#also i sure do hope none of my followers are sick of blades content because i'm going hard oops

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 7: River

Summary/Author's Note: Okay, I tried to get this out in a timely manner since part 6 was so painful. It's a sloooooow burn, I'm sorry but I promise it will be worth it. Trust me I want them happy and boning as much as y'all do. This chapter is Ellaria centric, I wanted to explore some of her thoughts and emotions but rest assured Oberyn confronts Jaime at the end and gets some things off his chest.

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Reader Word Count: 4.1k (See my loves? I’m righting the wrongs of part 6) Warnings: (R/18+) As always. Language. Threats. Ellaria softness. Ellaria is just as much in love with you--I ain't scared. Oberyn "a long sword is a bad choice when fighting in close quarters" Martell. Ellaria is Oberyn’s voice of reason, we all knew this, it is not a surprise. Prince-Douche!Jaime.

Don't say, don't you say it One breath, it'll just break it

Parts (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)

It felt like days had passed but in reality it had only been a few hours. The room at the brothel felt empty, colder somehow, and both of them knew exactly why--you were no longer there. Ellaria sat in front of the mirror, using a small stick of charcoal to frame her dark eyes. She reached for the red lip stain in the small copper tin but stopped to look over her shoulder at Oberyn instead. 

The Prince had been standing on the balcony for the better part of the afternoon. His hands balanced on the railing were gripping the stone so tightly she could see his knuckles turning white with the effort. With a clenched jaw and an unwavering stare, he looked across the city at the Red Keep--such obvious anger on his handsome face saddened her heart. 

"Oberyn," she called gently but he didn't move. 

She moved her dress to the side as she stood up and moved to join him on the balcony. Oberyn was already dressed for the evening, his dark blue tunic striking against his olive skin. The silver stitching of stars that went down the edges drew attention to the open expanse of his broad, bare chest. She would be thankful when they were back in Dorne where it was warm enough he could forgo a tunic all together. She loved coming up from behind him and running her hands down his chest, lightly playing with the soft hair line down from his navel. But she knew her touch was not something that could distract him from his rage, and if she was being honest, it couldn't even distract her from her own. 

"My love," she whispered as she stood beside him and put her hands on his arm tenderly. 

Oberyn blinked slowly and looked down at her. His gaze softened, never wanting to look at her with anything other than the adoration she deserved. 

"Talk to me," Ellaria said, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Is it wrong that I miss her?" Oberyn said, putting his hand over Ellaria's and looking back out at the city. 

"No," Ellaria shook her head and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I miss her, too," she added in a whisper. 

"It's only been a few days, but--" 

"That doesn't matter." Ellaria looked up at him. "Do you remember when we met?"

Oberyn chuckled and smiled for the first time since this morning. "I introduced myself by asking you to move into the palace."

"And how long had you known me?"

"Known you?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow and grinned. "If you count admiring you from my balcony--then a few hours."

"Exactly, and here we are. You're a man who has always known what he wants," Ellaria nodded. 

Oberyn agreed with her words and put his hand over hers on his chest, giving it a gentle grip. She knew the way they had met you was unorthodox, but then what part of their own love wasn't? She was a bastard daughter who had fallen for a Prince, who couldn’t wed her on the off chance an arranged marriage could benefit his family. It didn’t mean what they had wasn’t real. Did she know everything there was to know about you? Of course not. But she knew enough to know she couldn't bear the thought of seeing you hurt.

"If I thought she didn't want us, I would let it go. But she almost said yes, Ellaria." He sighed, remembering the feeling of your body on top of his this morning. 

"To going to Dorne?" Ellaried moved back slightly to look at his face.

Oberyn nodded. "And then that blond little prick stormed in. The disrespect of the Lannisters knows no bounds."

"My love, this is not our home. This is not Dorne. We must tread lightly--"

"Are you saying I'll do something rash?" Oberyn turned back to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

Ellaria pursed her lips and gave him an exasperated expression. "I'm saying, if you shove a dagger into Jaime Lannister tonight our odds of walking away unscathed are very small." She raised her hands as he narrowed his eyes. "Just a reminder."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, gently pressing a kiss to her knuckles and looking into her dark eyes. "I promise to control my temper tonight. For you."

"And for (y/n)."

"And for (y/n)." He nodded as he pulled her against his chest and put his strong arms around her waist. 

--

Ellaria sipped wine slowly from her cup so she could watch the room over the rim. It helped her ignore the taste of the horrible swill that they were trying to pass off as decent wine. She badly wished to return home to where the wine was vibrant and the food was fresh and comforting. She pushed the meats and hard cheeses away from her plate in favor of the baked bread and fruits. 

Oberyn was doing what he did best and Ellaria was content to sit at the table and watch him. He talked, he laughed, he engaged those around him and it was no secret that Doran allowed his brother to be the face of Dorne for this reason. The women of the room all paid him special attention. They made any excuse to touch his broad shoulders, his solid arms, and Ellaria couldn't help but smile because he dodged each and every one of them and looked up to meet her gaze with a mischievous grin.

However much he seemed to be enjoying himself, Ellaria knew what he was really doing--looking for you. With only three days before they sailed out for Dorne, Jaime's intrusion this morning did complicate matters quite a bit. Who knew what he had said in the moments that followed after he stole you away. Ellaria took another large drink as she remembered the way you looked up at them, Jaime's arm tightly around your waist. It had made her sick. Such a man should never be allowed to touch such beauty. 

She scanned each and every table, looking up every time someone new walked in only to be disappointed when it wasn't you. 

Oberyn had said that you had almost accepted their invitation, her only hope was that nothing had changed that. She knew you were strong, knew your gentle nature didn't hinder your resolve, but she also knew the lengths that the Lannisters would go to achieve their means. And the other members of your family did not possess the same moral integrity.

Oberyn made his way back to her table and stooped his head to capture her lips. The taste of wine and fruit made him run his tongue along his bottom lip as he pulled back and smiled. "Exquisite," he said softly and Ellaria grinned. Always the charmer, he was. 

"Any word?" Ellaria asked, ending the tender moment.

"None," Oberyn shook his head. 

"I'm sure she will be here soon," Ellaria put her hand on Oberyn's arm. 

"If Jaime laid a hand on her, I'll kill him," Oberyn mumbled into the rim of his wine glass and Ellaria squeezed his arm. 

"I'm sure she can protect herself."

"She shouldn't have to protect herself from her own family." 

"I agree," Ellaria said, keeping her voice even. "But neither of us have the pleasure of calling the Lannisters family."

Whatever else she was about to say faded before it left her mouth. She gave Oberyn's arm a rapid pat as you turned the corner and walked into the throne room. Your crimson dress was striking. It flowed behind you, whispering against the stone and Ellaria wanted to feel it under her fingers. A gold plated belt cinched your waist and matched the golden bracers on your wrists. Your beautiful hair was pinned back in an ornate twist and that's when her stomach dropped. She couldn't pretend she didn't see the large, purpling bruise on the apple of your cheek. It stood out from across the room and took away from your face--that beautiful face that she had spent a great deal of time kissing over the last few days. 

"Fuck the gods," Oberyn growled, his hand reaching for the dagger in the belt around his waist.

"Oberyn!" Ellaria hissed, stopping him from pulling the blade.

"Do you not see her face?!" He turned around and looked at her with a fire in his eyes that she had seen very few times in their lives together. He was angry. He was teetering on the edge of rage, but even worse, under all of that, what made her chest ache for him, was the hurt in his eyes.

"I see it, my love," she assured him. "But this room is full of hundreds of people. The entire King's Guard is standing watch at these doors. I know you want to defend her honor but how do you think (y/n) would feel if this ended with you dead in the middle of the feast?"

Oberyn took his hand off of his dagger and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He glanced at Ellaria at his side before looking back to you with a shake of his head. "Why do you have to be reasonable all of the time?"

"Because the gods knew without me, you would have never lived this long." She took his hand gently and pried it from his crossed arms to lead him back to their table. "Come and sit down. We will have a better chance to reach her after the feast."

--

Ellaria hardly touched the food that was on her plate. She barely listened when King Robert gave his speech, thanking each individual house for their attendance. And the wine that she thought was insufficient now tasted unbearable. Nothing around her was enjoyable since she laid eyes on you. 

You sat at the table at the front of the hall with the other Lannisters and Baratheons looking more miserable than the day she first laid eyes on you. With tight lips and a blank face, you downed glass after glass of wine and didn't touch your food. It seemed to her that you were determined on having to be carried out of the hall, or forgetting the night all together--perhaps both. She missed your smile. She missed that infectious laugh and that quick wit that she had gotten to know over the last few days. It pained her to see the shell of a woman so far beyond her grasp, for no matter how beautiful, a shell was nothing more than an empty vessel.

Ellaria was drawn from her thoughts as the man at her side abruptly moved his chair back and stood up. And when she saw why, he heart began to race. 

"Oberyn don't," Ellaria said as the pair of them watched Jaime Lannister get up from his table and head out of the grand hall.

Oberyn had a truly empty grin on his face as he leaned down and kissed her cheek, mumbling against her skin. "I don't know what you're talking about, my love."

"I'm not a fool!" She grit her teeth, trying to keep her voice low as she grabbed the dark blue sleeve of his tunic. 

"I just want...a word." Oberyn was careful to keep his voice guarded. "It won't take long."

"Ober--" she stopped as he walked around her chair and she turned her body to follow his movements. "Oberyn--fuck." She watched helplessly as the stubborn prince put more distance between himself and their table and followed the same path out of the hall as Jaime had. Ever the silent, swift viper, no one seemed to notice as the prince moved in between them carefully, all the while keeping a firm hand on his blade. 

Ellaria stood but she didn't follow him. He didn't need her help and he certainly didn't need her drawing more attention to his careful pursuit of the blond. As he turned the corner and disappeared from her view she turned back to the head table to see you getting up as well.

You swayed slightly as you drained yet another glass of wine and kept your balance by gripping the back of your chair. You gave a weak smile to those around you and quietly excused yourself from the table. Ellaria had watched you all night, hoping for a look in their direction, a look of longing, anything--and you had not given either of them so much as a glance. Before she could stop herself, she lifted her skirts slightly and stepped back from the table to follow you at a determined pace. 

She followed closely as you walked down the hallway that led out into the castle gardens. Other guests milled about, laughing and talking, and she dodged them all, never allowing herself to lose sight of that striking red dress. 

"Excuse me." Ellaria nearly collided with one of the King's Guard but avoided him and stepped outside. 

The gardens we're lit with torches and had tables of wine and food set out for guests to partake in the mild spring evening. Each fountain contained about a dozen floating candles that gave the whole place a magical glow--the castle servants had really worked hard to make sure the last night of the feast was beautiful. 

She watched as you found a corner fountain, empty of other patrons, before sitting down heavily on the edge of the water. Her footsteps slowed as she admired just how beautiful you really were. Despite the bruise on your cheek and the sadness in your eyes, she still yearned for you like she did before you had even spoken. The memory of your hands in her hair as she kissed your thighs, of the feel of your lips as you smiled against her mouth and pulled her to your chest after she brought your release--she felt as if she had been without your touch for months. Watching Jaime drag you away made you feel unobtainable, and she ached because of it. 

She wanted to call to you, to feel your name once again fall from her mouth, to run and pull you to her breast but instead she said, "I think you left some wine unfinished at the table. Would you like me to go and get it?"

You stopped at the sound of her voice and glanced over your shoulder in surprise. "Ellaria," you breathed quietly before turning from her to quickly wipe your cheeks. When Ellaria realized you had been crying, her smile fell and her resolve crumbled.

"Oh, my sweet one," she got close enough to touch you but when she reached out you stood to avoid her hands.

"Don't." 

The one word was hard, sharp. It held a command, a finality that did not match the soft woman that she had gotten to know in her bed. 

"(Y/n)," she tried again and you shook your head.

"I don't need your pity." You wiped another tear angrily from your cheek. 

"That's not what I'm here to offer," Ellaria said, letting her hands fall to her sides. 

"Then why are you here?"

"Why am I--" she couldn't believe how cold your words were, and then she remembered--Jaime. "What did he do to you? Besides that." She gestured to your face and crossed her arms.

"He didn't do anything," you lied.

"Did he threaten you?"

"No."

"Did he threaten me? Or Oberyn?"

"No."

Ellaria stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "What did he tell you?"

You hugged your arms around yourself and shook your head again. Did you tell her? You had to. No matter how painful it may be, you needed answers. 

"Did you know about Elia Martell?" You asked quietly.

Ellaria nodded without hesitation. "Of course I did."

"Why didn't Oberyn say anything?"

"What was there to say?"

"That my family murdered her!" You said, raising your voice and looking at her with desperation. The lump in your throat grew and you swallowed hard, refusing to cry anymore than you already had that day. 

"That has nothing to do with what has transpired between the three of us." Ellaria spoke firmly and took a step forward towards you.

"But doesn't it? I'm a Lannister." Your voice cracked on the word and Ellaria took another step in your direction. "I'm the enemy."

"You are not." She said, her lips pressing into a tight line. "You are not responsible for the sins of Tywin Lannister. Or Jaime Lannister. Or anyone else that has brought harm to Oberyn's house." 

"Then what am I? A pawn? A trophy? Something the Prince of Dorne can fuck as part of his plan to get back at those responsible for his sister's death?" Your words tasted like poison on your lips and you hated yourself for the anger that was directed at the woman in front of you but you had to know. 

"Never."

Ellaria's words were a whisper as she finally stood directly in front of you. She reached out hesitantly and put her hands on your forearms. When you didn't pull away she squeezed them and looked you directly in the eyes. 

"Oberyn may fight with a spear. He is expertly trained to fight with daggers. He is every bit the red viper they say he is, with fangs and venomous words, lying in wait for the time to strike--but to him, to me, love is not a weapon."

