#certainly a kinder thing to say to a rat than to your child

[blujayonthewing]

now, granted, I was introduced to this song via the context of it being about a literal rat, which isn't self-evident in the lyrics, but I'm still a little fascinated at the song Ben having a bunch of lines about, like, 'other people all hate you and reject you and think you're gross but I like you, they just don't get it' and how many of the comments on the youtube vid for it are like 'just like my beloved son ben 🥺💕'

[inorganicone2230]

All That Led Us Here (Part 1) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Orphaned at the tender age of six, you are taken in and raised by The Head of The Shie Hassaikai along with his young son, Kai, who takes a strange and immediate interest in you, to an obsessive degree... one that only seems to grow as the years go by. A life with him and The Yakuza is all you've ever known, but is it all you really want? Kai would certainly have you believe so, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never question it.

Warnings: None for this chapter, in fact, the first few will be relatively tame as we build up to the darker chapters later on, but I will make note of them as they pop up per chapter.

Side Note’s: Just a few quick things to help give you an idea as to how this AU’s world is set up. So first off, there are no quirks in this world, so that means that the Yakuza clans are still strong, wealthy and a huge influence in the Japanese underworld, unlike in the cannon version, and the Shie Hassaikai are one of the biggest if not THE biggest. Second, Kai is The Big Bosses biological son and not just some street rat that he took in. Since we never actually learn the old guys name, I figure that it can easily be played around with to suit the needs of this story and Kai’s looks can be explained by saying that he takes after his deceased mom. And finally, Eri will NOT be making an appearance in this story as of yet.

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn't for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME!

Kai could still remember the first day he met you, no matter how much time passed or how many years flew by, that day was always going to be crystal clear in his mind.

It was the middle of a sweltering hot summer and his father, the head of the notorious Yakuza clan, The Shie Hassaikai, had received a call from an old friend asking him to come visit him on his deathbed in a nearby town. His father had immediately left, but returned just a few days later.

Only, he wasn’t alone when he came back…

It was already early evening when Kai, who was ten at that point, heard the commotion coming from downstairs and had gone outside with all the others to greet his father when he arrived home and was just as shocked, though he hid it very well, as everyone else to see that he had a little girl no older than six with him.

A tiny little thing wearing a purple sundress and hiding behind his father’s legs while she trembled like a leaf. She was so small that, if it weren’t for the quiet little whimpers coming from her, she may have gone completely unnoticed and Kai couldn’t help but idly wonder who she was and what she was doing with his father.

“Kai?” His father had called out to him once he was spotted by the gate. “Come over here Son, there’s someone you need to meet.”

Kai, being the well behaved and dutiful son that he was, immediately went to his father. He couldn’t deny that he was curious as to who the little girl was and even a stoic child like him was still prone to childlike tendencies every now and then.

“What is it Pops?” He asked, his voice already showing signs of deepening despite his young age. And since he had recently hit a growth spurt, he was easily a good foot or so taller than the little girl currently clinging to his father’s hakama.

His father stepped aside to reveal the child to him in full as he gazed down at her with a look of of care and pity. “Kai, this is (Y/N), she’s the daughter of a dear old friend of mine who recently passed away and she’s going to be living with us from now on.” His father reached down to pat you on the head and Kai knew from experience just how comforting that hand could be in a stressful situation, though he’d likely choke on those words if he ever tried to admit them out loud. “She’s family now, so I want you to look out for her. Ya hear me boy?”

Kai had nodded in agreement without a moment's hesitation, he was always eager to please his father no matter what the task was, though, to be honest, Kai had no real experience dealing with kids his own age, let alone one so much younger than himself. He tended to avoid the idiots at his school, they were always running around, getting filthy and he wanted no part in that, and it’s not like there were any other kids that lived in the compound for him to interact with. Hell, there hadn’t even been a woman living there since his mother died nearly eight years prior.

