, but in the long run - he sure was glad it happened. Even if he did have a first degree burn from the boiling hot coffee you spilled on him.

Yeah. That meeting wasn’t exactly dreamish like how most couples described how they met.

Then again, his best friend did meet the love of his life on Grindr, so who knows?

Couples just like to sugar coat things in order to look good in front of others.

Him? No. He didn’t sugar coat anything. How you met was funny, and it always brought a smile to people’s faces.

It even made his mom pass out from laughing so hard.

Absolutely mad.

You brought a good crazy to his life.

That’s why he needed you.

Especially now.

He was lonely, and all this reminiscing just made him miss you even more.

With the buzz of caffeine coursing through his body, he felt more energized than before.

He wanted to text you.

Surely he could, right?

But what about?

He pulled at his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as he paced around his silent apartment, deep in thought about ways to suddenly ‘slide into your dms.’

…

He stopped, a sinister smirk creeping onto his angelic face.

oh , he certainly knew how to catch your attention.

He didn’t waste a second of his time, teeth chewing at his lip as he made his way back into the bedroom, turning on his red lava lamp to envelop his dark room in that sinful glow you loved so much.

He stripped himself of his shirt as he sat down on his bed, hand coming up to style his curly green hair in a way he knew you liked from all those seductive stares you’d give him.

This was all about you.

Well, him too he supposed, but honestly? He wanted to give you a peek at what could’ve been if only you stayed home.

No doubt you’d find him cruel, perhaps respond with hostility, but he craved it.

He loved teasing you.

And getting a bit of petty revenge.

Besides, this was your fault, after all. None of this would have been unlocked if you hadnt given him a major boost in confidence with every kiss against his skin, every praise, every longing stare.

You should have known what you had gotten yourself into.

He let his ‘innocent’ thoughts drift to the dirtier side of his mind, trailing a hand down his toned stomach just to palm his already half-hard self through his boxers. What could he say? He got worked up quite easily when it came to his princess.

For a guy publically labeled ‘The Epitome Of Purity,’ his thoughts surely would prove everyone who thought that wrong with just how explicit they were.

Images of you flashed through his mind, your face so cute and angelic as his cock fucked your throat raw.

Boy, did he wish you were here, doing just that instead of his hand that had just now wrapped around himself.

He indulged for a moment, getting lost in the sweet pleasure his experienced hand brought to him, spare arm flung over his eyes as he moaned breathlessly into the quiet air.

After a few more pumps mixed with thrusts of his easily excited hips, his hand was coated in the precum he always seemed to make too much off.

He groaned in frustration as he realized he’d have to perform his next task with his left hand, he could only hope it’d turn out well and not a shaky mess as it has been before.

He grabbed his phone conveniently left on his bedside table, thumbprint quickly unlocking it.

He entered the camera app, tapping on the camera switch tool so that his face was shown on the screen.

Oh.

Hm.

Perfection.

He looked impatient, desperate like he was having a good time and couldn’t wait for you to join in the fun. He knew full well you couldn’t, you wouldn’t get off from work for another four hours - that’s where the revenge came into play. You’d sit there in your office cubicle, knowing damn well by the time you got to him he would have already finished and started dinner. His cheeks were a pretty rouge, pupils blown wide.

Moving the camera back, he fought for the perfect angle, wanting this picture - and maybe a few more after, to be absolutely perfect.

The red glow of the lamp showered his body in a lewd light, sweat glimmering even on the screen.

He made sure his fully hard and throbbing cock dripping with pre-cum was in the picture, having to sacrifice the top half of his head in order to fit it in.

His hairstyling went to waste for this one picture, but he’d be sure to include it in others.

His pecs were covered in faded marks you had left on him from nights ago, nipples perky and wanting some rough attention.

He gave a lopsided grin, the only part of his face that was in the picture was his mouth, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use it to make your blood boil.

He snapped the picture, and a few more in different poses for later use.

The end result? A new private photo album labeled ‘Pictures To Send To (Y/N) To Get Her Panties In A Twist.’

God, he’s an ass when he wants to be.

With a dark, twisted look in his eyes and a creepy smile on his freckled face, he sent the photo to you, body shivering in anticipation. His thumb hovered over the send button, ready to send a reply to his photo once he saw that you read it.

Meanwhile, you had just finished typing up a long report when your phone buzzed with a message.

Hope surged in your chest, praying it was your cutsie boyfriend Izuku.

You hadn’t heard from him since 6AM when you called to deliver the disappointing news, and you had assumed he either went back to sleep or decided to work out till he passed out.

You really hoped it was the first option.

Maybe you could ask?

With a sigh of triumph, you emailed the report to your boss, fishing your phone from the far side of your desk where you had left it after lunch.

Ah!

It was Izuku~

You hummed in confusion when you noticed it wasn’t a message, but instead - an image?

Lips pursed, you swiftly unlocked your phone and opened the messenger app.

You nearly squealed when you saw the image - the embodiment of lewd and lust.

Fuck.

Your face was burning red, hair no doubt frizzing up as your face contorted into embarrassment and anger.

Suddenly, a reply popped up - one that made you fidget in your seat as a familiar wet heat started to pool between your thighs.

“If only you stayed home, huh?”

Oh, he was so going to get his ass beat once you got off work.

#izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha #mha #izuku midoriya #izuku #deku #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #n/sfw

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nad-zeta · 4 years

Text

Match up ^o^

May I request a Match up, please?

I’m at the part when I have to choose a route and I honestly don’t know/care. So I decided why not let some lovely internet stranger choose for me? Who do you think I would pair the best with?

I also noticed how much effort and detail you put into these so I decided that it was only fair to try to put in just as much effort in requesting. Or maybe I am just extremely vain so blabbering on this much about myself comes naturally (I also wouldn’t be too suprised if this were the case lol). Either way, I apologise for this getting so long. And without further ado, let’s learn about yours truly. Uh, yay?

I will start with my physical appearance because that’s easiest.

First of all, I am rather tall for a woman. Pair that with the fact that I constantly wear boots with 8 centimetre or greater heels and I almost always cap out somewhere above 182 centimetres (that’s 6 feet in American). So yes. I’m not exactly the approachable type, on the account of my height and near constant resting bitch face. I always look pissed off at something (and to be fair, I usually am).

I am a brunette with boring brown eyes. Nothing of note there.

I prefer to walk on my toes, for whatever reason. I also have great posture when I walk and these two factors always make it seem like I am floating. I’ve been told that I always seem very confident and self-assured. Which is complete bullshit because 90% of the time, I am winging it.

I am a dancer (of sorts. More on that later), so I am rather slim and toned. This is literally the only aspect of my physicality that I am actually confident in. The rest of me can burn in hell for all I care.

I am also very touch adverse. I hate the feeling of skin touching my skin it grosses me touch. However. There are a select few people in this world that I accept and enjoy hugs and cuddles from (and who I could snuggle with for hours). If I let anyone cuddle me that means I trust said person unconditionally and feel extremely comfortable around them. It’s essentially the ultimate statement of trust.

Onto personality.

If you can’t already tell, I have about as much dignity as a wet cat. I while I certainly do have an ego, it can be kind of difficult to bruise. Publically, I am absolutely shameless and don’t give two shits about what others think.

I have a tongue of steel and can rapid fire the most atrocious insults and comebacks when provoked. I’m known for my venomous sarcasm and biting wit among my own circles. I have a line for nearly every single situation so one-liners have become my thing. Which works out for me because I am a huge flirt.

I’ll flirt with pretty much anyone regardless of gender, I don’t give a crap. To clarify, it’s not because I am an attention whore (okay, yes. I am a complete attention whore), it’s because I am a theatre kid so excessive eye contact and sexual jokes are kinda where I thrive. I am also not afraid to get questionably lascivious with my flirting if someone tries to out-pace me. I never blush, I never falter, and I never let anyone know that they got the better of me. It shows weakness.

Despite my salacious façade, I am not inherently a sexual person. As a matter of fact, I am quite the opposite. I don’t experience sexual attraction (kudos to my asexual humans. I see you). This has rendered me practically immune to all charm, crushes, and sex appeal. It makes my life a lot easier, in my opinion. I don’t get too attached. I also enjoy messing around with the egos of fuck boys.

As mentioned earlier, I am an attention whore. I love showing off because I crave validation (this could point to some deep seated insecurities about myself that I refuse to acknowledge…. Ahem). Being on stage as where I thrive. And yes, I am a dancer, as I stated earlier. But I am not your conventional prissy ballerina. I am a circus performer. More specifically, I’m an aerialist. I have covered trapeze, contortion (I am unnaturally flexible), lyra, and silks. It’s a lot of fun almost dying every day and finding bruises in the most questionable places (if you cant already tell, I am an adrenaline junkie. I took karate for the first dozen or so years of my life and have recently been searching for more weapons combat classes because apparently I don’t have enough bruises already).

I am not easily impressed. And I don’t give out compliments very often. And that includes myself. I can be unnecessarily hard on myself at times… most of the time. But then again, who isn’t?

As for the side of me that isn’t stark-raving mad, I am usually a pretty objective person. While I have no qualms with discussing emotions (both mine and friend’s. I am a great listener and actually give pretty good advice when it comes to dealing with intense emotions). I tend to avoid letting them interfere with my logic. I look down on those who allow their emotions to dictate their actions. It makes them needlessly reckless.

I am typically a pretty chill person. When I am among people I am unfamiliar with, I tend to stay quiet and try not to rock the boat too much (again, I won’t hesitate to unleash a severe tongue lashing upon any poor soul who happens to rub me the wrong way… Or just happens to exist. I don’t take shit from other people and I hate it when others try to control me. (I don’t play rough, I play smart).

I really enjoy reading, writing, or drawing quietly. I can’t stand loud and excessive noises or people (parties, screaming, concerts). I am a true extroverted introvert. I love being the center of attention and chatting, but I need my alone time. People are exhausting to deal with.

Because of my aversion to loud sounds, I tend to avoid typical dance parties like the plague. While I am very good with mingling and partying in general, I can only keep it up in short bursts before I have to retreat somewhere quiet. This is also the reason I greatly prefer the nighttime (if I had a choice I would sleep all day and only frolick around at night. I just love the dark. It’s comforting in a weird way). I also love the night because that’s when I get to sleep and just peace out on life. It’s kinda like non-committal dying.

I am near constantly on hyper-alert so I am not easily startled. When I do get startled, I have a tendency to squeak, yelp or growl. These noses are purely reactionary sounds but for whatever reason, my friends think that they are absolutely adorable and will go to great lengths to startle me just to hear me make them.

To counteract my friend’s malevolence, I have learnt to be super observant, especially when I feel threatened. Usually, I am caught up on my own world and thoughts. I have an imagination so powerful that I can trick my brain into feeling false sensations such as an extra limb or falling. I much prefer to spend my time in my head rather than our boring reality. But if I feel threatened, or think that another attack is imminent, I instantly become hyper aware. These moments of lucidity enable me to make certain observations others would otherwise be overlooked (for example. I was able to tell when my professor lost her wedding ring due to the discoloration around her ring finger and the habitual and near-constant worrying she did at it. I offered to help her look after class ^.^. I admittedly felt kinda smug when I saw her surprise.) Ironically enough, I like to refer to this mode of thinking as “Sherlocking”. I can be quite the detective when I really try. 9 out of 10 times my friends will come to me when they suspect infidelity, I am pretty good at digging up dirt.

However, I have to make the conscious decision to do this, usually when I am trying to figure someone out or manipulate them into liking me. So this isn’t constant and usually I go about my day like everyone else, blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

Uhh, there is probably more I could cover but this is getting very long as-is and you are probably forcing yourself to get through my seemingly eternal ramblings. So I am going to stop here and go grab myself some food.

Best of luck to you,

-November

Hi there love!<3 you sound like such a cool interesting person! ^_^ Hehehe I probs took so long with this match up that you already chose a new route lol! Anyways thanx for waiting soooooo long for this and I hope ya enjoy it love ^0^ ^_^

I match you with……………………… Masamune

Honestly, it was between Masamune and Mitsuhide for me lol but i eventually decided to go with Masamune

The first time Masamune sees you, his eyes go wide in awe, like wow you are one tall fine lady! He has legit never met anyone so tall. After you were named as chatelaine, you stayed behind with some of the warlords to chat and get to know them better, you are after all going to be seeing their faces every day for the next 3 months.

Right of the bat, Masamune is howling in laughter at the fact that you are way taller than Ieyasu. You, Masamune and Mitsuhide basically tease the poor porcupine for a solid 20 minutes. “My my I never expected such a scary-looking little mouse to be so bubbly and friendly.”

Oooh, this boy just stared a war of wits. Today day was a good day cause your tongue of steel was rapidly firing witty words and sarcastic remarks at the resident kitsune. He almost couldn’t keep up, almost. Masamune was just standing there watching the whole scene unfold, you truly were going to be a lot of fun! Masamune decided to test out that tongue of steel of your and started firing some flirty pick-up line, while unbeknown to him you are the queen of one-liners, and have no shame when it comes lascivious flirting. Masamune, of course, never backs down from a challenge, and he was determined to make you blush. The conversation got so heated that it made even Hideyoshi blush on your behalf. You simply laughed and fired another one of your pick-up lines.

After the little chat in the hallway and a massive speech from mama bear for talking about things that were not PG13, cause of the kids *cough* Mitsunari *cough*, you and Masamune become quick friends. He had never met a woman before that was immune to his boyish wild charm, and handsome sexual appeal. Masamune was definitely popular with the woman, not as popular as Hideyoshi, but he was definitely a fuckboi. As surprised as he was, that his normal antics didn't work on you, his ego wasn’t dented one bit, it just made him more determined to get to know you.

Masamune definitely finds your flirtatious nature attractive, especially when you managed to score the two of you free sweet bun just by flirting with the shop owner, he was, even more, shook when the shop owner was a woman, your flirtation truly knows no bounds. The two of you would spend loads of time together, just going out for tea and sweets while getting to know each other. TBH although Masamune would never admit it, he found it refreshing that you weren't just his friend simply cause he was hot or cause you wanted to climb in stations but because you actually liked him as a person. You and Masamune definitely made an unstoppable team when it came to banquets. The two of you would team up and start teasing everyone there. When you two cuties are together its always a good time with loads of laughter and banter

Masamune discovered that you like him, was an adrenaline junkie. He loved that he finally had someone around that would do stupid shit with him just for the thrill of it. The two of you would go out on adventures 24/7 jumping down waterfalls and hiking up cliffs. The two of you goofball would also dare each other to do the craziest shit. Like one-time Masamune dared you to jump off the castle’s roof onto your balcony, and you freaken did it, no questions asked. Or like the one time you dared him to put his head in Shogetsu mouth, mind you the little cub was now grown into a full-blown tiger

One day you and Masa went to go watch one of Mitsuhide’s undercover performances. The three of you were investigating a shady daimyo in one of the nearby provinces. The three of you disguised yourselves as performers and joined a circus troop as their new dancers. You were so excited, the stage is where you truly come alive. You had promised Masa to show him something that would shock/surprise him after he gave you the grand tour of Azuchi. Today was the day, you had kept your dance and performances a secret from the two men, and now it was finally time to show them what you can do. You had 3 different performances planned. The first one was contortion. To say Masamune was shook would be an understatement he never knew anyone could be so freaken flexible, like wow. Your next performance was aerial dancing, his blue eye gleamed in delight, watching you move through the air so gracefully. If he wasn’t sure before he was sure now, this boy loved ya. But what really took his breath away was when you trapezed through the air, he was absolutely mesmerized at the way you flew through the air doing back-flips and other cool ass tricks. Masamune loved the look of pure joy on your face as you performed and after the show, you explained to him that you were a theatre kid back in the past. Mitsuhide definitely took note of your skills, and since that day you now accompanied him on most missions that required him to disguise himself as a performer.