"Love." You laughed bitterly and she grabbed your jaw in her hand, stopping you from breaking her gaze. 

"I mean what I said." 

You didn't pull from her grasp, but you didn't move to embrace her either. "How can I know for sure?"

Ellaria lessened her grip on your face, her long, slender fingers tracing your skin gently as she looked you over. She hesitantly touched the bruise on the side of your face and when you winced it made her heart ache. She would kill a thousand King's Guard if that's what it took. But she knew such an act of violence would not be something required to win your kind heart. When it came to her and Oberyn, neither of them would settle for less than you wanting them back with just as much furocity as they wanted you. 

Ellaria leaned in and when you didn't pull away she took that for the invitation that it was and whispered with her lips a breath's space away from yours.

"Because if my kiss was a lie, it wouldn't taste as sweet."

She pressed her mouth against yours as softly as she spoke her words and you breathed her in like a woman who was drowning. She tasted like she always did, sweet and warm, and it did things to your body despite the heartache you had suffered throughout the day. This was Ellaria. A woman who wanted to know your thoughts, who wanted to know your body, who wanted to know you. Her kiss was not possessive, because you were not an object to be owned. To her you were something to be worshipped and her kiss was an offering of such. 

Her hands moved to cup your cheeks and you spoke against her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." She said, whispering her mantra against you, a law in the religion of your relationship. "We wanted to stop Jaime this morning, please believe me."

"I know," you nodded before pulling her back down for another bruising kiss.

"You need to talk to Oberyn. You need to know that my words are not just my own. He deserves the chance to tell you himself." She said, fisting the material of your dress as she pulled you against her body and your arms wrapped around her neck.

"I will," you agreed, tilting your head so she could slip her tongue past your lips. 

She never wanted to let you go, never allow anyone else to kiss you like this, never allow anyone to take you from her arms--except of course Oberyn. She knew you still had not given your answer, that you only had one foot on the boat to Dorne and the other remained firmly planted to the steps of King's Landing. But Ellaria knew, with a determined heart, that at the end of the week she wasn't getting on that ship without you.

--

Oberyn walked slowly but with purpose. He watched the back of Jaime's head as the other man threaded through the small clusters of guests and around the corner. Oberyn didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he wasn't leaving the castle until he had had a few words with the young Lannister. He let his fingers play over the pearl handle of his dagger and the smooth texture grounded him. He remembered Ellaria's words and vowed not to end up at the wrong end of someone's sword tonight. 

It wasn't long before he was almost caught up with Jaime. His swift movements and steady pace gave him an advantage of speed against someone in full plate armor. He watched as Jaime went around a large stone pillar and Oberyn took the other side. Pulling his dagger, he nearly let the man collide with him as he grabbed a fistful of his golden cloak and shoved him into the shadowed alcove with a grunt. 

"What the--" Jaime hissed before focusing his gaze and looking eye to eye at the man before him. "Prince Oberyn." He said cordially, and Oberyn gave a smug grin in return.

"Jaime Lannister," he said, putting the edge of the dagger against the blond's neck. "I thought we could talk."

“Talk?” Jaime glanced down at the blade briefly and then back up, careful to keep his expression blank. "I forgot Dornishmen have a unique way of speaking."

Oberyn gave a hollow chuckle and nodded. "Something you'll do well to remember."

Both mean glared at the other. Neither of them refused to relent even though it was obvious that only one of them had the upper hand. Jaime finally broke the silence.

"What is it that you want?"

"Didn't Joanna ever tell you not to strike a woman?" Oberyn asked without pretense, casually speaking the name of Jaime's deceased mother.

Jaime grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. "I should have known it was about that little cunt."

Oberyn jerked forward and pressed the dagger into Jaime's neck hard enough to make the other man wince. "Watch it, boy."

Jaime swallowed hard, rethinking his words before focusing back on the Prince. "You can't fool me, Oberyn. It's too much of a coincidence. You and your bastard courtesan show up out of nowhere and try to bed my cousin? If this is your way of getting to my father, you'll have to do better than that."

"This has nothing to do with Tywin." Oberyn said, trying to hide the mild surprise he felt at the mere suggestion. 

"Doesn't it?" Jaime raised a blond eyebrow. "Tell me. Is she something to fuck and discard or do you really plan on taking her to Dorne? She can’t be that good in bed--”

“Enough--”

 “Or do you plan on repeating what happened to Elia? Because I have to say--I didn't think you had it in y--" His words stopped short as Oberyn flexed the blade and it drew a small drop of blood from Jaime's neck.

"Don't say her name," Oberyn said through clenched teeth. 

"You're going to regret that," Jaime snarled but Oberyn ignored him.

"I know the culture is different here in King's Landing, but where I come from the rape and murder of innocents is considered an unforgivable atrocity." 

"Ahh, yes, I forget the noble constitutions of the Sand peopl--" Jaime stopped talking with another press of the steel. 

"I am not here to debate our clearly different opinions of what is right or wrong, little lion. I am here to tell you," Oberyn leaned in and lowered his voice. "If you lay another hand on (y/n), I will remind you that all Lannisters bleed. Just like any other man."

"Is that a threat?"

"It is a promise," Oberyn spat, making Jaime flinch as he removed the dagger suddenly and put it back at the sheath at his waist. He adjusted his tunic before adding, "Enjoy the rest of the feast."

Oberyn didn’t have to turn around to know Jaime was giving him a look of death as he adjusted the cloak that the Prince’s grip had wrinkled. He knew Jaime was probably already planning his retaliation, but for now, it was clear that you were under the protection of Dorne. 

--

[Next Chapter]

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[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Here, have a free pass to ramble about losleep!! -space anon

LOSLEEP RAMBLING YOU SAY

today’s losleep rambling sponsored by @blinksinbewilderment who gave me a prompt thingy to talk about: prince!Remy and knight!Logan losleep. also she looked it over (which is code speak for I wanted someone to read it while I couldn’t post it and she also did some editing while she read it and I believe in credit where credit’s due)

Warnings because I wrote this while my tumblr was nerfed so it got REAL long: Mentions of war/fighting/blood/injury, (false) belief that a main character is dead, not eating/sleeping, grief, but all and all a happy ending because Me

    -So Remy’s a prince

    -He’s as expected- slacker, not very interested in running a kingdom, mostly messes around in his room and goes between sleeping (rarely) and reading (excessively, since no twitter to scroll through in these times)

    -Logan’s a peasant in one of the towns under the monarchy’s power

    -He wants to be a scholar, but like I said… peasant

    -He can’t afford proper teaching

    -He also can’t read or write

    -He’s very smart, of course, but there’s only so much you can learn from village elders and the such

    -So Logan applies to get proper teaching from royal teachers

    -No one accepts him, of course- he’s a peasant, why would they?

    -He’s hanging around the area near the castle a lot, though, and eventually someone mentions to him that the only job he’d ever get at the castle would be as a guard

    -So Logan figures, hey, at least with that he’d be in proximity of royal teachers and such

    -So he becomes a guard

    -Well

    -Guard in training

    -But, like with everything else, he takes very well to learning the sword

    -And reflexes and fighting and protecting and all of that

    -He ends up at the top of the ranks, tossed in with the group being considered for a new head of guard

    -Head of guard not only organizes the squadrons and their patrols, but is also personal guard to the prince

    -The most recent one was thrown out after being found conspiring against the prince, so this time, the prince himself will be helping to select his head of guard

    -For reasons of trust and such

    -Remy comes mostly before a dozen or so strong men fighting for the right to spend time with him can’t be that bad of a time, right?

    -Logan catches his eye, not just because of his muscles (though that does help) but also for his skill- in his battles, he never has the physical upperhand… but he always wins with the strategical one

    -Remy catches him in between battles, moving and speaking with ease and charm

    -Most of the guards bow easily and greet him warmly, looking to be favored

    -Logan doesn’t

    -His bow and greeting are perfunctory, done of duty and training alone

    -He keeps his eyes on Remy, but they’re bored, and Logan’s stiff. The prince does not excite him, especially not just by existing

    -Remy should be offended

    -But he isn’t

    -He’s… intrigued

    -‘so. looking to be head guard?’

    -‘I’m looking to be whatever you need me to be, my highness’

    -‘well then, would you be looking to be my head guard if I asked you to?’

    -‘of course, your highness’

    -‘and what if I told you to be head guard you had to call me beautiful?’

    -‘then I suppose I wouldn’t be head guard, your highness’

    -Remy just smirks

    -He can work with this

    -So Logan becomes head guard

    -He’s only thrilled a little since being around the castle will likely mean more chances to hear information, to learn more

    -But he’s mostly stuck with the prince who, in his honest opinion, is a moron

    -Prince Remy’s flighty and daydreamy and cares more about his looks and flirting than the kingdom

    -Logan will give him half points for being pretty enough to warrant part of his confidence but that’s about it

    -The problem, however, is that for how much Logan dislikes Remy?

    -Remy just loves him

    -Not romantically though (not yet anyways)

    -But he loves Logan as a person. Loves his stubbornness and his principals and his looks and his muscles and his brain

-Especially his brain! Logan may not know much (or speak much) but when he does, it’s always so… refined, especially for a peasant

-Remy just knows there’s more to him than meets the eye

-So he drags Logan around the castle, walking beside the head guard as he talks endlessly, mostly jokes and flirts and compliments

-Logan mostly ignores him or gives him odd stares, but every once in a while…

-Well

-Seems not even the ‘emotionless’ guard is completely impervious to his charms

-Logan, if asked, would say he is

-(But he’s a liiiiiii-arrrrrrr)

-It all comes to a head three or four weeks after Logan is promoted to head guard

-Remy’s strolling them through a garden

-Logan’s focusing between the flowers and the area past the garden walls, looking for security threats

-That is, at least, until Remy completely catches his attention

-‘And you see, here, the common poppy, also known as the papaver rhoeas, or as I call it, the sleepy bitch flower-’

-‘wait. say that again’

-(no ‘your highness’ because Remy got sick of that within two days. He told Logan to call him ‘Remy’ or any variation of ‘beautiful’ he liked, but Logan seemed content to simply use neither)

-‘sleepy bitch flower?’

-‘no, no- the, the name you called it after ‘common poppy’’

-And Remy tilts his head with some confusion before he repeats the scientific name

-Logan’s eyes light up

-‘how do you know that?’

-‘well… I am a prince. I’ve had an expensive education’

-‘can you-’

-Logan cuts himself off before he can finish his thought, shaking his head mostly to himself and going back to looking for threats

-Because he wanted to know if Remy could teach him, make this worthwhile, let him actually get at that knowledge he had been seeking for as long as he could remember

-But Remy was a highly educated prince. Why would he want to help teach some peasant who’s quick with a sword?

-But Remy isn’t letting this drop

-‘can I what?’

-Logan doesn’t respond. Remy frowns

-‘guard, I’m ordering you to tell me what you were going to say’

-And Logan grimances, because he can’t defy a direct order, as much as he’d like to, so he sighs and finally turns back towards Remy

-‘can you teach me’ he says, lamely, not even a question, really, hoping that Remy won’t respond to it, especially since Logan could already feel his reactions: anger, disgust, maybe amusement as if it were some sort of impossible joke

-That wasn’t his reaction

-Instead, Remy smiled, and tilted his head even further

-‘I’d be happy to, if you really want, hun’

-Logan’s… surprised, to say the least

-‘you… really? No jokes?’

-‘none. swear it on this patch of sleepy bitch flowers’

-So Logan starts getting an education

-Instead of wandering all day long, he and Remy sit down in Remy’s room, where he’ll pull a book at random off the shelf and start teaching Logan from it

-It’s not easy, at first, especially with having to teach Logan how to read and write

-But they do have a lot of time, so eventually, Logan has the alphabet down, and he’s starting to be able to spell all those complicated words he can say with ease

-It’s about two weeks into all the learning that Remy breaks the schedule they had fallen into

-‘y’know, Logan, all this has been fun, but I’m starting to feel a little taken advantage of’

-‘…how so?’

-‘well, babes, I’m teaching you all this stuff, and yet getting nothing in return. I think that’s going to have to change’

-Logan’s not sure what Remy could possibly want from him. He’s just a peasant guard, after all, he has no riches that the crown cannot outmatch with ease. All he really has is himself and… oh

-‘I’m not entirely sure why I would be your first choice for, eh… such, um, matters, your highness, but if that is, eh, what you… require, than, uh, I-’

-Remy raises a hand and silences Logan

-‘firstly, sugar, I think I told you to stop calling me ‘your highness.’ secondly, I was gonna ask you to teach me the ways of the blade or whatever. What were you thinkin’?’

-Logan doesn’t answer, just staring at Remy as his entire face steadily turns a very bright shade of red

-Remy stares back, still confused, until his eyes widen in understanding. His face quickly also becomes red.

-‘…I see. uh, please… please never think that, just uh, never, ever think that again. um. yes’

-So, horrible miscommunication and following insane awkwardness aside, Remy is now getting sword lessons!

-They can only practice at night, however, because Remy’s parents and kingdom are based on a foundation of peace

-The prince should look pretty and be smart and uphold peace, not be weapons training

-But it’s fine, because Remy’s already used to nighttime environments and Logan say it’ll help with his night vision/night fighting, should he ever need it

-So now they’re learning by day, fighting by night, and sleeping during dawn and dusk

-All sounds good, right?