Kai snapped himself out of his own thoughts when he heard his father speak again, seems he wasn’t done talking just yet.

Kai watched as his father gave you another pat on the head as this time, he addressed you directly, his voice much softer and kinder than Kai could ever remember it being. Perhaps it was because you were a girl, or maybe it was because he felt sorry for the situation you were in, your father had just died after all. Either way, this was a side to his old man that he only ever saw when he talked about his late wife, so this was a rather surreal experience for the young boy.

“(Y/N), this brat here is my son, Kai.” He said, motioning his head towards the golden eyed boy. “If you need anything at all and you can’t find me, I want you to go straight to him, alright? This is going to be your home from now on and that means that you can just think of him as your big brother if that makes it easier.”

You had been looking at the ground for the majority of the time, but when you briefly glanced up to meet his gaze, Kai couldn’t help but feel drawn to the big (e/c) eyes that seemed to take up the majority of your chubby little face. They were wide and full of fear, but also a great deal of curiosity as you took in your new surroundings.

You gave him a small, barely there nod of your head as you mumble out a quick response, your voice just as tiny as you were in stature. “N-Nice to m-meet you Kai-san. I’ll try n-not to be a b-bother for you.” And then your eyes are back on the ground and Kai is left with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he uncharacteristically thinks that he wants you to look at him again, and for longer this time.

The old boss tries to muster up a weak smile in the hopes that it will put you at ease. “I’m sure the two of you will get along just fine once you get used to each other. Now, why don’t we go have some dinner and then get you off to bed? It’s been a long few days and I’m sure you’ll feel a bit better in the morning.”

With affirmative nods from both children, nothing more is said as everyone is urged to get back to their usual duties despite talk over who the unexpected new addition to the household is and where she came from.

—————

Later on that night, after a quiet dinner was shared amongst the three, Kai went off back to his room and quietly continued to work on his summer homework. Pops was insistent that he keep up his grades, inciting that just because he was set to inherit the role as head of a mob family, that didn’t mean that he was allowed to be an ignorant fool with no brains to back himself up, and Kai was inclined to agree, there was only one thing he hated more than filth and that was stupidity and a general lack of common sense.

Tonight however, this usually easy task was proving to be just a tad bit harder to stay focused on.

The main reason?

He can hear your soft cries from down the hall in your new room and it’s proving to be rather distracting. Not that you were being overly loud, but thin walls and shoji screen doors don’t provide much in the way of soundproofing or insulation. And with the two of you bring the only ones living on this floor, his old man's room being situated one floor above and everyone else further down, it was even more quiet than a normal house.

Without really stopping to think about what he was doing, Kai got up from his desk and left his room to wander down the hall until he found himself quietly standing outside your door. He debated with himself for about thirty seconds before he made the abrupt decision to just open the door uninvited.

There you were, curled up on an unfamiliar bed that was definitely way too big for someone so tiny, your shoulders shaking even as your head shot up at the sudden sound of sliding wood and big fat crocodile tears continued to roll silently down your cheeks.

“U-Um… w-what are-”

“You’ve been crying.” Kai interrupted you.

You looked down, he really wished you’d stop doing that, almost as if you were ashamed to have it pointed out so bluntly.

“I’m so-sorry, I w-won’t do it a-again, I pro-promise.” You managed to get out between more sniffles.

Kai normally hated the sound of crying, it was like nails on a chalkboard to him and he attributed it to weakness, yet another thing that he so deeply detested. But, he supposed that given the events you had likely been subjected to over the course of the last few days, your blatant display of emotion was understandable, if not outright expected of you.

And besides, he thought, he knew what it was like to lose a parent, but he still had his old man at least, that was more than could be said for you, you didn’t have anyone.

No one but him and Pops…

Kai wouldn’t be able to properly articulate to himself what it really was, not until he was older and understood himself a bit better, but he felt an odd sensation swell up in his chest at the thought of you relying on him, of you needing him, he liked the idea of you staring up at him with those big watery eyes and asking him for help, begging him to make the hurt go away.