Masamune loved everything about you at this point. Your overdramatic introvert/extrovert personality. The way you walked. Gosh, he loved the way you walked, it looked like you were an angel floating around wherever you went. He loved your banter and one-liner for every situation. And most of all he loved your hyper-alert side. Boy did he love to come up behind you to scare the crap outta you just so he could hear you squeak, yelp or growl. Like he lived for those adorably cute noises. And you somewhere along the line had fallen in love with the big idiot. He was always coming up with new fun adventures to go on or new fun things to do. He was one of those few people that could actually keep up with your banter

What was he most impressed with you may ask, well you Sherlocking skills of course. One day there were rumours of some super shady daimyos visiting Azuchi. Word on the street was that they were planning on stealing Mitsunari report to make the poor angel look bad. Mitsuhide was away sorting out some other plots and schemes, so it was now up to you to use your skills, to save the angel. You used your detective skill to gather evidence, and since your inner circle knew you were from the future, you were planning on catching them in the act and filming them for evidence. Masamune was always up for an adventure, so he acted as you own personal Watson. The two of you hid while watching the whole scene unfold, once they left the room the two of you came out. “What do you think they are going to do with the report lass,” he asked while his blue eye gleamed in delight. “Hmmmmm, I believe they are going to burn the evidence in the forest” you replied in your best British accent. Masamune couldn’t help but laugh. The two of you made your way to a secluded part of the forest and spotted them making a fire. Masamune looked at you curiously “How did you know they were going to be in this exact spot.” “Elementary, my dear Masamune.” He couldn’t help but burst out in laughter you really were a super fun kitten. Unfortunately for the two of you, they heard you guys laughing behind the trees and before you knew it, the two of you were surrounded. One of the men had a sword right at your throat ready to cut you open, that is when you shocked them by not backing down from the fight, you hit the sword away with one of your own gifted to you by your dearest one-eyed dragon. “ Point that sword at me one more time and i’ll slash your Achilles’ tendons, and TBH given the medicine situation of this time, no one would know how to fix your injury, so I hope you like hobbling around on one leg for the rest of your life cause that is what will happen.” These men were shook; meanwhile, Masa was next to you howling in laughter, “She’s not joking boys, this lass delivers on her threats.” You had never seen grown men run away from a fight so fast. You and Masamune picked up Mitsunari’s report that had fallen on the ground during the commotion and walked back hand in hand

You didn’t really like skin touching skin, but TBH you definitely like the warm feeling of Masamune’s hand warmed around yours. The two of you had come to fall in love with each other, and it wasn’t long before you two cuties entered into a relationship. Despite both of you being adrenaline junkies, both of you also loved your quiet times. Often you would sit together in his manor each doing your own thing. You would read and write, and Masamune would sit at his desk pretending to work (Cause admin is so freaken boring).

The two of you would have the best time together during banquets you loved being the centre of attention and would chat with everyone, but as the night would progress you would start feeling a bit drained and that’s when the one-eyed dragon would swoop in, pick you up and takes you to a quiet corner where the two of you cuddle and snuggle together.

He would spoil you rotten with the most amazing food, he would basically, cook anything your heart desires just to see that beautiful smile on your face. His heart would always burst with affection whenever he cuddles and kiss you, he knew that the fact that you allowed him to cuddle you was the ultimate statement of trust between the two of you.

Often the two of you cuties can be found causing mischief and giving Mamayoshi more grey hairs or cuddled together sharing stories of your day

Other potential matches............... Mitsuhide

Hope u enjoyed it dear @november-solarstorms

#ikesen masamune #masamune date #ikemen sengoku masamune #matchups #match ups #masamune matchup #ikesen matchup #submission

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

What Might Have Been - 21

It’s June but still here to hurt you with May prompts from @goodomenscelebration - Themes

We have now: the backstory of AU Aziraphale and how he became the Guardian of New Eden and the heartless kidnapper we all know and don’t love.

CW For torture and violence in the parts where we check in on Crowley, and perceived character death. Also for Gabriel and his stupid, stupid face.

I hope this clarifies a few things.

As always, the full story can be found on AO3.

Garden

Ten years ago

Aziraphale stood just outside Gabriel’s glass-walled office. The Archangel had seen him, of course, he saw everything. That was the point. He could certainly see Aziraphale, standing out here with his final report.

It was enormous. Typewritten. That was a special case, very special; he had always written his reports by hand. But he needed to be sure that every word was clear, that there were no misunderstandings. Also, it would have been rather a lot of ink.

Gabriel finally met his eyes and waved him in.

It was time.

Trying to control the trembling in his heart, Aziraphale stepped through the door, into the brightly-lit office. He should probably smile, but that seemed to be asking too much.

“Ah, Aziraphale. How go the preparations? Only a few more years!” He smiled, angelic and benign, and it hurt. This was where Aziraphale was supposed to be, surely, every moment of his time on earth had been a mistake! He should burn this report to ashes and beg to be allowed…

He let the emotion pass. He’d thought about this very hard. He’d made his decision.

He placed the report on Gabriel’s desk. It was over eight hundred pages, clothbound, with a tan cover.

Then Aziraphale stepped back, letting out his breath. No going back now.

“What is this?” Gabriel spun the book, frowning at it distastefully. “I’ve asked you before not to use such…unusual materials for your reports.”

“This seemed fitting.”

“Are these the battle plans I asked for?” He lifted the cover with one finger, peering at the pages inside. “I’m no expert, Aziraphale, but I thought maps would involve pictures, not words.”

“It is not. This is my…confession.” Aziraphale clasped and twisted his hands behind his back.

Gabriel let the cover fall, standing up. He towered over Aziraphale. The light in his eyes had turned to something dark and terrifying. “Confessions are for humans raised with too much guilt. Not angels.”

“I…have a very guilty conscience. I cannot go forward in our plans for the end times without coming clean.” He let his eyes fall to the book, trying to find the courage to go on. “I have written out my sins in great detail. This should help you to decide my punishment without needless delay.”

“And you’re just going to stand there while I…read…all of this?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I…suppose I didn’t think that part through.”

“Just give me the highlights,” Gabriel snapped, sitting back down in his chair, pushing the book away.

“Highlights. Yes.” Aziraphale’s mind raced, trying to find the right words. “For the last…two thousand years, give or take…I have been in a…a relationship with the demon Crowley.”

A long silence. “And what precisely was the nature of this relationship?”

“It’s all in…” he met the forbidding look in Gabriel’s eyes, then turned away. “Yes. Ah. It was many things. We had a…professional Arrangement. Er. An emotional one. A…a physical one.”

“Physical.” Gabriel stood again, slamming his hands on the table. “You are an angel, Aziraphale. Are you telling me you let a demon violate you?”

Clenching his fists, Aziraphale tried again to meet those eyes, but he could see the weight of his depravity in them. “It was mutual. Everything we did was mutual.”

“How many times?”

“I…” Aziraphale blinked considering. “Well, I rather lost count, but I put as many into the report as I could recall.”

Gabriel’s mouth dropped in horror. He pulled the book towards him and flipped to a page at random. “It was on this occasion that I discovered Crowley has the most delightfully sensitive area at the base of his throat, and when I…ugh…” He turned to a different page. “As we sat on the cliffs overlooking the ships gathered in the Bay of Biscay, Crowley asked me if I thought the English would defeat them. Feeling great pride for the island where I have made my home, I told Crowley that the English could triumph over any number of ships. He asked if I wanted to put a wager on it. I told him that if the Spanish won he could…ugh…but if the English won, I would…I…” Gabriel turned the page, and then the next one. “And Crowley asked me to prove I could actually…why would you think I would want to read any of this?”

“I have always suspected that in between our bouts of lovemaking that night, Crowley slipped out and miracled up the storms that delayed the Armada. Which was not very sporting of him, he should have simply admitted defeat.”

“Aziraphale, I don’t want to know – wait, wasn’t the Spanish Armada one of ours?”

“It was. I rather got caught up in the heat of the moment. Though I do recall I told you that my efforts had been thwarted by Hell’s agent on Earth, and that I had already begun making him pay. That’s all detailed in the next bit.”

“This…” Gabriel’s face took on an expression that made Aziraphale’s spine tingle with fear and shame. “This disgusting display…I’ve never seen anything like this…”

Here it came. Would Gabriel make him Fall immediately, or would it require some sort of council? Did it hurt, apart from the pool of sulfur? Would he feel his angelic nature ripped away?

He should have asked Crowley these questions centuries ago. Aziraphale braced himself and waited.

“Get out of my sight. I need to decide what to do with you.”

Aziraphale looked at the door behind him. “But…surely I…”

“Get out!”

Nine years, six months ago

Customers wandered through Aziraphale’s shop. He didn’t even have the energy to follow them. He’d sold four books in the last month, too distressed to even think of preventing it.

There had been no word from Gabriel.

Could they make him Fall at any time? Or did he need to be present in Heaven for it to happen? Would God be there personally? That would surely be enough to break his resolve.

He knew he would wind up in Hell. That much he was certain of. Would the demons be told he was coming? Who would be waiting to receive him?

Aziraphale sold another copy of Persuasion. Not that it mattered.

Nine years, three months ago

Aziraphale stood in Gabriel’s office again. The Archangel gave him his full attention this time, arms crossed, face hard, the book sitting on the desk beside him. The waiting, the endless waiting, had worn Aziraphale down, but he rallied himself as best he could. He would face this, on his feet, ready for whatever came.

“Have you…decided?”

“Don’t speak, Aziraphale. I’m still very unhappy with you. The amount of detail that went into this report was…entirely unnecessary. In fact, that’s what tipped me off as to your deception.”

“My…”

“I said don’t speak. Ugh. You know, I could hear your voice the whole time I was reading this and it did not help in any way. I just…” He shuddered. “But. It was around the fifth time you described that…that noise the demon made when you did that…thing to his ear…”

“It’s called kissing, Gabriel.”

“What did I say?” He glared until Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back and nodded quietly. “Right. Anyway, I realized this wasn’t just some attempt to clear your conscience. Your exceedingly filthy conscience. You were trying to get a reaction out of me.”

Aziraphale shook his head, trying to object, but he couldn’t have spoken even if Gabriel had allowed it.

“Yes! And what reaction could you be trying to get? What would be the result if I actually lost my temper? Then I realized.” He picked up the thick book in both hands. “This isn’t just a four hundred-thousand-word smut fest. In between all that…that, you kept going on and on about how clever and kind this demon is, how he actually cares for humanity, how he puts up a show of nihilism because he can’t stand to see them suffer – and, somehow, all that was worse.” He slammed the book down on his desk. “So. Aziraphale. Does the demon Crowley know you’re in love with him?”

He went very still.

“Yes. I expect you to answer that.”

“I. No, I’m not…everything we did was just to, to, to pass the time in as indulgent a way as possible, and, and yes, I partook in, I’m fairly certain, all the major sins. I was merely trying to document – but love, no, that, that was never—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel cringed. “Don’t make me read all this and then lie to me about it.”

Aziraphale trembled. He brought his hands forward, tugging at the wrists of his jacket, twisting his cufflinks. He’d been prepared to answer any question, but not this.

“I…thought he suspected. I thought we both hinted at it. But. In Paris, I tried to make him aware of my feelings and…he left.” He could still hear Crowley’s whisper, I’ll see you in London. In our bookshop. Aziraphale had waited, and waited, with growing despair, until he realized Crowley was simply never going to come. “So, either he has no idea, or he does and…doesn’t care.”

“And doesn’t know that you’re attempting to Fall for him right now.” Aziraphale deflated. “Yes, it was absolutely that obvious. Ugh.” Gabriel walked closer, hands folded in front of him, almost pleading. “Why? That’s the thing I can’t figure out. This has to be the most elaborate attempted defection in history.”

“I’m not defecting,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I don’t – I’m not going to reveal any of Heaven’s plans, even if they, they lock me up and torture me for the length of the war, which I rather suspect they will. But. Afterwards…”

“Afterwards, they lose. And all those who survive will be locked in the dark for eternity.” He said it with perfect confidence, as if it had already happened. Had Aziraphale ever been so certain? “Why would you want to be on the losing side?”

“Because, win or lose…I don’t want to spend eternity without him. And if the only place that will take us both is the darkest pits of perdition…that’s where I shall go.”

“And your duties?”

“I know.” He bowed his head. “Choosing between humanity and Crowley is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know the war will be difficult, and they deserve their Guardian, but…Crowley will be alone. And…if I can’t have both…if I must choose….”

“And if you didn’t have to choose?”

“That’s impossible,” Aziraphale started. “Heaven would have to agree to…” He glanced up to find Gabriel watching him, lips pursed, eyebrows raised.

Was the Archangel saying what Aziraphale thought he was saying? For the first time in nearly a year, the fear faded, being replaced with something rather like hope. “You…you mean you’d actually…”

“Aziraphale, you’re one of our best agents, dalliances notwithstanding.” He waved a hand back towards the book. “We’re not going to let you go. Not when you have so much to do for us.”

“Would…would Crowley…Ascend?” It was more than he could have hoped for.

Gabriel tipped his head, uncertain. “Hmmm, it’s never been done. It would take more than just my recommendation, and he would need to be an exemplary prisoner during the war.”

“P – prisoner?”

“Well, on paper. Not sure how else we could arrange it. Plus there’s security to think of – our secrets and his safety. A cell with a warden would probably be best. I don’t know how comfortable it would be, but you were willing to spend the war at the mercies of Hell’s torturers. I can’t imagine this would be worse.”

“I…” It was suddenly difficult to think rationally. “I could…I don’t know how to contact him. He might not even be in London anymore…I doubt he would trust me enough to…”

“Look I’m not going to…thank you for my pornography, but it has given me some insight into his mind. I think he’ll try to get in touch with you again. Let me know as soon as it happens, and we’ll make a plan.”

“Could I visit him?” He had so much to say, and for a moment the hope wiped out every other possibility from his mind. He was ready to agree to anything, just to have Crowley in his arms again.

But Gabriel huffed out a breath. “I don’t want to promise anything, Aziraphale. You’re going to be very busy during the war. But I think we can arrange something. Video calls? I don’t know. But this is the best offer you’re going to get. Keep working with us during the war – do your duty – and afterwards, eternity with your…” He waved his hand vaguely over the book. “…your demon. Preferably very far from me.”

There was a lot to consider. Aziraphale pulled on the fabric of his waistcoat, straightened his lapels, and finally adjusted his bow tie. “I…yes, I will keep you informed. And you promise he will not be harmed while I lead my platoon?”

“Platoon?” Gabriel grinned. “I would not be going out of my way like this for a mere platoon leader. Aziraphale, your reports over the last six thousand years have inspired a whole new project. Let me tell you about New Eden.”

Seven years, three months ago

Aziraphale stood at the drafting table, surrounded by architects and blueprints. “No, this is all wrong. The scale of it! The original Garden only held one Man and one Woman. We can’t simply reuse the same design. New Eden will hold billions. It would have to be the size of…Australia, at least! Where are Milkiel’s plans?”

Another set of drawings moved across the table. “Yes, this is what we’ll need.” He nodded to Milkiel, who beamed proudly. “It’s a start at least, but more rivers – here, and here, and we can’t just ignore the deserts, or the swamps. I believe if we…”

“Another change of plans,” Hizkiel appeared suddenly behind Aziraphale, holding a sealed message tube. “The number of Elect has been reduced. Gabriel has suggested a few alterations.” Aziraphale unrolled the slip of paper inside and took it in with a glance, eyes going wide.

The Archangels had gathered in Gabriel’s office, a serious council of blazing wings and stern faces. Ordinarily, Aziraphale would be too terrified to enter. Never mind the power the Archangels had over him and over the world – interrupting was just rude.

But this was not something that could wait.

“Gabriel, you can’t—” He took a deep breath as hundreds of eyes turned on him, burning out from the flaming wings of the Archangels. “I’m – I’m so sorry to intrude, most…most Holy Archangel Gabriel, on your matters of great import but…a quarter of a million people?”

“Aziraphale.” His wings snapped back into place, leaving only the human-shaped body to tower over the Principality of Earth. “Are you questioning our wisdom?”

“I – I – I think there must be some mistake, surely, I was told the Elect would be all of the humans found worthy, and – and that the children…”

He saw the way Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels, rolling his eyes. “Let me handle this.” His hand fell heavily on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he steered them both out of the office and back into the main halls of Heaven.

“Aziraphale. Stop. How many humans did you think we were going to save? According to the prophecies – your prophecies which you bring up in every planning session – barely a third of the humans will even make it to the final year. That includes the ones we take. We only ever planned for those who are worthy.”

