#but he would rather marry ra's than to admit it out loud

[ruenii]

Tim: I love you... I don't say this as much as I would've wanted to, but I do. And you deserve to know how much I love you, you were my pillar when life was hard, and, I don't think I would've survived without you..

The Batfam [holding back tears]:

Dick, [eyes already watering]: Tim, We love you too--

Tim: Um, Dick? Could you move out of the way? I was talking to the decanter.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Crown Found in Rose Thorns (Part 2) - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Timothy Drake, bits of Steph, Jason and Dick Summary: Jonathan and Damian go on their first date. A/N: I just think about royal princes jon and damian a lot, mmkay. also, those flowers don’t ever wilt, Damian will find out. maybe it’ll be important later, if I remember that detail.

Ao3

~~

There was a giddy energy around the castle this morning. He felt it as he walked through the halls. The servants were all chattering amongst themselves, smiling in his direction whenever he passed by.

The prince has a date! They were all saying. The prince has chosen a suitor!

Damian could only roll his eyes. Hardly.

He found his hand had drifted to the hilt of the sword on his hip as he entered the courtyard. Perhaps he could challenge that infuriating Jonathan to a duel? It was only appropriate – he tried to mock Damian in front of his court.

But he ended up shaking his head. Knowing what little he did of this prince of Krypton, the simpleton might enjoy that.

As he neared the gates, he felt himself give an involuntary sigh. It must have been loud, as the one waiting there turned and grinned.

Almost as annoying as Jonathan of Krypton – his brother, Timothy.

“Don’t tell me you’re my chaperone for this…event.” Damian called.

Timothy kept his smirk. “Well, since you sound so enthused by the prospect, I can ask to be.”

“Don’t.” Damian scolded as he reached him. “I don’t need protection. Especially against the knight.”

“While I don’t doubt your skills, we don’t know that.” Timothy reminded. “He could be working for Ra’s.”

“He claimed to be the child of Father’s ally. Or did Richard not tell you that?” Damian hummed, staring out into the bustling streets. A small child waved towards them. He smiled and waved back. “Or do you just not believe him?”

“You do?” Timothy raised an eyebrow. “Prince Damian of Gotham, believing people at their word? Surely Father has taught you better than that.”

Damian felt heat in his face. “Of course I don’t. But I also know he doesn’t fit Grandfather’s brand of agent. He’d use someone we wouldn’t expect. A fortune teller or shop keep. An old cook or cleaning woman. A young, strong-looking knight who draws so much attention? Seems…implausible.”

“Strong-looking, hm? And here, Richard told me you only agreed to meet with him today as a barbaric game.” Timothy questioned mischievously. Damian pursed his lips and punched Timothy’s arm. “Ow! Hey!”

“Frankly I trust Sir Jonathan to not be an agent more than I trust the likes of…of Cassandra’s suitor.” Damian mumbled. “Why don’t you spend more time investigating that bard woman? How can you be so sure she’s not an agent? That’s exactly the type of person Grandfather would use. No direct ties to me, and could harm someone else in our family in the process. Exactly what Ra’s al Ghul would want.”

“Stephanie has been vetted. She was vetted long before she and Cassandra were romantically involved.” Timothy explained. He laughed then. “Speaking of her – back to your original question. No, I am not your chaperone today. I’m here waiting for Stephanie.”

“Why?” Damian demanded. “Does Cassandra know?”

“Yes, she does. She’ll be joining us.” Timothy nodded. “Stephanie is a bard, like you said. So she hears the stories. She knows things.” He looked towards Damian. “We’re hoping she knows things about the Kingdom of Krypton and a certain prince.”

Damian crossed his arms. “So…who is my chaperone, then? Surely there is one.”

“Not directly. You and Jonathan will still be alone in general. He’ll just follow in the distance.” Timothy shrugged. “And it’s Jason, I believe.”

Jason, the raunchy brother. He had almost as little manners as Jonathan himself. Always yelling and cussing. No filter, no politeness. A rough man who drank too much.

He’d almost prefer Timothy.

“And I believe Richard will be joining him later in the day, or switching. But I cannot remember.” Timothy suddenly stepped forward. Damian looked into the crowd and saw a blonde woman in a purple travelling cloak gliding towards them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The woman came forward, and bowed when she was close enough. Damian gave her a head nod in return as Timothy turned to guide her into the courtyard. They were halfway to the castle when Timothy turned back.

“And Damian, don’t forget!” He called. “If Sir Jonathan does anything untoward,” He pulled his own blade out of its sheath halfway. “You stab to kill.”

Stephanie laughed. Damian grinned in response, and turned towards the town, making his way towards the forest.

~~

He caught sight of Jason a few times on his walk. Riding his gray horse lazily fifty or so yards away. The one time, Jason saw him watching, and gave him a cheeky wink.

Damian had scowled and tried to walk faster, almost hoping to get lost in the crowd. Just because he had to have a chaperone, didn’t mean he couldn’t make the job worth their while.

As he entered the clearing on the edge of the forest – the agreed meeting place – he slowed. Jonathan was already there.

He wasn’t in his armor today, but rather a simple tunic and pants, similar to Damian’s own outfit, just minus the tied vest. He was sitting on a fallen log, fiddling with the flowers popping up around his boots.

Damian did not see a weapon on him.

Along with the change of outfit, his demeanor seemed different from the day before as well. His face was no longer sharp confidence and sunny mischievousness. Now, his eyes were half-lidded as he relaxed, face thoughtful as his head tilted and he examined the flowers.

Damian ignored the sudden feeling in his chest. Because it wasn’t annoyance or haughtiness or even suspiciousness like he expected.

Without warning, a bird swooped down from overhead, cawing as it brushed along Damian’s hair. The noise made Jonathan look up, and once he recognized Damian, he smiled.

“…She sure seems to like you.” Jonathan laughed as he stood. “Hello, Your Highness.”

“Hello.” Damian mumbled, holding his arm out. The bird fluttered down to land on his elbow. “Waiting long?”

“No, not long.” Jonathan scratched awkwardly at his hair. “…I tend to arrive places early when I’m nervous.”

Damian snorted. “You? Nervous? Your showing yesterday implied you didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Jonathan let out a gentle laugh. “Well…I had to get your attention somehow.” When Damian glanced up at him, he found himself unable to hold the gaze, so looked to the bird. “Is she yours?”

“No, she’s wild.” Damian assured, even as he pet gently at the bird’s head. “I…spend a lot of time out here. Feed them on occasion.” He looked towards the bird and smiled. “She must remember me.”

“Well, you are hard to forget.” Jonathan mumbled. Damian had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear it, so didn’t push the issue…yet. Instead, he let Jonathan admire the bird for a moment, then shook his elbow and pushed the bird back into the sky. She flew off with another caw. “…Lead the way?”

Damian nodded and moved down the path. Jonathan stayed behind him for a few moments, before jogging to catch up.

“I…um.” He let out a small cough. “I don’t mean to alarm you.”

Damian glanced at him.

“There’s a man on a horse following us.” Jonathan whispered. “…Would you like me to deal with him?”

Damian stopped walking and turned. In the expanse of trees, he could see the shadow of Jason, chaperoning as promised.

Damian smirked.

“I should.” He called loudly. “I should absolutely let you dispatch of our stalker.” He heard Jason’s horse snort as Jason turned her away.

Jonathan glanced between him and the trees. “I…think I am missing something.”

Damian laughed. “My family is overprotective.” He explained. “With this…situation with my grandfather, they are chaperoning my every movement, including with potential suitors. That’s merely my brother, Jason.”

Jonathan hummed. “I’d heard about that.” He sighed. “I’m…sorry.”

Damian shrugged. “My grandfather has always been ruthless. Apparently tried to kill my father when he and mother agreed to marry. Why anyone is surprised he’s come after me is beyond me.”

Jonathan didn’t respond. They walked in silence for a few moments. Damian’s bird friend let out another cry as she flew above them once more.

“That was why you came, though, isn’t it? For all that glory?” Damian asked. “You know, to be the one to succeed in protecting the youngest prince of Gotham?”

“No.” Jonathan said simply. “I came for you.” When Damian looked at him, he was uncupping his hands, revealing a small flower. He twisted the stem into his fingers and held it out. “Just for you.”

Damian stared between the flower and Jon’s face, then back again.

“…You weren’t holding that before.” Damian whispered. He looked up again. “I know you weren’t.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Jonathan smiled and held the flower out. Damian took it without thinking, cataloguing that the mischievousness was back in Jonathan’s brilliant purple eyes.

Curious.

“I will admit, though, that hearing about your mother’s call for a suitor did spur my action.” Jonathan admitted wistfully. “Gave me a reason to return to Gotham and try my luck.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Many times. My family travelled often when I was younger. We were in and out of kingdoms all the time.” Jonathan chuckled. “How my father met and befriended your father, I still don’t know. It’s a story he won’t tell.”

“Old men love their secrets.” Damian agreed. He stared down at the flower as they walked, stroked at its pink petals.

Those feelings Damian expected, the pride and suspicion, they weren’t manifesting. In fact, he was finding that it was…surprisingly nice, walking with Sir Jonathan. It didn’t feel awkward or forced. Their conversation was flowing naturally. There was no hint of the bordering animosity from yesterday, or the challenge. And, loathe as he was to admit it, even just to himself, he was easy on the eyes.

He still couldn’t trust him, though. Couldn’t stop assuming there was going to be another shoe to drop. A catch to this seemingly simple situation.

“So…” Damian sighed after a few minutes of silence. “I am to believe you are sincere, then?”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t here for the glory of protecting the prince?” Damian repeated, putting the flower behind his ear so he could clasp his hands behind his back. Jonathan shook his head. “Or for the riches that come with joining a highly respected royal family?” Jonathan smirked and shook his head. “You are here for love and all it entails, truly?”

“Yes.” Jonathan said easily. “At least I hope so.” He looked up into the sky, watching the clouds between the reaching tree branches. “I believe love could happen, but I also know that’s no guarantee. I mean,” Another laugh, this one nervous. “I know you’re not happy with me so far, but I will admit I am fond of you already. But I know that could change.”

He gave out a dreamy sigh.

“I could end up hating you.” He mumbled. “Or I could end up so deeply in love with you I don’t know what I’d do.”

Damian stared at him, specifically at his sparkling purple eyes. “…The former is more likely.”

Jonathan blinked and the sparkle disappeared from his eye as he looked back at Damian. He gave another smile, but it was sadder. “Surely you think better of yourself than that, Your Highness.”

Damian shrugged. “It…has happened before. An occurrence I’m used to. Friends, family…look at my grandfather, after all. Why do you think my mother feels the need to beg for someone to love me?”

“Well then, I will just have to hope to fall even deeper in love with you myself, then. Show them all what they are missing.” Jonathan decided.

But the answer made Damian stop. Jonathan took a few steps further before stopping and turning back himself. Damian watched as he glanced over Damian’s shoulder, no doubt at Jason’s lurking form. “Why?”

Jonathan looked back. “Why what?”

“Why are you so keen?” Damian demanded. “You know nothing about me.”

Jonathan blinked, and that shine in his eye was back. “Of course I do.” Jonathan said simply. “I know a lot about you.”

“How?” Damian asked. “Your father?”

“No. By our own interactions.” Jonathan shook his head. “You don’t remember, and that’s fine. It’s not important, really. Maybe one day you will.”

“When did we interact?” Damian snapped. “When did we meet?”