But more than that, he wanted to be the reason you smiled. He had yet to see a smile grace your face, but he knew that he wanted to be it’s cause when it did finally happen, or at the very least, he wanted to be the first one to see it.

It was a strange feeling, and not one he was at all used to, but Kai was a pragmatic child and rarely ever second guessed himself once his mind had settled on an idea. His father often told him that if he continued to cultivate that trait, it would make him an even better boss than him someday.

And to that end, he did what his father would expect of him…

“Do you… want me to stay with you, until you fall asleep?”

The two of you stared at each other for roughly a minute before you mutely nodded your head and Kai silently made his way over to your bed, easily climbing onto the tall mattress and sitting upright against the headboard while you laid your head back down on the pillow.

Kai never took his eyes off your face.

“Thank you Kai.” You mumbled sleepily, your swollen, puffy eyes already drooping as sleep threatened to finally claim you.

He wasn’t really great at comforting others, not that he had ever tried, so he acted on pure instinct, reaching out and taking your tiny hand in his own and closing his fist around it, an act that both shocked and astounded him, though he never let go of your hand regardless of that.

It had been so long since he had touched anyone else that he’d almost forgotten what another person’s skin could feel like and despite his steadily growing aversion to physical contact, he didn’t feel even the slightest bit of disgust when he felt your skin against his own. In fact, it was no different than if he was reaching up to touch the flesh of his own face.

Kai knew that this had to mean something, he just didn’t know what that something was just yet.

But he could figure it out, he thought, gazing down at your peaceful face as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. This was your home now, and he had all the time in the world to learn what it was about you that seemed to set you apart from the rest of the filthy world.

—————

About an hour later, Kai was just beginning to feel his own eyes drop as sleep fought to overtake his senses when he heard a shuffling sound by the still open door and, looking up, he wasn’t all that surprised to find his father standing there in the doorway.

The Boss couldn’t sleep and so he decided to wander down and check on his new charge, he was already beating himself up for leaving you alone in a dark, unfamiliar room. He half expected to find you still awake and crying, however, what he found instead was something far more surprising than anything he could have imagined on his own.

You weren’t crying, in fact, you were sound asleep. Sound asleep and holding his sons hand, his son who hated all unnecessary physical contact. To say he was surprised was an understatement, he never would have expected to find a scene like this, not in a million years.

Kai meanwhile, couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed that his time alone with you was being interrupted. How was he supposed to think and ponder these new developments if he was being distracted by his father’s eyes boring holes into him.

But, he supposed this could have it’s own benefits, now that they were alone, he could ask his father some questions that have been plaguing his mind since he first arrived home.

“Why is she here Pops?” He asked quietly, never taking his eyes off your sleeping face.

The Boss was not the kind of man that believed in treating his son with kid gloves, he told him how things were in a very direct manner and rarely ever beat around the bush when talking to him. He was going to be taking over one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in the country and he couldn’t afford to have his only son and heir be a spineless weakling. Some might call him cruel for laying so much on a young child’s shoulders, but he knew just how fast he could be swallowed whole if he didn’t possess the necessary moral fiber to stand on his own two feet in this dangerous world he was set to rule in. It might not seem like it, but he loved his son and wanted to see him succeed and push the clan further then even he had.

“Her father was an old friend of mine from back in the day.” He began and leaned one of his large, broad shoulders against the door-frame. “He wasn’t a criminal, in fact, he was a pretty average guy. But he helped me out of more tight spots in our youth then I care to remember and despite knowing about my Yakuza heritage, he never dwelled on it or judged me for it.”

Kai watched as a look of sorrow passed across his father’s face, something that only ever happened when he thought about his mother and he realized it must have meant that he really cared about this dead man, whoever he was.