-Well it gets even BETTER

-Because, really, there’s only so much time two pretty gays can spend around each other and remain uninterested in the other

-Helps that Remy’s never been exactly ‘uninterested’

-And that, for all he protests it, Logan has always found an odd sort of charm to Remy’s… Remy-ness

-So things, as they are ought to do, start happening

-Hands brushing more often as Remy passes Logan papers and quills, his smile never changing no matter how many times he saw Logan’s eyes light up as he learned something new, Remy always congratulating Logan on a day well spent in a soft tone matched with a sincere smile

-Remy constantly seeming to need Logan to readjust his grip on his sword, Remy favoring moves that forces him and Logan right beside each other as they trade blows, Remy still stumbling despite being such a quick learner (but he only ever stumbles when Logan can catch him, and he always seems to linger in the soldier’s arms. doesn’t help that Logan lets him)

-The trip back to his sleeping quarters seeming to become more tedious every time Logan has to make it, one time even falling asleep for a minute halfway there, making it easy for Remy to convince him that it’s quicker, and safer, if Logan just shares his bed when it’s time to sleep. to protect him better from attacks twenty-four/seven Remy says

-Because it’s just for protection, really, when Remy curls up against Logan, and Logan wraps his arms around him, just protection to hold him close, because if there’s an attack he’ll be able to get Remy moving as quickly as possible, and like this he’s blocking attackers from getting to the majority of Remy’s torso, which is very important

-It’s also important to be warm

-And to be able to nestle his head on top of Remy’s

-And to listen to Remy mumble in his sleep quietly and nonsensically and yet beautifully

-But that’s still all for protection, clearly, since a warm, talking Remy held close to Logan is a safe, living one

-And those are the only reasons he’s doing any of this

-Clearly

-Things continue like that for a few months

-Fleeting glances, prolonged touches, too much sincerity in what should be harmless flirts and pet-names

-Talk starts up, of course, between the guards and the lords and such

-Talk of the head guard who has a much too close relationship with the prince

-The two of them spend all day with each other, they whisper, and they spend all night out and about doing something, something explicit, likely

-Logan’s not even reporting to the barracks, anymore; stopping by in the mornings to assign their stations for the day, but never for bed, never to sleep

-It doesn’t take a fool to guess where he must be sleeping instead

-Remy and Logan mostly ignore it

-They don’t care, after all

-Logan is still the guard Remy’s chosen and trusts

-Logan still protects Remy, and he would do so with his life if it came to it

-The king and queen, luckily, also don’t mind

-It helps that Remy has made it clear to them, multiple times, that he and Logan are close, yes, but not like that

-They’re just friends, he says, and he’s not lying, even if he almost wished he was

-So they allow it

-But it’s a grim reminder, the day Remy finds a book of royal etiquette left in front of his door, a very specific page marked

-Royals marry Royals or Nobles

-They do not hold relationships with peasants

-And they are never officalized

-Ever

-‘it’s not pertinent information to us’ Logan says when Remy drops it on the table

-‘nope.’ Remy agrees. He smirks at Logan, but it’s slightly more flat than it should be, doesn’t carry the right weight with it. ‘thought if you fall in love with me, let me know’

-Logan smirks back at him, but it’s also flat, also wrong

-‘not a problem’ he says

-But it already is

-But it’s alright

-They’re alright

-They still have their lessons

-Logan still protects Remy (from day to night, and from dusk to dawn)

-Remy’s still… not dead

-So they’re fine

-It’s fine

-Everything’s fine

-Until it isn’t

-There’s an attack from a western nation

-The kingdom’s thrown into war

-And they need soldiers

-When they say that they have to take Logan away for the fight, Remy protests as much as he possibly can

-He needs a head guard! There are plenty of men who can go! Why must it be Logan?

-Because Logan’s a strong fighter. He’s tough. He’s one of the best guards they have. They’ll replace him with five guards, Remy will be safe, they promise

-When Remy spits at them that they know that’s not why he’s upset they just look away from him and say they’re sorry

-It hurts to say goodbye

-Logan tries to tell Remy he’s going to make it back, tries to promise that he’ll return

-Remy just shakes his head and asks him not to

-Because they both know he can’t promise that

-And Remy can’t take that false hope

-So they just say goodbye

-And pretend neither of them want to cry (because they do, but Logan’s a head guard being sent to battle and Remy’s a prince with an image to maintain)

-And Remy pretends he’s just staying by the gate as long as he can see the troops marching off for the fresh air

-And Logan pretends that he just keeps glancing back as long as the castle’s within sight to check that all the men are keeping in file

-The time they spend apart is… hard

-Remy doesn’t sleep as well, the bed colder, and his dreams always nightmares now, bloody and much too realistic

-In the middle of a warzone, Logan isn’t sleeping any better

-Remy has nothing to do with his time anymore, no lessons he can teach or learn, his love for books gone sour without Logan

-Logan is constantly thrown into battles, fighting not necessarily for his life but for the one he had with Remy, fighting to get home

-After six months, Logan is taken captive in battle

-He’s only a prisoner for three days, however- the troop that caught him is unorganized, mostly untrained; his bindings are loose, his guard is easily distracted, and by the nightfall of the third day he’s gone

-But Logan’s injured, a bad leg cut alongside the common scrapes and bruises

-He makes it to a forest near the battle zone, and gets as far into it as he can, because he knows he won’t survive trying to cross the warzone to get back to his squadron

-He makes his way through the forest instead, surviving on plants he knows are edible thanks to his lessons with Remy

-But by the time he gets to the other side… his squadron is gone

-Moved on to a new fight

-And he’s officially MIA

-Back at home, Remy knows none of this

-His parents are getting updates from the war, but they refuse to tell him anything but vague details of general stats

-Remy almost prefers not knowing

-If Logan really was hurt or a prisoner or…

-Well

-Remy’d just rather not know

-At seven months, the nation warring against them offers to establish a peace treaty

-But only on one condition- that Remy is the one to negotiate with them

-It’s clearly a trap, the nation clearly hoping that the inexperienced prince will be a poor negotiator

-But Remy agrees, because he doesn’t care what it takes

-He wants peace

-He wants Logan home

-They meet at a neutral point, beside the road that is between both their territories

-Each bring the same amount of guards, who all station themselves at equal points around the area, to serve not just as protection but also as witnesses to the deal to be made

-Everything goes fine enough at first

-The nation’s king makes a demand, Remy matches with something lower, they come to a compromise and move on

-Remy knows he could probably be bargaining harder, longer, for better peace and better benefits for his kingdom, but he doesn’t care. He just wants this all over with

-Eventually, however, things go south

-The warring king makes too high of a demand, and Remy can’t offer him anything he’ll take

-He gets frustrated by Remy’s offers and he draws his sword

-The warring king shouldn’t even have had the sword on him, not at this meeting of peace, but Remy’s not surprised when he draws it. No one brings a sword to a peace meeting and doesn’t use it

-His parents hadn’t allowed him to bring his own, but that’s alright

-Logan had known he’d never be given a sword

-So it’s more instinct than thought when he reaches over and steals the sword of the guard beside him, the move one he had practiced many a time before

-He takes a single step back as he does, avoiding the jab the warring king makes at him with ease

-It’s three slashes to get the king’s balance thrown off, the sword thrown behind him and barely in his grip

-Remy turns to the side just enough to elbow the king in the chest, hard

-The king stumbles, falling, his sword fully slipping out of his grasp and sliding across the ground

-Remy puts a foot on the king’s chest, presses the tip of his blade to the base of his throat

-None of the guards move

-It is clear that the battle started is a problem of the negotiators, not them

-Remy leans down, putting more weight on the king’s chest as he does so, sword tipping moving up to rest uncomfortably close against the top of his neck, just below his chin

-‘this war ends tonight’ he says, voice low and and serious and deadly. ‘the only choice you have left in the matter is whether or not I seal the peace treaty with your blood’

-The king agrees to a peace treaty that easily favors Remy’s kingdom by an insane degree, but he does walk away with his life, so it balances out in the end

-The troops and soldiers and guards come home

-Remy is ecstatic

-Ecstatic until it’s been two hours of men straggling home and nowhere amongst them is Logan

-His parents eventually pull him aside and tell him the truth

-Logan’s been missing for a month and a half, last heard of as being a prisoner to the other side

-He’s assumed KIA, but officially he’s just MIA

-Remy’s… well, Remy’s a lot of things

-Angry, at first, that they never told him, that he didn’t have a chance to force a peace earlier, to find a way to help him sooner

-Then desperate, talking to every soldier he can, hoping for any hint, any information, anything that might lead him to Logan, to even lead him to believe he’s still alive

-But no one has any good information, nothing to put him at ease, nothing to help him, only to hurt him even more

-So then he’s just… well, sad isn’t quite it

-He feels more numb

-Empty

-As much as it hurt to exist away from Logan, it hurts even worse to be forced to exist without him, likely forever without him

-He no longer has nightmares, but he doesn’t dream, either, just sleeping and waking and barely recognizing the gap in time

-Remy wanders the palace, because there’s nothing else to do, and sitting still just makes the void in his stomach settle in place and hurt worse, so he keeps walking, endlessly in circles with little regard for how long he does for any stretch of time

-It’s been two weeks since the soldiers returned home

-Remy’s out in the garden

-It’s late, but what does he care?

-Day, night, light, dark… it doesn’t matter anymore

-None of them have Logan in them

-So he’s in the garden, wandering past the flowers and plants with very little care

-He stops by the patch of poppies, still alive and blooming even though it’s been roughly a year since Logan asked Remy to teach him

-He brushes his fingers against them

-‘Common poppies’ he says, because Logan liked it when he’d list the plants and flowers and their names, common and scientific, because it was knowledge and learning and Remy loved it too because his eyes would always light up and-

-‘Common poppies’ he repeats, voice now sounding choked as he fights back tears, ‘also known as papa- as papaver rhoeas’ he manages, and he’s stumbling over the words and the pronunciations are wrong but that’s okay, really, it’s not like anyone cares now, especially not now that- that-

-‘I think I prefer to call them sleepy bitch flowers’

-Remy turns so fast his vision blurs (which might also have to do with the lack of sleep and his non-existent appetite and the tears he’s one hundred percent sure are in his eyes and running down his face)

-He almost doesn’t believe his eyes

-But that tone? That reference? That voice?

-Remy knows it even before he sees him standing there, in the middle of the garden, looking dirty and tired but alive, oh so very alive

-It’s Logan

-He’s next to him before either of them can so much as blink, holding Logan’s face in both of his hands, looking him over

-‘Are you alright?’ he asks, because that’s what matters first, matters now that he’s here and with him

-‘More than’ Logan answers. He’s tired, yes, and there’s still a healing scar on his leg, but it’s been two months and he knows how to take care of himself, knew how to get what he needed as he fought his way home, giving up on finding his troops and instead focused on finding his way back to Remy, on finding his way back home

-And now that he’s here, now that he is home… he’s almost certain he could fly

-Remy nods to himself, glancing over Logan again, finding him dirty and ragged and a little bloody but he really is okay, really is alright, and he looks back up, finally, looks in those crystal blue eyes that he’s been missing for too long, and it’s not a choice so much as a need when he pulls Logan forward and kisses him

-It lasts for a mere second, Remy pulling back almost immediately after he moved forwards

-They pause, looking at each other, eyes wide, both surprised

-And then they kissed again

-It lasts longer this time, like it’s meant to, the kiss filled with desperation and fear as if the other will suddenly disappear again, as if this isn’t the beginning of their forever but instead the end of it

-But it’s also filled with hope, with hope and promise and love, filled with every bit of wishful thinking and misplaced hope that they had throughout it all, all of it building up to one thing, to one moment- this one, right here, right now

-When they pull away this time, they’re breathless

-Logan’s hands had moved to hold Remy’s waist, while Remy’s still cradling Logan’s face, and even when they pull away they press their foreheads together because they just can’t let there be space between them not now, and likely not for a long time

-‘I’m going to marry you’ Remy promises, fervently, and maybe hastily, but he really can’t bring himself to care at all

-Logan laughs, and it’s watery but it’s genuine, ‘I don’t think you can do that’

-‘Don’t care. I’m going to marry you and make you my king and you’re never going to get sent away to any stupid war ever, ever again and I’m not going to- I’m never going to lo- to lose you again because I- I can’t-’

-Logan’s arms slip from their place at Remy’s hips to wrap around his back instead, holding him close as Remy sobbed into his shoulder, and Logan cried too, Remy’s arms moving to hold Logan too

-They stayed like that for several minutes, holding each other and crying, every once in a while murmuring something, sometimes a promise or partial sentence but mostly just the other’s name

-Eventually they start to sag even more heavily against each other, Logan tired from his journeys and the remnants of his injuries, Remy tired from sleepless nights and feeling so empty for so long

-They stumble to Remy’s room, to Remy’s bed, to their bed, still holding each other even as they fall onto it, curling into each other as they get comfortable

-In the morning, Remy will call the court doctor and make sure Logan’s truly okay, and wrap and bind and take care of whatever they need to

-They’ll then go to face Remy’s parents, together, still holding each other, as Remy declares he’s going to marry him, regardless of what they say or think

-His parents will protest it for a moment, but not long

-And they’ll begin the wedding preparations as soon as possible

-But for now, they’ll sleep, holding each other close, finally warm, finally close, finally whole again

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifteen: Migration ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

When Sasuke wakes, it’s to the sight of the canvas of his tent overhead. A familiar one, and yet...in so many ways, it’s different now.

Or, rather...where he’s set up camp is what makes all the difference.

For weeks now, the Uchiha have been on an involuntary migration. While they once occupied their own district within their home city - loyal samurai to their lord - they were forced to flee when war overtook them, and their lord surrendered, abandoning them.

Given their ties to a conquered man...they were all set to be hunted until death.

There was no time to take anything important. If you couldn’t carry it, it was left behind. They saddled their horses, strapped on their blades...and fled.

Days and days were passed running their mounts to their limits, trying to outpace their pursuers. Camps were cold and dark in an attempt to go unseen after nightfall, many of said nights spent walking on foot, gear muffled to try and make time. All they had to do, they were sure, was pass the mountains to the north of their homeland. Perilous, foreboding things that stood along the horizon like a great wall. But should they survive the trek...it would be an obstacle few on their trail would dare face.