“As children.” Now Jonathan frowned, glanced at the ground. “But if you don’t mind, I don’t wish to talk about that now. That’s not what today is about.”

Damian crossed his arms. “What is today about then, if not to get to know each other?”

“Get to know each other, yes!” Jonathan agreed. “But as we are now, not as we were.” He took a step towards Damian. “Maybe another day, when you trust me more?”

He almost sounded like he was pleading, and Damian couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. “Who says I ever will?”

Jonathan laughed again, bowing his head in admittance.

“Like I said, who knows how this will turn out. I’m hopeful, but have been wrong before.” He smiled. “But that is neither here nor there, and I won’t bring it up again. The future doesn’t matter, only today does. So let’s get back to it, shall we?”

Damian pursed his lips in thought, vaguely sensed the flower tucked behind his ear.

“Fine. Let’s.” Damian nodded, stepping off. Jonathan’s face lit up as Damian returned to his side and they continued their quiet stroll through the woods.

Jonathan kept his promise, he kept his romantics to himself the rest of the day. Instead, they talked about typical things. Not love and coups and kingdoms, but food, books, battles. Jonathan, it turned out, enjoyed cooking. He spent much of his time in Krypton attempting to recreate the recipes he was taught when they travelled to share with his court. He also loved competing, and learning a skill when it bested him.

Damian asked about the bloody armor he had from the day before. Jonathan admitted is was from an attack on Krypton right after his father had retaken the throne. He didn’t like war, or the constant fighting around the lands, but recognized the need to take part when he had to, especially when it came to protecting the innocent.

Jonathan asked about his own skills, especially by being the son of the notorious Talia al Ghul. Damian explained that was what was so silly about this suitor business – he could protect himself. Always has been able to. Just like his siblings.

He then talked about his family. How his siblings were all adopted, but it’s not like you could tell, since they all looked so alike anyway. Richard was adopted by his father, Jason by his mother, and Timothy and Cassandra after the two were married. Damian had been an accident.

Their rendezvous was supposed to finish by midday, but they were so distracted by their winding conversation that they did another two laps around the forest path, before making their way back into town in the late afternoon. Absently, Damian noticed when Richard joined Jason, but otherwise continued to ignore them.

He could also see the townsfolk all whispering already. Gleefully talking about how handsome Jonathan was, how close the two were walking. He even heard a few talk about how warm his own smile was, and how relaxed he looked.

He ignored them too.

As the sun went down over the hills in the west, he found them nearing one of the castle’s gates and decided to end their meet for the day.

“Shall we see each other again?” Jonathan asked after Damian said so. “Have I proven myself to be worth even a second of your time?”

Damian let himself have a small smile as he crossed the gate threshold and turned back. “I suppose we can. How long are you staying in town?”

Jonathan shrugged. “As long as I need. Unless I get a letter from Krypton or something, I have nothing urgent to return to presently.”

“Alright. Where are you staying, then?”

“The tavern a few streets away.”

“Okay.” Damian smirked. While the day had been pleasant, and Jonathan an interesting companion, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to have his fun. “I’ll come find you when I wish to see you again.”

Jonathan gaped for a moment. “And when might that be?!”

Damian just kept his grin. “Whenever I feel like it. So, if you’re actually serious about this. I suppose…well, don’t leave town.”

Jonathan stared for a moment more, then let out a bark of a laugh. “You’re cruel, Your Highness.”

“So I’ve been told.” Damian agreed cheekily. He turned to walk away, but:

“Damian.”

He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. Jonathan was still there, looking down at his hands as he clasped them together.

“I…would like to apologize, for yesterday.” Jonathan muttered. “I didn’t mean to potentially embarrass you in front of your court. I only wanted to get your attention, by any means necessary, which was selfish of me.” He bowed his head. “That…is not me. Not really. Today, though, that was me. I promise.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Damian countered. Jonathan looked up, confused. “You never explained how you made the flower, how you know me, or why your eyes sparkle – and yes, I noticed that. You’re still hiding something of yourself.”

Jonathan lowered his head once more.

“But we all have secrets, I suppose. Masks we wear on occasion.” Damian relaxed his shoulders, and touched at the flower still behind his ear, still as fresh as the moment Jonathan gave it to him that morning. “So…all is forgiven, Sir Jonathan.”

Jonathan perked at his words. After a moment of silence, he stepped forward again.

“Damian?” He asked softly. Damian hummed in response. Without warning, Jonathan took hold of Damian’s hand and leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He lingered there for a moment, breath brushing Damian’s skin as he whispered, “Thank you for a lovely day.”

As quickly as he approached, he retreated, backing up until he was almost in the street.

“Until next time, Your Highness!” He called as he raised his hand. And in a flash, he was instantly lost to the evening crowd.

Damian was left blinking owlishly at the gate threshold. As he heard Richard and Jason approach on their horses behind him, obviously coming into the courtyard from another entrance, he looked down at his hand, the one Jonathan had held.

A purple rose sat against his fingers.

He looked back into the crowd, looking for even a glimpse of that black hair and violet eyes. There was nothing.

He swallowed thickly. This was supposed to be a game. Damian wanted it to be a game. He wanted to break Jonathan down and send him back to Krypton weeping.

He’d wanted that.

Now…so quickly…he wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t so sure what he wanted. Wasn’t so sure if it was a game. And if it still was, who was winning.

“…Until next time.”

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 24

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

The first time she met the Juggernaut, she had been hiding during a riot. Rhonda had slipped into the sector labeled MAXIMUM SECURITY without realizing, and was hyperventilating against a wall when she heard a deep, booming voice grumble, “Keep it down, will ya, some of us sleep here. Asshole.”

Rhonda jumped away from the wall and out of her skin. The wall was a door--for an enormous cell. Whoever was in it must be huge. And strong. The noise of the riot was still audible from where she was, and she couldn’t make herself go back out there. She tapped the most polite knock-knock she could with one knuckle on the giant metal door, “Who’s in here?”

There was an impatient groan, and she swore she could feel it reverberate through the steel door. “I’m the Juggernaut, bitch!”

“Shit!” Rhonda hissed and backed away a few paces, silent in the prison-issue shoes. 

“Heard of me, huh?” the Juggernaut grunted, his sneer audible.

She thought she might piss herself. “Uh...y-you could say that.” The X-Men had fought him several times, and Rhonda had always counted herself lucky she hadn’t been pulled on those missions, but her husband was always top pick. Colossus was the only one strong enough to give Juggernaut a good run for his money, but they were so evenly matched that she worried he might come home injured or worse.

Years later, she would still wonder what possessed her to do this, but she crept closer to the door again, and saw there was a slot at the bottom for sliding meal trays in and out. Out of her pocket, she pulled the little sealed cup of chocolate pudding--the only thing she had been able to save from her lunch when the riot broke out. Down on all fours, she slid the pudding cup in with her right hand, which was already injured and she figured if she had to choose a hand to risk losing, better her non-dominant hand. Still, she yanked it back as quickly as she could, in case he decided to stomp her.

“Jesus Christ, that the fuck happened to your hand?” 

Rhonda scoffed and glanced down at the scabs where her pinkie used to be less than a week ago. “Welcome wagon my first day,” she grumbled sardonically. “They heard about my other yellow suit--” she gasped when she realized what she was saying, and who she was telling.

After a thick pause, the Juggernaut started laughing his ass off. “How does one of the X-Men land in the Icebox?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she muttered. 

The seal on the pudding cup popped, and there was a slurping sound. “So what’s this for?” Juggernaut asked, referring to the pudding.

Rhonda folded her arms tight across her chest and huddled against the Juggernaut’s door. “This is the longest I’ve talked to anyone here without getting stabbed, punched,” she glanced down at her hand, “or dismembered.”

His snicker vibrated through the door, absolutely insidious, “Sweetheart, there’s no tellin’ what I would do to you if it weren’t for this cell.”

The Icebox was chilly, but Rhonda didn’t know the chill could sink deeper into her bones. The collar around her neck felt heavier. “S-still,” she forced herself to say, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Tch,” Juggernaut grunted, and there was a rustling sound. Maybe he was settling to go back to sleep. “You’re not gonna make it a month here, X-Girlie. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you quick.”

Despite some inmates’ best efforts, Rhonda did make it another month. Then another, and another. She made a point to keep visiting the Juggernaut, if for no other reason than to say she was still kicking. It was safest to visit during riots, and only if those got loud enough for the guards stationed at MaxSec to jump in and get it under control. She usually brought a pudding cup for Juggernaut, sometimes her own, sometimes one she stole from someone else to start the riot in the first place.

Rhonda learned what it took to survive the Icebox. She got smarter about hiding what she wanted to keep, she got better at reading people’s body language, better at guessing who would be a threat and when, better at sneaking around to look for potential escape routes. But above all, survival in the only penitentiary for criminal mutants meant being more brutal than the person attacking you. 

Over time, Juggernaut--his real name was Cain--admitted that most inmates trying to talk to him were trying to enlist his help in this riot or that jailbreak. None of their attempts ever worked, so Cain stayed out of all of them. But Rhonda never asked for anything, and that was confusing and suspicious to him. Sometimes he asked, “Why the hell you talkin’ to me, anyway?”

Rhonda drummed her fingernails on the steel door, “Same as the first time we talked. I kinda like this thing where I can have a conversation without getting stabbed.” She popped the seal of a pudding cup before sliding the cup under Cain’s door (always with her right hand), keeping the foil seal for herself to lick it clean.

“Yeah well,” Cain grunted, “no promises if I ever get outta this box.” Every time he made that threat, he sounded less serious.

Sometimes Rhonda even mocked his voice, imitating him, “No promises, yeah, yeah.” He grunted a short laugh whenever she did that.

Once, Cain asked, “So, girlie, did they give you a codename? The X-Men?”

Rhonda’s heart sank. She had done a few stints in solitary, and been knocked unconscious a few times. It made her completely lose track of how long she had been in the Icebox, and eventually she gave up counting. She never stopped thinking about how to escape, but plenty of times, it felt like she would never get back to her family. “Voltage,” she replied and explained, “I wanted to be Amps, or Amperage, because, you know, it’s the amps that can be fatal. But Scott didn’t want to hear it. He said Voltage was flashier and didn’t take a lot of explaining--”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Oh...Cyclops. Laser eyes. Big visor.”

“Ah, yeah,” Cain recognized the description. “Yeah, he sounds like a prick.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “He really is!”

More time went by. Rhonda wasn’t sure anymore if she was getting better at living in the Icebox. She was in fights almost every single day. It seemed like she won as many as she lost, but she was still alive. Alive, but everything weighed on her more than it used to. Scars and tattoos started piling up on her skin--all of them against her will, except for the teardrops on her cheek. Those had earned her a break from getting attacked by anyone not brave enough to take on a known killer. She scratched at her neck under the collar a lot, and there were always scabs and calluses. She barely recognized herself in the mirror anymore, and not just because of the hollows under her eyes and cheeks.

Still, she visited Cain. She wondered if he could tell she was flagging when he asked her about home. 

“You got somebody waiting? When you get out, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “My husband.”

“Don’t tell me he’s the hairy one with the claws,” Cain grumbled.

“Logan? Hell no,” she chuckled, “He’s too--no. Just no.” She absently picked at some scabs. “My husband is...very tall. Exceptionally strong. Exceptionally sweet, when he's not kicking your ass.”

Cain groaned, “Ohhhh, of fuckin’ course. You’re married to the commie?”