“We lost touch over the years, but when I got that call from him, asking me to come see him on his deathbed, I knew I owed it to him to go and send him off.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “When I got there, I found out what it was he wanted from me. His last wish was that his only child, his daughter, be raised by someone he knew and trusted. Neither he, nor his deceased wife had any known living family that could take her in. So it was either I take custody of the girl, or she gets put in the system. Clearly you can see what my decision was.”

Kai suspected that there was more to the story than that, but he got what he wanted so he didn’t press for anymore then that.

“So, you want to tell me what you’re doing here in the middle of the night?” His father questioned him.

Kai still had yet to look away from you and to be honest, he really didn’t want to. “She was crying.”

“So you came in here to check on her?”

“Something like that.” Kai murmured, his usual monotone still firmly in place. “She’s different than the others, she’s clean and I don’t feel sick being near her. I can even touch her.”

It was nearly pitch black in the room but there was just enough light streaming in from the hallway that allowed him to see his sons face, and what he saw there nearly had him busting out laughing, but he refrained for fear of ruining whatever it was that was happening to the boy.

Kai was blushing.

It was small and faint, but the tops of his cheeks were definitely looking a bit darker than usual.

And this seemingly innocuous turn of events sparked an idea in his mind, one that he would need to put some serious thought into, he couldn’t just rush something like this without analyzing it from all angles, but it was an option that could ultimately lead to his child’s, no, his children’s future happiness.

“So I take it you’re not going to be having a problem with her being here?”

Kai looked down at you, at the steady rise and fall of your chest and the way you curled in on yourself. He took in the way you nuzzled your face just a bit closer to him and he found comfort in your soft little breaths that he could feel against him arm.

So, did he have a problem with you?

“I’ll take care of her.”

I hope you all enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought if you have the time!

[sahbibabe]

Hii, how are you? So I was thinking about Sephiroth with a s/o and Hojo found about them being together and have done experiments with her with Jenova Cells. Sephiroth discovers about him and her have been through the same thing. Can be a headcannon or a drable, what you think it's best. Thank you!!

I'm good, thanks for asking! <3 I'm totally able to do that for you! I think I'll do headcanon format because I've only done one of those so far. Enjoy! This is Part One because it didn't make sense in one giant post? If that's okay?

When you were a little one, there was very little trouble that you didn't get into. Getting arrested by Shinra MPs for throwing rocks at their windows, falling down a rusted pipe and barely managing to escape without a wound, stabbing someone for trying to steal your food, you've probably done it all and with no one to keep an eye out for you, your fate was as good as sealed.

So one day, during your usual shenanigans, you come upon a truck full of Shinra workers, except these ones don't look like the ones you've seen before. One of them is a woman; one is a man who creeps you out and gives you the weirdest smile; another is a man in a crisp looking suit who looks designed to manhandle people. You'd heard about people being snatched up in broad daylight for experiments, but had always thought yourself immune or invincible. Oh, how the mighty fall.

You were not invincible or immune. They didn't even let you run before you were subdued and made pliant with a cocktail of drugs you weren't even sure of the names of. Sewer rats didn't get the pleasure of learning about the things that went into their systems. It was do or die, and you--well, you certainly weren't going to die. Not if the scientists had anything to say about it.

So high and faded on medication, you never did realize when, exactly, you met Professor Hojo before then. It wasn't as if the man left his laboratory for extended periods of time. He was quite content to dwell there and check in on his experiments for the rest of his life, if he could. But you had met him--you just couldn't remember where.

He told you his plans for you through a bulletproof, shatterproof window, laughing all the while. He wanted to see if he could replicate Jenova's basic reproductive functions within your body; since all they had was her cellular material and genetics, they would need a replacement soon enough. Despite having the real deal, one of the guards told you out of pity, they wanted a second subject in case something went wrong with the original. That nice guard had also told you, with a sad lilt to his voice, that your name had been wiped from the database and replaced with your official experiment name: HIVEMIND.