“But…there are two billion children in the world right now…I thought, if we started early…”

“No. Obviously not. That just isn’t feasible. Look. It’s like the Ark.” Gabriel spread his hands. “You remember the Ark? We had to send a message. We tested, and how many did we find worthy? Hm? One family. Same with Sodom and Gomorrah. One family, and the mother didn’t even make it.”

“But…this is the end of the world. You can’t be suggesting…”

“A quarter of a million people is extremely generous. That’s at least ten families per city! And, yes, we can prioritize children, they’re easier to keep in line, anyway.”

Aziraphale lowered his head, struggling to handle the shift, to think clearly. “So…this means…I suppose this means something of a redesign is in order.”

“Yes! Good thinking. Now. I have business to attend to. You take care of that, and I’ll follow up at the end of the day. Keep up the good work!” With another shoulder clap – hard enough to hurt – Gabriel headed back into his office.

Aziraphale’s feet led him to the planning table, to the team of engineers and architects he had been assigned, and stared at the plans for New Eden, glowing, shining cities that would provide everything for the humans, with rolling stretches of countryside in between. Slowly, he crumpled them up.

He stared at the blank piece of paper before him, then reached for a pencil. “Alright. New plan. I’ll make alterations as we go, but we’ll start with a shape like this…”

Seven years, six weeks ago

Aziraphale paced outside the heavy door that he’d never seen in Heaven’s halls before. It didn’t match the aesthetic.

It would be fine. Once he could get in and explain to Crowley, he would understand. This was really best for everyone. Even better, with Crowley’s information, surely, they could halve the death count, at least, maybe more. He just needed five minutes.

It had been six hours.

Suddenly, the door opened. He rushed forward, as Shoftiel stepped out, pulling it shut behind him. “How is he? Is he comfortable? Did he ask for me?” Aziraphale took a breath, smoothing his lapels. “I mean, I assume our guest is awake?”

“He was,” Shoftiel said with a smile, partly hidden behind his thick beard. “But he’s rather tired, so I think he’ll sleep a bit longer.” His eyes sparkled, just a little. “He isn’t being very cooperative yet, or polite, but I think we can reach an understanding.”

“Oh, oh, thank you. Listen, I know he can be a – a little prickly, but just let me speak to him alone, and I can have all this sorted out.”

“I don’t think he wants to see you.” He tested the door and started walking away.

“I – I do understand that. But, please, this is – I know how to handle him, I can make him talk.” He reached out a hand and rested it on Shoftiel’s arm. “Just give me a few minutes and…”

There was a spot of blood on Shoftiel’s sleeve. Demonic blood.

“What did you…what did you do?”

“I told you, he wasn’t being very cooperative.”

A surge of rage rose in Aziraphale’s chest, boiling up through his mind. Power rolled off him in waves. “What did you do?”

“I gave him a little encouragement is all.” Shoftiel might not have even noticed the storm of celestial energy brewing around them. “Please, Principality, this is my job. Let me work.”

“I need to see Crowley!” Aziraphale grabbed the other angel by the collar and threw him against the wall. “This instant!”

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel appeared at the end of the hall. All the power Aziraphale had gathered dissipated in a breath. “There’s no need for you to lose your temper like this. What happened?”

“This – this—” he made himself calm down. “This bad angel has done…something…to Crowley. I demand to see him right now.”

“Demand?” Gabriel glanced at Shoftiel. “I assume this was necessary?”

“He’s very unwilling to speak at the moment. I have not caused him any permanent harm, of course, but you do need to earn a demon’s respect, and their methods can be quite brutal. One he’s ready to cooperate, I can lighten up.” He waved a hand towards the Principality. “He also declined my offer to have Aziraphale visit.”

“Well. That all seems reasonable.” Gabriel clapped his hands and smiled. “Back to work, then. World isn’t going to end itself!”

“What? No!” Aziraphale clenched his fists. “This isn’t what I agreed to. You…you said he would be safe…”

“If he cooperates. Which he isn’t. Yet.” He patted Aziraphale on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. And I’ll check in and make sure there’s nothing excessive going on.”

“Excessive?” Aziraphale felt very ill, in a way he never had in his life. “I don’t…Surely you must see that any amount of violence is excessive, he’s our prisoner. We’re the good guys.”

“Well, yes, he’s a prisoner. We do what we must to ensure he behaves. Rules of War.” One last smile from Gabriel. “Now let’s get you back to work. Only a few weeks left! Have you chosen a location for your Garden yet?”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder towards the door one last time. Crowley was clever. He wasn’t very loyal to Hell. Surely, he would understand that a little information was all he needed to keep himself safe. He would have to trust that Crowley knew how to protect himself.

Meanwhile, there was a job that only Aziraphale could do. It’ll be fine. This is for the best…

Seven years ago

Somewhere over Megiddo, the war had started. Abaddon, general of Hell, led the Demonic Legions against Michael’s Hosts of Heaven. Human bombs flew, and fell.

But it was just another war in a distant land. In the English countryside, it hadn’t even registered yet.

Aziraphale walked the fields with his survey crew.

“Then the wall will come around this way, curving like this and go straight for a bit. Hmmm. That tree is in the way.”

“Is it?” One of the surveyors asked. “We can just cut it down. We’re already passing through dozens—”

“No-no-no!” Aziraphale waved his hands. “This tree, really it’s a very good one. For climbing and whatnot. The children will appreciate it. We want to go around. Starting here we want to curve out like this, and then back in again over there.”

The surveyors looked at the altered map. “That seems…” one started “…unnecessary. Why so much space around it?”

“It’s a climbing tree. The children need room to – run or play conkers or whatever it is children do these days.”

“We could just move the tree,” the other surveyor pointed out. “Or plant a new one.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Am I being a bit distracted? I’m terribly sorry.” He started rolling the plans up. “There have been so many changes in the past few years, I’m just tying to preserve some of my original…well, never mind. I’ve noted down everything else we discussed. Just need to get Gabriel to sign off on—”

A buzz in his pocket; Aziraphale pulled out the flat device Heaven used for communication. He did miss the days when he was less…tethered, but his heart leapt when he saw it was Gabriel.

“Yes? Hello? Is it Crowley? Has he asked to see me? Shoftiel said he’d tell him, days ago—”

“No, Aziraphale, this isn’t about setting up your…tryst. Get to London. Immediately.”

The city of London was surrounded by a brilliant glow, hotter than a sun, colder than the vacuum of space. Walls of sunlight-colored glow encircled the city in an uneven loop, 15 or 20 miles out.

The energy that came off it wasn’t holy. It wasn’t demonic. It was something else entirely.

Aziraphale placed a hand against it. A wall of power forming a physical barrier. Nothing could cross that.

“Thizz izz not what we were told!” Beelzebub shouted angrily. “The field reportzz zzaid it would be the dread szigil Odegra.” Ze slammed a fist into the light. “Hell izz getting no power off thisz! It doesz nothing!”

“Nor is Heaven,” Gabriel assured zir. “I don’t know how this could – ah, Aziraphale. What is going on here?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, as evenly as he could.

“Yes, but you—” Gabriel shot a look at Beelzebub and pulled Aziraphale further aside. “You lived in this city for two centuries. You had an – an understanding with Hell’s top field agent. Are you telling me you never noticed? Never heard a word about this project?”

“You know perfectly well I hadn’t spoken to Crowley in two hundred twenty-six years!”

“Look at this,” Gabriel blustered on, pointing at the wall of force. “Just look! This is supposed to be the sigil Odegra. We planned for that, we had ways to counter it, and the strength it would give the Opposition. We had a schedule! How are we supposed to keep to it if we can’t get near this, huh? All of the major cities are scheduled to be destroyed within a month. I need a solution, now.”

“What – no, no one told me about that!”

“Change of plans,” The Archangel waved off his objections. “We’ll get you the paperwork soon. This is more urgent. What is it, and why can’t we get in?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. But New Eden isn’t ready yet, and you promised me, ten families—”

“That was an estimate! Move with the times, Aziraphale. We’ll find another way to get your hundred and twenty-five thousand souls.”

“Hundred and – that’s half—”

“Aziraphale! Focus.” He slapped a hand against the wall of force. It made no more difference than a child hitting a stone wall. “I was pulled away from Megiddo for this. Get me answers.”

Aziraphale stared at the wall running outside the M25. A few cars had collided with the solid barrier, which cut infinitely up into the sky and down below the earth, slicing through the flyovers and underpasses. The humans had learned quickly. All exits out of London were closed, small crowds milling around, hands pressed to the barrier. Behind them, green fields stretched to the suburbs, and beyond that rose the city itself.

Nearly ten million people lived inside the M25. Ten million people Heaven couldn’t reach, couldn’t save.

“Gabriel. I have no idea what this could be.” He took a deep breath. “But I am certain Crowley is behind it. He as much as told me, the one time we spoke. And he would have designed it with a way to get himself out. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him.”

Sandalphon slammed Crowley against the wall hard enough to crack his spine, but for the moment all he could do was laugh.

“None of you checked. Not one of you ever checked. Those diacritics will get you every time.”

“Fine. You’ve had your laugh.” Gabriel smiled as if to show he knew what a joke looked like. “Tell me how to get in.”

“You don’t. No one does. No angels, no demons, no humans. The people of London are safe from you bastards. Have your war elsewhere.”

Gabriel rubbed at his eye. “We had plans. This – this delay is not what I want today. That city needs to be nuked, those souls need to be sent to their rewards and punishments, and Michael is supposed to be running the European warfront out of the ruins. She is not going to be happy.”

“Ooh, I’ve never had an angel be mad at me before.” Sandalphon’s fist drove into his stomach again, but he didn’t care. It had worked. His plan had bloody worked.

“You realize,” Gabriel said, bearing down on him, “that you’ve left ten million people to die in there?”

“You were going to kill them!”

“No, the war was going to kill them. But at least it would have been quick. Now they’re going to starve to death, slowly, as their supplies run out. Probably get diseases, contaminated water, and they’ll tear each other apart over what supplies they have. You’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I ruined your day. Seems good enough for me.”

Gabriel grabbed a bottle of holy water off the table and charged Crowley. The demon barely had time to brace himself before Gabriel’s hand slammed his face back into the wall. “Give me one reason not to, because I have had enough of your attitude!”

“Go ahead!” Crowley closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and waited.

And kept waiting.

Gabriel and Sandalphon stepped back, letting him drop to the floor.

“No,” Gabriel said. “Aziraphale was certain you knew a way through. We’ll find it.”

When they left, hours later, Crowley was battered and bleeding on the floor.

But London was still safe.

Six years, two months ago

Aziraphale led Gabriel proudly through the Garden of New Eden. The inner Garden, that is, which was just a temporary arrangement.

“The outer wall will be rather more extensive. We need to accommodate the territories of various animals, make sure all the biomes are represented, and of course there will be unforeseen needs as we build the villages.”

“Didn’t think we needed villages. The original Eden didn’t have them.”

“Well, yes, but the original humans didn’t know any other life.” He saw Gabriel’s expression, and quickly changed tactics. ”Ah, I’m sure it’s just temporary, until they fully settle, but I want to make them as comfortable as possible in the meantime. Of course, sedentary humans will take up less space, so if you really want no dwellings, that probably means more extensions…”

“Aziraphale, don’t bore me with the architectural details, I have a war to worry about.” He glanced at his communication device, then held up a map of the world. “Our nuclear exchange did not go off as planned, so there are too many surviving cities. Humans are already making they way through our battlefields to try and reach them, and how are we supposed to handle that? Hm? Can’t let the demons have them.”

“No, of course not! So – you’ll be happy to hear that building the Inner Garden has allowed me to begin collecting the Elect already. Here – just up ahead.”

He gestured to a small collection of white cottages. Several families stood outside, parents clutching children, looking terrified. “They, ah, they are still acclimating, of course—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him away. “Who are these people?”

“I – I – I’m sorry, I used your list…”

“This list?” Gabriel pulled it up on his communication device. “I see three names checked off. Three of these people should be here. There’s at least twenty.”

“W – well, yes, but, I realized the names were children. They need caretakers.”

Gabriel looked at him, confused. “They have you.”

“I, yes, and thank you for entrusting me…but I thought…well wouldn’t it be better to keep the families together? It will add up a little, but I’ve been running some numbers…”

“Hey, hey…” Gabriel held up his hands. “What is all this? You got this position because you trust the system. That’s all I need you to do. Just…receive you orders and do as you’re told. Don’t complicate things.”

Aziraphale reached for his bow tie, but there wasn’t one on his military uniform. He tugged at the jacket instead. “I really…I do trust the system, Gabriel. But. You must understand that humans are more…more complicated than they appear on paper. I have six thousand years of observing them, and, well, I had to make a judgement call. This is…I wish to at least try. As an experiment. Perhaps you will prove right in the end, but I want to see for myself.” He nodded. Gabriel hadn’t said anything. This wasn’t so bad, after all, except for the knot in his stomach, the way his lungs seemed to be filled with glass. “I will, of course, keep you updated on their progress.”

Gabriel looked at Aziraphale for a long moment. “I’ll tell you what. Let me think this over, ask the other Archangels, and I’ll get back to you tonight, alright?”

The tension Aziraphale had been feeling since his first retrieval started to dissolve. “Oh, oh thank you. Yes. That is – yes, please. Take your time and think it over.”

“I will. Look for a message tonight.”

Aziraphale took the message in what he was coming to think of as his office. It wasn’t an office, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was private – no one knew the spot but him – and it had a lovely view of a field with a tree in the middle of it.

With a little difficulty – modern technology still made him uncomfortable – Aziraphale managed to get the video to start playing.

Gabriel sat at his desk, smiling at an unseen camera. “Hello, Aziraphale. I’ve talked your proposal over with a few of the others. This is what we think.”

The camera cut to Crowley, chained to a wall, screaming.

There was already one knife buried in his ribs, and an angel was cutting into him again and again with another. Crowley screamed, over and over, on and on, jerking his arms against the chains that held him, kicking his feet against the wall.

It went on for two minutes.

Then the camera cut back to Gabriel, still smiling in his office. “Get rid of the extra humans. And next time your orders come in…don’t question them. At all.”

The device tumbled from Aziraphale’s fingers.

In six thousand years, he’d never vomited before.

Aziraphale made it most of the way to a nearby bush before his corporation took over, and he violently heaved out what felt like every meal he’d ever eaten.

When he was done – when he was empty – he collapsed on the grass, sobbing.

“Crowley!” He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming again, but the tears poured from his eyes.

It was so much worse than he could have imagined.

His clothes had been torn, decayed, clearly ripped apart and never replaced, his shirt little more than a collection of rags hanging from his shoulders. His hair that he always took such pride in, was long and matted and filthy, portions of it torn out. The blood, the feathers, the scars…

And the twisted, horrible look on his face…

“Crowley…I’m…I’m sorry…” Even to himself, the words sounded weak, pointless. He clutched at his stomach, choking on tears. “I thought…I really thought…I’m a fool. I’m so sorry…”

The entire plan had been a gamble, right from the beginning. To save Crowley, to save everyone, Aziraphale had been willing to risk anything.

But the stakes were too high, the rules kept changing, and he no longer thought he could win. He was starting to think there was no winning.

From the sky above, thick with clouds that never parted, came the sound of Trumpets, bringing him orders. Where to send the unwanted humans. Where to go to retrieve the next batch, who to take, who to leave.

He didn’t need to let them take over his mind to know what the orders were. He could hold back, keep his mind intact, make decisions for himself.

But making decisions was what had gotten him into this mess. And just at the moment, he couldn’t stand to be around himself.

The orders washed over him, and his mind drifted away.

Five years, eight months ago

“They’re loud,” Gabriel complained, looking over the crowd of humans.

“Yes, many of them are unhappy with the method of their arrival.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards one of the children, but she immediately scrambled away, screaming. “But in a little time, they will settle down. Already they have begun forming new families.”

Across the field, under a few trees carefully selected for the width of their branches and the cool shadows they cast, several teenagers sat with younger children in their laps, talking soothingly to them, making sure they ate.

Gabriel scowled. “What is that?”

“That? Er, dinner time?”

“No, that.” Gabriel stormed across the field, and the children scattered before him, vanishing into the sorts of hiding places only the very young can find. One of the teenagers didn’t move fast enough, and Gabriel caught her arm, spinning her back. “Right here. On her face. She’s one of them.”