The climb was perilous. Loose stones threatened to steal their feet out from under them. Gnarled roots sprung up from the ground to catch inattentive feet and twist ankles of men and mounts alike. And there were no trails - just steep, jagged inclines covered with thick flora and fog.

It was only a matter of time before someone got lost. And that someone was the younger son of their clan head: Uchiha Sasuke. Separated, he knew only to keep going - to try and meet them on the other side.

What he found instead was like a fairytale.

A mysterious valley between the peaks, inhabited by a shrine and a miko. But why would a shrine be so deeply buried in the mountains…?

He was warned to leave, and never return lest he incur the wrath of the god.

Though Sasuke had long lost faith in the concepts of gods and spirits, nor was he one to entirely discount them...especially if they were a threat. Carrying the secret of the strange village with him, he was allowed to leave, and by some miracle found his kin.

Then a traitor, seeking to return, had to be hunted down. Should he reach their foes and spill their secret, they’d lose the small respite they’d gained by crossing the mountains. So Sasuke took the challenge, returning to the peaks only to find the man dead of his own accord: slipped and claimed by the mountains.

And by some stroke, Sasuke wandered back into that same valley...and this time, came face to face with its guardian god. Her miko was his only saving grace, insisting fate must have brought him back. The spirit warily agreed.

It was then Sasuke hatched a plan: a desperate, likely foolish one...but he felt he had no choice. He would beg asylum from the god. A place for his people to finally settle and be safe. When she asked what price he would pay, he offered his life...and she believed him.

His clan, however, was not so sure. Several, upon his presentation of his plan, refused to believe, and instead kept traveling north in search of a new home. But Sasuke’s family and many others followed him back into the mountains.

And now...here they sleep. He can only pray this was the last leg of their migration. That the Uchiha, at last, can come to rest and be safe.

The small village has been their home now for barely a week, but efforts are well underway to house them. Their new neighbors - all rescued from black fates by the god - have accepted them into their fold, knowing of their own circumstances.

It still...unnerves Sasuke at times: seeing just how kind and giving people can be when not afflicted by greed. He keeps expecting a price, a deal...but favors are only repaid by favors.

It’s so...odd. And yet, it’s refreshing. Their city had been slowly growing its shadows: gambling, prostitution, strange substances and alcohol.

Perhaps, in a way...it was good that it fell. Perhaps now it might find peace.

...but he doubts it.

But most important, to Sasuke at least, has been the god’s help with his brother, Itachi. So long sick and frail, body betraying him, he’s been restored to proper health. He still finds himself, at times, just watching Itachi. Seeing him live so unburdened.

That, if nothing else, makes it all worthwhile.

“Sasuke.”

Broken from his reminiscing, Sasuke sits up, finding his brother peering in. “Yes?”

“The miko wishes to speak with you.”

That earns a blink. The Hyūga, Hinata, has been the unofficial ambassador between the valley’s previous inhabitants, and the Uchiha. And though he isn’t clan head, it’s typically Sasuke she seeks out whenever something must be said. It was he, after all, who made this deal.

“All right...I’ll be out in a moment.”

Itachi nods, leaving his brother in peace. Sighing, Sasuke brings a hand down his face, mind full. There’s so much to do, so much to account for. It’s mind-boggling, really. In many ways, he’s glad the position of clan head will fall instead to his brother, and not to him. Sasuke isn’t stupid - far from it - but this sort of thing is far more Itachi’s specialty than his own.

Once dressed, he abandons his tent, glancing around and finding the clan active. Already many have begun efforts to find new employment. In a place so secluded and peaceful, samurai are hardly necessary.

...but that doesn’t mean Sasuke has any plans to stop practicing.

“Sasuke-san.”

Looking to the voice, he finds the pale-eyed miko. “Hyūga.”

“I hope I did not have you awakened?”

“No...I was already up with my thoughts,” he assures her. “And that aside, it’s high time I rise, anyway.”

“You work hard. Rest is important,” she in turn allows, a hint of a smile upon her face.

Deciding not to argue, Sasuke instead asks, “Did you need something?”

It’s then the miko hesitates. “...not in the way you likely expect, no. Rather...it’s I who have something to offer.”

A dark brow perks.

“I realize that your father recognized my lineage. And as I told you...my clan was also once a renowned family of warriors that rivaled your own. But...you can quite obviously tell that neither I nor my cousin are such warriors.”

“...if you think me suspicious of you, there’s no need,” Sasuke offers slowly in reply, not sure what she’s driving at.

“...no, I suppose not,” she replies softly. “But...I feel that - given our common roots - we may have something to learn from each other. And there is much about myself I have yet to tell you. Are you not curious…?”

He hesitates. “...I don’t like to pry.”

“...there are many secrets within this valley,” Hinata replies in a near-whisper, almost as if to keep from being heard. “None that would ever harm you or your kind,” she assures him upon his tensing. “...but if you’re to live here, and thrive here...it’s best you know.”

Sasuke draws a long, low breath. “...very well.”

“I can speak for no one else...but I’ll begin with my own tale. If we may...sit somewhere?”

Reading her intentions, Sasuke nods, following her back toward the village.

Behind them, Itachi watches thoughtfully.

“...when my own clan faced a fate similar to yours,” she begins as they walk, “we were scattered to the four winds. Many went south. Some north. My father, his brother, and their families stuck together and headed west toward the coast. I can barely remember it...they intended to start new lives as fishermen. But during a storm, my uncle was lost...and things began to sour. Money grew scarce. Catches were not as bountiful as they’d been. My aunt claimed it was her husband cursing us because his death had been our fault. Or rather...my father’s.”

Hinata sobers as they find a seat along a set of stumps. “...my aunt died not long after, having always been rather frail. Now with another child to feed, my father began to feel desperate. Then my younger sister was born...and our mother died from complications with the birth.

“He abandoned my cousin and I in the city. Disappeared without a trace with my sister. We were so young...had no way to support ourselves. And that’s when she found us.”

“...the god.”

Hinata nods. “I had been praying, desperate for someone - anyone - to hear us. We were the sort she looked for: those abandoned, with no where else to turn. And she knew then that I had eyes unlike most. Neji too, but to a slightly lesser degree. She offered us shelter, and asked that I become her miko as one with the All Seeing White Eyes. I agreed...and we’ve been here ever since.”

Sasuke remains silent for a long moment. “...I’m sorry. You’ve both lost so much.”

“...we have. But we’ve made our peace. And we are content here.”

“If I ever meet your father, I may have to repay him for his treatment of you.”

Hinata gives a small, somber smile. “...it’s appreciated, but I’ve come to forgive him. He too lost much. His brother, sister, wife...what he did was cruel, but he surely thought it necessary.”

Sasuke doesn’t reply.

“...but, I’ve kept you long enough. Perhaps another time, you can tell me more of your origins,” Hinata then offers, head tilting.

“I suppose that would only be fair.”

“Until next time, then. You have your clan to tend to. Take care, Sasuke-san.”

“...you too.” Watching her stand and take her leave, Sasuke finds himself feeling just as unknowing about her as before.

...there’s far more to her than meets the eye, he’s sure.

              ��                                     .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to days 60, 77, 140, 165, 189, 290, 296, and 297!)       More kami verse! I'm...literally about to pass out, so...not much else to say besides that this feels awfully incomplete, but I'm already so far behind...I didn't want to skip another night @~@ Hinata's story has more to it, just...no time, no energy. So maybe next time. For now, I desperately need some sleep. Thanks for reading~ 

[poweredbycoffeeandwine]

Can I please maybe possibly get 'stay' for Mercedes and Anders because I LOVE THEM. Thank you. ^-^

I would be happy to!  They are just too much aren’t they?!? I am looking forward to your many prompts for these fools. Hope you enjoy your “drabble.”

Aveline had needed help keeping the bandits infesting the docks at bay, and Mercedes could never say no to her. Honestly, her friend in the guard rarely even had to ask. Mercedes had been helpless for too long herself.  Seeing just how many sick individuals preyed on the weak in this piss poor part of town caused anger to roil up inside of her, barely checked.  In that state fire always came to her easily, and even those afraid of an apostate loose in the city kept her identity secret. Word was beginning to spread, whispers followed her and her friends. Finally there was someone in the shadows bent on helping - not taking.

Fenris had too many surrounding him and the cold sea at his back. He had nowhere to run, a determined look in his eye, and a snarl on his lips. Varric and Sebastian were doing as much as they could from the wings, unleashing arrows silently into the night, but still the bastards came. She cursed inwardly. Served her right, the party should have had another warrior, someone else gifted with a blade. But, they had all been busy.  Unfortunate really that impulsivity ruled her head. She had pushed on anyway, not wanting to lose any more time.

She had planned to hang back, really she had, but the the ebb and flow of the fight sucked her in. Hitting the bandits with Firestorm, without catching Fenris in the flames, required a proximity that she usually tried to avoid. Stupid and careless, she found herself out in the open, focusing on her casting. A sudden prickling sort of awareness against her skin was the only warning she had. The rogue materialized from nothing, knives sliding through her back like a lover’s gentle caress, only to disappear once more.

The pain didn’t come immediately, Mercedes wasn’t even sure if she screamed. Collapsing on the docks, wood scraping against her face, she watched, without really seeing, as Fenris roared. His body lit up the inky blackness of the sky, illuminating the water around them. “So much for subtlety,” she thought to herself, vision swimming, mind growing fuzzy. Sebastian worked himself to her slowly, Varric providing cover.

“Don’t worry, lass. We will set this right.” He lifted her carefully, apologizing for the hard press of armor.

“Quick, let’s get her to Darktown!” Varric ordered.

The pounding on his door this late didn’t concern him overly much. If the Templars had finally found him, they wouldn’t bother with announcing their presence. He had exerted much already today, and whoever was on the other side had better be near death to wake him.

“Blondie, now’s not the time to play dramatic,” Varric grunted, sounding out of breath. “Open the damn door. Hawke doesn’t have much longer.”

Anders’ stomach dropped, cold dread filled him as he rushed to undo the bolts. He’d never had to treat Hawke before. Despite not having a stellar grasp of healing, she managed to patch herself up easily enough. She generally had enough sense to cast at a distance, things must have been dire. The door swung open, Varric and Fenris shoved in drenched in sweat. Sebastian followed, his pristine armor coated in blood. Hawke hung limp in his arms, the warmth from her skin missing. “Andraste’s flaming…what happened?”

He led them to the nearest cot, and began casting spells. Varric explained the wounds, the dock, the rogue, for once not embellishing, knowing time was limited. Satisfied that he got the worst of the internal bleeding with magic, he rolled her to her stomach. Her robe, obviously beyond repair, was cut further to expose the damage. He worked, caring little if the others stuck around. They were peripheral, Sebastian lowly speaking the Chant, Fenris pacing, Varric hovering like a mother hen. The rogue had skill. The wounds were thin and exact, the metal had been sharp, and likely coated with some poison. That would be the tricky part, but Hawke would live through this night if he had any say.

Awareness came slowly, the Fade hard to shake off, limbs refusing to work. She wondered once again when she would learn to stop being baited by Bela into drinking contests she could never win. Attempting to sit only caused her head to spin. Rather than lose the contents of her stomach to the sudden nausea that plagued her, she lay back down. A course pillow under her cheek, back sore, she recalled the events of the night prior. Maker, she would never venture out without two warriors again, or a mage more capable at healing than her paltry attempts.

“You’re awake,” a pause and a huff, “did you seriously try to move? What were you thinking?” Anders’ fingers gently prodded her back. “Maker, at least you didn’t do more damage. How do you feel?”

“A bit like someone stabbed me in the back,” her laughter ending abruptly falling into low moans of pain.

“I can’t imagine why,” he returned dryly. “You really should be more careful.”

“Oh, Leandra, I didn’t know you were here,” she muttered sullenly.

“Don’t be testy with me. You have no idea how terrifying it looked, seeing you on death’s door.”

“It’s a good thing I have access to a sexy tortured healer, then.”

He chuckled, but began more sternley “Hush, none of that, or I’ll send for your mother in earnest. Try and rest, I’ll be back to check on you again.”

“Anders, could you….will you stay? I don’t want to impose, but I’d rather not be alone.”

“Alright,” he brushed her long plait away from the wound, pulling a chair to be near her. “What would you have me do?” “You could always read to me? Not your boring tomes, it would be a shame to waste such an attractive voice on the properties of local flora. Have any trashy novels? Commit any naughty poems to memory?”

“We’ve really got to stop letting you spend your free time with Isabela. Give me a moment, I swiped a novel I suspect Varric wrote the last time I was at The Hanged Man.” He reset the dressing over her wounds, fingers delicately tracing her spine. She shivered just a bit, not from cold, but the desire held dormant beneath the surface.

“Don’t be too long, or I might have to put out an advertisement looking for a new rakish mage. One willing to be more attentive to my whims.”

“Sweetheart, I doubt you will find another mage of my caliber. One that’s also willing to put up with your needs.” He looked at her with sorrow, “Besides,  I’ve already told you, I’ll only bring you heartache.”

“I agree, my heart can’t handle the view from this height. Now run along and let me ogle you, I am perfectly aligned with some of your better features.”

“You ass.”

“Exactly.” She winked at him, and he could only shake his head.

He returned, ready to submit himself to more of this torturous banter. He couldn’t help himself, he was a glutton for her attention. He knew better. If nothing else, the disastrous way things came to an end with Karl should have been enough warning. Mercedes, despite not knowing him long, understood him. She carried many of the same burdens he did, but fought to keep her family safe, not random strangers. What would that be like, he wondered, not to have been separated from loving and supportive parents? To have an actual mage father to help hone skills, teach rather than humiliate? He would never know, but he saw evidence in her just how much one could benefit.