“He’s not a communist,” Rhonda retorted, wincing when she aggravated her sore neck. “And yes...I just hope he’s okay right now.”

“So, uh, no offense, but you sound pretty shrimpy." Cain mumbled something Rhonda couldn't make out before he spoke up again, "When you, uh...with him...how does that work?"

Ronda paused, then rolled her eyes. "You looking for something nice to think about later?"

“Commaahhhn,” he tried to play it cool, “Isn’t everyone?”

She realized she was smiling--really smiling, not just baring her teeth. “He’s not always eight feet of chrome, you know that? He’s got dark hair, and some of the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” Rhonda rested her head against Cain’s cell door. “His dimples just kill me. He takes his time, doesn’t rush anything,” she mused. “He does a lot with his hands…” she tried to remember exactly what it felt like, and tried not to be horrified that the details were fuzzy. “And...oh god, his mouth when he--”

“A’right, a’right,” Cain whined, “Forget I asked. I still gotta fight him if I ever see him again, not...think about his mouth.” He grunted his disgust. “Now I just wanna high-five him.”

“High-five him?” Rhonda’s voice sank back into the snarl she usually spoke with these days. “For what?”

Cain grumbled, “He found somebody. That ain’t easy for the big freaks like us.” She heard some rustling and two big thumps--Cain took off his boots. Why did he even put them on if he never left his cell? “And if he married you...you’re probably all right.”

“You don’t know that.” Rhonda scratched around her collar again and got to her feet.

“I know you don’t belong in this shitbox,” he said softly--softly for Cain.

“I sure as hell didn’t used to,” she started to shuffle away. “I gotta get going before the guards catch me here and hit me with that cattle prod again. Later, Cain.”

“Try not to get murdered,” he called lazily after her. He would never say it out loud, but he knew he’d be sad if he heard about her getting killed.

That was the last time Rhonda visited before a stranger with a massive gun had shown up and caused enough damage to the Icebox that the inmates had to be loaded up for a transfer. After the transfer convoy got destroyed was the first time Rhonda and Cain spoke without a thick steel door separating them.

[lotornomiko]

The Ones Left Behind Chapter Five (Worksafe For The Most Part)

Finally got enough sleep to proofread! Still an Adora POV...

Story can also be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952798/chapters/8862691

On the morning of the third day having passed, I wake to a tension that isn’t just my own. It’s all of us, every last man and woman here, both rebel and villager alike, caught on a nervous edge. It has been three days since we’ve made port here, and nary a sign has come, not from the Horde and not from the representatives meant to escort us to their planet.

“Where are they?” comes the heated whispers, many a anxiety ridden glance cast our way. “Why is this taking so long?”

“We don’t know.” Is the answer, repeated again and again.

“They’ll be here soon.” With that false reassurance, the sky and the encroaching forest is searched, all our hopes dying bit by bit the longer we wait. Unspoken has been the fear, the terrifying manifesting in Bow’s angry words.

“They’re NOT coming.” He scowls, eyes all ablaze with an angry hostility. “They’ve played us for a fool.”

“You don’t know that!” Young Glimmer protests. “They could have…”

“Have what?” demanded Bow. “Given in to the Horde? Or worse yet, been shot down by them!?”

“The Horde wouldn’t risk it.” I point out. “Not with the potential payout as big as Argo promises. They need those power cells.”

“The Horde is plenty powerful enough without them.” reminded our fourth, a woman named Tara. “We do not need them becoming unstoppable with Argo’s aid.”

“Almost hope the Horde WOULD try something...”

“BOW!” admonished Glimmer. “How could you...”

“I am not wishing death on anyone...” Bow interrupted the princess. “It’s just...” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Think of it...if they were to make a move, even against mere representatives, there is no way Argo’s Queen could then side with the Horde Empire.”

“Which is exactly why they WON’T make a move just yet.” I tell them. “The power cells are too valuable an end game, to risk against a single misstep. No.” My tone is knowing, but my expression is grim. “If they intend to make a move, it will be on planet Argo itself.”

The rebels all seemed to shudder to hear that. Glimmer then nearly jumped up out of her seat at the sound of Bow’s angry fist pounding against the table. “Only a fool would let the Horde into a veritable fortress as well protected as that planet! What is that foolish Queen even thinking!?”

“By Larg’s account, she was originally from a Horde friendly world.” Tara explained. “She married into the nobility, and it is the universe’s bad luck, that she survived where her husband did not.”

“Makes you wonder if his death wasn’t an accident...” Glimmer murmured with a frown.

“It might be the only reason why she is even attempting to meet with both sides.” I say. “If her people already suspect her hand in his death, then it will be an even harder endeavor to win over her people, with so unpopular a decision as to aid the Horde.”

“I hope they riot.” Bow grumbled.

“It might benefit us all, if they were to overthrow her from the throne.” Came my agreement. “But until that time comes, we keep both ourselves, and the Horde emissaries in check.” I tap fingers in a drumming beat a top the table’s surface. “Violence only as a last resort. We have to prove better than that...”

“Is that why She-ra chose not to come?” That innocent inquiry of Glimmer’s, sent a guilty pang off in my heart. She didn’t know. None of them did, the truth of She-ra one of my two most closely guarded secrets.

I struggled with the lie I was forming, the words coming out through almost gritted teeth. “We can’t leave Etheria so defenseless as to lose ground to Hordak’s forces.” I say. “Queens Angella, Castaspella, and Frosta will have enough of a hard time maintaining the status quo. We shouldn’t strip them of She-ra, especially when we know most of the military stationed here, won’t be going to Argo.” Grim though it was, I smiled all the same. “WE can handle three force captains all on our own.”

“I hope you’re right about that...” Came the pessimistic sound of Bow’s voice.

“If Adora believes we can do it, we can.” insisted Glimmer. “We won’t let the Horde have it’s way in this. Not this time, not ever again!”

“That’s the spirit.” I give my encouragement to the princess, but inside I am distracted. Torn up by my feelings, and by an impossible choice I have had to once again make, I could only hope that my decision wouldn’t cost Etheria any more of its freedom. But the sad reality was that I couldn’t be in two places at once, and by remaining on Etheria, I risked not just this planet and its people, but that of countless worlds, Argo’s power cells the strength needed to travel to and invade new galaxies.

It had come down to a choice, and in the end, there was no real one to make. I had to go, if not to convince the Queen to our cause, then to destroy the powerful means with which Hordak sought. For if allowed those power cells, not even the combined powers of He-man and She-ra and ALL of their friends and allies, would be enough to stop the Horde then. I knew and understood that, and still burned with shame. With the guilt of having to lie to my friends and trusted ones’ faces, and not even the fact that I was acting for the greater good of the universe, could soothe the sting. To save trillions of strangers’ lives, I was risking so much, to the point I might actually be sacrificing Etheria and its people in the process.

It was yet another burden placed upon me, and one by my own hand no less. I felt weighted down by it, by the struggle to do right by all, and by how complicated my life had become by actively trying to be good. Gods help me, but some days are harder than most, to the point I find myself actively longing for that oblivious haze the drugs and magic had kept me in. A wise man once said ignorance is bliss, and none know that as truth better than I.

To be good is an every day struggle, every choice having to be weighed and considered carefully. It takes a true strength to do the right thing by all, the sword on my back, with the woman it unleashes, a reminding boost and staunch defense against most of the many wickedest temptations out there. I have walked the easy path, danced with a devil or two, and done my own damage. I know the suffering and devastation the dark inflicts, and I try to stand strong against all its lures. It’s hard, and it’s difficult, and there are times when I am weak enough to want to give back in.

It’s not that I enjoy hurting people. It’s never that! But there is a freedom in the luxury of doing what you want, when you want, consequences be damned. In not having to consider every move carefully, by putting your own wants and needs above any other. That selfish sliver inside me, it just wants the daily struggle to end. To make me put myself first for once, rather than spend every breath and waste every moment on trying to be this impossible standard that I cannot hope to maintain forever.

I keep trying all the same. Trying to be little miss perfect, both as myself, and as She-ra, the poster child of the Great Rebellion. As She-ra, I have this tireless inner strength, able to maintain that illusion of perfection in the short amount of time I spend as her. As Adora however, there are cracks in the picture I try to present. The darkness that beckons, the ease of that life colors my eyes with its temptations. I give in, in the only way that I think I can. With sex, with partners both male and female, the pursuit of the flesh’s pleasure my one vice allowed.

It serves as a fix that is weakening, the lonely void inside me unable to be filled by any of the people I have taken as lovers. What they all lack, is their own touch, own struggle with a darkness of any kind. As much as I would never admit it out loud, I need---WANT one who can understand me, my burdens and my desires. One face comes to mind, a woman who had come the closest to perhaps understanding me. She had been a lover most adored, with her raven length black hair, and those jade green eyes tha t seemed to glint with so much. There’s always been a hint of cruelty to her expression that has only ever softened for ME. With that tender smile, she’s pumped me full with pleasure, and even pleasured me with pain.

I know the intoxicating taste of her lips, and remember the fit and feel of a body most exquisite. I remember nights where we lay spent, exhausted in that good kind of way that can only be brought about by sex. I remember secrets shared, and dreams whispered, these quiet moments that are so at odd with the rest of my time in the Horde. That duplicitous bliss, we two united against the world, those perversely happy memories make me yearn for something, something that I know cannot possibly be.

Catra is not like me. She doesn’t have a shred of good in her, if it doesn’t serve her interests. I KNOW this! So then why!? Why does my heart keep on hoping, unable to reconcile itself to my mind’s truth. Why do I keep on dwelling on her in particular, haunted by dreams of what we had, and the life I wish I could give her now? I want and I want, and I know she won’t ever change. She won’t ever even want to, and yet I still can’t let go of the dream. That desire that torments me, shames me, and drives me to a different bed each night, longing to find the key, the person who could finally make me forget about the wild cat who runs rampant on my heart.

Until that person is found, I cannot face her.  Not as myself, not as weak willed as I am. As She-ra it is different, I have the strength and conviction and resolve to stand strong against that infuriatingly tempting woman. Catra doesn’t try to seduce She-ra, Catra doesn’t even LIKE She-ra, that raven haired beauty so often trying to kill me whenever I have slipped into She-ra’s skin. It’s one of the only easy things of my life now, to be the woman my lover wants to kill. As the most powerful woman in the universe, as She-ra, I don’t have to deal with the flirtatious side I know so well, but more than that, I don’t ever have to see that look of betrayal that had been born of the hurt my abandonment has dealt her.

I am a coward that way, Catra the one wrong I’ve done that I can never truly fix. I don’t even try, too scared of failure, too terrified of her rejection. So certain am I of her nature, of that woman’s wants and desires, I won’t make the offer, won’t extend my hand and that of the Rebellion. She’ll never change, I tell myself, she’ll never WANT to. It’s made all the worse by the belief backing those statements. It’s no wonder I throw myself into hunting down the night’s next lover. These periods of doing absolutely nothing leave me with too much time to dwell, those unwanted thoughts held at bay only by the busy work of the Rebellion or by my drug of choice, that of a sexual pursuit.

All in all, we spend nearly six days in this sea port, before the ship and the representatives from planet Argo arrive. It’s been such arduous wait, both the rebels and the people of this town, beyond impatient, we’re all ready for us to go.

“Finally!” The grumbled out exasperation does not earn Bow a chastisement, not even from Glimmer. “Took you long enough!”