Aziraphale looked at the Mark. It wasn’t hidden – they couldn’t really be hidden, not to angels, certainly not when located on the chin like that.

“But, she’s also one of ours. Mariana was on the list you gave me. She’s one of the best residents of New Eden, one of the few that…that trust me, that help with the others.”

“Let go of me!” The girl twisted in his arm, kicking at the Archangel’s shin. “Let go, you horrible, pestilent wanker, you miserable—”

“I admit she has a bit of a temper, but…she was chosen for a reason. She belongs here.”

Gabriel grabbed her jaw to quiet her and glared at Aziraphale. “When they take the Mark, they give up our protection. It’s in the oath they take. We can’t have damned souls in our new paradise, can we?”

“But…like many people, Mariana didn’t have a choice. She lived an exemplary life before, did so much to help others, and surely we can forgive—”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel shoved her into his arms. “Get rid of her. Do not take any of the Marked, ever again. It really isn’t that difficult.”

“But…”

“And expect another message tonight.”

Aziraphale went cold, trembling. “No. No, you don’t have to…don’t do this…”

“I don’t want to have to be the bad guy here, Aziraphale. Just. Do your job as ordered.”

In a flash of light, Gabriel was gone.

“You…you won’t send me away, will you?” Mariana grabbed his arm. “Please. You said I could be safe here, you said you’d give me another chance! I did everything you asked!”

“You did. But a Judgement has been made. And now you must go.”

She shoved him away. “You can’t just throw me out! Where the Hell am I supposed to go? The Marked won’t take me back, not after I’ve been here. If you put me out there I will die.”

“You’re…you’re very resourceful, my dear. I’m sure…you’ll find a way…”

“You lying sack of shit!” All around them, faces turned, people emerged from where they hid every time the angels came close. There were hundreds of witnesses. “You call yourself our Guardian, you say you’ll protect us, but the world is ending, people are dying and all you do is sit here and redesign your fucking garden walls. Nothing you do is going to matter! Because this place is corrupt, and you are corrupt, and everything is—”

She vanished.

That night, Aziraphale curled up on the seat in his office, watching his communication device as Crowley screamed and twisted, chained to a table, boiling sulfur poured over him again and again. There was nothing Aziraphale could do, but watch, and suffer along with him, and cry.

“I don’t know what to do, my love,” he whispered. “I can’t help them. I can’t help you. I’m useless.”

On the screen, Crowley managed to catch his breath. “Fuck you, Gabriel!” He shouted. “Fuck all of you, fuck the angels, fuck every last one of—AAAAAAH!” Another wave of liquid over him.

Four days ago

“I don’t know how we managed to get so many troublemakers in New Eden,” Gabriel complained, walking away from the holding pen. “All of them were on the lists?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “Exactly according to the Plan.” This was much easier if he didn’t think of anything but the Plan.

“Well. Once we send this bunch out into the world, make an example of them, the rest will fall into line.”

“Of course. You are wise, as always, Gabriel.” He nodded to one of his squads to begin delivering the humans to the pre-selected locations. “They will need to be replaced, of course.”

“Fine, yes, I’ll send an updated list tonight, along with your other message. Price of failure, you understand. Nothing personal.”

Hardly a flicker crossed Aziraphale’s face. “I understand. How else will I learn?”

“Excellent. See? Consistent discipline always brings obedience. The same will work for the humans.” He glanced at the rapidly emptying holding pen, then scowled at the wall beyond. “Is that an extension? Did I approve that?”

“Just a small one. There was an issue with the drainage in that corner, and we needed to take care of it while there was still land outside to co-opt. Do you need to see the overall plans? I have a report prepared—”

“No, it’s fine. Whatever. Just a few more days, right?”

“I expect we will be quite busy. I’ve already added several new angels to the retrieval squads.” He nodded to Ishliah, who was marching with her new unit.

“Perfect. Yes.” Gabriel took one last look around, distracted. “Oh, one more thing. We’ve had reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south…”

Two hours ago

Aziraphale sat in his office, head leaning against the window, watching the video play again and again.

“What do you want? Just ask me a question, I’ll – AAAAH! Stop! Please, don’t – AAAAH!” Then, in the pause, “…Aziraphale…”

It looked like Crowley. It sounded like Crowley, his voice at least.

But Crowley never asked why they were hurting him.

And Crowley had never once, not in seven years, called Aziraphale’s name.

The other Aziraphale had confirmed it. Somehow, this wasn’t his Crowley.

Which could only mean one thing.

You didn’t need a replacement if the original was still there.

Aziraphale opened the door and stepped out of his office, onto the narrow road. He’d let the road itself become overgrown, the grass in the field grow long, but the Bentley he used as a private room was still in perfect condition, paint shining, waiting for the demon who would never return.

Aziraphale shut the door and leaned on it, feeling the hot metal against his head. The sun was still bright, here in paradise, while the rest of the world fell apart, while Crowley’s stars fell from the sky.

What did it even matter anymore?

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, leaning against the car as if it was Crowley’s chest, one last time. “I thought…I really believed…” But it was too late now. Crowley was gone, forever. “I hope you were defiant to the end.”

He stepped away from the car, wiping his eyes, and spread his wings wide, humming a perfect, clear note.

Fifteen angels appeared around him. His most trusted squad. His best agents.

“There’s been a change in plans,” he informed them. “Our final course has been moved up.” A soft murmur ran through the gathered angels. “I know. But time is short. Hit hard. Take everyone. And then…we breach London itself.”

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raendown · 5 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4254 Chapter: 6/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 6

Some mornings Madara wondered why he even bothered getting out of bed, days when every little thing seemed to go wrong for him no matter what he tried to do until eventually he began to wonder if maybe some god had taken a disliking to him and decided this was to be his fate, eternal frustration over things that made him feel ridiculous for getting frustrated about it. Catching his foot in the blanket on his way out of bed wouldn’t have been anywhere near as big a deal if he hadn’t also tripped and cracked his nose on the bedroom floor. Dropping a bit of eggshell in to his omelet was already awful but of course he also had to knock over the salt shaker and spill half the contents over his would-be breakfast. Missing a throw to the waste bin wasn’t always terrible; it was when he was trying to toss out rotten food gone moldy.

Things continued like that all the way out of the house and across town to the administration tower, bad luck following him right in to the office he shared with Hashirama. Publicly the reason they shared an office was to show that even unmarried people between the two clans could get along and work together but privately they both knew it was because the building could only be so big before it got ridiculous and so many different bodies needed to work inside each day that it simply wasn’t practical to give every single person their own four walls.

Within five minutes of sitting down at his desk Madara had already knocked over his pencil cup, signed his name on the wrong paper without reading it, and dropped two different folders on the floor that scattered their contents absolutely everywhere. At that point it was only Hashirama’s presence that kept him from immolating the entire room.

“Rough start to the day?” his friend asked him. Madara snorted.

“A rough start to the day would mean I accidentally slept in or maybe burned the eggs a little. This was an absolute shit start to a day that promises to only get shittier.”

Kicking out halfheartedly at one leg of his desk, Madara was honestly and truly surprised it didn’t snap under the blow and send all of his possessions cascading sideways. With the way his morning had gone so far that sort of thing would just fit right in. He grumpily began to pick everything up and sort the mess of papers back in to the right folders until Hashirama came around to his side of the room with a small box held out between both hands.

“Would a cookie make you feel better?” he asked, giving Madara pause as he peered curiously in to the small tin like he’d been handed a ray of hope.

“If you ever offer me a cookie and I say no then take my temperature because I’m probably sick.” They looked like gingerbread, one of his absolute favorite cookies, so he made sure to select the biggest one he could see. The moment he bit in to it his eyes fluttered closed. “Oh sweet gods above us. When you get home tell Mito I will give her whatever she wants if she’ll make me a batch of these for my own.”

“Oh Mito didn’t make them. Tobi did!” Hashirama beamed and picked out another cookie, leaving it on the corner of the desk before trotting back to his own.

Madara stopped chewing to look at the snack between his fingers with light disgust. “Ah. I didn’t realize these were forged in the fires of hell. And since when does he bake? I’ve never even seen him cook so much as miso soup.”

“You’ll never see him do anything if the two of you don’t ever spend any time together,” Hashirama said. His eyebrows were in a judgmental expression that Madara really should have expected.

“Drop it,” he growled.

His friend did as he asked with a heavy sigh and an exaggerated shrug, enough to tell Madara that he might be dropping it for now but in no way was this the end of the conversation. Now scowling deeply at having his tiny ray of hope extinguished by the unnecessary mention of his unwanted husband, Madara scowled as he forced himself to concentrate on his work. The cookie in his hand felt tainted now that he knew where it had come from. He did still eat it though, as well as the other one Hashirama had left for him; they were good cookies and he wasn’t about to let that go to waste just because they were baked by a total jerk.

It did seem a pity though. If this talent for baking had been gifted to someone friendlier then maybe that person would have had more people to share their goodies with than just one brother.

Grumpy about being tricked in to enjoying the devil’s cookies, Madara refused to be the one to start up a conversation for the rest of the morning. Unfortunately this firm stance backfired on him when it became clear that today was one of the rare days Hashirama actually focused on his work instead of looking for any and all distractions to put it off. The two of them spent several hours in silence, papers rustling and drawers rattling as they both worked their way through the never ending piles of useless forms and proposals that no one was ever going to do more than skim through. It wasn’t very exciting but it was worlds above the constant tripping and knocking things over that had plagued his first hour or two.

Just before noon Madara gathered an armload of files and tapped them in to a neat pile as he stood from his chair. Hashirama looked up at him with an understanding expression.

“Daily delivery?” he asked. Madara sighed.

“I’d rather get this part of out the way before lunch; if he’s a dick about things then at least I’ll have time to calm down before I have to get back at this shit.”

Hashirama looked down at his own papers and shrugged. “I find it easier to just wait till the end of the day. Then I have Mito to go home to and she always makes me feel better!”

With a roll of his eyes Madara turned away with answering. If that was another attempt to get him talking about his own failure of a marriage then he was absolutely not biting. He would much rather hurry up to the top floor where his father and Senju Butsuma both had private offices on opposite sides of the main council room. Every day he made the trek up here to pass off the most important reports or whatever projects had been recently finished, usually ending their meeting with a lecture of some sort or a demand that Madara spend more time training for the duties he would someday take over as clan Head. As if he didn’t already drown himself in that stuff to keep busy in an empty home.

Tajima was sitting stiffly upright with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose when Madara let himself in. Clearly the man was confident that his son was alone since he usually kept the reading glasses well out of sight for fear that someone else might see them and think him weakened in any way. Not many outside of the Uchiha clan were aware of just how badly use of the Sharingan affected them.

His father said nothing at first when he set the armful of parchment and scrolls down in the usual spot, leaving Madara with nothing to do but look around at the sparse décor of the office. One wall displayed only two ceremonial swords crossed and hung right behind the man’s head, probably an intimidation tactic for any visitors, but it was offset by the portrait of Tajima and his family that had been commissioned only a month before his first child fell in battle. Madara had studied the image so many times he could recreate it down to the last detail even without use of the perfect recall his dōjutsu granted him. Today his attention went to the woman holding a week old baby Izuna and standing as proudly as any happy matriarch ever had. It was only after her death that Tajima had begun to close himself off from the sons she left behind, living reminders, his grief a testament to the deep love they had shared.

“Why did you agree to this marriage?” The words slipped out before he even had a chance to consider them and Madara barely held in a cringe when he felt Tajima’s gaze lock on to him. Since the question was already out there he swallowed to give himself a moment before clarifying, “Mine, I mean. I was too angry to ask at the time and then it hardly seemed to matter since we had already signed the treaty but…why? I didn’t love him, father. I didn’t even know him.”

“Is it not obvious?” Tajima judged him with a single eyebrow raised in disappointment but Madara held firm in the face of a look he’d been under more and more over the past decade.

“Not to me. Could we not have found a way to bind the clans together without this farce? I mean – our traditions! You had to know that chaining me to that…him would deny me the chance to ever fall in love or find a person I truly wanted to be with.”

Tajima reached up slowly to pluck the slim frames off his nose without moving his expression. “It was necessary.”

“What? That’s it?” Madara stared at his father with lead heavy in his chest and felt like all the air in the room had been sucked away from him. “It was necessary?”

“Yes. I considered the needs of one less important than the needs of many. We all must make sacrifices in our lives and I made the decision that this one was worth the gain. Our people are safe and happy, our injury rates are at an all-time low, and what have you suffered for that? A husband who is worthy of your station and strength. You may not have chosen him but mark my words boy I expect you to see this through or I will concentrate on an heir with the intelligence to follow my orders properly.”

Never in his life had Madara fully understood the word betrayal until that moment. He had seen people betray their partners, seen comrades betray their friends, soldiers turning their backs on the clan that raised them, but it had never hurt him personally when until now he had never had a reason to feel the sting in his own heart, sharp and swift.

But this was his father. His very flesh and blood who had tossed him aside like so much trash as easily as saying ‘for the greater good’. It didn’t just sting, it burned deep down in a part of himself that he hadn’t even been aware of until it turned to ash inside his chest. Watching the absolute lack of empathy on his father’s face set his stomach to churning and he realized he felt physically ill to the point where he worried he might upset the contents of his meager breakfast all over the floor beneath him. Something hot and dangerous rose up inside of him until he clenched his fists and determinedly told himself that he would not show weakness here in front of a man who had finally proved once and for all he no longer cared about his sons in any way.

“Thank you for answering my question,” he ground out. “If you will excuse me, I have nothing to report that is not already covered in the files.”

No further prompting was needed for Tajima to return all his attention to whatever he’d been working on before being interrupted. Madara watched him for a split second, unsure why he was bothering to imprint that image in the back of his mind except maybe to torture himself just a little more with the reminder that he had lost his father as surely as he had lost his mother. Then he turned on his heel and left the office with as little fanfare as possible.

With this much rage and emotion filling him, more than even a good Uchiha should be expected to handle, Madara was terribly grateful to have his lunchbreak as an excuse to flee the office. There were very few people he knew might be able to withstand the force of his breakdown who he also trusted to help him stand back up again afterwards. Most of those people were right here in this same building he so desperately needed to escape but there was one to whom he knew he could always turn, someone who had been there for him since he was little more than a toddler learning to hold his very first kunai, and it had been much too long since he last visited her anyway.

Avoiding anyone else who looked even a little bit like they wanted him to stop for a moment, he exited the tower only a couple minutes later and set a quick pace for the Uchiha district. The thundering blood in his veins played double time with his steps until he finally gave in to impatience and took to the rooftops like an undignified boor in a hurry. Usually he had better manners than to clog up the pathways most tried to keep open for the security teams to get around quickly.

The small private market place within their clan grounds was quiet at the moment, just before the lunch hour rush hit the streets, and Madara was glad to see absolutely no one in the building when he stormed in to his favorite bakery, flipping the sign behind himself to declare that the shop was closed. From behind the counter there came the sound of a wooden spoon clattering against a pot but Madara only huffed as strongly as he thought wouldn’t make him vomit.

“I am not in the mood for a scolding, sensei.” His footsteps were loud on the creaky wooden floors as he stomped around the counter to confront the tiny old lady behind.

“What’s got crumbs in your butter, little one?”

He continued to scowl and yet with just a single question already the roiling in his stomach was beginning to settle. Not the hot ball of betrayal in his chest, that refused to shift so much as an inch, but at least he wasn’t in danger of contaminating anything in the bakery.

“Why did he stop loving us?” Madara demanded. Lowering her spoon, Susumu-sensei looked back at him with a bitter kind of understanding dawning on her face. “I am his son! His oldest child! Don’t I deserve to be loved just like everyone else? Don’t I deserve to be happy? How can he take that away from me and not care?”

“Ah. This is about–?”

“Of course it’s about my bloody marriage! What else does anyone ever want to talk about lately? Ow! You bitch!” Madara cradled the elbow she had just delivered a sharp crack to with her current weapon of choice.

Shaking it under his nose, Susumu-sensei delivered him a fierce glare. “Don’t you be yelling at me for something that stale piece of mold did to you. I won’t stand for the shit he pulls but you know damn well I won’t stand for any disrespect either!”

“Can I not be upset without getting smacked!?”