Hawke had fallen asleep, exhausted.  Healing generally did that to people. He sat by her side, watching as her eyelashes fluttered against her skin. Maker, she really was beautiful. He needed to build more distance from her, she had no sense of self-preservation. He had to be the one to do it.  But, seeing her vulnerable and in his care, he started to see the futility of it all. He wondered if he had it in him to keep resisting anymore. He set the book on the floor, grabbed a blanket for himself, and settled in to get some rest, but didn’t leave her side. She had asked him to stay, after all.

[blonde-batgirl]

Keith’s Vlog Did NOT Contain Character Development

Seriously guys, everything present in that vlog was already in the show. In the vlog, he was telling us what we’d already seen, just like how in Allura’s vlog she admitted she thought “sitting idle for ten thousand years had a negative affect on the lions.” She never outright said that in episode one, but her reactions showed that she thought very little of the paladins. In the end, she gave them the job because, “They’re all we’ve got.” (The Rise of Voltron, Season One, Episode One)

I can, in fact, prove that none of the stuff we saw in Keith’s vlog was new. You would think that the actual vlog containing clips of scenes showing these characters traits in the actual show would have done that, but here we are.

“I guess being part-galra’s a big deal. Might explain why I was never really good at connecting with people.”

We know Keith’s bad at connecting with people! We see it again, and again, and again! First of all we have the example given by the vlog, the cheer in Fall of the Castle of Lions (Season One, Episode Four). The one that Keith cannot for the life of him get despite the fact that, as Lance says, “The cheer includes the instructions.” Later in the episode, his reaction to Pidge wanting to leave is to yell at her. He can’t empathise with her worries about her family because he’s implied to have no family left, and he doesn’t able to sympathise with her either. He’s unable to understand why her unconditional attachment to her family has priority over the rest of the universe. We see this again in The Black Paladin (Season One, Episode Eleven) when he suggests leaving Allura in the hands of the Galra. It’s the tactical decision, and the one that she hoped they’d make, but he doesn’t seem to understand the horrified reactions that it gets. His defence is, “I’m just thinking like a paladin.” A paladin is a white knight, an ideal hero. An archetypal paladin would go out of his way to save everyone. Keith connects with the abstract idea of duty – of saving the universe and the general idea of the people who live in it – far better than than with actual people. Further examples of this are present in Arc of Taujeer (Season Two, Episode Six) when he chooses not to confide in Shiro about his blade. We know Keith trusts Shiro more than anyone else on the castle-ship (You want receipts? Go back and watch the entire show) and yet he won’t share his worries with him. This can be tied back to “I guess being part-galra’s a big deal,” because we know from the dream he has a scene later that he fears the blade means he’s one of the enemy. He’s can’t confide in Shiro because he’s scared that him being part-galra is a deal breaker. The Blade of Marmora (Season Two, Episode Eight) is another example. They’re flying into enemy territory and Keith still keeps his suspicions about what the blade in his possession means to himself, which means that they can’t be upfront with the Blade of Marmora. In The Hunted (Season Three, Episode Three), his first foray into leadership is an utter disaster because he doesn’t listen to the rest of the team. He just follows his arrow. Things get a lot better when he starts actually listening to the others, you know, from the next episode onwards. He even has a little epiphany – “I didn’t listen.” Those three tiny words tell us that he wasn’t connecting to the others. Wasn’t taking their opinions into account. So, no, him telling us that isn’t character development. It’s something that we’d seen and he’d already recognised in the show.

“I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I guess *sighs* a bit of a temper, so…”

I don’t think anyone’s saying that we didn’t know that Keith had a temper, but just in case...

Easily riled up by Lance in The Rise of Voltron and Some Assembly Required (Season One, Episode Two).

Explodes at Pidge in Fall of the Castle of Lions.

Attacks Zarkon when still fired up from trying to help Shiro in The Black Paladin.

Threatens Lubo’s life when cornered in Greening the Cube (Season Two, Episode Four) although the jury’s still out on whether or not he would have gone through with it.

Yells at everyone when he thinks they’re not being serious enough in The Blade of Marmora.

Changing of the Guard (Season Three, Episode One). Just…Changing of the Guard.

Explodes when admitting that Shiro wanted him to lead the team in The Red Paladin (Season Three, Episode Two).

“EVERYONE STAY OUT OF MY WAY.” – Keith in The Hunted

 There are other examples, but I think you get the picture.

Feeling guilty about his temper though, some of you seem to think that’s new. It’s definitely more subtle, but it’s there. In Fall of the Castle of Lions, after Shiro stops him from yelling at Pidge, he just stands there looking at the floor like he’s avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the room. In The Red Paladin, he does the same thing after admitting that Shiro wanted him to lead. There’s a sense of regret there. You get the feeling that he didn’t mean to tell them that. That it just slipped out when he was yelling. In The Hunted he sounds so upset when he realises that the mess they’re in is all because he let his temper get the better of him.

“Maybe I’m naturally untrusting because my mum left me…”

Keith being naturally untrusting isn’t news. I mean, look at how he was with Klaizap in Fall of the Castle of Lions. The guy barely comes up to his knee and he’s willing to fight him because he has a weapon. It’s the size of a toothpick, but okay. You can also see this in his quest for identity in season two. When given the opportunity to talk to Coran, he dances around the subject. He asks about the Blue Lion being on earth, but doesn’t mention his suspicions about himself. When he could have spoken to Shiro, he says he’s tired and leaves. As mentioned above, we can infer from his dream in Ark of Taujeer that he’s scared that his bloodline makes him one of the empire and that the team will reject him for it. He’ll trust these guys to have his back in a fight, but he won’t trust them with a secret of that magnitude.

What is new here is the news that his mum left him. A lot of us had assumed that he didn’t remember her (I know I had) and that she left soon after his birth. This vlog implies that that isn’t true. Either he knew her, or he picked up on the way his dad spoke about her and assumed that she left because of something to do with him. But this isn’t character development. It explains why he’s the way he is (or at least why he thinks he is), but it doesn’t change him in anyway. He was bad at trusting people before he said it, and he’s bad at trusting them now.

“So instead of accepting people into my life I push them away before they reject me. I guess I have some walls up.”

Keith has abandonment issues. It’s implied by his reaction in Fall of the Castle of Lions when Pidge decides to leave, and outright confirmed in The Blade of Marmora. Remember, holo-Shiro is created by Keith’s hopes and fears. By his mind. “Then you’ve chosen to be alone,” tells us that Keith’s afraid of being alone. The way he tries to chase after Shiro shows that he’s afraid of being abandoned because he’s somehow not enough to be worth sticking around for. It’s important to bear in mind that Shiro is the character he’s canonically closest to out of everyone. If he’s afraid Shiro will leave (deliberately) then what about the others? Keith doesn’t necessarily shy away from people – he hangs out with Hunk and Lance at the party in Fall of the Castle of Lions, puts himself between Shiro and danger at every opportunity, works well with Lance and Pidge in combat when the situation calls for it, puts effort into working and communicating with Hunk in Belly of the Weblum – but he also shows a penchant for working on his own. Examples include Collection and Extraction (Season One, Episode Ten), Best Laid Plans (Season Two, Episode Twelve), and The Hunted (Season Three, Episode Three). There’s a reason why Pidge describes his position on the team as “the loner.” (The Red Paladin) A lot of people have commented that his advice to Lance in Tailing a Comet (Season Three, Episode Six) – “Stop worrying about who flies what and just focus on your missions. Things will work themselves out.” – doesn’t actually make Lance feel better. It is, however, what Keith himself does. He bottles things up. He doesn’t tell anyone about his knife until… Actually. He just never tells anyone. Ever. The problem is literally taken out of his hands when Antok tackles him to the ground. Makes you wonder how he was planning on bringing it up. Keith seems to trust the others with his life just fine, but his emotions are another story. We know he’s scared of people leaving, because we’ve seen it in the show. We know he fears rejection because we’ve seen it in the show. None of this is new.

In closing, I’d just like to point out that the vlogs are just clip-shows with a bit of character introspection inbetween. They’re highly unlikely to put character development in them when most of the people who watch the show will probably never even know they exist. I’d also like to say that the vlogs aren’t my cup of tea - Keith’s especially felt OOC, and it just feels artificial to have the characters sit down and talk to a camera. A lot of people would disagree with me on this, I’m sure, but that’s fine, you’re welcome to your own opinions, and I by no means mean to insult all the work put into them by Dreamworks because, let’s be honest, they don’t have to put out quirky little things like this in between seasons and it’s wonderful that they do. So I’m not defending them because I personally like them. I’m defending them because I’m sick of the way this fandom reacts to any form of new content. I mean, honestly, if you’re going to criticise something at least make sure your criticism is accurate.

[gaysparklepires]

16. Closure

At that moment, my head broke the surface.

I was completely disoriented. I’d been sure I was sinking.

The current wouldn’t let up. It was slamming me against more rocks; they beat against the center of my back sharply, rhythmically, pushing the water from my lungs. It gushed out in amazing volume, absolute torrents pouring from my mouth and nose. The salt burned and my lungs burned and my throat was too full of water to catch a breath and the rocks were hurting my back. Somehow I stayed in one place, though the waves still heaved around me. I couldn’t see anything but water everywhere, reaching for my face.

“Breath!” a voice, wild with anxiety, ordered, and I felt a sudden rush of relief—because it wasn’t Edward’s.

I could not obey, though. The waterfall pouring from my mouth didn’t stop long enough for me to catch a breath. The black, icy water filled my chest, burning.

The rock smacked into my back again, right between my shoulder blades, and another volley of water choked its way out of my lungs.

“Breath, Beau! C’mon!” Jacob begged.

Black spots bloomed across my vision, getting wider and wider, blocking out the light.

The rock struck me again.

The rock wasn’t cold like the water; it was hot on my skin. I realized it was Jacob’s hand, trying to beat the water from my lungs. The iron bar that had dragged me from the sea was also… warm… My head whirled, the black spots covered everything….

I wasn’t dying. I had survived. Somehow, idiot Beau Swan had jumped off a cliff and survived. Ha, take that, Edward. If I wasn’t still so disoriented I would have chuckled. The sound of the crashing waves faded into the black and became a quiet, even whoosh that sounded like it was coming from the inside of my ears….

“Beau?” Jacob asked, his voice still tense but not as wild as before. “Beau, babe, can you hear me?”

The contents of my head swished and rolled sickeningly, like they’d joined the rough water….

“How long has he been unconscious?” someone else asked.

The voice that was not Jacob’s startled me, jarred me into a more focused awareness.

I realized that I was still. There was no tug of the current on me—the heaving was inside my head. The surface under me was flat and motionless. It felt grainy against my bare arms.

“I don’t know,” Jacob reported, still frantic. His voice was very close. Hands—so warm they had to be his—ran through my wet hair, and along my cheeks. “A few minutes? It didn’t take long to tow him to the beach.”

The quiet whooshing inside my ears was not the waves—it was the air moving in and out of my lungs again. Each breath burned—the passageways were as raw as if I’d scrubbed them out with steel wool. But I was breathing.

And I was freezing. A thousand sharp, icy beads were striking my face and arms, making the cold worse.

“He’s breathing. He’ll come around. We should get him out of the cold, though. I don’t like the color he’s turning…” I recognized Sam’s voice this time.

“You think it’s okay to move him?”

“He didn’t hurt his back or anything when he fell?”

“I don’t know.”

They hesitated.

I tried to open my eyes. It took me a minute, but then I could see the dark, purple clouds, flinging the freezing rain down at me. “Jake?” I croaked.

Jacob’s face blocked out the sky. “Oh!” he gasped, relief washing over his features. His eyes were wet, I hoped, from the rain and not from tears over me.

“Oh, Beau! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Do you hurt anywhere?”

“J-just m-my throat,” I stuttered, my lips quivering from the cold.

“Let’s get you out of here, then,” Jacob said. He slid his arms under me and lifted me without effort, like picking up an empty box. His chest was bare and warm; he hunched his shoulders to keep the rain of me. I curled up into him, nestling my head against his chest.

“You got him?” I heard Sam ask.

“Yeah, I’ll take it from here. Get back to the hospital. I’ll join you later. Thanks, Sam.”

My head was still rolling. None of his words sunk in at first. Sam didn’t answer. There was no sound, and I wondered if he was already gone. I strained to lift my head and look back over Jacob’s shoulder.

The water licked and writhed up the sand after us as Jacob carried me away, like it was angry that I’d escaped. As I stared wearily, a spark of color caught my unfocused eyes—a small flash of fire was dancing on the black water, far out in the bay. The image made no sense, and I wondered how conscious I really was. My head swirled with the memory of the black, churning water—of being so lost that I couldn’t find up or down. So lost… but somehow Jacob…

“How did you find me?” I rasped.

“I was searching for you,” he told me. He was half-jogging through the rain, up the beach toward the road. “I followed the tire tracks to your truck, and then saw the door open, and your phone just sitting on the seat. Then I heard you shout…” He shuddered. “Why would you jump, Beau? Didn’t you noticed that it’s turning into a hurricane out here? Couldn’t you have waited for me?” Frustration filled his tone as his relief faded.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” I muttered. “It was stupid.”

“Yeah, it was really stupid,” he agreed, drops of ran shaking free of his hair as he nodded. “Look, do you mind saving the really stupid stuff for when I’m around? I won’t be able to concentrate if I think you’re jumping off cliffs behind my back.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “No problem.” I sounded like a chain-smoker. I tried to clear my throat—and then winced; the throat-clearing felt like stabbing a knife down there. “What happened today? Did you… find Victor?” It was my turn to shudder, though I wasn’t so cold here, wrapped in his warm arms.

Jacob shook his head. He was still more running than walking as he headed up the road to his house. “No. He took off into the water—the bloodsuckers have the advantage there. That’s why I raced home—I was afraid he was going to double back swimming. You spend so much time on the beach….” He trailed off, a catch in his throat.