“Didn’t set out to make you wait.” The man is tall, with a bright blonde colored hair to rival my own. His body is broad, and firm with many a muscle, and he once again wears the colors of his planet. He steps forward, to claps forearms in greeting with Bow, who can’t help but crack a hint of a smile to see his friend.

“Then what was the hold up. Larg?”

The man, Larg, grimaces. “Our Queen had second thoughts about holding these meetings. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted, in her words, dirty lawless rebels running about her castle and kingdom.”

“That doesn’t sound very favorable to us.” fretted Glimmer.

“It sounds like her mind is already made up.”

“It IS.’ Large gives us all a pointed look. “She views meeting with you as a mere formality, a way to staunch the most vocal of those against penning this deal with the Horde.” His lips had flattened to a grim line, the blonde haired man unable to keep from expressing his disaproval. “Queen Argentinia is downright desperate to win over the people, and give the Horde what they want in the process.”

“If anything, it stinks of a poorly veiled plan.” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. All eyes turn to me, their leader and expert on all things Horde related. “Queen Aregentinia won’t be the first royal to hand over their world in exchange for maintaining their power.  If the Horde were to lend a few soldiers to bolster her existing forces, what chance would a vocal people have then?”

“How horrible!” Glimmer actually shuddered with her distaste. “How can any one person be so greedy and cruel, as to sacrifice their own people to retain control over them!?” Her eyes then narrowed with anger, the pink haired princess positively furious. “She has no right to call herself Queen!”

“Her marriage would state otherwise.” Larg stated flatly. “Argo’s a monarchy that may claim to listen to the people, but with Argentinia in power, their petitions often go unanswered.” Sour faced, he shrugged. “There seems to be little that can be done as things now stand...not without...a miracle or an accident happening.”

“An assassination, you mean.” My voice is sharp with my interest, and even Bow looks intrigued. Glimmer however, frowns at us all, shaking her head no.

“If we KILL her, we are NO better than that of the Horde!”

It’s like a slap to the face, the truth in her words, a reminder of my never ending struggle with darkness.  

The easy way beckons as the darkness crowds and crawls in my head. I am tempted and tired, and wonder if killing Queen Argentinia would be any worse than what I DO have planned. The loss of a queen, wouldn’t be half as devastating, as the loss of the world’s main power supply.

“Glimmer...” There’s a cajoling tone to Bow’s voice. “Sometimes, the world isn’t so black and so white. We might have to get our hands dirty...”

“Save your breath for sweet talking the Queen.” Glimmer’s chin had lifted stubbornly. “I am sure we can present our truth, and sway her to our side, without resulting to barbaric acts such as outright murder.” Bow made a stammering sound of protest, but the princess was already sweeping past him, past even Larg, to head into the ship.

“Every second we spend here, is a second the Horde gains to whisper more in Queen Argentinia’s ear.” I sound tired then.

“I don’t believe we can out whisper them this time.” muttered Bow, moving to follow Larg into the ship. I shared a despondent glance with the thus far silent Tara, who looked as dejected as any one of us present.

“Adora, what will we do?” She asked.

“I...I don’t entirely know.” I admitted. “But we have the length of the journey to come up with some new ideas.”

“Better make them really good ones.”

“You sound as doubtful as Bow now.” I retort. “Tara, when have we ever failed in the end?”

“Before you and She-ra joined the Rebellion? All the damn time.” Was her grim faced answer. “I fear there is nothing we can do that will keep us clean and stop the Horde from getting what it wants.”

“Are you two coming!?” Glimmer had appeared in the doorway of the ship, hands on her hips, and with one foot tapping impatiently. “We’re wasting time here!”

“It’s as the princess says.” Tara’s smile was a sad attempt at humor. “And the Queen will like it even less than the princess should we keep HER waiting.”

I might have almost laughed, if we all weren’t feeling so glum and so desperate. “No doubt Argentinia wants to get this mere formality of dealing with us, over and done with as soon as possible.” Half hearted though it may be, I manage a smile that is more smirk than anything. “Not that we’ll let her dismiss Ethereia and the Rebellion’s concerns so easily. Words are a weapon Tara, holding the potential to sway a great many. Especially when back by the truth.”

I spoke from the heart, from a truth rooted in my own personal reality. Long before I had ever held up my sword, and spoken the words to unleash She-ra upon this world, there had been a man. The twin brother I had never yet known. It was he, Adam, in the guise of He-man, who broached Shadow Weaver’s considerable influence with an even sharper offense. The doubt that cold hard facts brought with it, his earnest words had somehow reached passed the brainwashed haze I had existed in, to open my eyes to the horror of what I, and what the Horde has repeatedly done.

My eyes has been open ever since, my mind, body, and soul dedicated to righting the many sins of my past. Striving to atone, yearning for the absolution I might never deem myself worthy of receiving, I don’t bury my crimes in excuses, don’t hide behind the brainwashing and magic. Clouded though my mind had once been, I had still made the choices that had hurt so many, and tainted my own innocence in the process.

Forgiveness wasn’t an easy thing, to get or to give. It might be high time someone reminded this Queen of Argo of that fact, and the many harsh realities life under the Horde’s control would bring. If any slim sliver of good existed inside her, maybe, just maybe, she’d be persuaded to do right by her people rather then cater to her own self interests.

To Be Continued….

Was not expecting two chapters to get done in one night, but I could not sleep. Feeling a little love hate with this chapter. But that’s typical of me. Not too thrilled on how I ended it...I may go nap, and come back to it later...def not gonna post this immediately (It’s 8:37 am on May 23, 2020.) cause I need some sleep before I do any proofreads...but also maybe after I am done napping I will wake up and voila! Be able to add to this chapter.

Fun fact, I wasn’t sure what to name the Queen fo Argo. I decided to make it, she inherited her name with the planet, and the name is similar sounding to the planet she rules. It’s part of a back story thing I don’t know if I will get to actually work in.

Another fact, I could not decide on who of the cannon characters to send with the three rebels to Argo, so I just ended up naming a regular woman who works in the rebellion. And thus Tara was born. I imagine she gets a hold of a lot of advance information for the group.

Now it’s 4;13 Pm, and yeah I added like half a page to total experience for this chapter. Still having a hardcore love hate relationship with this chapter, but at least it’s done, and proofread properly. Hope you enjoyed!

---Michelle

[shitsumon-abound]

Lilith Ascends

I was wondering yesterday about Good Omens.

Like, okay, so Adam denied his Hellish father, well done. 

How about his mother though?

Got me thinking about Lilith being the core of it all, the first Angel-Demon war, the reason Crowley fell, and then the reason Crowley is deified(?) according to Book of Tobit.

Yeah, I’m the ‘Crowley is Raphael’ supporter, sue me. Same universe as this, but post-canon

May continue later or not. Bit busy at the moment.

It was sometime after the not-Armageddon.

If Anathema didn’t burn the book of prophecy, perhaps she’d told Aziraphale and Crowley of it, and they’d have time to prepare. Or maybe Adam. The boy was, after all, the center of it all. And he was still, even after he’d denied Satan.

A woman entered Aziraphale’s shop, miraculously. Aziraphale set very unreasonable opening hours because he never actually wanted to sell any of his books but didn’t think that keeping them in storage would do them justice. Besides, opening a shop would open opportunities to gain more books, so he persevered.

Aziraphale froze when he saw her. The woman felt familiar. Which was peculiar, because everything changed too quickly for Aziraphale or other immortal beings. Nothing ever felt familiar these days, except for Crowley who’d been by his side for a decade now.

(Technically, their first meeting was in the Garden, but they only started to see each other daily after the birth of Anti-Christ)

Then, there’s the demonic aura.

Of course, she’s a demon, he thought. There’s universal preference to the color black for demons, Aziraphale thought. Though, she’s more like Crowley than the rest of them, with how clean and proper she looked. Sort of like Anathema, really.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but we’re closing.”

Aziraphale regretted not accepting Crowley’s offer to buy him cellphone. For a demon to come to him so soon after the body-swap stunt they pulled, his first guess was that she’s an envoy from Hell, here to wreck vengeance. He wondered if an angel had come to Crowley.

Maybe Michael? Or perhaps Gabriel himself?

“Greetings, Aziraphale, Angel of Eastern Gate.”

The voice was familiar too, in an odd sort of way.

Friendly.

A demon, friendly with an angel? He didn’t know it’s possible except for Crowley. There’s chill down his spine now.

She smiled, beamed at him, and Aziraphale unconsciously took a step back. She walked closer; arms spread. She was so familiar, so seemingly harmless and nice while at the same time strange that he feared her.

It showed in his face, probably. She stopped; brows scrunched in confusion.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I was taught that this is how the humans greet each other these days. Am I mistaken? Do they still curtsy?”

“No… Uh, I believe not. Not in these parts. It’s just… uh…”

“Too intimate? How about a handshake?”

She tilted her head and the motion was so achingly familiar. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Angel and demon… probably explode?”

She seemed even more confused.

“But… I’m not a demon. And you held my son just fine the other day.”

“I’m afraid to tell you that deception is futile, you are most certainly a demon… Wait, son?”

“Yes! Well, is he? Still my son, I mean? There’s this girl I met in Media who used to be a boy. Poor girl, every man who married her went crazy when they found out! Six of them, was it? Can’t recall. Raphael also takes female form sometimes, as I recall.”

“You must be mistaken, I… I don’t remember ever touching a demon’s child. Well, except for-“

Adam.

The Anti-Christ.

Satan’s son.

Aziraphale gasped as the pieces started to fall into place.

==

He took her to the back and had her sit down, then excused himself to make her drink and to call Crowley. Aziraphale had made a promise with Crowley for lunch, though it wouldn’t be for another two hours. Still, he figured it’d be safer to check if the demon was safe and not as he’d feared before, smitten by Michael. He’d preferred if Crowley could come faster too because he’d rather not talk to Queen of Hell on his own and she was looking for Crowley.

“Crowley, I need you here, immediately. I know our appointment is for later, but please, I need to be sure you’re alright. That, and there’s also one more thing...”

It’s not surprising that his call went to voicemail. Crowley was nocturnal, and Aziraphale thought the demon preferred to sleep through the day if not for his promises with the angel.

“The Queen of Hell, Lilith is here.”

There’s a click.

“Be there in five minutes, don’t say anything unnecessary.”

Another click.

Well, he sounded fine. Mission accomplished, he supposed.

“Do mind the pedestrian!”

By the way, from Crowley’s penthouse to Aziraphale’s bookshop was not far, but there’s always traffic. It’s impossible for the trip to be five minutes if one was to follow traffic regulation.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way.”

“Ah, uhm, yes, I suppose… Last time I met him, Adam is still, uhh… your son.”

In a matter of speaking.

Aziraphale didn’t know how to put it. Adam had denied Satan as his father and had basically refused to do anything both Heaven and Hell wanted him to do. He’s not sure if his defiance also included his Hellish mother.

To be honest, he didn’t know that Lilith was the mother. Crowley hadn’t mentioned any names but thinking back it should be obvious.

“Lovely. I may be absent, but even I know that missing out on his growth and development is bad. And I’ve missed so much... Oh, thank you, Aziraphale. This cocoa is divine.”

“Ahahaha, you are welcome.”

“I’m so sorry for the sudden visit. It’s just that… you know, I am certain that boy wouldn’t want to see me, and I’m not sure Raphael would appreciate visitors from Hell. You’re friends with him, so I just assumed you’d be more receptive.“

“No one has ever visited me from Hell before. Only Crowley.”