“I thought you wanted to be happy?” She raised her eyebrows and Madara paused.

At least she didn’t swat him again for rolling his eyes. “Why did I come here?”

“Because you know that I hate him as much as you used to love him. I always have. He loved your mother, there is no one who will deny that, but he was never as open-minded as he would have his children believe. You aren’t the first one he’s tried to sweep under the rug and forget about.”

Madara nodded, letting his eyes flick down the tiny body before him. He knew his teacher’s story well. She hadn’t hesitated to share it when he first asked, just a young lad but already standing taller than her. Barely more than three feet tall, Susumu was born with a type of dwarfism the medics called Hypochondroplasia. She called it ‘my head’s too big and my arms can’t reach’. One of Tajima’s first decrees when he took his place as clan head had been to try and remove her from the field, citing her need to enhance her movement with chakra just to function like any other shinobi as a fatal weakness. Susumu’s revenge had been to befriend the man’s wife and get herself appointed as sensei for his eldest son, going on to raise the strongest fighter their clan had ever seen.

It was a fairly good revenge, actually. Effective in all the right ways. Madara couldn’t remember when it happened but he knew that his affection for Susumu as a parental figure came long before the death of his own mother and the subsequent distance between himself and his father.

“Your marriage,” she murmured. “I can’t say I know what he was thinking when he made that decision. I agree with you that he should never have taken something so sacred from you but–”

“No, no buts!”

“But that is the way of things now. It isn’t ideal. You will still have to make the best of the things you have.”

“I just want the same chance to be happy that everyone else gets!” Madara looked around his feet for something to kick but everything close to him was breakable or needed to stay clean and he wasn’t looking to get smacked with that damn spoon again.

Susumu gave him a pointed look when he finally met her gaze again and gestured openly to her own body. “Do you think I have the same chance of finding love as everyone else? I’m not saying there aren’t a few open minded people out there I might be compatible with but there certainly aren’t as many as I’d like. We all have our difficulties in life, little one. You do indeed have the same chance as everyone to fall in love still, if you think about it. What sets you apart is that you will then be faced with a choice. Do you break your marriage vows, betray the peace between us and the only clan with the power to harm us? Or do you put your own needs and desires aside because duty is heavy but we have all agreed to carry our share of it.”

“Why is my share so much heavier than other peoples’?” He demanded. “Why is yours? It isn’t fair!”

“Tell me something, what do you know of the Senju clan’s marriage practices?”

Honestly he should have smelled the trap coming a mile away but Madara was upset and indignant and too caught up in himself to notice anything. He sneered as he recalled his conversation with Hashirama a couple of weeks ago. “I know that they expect to have their marriage arranged for them and that they’re allowed to sleep around with whoever they want until then but after they get married they’re expected to remain faithful. As if that erases their indiscretions beforehand!”

“Mm, I see. And tell me something else, what do you know of their divorce rates?”

“Divorce?” Madara stared at his old sensei in bewilderment. “I honestly didn’t know they could get divorced.” He scowled when she shook her head in disappointment.

“Then let me tell you something. When your father agreed to their unholy demands I was angry. Of course I was! My favorite little bumble pie being tossed aside so callously! So I looked in to the Senju and I asked about their traditions. Did you know that they are allowed to seek a divorce after five years if the couple are irreparably unhappy? Even more interesting, did you know that most of them don’t? The divorce rates among the Senju clan are so low I had to ask my source to repeat the number three times.”

Flustered, Madara blurted out, “So what?”

“So! That means that they are happy. Our traditions tell us that happiness is found and then kept. Their traditions tell them that happiness is built and maintained. It’s crazy and it’s different but it works for them. Don’t you think it’s possible that if you gave this a proper try there is even a miniscule chance it might work for you too?”

The hot ball in Madara’s chest expanded and his first primal instinct was to scream in her face that she had betrayed him too. Luckily for his continued survival he chose not to go with his first instinct. Susumu-sensei loved him deeply but she had never hesitated to beat some sense in to him with physical force when she thought it was necessary. So instead he settled for turning away and glaring deeply at the neat little row of tins lined up on top of the counter, samples of her ingredients for customers to check the quality.

Her question was ridiculous, of course. Never in his life had he heard anything as stupid as the idiocy she was spouting. Even worse, she agreed with something Hashirama had said! She made the point even better than him and the Senju were Hashirama’s own clan! Madara glared at a tin marked ‘vanilla bean’ and hated the fact that he could finally see the point both of them had been trying to make.

But his own point still stood too! Madara didn’t see why he had to be the only one putting in a little effort! And he wasn’t about to let anyone else get away with thinking so.

“If the Senju are all about working on their marriage then where the hell is Tobirama? We don’t even speak; it’s like I live alone!” Behind him he could hear Susumu-sensei releasing a light sigh.

“He’s even younger than you are and it seems to me you’ve made your opinions on him quite clear. Have you considered that he doesn’t see the point in trying to convince someone as hard-headed as you to change your mind about something? Perhaps he too is making the best of what he has.” She appeared at his side, patting his elbow in a rare show of gentleness. “I know it will be hard but it looks like you might need to be the one who makes the first move. Whether or not the two of you find love it will make your lives much easier if you at least get along. I don’t enjoy seeing you this miserable, little one.”

“You know, some day you’ll see the irony in calling me that,” Madara deflected rather than answer her. He looked down at her when she snorted brashly.

“Hah! You think I don’t? Boy, there is no better insult than me calling you little!” His sensei cackled and Madara rolled his eyes but one corner of his lips twitched with the first hint of a smile. As much as he despised her advice he was still glad he had chosen to come here. Susumu-sensei had a way of bringing the world in to focus again when he lost himself to emotions and she never failed to make him feel better – even when he didn’t want to feel anything but rage and righteous indignation.

She had certainly given him some things to think about now. Madara wasn’t ready to admit that she might be right and he definitely wasn’t promising he was going to follow her advice but he knew he would at least give proper consideration to what she’d said.

For now, however, he had a limited amount of time left on his lunch break and he wanted to be calm by the time he went back to work.

“What’s the freshest you’ve got today?” he asked, ducking down to look through the glass in the counter at all the cakes and tarts and muffins on display, each more delicious than the last. Susumu-sensei opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the ding of an oven in the back.

“Rhubarb pie as of right now,” she announced. “You’ll take the whole thing of course. And you’ll eat it this time! Don’t think I didn’t hear about you giving away those lemon cookies I sent over last month!”

“I don’t even like lemon!”

“Pah, excuses! They’re no more sour than you are!”

Falling in to the pattern of bickering with his old sensei was the easiest thing in the world and just what he needed at the moment. Madara carefully shuffled his problems off to the side where they certainly weren’t going to be forgotten but he could at least function around them until he was ready to sit down and deal with it like a proper adult.

Which was clearly not now. Right now he wanted nothing more than to get lost in the calming ridiculousness Susumu always seemed to wear around her like a mysterious cape – if mysterious capes came smelling like delicious apple pies.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #hashirama #tajima #susumu #oc babies #fanfiction