It didn't take long for you to realize just what that name meant. Hojo regaled you on Jenova's processes, usually in half mumbled comments to himself while he allowed the assistants to run exams on you, and revealed that Jenova had the unique ability to communicate with all of her separate 'parts' or 'pieces' by using her genetic material inside them, and call them to her whenever she pleased, desiring to reunite with her remnants.

He also told you, to your mild confusion, that 'she' wasn't actually a 'she'--that Jenova, in essence, was pure genetic alien material. Her host body was female, but he lamented that he could not tell when the complete merge began or where Jenova had originally infected the host.

A Cetra, one of the kinder women there told you, was what Jenova had taken the form of. A woman just a bit taller than normal people, a little out of proportion given the types of the human race, that gave them supernatural ability predisposed to them before Jenova's takeover. It was what was sustaining her existence, besides the mako infused water that kept her life force running, but only just.

You were tested in a myriad of ways before being subjected to Hojo's experiments. You were given samples of her brain tissue implanted into your own, as well as a graft from her female body's ovarian system to encourage a partial shift of your own. You had no clue if this would, later down the road, allow you to overpower your captors and escape.

The change was slow, but also immediate. You had this uncanny sense that Jenova watched you, not with her own set of eyes, but with the material that had been given to you. It was as if she tried to speak with you but was muffled under feet of water, walled off far deeper than the human mind could comprehend.

Her muffled voice was all you had when Hojo left you in the dark to succumb to your transformation. You counted the days by counting your meals; at first you got nice meal rations, the kind you'd find at a last dinner or something before your execution. When you finally couldn't stomach it, they settled on breads, crackers, and water, and eventually just water, although Hojo had given you a glass of pure mako, just to see, and found you could survive off of that, too.

Given time, you could survive off of anything they gave you; the electricity thrumming off of the walls, the morphine they gave you that eventually had no effect, even the dust in the air. You were resilient in every aspect--but it came with a price.

Your body couldn't handle the trauma of the grafts from Jenova. Your body expelled it, all of it, in one rapid movement, and if not for Hojo's assistants and that little voice whispering in your ear, you would have died.

After that, Hojo deemed you a failure. You had not succeeded in achieving what he wanted. He left you to survive on your own breath and air, even though the assistants took pity on you and gave you bread and crackers.

The years went by, you matured into a fully grown woman, and the voice grew stronger, more clearer, pushing past the naivety of a child. Hojo never returned, though you knew they kept an eye on you.

You had given up hope by then, staring listlessly at the sliding metal door, wondering what the sun lamps felt like, what an actual sun felt like. It was hard to remember when everything was fuzzy.

And then, one day, you were set free. The door slid open for the first time in years, revealing one of the blips you followed in your mind, brighter than the rest. You knew his name from Hojo: Sephiroth.

He looked angry, or confused, or both and you just couldn't tell. He switched rapidly back and forth as he brought his blade down on your shackles, that voice cooing incessantly in your mind.

My children, united at last...

You rubbed your wrists where the shackles had burnt lesions into the skin. They healed rapidly, scabbing over and disappearing from your eyes in seconds. "Why are you helping me?"

"We are the same." He turned his back to you; you followed blindly, following the light that binded you: Jenova. "You spent your life in a cell. I spent mine outside of this place."

You stopped before he could lead you out of the laboratory. You looked back towards Jenova's tank. She called to you. "I can't leave Mother."

"We will return for her," he promised you. He held out a hand to guide you forward. "Hojo will not remove her so long as she lives."

So you looked back, if only one more time. Watched those eyes stare at you as the doors shut behind you.

[damn-daemon]

Prologue for The Pity of War

I’m not sure when I’ll write more, but the prologue was really calling to me, so I’ve decided to post it on here and get a reaction from everyone. This story is something I’ll probably write a few chapters of before I do anything with it. 

The prologue takes place during WWI. I don’t claim to know everything about it, but I certainly try. 