“Oh yeah, he’d changed his name, hasn’t he? Oh, I do wish he doesn’t change his name so often…”

“Just twice, actually. It’s not that often. Though it did take hundreds of years for me to adjust.”

Aziraphale still wasn’t used to Anthony, admittedly.

“Twice is one more than I know of. No one in Hell ever changed their name. Except for my husband, of course. Lucifer, Samael… Satan now. I hope it’s not a familial trait. It’s hard to keep track, names.”

At the mention of Satan, Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh nervously.

Lilith.

The very first human created by God.

The cause of The Revolution. The one which divided the celestials into two groups, Angels and Demons.

Crowley would surely argue that it’s Gabriel’s fault, for trying to guess the ineffable. Chasing away Lilith… well, Aziraphale had to admit it sounded so dreadful.

“... I’ve told him off, by the way.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Satan. For taking my baby. For not getting Ra- Crowley to help me give birth. The last decade was horrible. I had to make do with Dagon for housewife and it’s simply a nightmare. He then had the gall to tell me he did make Crowley helped with my delivery, by being the one who gave my son away to humans!”

“… the nerve.”

Especially since Aziraphale was pretty sure Dagon’s specialty was not that kind of fertility.

“Yes! Thank you! I’m glad someone understands my pain!”

Aziraphale considered taking some of his wine. Clearly, the lady was in need of them. Crowley very rarely accepted food, which Aziraphale knew it’s because of his angelic nature which he still couldn’t forget completely, but he loved alcohol. Crowley once taunted about the lack of good alcohol in heaven. He wondered if there’s alcohol in hell.

Lilith sniffed.

“I objected to it, but they all insisted… Then, I thought, well, as long as I can watch over him, rather than him taken without me noticing. Then, then Beelzebub told me to not worry, Crowley is caring for him personally as his nanny… But… it turns out to be a lie…”

That’s… well, that’s not anyone’s fault, really. Just terrible luck. Blind poker game was never a good idea. Leaving things to Crowley was never a good idea, but best not say it, he reckoned.

Aziraphale squirmed in his seat.

“Speaking of Beelzebub, do not worry. I have ordered them to stand down. Unlike my husband, I have no grudge towards my siblings nor their descendants. They should have gotten that hint when I was the one who helped Eve caring for her children, honestly.”

She huffed and drank more of her cocoa.

“Thank you very much, Milady.”

“Just Lilith is fine. I am in debt to you and Crowley after all. This is really good, by the way.”

There was a loud slamming noise and then the sound of shoes against the wooden tile.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Leonardo da Vinci

@romanianbrotherhood    Since you wanted to be tagged~ ;)

As it was expected of all noble women in Italy's Renaissance era, they had to learn only how to be the perfect wives for their future husbands, chosen only to make strong allegiances between families, and create heirs to ensure the continuation of the renowned name. For the Templars especially that had to be ensured, in order to strengthen their numbers, overthrow any Assassin ruling and conquer the world, political-wise. That may have been the reason for the tremendous shock the Riario family had when their daughter, instead of behaving like a proper lady, kept exhibiting lack of manners and a love for the barbaric since very young.

How were they supposed to wed such an untamed soul? Who would be willing to take care of such an unruly child, if even her parents couldn't stop her from misbehaving?

Wearing breeches instead of dresses and a using a sword instead of a needle, she grew up to the ripe age of womanhood, and yet, her wildness only seemed to increase. Many suitors came to court her, yet they were all turned down before they could even introduce themselves, using a petty excuse at all times. That is, until her parents grew fed up, and at her mother's request, her father was to escort her to the house of the great painter da Vinci, known for his love of art and soft attitude, from which she should be able to learn. The plan was to let her there until she learns how to properly behave like a woman should, so they could finally give her off to some noble Templar. Clearly, she refused anything proposed by her parents, but with a slap on her face, she begrudgingly accepted the silly feat, letting her maid pack up whatever comfortable clothes she had and followed her father into the carriage, to the artist's home. He knocked on the door firmly, her hiding behind him, looking away and scoffing, until someone finally answered the call.

-?-: Buongiorno, Messer Riario! How may I help you today? Dad: Good day to you as well, Messer da Vinci. I have come with a little request, if you would. Leo: Si, signor, I am listening. Dad: My daughter, Y/N, is such an untamed spirit, unsuitable for marriage. My wife and I wondered if you could take her in as an apprentice or protegée and somehow make her cease her barbaric behaviour, we'd be eternally grateful. We will pay you as much as you need, weekly, only accept. Leo: I...Messer, that is a rather peculiar request...Although I suppose something like this wouldn't hurt anyone. Dad: Grazie mille di cuore, Messer da Vinci! You have my eternal gratitude! Leo: No need for such words, I'd be happy to help. Now, where is la bella signorina? Dad: She's right here, hiding behind me. Won't you greet this lovely man? Where are your manners, dear? Y/N: Um...Ciao. Dad: How dull of you. Can't you put a little more enthusiasm in it? That's why all those nice men rejected you. Y/N: Technically speaking, I rejected them. Dad: You're going to ruin your life if you continue like this. Nobody is going to wed you! Y/N: Oh, and what a pity. You know, there are other, more important things in life. Other than children bearing or marriage. Knowledge, for example. You wouldn't know, however, since you lack any sort of outer vision. Leo: Va bene, Messer, let's get her inside to settle down! I'm a busy man, I cannot linger much longer! Dad: Very well. Here is the payment for this month. Y/N, please behave. Y/N: Ci vediamo, padre.   (See you later)

One of Leonardo's apprentices carried her luggage to the spare room where she'll be staying. She sat on the bed, looking outside the window at the bright ray of light protruding her room, thinking of potential scenarios of her future. Leonardo was a famous artist with peculiar interests and even his speech seemed to betray a small speck of quirkiness, but somehow, he seemed to be rather...welcoming? In all reality though...Was it really such a horrible decision to learn how to defend herself? She wouldn't possibly want to become a damsel in distress or anything of the sort. And besides, training was enjoyable and relaxing, so why should she have stopped?

On the ground, on the nightstand, on the table there seemed to be sprawled papers and scribbled notebooks thrown in a rather messy manner. Picking them up one by one, she inspected each sketch, taking in every small, insignificant detail. She has never seen any of his famous works and seeing these scribbles now, she could see the life in them and the passion for learning and the unknown. She realised he, too, was one captivated by everything that seemed to terrify the mundane, and for that, she was grateful.

A knock on the door startled her, making her jolt up, looking at the intruder with the eyes of a frightened fawn, but soon relaxed under the calm, gentle gaze of her host, who seemed a tad spazzic.

Y/N: Uh...Ciao. Leo: Mi dispiace, signorina. I came to check on you and to... Oh, I see you've already discovered my discarded works. Y/N: They are beautiful...Why did you throw them away? Forgotten here, like the time? Leo: There's always room for improvement. Truth be told, I was rather unhappy with how they turned out, yet had not the heart to completely burn them. Y/N: May I...Keep them? They are rather inspiring. Leo: If my work can inspire someone with such a burning thirst for knowledge, then who am I to refuse your sincere request? Y/N: Grazie, Messer. Leo: Please, no need for these silly courtesies. Y/N: Suit yourself then, Leo. What are these, then? Leo: Ah, I see you stumbled upon my anatomical sketches. The hospital brings me bodies to study, hoping to help understand ourselves better and yet... Y/N: You'd need someone alive, huh? These drawings seem highly vivid though. I believe some imagination was required as well. Leo: There is only so much I can learn from living until they get creeped out. Y/N: *smirks* And what if I volunteer to be of any aid~? Would you paint me like one of your Italian girls? Leo: Would you allow me to? I suppose you know what that means, but- Y/N: Earn it and maybe I will slooowly allow you to peak and sketch a bit. Leo: You won't be disappointed!

And so, every week, the girl would allow her new friend to paint her, yet only the way she wanted, like reading lazily on the sofa, laying like a princess, or in the gardens, by the Spring flowers. Her beauty was ethereal, now that it was no longer hidden by a continuous burning rage and for Leonardo, it was definitely an angelic sight he loved to paint. And despite all his professionalism and the fact that he was truly dedicated and married to his work... He found himself wanting to paint her, not only for research purposes, but for something much more incredible and pure.

Despite all of her brash, 'barbaric' reflexes and the weird feeling of not having a weapon around her, she moved as graceful as a swan and her delicate touch would teleport him in other dimensions.

A fortnight later, the two grew more and more accustomed to each other, getting close and rather friendly, sometimes going out together to enjoy a fancy meal or see the beauty of the gardens, at night.

Nevertheless, as they were having a light conversation about the reason birds could fly, they were surprised by the door opening and a young boy in typical assassin garments, looking rather crestfallen yet pleased to see the blond man in front of him.

Y/N: One would say doors were invented for people to announce their arrival by knocking on them. Leo: Ah, there's really no problem, dear Y/N! This is Ezio Auditore, my friend. He's always welcomed here! Y/N: Thanks for the fun fact. I see you're friends with assassins. Wise choice, but rather risky. Ezio: You speak as though you are knowledgeable in the subject, signorina. Y/N: Of course I am. My father is a filthy Templar and I'm expected to be the same. Ezio: Templar...? Y/N: Ah, you don't even know your heritage, do you? Never you mind, learn more and perhaps I will tell you a story once you grow a bit older. Ezio: I'm pretty sure I'm older than you. Y/N: *grins* You'd be surprised, kiddo. Okay, Leo, he has my approval. Now, what is it that you want from us? Ezio: I was thinking you could repair something of mine. Leo: Ah, yes, of course!

As soon as Ezio put the pieces on the work table, Leonardo went full awestruck mode, saying how fascinating it looked and yet, got soon slightly disappointed that he didn't have the object's blueprints. Raising her eyebrow in confusion, the girl pointed to the scroll underneath the pieces, saying it might withhold crucial information about the alien technology. Gasping in surprise, he quickly started deciphering the code, shushing the poor Auditore and making him sit on the armchair until he was done with the repairing. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but seeing her new friend so entrapped in the spell of creation and learning got her to watch him more closely, her heart leaping with emotion at his enthusiasm. His fingers were working with such dexterity and ease as if he's merely sketching a tree and not repairing an ancient object with an even more difficult codex to read.

Poor kid already fell asleep soon after having sat in that armchair, yet it took Leo less than expected to fully repair what looked like a weapon bracer, possibly the assassins' legacy weapon and it seems like he also perfected it. Highly giddy, he woke Ezio up and told him about the requirements of using that blade...yet something seemed way off. There, in his gorgeous eyes, was an amused glint, sparkling with mischief as he saw the boy preparing his finger to be cut off with a cleaver. Much was his mirthful laughter when he just slammed the blade on the desk, near his finger, seeing his confused expression.

Not long after he explained the truth about the weapon, did another knock on the door disturb the peace. Clearly pissed off, the girl stormed to open it brashly, glaring at the guard in front of her.

Y/N: Now, what is it that you want? Don't you know it's rather rude to almost break that the door?! Guard: Uh...Are you Leonardo da Vinci? Y/N: Do I look like a Leonardo to you?! No, of course it's not me, dimwit! Now leave already! You're depriving me of my peace! Guard: Then, is it his residence? I don't have all day to waste with a wench like you, I am a busy man! Y/N: Oh, well what a shame it is! What is it your business with Messer da Vinci? Guard: It is strictly between I and him. Now run along! Leo: It's okay, Y/N, I can handle this. I am Leonardo da Vinci. How may I be of service? Guard: I need you to answer some questions. Leo: Certainly. Y/N: Outside, if you will? I do not want you polluting the air in our house with your filthy tongue. Guard: Next time you open your mouth, you will pay. Leo: Now, now, there's no need for violence. Guard: A witness saw you consorting with an enemy of the city. Leo: What? Me? Preposterous! Guard: When was the last time you saw or spoke to Ezio Auditore? Leo: Who? Guard: Don't play dumb! We know you were close to the Auditores! Perhaps this will help you clear your head- Y/N: I beg to differ.