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karaliswrites · 5 years

Text

Rumor Has It

I was actually really proud of this one. May be some references to the manga but not really spoilers per se

~~~~~

Eren wants to punch Jean in the face. Well, at least more than he usually does. Captain Levi, Connie, Historia, everyone’s noticed by now. Even the thickest of skulls are aware of it — skulls as thick as Jean’s. Eren doesn’t want to admit he’s seen it too. He doesn’t really want to admit it’s even there in the first place.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his mess of chocolate hair. It’s not so much the rumor that bothers him so much. People have been judging him and talking about him behind his back for as long as he’s been alive. No, that isn’t what’s upsetting him. What’s upsetting him is the nauseating twist of his stomach whenever someone mentions it. It’s the immediate reaction he has to deny everything because there’s no way they’re right. They can’t be. When it was first brought to his attention, he didn’t believe it. He just thought Mikasa was finding another way to criticize him without directly stating it in that vague yet specific enough way she does. So he ignored it. Because she didn’t know what she was talking about — what would she know? But then someone else said something. It wasn’t necessarily rude or demanding an answer, Hannah was just curious, asking questions because she couldn’t help it. And Eren had been unnecessarily sharp with his tone and snapped at her questions. She immediately apologized and Eren felt horrible for lashing out.

The next couple times, he figured it was just a rumor and after a moment of considering it’s inconvenience and wondering if he could stop it, he decided it was just a stupid rumor. And it wasn’t true. Surely it would dissipate with time and it would probably only stay between a certain amount of people. Oh no. He was wrong. Soon it had spread to more and more until the entire cadet corps was secretly whispering in the dark. Eren didn’t like it. He had become even more agitated than usual and had put a considerable distance between him and his friend, thinking maybe everyone would finally shut up and forget about it. But everyone just assumed they were fighting. And it made it worse. People would come up to him asking if he needed any advice or claiming they were there if he needed someone to talk to. And Eren had told them he didn’t need any advice or any cheering up. He would be perfectly fine as long as they stopped bothering him about it. It was quieter after that, as most had either shut their mouths for fear Eren would beat them to a pulp otherwise or they had just grown to accept it as fact no matter how many times it was denied.

But there’s something about Jean saying something that really gets to Eren. He wants to believe it’s because it’s Jean and he doesn’t need him to harass him anymore than he already does. But even he knows that’s not true. What gets him so worked up is that Jean is the most oblivious person on the face of the earth. He’s about as dense as a brick and if anything was going on, he wouldn’t know even if it slapped him in the face. But somehow even he knew. And though he knew Jean was only telling him to mess with him, it made him finally start thinking for a second. Maybe they were right. He could understand a few people gossiping just for the hell of it, but when the entirety of the people he knew were telling him something was off, something definitely was. Though of course it wasn’t for the reason they thought it was. Absolutely not. Never in all eternity would that ever happen. That was just how things were. How they always had been.

Eren finds his feet leading him to the familiarity of the barracks and has no idea what it is he’s doing. But he marches on, bursting through the door and once his eyes fall on a mop of blond hair, he immediately regrets this decision. “Eren!” the boy says with a small grin, as if he’s been startled. “You scared me.”

He sees ocean eyes shift, calm waves turning to the beginning of a storm. “What’s wrong?”

It hits Eren as more of a statement than a question and he finds his mouth moving for him. “We need to talk. Alone.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that they’re already alone and rises from his bunk. Eren is grateful for his lack of interrogation as he follows him outside and towards a secluded area by the sparring grounds. When he finally turns around, the blond is pure worry. “Eren, what’s going on?” he asks and the brunet doesn’t think about any words coming out of his mouth. “Something’s wrong.”

“Wrong?”

Eren sees the sudden panic in ocean eyes and takes a second to clarify. “I’m fine,” he says and he visibly relaxes, making Eren’s heart skip a beat. He shakes his head softly. Now after thinking it over, he can see what everyone has been talking about and it’s so obvious that he had no idea why he hadn’t noticed before. “It’s about the corps.”

“The corps? Why, what happened?”

Eren curses himself under his breath. Nothing he’s saying is coming out how he wants and it’s causing unnecessary stress and concern. “No, I mean —”

He sighs in frustration, clutching at his hair. But the blond is patient with him which he again appreciates. “People are talking,” he says finally and something in sapphire eyes tells him he knows what he’s talking about. But he doesn’t want to assume anything. “As they do.”

Eren stares at the ground, finding his breathing is strangely erratic. He imagines he’s furrowing his brow and averting his gaze, biting his lip the way he does when he’s nervous. Eren shakes his head again because he shouldn’t know that. He hears the hesitance in his voice as he asks, “What are they saying?”

At first Eren doesn’t answer and he isn’t sure why. He’s the one who wants to talk, so why isn’t he talking? But he knows it’s not that he wants to talk. He needs to. “They’re saying…,” he starts, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest. “It’s weird.”

He gets the feeling again that he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t blame him for not bringing it up. Though he does sort of wish he would to spare him the trouble, but knows he wouldn’t do something so selfish. Not to him. “They’re saying what’s weird, Eren?”

“Us, Armin.”

He looks up to meet cerulean eyes. “That we’re too affectionate, too close, to be just friends,” Eren says and he’s actually surprised he’s made it this far. He sees the blond avert his gaze and can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He’s trying to think of something. Something that will get him out of this situation a little longer and Eren wishes he didn’t know him so well. Armin doesn’t say anything for a moment and Eren doesn’t know what to, so they just stand there in silence, an almost tangible tension settling over them. “You know, don’t you? You’ve heard about it,” he doesn’t really ask as much as state. “Yeah,” Armin says after a moment and Eren can tell he’s given up with trying to find an excuse. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you might also know why I’m here.”

If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t even entirely sure why he was here. But he was hoping Armin was smart enough to figure it out for the both of them. He sees something flicker in ocean eyes and takes a step closer, feeling like he blond has come to a conclusion and he wants to know what it is. “I...I can’t say that I do.”

“Armin,” he says and there’s a couple directions he can go. “We both know that rumors have to start somewhere.”

He tears his eyes away. “Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

Armin swallows and looks up at him and the shimmer of fear he sees in his eyes makes Eren’s heart ache. “And are you trying to put that fire out?”

“I’m trying to figure out who started it.”

He takes a step back but the brunet follows after him. “Eren…,” he trails off so Eren speaks for him. “I’m not blaming anyone, Armin,” he says and it’s sincere. “I honestly don’t care who was the first to say something or how it spread. I care about why it happened in the first place.”

He sees Armin put up his walls, trying to block the boy out but he’ll have none of it. He observes Armin’s face, stepping closer as he steps back until he hits the trunk of a tree and Eren has him cornered. He enters his personal space, noticing the frantic breathing and flushed cheeks. “Do you…,” he says softly and he can see Armin trembling. “Do you like me, Armin?”

He doesn’t need to ask what he means. He takes a breath and something about that makes Eren’s stomach somersault. “I don’t think that has anything to do with this.”

“Don't avoid the question, Armin.”

Ocean glances to emerald and it’s all Eren needs before Armin slips under his arms and moves back towards the deserted field, his back facing him. Eren feels something shift in his chest and feels a pang of guilt as he sees Armin cross his arms across his chest, seemingly shrinking in on himself. He reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, hating the way he flinches. “Armin,” he says gently but the blond shrugs him off. “Don’t say anything.”

“Armin —”

“Don’t!”

The raise of his voice sends a shot through his heart but doesn’t sway him. He’s messed up and now he needs to make things right. “Look, it’s not a big deal,” he tries and when Armin turns around he feels himself shatter. An ocean of tears is spilling from his eyes and Eren sees a mix of hurt and anger burning there. “Not a big deal?!” he asks and Eren steps back unconsciously. “So you don’t care about me anymore, is that it? You shut me out because of some stupid rumor and because you care more about what people think than considering your best friend? And now you know the rumors are true, so you try to make this out to be some little crush that’ll go away after a few days? I’m in love with you, Eren!” he shouts before turning and walking away. It takes a second for Eren’s feet to move but when they do, he’s running after his best friend, grabbing his arm and pulling him back around. “I’m not trying to make this out to be a little crush,” he says and Armin is listening. “I...I know how much this means to you.”

“Do you. Do you really.”

“Yes, I do. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just…”

A knot forms in his throat but he forces himself to speak. “I just wanted to know if…what they were saying was true….”

Armin doesn’t say anything and Eren kind of hopes he would so it would kill this unbearable silence. “If you really… thought of me that way….”

“What does it matter to you? Did you want to find out just to mess with me? To ridicule me for ever thinking such a thing could happen between us?”

Crystalline tears are running down his cheeks and Eren wishes he knew what he could say to make it better. “I wouldn’t make fun of you, Armin,” he says and something about the way he says it makes the blond meet his eyes. “Especially not for something like this. I was just….”

Eren’s never been particularly good with words. He can’t just talk and have everything turn out the way it needs to like Armin can. He doesn’t know exactly when to offer reassurance, how to explain what he’s feeling, or what he can say that can make Armin’s tears go away. So he takes a second, staring into ocean eyes, wondering if this were the other way around, what would he want to hear? What would Armin say to him that would put that gentle smile on his face and make him feel like whatever was wrong never happened? But he knows this is a delicate situation and right now he needs to be there for him so he has to think of something and think of it quick. But he doesn’t want to rush into it and say something he wants to take back. Words tumble around in Eren’s mind, becoming mixed up and tangled until nothing is making sense and he isn’t sure he understands English anymore. He has to say something, do something. Anything that will fix this. Because this is all that matters and if he loses Armin, he loses everything.

He must be taking too long because Armin turns his head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to comfort me or say you feel the same. I get it. It won’t happen and it never will and leading me on is just going to hurt us both. Just forget it ever happened,” he says seemingly final, and turns on his heel to leave. But Eren can’t let that happen. He hasn’t said what needs to be said so he grabs Armin’s shoulder and spins him around with a bit more force than he intended. “Armin, wait, I’m not — I don’t … You’re really … I don’t mind that you … it’s not that I ….”

He groans in frustration with himself but Armin doesn’t seem to really care about his fumbling. “What I’m trying to say … I-I just ….”

Eren takes a breath, staring into ocean eyes and finds something there that pushes him forward. Something that makes him desperate to figure out what he wants to say and gives him a boost of courage he thinks he needed. Something in him snaps. “Goddamnit, Armin!” is what he says as he grabs the front of his shirt and crashes their lips together. He feels shaky hands come up to his nape and tangle in chocolate hair, and he’s kissing him back just as forcefully. Eren lets all of his frustration out into the kiss, somehow trying to show Armin what he means by kissing him senseless. What he’s doing doesn’t fully register as his mind is focused solely on the feeling of Armin’s mouth as it glides against his. He takes fistfuls of golden hair and the front of his uniform, pulling their bodies flush together. His tongue slips between Armin’s lips and into his mouth, feeling warm breath pant quick and heavy against his skin. Their tongues dance, hands grabbing hold of anything they can reach, as if to reassure themselves that this is really happening. Eren feels like something in his chest is about to explode but he can’t tell if it’s his heart or his lungs. Maybe both. He doesn’t want to pull himself away from the familiarity of Armin’s lips, but he does anyway in his natural instinct to breathe. He tries to catch his breath, staring into ocean eyes and watching them flit over his face, as if they’re searching for something. “I care about you ...,” he decides to say and though it isn’t exactly what he wanted to say, it’s a start. “More than anything or anyone else in the entire world. I want to explore the outside world with you. To see the ocean with you....”

Eren’s lost track of what he’s saying now. Words are just beginning to flow and he thinks it might be easier this way. Something about kissing Armin restored whatever composure he had lost to help him fix the holes he had dug for himself. “And I don’t want something like this to have such an effect on you. I can tell you’re upset and I hate that.”

Cerulean eyes still stare, lips still unmoving. “I don’t want some stupid rumor to come between us. I’m sorry I pushed you too hard, I just needed to figure things out and I didn’t know how to do that. Do you forgive me?”

He looks at Armin with almost pleading eyes, his heart aching in anticipation. Then the blond gives a small smile. “Of course I do.”

Eren grins, pulling Armin towards him to kiss him again. The blond melts into it, taking fistfuls of chocolate hair as their mouths glide with renewed passion. His hands are on Armin’s lithe hips, pulling him closer until they run out of oxygen and are forced to pull away. Eren leans his forehead against Armin’s, letting out a sigh of what might’ve been relief or perhaps unadulterated joy. He sees the blond’s lips curve into a smile and he can’t help reflecting the gesture, feeling like he’s on top of the world.

#eremin #erearu #erenxarmin #erenjaeger #arminarlert #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #writing #my wrtiting #this was actually kinda good at first but i sorta lost it at the end #i dont know how to dialogue #thats gonna be a common theme here i think

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icarusalchemist · 5 years

Text

No Escape

read it on ao3 here

summary: "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"No, Stark, I am not 'fucking kidding' you," Fury said down the line, voice full of exasperation. "You've got a mission, the both of you, and you will go on it, and you will succeed."

Tony sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Even though he doesn't want to, Tony has to deal with the ramifications of his latest mission at some point.

It was cold. So. Fucking. Cold.

That was all Tony could feel. He was curled up on his side on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly ahead. His eyes were dry from staring for so long and from how much he had cried. He was so damn empty inside, but it was an empty that hurt. So damn much.

He tried not to think about the events of the past week, but God knows he was terrible at not thinking about things. So, because the only thing Tony could manage to do when he didn't want to think about something was think about it, he relived the past week in his mind.

---

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"No, Stark, I am not 'fucking kidding' you," Fury said down the line, voice full of exasperation. "You've got a mission, the both of you, and you will go on it, and you will succeed."

Tony sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He hated overnight missions with a burning passion.

"What does the mission entail?" Steve asked, sitting up and looking intently at the phone. Tony flicked his eyes over to his fiancé and noticed the rigidness in his back. He's always so quick to go into Cap-mode, he thought.

"It's a three-day recon mission in France-" Tony's ears perked up, his eyebrows rising in slight excitement, but then his mood fell when Fury clarified, "rural France. Which means no gallivanting, Stark."

"You have so little faith in me," Tony laughed.

"Should we expect a fight?" Steve asked.

"Always expect a fight, Rogers," Fury answered, back to business as usual. "I suggest some surveillance time before heading in, but you'll need to be back at the rendezvous point on the third day if you want to come home, so that means you've got to get in and get out relatively quick."

"I've got some new surveillance equipment I've been developing," Tony suggested. "We could use that. It'd probably help us go a lot faster than using anything SHIELD could offer."

Fury huffed but didn't disagree. "Just make sure it won't blow up. The information you'll be retrieving is vital to an ongoing investigation within AIM."

"Within?" Steve asked, his brow furrowed.

"I've got a few moles inside, even one at your point of interest. Which," Fury said, "means no making yourselves known. Period."

"Of course," Tony said. "Take all the fun out of it." Steve shot Tony a glance but he just shrugged. He knew the information was important, as was the mission they were to embark on sometime in the next twenty-four hours, he just wanted to get in a good deal of complaining to sate Fury.

"So it's simple," Steve began to recap. "Watch, in, out."

"Simple," Fury repeated in confirmation. "You'll receive the rest of your briefing shortly. Another SHIELD agent will have a car ready for you in two hours to take you to the airport, Captain."

"And me?" Tony asked, sitting forward and looking at the phone apprehensively.

"You'll fly in solo, Stark. Get a head start with that new tech you were talking about. I expect you to depart within the hour." And with that, Fury hung up.

Tony sighed and flopped back against the couch cushions, taking a last, brief moment of relaxation before getting up and prepping for the mission.

---

For late May, France was quite cold.

Now, Tony wasn't shivering in his suit, because his suit had heaters, but he knew it was cold because his heaters had actually kicked on to toast him up. Steve, who still wasn't a fan of the cold several years after waking up from the ice, was going to have a different opinion about the temperature being in the thirties.

While Tony waited for Steve to arrive, he set up their surveillance equipment and began watching the building they would be infiltrating in no more than thirty-six hours' time. It was fairly simple in layout and decently staffed. In only ten minutes of observation, Tony had guessed which agent was their mole (he came outside for a smoke within the first few minutes of Tony being set up just as their mole's voice piped up in his SHIELD mandated earpiece).

When Steve arrived, they set to work on more intense surveillance, watching for routines and lookouts. It was pretty quick work and they quickly found themselves bored while waiting for the staff to do their rounds.

"So," Tony said, a few hours into their surveillance on the second day. "I've got a bit of a question for you."

Steve sat back against a tree and gave Tony a look, his eyebrow raised. "What kind of question?"

"Just wedding detail," Tony said, waving a hand as if it was nothing. He grinned as Steve rolled his eyes, a small smirk on his lips.

"Alright, as long as you're not asking about my tux-"

"Which I'm not-"

"-then feel free," Steve told him, folding his hands in his lap.

"I wanted to talk colors-"

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" Steve asked.

"Yes, but I changed my mind on what we had agreed on." Steve rolled his eyes again at Tony's words. "Hear me out; instead of just blue, we could do blue and-"

Just at that moment, there was a loud explosion from the direction of the warehouse they were supposed to be watching.

"Shit," Steve cursed as he jumped into action. He stood and grabbed his helmet, quickly jamming it on his head, and then his shield. Tony flicked down his faceplate and began to scan through the trees.

"There's..." He was confused. They had both heard the explosion and it had sounded loud enough to have crumbled a wing of the building. But if that was the case, then why was the building perfectly intact, without so much as a small fire or smoke to prove something had gone amiss?

"What the hell?" Steve voiced, catching on to the issue himself. "You heard that, too, right, Tony?"

"Yeah. I'd say anyone in a five mile radius probably just heard that," Tony confirmed. He was so confused. What was going on?

"That's just what we had hoped," said a voice in Tony's ear. The mole, except it wasn't. This voice had a distinct French accent to it instead of the perfect English their mole spoke. "Hello, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark."

Tony opened his mouth to reply but saw Steve holding up his hand out of his peripheral vision: don't. Sometimes Tony hated how well Steve knew him.

Steve motioned for them to start out towards the warehouse when they heard another explosion. This time, though, they also saw it.

"There went your mole," the voice in Tony's ear said. "Those were his quarters. Boom."

Tony's jaw clenched as he thought of the agent whose life had just been ended. They were failing their mission and it was quickly going to raise the number of casualties.

"We have some families here as well. Families of innocents who think they're just doing regular scientific research. If you don't make yourselves known, well..." The man trailed off. "I think you know what I'll be forced to do, don't you, Stark?"

Tony took a deep breath but didn't respond. He looked to Steve just as Steve motioned for them to move again.

"The longer you take, the more lives I will have to take. Tick, tock." Tony didn't doubt that the guy was serious so he didn't waste even a second of hesitation to follow Steve toward the building.

---

Tony knew he would never be able to forgive himself for charging into the situation without thinking and talking it through with Steve. They'd tried sneaking in but got caught immediately, having been noticed on their way over. They immediately disabled Tony's armor and forced him out of it the same way the Extremis soldiers had forced Rhodey out of his armor years ago and took Steve's shield.