Above all, I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. -Wilfred Owen

 Prologue

They called him ‘the blue-eyed soldier.’ Said that he came into the field hospital thick with filth and grim like all the others. It made the hue of his eyes stand out, as bright as the sky and haunting. His uniform was tattered, the leather of his boots rotting, and there were no distinguishing marks on him, the insignia having peeled from his jacket and the orderlies having yet to collect his name.

But the eyes, they told her. You’ll know him by the eyes. 

Ruth Coleman had listened to their gossip and shook her head quietly. She hadn’t approved of their whispered judgements, but far bet it from her to stop them. They all had their ways of getting by, and little acts reminiscent of their old lives were what kept their grip of reality from slipping away. She liked to draw, when she could. A sketch of a flower or a drying sheet caught on the breeze.

But never their faces.

It would not have been hard to do so, those faces so clearly engraved upon her memory that in her mind’s eye, she could touch them and know how coarse the skin was beneath her fingers. But one day, Ruth thought, those faces might finally fade, and to commit them to paper was just another way to draw out the agony.

She’d been sketching a bird she spied earlier in the evening, her efforts dimly lit by a lantern close to empty. It had been strange, seeing the little creature. Aside from the war horses and the rats that plagued the cooks, Ruth had seen no sign of other animals. They were the intelligent ones, fleeing the war while man charged ever onward. But a flash of yellow had caught her eye, and there it was, perched on a rotting fence post. It called out once before taking to wing, in search of kinder surroundings, but that moment had resonated within her; it reminded Ruth of things she did not think of anymore, of before and the life she dared not dream to have again.

There was only the present in war, the ever plodding, colorless present.

A flash of light had caught her attention, or so her mind believed. The officers insisted they could not see the illumination rounds from where they were stationed, but Ruth had become well acquainted with lies. Lies to keep the peace, lies to ease the pain, lies to assuage the fear of a young woman so far from home. Perhaps one day, she would appreciate those little lies, but for the time being, they made her feel like a child again, unable to control her emotions, so the truth was kept from her, dictated by those who knew better.

Whatever the light had been, the front or her imagination, it led Ruth to a small figure walking toward her.

Her name was Mary. She was slight of frame, with gold locks the soldiers loved. How they begged her to remove that head scarf. One offered five quid to touch just one of her curls.

“Bed three is expected,” she said quietly. “I’d have stayed to do it myself but…”

Ruth shut her journal. “It’s alright, Mary. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you at dawn.”

He had been from Cardiff, the boy who passed, no older than eighteen. She’d known many boys who had lied about their age, as young as fifteen. They fought and died the same as the rest, although sometimes she wondered if they weren’t a touch braver than the others. They knew so little about the world, about themselves, and yet they were a world away from home, bleeding out on fields that they might have never seen had there been no war.

The orderlies did not take the dead at night, for fear of disturbing the wounded and what little sleep they received, but Ruth would not leave him in such a state. It was her job, and her honor.

She closed his distant, dark eyes and saw to it that his clothes and bandages were not caught on anything. Quietly, Ruth covered his body with a thick, green blanket, from head to toe, and placed his boots on his legs. She’d taken one of his tags, and saw to it that his personal effects – of which there were not many, a letter, a picture, a broken watch – were placed in a small basket that would remain in her possession until the morning. Desperate soldiers tended to steal whatever they could, but none should have need for a small photograph of a young woman with dark hair and bright eyes.

Ruth crossed herself and said a small prayer. She’d stopped believing that God listened ages ago, but felt compelled to act nonetheless.

It was as she finished, that she heard the sound: the quiet whimpers of a man trapped in his dreams.

Sometimes, that was all it was. The man would fidget, his breathing would even out, and there wouldn’t be another peep from him until the sun broke over the horizon. But other times, they were not so lucky. They would thrash about and call out, screaming as if they were at war right then and there. It would wake the others, sometimes triggering their own dangerous episodes. Men had been hurt this way; men had died this way.