“Sam came back with you… is everyone else home, too?” I hoped they weren’t still out searching for Victor.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

I tried to read his expression, squinting into the hammering rain. His eyes were tight with worry or pain.

The words that hadn’t made sense before suddenly did. “You said… hospital. Before, to Sam. Is someone hurt? Did Victor fight you?” My voice jumped up an octave, sounding strange with the hoarseness.

“No, no. When we got back, Em was waiting with the news. It’s Harry Clearwater. Harry had a heart attack this morning.”

“Harry?” I shook my head trying to absorb what he was saying. “Oh, no! Does Charlie know?”

“Yeah. He’s over there, too, with my dad.”

“Is Harry going to be okay?”

Jacob’s eyes tightened again. “It doesn’t look so great right now.”

Abruptly, I felt really sick with guilt—felt truly horrible about the stupid cliff dive. Nobody needed to be worrying about me right now. What a selfish time to try to go and prove something to myself.

“What can I do?” I asked.

At that moment the rain stopped. I hadn’t realized we were already back to Jacob’s house until he walked through the door. The storm pounded against the roof.

“You can stay here,” Jacob said as he set me on the short couch. “I mean it—right here. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

I let my eyes adjust to the dark room while Jacob banged around in his bedroom. The cramped front room seemed so empty without Billy, almost desolate. It was strangely ominous—probably because I knew where he was.

Jacob was back in seconds. He threw a pile of gray cotton at me. “These will be huge on you, but it’s the best I’ve got. I’ll, er, step outside so you can change.”

“Don’t go anywhere. Please, Jake. I’m too tired to move yet. Just stay with me.”

Jacob sat on the floor next to me, his back against the couch. I wondered when he’d slept last. He looked as exhausted as I felt.

He leaned his head on the cushion next to mine and yawned. “Guess I could rest for a minute….”

His eyes closed. I let mine slide shut, too.

Poor Harry. Poor Sue. I knew Charlie was going to be beside himself. Harry was one of his best friends. Despite Jake’s negative take on things, I hoped fervently that Harry would pull through. For Charlie’s sake. For Sue’s and Liam’s and Seth’s.

Billy’s sofa was right next to the radiator, and I was warm now, despite my soaked clothes. My lungs ached in a way that pushed me toward unconsciousness rather than keeping me awake. I wondered vaguely if it was wrong to sleep… or was I getting drowning mixed up with concussions…? Jacob began softly snoring, and the sound of it soothed like a lullaby. I fell asleep quickly.

For the first time in a very long time, my dream was just a normal dream. Just a blurred wandering through old memories—blinding bright visions of the Phoenix sun, my mother’s face, a ramshackle tree house, a faded quilt, a wall of mirrors, a flame on the black water… I forgot each of them as soon as the picture changed.

The last picture was the only one that stuck in my head. It was meaningless—just a set on a stage. A balcony at night, a painted moon hanging in the sky. I watched the girl in her nightdress lean on the railing and talk to herself.

Meaningless… but when I slowly struggled back to consciousness, Juliet was on my mind.

Jacob was still asleep; he’d slumped down on the floor and his breathing was deep and even. The house was darker now than before, it was black outside the window. I was stiff, but warm and almost dry. The inside of my throat burned with every breath I took.

I was going to have to get up—at least to get a drink. But I didn’t want to risk waking Jacob. I reached my hand down to touch his head.

As I gently ran my fingers through his hair, I thought about Juliet some more.

I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest? What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he’d changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he’d just disappeared?

I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.

She’d struggle to go back to her old life. She would have struggled to move on, I was sure of that. I wondered if she would have been able to, eventually. Or, would she one day find herself, old and gray, still seeing Romeo’s face every time she closed her eyes? Would she have accepted that half-life?

I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. Who could say, I thought. The story didn’t say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure—a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.

What if there were more to Paris?

What if Paris had been Juliet’s friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in every detail about the whole heartbreaking ordeal with Romeo? The one person who understood her better than anyone else? What if he was patient and kind? What if they made each other happy? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?

And… what if she loved Paris? What if she moved on from Romeo, and truly loved Paris?

Jacob’s slow, deep breathing was the only sound in the room—like a lullaby hummed to a child, like the whisper of a rocking chair, like the ticking of an old clock when you had nowhere you needed to go…. It was the sound of comfort.

If Romeo was gone, never coming back, would it have mattered whether or not Juliet had taken Paris up on his offer? Maybe she could carve out a new life—a better life—out of the pieces Romeo had left behind when he left so selfishly.

I sighed, and then groaned when the sigh scraped my throat. I was thinking too much about this. Romeo and Juliet was really a tragedy, not a romance, after all. Certainly not something to use to help yourself find closure.

I closed my eyes and drifted again, letting my mind wander away from the stupid play. I thought about reality instead—about jumping off the cliff and what a brainless act that had been. And not just the cliff, but the motorcycles and the whole notion of breaking my promise. What if something bad had happened to me? What would that do to Charlie? Harry’s heart attack and pushed everything suddenly into perspective for me. Perspective that hurt me to see. Why hadn’t I realized sooner how selfish it had all been and how making a point in breaking a promise was the complete opposite of finding any sort of closure.

But I had discovered something on that cliff. Something I hadn’t expected. I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. I had been faced with my memories, my hallucinations, my fear, and I met them head on—no, I defied them. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could carve out a new life for myself with the pieces left behind. I didn’t know if the cracks would ever really heal, but I had to be brave and really try.

I looked down at Jacob. So grateful for him and for everything he had done for me. So grateful for his patience. I thought about what I had said to Jessica about Jacob keeping me above water—today in the literal sense—and wondered what I had done to deserve him in my life.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to make any concrete decisions at that moment. But it was undeniable that a decision would have to be made sooner rather than later if things kept moving forward on the path they were on. I decided to focus on something else, give my tired mind a break from all the heavy emotions.

Images from my ill-considered afternoon stunt rolled through my head while I tried to come up with something pleasant and easy to think about… the feel of the air as I fell, the blackness of the water, the thrashing of the current… Edward’s face… I lingered there for just a moment. Jacob’s warm hands trying to beat life back into me… the stinging rain flung down by the purple clouds… the strange fire on the waves…

There was something familiar about that flash of color on top of the water. Of course it couldn’t really be fire—

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car squelching through the mud on the road outside. I heard it stop in front of the house, and doors started opening and closing. I thought about sitting up, and then decided against that idea.

Billy’s voice was easily identifiable, but he kept it uncharacteristically low, so that it was only a gravely grumble.

The door opened, and the light flicked on. I blinked momentarily blind. Jake startled awake, gasping and jumping to his feet.

“Sorry,” Billy grunted. “Did we wake you?”

My eyes slowly slowly focused on his face, and then, as I could read his expression, they filled with tears.

“Oh, no, Billy!” I moaned.

He nodded slowly, his expression hard with grief. Jake hurried to his father and took one of his hands. The pain made his face suddenly childlike—it looked odd on top of the man’s body.

Sam was right behind Billy, pushing his chair through the door. His normal composure was absent from his agonized face.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Billy nodded. “It’s gonna be hard all around.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your dad is still at the hospital with Sue. There are a lot of… arrangements to be made.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’d better get back there,” Sam mumbled, and he ducked hastily out the door.

Billy pulled his hand away from Jacob, and then he rolled himself through the kitchen toward his room.

Jake stared after him for a minute, then came to sit on the floor beside me again. He put his face in his hands. I rubbed his shoulder, wishing I could think of something to say.

After a long moment, Jacob caught my hand and held it to his face.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? I probably should have taken you to a doctor or something.” He sighed.

“Don’t worry about me,” I croaked, rubbing his cheek.

He twisted his head to look at me. His eyes were rimmed in red. “You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good, either, I guess.”

“I’ll go get your truck and then take you home.”

“Thanks, Jake,” I sighed, “I should be there when Charlie gets home.”

“Right.”

I lay listlessly on the sofa while I waited for him. Billy was silent in the other room. I felt like a peeping tom, peering through the cracks at a private sorrow.

It didn’t take Jake long. The roar of my truck’s engine broke the silence before I expected it. He helped me up from the couch without speaking, keeping his arm around my shoulder when the cold air outside made me shiver. He took the driver’s seat without asking, and then pulled me next to his side to keep his arm tight around me. I leaned my head against his chest.

“How will you get home?” I asked.

“I’m not going home. We still haven’t caught the bloodsucker, remember?”

My next shudder had nothing to do with cold.

It was a quiet ride after that. The cold air had woken me up. My mind was alert, and it was working very hard and very fast.

What if? What if could make a decision? Take the step down this path and carve out my new life.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Jacob now—I cringed away from that idea of even trying to imagine that. Somehow, he’d become an integral part of my life. But to leave things the way they were… was that cruel, as Mike had accused?

I think it was. It was wrong to string Jacob along if I was never going to make a decision. Could I make one? What was holding me back? I realized how right it felt when he held me like this. It felt so nice—warm and comforting and familiar. Safe. Jacob was a safe harbor.

I could make a decision. I could make him mine.

He already knew what I had been through. He knew there were parts of me that were still broken. But I would need to tell him everything—I’d explain why it hurt me so deeply, tell him how deep the cracks in my heart ran, I’d admit to the delusions of hearing Edward. He’d need to know everything before he made a decision.

But, even as I recognized that necessity, I kew he would take me in spite of it all. He wouldn’t even pause to think it through. Jacob had made his decision.

I would have to commit to this—commit my whole heart to Jacob, breaks and all. Would I? Could I? Would it be so wrong to try to make Jacob happy? Make myself happy? I couldn’t spend my entire life grieving after some fickle Romeo.

Jacob stopped the truck in front of my dark house, cutting the engine so it was suddenly silent. Like so many other times, he seemed to be in tune with my thoughts now.

He threw his other arm around me, crushing me against his chest, binding me to him. Again, this felt nice. My heart felt like it could safely heal here.

I thought he would be thinking of Harry, but then he spoke, and his tone was apologetic. “Sorry. I know you don’t feel exactly the way I do, Beau. I swear I don’t mind. I’m just so glad you’re okay that I could sing—and that’s something no one wants to hear.” He laughed his throaty laugh in my ear.

My breathing kicked up a notch, sanding the walls of my throat.

Wouldn’t Edward, indifferent as he might be, want me to be as happy as was possible? Wouldn’t enough friendly emotion linger for him to want that much for me? I thought he would. He wouldn’t begrudge me this: moving on, finding my closure, and giving the love he didn’t want to Jacob.

Jake pressed his warm cheek against the top of my hair.

If I turned my face to the side—if I pressed my lips against his bare shoulder… I knew without any doubt exactly what would follow. It would be as easy as breathing.

But could I do it? Could I let go of my baggage and close that chapter of my life?

Butterflies filled my stomach as I thought about turning my head.

And then, as clearly as it was up on the cliff, Edward’s voice whispered in my ear.

“Be happy,” he told me.

I froze.

Jacob felt me stiffen and released me automatically, reaching for the door.

Wait, I wanted to say to him. Just a minute. But I was still locked in place from the shock from hearing Edward’s voice.

Storm-cooled air blew through the cab of the truck.

“OH!” The breath whooshed out of Jacob like someone had punched him in the gut. “Holy crap!”

He slammed the door and twisted the keys in the ignition in the same moment. His hands were shaking so hard I didn’t know how he managed it.

“What’s wrong, Jake?”

He revved the engine too fast; it spluttered and faltered.

“Vampire,” he spit out.

The blood rushed from my head and left me dizzy. “How do you know?”

“Because I can smell it! Dammit!”

Jacob’s eyes were wild, raking the dark street. He barely seemed aware of the tremors that were rolling through his body. “Phase or get him out of here?” he hissed at himself.

He looked down at me for a split second, taking in my horror-struck eyes and white face, and then he was scanning the street again. “Right. Get you out.”

The engine caught with a roar. The tires squealed as he spun the truck around, turning toward our only escape. The headlights washed across the pavement, lit the front line of the black forest, and finally glinted off a car parked across the street from my house.

“Wait!” I gasped.

It was a black car—a car I knew. I might not know much about cars, but I could tell you everything about that particular car. It was a Mercedes S55 AMG. I knew the horsepower and the color of the interior. I knew the feel of the powerful engine purring through the frame. I knew the rick smell of the leather seats and the way the extra-dark tint made noon look like dusk through those windows.

It was Carlisle Cullen’s car.

“Wait, stop!” I cried, louder this time, because Jacob was gunning the truck down the street.

“What?!”

“It’s not Victor, Jake. Just—Just stop the car. Go back!”

He stomped on the brake so hard I had to catch myself against the dashboard.

“What?” he asked again, aghast. He stared at me with horror in his eyes.

“That’s Carlisle’s car. Carlisle Cullen’s car, I’m sure of it.”

He saw the dawning realization in my face, and a violent tremor rocked his frame.

“Jake, please breath. Calm down, it’s okay. No danger, see? Relax.”

“Yeah, calm,” he panted, putting his head down and closing his eyes. While he concentrated on not exploding into a wolf, I gently rubbed his arm trying to calm him. I furtively glanced back at the black car.

Why would they come back? It was just Carlisle, I told myself. Don’t hope for anything more. Maybe Esme… stop right there, I told myself. Why was I hoping for any of them to come back? The glimmer of excitement I felt in the pit of my stomach wasn’t healthy. I shouldn’t be excited. I was past this. At least, I thought I was.

“There’s a vampire in your house,” Jacob hissed. “And you want to go back?”

I looked deep into his dark eyes, I understood his concern. I couldn’t fault him for it.

“I… Yes, Jake.” I said, my voice was shaky. I did want to go back. But why?

Jacob’s face hardened while I stared at him, congealing into the bitter mask that I’d thought was gone for good. Just before he had the mask in place, I caught the spasm of betrayal that flashed in his eyes. My heart sank seeing that mask come back. His hands were still shaking. He looked ten years older than me.