They were unarmed but that didn't stop them from fighting off as many of AIM's men as they could before being overpowered by the enemy's numbers. They were bound and moved to a cell in the basement where they were watched by two agents with guns. That was where they found their mole, bound and bloodied.

So he hadn't been killed after all.

The AIM agent who had been in their ear and lured them in appeared soon enough. He knew who they were and what they were after and his only, continuously repeated question was who the other moles were. Steve and Tony didn't know, and it earned them both a lot of spilled blood.

Then the agent saw their rings.

"Hm. I think I see an answer sooner than either of you planned to break." Then he had yanked Steve to his feet by his hair, twisting and making him hiss in pain and surprise. The agent pulled a gun out of a side holster that Tony somehow hadn't noticed and placed the barrel against the side of Steve's head. "Now. Let's see if you will tell me what I want to know. Names, now." Tony could see Steve's gritted teeth when the agent pressed the barrel harder against his temple.

"We've both already told you," Tony spat. "We don't know. We didn't even know him." Tony jerked his head back to the mole somehow still clinging to life in the corner of the room.

Everything that happened next happened in such a quick succession that Tony couldn't even quite register everything at first. There was an explosion, a single gunshot, and a scream.

---

He barely made it out.

If it hadn't been for the SHIELD agents that burst in, Tony knew he would be dead. But he also knew Steve probably wouldn't be.

But that was the case.

Tony had escaped with his life and only a few broken bones, but Steve had found his eternal resting place, dying in the line of duty like he must have always been destined to.

He was dead but Tony was alive and Tony knew it wasn't fair. It never would be fair that Steve would come up short-changed to Tony, but now it was forever.

Tony had lost the love of his life and would never be able to forgive himself. Because it was his fault. It was his fault that he couldn't save the one person who saved him.

#my fic #steve rogers/tony stark #tony stark/steve rogers #tony stark #steve rogers #stevetony #stony #marvel #otp: you gave me a home

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still-a-hetalian · 6 years

Text

A FrUk Fairytale

For FrUk Week 2018 Day 5: Princess and Knight

@frukweek

Summary: In which Arthur locks himself up in a tower, calls a dragon a floozy, and gets rescued by the most annoying Frenchman he’s ever met in his entire life.

A note on human names: Alistair (Scotland), Caden (Wales), Patrick (Northern Ireland), and Seamus (Republic of Ireland)

Can also be found on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15485028

All in all it really wasn’t too bad of a deal. Arthur would’ve liked to have been allowed to get out a little bit more than once a week (he wasn’t supposed to leave his tower at all but he managed to strike up a deal with the dragon who guarded him to let him out once in a while – most people thought gold was their weak spot but really it was tiny swatches of embroidery, weird, Arthur acknowledged, but it was incredibly more convenient than gold) but anymore was probably asking for too much and word would definitely get out that he could actually leave the tower if he was caught wandering.

It’s not like he would get in trouble or anything if he was caught, but it would completely ruin his plan – or more accurately his and his brothers’ plan. There were probably much better ways to avoid marriage than locking yourself in a tower with a dragon and telling everyone in the kingdom you were trapped but so far it was working out brilliantly. He didn’t have to attend to any of his princely duties, he got to read and embroider as much as his heart desired, and no one bothered him, with – of course – the exception of one of his brothers covertly stopping by every once in a while for tea.

The plan was going great, he only had to wait until the princess who was fervently trying to get his hand in marriage to lose interest and he would be free again. Though unfortunately, somewhere along the line though the tale of his predicament got muddled as it passed from person to person and turned into a tale about a princess trapped in a tower. Arthur could understand where the confusion came from, a similar story told to the brothers when they were younger was what inspired this ridiculous plan but it still brought on some unfortunate challenges. Making his voice a higher pitch when he called out to the “gallant” knights who came and tried to “rescue him” wasn’t that big of a deal, all he needed to do was wait until his dragon noticed them and burned them to a crisp, but still, Arthur couldn’t help but me miffed.

Unfortunately, as what happens to all great plans, they must come to an end, and this one was ended by one annoying French prick.

Arthur had been going about his usual morning routine of sweeping the floors and enjoying the serenity of no one to interrupt his calm. He enjoyed listening to the birds chirping outside his window until he heard the galloping of horse hooves approaching the tower.

He wasn’t expecting any of his brothers for at least another two days so that could only mean it had to be a suitor. All Arthur could do was roll his eyes and hope that the dragon would return soon from her morning hunt for food.

“Allo! Young maiden, are you up there?” Arthur heard a voice say from down below. He sighed and dropped his broom to the floor.

Might as well get this over and done with before he starts looking too hard at the tower, Arthur thought to himself. There was a hidden door at the bottom. As long as you knew where it was, it was fairly easy to access but most knights didn’t make it that long.

“Yes, of course, brave knight. I am up here withering away all by myself,” Arthur called out in falsetto, dramatically draping himself against the door frame of the balcony looking out across the land surrounding the tower. There was no way the knight would be able to see him from that ground at that angle but frankly, there was no harm in amusing himself so Arthur loved to ramp up his performances.

“Don’t worry I will rescue you soon, ma chere,” the knight called again.

Wow, so original, Arthur thought to himself and wandered back inside hoping the dragon would return and end his suffering.

Arthur tried to return to his chores but he kept hearing the pounding of boots from the knight running around the castle. This was probably the longest any knight had lasted but Arthur tried not to get worried, the dragon would be back any moment… and at that he heard the tell-tale sound of gigantic wings flapping as she returned.

Arthur stopped what he was doing and waited to listen for the knight being burnt to a crisp but it never came. Dropping what he was doing again he ran to the balcony to see what was going on and was greeted with the sight of a suspiciously calm knight holding out a bag of scraps of fabric to the dragon.

Oh no, they were just random scraps of fabric, but they were embroidered useless scraps of fabric. Arthur cursed the dragon’s poor taste in needlework and the knight’s knowledge. Countless other knights had tried to entice it with gold only to meet fiery deaths but this one seemed wiser than that.

He watched as the dragon sat back on its haunches and carefully looked through the bag, delicately sorting the scraps with its claws and peering at each one carefully. It would probably give the knight just enough time to find the door – except, the knight wasn’t there anymore.

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck – Arthur inwardly chanted to himself as he heard the pounding of boots up the tower staircase. He scrambled for something to block the door, but everything would be too large for him to budge.

FUCK! Arthur continued his incredibly unhelpful inner monologue. He looked around and saw an old wooden chair. Fine, he would have to resort to desperate measures.

*****

Francis woke up with a splitting headache. All he could remember was running up some dark stairs, opening up a heavy wooden door, and BAM – complete blackness.

He tried to lift his head but was met with shooting pain and so resorted to laying back down and turning his head to the sound of a voice coming from the balcony.

“Oh you floozy, really? You see any old colorful scraps of fabric and you’ll betray me like that. How am I going to deal with this? There’s no way my brothers will get my message in time to help!” The blond man yammered on but his voice was making Francis’ headache worse, he had to give the man some credit though, it was pretty impressive to be able to ream out a dragon like that and live. He also had to give it to the dragon though, whatever it did wrong it looked pretty remorseful – if the giant lizards could even look remorseful.

Oh no, he was losing it, he definitely had a concussion from whatever slammed him in the head.

All Francis could do was groan.

This seemed to catch of attention of the other man in the room and he stopped mid-sentence. The dragon saw his opportunity to escape and flew off as the angry man stalked over to Francis lying on the ground.

Francis pretended to still be knocked out as the man leaned over him.

“I know you’re awake, who are you?”

Francis sighed and opened his eyes; his headache was slowly receding. Upon opening them, the first thing he saw was the man holding a wooden chair leg, ready to swing again. The second thing he noticed was the hideous tunic the man was wearing.

“Really, I come to rescue you and you’re wearing that, I may be able to save you from this tower but obviously I won’t be able to save you from your fashion sense,” Francis said.

The man lowered the leg in surprise and contempt.

“Excuse me?” The man sputtered out, his face going a little blotchy.

If you looked past the tragic fashion sense and monstrous eyebrows, Francis supposed he could consider…

“I’ll have you know! This is the height of fashion in my kingdom!” the man said. Francis tried to listen but all he could focus on were the black furry creatures pasted above the other man’s eyes…like dancing caterpillars – merde, definitely a concussion.

“…now I demand that you leave me be at once or you will face the consequences!” the man concluded as Francis finally tuned back into the one-sided conversation.

Francis struggled to sit up and when he did, he said, “mon cher, before you continue talking I need to clarify something first.”

The man huffed but let him continue.

“Am I correct in assuming that you are the beautiful young maiden trapped in the highest tower, guarded by a dragon, to be punished by an evil witch for all of eternity?” Francis asked.

“Oh god, is that what people are saying nowadays, Alistair is going to have a field day with this…,” the man trailed off, throwing the chair leg to the side. “Really? Beautiful young maiden? Evil witch? This isn’t a bloody fairytale.”

“Well yes, that is what the story promised. Instead it seems that all there is a grouchy young prince and an easily distracted dragon,” Francis said.

“Not that easily distracted, you are the first knight to figure out her fascination with embroidery,” the man told him.

“I’m honored,” Francis said, trying to get up. “Oh well, no matter. We must be going either way, I hope you have your things packed, my prince.”

As Francis got to his feet he looked down and gave the other man a winning smile, it would be easy to charm him, it always was. Unfortunately, though, he was met with an unimpressed face.

“I’m not leaving,” the man said. “Also, my name is Prince Arthur, please use that full title I have no desire to become familiar with you.”

Francis tried to not be thrown off by his curt tone.

“Are you not trying to escape?” Francis tried again.

“Of course not, why the bloody hell would the staircase be unlocked if that were the case?” Arthur said testily. He had a point, it didn’t dawn on Francis until then that it was suspiciously easy to get up the tower.

“Well either way we must be on our way, I still need to collect my prize,” Francis said, brushing himself off.

“Are you really going to be this much of a pain our entire journey?” Arthur asked in monotone.

“Are you really going to be so rude the entire time?” Francis sniped back, his patience finally being tested.

“Rude! I’m a prince! You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Well, this is no way to address your savoir!”

“You didn’t save me! I didn’t need to be saved!”

Francis caught himself before he continued this ridiculous argument. They were wasting daylight and they would need to leave immediately if they were to be at the king’s palace by the end of the week. He was running out of time…

“Are you coming with me or not?” Francis huffed.

Arthur seemed to consider his options before answering.

“I suppose I have to, word will get out about the truth if I don’t,” he sighed. “It has been a while since I’ve seen all of my brothers...”

“Well then. Grab some things and let’s set out.”

They gathered enough supplied for the two-day journey and set out on the horse that Francis rode there on.

*****

They of course, fought the entire time. They fought about their seating arrangements - Arthur resented sitting in front like some helpless maiden – they fought about when to stop, they fought about what sort of bird was making a call, they fought about directions, everything, every possible thing to fight about, they seemed to cover it.

Francis started to regret this immediately. Desperate measures though…

Hours passed and the sun started to dip down in the sky.

Finally, they agreed that they needed to stop to set up camp and eat dinner. Both completely worn from the events of the day, they decided to ignore one another instead.

They quietly worked around each other as Francis set up a tent and Arthur started a fire. He was fantastic at burning things he found after many previous cooking attempts so the job suited him well.

It was quiet but peaceful in the woods. His brothers had informed that this area of the woods was relatively safe to camp in at night but the next days journey might not so he savored this feeling.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Francis said, breaking the silence. “If you weren’t trapped, then why did you stay in the tower.”

Arthur sighed. It was only a matter of time before the Frenchman asked.

“Short answer: I was avoiding getting married,” Arthur said.

“And the long answer,” Francis asked.

“Listen I really don’t want to get into it but there was this nobleman’s daughter who decided to become infatuated with me once it got out that after my eldest brother became king I would need to be married in order to secure my future. Don’t get me wrong she is quite lovely and will probably make someone out there a wonderful wife. But. Just not mine,” Arthur trailed off.

“And why’s that?” Francis pressed when he figured he wouldn’t get the rest out of Arthur so easily.

“She has one major flaw.”

“And what’s that?”

“She’s a woman,” Arthur said flatly. “While I would not be the first man with no interest in women to marry one for the sake of show, I would prefer not to have a loveless marriage to someone who deserves much better than that.”

“And so you lock yourself in a tower?” Francis asked, perplexed.

“Listen, it was really my eldest brother’s idea,” Arthur started.

“The king?”

“Yes, well, the others helped as well. But it was mostly Alistair’s idea and I figured I might as well go along with it, but as you could tell from the stories, the idea got a little out of hand,” Arthur said.

Yes, Francis had heard enough interesting stories about the young king that locking his little brother in an abandoned tower guarded by a dragon might not actually be the most outlandish thing the man had ever done. There was one particular rumor Francis really liked that went something along the lines of within the first month of his rule he managed to convince a king whose the kingdom had been at odds with theirs for years that the reason it rained so much in his kingdom was due to a curse from an old witch that said that if any neighboring kingdom attacked them, the invaders’ lands would be flooded with all of the rainwater the ground had been collecting.

Personally Francis thought it was the most outlandish rumor he’d ever heard but after finding out the truth of Arthur in the tower, he was more inclined to believe the stories. Some people thought the new king was absolutely insane but Francis was starting to believe that he may just be smarter than people realized, and definitely more creative. Really, letting a harrowing – and very sympathetic – story spread about his poor “sister” trapped in a tower would definitely win some sympathy points with his new subjects… and get rid of any of the more idiotic noblemen in his realm… And perhaps distract people from any growing pains in taking over the kingdom…

Francis had been lost in thought for too long and missed the question Arthur asked him.

“Sorry?” Francis said.

“I asked what a knight would possible want with a princess?” Arthur said.

“Well the reward of course,” Francis replied. “And I’m not a knight.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I am a prince from across the channel,” Francis said, puffing up a little.

“Oh, so you are French,” Arthur said unpleasantly. “Wait, what reward?”

Francis was about to answer when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind them. The two froze looking around but the fire made it difficult to see in the shadows. There were footsteps, he was sure of it.

“My brother had said that these parts were supposed to be safe –“ Arthur said.

“Well hello there!”

The two whipped their heads around to across the fire from where they were sitting to see a group of men standing there smiling.

Oh no.

Arthur noticed what they were holding in their hands.

They were travelling minstrels.

Arthur immediately wished they were being robbed. It would be impossible to shake these guys off once they latched on. He would rather be beaten and left for dead than have to sit through the same painful songs minstrels always sang with out of tune instruments and obnoxious joy.

“We noticed you two travelling through and figured we’d come and say hi. Would you mind if we played a little tune?” the one man, probably the leader asked. His smile looked demonic in the light of the fire but Arthur knew the man meant no harm… probably.

Arthur tried to silently communicate with Francis to turn down the offer but Francis seemed to have the same “deer-caught-in-carriage-lights” as he did.

“I don’t –“ Arthur started to say.

“YES we would love to hear your music!” Francis interrupted through clenched teeth.

The minstrels looked delighted and started whispering among themselves what to play first. Arthur was fairly certain he heard one of them whisper, “c’mon boys this is the first time one has agreed in months we gotta make it good,” but Arthur was already trying to block them out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Arthur leaned over and hissed at Francis.

“There have been many stories about slighted minstrels attacking unwilling audiences, we cannot upset them,” Francis whispered back, keeping his eyes on the band of colorful musicians.

“Oh god, this is not how I want to die,” Arthur started to despair.

“Exactly, which is why we need to make them as happy as humanly possible. Smile and clap and we’ll get out of this alive, okay?” Francis said.

They did as Francis said. For two and a half hours. If Arthur wasn’t so tired and ready to snap, he would be almost impressed that they were able to play for so long.

Next to him he heard Francis let out a yawn and everything went to a complete stand still. The minstrels stopped their music immediately and Arthur and Francis froze.

This is it. My brothers will never be able to find my body. Arthur internally panicked.

“Oh my, excuse us, it’s so late you both look like you’ve spent all day travelling, you must be tired,” the leader said, breaking the silence. “We should get going anyway.”

“O-oh, yes. Lots of travelling and lots tomorrow so it’s probably for the best we head to bed soon. Thank you so much for this, uh, incredible performance,” Francis said, sweating.

“Oh where are you traveling to?” the leader asked again as the others were starting to pack their instruments.

“My sister’s wedding,” Arthur said quickly.

“Oh where do she –“

“Far, very far, you wouldn’t know the town,” Francis interrupted the leader. He stood up and handed the men a pouch of coins as payment for the music, trying to get them on their way.

“Oh, well, that’s nice. It was very nice meeting you!” the musicians said as Francis tried to usher them away.

The musicians wandered off back into the night and the two men both deflated in relief.

“Figured it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to disclose our true identities,” Arthur said.

“Yes, that’s probably for the best. Let’s head to sleep, I think I may pass out if I stand any longer,” Francis said, heading for the tent.

Arthur smothered their camp fire enough that only glowing embers remained and followed the other man in.

Both were two tired to fight over sleeping positions, and if by the end of the night they had moved closer together, tangling legs and sharing warmth, no one had to know.

********

The next morning, they were quick to break down their camp. They would need to ride as fast as possible in order to make it to the castle in time so they wouldn’t have to suffer through another night outside.

The very thought of sitting through another concert in terror for their lives, was deeply unpleasant for the both of them.

Francis’ horse put up little fuss for the hard pace that they were setting, trying to get through the dense forest to get to the sprawling farmland which surrounded the kingdom’s capitol.

There was slightly less arguing throughout the day. The two still slung barbs at each other but they held more of a fond tone than anything truly biting. Arthur talked about his time in the tower and his brothers while Francis would talk about his home and his journey to Arthur’s kingdom. There was still that one question that Arthur was almost worried about asking: What was Francis after? He rode all this way to save a princess? Arthur thought that seemed ridiculous, there had to be more to it.

Arthur was about to ask again what the reward for his “rescue” which Francis mentioned last night when the city walls came into sight. He knew they shouldn’t waltz in the front entrance as someone would definitely recognize him and word would spread quickly. He didn’t know everything that had happened since he was gone nor what his brother might be planning so it was best that they met with him first before anything else.

“There’s another entrance that we can go to that links directly to the castle,” Arthur turned his head and told Francis. Francis nodded and listened as Arthur gave him directions.

They found an outcrop of rocks that when they moved certain ones, it uncovered a small hole that would drop into a tunnel. It was too small for the horse but large enough to walk through. Francis let his horse go, it was simply one he had bought when he landed on the shores of Arthur’s kingdom and figured someone else might make better use of it since he probably would not be able to return to it anytime soon.

They entered the tunnel and Arthur directed the way as best as he could remember. They were sure to be quiet as they went in case anyone was patrolling down here.

Finally, Arthur was sure he found one of the entrances in the castle which would make the least amount of fuss – hopefully - the kitchen.