Seeing the guard try to push Leonardo and bully him, Y/N got angry and punched him hard in the jaw taunting him. Clearly, he wasn't too good of a fighter either, since he seemed wobbly, so she took it to her advantage, took out the dagger from her sleeve, and twirling it around, lashed out at him, slashing his throat in one swift move. She looked at his shocked and pained expression as he fell, with a smug grin on her face, wiping the blood from her blade with her fingers.

Y/N: Perhaps being such a barbarian isn't a bad thing...Don't you think, dear friend? Leo: I surely can't deny that. Ezio: What happened here? Y/N: Ah, kiddo, you missed all the fun. What a pity. Ezio: You...?! Ah, nevermind, what do we do with the body? Leo: Just get it inside with the others. Ezio: The others?! Y/N: Well, of course. He's a scientist, you know? The city benefits from his knowledge. Leo: *shrugs shyly* Guess so. Ezio: *smiles* Bellissimo.

Many years passed, Ezio Auditore came to visit us quite often, offering a new Codex page with each arrival, always happy to see Leo's enthusiasm and hugging him.

As well as that, we had to move to Venice once and then to Rome, fearing for the boy's life, however, since he was framed so many times.

That is, until one day in Rome where we were working on commissions and works (where even I could help him despite only having painted for as long as we've been together), and Messer Auditore surprised us with a new acquisition. Unfortunately, we couldn't do much without Salai, the new apprentice, since he was away...again.

The bad part of this whole ordeal was that just as Ezio left us, a bunch of Guards got us out of the workshop, for a 'peaceful interrogation'. They started talking aggressively to Leonardo, which didn't do well with me in the slightest, and I went in front of him, standing in a fighting stance.

Y/N: Leonardo, run away while I keep them occupied. Leo: Cosa?! I cannot leave you behind! Y/N: D'you really think they'd be stupid enough to kill the daughter of the great Templar Riario? Leo: You cannot defend yourself, Y/N! Y/N: Now, that's where you are wrong, love.

Smirking, she easily ripped off the bottom half of her skirt,revealing her sword strapped to her leg on a holder, which she swiftly took out, pointing it at the enemies.

Y/N: I am Y/N Riario, daughter of a wealthy Templar and you, scums, better run away for I am done playing marionette for all his ridiculous schemes. Leonardo, I'm telling you only once to run away before I start killing off these roaches. Leo: I'm staying! Y/N: Suit yourself. Vittoria agli Assassini!

With that, she lashed out at the many enemies in front of her, slashing left and right with an unimaginable elegance and grace, her moves seemingly like ballet on a grand stage, being splattered with ruby droplets of blood from the ones attacking her and the person she came to have feelings for. She let her rage transform into focus and discipline, taunting the uneducated guards and making them lose their attention, as she easily severed heads and limbs. Nonetheless, her focus was broken once she heard a shrill scream from behind, which upon further inspection, was Leonardo running away, just as he was told. 'Good' she thought, as she continued fighting those bastards who thought defiling her home would be a good idea.

However, she was soon overwhelmed, since her father's army took over the place and captured her. Her interrogation wasn't easy, especially after admitting to side with the assassins. It seemed like an eternity, which couldn't have even been more than 2-3 days, until she was finally moved to what seemed like a temple, where to her horror, she saw Leonardo on the ground, his hands bound behind his back, and clearly beaten up, just like her.

Y/N: You...You monster! What has he done to you?! Nothing! He's innocent! Dad: No, he's not! He works for those filthy assassins! Y/N: Then kill me, instead! I killed your stupid Templars, not him! Dad: Silly little Y/N...Didn't I tell you I need you? Of course, only for some ties to be knotted together, but still, a very important role. Y/N: To hell with it! I'd rather burn in the deepest pits of Hell than help you or get married to some scum like that! Dad: Anyone can be subdued with just a little bit of persuasion...Quite like this.

With that, he kicked Leonardo's belly once again, earning a gasp of pain from the latter, and a protest from the girl. Protest, which was answered with a guard grabbing her hair tightly and pushing her to the ground.

Y/N: Tu, figlio di puttana bastardo! Tu, cane! Mostro! Bestia! I will kill you! Dad: I'd like to see you try, figlia.    (daughter)

With angry tears flooding her eyes, she took the dagger hidden in her sleeve, cut off her hair in a swift move, then got up as fast as lightning, cut the guard's throat and stole his sword.

Y/N: You and me, padre! Let us fight to death, if you're as brave and righteous as you say you are and we shall see on which side your God is! Dad: What a stubborn, ungrateful daughter I have raised! I should have had a son, not such a putana like you! Y/N: You wanted a son, and a son you got! Just, not in the body you wished for.

They fought as well as any soldier did, her father being if not, only slightly impressed by her sparring skills and the fact that, despite her injuries, she still held herself well against someone as big and built as he was. What he didn't know, was that agility and speed were her allies, and as she twirled to his side, she managed to thrust the blade into his throat. Blood gushed like a fountain from the wound and he fell to the ground gasping like a fish on the land, which made her smirk in satisfaction.

"And you were wondering why I wanted to fight...Now you know. Revenge is best served by your own hand."

With that, she kicked his body off the platform they were staying at and got her dagger to cut the rope from Leonardo's wrists, hugging him tightly.

Y/N: I'm so sorry you had to be brought up into this mess I created! Leo: Ah...I should have seen it coming. It wasn't your fault, dear, it was my own. Y/N: *sighs* I...I just...I don't know what to say anymore... -?-: You can start by kissing him? Y/N: Ezio?! Cosa diavolo stai facendo qui?! (What the hell are you doing here?) Ezio: *chuckles* Salini helped me get here. Leo: See, Y/N? He's not as useless as you thought he was. Ezio: Couldn't have agreed more. Y/N: Fine, fine, you might be right, whatever. Ezio: You have beautiful swordsmanship. I applaud you, bella. Y/N: *grins* Grazie, bambino. Ezio: *narrows his eyes* I still think I'm older than you. Y/N: Who cares? And besides, what got you here? You wanted to rescue poor, little us? Ezio: *shrugs* I think you had everything under control. However, this temple... Leo: Holds many secrets! Let's go and find them out! Y/N: Need I remind you you're incredibly hurt? Leo: Don't argue with me, you know I'm stubborn when it comes to things like this. Y/N: *eye twitch* Yes, I think I noticed that, when you just wouldn't run away when I told you so. Leo: *laughs sheepishly* Mi dispiace. Ezio: *sighs* Just kiss already. Y/N: What, and let you see it? No way, dream on! Vaffanculo, Auditore! Ezio: *laughs* Ah, you'd be perfect together. Leo: Ezio...

Grinning, Ezio patted his friend's back, who was hiding his face in his hands, shy and embarrassed. It took a while to get through the temple and even that proved to be rather disappointing, but at least back at out cozy home, we could finally mend our wounds and take care of each other. She sat on the edge of the bed, already in her loose, slightly translucent nightgown, lost in her thoughts, looking at the dark sky full of stars through the window, the multitude of candles lighting the room dimly. So lost in her own mind she was, that she didn't hear the door opening softly and Leonardo coming in. He walked slowly to the other edge of the bed, looking at her fair, slightly tanned skin that seemed to be plastered with purple-ish bruises and pink-ish lines like a spider's web spread across her whole back, which made the man's heart sink with sorrow. Clearly, he was an artist, a man of science and knowledge, not a fighter, and yet, a part of him cursed his soft nature for allowing the one he loves the most to protect him, and in turn, get hurt, permanent marks on her flawless skin kissed by the Sun's rays.

He didn't even realise his own actions until he moved her now significantly shorter ebony hair from her shoulders, revealing her bare skin and gingerly tracing down the small sleeves of the dress. She looked past he shoulder shyly, already knowing it was him, and smiled so beautifully that it took his breathe-away.

Y/N: Ah, mi dispiace, Leonardo. I suppose I won't be able to let you paint me any time soon. Leo: No, I...I should be the one to apologise for letting this happen to you. Y/N: Don't be silly. I was expecting that to happen sooner or later. And besides, I got my revenge, so I'm rather happy about that. Leo: But your beautiful skin...You had to suffer so much... Y/N: And so did, right? It's fine. It's all over now. We can finally live in peace and enjoy a life of art and research. Isn't that what we wanted? Leo: It is...And yet... Y/N: What is bothering you so, my dear? Leo: I...Think there's something wrong with me. Everytime I see you...I get this weird feeling in my chest end... Y/N: *grins* Do you remember what Ezio said today? Leo: Which part? Y/N: This part-

Tracing his face with her hand, she leaned slightly backwards so she could tenderly plant a soft kiss on his lips, still smiling at his forming blush. It seemed like fire ignited between them and a spark of courage surged through his veins, for as he looked in surprise and wonder at the girl in front of him, he embraced her tightly, kissing her again with just as much passion, finally understanding the peculiar feelings that kept bothering him for so long. It was a fiery love for the person in front of him, the strong yet fragile woman standing in front of him, her eyes big and gentle like those of a doe and a voice as sweet as an angel's (when she wasn't murdering someone).

He loved how trapped she would be in her own fictional world while reading a book or staring into nothingness and just thinking. He loved how perfectly well she'd blend among those colourful flowers in the garden, surrounded by the mesmerising perfume. He loved how happy she'd look when she'd watch him work or sketch something, explaining it to her. He love how she'd help him out with brilliant ideas everytime he got stuck on a piece of work.

And what he loved the most about her... ...Was the fact that she, too, loved him just as much as he loved her- And she never ceased to show him every day.

Y/N: So, Leonardo, amore, did you say once that you wanted to paint me like one of your Italian girl~? How about you get your charcoal and paints, I'm sure you'll be needing them for quite a while~. Leo: Si, certo, and yet, I think spending the nights with you, instead of my work, would be much better. Y/N: I couldn't agree more, mi tesoro~.  (My treasure) Leo: Ah, cuore mio, tu sei la luce dei miei occhi. (My heart, you are the light of my eyes) Y/N: E tu sei mi vita, per sempre.  (And you are my life, forever)

[cardshcrp]

FIVE TIMES KISSED

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@prctettcre // BILL WEASLEY // always selectively accepting !

                                                                                                                     i.

         So it isn’t his most graceful moment in the world when he yelps and nearly topples right off his seat, but that’s just what happens when someone pops up when you’re half-dozing, which he’d been plenty guilty of. Bill hardly notices, swings himself right onto the bench to face Remy, straddling the wood as he details his latest escapade. 

Remy’s groggy brain finally catches up, realizes it’s the boy he’s spoken to a few times, can tentatively call a friend even if it’s only been a couple of weeks since he’d arrived. And maybe it’s the sunshine keeping him drowsy enough to forget that not everyone follows the customs he’d grown up with, or maybe it’s the vague need to make Bill stop and slow down so he can actually comprehend the elaborate scenario being laid out for him, but - 

He leans in, fingers curling around Bill’s shoulder, and brushes his lips to one freckled cheek and then the other, the chatter cutting off abruptly.