He took a deep breath. “You sure it’s not a trick?” he asked in a slow, heavy voice.

“It’s not a trick. It’s Carlisle.” I realized why I wanted to go back—a chance at true closure. “Take me back, Jake.”

A shudder rippled through his wide shoulders, but his eyes were flat and emotionless. “No.”

“Jake, listen—“

“No. Take yourself back, Beau.” His voice was a slap—I flinched as the sound of it struck me. His jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Look, Beau,” he said in the same hard voice. “I can’t go back. Treaty or no treaty, that’s my enemy in there.”

“It’s not like that—“

“I have to tell Sam right away. This changes things. We can’t be caught on their territory.”

“Jake, it’s not war!”

He didn’t listen. He put the truck in neutral and jumped out the door, leaving it running.

“Bye, Beau,” he called back over his shoulder. “I really hope you don’t die.” He sprinted into the darkness, shaking so hard that his shape seemed blurred; he disappeared before I could open my mouth to call him back. I desperately wanted to explain to him why I needed to go back, what I was really after.

Remorse pinned me against the seat for one long second. What had I just done to Jacob?

I reluctantly slid across the seat and put the truck back in drive. My hands were shaking almost as hard as Jake’s had been, and this took a minute of concentration. Then I carefully turned the truck and drove it back to my house.

It was very dark when I turned off the headlights. Charlie had left in such a hurry that he’d forgotten to leave the porch lamp on. I felt a pang of doubt, staring at the house, deep in shadow. What if it was a trick? Worse yet, what if it didn’t help me? What if it just made things worse?

I looked back at the black car, almost invisible in the night. No. I knew that car.

Still, my hands were shaking even worse than before as I reached for the key above the door. When I grabbed the doorknob to unlock it, it twisted easily under my hand. I let the door fall open. The hallway was black.

I wanted to call out a greeting, but my throat was too dry. I couldn’t quite seem to catch my breath.

I took a step inside and fumbled for the light switch. It was so black—like the black water… Where was that switch?

Just like the black water, with the orange flame flickering impossibly on top of it. Flame that couldn’t be a fire, but what then…? My fingers traced the wall, still searching, still shaking—

Suddenly, something Jacob had told me this afternoon echoed in my head, finally sinking in….He took off into the water, he’d said. The bloodsuckers have the advantage there. That’s why I raced home—I was afraid He was going to double back swimming.

My hand froze in its searching, my whole body froze into place, as I realized why I recognized the strange orange color on the water.

Victor’s hair, blowing wild in the wind, the color of fire…

He’d been right there. Right there in the harbor with me and Jacob. If Sam hadn’t been there, if it had been just the two of us…? I couldn’t breathe or move.

The light flicked on, though my frozen hand had still not found the switch.

I blinked into the sudden light, and saw that someone was there, waiting for me.

[cyb-by-lang]

OSF AU - All the Little Children (10/?)

Part 10: In which the Hero reappears, a turtle comes to the rescue, and a panicking pack of preteens discuss the power of propaganda.

Content warnings: None, aside from the usual warnings about Garp’s total lack of parenting skills.

Once again, the punch-happy grandpa appeared out of nowhere on sleepy little Dawn Island. Naruto hadn’t worked out where he landed, though he knew the guy was a Marine and had to dock his ship somewhere since he sure as hell didn’t live on the island. Instead, Naruto kept patrols of clones running through the forest in the shape of bugs and other stuff, trying to be sure no one got caught off guard by the guy ever again. Thus, Naruto was the first one to know when Garp was headed their way.

While Kei-sensei lived farther up the mountain to give Fū some space, she came down almost every day to help with training and making them non-wild food and whatever else the FNG trio needed (though she made a funny face whenever she heard the name). Naruto had told her about Luffy and Ace and Sabo and their shitty grandpa, and he didn’t need to be a sensor to know she wasn’t happy about the situation.

And she hadn’t come down the mountain today. Not yet.

Naruto cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Time out!”

Gaara let Sabo yank his pipe out of a fist made of sand, while Luffy had Fū in a rubbery headlock, and Ace got dog-piled by Yang Kurama, Shukaku, and Chōmei the instant his and Naruto’s sparring match ground to a screeching halt. Okay, sure, Naruto had been a bit distracted by impending doom, but he could handle himself without their help.

“Why’d you stop?” Usually, Ace would have thrown in in a curse or a taunt, but Naruto guessed he could sense the sudden tension. Even Yang Kurama, who was sitting on Ace’s leg, didn’t look happy.

“Your evil grandpa just reached the forest,” Naruto said in a grim voice.

Everyone with visible skin went pale with fear. The Tailed Beasts bristled instead.

Except for one. “Who is this ‘evil grandpa’?” asked Isobu.

“Remember when we told Keisuke about how we became friends in the face of a greater foe?” Gaara asked, thought it sounded a bit like he didn’t really want an answer. “It’s him.”

“Oh,” said Isobu, more thoughtfully this time.

After that, everyone else was so busy fleeing toward the FNG base—so named because it sounded cool and because “base” was what they were using it for—and toward the “safety” of the trapped zones that only Naruto saw Isobu curl into a ball and roll away. Since the bear on stilts mostly didn’t notice the Tailed Beasts unless they were biting him, Naruto figured he’d be fine, and probably fast enough to reach Kei-sensei if he kept rolling.

Several minutes of controlled-panic running later, the shouting started. “You can run, but you can't hide, brats!”

Naruto signaled Fū with his left hand, and she and Chōmei did a spin on their next step that ended in a blizzard of sparky powder shooting toward the direction Garp might’ve been. It probably didn’t do much other than make him look like the world’s scariest victim of a glitter prank, but it got everywhere and it itched pretty bad. The attack bought them a few precious seconds—long enough for Chōmei to spit thirty meters of sticky silk across the shortest path between Garp and their group.

Up ahead, Luffy whooped with surprised laughter as Gaara threw him over the mouth of an open pit trap and into the bushes beyond it. Sabo and Ace made the jump on their own, with Gaara sweeping after them on a carpet of sand that hid the trap’s exact dimensions from the enemy. Gaara also made sure that the ASL bros kept going, hanging back only to make sure Naruto and Fū were going to make it.

They almost made it.

But the bear crashed through a tree, landing just where Naruto had been running a split second before. Naruto yelped as the ground buckled and rolled, throwing him off balance and nearly sending him stumbling into Fū’s outstretched wings.

“You’re not the ones I’ve had the longest,” the old bear began, “but you’ve earned this, too. Fist of Love!”

Ohshit.

Naruto shoved Fū, preparing to take the hit because it’d take him less time to heal—

“Reverse Summoning Jutsu!” squeaked Isobu’s voice from nowhere.

—And then there was Kei-sensei, wrapped up in Tailed Beast chakra and blocking the punch with one glowing hand. The energy that made a V1 chakra cloak dangerous rippled and dispersed the force of the punch, sending shockwaves through the air but nobody else.

Why hadn’t any of them thought of that? What the hell?

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” Garp demanded, though he pulled back and shook out his fist, like he’d finally hit something too tough or weird to break.

Kei-sensei stood up to her full height—still way smaller than Garp—and said, “Kids, run. I can handle this.”

“Kei-sensei, you didn’t fight him before,” Naruto protested, even though he could feel Fū pulling on his arm and the others needed him. He’d designed most of the traps around their base and they were mostly armed, still.

“That was an order, Naruto,” Kei-sensei told him flatly. “Go.”

Naruto opened his mouth to argue more, but Fū finally yanked him off-balance so she could get him to rejoin the others. And anyway, his voice would have been drowned out by the immediate, deafening slamming noises and flying debris that followed, because Kei-sensei and Garp hadn’t wasted any time getting right down to the fighting part.

Fū flew them across the covered pit even though Gaara would never have let them fall in, and even if carrying Naruto’s uncooperative weight with one arm was really bad for her balance. When she let go, Naruto, Fū, and Gaara all tore after the ASL brothers like their lives depended on it.

Something exploded behind them.

The FNG group ran faster.

Naruto skidded to a stop once he reached the open end of one of their many side tunnels. After the bear on stilts had plowed through last time, they’d made sure all the entrances were too small for him to get in. Luffy and his older brothers, though, were small enough to fit just fine. All three of them brandished pipes in a white-knuckled grip until they recognized the other gang of kids.

“Where’s Gramps?” Ace asked, still cautious.

“Keisuke appeared,” Gaara explained, which was kind of a lame explanation. Summed things up, though.

Naruto bit the side of his thumb, trying to think of ways to weaponize that reverse-summoning trick. “So maybe we should—”

Another explosion rocked the forest.

“I guess they’re still busy?” Fū guessed, looking over her shoulder warily. “I mean, if there’s anyone who could stop the Tidal Blade…”

“Are you kidding?” Ace gaped at her, completely stunned. “I hope she kicks his ass into next week!”

“But she’s the—” Fū began.

“Wait, no,” Sabo began, holding out his hands in an attempt to stop the fight.

But Naruto had long since lost patience.

“Will you shut up?” Naruto burst out, glaring at Fū with his connection to Yang Kurama acting up. “Kei-sensei’s never done anything to you, or to any of us! What the hell is your problem?!”

“She’s the kind of person who gives all jinchūriki a bad name!” Fū shouted back. “There was this village, in the middle of the Land of Fire—one of yours—and sh-she killed everyone there, and she’s killed whole t-t-teams and I-I don’t want that to be us!”

Naruto froze, while Fū fought to keep from crying. She's really that afraid of Kei-sensei?

“But isn’t that what shinobi are?” Gaara broke in, drawing everyone’s attention. Under their stares, he just said in a flat voice, “Shinobi are weapons that serve their villages. Keisuke is a strong kunoichi, but she’s easily what any of us could grow up to be. There’s no way to go through shinobi life without doing something terrible. Even so…” Gaara trailed off for a second, thinking. As Fū sniffled, he asked, “Who told you Keisuke was untrustworthy?”

“Only everyone,” Fū mumbled, rubbing her reddened eyes. “Shibuki and my tutors and…”

“I don’t know about everyone,” Gaara said after a little longer, crouching next to Fū. “But Keisuke is the reason I can talk to Shukaku now. Why we don’t hate each other.”

“Huh?”

“She and Isobu helped us learn to talk, instead of fighting,” Gaara explained.

Naruto scratched his head. “And the only reason we know each other is because Shukaku finally got in contact with Yang Kurama and Yin Kurama, back when we were little. He couldn’t do that before.”

“And she makes us yummy food!” Luffy said, hugging Fū with his rubbery arms. Once his stretching yanked him into her shoulder, he added, “So don’t be sad, Fū! We’re all okay right now!”

Fū bit her lip and didn’t respond, other than to hug Luffy back.

Naruto sighed. What a mess. “Look, we’ll talk about this later. Right now, let’s just go inside.”

A few hours passed, and Luffy ate all their food with Ace and Sabo’s help because no one wanted to go out and get another tiger. Fū sat and sulked for most of it, not even doing more than picking at her food and seeming sick to her stomach. Gaara had Shukaku on his knee and Chōmei on his shoulder, and the three of them talked really quietly for a while after dinner.

Naruto and Yang Kurama waited at the entrance of the cave until Isobu rolled in.

“Is it done?” Yang Kurama asked his turtle-like brother.

“Well, they are heading this way and neither of them are dead.” Isobu’s tails wiggled. “The rest is going to be part of our talk next.”

“Ugh, words. And with a human none of us like,” Yang Kurama muttered, settling onto Naruto’s leg and lowering his head onto his paws. “Wake me when it is over.”

[ruwithmeguys]

A little One-Shot

Ok... I hate hiatus's but they’re also perfect for inspiring and fic writing.

Now this is just an indulgent piece of fluff I had too much fun writing but, alas, I only wrote it in 20 mins (I was inspired) because I don’t have a lot of time to spare so if it feels crude or just plain wrong, then I do apologise.

This is for @callistawolf who wanted some new pieces and I thought I’d get the ball rolling, for @hopedreamlovepray who made me fall in love with one-shots and a thank you to @n4r4nch4 who literally cheers me on, even when I feel like I’m undeserving.

I love this fandom!

So I don’t think this will happen in the show but... (If you guys like it, I’ll put it on AO3 later)

.....

Happy.

It’s what she’d hoped for him, them. Eventually. But in all honesty; she’d had trouble believing it could happen... till a couple of weeks ago that is.

Now they were here, on Lian Yu.

Everything that shouldn’t have happened, happened, and everything they didn’t expect to did as well: the good and the bad.

Black Siren was gone. She truly was the exact opposite of the Laurel they’d known. She’d disappeared, injured as she was, during Oliver’s fight with Slade and none of them had the heart – nor the energy – to search for her.

But they would.

Later.

Adrian was gone. Dead... but Oliver hadn’t killed him. Thankfully he’d walked an unexpected path.

Oliver. Eyes closing, listening to the sound of the waves at her feet, Felicity remembered...

“Come on Oliver; it’s simple. Look.” Hand fisted in Felicity’s hair, he yanked backwards until her throat was exposed - her body pressed to his front - and held one of his daggers beneath her throat. “I’ll make it easy for you.” His eyes unblinkingly on Oliver’s, Adrian stressed each and every word. “If you don’t kill me - if you don’t shoot an Arrow into my neck - I will kill the woman you’ve been pretending not to love.”

It took an age for a response to come.

Without a weapon, he’d stood there – Oliver – as he’d entered the clearing, the place Adrian had hunted Felicity to until she couldn’t keep running anymore, and hadn’t said a word.

He’d just looked at her, seeing her determination, her exhaustion. Her fear.

Her love.

Her resolve. “Don’t.” She forced through her clenched teeth. “Not for me.”

Not anymore.