Francis and Arthur worked together to lift up the heavy stone cover above them and Francis gave Arthur a boost through the hole, as he was the shorter of the two and needed help lifting himself up.

When he did though he was essentially popping out of the stone floor giving one of the kitchen maids one hell of a scare as she shrieked and flung the scones off of the plate she was holding onto the floor.

Arthur took one look at the sad pastries lying scattered on the floor and said, “Well isn’t that a bloody shame, they looked so good.”

“P-p-prince Arthur?” the young girl stammered.

“Yes. And if you don’t mind could you find something for me and my companion to eat – oh, and alert my brother I am back,” Arthur said, while helping Francis out of the hole in the kitchen floor.

The young girl seemed to have to take a minute to collect herself and then sprang into action, unfortunately still holding the platter as she rushed out the door in search of the king, or perhaps one of the other princes, which ever she ran into first.

“Mon dieu, what are those things?” Francis said, looking at the ruined scones on the ground.

“Scones, or at least they were.”

“What they are is an offense to the art of baking,” Francis said disgusted. Arthur didn’t even have it in him to argue back as she looked around the deserted part of the kitchen looking for something to eat.

Finding some cured meat, cheese, and bread, Arthur and Francis had their meal and planned their course of action. It would be best for Arthur to meet the king in private but that probably would not be easy – though keeping his return quiet might not even be an issue as the kitchen maid more than likely had already told at least a dozen other people in the castle already.

They had barely finished their meal when the young woman burst back in – still holding the scone tray. Arthur worried for her health.

“The king has arranged for you to meet in his chambers, we must be quick, there will be visitors coming tonight,” the girl said, in between gasps of air as she tried to catch her breath.

Arthur brushed off his clothes and caught Francis’ eye. The other man just nodded and followed him as he followed the girl to the door.

They wandered throughout the castle, rushing past some bewildered servants as they made their way to the king’s rooms.

“Who is visiting tonight?” Arthur finally thought to ask as they neared their destination.

“Lady Pemberton and her father I do believe,” the young woman said. Arthur felt himself grow cold.

“What’s wrong Arthur?” Francis asked, noticing his expression.

“That’s the young woman I was telling you about. The reason why I was in the tower,” Arthur whispered back to him.

Francis wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Something in his chest tightened at the thought of Arthur being forced to marry this young woman as it seems the elaborate excuse not to was unravelling. It was sympathy for the man. Of course. Definitely sympathy, he repeated to himself, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Sure, the man was cranky and argumentative, and had terrible, terrible, terrible fashion sense, but at the same time he was amusing in his own right and there was something about his interaction with Arthur that just felt right somehow. There was still hope though… if the king was willing to uphold the reward…

They came to a large wooden door, and the servant knocked rapidly on it until the latch was undone and it swung open. A relatively tall man with hair the same color as Arthur’s appeared in the doorway waving them in.

Arthur and Francis entered the sitting room as the man re-latched the door.

“Good to see you again, Caden,” Arthur said to the man, laughing slightly. The man spun around and caught Arthur in a bear-hug.

Francis looked around and saw three more men sitting in the room. Two red-headed twins were quietly fighting about something or other on a couch at the far end of the room.

Those must be Princes Patrick and Seamus, Francis thought to himself.

Which meant that the last man sitting in a highbacked chair with fiery hair must be the king. Francis caught the man observing him and everything seemed to fall into place. Everything. The rumors, the plan, this was definitely the kind of man that would come up with such absurd ideas but still somehow pull them off. He had the same green eyes as his four brothers but there was something in them that seemed to make the man look like he was constantly sizing you up but also laughing at you in the same beat.

The king seemed to find something in Francis that he liked as he finally broke the starring contest that the two were engaged in, and reached for the glass of wine sitting on the small table beside him.

Arthur came up behind him, huffing and trying to sort out his messed hair. Caden, Arthur, and France all took empty seats. Caden sitting in the other highbacked chair in the room beside the king, while Francis and Arthur shared the closest couch.

“Well, welcome back,” the king said to Arthur, smiling softly. “I suppose you have a fantastic excuse for showing up so suddenly.”

Arthur looked at Francis then delved into the bare facts of their encounter and journey to the castle, trying to be quick. As he told the story, three of Arthur’s brothers seemed to be absorbed, but Francis could still feel the king’s eyes on him. There was something about this entire situation which unnerved him.

After Arthur finished his tale, he looked at Alistair as if to ask “what now?”

Instead of addressing Arthur, the king looked at Francis and asked, “And I suppose you’ll be wanting that reward that the rumor circulating seems to promise?”

Arthur immediately looked at Francis, remembering the mention of a reward from the night before. Francis looked back at him slightly uncomfortable but resolute.

“Yes,” the Frenchman said.

“Francis what is he talking about?” Arthur said flatly. Arthur looked at his eldest brother but the man only snickered and nodded his head towards Francis.

Arthur looked at him and Francis just sighed.

“The reward, ma cher, for rescuing the ‘princess’ according to the rumors is her hand in marriage,” Francis said, not quite meeting Arthur’s eye.

“You’ve got to be fucking –“Arthur started to say.

“Alistair, you won’t let this happen, right? We put Arty in the tower just so he wouldn’t have to marry,” Patrick spoke up from the other couch. The king said nothing but only shrugged and continued to drink his wine with a smile on his face.

What the hell is he up to, thought Arthur.

“Well it would be rude for our knight here to have gone through all of this trouble under false pretenses,” the king said sarcastically. A little too lightly for Arthur’s taste, this was his future at steak.

God what a prick, he wasn’t the one that was being offered up as a prize, - wait, Arthur thought to himself. How did he know about the prize? He may have heard a rumor here or there but…

“You’re the one who started the rumors aren’t you?” Arthur looked Alistair dead in the eye, not even trying to hide how much he loathed his brother in that moment.

At that, the other man burst out laughing. His four brothers and Francis looked at the king bewildered.

Maybe I was wrong, perhaps he is insane, Francis thought.

“WHAT!” Something in Arthur just seemed to snap. Either from the stress of the previous 48 hours, or perhaps the entire year that this charade had taken place. He got to his feet and it seemed to snap the tension in the air as the brothers immediately started to argue.

Francis only sat there though. It was a strange move but there had to be a reason for the king’s actions.

The king seemed to catch his eye and Francis understood.

“Well this was obviously the best possible solution though wasn’t it?” Francis said plainly. The arguing came to a quick stop when the men noticed that he had spoken.

“What are you – “Caden started to say.

“Let him talk,” Alistair interrupted. He leaned back in his chair amused.

Francis cleared his throat, suddenly a little uncomfortable as all five men – four of which he had never met and one he’d only know for 48 hours, a very eventful 48 hours but still – turned their attention to him.

“It was the best possible solution to your problem,” Francis started. “There was clearly no chance that Arthur would willingly marry any of the potential female suitors and this story created enough stir in the kingdom that it would attract attention. It became a trial of sorts for anyone wanting Arthur’s hand in marriage since they would obviously need to be clever and devoted enough to get past the dragon. But, this still allowed Arthur to have a chance at being happy since if it was a princess in need of rescue it was sure to attract many male knights wherein if they eventually did pass and found out that Arthur is a man then they could either chose to marry him or you could simply offer him so sort of financial compensation instead.”

When Francis finished his explanation, he looked at the king again, waiting for him to say something.

Instead the man just burst out laughing.

“Nah, mate, I did it just for a laugh. But I did enjoy your theory,” the king cackled, his eyes sparkling. Francis didn’t believe him for one moment but he couldn’t blame the man for keeping up appearances.

Arthur’s face went red and he started to sputter.

Before he could say anything foul though there was a knock at the door and a servant entered to tell the group that their guests were arriving.

The king shoo-ed the man away and got up, his brothers following suit as Arthur and Francis remained dumbstruck in their seats.

Alastair let his brothers leave the room first as he paused by Arthur’s side and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“The man wasn’t wrong about this being the best possible solution. You can thank me later,” Alistair whispered, winking at Francis.

He left the room with a loud slam of the door leaving Francis and Arthur in silence. Neither really knew what to say now. Eventually, Arthur needed to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind the last few days.

“Why did you come rescue me?” Arthur said to Francis quietly.

“It seems that you and I are in very similar circumstances. I need to marry, mon amour,” Francis sighed. Arthur just looked at him confused.

“Then why go through all of that trouble?” he asked, suddenly feeling fragile. Francis could only let out a weak laugh.

“There were plenty of women to choose from in Paris but when I heard of the rumor of a beautiful young princess trapped, it all seemed so terribly romantic, no?” Francis started to smile at Arthur.

“But then won’t your parents be expecting you to have kids? Heirs?” Arthur said almost desperately. “This is all so sudden. You don’t really mean to propose to me do you?”

Arthur was starting to feel a little hysterical. At that, Francis simply grabbed Arthur’s hands in his and looked Arthur in the eye.

“Arthur I would never pressure you into something that you don’t want, and I know most of our time together so far has been nothing but violence and arguing, but something tells me I would be content if that was how I spent the rest of my days,” Francis said sincerely.

“God, don’t tell me you believe in love at first sight,” Arthur said very uncomfortably, trying to extract his hands from Francis’.

“No of course not, but I’ve learned enough about you to know that I’d like to learn more,” Francis said, almost as if he was asking a question.

Arthur deflated a bit at that, he could feel his cheeks warming and replied.

“Perhaps I’d like that too.”

Francis smiled and pecked Arthur on the cheek before standing up.

“Well now that that’s settled, we should probably go break the news of our betrothal to that young woman so her heart can finally be set free,” Francis said.

Arthur just rolled his eyes and snorted but followed Francis out of the room, all of the tension from everything seeming to melt off of his shoulders. He and Francis did seem to make a fantastic team…

The End…for now.

#hetalia #fruk #aph england #aph france #day 6: princess and knight pirate #day 6 #aph scotland #aph wales #aph northern ireland #aph republic of ireland #sorry I think this is a little late but i was allllmmoostt done writing it and then life happened #ugh #as it always does of course #anyway this is definitely the longest thing i've ever written #and am truly shocked that i was able to write this monster in less than 24 hours omg #my writing #fics #i might add on to this but meeeehhhh #though i really do want to flesh it out a lot more with their relationship with each other and the brothers' relationship

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itsthesinbin · 6 years

Text

Fucking Superb You Funky Little Bat (Chapter 2)

Read it on Ao3!

As usual, I always like to put out a second chapter after I make a new fic, so there’s something there to enjoy, and then take my time writing the rest.

After chapter three or four, I’ll exclusively be posting to Ao3, like I’m doing with the dragon age fic. It’s just easier that way to post a link on here.

Feedback and comments always appreciated :3

You ended up not returning to the skeleton house that night. You slept through the night, and the day. You woke up disoriented, tired, and in pain. Your wing was stiff, and the arm had a nasty looking wound on it.

The thought of your injury left when you smelled food. It was definitely burnt, so one of the skeletons must’ve cooked again, but it was enough to make your stomach growl. You stalked towards the house, keeping the weight off of your injured wing.

You saw a large plate of food on a table outside. A small fan was on said table, plugged in through a drop cord into the kitchen window, blowing the smell of the food in the direction of the woods.

You scanned the yard, not finding anyone sitting outside, or at the windows. Cautiously, you crept closer to the food.

Three different things were on the plate: a pile of spaghetti, some sparkly tacos, and some lasagna. A note was taped to the front of the plate- not that you could really comprehend the words, at the moment.

“I hope you enjoy the food, new furry friend! Don’t tell Boss we gave you some of his lasagna- he’d be very angry!”

Again, though, you couldn’t read it.

You scarfed down the food. Parts of it were undercooked, while somehow also being burned. You could care less about the quality of the food, though.

Footsteps came towards the door, but you were too preoccupied with the food to notice. Not until you heard a container drop. You looked up, seeing a small skeleton. Not the blue one, though. This one was red, and looked like the pointy, angry one from the other day.

He conjured some bones, looking at the table and seeing the note. He gave an annoyed sigh.

“So you’re what the cream puffs were hiding, huh,” he mumbled, watching as you perked up. He eyed you carefully, noting your insistence on not using your right arm. He sniffed, before scrunching his face.

He could smell infections from here.

You eyed the container on the floor. It contained more of the lasagna. Clearly, he was throwing it out, if he had dropped it so carelessly. He watched your eyes dart between him, and the dirt-covered food. He weighed his options for a second.

He made the bones vanish, before moving away from the food.

“You hungry?” He took on a tone like you’d talk to a sick dog, but with an underlying patronizing tilt. You could care less, though.

When you saw he wasn’t moving any closer, you limped towards the food. You flipped the overturned container out of the way, the lid having popped off. You sniffed the food, making sure there wasn’t anything dangerous in it- making sure it wasn’t a trick.

You eagerly dug in, when you realized it was safe. The short skeleton grinned slightly.

“Better than Boss finding it in the trash, I guess”. He crouched down, getting a good look at you as you ate.

“What the hell are you,” he mumbled, before turning to the door as someone came out.

“Oh, they’re here-” Papyrus stopped short, spotting the skeleton crouching in front of you. He and Blue fidgeted, orange and blue blushes covering their faces.

“R-Red, uh-” “This is what y’all been hiding?” Papyrus and Blue stood up straight.

“We were not hiding anything!” “Yeah, we were just, uh…” Blue tried to think of an excuse. Papyrus sighed, slouching slightly.

“We just… wanted to help them, Red. They’re hurt, and sick! I’m sure you can tell!” Red looked you over again. You had finished eating, and were licking your chops. You stared at him expectantly. Obviously, you still wanted more food.

Red sighed, running a hand over his skull. He looked at the two skeletons that were making puppy eyes at him.

“... We patch it up, then send it on its’ way, okay? It’s a wild animal, guys. We can’t treat it like a pet-” You growled, catching his attention. You weren’t a wild animal. You may not be all there, self fractured from captivity, but you can recognize bullshit when you hear it.

“Thank you, Red,” the other two said, before bolting inside to grab medical supplies. Red stared you down, eyes flicking down to your chest. His sockets seemed to widen as he focused on that spot.

You tilted your head, before laying down in your spot. Your wing hurt, and you felt sick. Was it from the food, or the wounds? You had no clue.

Red’s grin was tense as the other two finally came back out. The smell of medical supplies made your pupils slit, and you stared at the two intensely. Their smiles faltered.

“We… just want to help you, new friend,” Blue said, slowly walking closer. You looked between him, Papyrus, and Red.

“We didn’t properly introduce ourselves, did we? I am… the, uh… the magnificent Blue!” He faltered as you began snarling.

“Blue-” “And this is the, um… the great P… Papyrus…” You stood, hissing loudly. Blue stopped, sockets wide and seemingly-eternal smile gone. The noise seemed to attract more people, and three bodies emerged from the house.

The angry skeleton, another short one, and another tall one. All of their sockets widened, although Boss yelled that he thought you were gone.

A wall of orange bones blocked you off from Blue, making you stumble back. Blue turned, seeing the tall one in the orange hoodie had a glowing eyelight.

“Papy, it-” “What the hell is going on here,” the new short one asked, pulling his hands out of his blue jacket.

“Our new friend is hurt, Sans,” Papyrus explained. “We wanted to help them-” “That’s not your friend, Papyrus, that’s an animal,” the new tall one huffed, moving the wall back. It made you back up.

“They’re injured! Their wounds are infected!” “Then we need to call animal control,” Sans said, pulling a phone out. Your ears perked, and you roared angrily. You jumped over the wall, charging at Sans. He was caught off guard, but then his socket glowed a deep blue.

You felt a heavy weight on your chest, and were dragged to the ground. You wheezed as Papyrus yelled for his brother to let you go. Red walked over to Sans, mumbling something to him and the tall one.

The two looked at you, focusing on the spot Red stared at earlier. Their faces became grim as they watched you struggle. Pathetic whines and vicious snarls left you as you writhed. Sans seemed to start sweating, before he put his phone away.

That, instantly, made you calm down. Somewhat.

You were still struggling, but the urgency was gone. Papyrus and Blue were pulled back into the house, before you were finally let up. The door slammed shut.

The skeletons watched you through the window. You seemed to think that they were gone, as you let yourself appear vulnerable. You clawed at your chest, wheezing in pain.

“They’re sick,” Blue whispered. When you were under Sans’ magic, all of the skeletons could see your SOUL.

They knew you were a surface monster, now. Surface monsters had upside down SOULs, like Underground monsters. The difference between the two was that surface monsters’ SOULs had the strength of humans, and their attributes.

A fractured, Brave SOUL was what greeted them.

“Something is deeply wrong with them,” Papyrus agreed. “Maybe we should call Frisk? O-or the surface monster authorities?” Sans was quiet.

“The surface monsters’ ambassador did say that… we should call, if we are “bothered” by anyone,” Blue agreed.

Sans thought back to when they met the monsters’ ambassador, and his protegee. Leonardo was stern, but he cared about what happened to monsters- Surface and Underground alike. His protegee, Alex, was much less stern, but he had a kind SOUL. The two could definitely help.

They explained what ferals were, and knew you were in that category. Sort of. They could get rid of you, and the skeletons would be left in peace.

But… he knew the wrong move could end very badly. And you, clearly, had a problem with authority. You were also aware enough to know what a phone was, and what it was used for.

Sans watched you limp back into the woods, eyeing your swollen wounds. He sighed, pulling his phone out.

A higher pitched voice answered, and Sans wracked his brain for their name.

“Uh… Arle, right?” “Speaking”. Sans let out a small sigh of relief. Which they apparently caught, because the Emthrall on the other side snickered.

“Is, uh… Alex home?” “May I ask who’s speaking?” Of course he’d forget to clarify.

“Sans- the skeleton”. “OH right. You still owe me another one of those good hot dogs, by the way”. Sans snorted, walking to the nearest chair.

“Got ya. Anyway, is he around?” “Right, sorry- he’s out of town for the week with Leonardo. Something wrong?” Sans cursed quietly.

“We’ve got one of those… feral things-” “How dangerous?” Their tone grew serious.

“It’s injured, but not really attacking unless we get close. But, I think I should clarify; I don’t think it’s… fully feral, if that makes sense”. Arle was quiet, so Sans elaborated.

“I pulled out my phone to call animal control, because I thought it was just… a weird animal, at first, and it freaked out. When I put the phone away, it… calmed down”. He left out how he had it trapped with his magic.

“I think it knew I was trying to call someone”. Arle hummed, mumbling something as he heard them walk through their house.

“What’s your address again, Sans?” “Why?” Arle explained that they’re going to come down, with a friend, to scope out the scene. Sans grew nervous.

“You sure that’s a good idea? You’re not exactly a powerhouse, from what I remember”. Arle scoffed.

“Oh, hush- I’m not about to come fight the thing. I’m just bringing a friend to help evaluate this thing. I may not be part of Leo’s police force, but I’ve been around long enough to know how to help a feral,” they said, writing down the address as Sans told them.

“You guys aren’t in immediate danger?” “No, it ran after we got inside”. Arle grunted slightly.

“We’ll be there tomorrow, then, to see if it’s still around. If it shows up again, and seems dangerous, call me”. Sans told them that he understood, and then hung up with the Emthrall.

“Well,” Red asked, sitting next to Sans. Sans huffed.

“Alex’s spouse is coming over- the Emthrall”. Red’s grin widened.

“Right- the cute little thing at the meeting”. “Disgusting,” Boss mumbled, going back to the kitchen. Sans rolled his eyelights.

“They’re going to be here tomorrow to see how bad the situation is. Alex, himself, is gone for the week with Leonardo. They seem confident”. Red snorted.

“That little thing? Take on THAT? Are they crazy?” “They said they weren’t going to fight it- just… evaluate it”. Sans got up.

“Just keep an eye out for it tonight, and we’ll deal with it tomorrow, otherwise. He got a chorus of grunts, and some concerned mumbles from Papyrus and Blue. Sans sighed, rubbing his face as he walked to his room.

He’s really fucking tired.

#undertale #underfell #underswap #fic #mod fic #funky little bat

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