“Bisous,” he offers belatedly once he pulls back and sees the look of frank astonishment on Bill’s face as he stares at him. It’s only then he realizes that maybe this doesn’t carry over for Brits, he isn’t quite sure - and that even if it did he probably should have done bises and not bisous for a new friend, but he’s always been affectionate - but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Bill just grins at the way Remy’s going pink all down his throat and starts his story over. 

Remy decides later that day that he rather wants to keep Bill Weasley and that he’s quite fun, mostly spurred on by the fact that they construct a very elaborate prank to play on one of the snobbier Slytherins over dinner, and maybe also because when Bill next bounds up to him, he stops to give Remy bisous.

                                                                                                                    ii.

         When Bill had offered Remy a place to come for winter holiday, he hadn’t been sure exactly what he’d expected, but the reality of it was much better. The Weasleys make everything feel like home, which is rather odd because he already has one, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. 

Neither does Jean-Luc, who’s mostly just pleased his son has made friends, though Henri is the practical one that gives Remy an extra deposit to stay in England instead of coming back between their father’s scattered cheers and enthusiasm.

Instead, he lets himself get swept off in the humdrum whirlwind of activity that is life at the Burrow, sure to stick cold finger and toes on Bill’s ankles and cheeks every morning and laugh out a good morning one each to Molly and Arthur. He also makes sure that Ron gets a liberal amount of tummy tickles, and he learns not to protest very much when Bill is put in charge of dressing him the once they venture into Ottery St. Catchpole, because as it turns out Remy is wonderfully good at wizard fashion and a disaster at the ordinary kind.

It’s easy to settle into a scratchy sweater and kick his friend half out of his place until they can scrunch in together on the couch. It’s easy to yelp when the twins latch onto his legs in a coordinated attack and bring him tumbling down. 

It’s easy to kiss Bill properly for the first time when they’re back on Hogwarts grounds with snow stuck to their hair and scarves, easy as breathing to wrap his arms around the other boy’s neck and just steal his lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Later he wonders what he’d been thinking, because he could have ruined everything, but it doesn’t matter so much then either because he’s got his fingers laced through Bill’s and his head on his shoulder, and it all fits pretty nice.

                                                                                                                   iii.

          He’s panicking. That’s the first thing his very helpful brain tells him, which really makes everything worse, but there isn’t a whole lot he can do about it because he’s on one knee and ow the gravel drive is really taking its vengeance out on him, but he’s staying put, damn it.

Served him right for being to chicken to go according to plan, anyway. If he had, he would’ve dropped down an hour ago before they headed home from the Muggle concert he’d gotten them tickets for (which was, as usual, some band that Bill very much liked and Remy thought was nice but had no brain space to remember the name of).

“Uh,” he starts, very eloquently, and cracks open the ring box - it’s simple enough, really, just a gold band inlaid with tiny, complex patterns that shifted and changed with movement, but that sudden sinking weight of what if he doesn’t like it settles deep in his belly anyway. “I thought, um - since the world is going to shit, and you know I love you, and I meant to do it a little while ago but I got nervous. And, um, uh, if it doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, that’s totally fine, I don’t know if it will fit anyway, I tried to guess the size just holding your hand and this was a horrible idea, I am so sorry - ”

Bill is just staring, mouth half-open and jaw working wordlessly as he stutters something incomprehensible, and suddenly Remy is that much more anxious because oh no, he sees more ginger heads peeking just barely out of the Burrow and this was the worst idea, absolutely terrible, he’s about to get dumped in front of the whole Weasley tribe and suddenly he can’t tell if he’s speaking in English or French but he would bet it was the latter and - 

That’s about when Bill decides to slap a gentle palm over Remy’s mouth and haul him up to his feet. “Yes, I will happily marry you,” he tells him, and then he kisses the absolute hell out of his stupid French fiancé, who very nearly faints on the spot in absolute relief, not that he would ever admit it.

It’s alright, though, because they’re equally embarrassed when they make it back into the house and have enthusiastic questions and congratulations peppered off of them, and it’s quite enough that Remy’s hair (though not the rest of him because angry is the last thing he is at the moment) catches fire in half a minute, and that’s a whole fiasco in and of itself.

                                                                                                                    iv.

          His hands are sooty and stained, bloody too, when they go back to looking like his own hands and not twisted with claws. They’re also shaking, all the noise and clamor lost in the way his ears are ringing but he does hear one thing, and he recognizes Jean-Luc’s face hovering before his, warm eyes anxious as he brushes hair flaking ashy remnants of dye away from his son’s face. 

“You hear that, boy? He’s alive. Go. Je l’ai.” And really, what did it say that they’d put up shields, hidden him in the middle of a dying battlefield for losing his temper in all that rage and grief and oh, no, he’d done it, hadn’t he? Remy’s eyes dart to Charlie’s face, and he swallows hard, but he’s already reaching for the younger boy’s outstretched hand. 

After all, his father was good at memory spells. If even one person left remembering what they’d seen, it would be strange - and there was time to worry later.

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

He keeps turning the word over in his head, a half-prayer as they stumble off and make their way to the infirmary. It’s the only word that matters when unsteady fingers drift over the gashes on Bill’s face, not touching for fear of infection - it’s the only thing he thinks when he looks up to see Molly staring at him with some kind of wariness on her face, like she’s expecting something bad from him; he doesn’t have anything else in his head, can’t process what that means. 

“He’s going to be okay,” he rasps, and it comes out like a question, more hopeful than maybe is allowed and god, he’s fucking terrified. He’s so small all of a sudden, or he feels it, squashed with the weight of all that fear and fuck, just fuck, but the next thing he knows he’s getting swept into a big warm hug (the Weasley specialty, innit) and they’re both crying all over each other but that’s alright too.

Remy loses track of how long it takes for Bill to wake up - days, probably - but when he does, it’s with a whole lot of anxious family hovering over him, and the first thing he says is “My face hurts,” sounding vaguely indignant. It’s enough to earn him several eye rolls and sighs of oh, he’s fine - Remy opts for bursting into tears of relief. He hadn’t meant to, but he does, and Bill looks awfully startled, but he can’t help it.

It takes a while longer for everyone else to filter out, but they eventually do, leaving Bill to rest and Remy to settle back into the chair at his side. Before he does, he leans in, brushes careful lips over the corner of his fiancé’s mouth, fingers curled under his jaw so soft he thinks he can pick up the ache from all the torn flesh above. 

“You’re an idiot,” he tells him, tart, and Bill shakes a little with a laugh he can’t quite get out without it hurting. “You picked me. Who’s the idiot now?”

                                                                                                                     v.

          Ras Abu Gali is very much off the beaten path for Muggles, let alone wizards, and the local Bedouin are friendly enough that they stay there awhile; they are strange no matter what they do, so Remy doesn’t bother to dye his hair and lets it hang to his waist like moonlight though he does cover it most days. 

It’s comfortable, he thinks, the way he can roll over under heavy travelling blankets to kiss Bill awake, weave long fingers through red hair and press a scarred cheek to his collarbone and fall back asleep. It’s nice, actually, that he dresses in stupid loud colors and glaringly mismatched patterns and no one cares at all even if Bill rolls his eyes at the worst combinations. 

He ducks his head down, bites soft at his husband’s ear with a low hum, a chuckle slipping from him at the answering grumble of protest. Bill tugs the cover up over their sleep-rumpled heads to block out the light, and Remy kisses him, still smiling.

“Vite-vite, wake up,” he murmurs, and pinches Bill’s side gentle, rolling them until he’s resting atop him with chin settled nice and neat on his hands. “We need to pack. We’re going back to visit today, remember?”

Bill sighs, and Remy presses warm lips to the underside of his half-sweaty jaw, thumbs tracing warm circles over his ribs until he finally shifts, toppling Remy onto his back instead and pinning him there. 

“Five more minutes,” he sighs against Remy’s skin, and with a snort Remy gives in, wrapping his arms tight around him like he really minds at all. Five more minutes.

And then if he didn’t get up, Remy would shove ice down his pants.

[raendown]

Last, but certainly not least: the final chapter.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3231 Story summary:  Madara used to be a man feared even by those of his own clan. Life's really changed since the village was built. Among those changes is his relationship with one Senju Tobirama - and apparently everyone else knew about this even before he did.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Chapter 14

As a surprise to absolutely no one, the new year celebration was bright with fire. Madara’s jutsu may have been as precise and controlled as ever but it was hard to stop Hashirama from bashing him on the back and redirecting the flames whenever he felt the candles weren’t being lit fast enough. Tobirama had his work cut out for him putting them all out afterwards. Although it had been Madara’s intention to grant him this one year of being able to fly at least a few lanterns, in the end not one of them had left the ground as anything but charcoal and ash. To his confusion, he still received profuse kisses of thanks once they made it home that night.

The next couple of months passed quickly despite the fact that it felt as though the entire world had hunkered down for hibernation, the people of every village staying warm and snug inside their homes. Madara and his family were no different. As the snow began to fly there was a decrease in missions, allowing them the chance to spend more time at home together. Kagami took his first steps on a cold January morning, giggling and babbling while Madara spun him in congratulatory circles and Tobirama watched them both from the floor with a look of gentle pride upon his face.

Life settled in to a quiet kind of routine. Well, as quiet as it could be for someone like Madara. He still tripped over his own clothing or accidentally flooded the kitchen sometimes. Some part of him still flinched whenever Tobirama found him in the middle of his latest disaster, waiting to see if this was the moment when the younger man would realize it was maybe a bit too much trouble being with him. Each time all he got was a fond smile and an exasperated shake of the head as Tobirama quietly set about cleaning things up.

Today had been pleasantly free of calamities so far, which Madara hoped he wasn’t jinxing just by thinking about it. Just the idea of it had him cringing as he pulled the plug out of the kitchen sink and prayed the dish water would simply drain without any weird clogs like the week before. He breathed a sigh of relief when it began to swirl down and set about drying the clean dishes piled up on a towel spread out across the counter. When he picked up Tobirama’s favorite mug, it took until it was already dry and he was stretched on his tiptoes to put it away for him to realize he was smiling mindlessly. That seemed to be happening more often lately and at this point Madara had stopped fighting it.

Sometimes, like now as he set the towel down after the last of the dishes were put away, Madara liked to sneak his head around doorways and peek in on the two people who had made his life what it was today. He liked to pretend that Tobirama couldn’t feel him there and allow his eyes a spark of chakra to commit some of these moments to memory.

Certainly the sight that met him today was more than worth memorizing. Tobirama lay on his back on the living room floor, legs bent and feet flat against the carpet. Kagami sat on his belly and leaned back against his legs, wriggling his toes while he babbled very serious sounding nonsense to the younger of his two fathers. Madara nearly melted in to the floor as he watched, creeping around the doorway as quietly as possible so as not to disturb them.

“No no,” he heard his partner saying. “It’s To-bi-ra-ma. Probably a bit too hard for a first word, eh?”

“Ga-ga-ma-ga!”

“Close. Sort of.”

Madara consciously unclenched his fists so his nails wouldn’t cut in to his palms. His chest felt too full and he thought any moment he might burst open and spread his heart all over the living room walls. What had he ever done to deserve these moments?

“Bi-ma-ga!”

“Hey, that’s pretty good! You can do it, little one. To-bi-ra-ma.”

“Oh-bi-ah-ma! Toh! Toh!” Kagami squealed and fluttered both feet. “Tobeeeeeee!” Underneath him, Tobirama chuckled until his belly bounced the child sitting on him.