He couldn’t now. Not after everything. Not even for her.

And he knew that, she could see it. This couldn’t be like the Count. This wouldn’t be him instinctively obeying the mindset of the man who’d used killing as a defence mechanism for survival - a mechanism to protect - for over five years.

This... what had to happen, would be the turning point of his life.

And she was fine with that. “It’s ok.” She whispered; her voice scratchy from lack of water as she watched him watch her. “I’ll be fine.”

“No.” Adrian promised - a smile in his voice - the knife pressing into her neck. “She won’t.”

He was right. He’d kill her. Just to spite Oliver. If Oliver refused to kill him, Adrian would kill her as punishment. And the Oliver Queen she’d started to see again for the first time in 14 months, the Oliver Queen she’d made love to on his birthday - a present full of sex had been due for a while and was, let’s face it, part and parcel for the course between them - where he’d shown her in an explicit and detailed physical exploration with his hands - oh those fingers, she’d missed those fingers - his mouth - the perfect mix of firm and supple softness: pillow mountains - his tongue - this isn’t helping - and his words-

His words.

I’m so sorry I destroyed us.

You made me happy. I haven’t felt that since I took it away.

I didn’t know how to accept that I was worth being loved, that I could be loved by... by you. By Felicity Smoak.

I love you. I never stopped. It never went away, never altered...

I missed you.

Oh, I love it when you do that.

You feel good. Familiar. Yet... different too.

But... still good? (she’d had to ask, to be sure that still wanted her like she wanted him)

No. (And he’d smiled - of course he had - his nose brushing down hers, his fingers trailing warmth and desire over the uncovered skin of her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders and further down...) Better.

Thank you for my birthday...

That Oliver Queen who’d shone through so brightly, he’d disappear. For good this time. Dig wouldn’t be able to pull him out of it; there would be no one to show him his light.

Then he’d kill Adrian.

And after, he’d kill himself. Next to her. Just to be sure she’d be the first thing he’d see when he opened his eyes once more.

If she died here.

Yet still... it was the right choice to make. A choice where there wasn’t really a choice to make.

Oliver knew it, his eyes told her they did, the soft stance of his body told her they did...

Oliver.

If it had to end, if this was how it was supposed to go; she didn’t regret a thing. She’d loved... and had been loved in a way a lot of people can only imagine. She’d found herself inside him, her everything, her forever and her always...

So she smiled at him; it a was watery thing but large enough to see, to show the sheer happiness he’d brought to her, the love she’d felt grow somehow deeper in the two days since they’d slept together. It told him everything he needed to hear without saying anything at all.

And everything that he was, reflected all of that back at her.

How eyes could be so bright and expressive, she didn���t know but his always could and right now they were etching his name into her soul, just like he was taking hers into his own.

“Alright.” He muttered and he didn’t stop looking at her. “Kill her.”

She felt Adrian jolt behind her but didn’t stop looking at her guy, didn’t stop smiling at him. God, I love you. “What?”

“Kill her.” Oliver softly repeated.

“And you’ll just live with that? I don’t think so Oliver.”

“I know you don’t.” Oliver’s hand shifted, a knife of his own sliding into his fingers from his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter because the moment you do, the moment you kill her... I’ll kill myself.” He let out a sigh, his smile falling but his expression was still deeply serene. Like he was seeing in her everything he wanted and was so content with the reality of it, that he wouldn’t be sorry if it ended here either. “And it’ll all be over.”

Still smiling, a tear rolled down her cheek and Oliver watched it fall like he wanted to halt its progress with a finger.

It wasn’t like they wanted to die. There was so much they both wanted from each other, with each other – things they’d spoken of in the quiet after she’d brought him home to rest inside her. But if it had to end here, if it had to be this way... then let it be like this.

Together.

After all, they always been really.

“That... that’s not how this works.”

And like she’d prayed for, Felicity heard the struggle in Adrian’s voice, the need to understand something his brain was incapable of processing.

For the first time Oliver looked away from her to him. “That’s the way it is. “And there was this light in his eyes that made something in her sing as he lifted the blade up to his own throat, preparing to draw a line across it. “I won’t kill you. You don’t deserve for me to kill you. And I don’t need to.”

THIS was Oliver Queen. This was the good she saw, had been seeing since Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.

“You don’t think it’s sick, Adrian? That you need me like this?” Throughout it all, Oliver kept his voice low and steady. “You need me so badly that you want me to kill you? I’m so important to you...”

His dagger cut into her skin. “Shut up!”

“Why?” Oliver stared at him. “Does it hurt?”

“You don’t- you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it the truth?” Oliver whispered. “Confess. You can’t live without me and you can’t kill without me here.” He raised a hand to the world about them in general. “But I won’t kill you. So,” Oliver looked back to her, love and hope an Arrow in his gaze, “what happens next after I’m gone? What will you do?”

Genius.

Before anyone could have done anything though, Rene - having followed Oliver but had been unable to keep up with his sprint - had shot Adrian point blank from the side. He’d died in seconds.

“I made him a promise.” Was all he’d said.

After a moment’s silence, Oliver had moved prompting her to do the same, to obey the need inside her. It just so happened his was the same need as hers.

They’d collided in the middle, his arms tight around her lifting her high off the ground, hoarse words breathed into her skin - I’m here baby - she’d wrapped herself around him, holding him close, breathing him in too and promising to never ever let go.

Spiritually speaking.

Because then they had to deal with the fallout. With Slade, who had a personal grudge against the two of them, the day just wouldn’t end, with Black Siren who’d fled the scene, Boomerang who’d been a giant pain in everyone’s ass... and Evelyn who’d then been killed in action.

A. Very. Long. Day.

She released a breath, letting the wind make a mess of her hair and rustle the trees –the lapping of the oceans waves – lull her very tired body into a peaceful state of rest.

The she felt him behind her...

“I can feel you there,” she murmured, “I couldn’t before.” And she chose – I don’t care if I’m naive – to believe it was because of their connection and not their five year war instilling a new awareness inside her that made this so.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She smiled, and if her voice was throaty - a purr really - well that was his fault. “Oliver, any disturbance by you is a welcome one.”

“Really.”

Not a question.

“Yep.”

“I don’t think the others would appreciate my idea of a disturbance with you.”

Her smile couldn’t get any wider.

His sex voice. Seriously, every time after sex... this voice. How do I live with myself, I just don’t know.

Turning to face him, she chirped. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He moved closer so that the sea was to his left and the jungle, his right. “You ok?”

She really was. He’d helped her there, earlier.

Probably looking profoundly love struck and foolish, she bobbed her head at him; wordless at the way the sun hit his face and lit up his hair. He really is blonde. “You?”

“It’s strange but... I think I am.” It came out in one long exhale. “For the first time in a really long time I don’t feel so... weighed down.”

Thank you God. “That’s a good thing Oliver.”

“It is.” And it was a thing with him, how his eyes on her own - like they could live forever staring into each other’s eyes and it still wouldn’t be enough for him - always left her without the air to make a sound. “You helped me get here.”

Uh, no.  She shook her head. “Oliver, I-”

“You did. I don’t how you do it,” he shook his head; still gazing at her, “but you do it anyway. I thought I wasn’t strong enough and you proved me wrong. I thought I didn’t deserve...” and he paused because whatever he was feeling looked overwhelming and he needed the moment to centre himself. “I thought I didn’t deserve you, that I could never earn you. So I stopped trying. Stopped trying to not be that person who would never be enough all those months ago, before Rene and Rory and Dinah joined the team.” He smiled and she felt it everywhere. “You gave me hope. You got me to believe,” he took a step closer and like a teenager her heart literally skipped a beat, “in my humanity again. I can never thank you for it.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she really didn’t want that, didn’t want him feeling like he owed her that, “you never do. What you did here, what you’ve been trying to do for months... it’s proof of who you are. A good person; the best person I know.” My person.

But the look on his face – the smile in his voice – made her pause.

“I don’t want to thank you.” He whispered, making her blink, whiplash. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that you were right.”

Oh wow... “The rest of your life, huh?” And if her voice wobbled with restrained joy, if hers glittered just a tad, she really didn’t care.

He took a pause that felt like years before saying, “Can we start again?”

Er... “What?”

“I want to start over with you. From start to finish. I’m yours. Always have been.” Everything in her was turning into goo. “I want to marry you Felicity. I want to make a baby with you.”

He meant that. She could see it, the promise.

A baby...

A little over a year ago, she’d been too scared to consider the possibility. Though it made her happy, the idea of having Oliver’s child, it had also terrified her. Being in a chair hadn’t been the problem; it was the prospect of failing at being a good mother to any child they had that was.

But now?

How do you contain endless joy in a moment on a beach somewhere in the North China seas?

You don’t.

“I want to live with you.” He continued, watching the changes in her expression with awe and happiness and growing passion. “To fight monsters in the dark with you. The way it should have been. As my partner.”

He was right: the months between then and now, the distance, the chill between them... nothing had felt right, as if something had been perpetually off balance with the world.

But they’d needed it to get here. Sometimes, in order to rise you have to fall first.

Her smile - broken - revealed teeth, her hair stuck to her neck, her eyes described in detail what her lips couldn’t but could only whisper, “No more ‘should haves’.”

No more maybes.

His quiet laugh was choked. “No more.” Like he wanted to touch her, he took another half a step closer (if he moved in further he’d be practically on top of her and she didn’t mind one bit) “A new beginning... with you.”

“That sounds,” she took a breath because this, this was the moment; where forever starts and wouldn’t really end, “perfect.”

Their perfect. Dark times were inevitable, trials... but happiness was due too.

The boyish grin – the laugh still present on his lips – made her want to kiss him. And she would. Soon. But he had something else to say, she could tell.

And she was right. “Felicity Smoak.” He announced, in that soft, deeply masculine way of his that shot straight to her centre, married life is going to be awesome. “Hi.” She frowned when he lifted a hand, barely any room between them for him to do more than let it grace her stomach. “I’m Oliver Queen.”

She stared up at him... then pressed her lips together in understanding, feeling so much the rightness of what he was saying.

Lifting her hand to slide into his waiting fingers, her other tucked her hair behind her ears and affected nerves, shyness. “I know who you are.” Or at least tried to, but the deeper tone that left her was anything but and she knew he felt it in his bones when he licked his lips, when his abdomen jerked against her hand. “You’re Mr Queen.”

His hand tugged her closer, so that her chest touched his. “Mr Queen was my father. And I don’t think,” how his voice could lower any further she wasn’t sure, but it could and it did and ooh... “you’d look at him the way you’re looking at me.”

Oh boy. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you love me.” Leaning in, the depth in his eyes had her falling into his hold. “Like you want me. Like you’re mine.” He quieted, his eyes looking at her mouth. “Like I’m yours.”

“That’s quite the description.” Accurate too. “So what’s your policy on kissing a stranger you just met on an island no one knows exists?” She teased.

“Oh, it’s my first policy.” Was his shameless, super fast response and a bark of laughter shot out of her, making her eyes close. “But only with you.”

How could she not kiss him with the utter love and feeling he gave her with every word he spoke?

“Come here.” Still laughing, her free hand slid up his throat, to the back of his neck to pull him close-

But he was already right there, smiling against her lips.

(And people, this is where I be cheesy and play ‘I need my girl’ by the Nationals because the song was made for Olicity – please listen to it here)

The feel of his scruff against her skin still made her tingle - she still felt the warmth of him down her sides, her stomach muscles contracting at the sure way his mouth opened hers - and still made her shiver in delight as her smile became a physical expression of everything she felt for him. Seeking, pressing, pushing, chasing his mouth with her own - re-leaning how he tastes, letting her tongue entwine with his - her hands were around his neck in seconds, cradling his head with them just the way he liked. Like she needed him closer and she was letting him know. The way his hands slid over her spine to press her as close – and as tight to him – as humanly possible. And when his fingers slipped into her locks to cup her head as he angled his own and- oh... I’ve missed this.

The kind of kiss that made her forget the world existed.

Her hands moved to drag across his scalp, one of them shifting down under his shirt and pressing into the musculature there, feeling every movement he made and the sound that left him wasn’t a groan or a growl. It was a sigh, one that came from deep in his chest...

She nipped as his upper lip, looking into his hooded eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you.” A firm kiss was followed by another. “I love you Felicity.”

She smiled again, her nose brushing over his, their breaths mingling-

“Oh my God, you weren’t kidding.”

It was also the kind of kiss to make her completely forget they had an audience. Her eyes didn’t open and she figured his didn’t either but she felt Oliver’s lips press together as he exhaled through his nose.

“I warned you.” John. He sounded unbelievably satisfied with himself. “But nope, you wanted to see for yourself. And here it is. The ugly truth.”

She felt Oliver’s chest vibrate and his lips twitch against hers. “He’s just like Tommy.” He muttered, too quietly to be heard by the others.

René just couldn’t accept it. “They’re like... romance novel bad.”

“I think its right.” She heard Dinah say, and she was officially Felicity’s new favourite person. “They should have done this months ago.”

“They should have had sex months ago.” René corrected and she felt the muscles in Oliver’s arm jump. “That amount of chemistry in the Foundry wasn’t healthy.”

She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that sprang free from her, her head arching back as Oliver held her aloft. Okay, they’re all my favourites.

Oliver’s puff of air made her look back to him. “The children are being unruly.”

“Say what?”

Rene.

“Children?”

Dinah.

“...I’m oddly good with this.”

Rory.

“Are you two beautiful idiots done for the moment?” And Diggle once more; still sounding utterly superior. She’d let him have it. “It’s just, there’s a boat with our name on it, a wife the two of you are reminding me painfully of and a kid I really want to eat shakes with.”

Oliver’s eyes were so content...

She arched a brow. “Done?”

He shook his head. “We’re just getting started.”

...

Here’s to the rebirth of Olicity (and the horrid 4 week count down)