“That’s one half of it, yes. One more try, To-bi-ra-ma.”

“Tobimama!”

Now only a few feet away, Madara lost it. All mushy thoughts flew out of his head in favor of wild laughter with both hands clutched around his stomach. It was only fair. Everyone else had laughed at him when the kids had messed up his name so long ago, he figured he was fully justified in having a few good guffaws when the same thing happened to others. Not a single part of him felt bad for laughing.

It only lasted as long as it took Tobirama to allow his head to roll lazily over to one side and give him an arch look, fingers absently tickling at little baby toes to make their son squeak and wriggle.

“Keep laughing it up over there, Madada.”

Madara froze in an instant, all humor draining away in favor of crossed arms and loud harrumph. How rude, to remind him of his own embarrassment when he was busy taking the time to enjoy someone else’s. Couldn’t a man take a little amusement at someone else’s expense anymore?

“Hmph. Party pooper.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Tobirama rolled his head back to look up at Kagami again. “I don’t mind mine so much. There’s worse things I’ve been called than Tobimama.”

“I suppose so.”

Neither of them mentioned that only a couple of years ago it would have been Madara calling him most of those worse things, harsh insults screeched across the battlefield for every wound, big or small, that Tobirama had managed to land on Izuna over the years.

“Besides, now we’re a pair. That’s kind of nice isn’t it? I think we’d make a rather nice pair.”

“We’re already a pair,” Madara pointed out, more than a little put out that his partner might not consider them to be so. Tobirama didn’t look at him but he could see that soft smile of his appearing slowly.

“Not the way I meant it, exactly. What do you say? Would you like to be Kagami’s Madada and Tobimama?”

“You’re ridiculous, those aren’t our names. Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?” Suspicion rose in him when Tobirama gave him that look which told him he had missed something again and he couldn’t help but be sure that he was the butt of some sort of joke. As irksome as it was to admit, that happened quite often.

Tobirama shook his head, slowly sitting up and rolling forward on to his knees. He rose effortlessly to his feet and propped Kagami on his hip as he crossed the few feet between them. Madara twisted his mouth to one side, trying not to look as confused as he felt, but said nothing as his partner sidled up close to him.

“You don’t do subtle, do you?” Tobirama murmured rhetorically.

“There’s subtle and then there’s making no sense,” Madara complained. “Just speak plainly!”

“Madara, I was asking if you would like to get married.”

“Oh.”

He was fairly sure he’d never made a smaller sound in his entire life. Silence descended upon the two of them and immediately began to stretch out as Madara stared at Tobirama with an open mouth and wide eyes, unable to speak or even think. His heart couldn’t seem to decide between racing out of control and stopping entirely, resulting in a skipping pattern that would have horrified a medi-nin. He didn’t even notice.

In fact, Madara noticed absolutely nothing besides Tobirama’s eyes, patiently watching him with a steady gaze and waiting quietly for him to answer. Words refused to form in his head. All he could hear was the oh-so-casual words his partner had said a moment ago. Would he like to get married? Would he like to get married?

“You can’t just spring something like that on someone,” Madara replied finally, his voice no more than a whisper.

“Actually I believe that is a common theme in most proposals, to surprise one’s desired fiancé.” Tobirama tilted his head forward and pressed their brows together. Madara avoided his gaze for a moment by looking down at Kagami as the little one fisted one hand in each of their shirts.

“Well…you didn’t ask properly. It’s supposed to be a question. A real question.”

“My mistake.” Tobirama nudged him gently until he looked back up. “Madara, will you do me the honor of binding our hearts in marriage?”

Entirely overwhelmed still, Madara couldn’t answer at first. Horrifyingly, he could feel his lower lip quivering and his hands trembling ever so slightly. After a moment Tobirama pulled away a couple of inches and assumed a worried look.

“Madara? What is it? I can go down on one knee or something if you still think I’m not doing it properly.”

“No shut up! Of course I’ll marry you! Stupid Senju! Don’t be an idiot, what else would I say but…but…yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” His insides were doing something incredibly strange, trying to shrink down out of sight while at the same time urging him to go stand on a rooftop somewhere and scream for the whole world to hear that Tobirama wanted him, forever, for always, for a husband. He could hardly believe it.

He was distracted then by the lips that took his in a messy kiss, almost frantic and desperate in a way he’d never seen his partner before. While he wasn’t exactly complaining he was a little confused until they parted and he saw the wild joy in Tobirama’s expression. His smile could have lit up the village, so wide his handsome face nearly couldn’t contain it, and his eyes were so bright Madara thought it would have been worth going blind just to see them like this.

“Good,” Tobirama murmured. Despite his expression all but shouting his feelings, the word was still as quiet and soft-spoken as ever. “That’s…good.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Madara, I love you.” If Madara’s heart hadn’t already been doing complicated gymnastics it would have begun to do so the moment he heard those words spoken in such a heartfelt tone.

It should have been difficult, he thought, to reply. Expressing his emotions wasn’t something that came easily to anyone in his clan; despite their fabled capacity for love, they weren’t the best at showing it even to their most precious people. Considering that, it was strange how easy it was to look in to his partner’s eyes and murmur back to him quietly, “I love you too.”

Tobirama’s obviously pleased reaction helped a bit, although he wouldn’t admit that even under torture. He might be so deep in love he would never be able to crawl out of it but he wasn’t going soft by any means.

Neither of them seemed to realize that they were simply standing there staring at each other like the protagonists of a soppy romantic play until Kagami broke the spell between them. With a loud happy shriek he pulled at the fistfuls he had of both their shirts and squirmed against Tobirama’s hip, legs kicking out until one of them bumped Madara’s stomach. He never did seem to sit still for long. When he grew up he was certainly going to be a fidgety boy.

“To-bi-ma-ma!” Kagami yelled insistently. Madara bit his lip, torn between laughter and the sappy thoughts of where that ridiculous name had led him to only minutes before.

“Right here, little one,” Tobirama agreed easily. Kagami babbled nonsensically and pulled at their shirts again, happy to have the attention returned to himself.

“You’re not his mama,” Madara objected half-heartedly.

“I take offense to that,” Tobirama said in a light tone. “I’m marrying his dada so that makes me his mama, no?”

“No! You just…you just like to tease me!”

“That too. Alright then, what am I?”

Madara looked down and mumbled in to their son’s curls. “His Papa. I got here first, Senju, I get to be Daddy.”

It was too much then. As quickly as he could without hurting their son, Madara extracted himself from Kagami’s surprisingly strong grip and guided the child over to his other father, then he stepped away from both of them and staggered back in to the kitchen. He didn’t really have anything that needed doing in here but his entire being felt full of frantic energy and if he didn’t move around a little he thought he might just burst. How strange it was to feel this way because he was too happy. Was that normal? It probably wasn’t normal.

Unsurprisingly, Tobirama followed him after kindly allowing him a minute or so to breathe. When his partner came in to the room he was standing by the kitchen table fiddling with a stack of paperwork they both knew was already finished; he just needed something to seem busy with so he wouldn’t look crazy for lollygagging around and trying not to explode from too many feelings.

He very carefully did not react in any way to the feeling of two strong arms sliding around his waist to pull him back against a solid chest. The sounds of quiet playing from the other room told him they were alone for now, something he was oddly grateful for. Even though apparently children didn’t begin to form memories until they were about four years old – he’d asked – it still felt weird to him to be too affectionate whenever there was anyone else around, even just their own baby. Familial affection was one thing. There was no need for anyone to ever watch them cuddling and smooching and all that other nonsense.

“Are you alright?” Tobirama murmured in his ear. Madara nodded.

“How did we even get here?” he wondered aloud, not really looking for an answer, rather just trying to explain how overwhelmed he was by voicing his thought process. Luckily, his partner knew him well.

“I apologize if you feel like I’ve thrown this on you out of nowhere. Admittedly, I have been thinking about it lately, but I hadn’t actually planned on asking yet. Or rather, not like that.” Warm lips pressed a small kiss just below his ear. “I’d planned to do it the proper way with a ring and so on.”

With a tight throat and a burning behind his eyes that definitely wasn’t the urge to cry, Madara turned around and buried himself in Tobirama. He let those arms wrap around him while he burrowed in to the man’s neck and hid his stupid wet eyes from sight.

“Nonsense,” he said quietly. “It was just fine the way it was.” And he really meant that. He didn’t need Tobirama to go down on one knee; kami knew he’d feel silly doing that himself. He didn’t need a ring or some gaudy token of affection. All he needed was already here, in his arms and in his home, in Tobirama’s eyes every time the younger man looked up at him with a sleepy loving gaze in the mornings.

“So, most beloved fiancé of mine–”

“Now you’re just making fun of me!” Madara’s head jerked upright, opening his mouth and taking in a breath in preparation of letting Tobirama know just what he thought of him for ruining that moment they had going on. He was cut off by a searing kiss.

“Kagami will be going to bed soon.” Tobirama pointed out, lips brushing his own with every syllable.

“Uh-huh…” Madara did make a solid attempt at replying, he really did. He was foiled by the way his entire nervous system had just been frizzled out by that kiss.

“Which will leave us all alone in this big cold house.”

“If…if you’re cold I could turn up the heat?”

Tobirama gave him the fond smile he so loved being on the receiving end of, even if it meant he’d said something stupid again. “I was thinking of staying warm in other ways.”

“Oh?”

Madara tilted his head curiously to the side. Then he groaned as Tobirama ducked in for more kisses, evidently doing his best to melt the older man’s brain out through his ears. It was working too. His lover pressed their bodies together and backed him up against the edge of the kitchen table. Meticulously organized paper cascaded down to the floor and neither one of them could be bothered to care; they were too busy. Tobirama slid his hands down Madara’s arms until their hands brushed and he could weave their fingers together.

“You, Uchiha Madara, belong to me.”

“I do,” Madara replied. “I really, really do.” He’d never surrendered so easily or so happily in all his life.

“And I belong to you.”

Madara whimpered.

As a very young child Madara had understood that one day he would be clan Head, responsible for the well-being and safety of each member of his clan. At the age of twelve he had made a friend and dreamed his first dreams of peace. There was no way he could have known then that he had taken his first steps to creating the future and paving the way for his own happiness. It had taken heartbreak, hard work, sweat and blood and tears. It had taken years of time. It had taken compromise, something he’d never much liked, but it had all brought him here to this moment, holding hands with his fiancé, their precious son awaiting them only one room over in the house they had all made in to a home.

The life he had now was a good one, a happy one. The boy he had befriended so long ago lived just on the other side of the little village they had built out of childhood dreams. His one remaining brother lived but a few streets away from him, gleefully flailing his way through the beginning stages of his own romantic endeavors. And Madara himself had not just his own people to watch over but an entire village. They might not be afraid of him any longer but they respected his skill and he was content to take his wins where they could be found.

Over the years as he had grown in to adulthood, Madara had taught himself to live only in the moment and think solely of the here and now. The future was a mystery and could not be relied upon so he had seen no use in giving it much thought. Now he could think of little else. Now he woke up every morning looking forward to the day ahead. He sat with his partner and talked for hours about their son’s future and where it might take him. He planned for his own future and for that of his clan.

That was, after all, his duty. And the one thing which had never and would never change was that Madara was a man who did his duty, no matter what it was. Life had really changed since the village was built and he had always done his best to adapt to each new development as it happened.

What he hadn’t banked on was babysitting duty.