When the first thrash came, Ruth dropped the basket and fell to her knees before the man’s bed. She threw her arms upon him, hoping to keep him as still as possible, as she began to speak into his ear.

“You’re not in the trenches,” she spoke quickly, her arms struggling to keep his down. Most of the men were stronger than her, doubly so when they believed their lives in danger. “Listen to my voice. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

He threw her off then, hard and violently. Unable to catch herself in time, Ruth felt her forehead slam onto the frame of the next bed over. Her eyes felt crossed, and the world spun briefly.

As she sat there on the ground, momentarily stunned, Ruth noticed the bed creak.

The soldier occupying the bed she’d hit had stood up, and was using his body weight and free arm – the left having been tightly wrapped in a sling – to hold the frantic man down. She heard his deep voice saying something, calm and authoritative, but it seemed to have no effect.

Shaking her head, Ruth returned to action, grabbing both sides of the poor man’s face as her elbows held down his shoulders. Her new assistant was practically straddling the bed, holding the soldier’s legs down with his own as his right arm struggled with the two their patient possessed.

“Listen to me. Listen to me,” Ruth spoke, her voice as sweet as she could make it be. “Everything is fine. You’re alright, soldier. Look at me. Look at me.”

“His name is Danny,” the man behind her said.

“Look at me, Danny,” Ruth continued, caressing the poor man’s face. His skin was so thick with sweat, and hot to the touch. “Danny, listen to me and open your eyes.”

He did so then, wide, frightened pupils staring up at her like she wasn’t there. But she could see them slowly coming back into focus, awareness pulling at the edge of his mind. He was out of danger. Now it was time to bring him home.

“There you are,” she said softly, running her hand over him again. “Everything is fine now, Danny, alright? Everything is fine.”

His breathing slowed, eyes looking about the tent, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Then they focused back on her.

“Oh God, did I do that to you?”

It was only then that Ruth felt the warmth alongside her eye, the pulsing just above her brow. She doubted the cut was large, but the head always bled the most and longest. There was no doubt in her mind that it looked worse than it was.

“Don’t worry about that, Danny,” she said, attempting a smile. “I’m a nurse. I can handle it, I promise. You just get some rest.”

She stood then, pulling her head scarf from her dark curls.

“You’ll be alright now, Danny,” she heard the other soldier say.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

Ruth watched the other man stand as she bunched up her scarf and raised it to her head.

“Allow me,” he said, hand outreached. She could make out the blisters on his palm. “I’m no doctor, ma’am, but I can see that wound better than you.”

She acquiesced, handing the bunched cloth over rather than make another scene. They had undoubtedly woken up a few of the other soldiers, but they were very good at pretending they weren’t listening.

As the man pressed the cloth against her brow, Ruth got a good look at him. His face was thin with high cheekbones, his hair shaved at the sides like many soldiers hoping to prevent lice, and his eyes…

They were right. She did know ‘the blue-eyed soldier’ by them.

Her hand reached up, grabbing the cloth from him and placing pressure of her own. “You should go back to sleep, soldier. You just got in today, from what I’ve heard.”

He nodded slowly, settling back onto his bed.

“I want to thank you, ma’am,” he said, looking up at her. Most soldiers tended to look away when they spoke, perhaps at their hands or something else just to the left or right of her, but this man looked directly at her, with no hesitation or sign of moving away. “He’s a friend from back home.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she admitted, never a fan of praise herself. “You’re a good friend to him.”

Now he did look away, to Danny, who had already fallen asleep again.

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked, hoping to avoid him slipping into melancholy as most soldiers were prone to do.

“Sergeant Thomas Shelby, Small Heath Rifles, ma’am.”

“Well, Sergeant Shelby, I’d offer to shake your hand, but my right one is occupied, as is your left one. I’m afraid it would make for an awkward affair.”

He nodded. “So it would, ma’am.”

The rest of the night was blessedly quiet, allowing Ruth to see to the wound she had received. In the morning, the orderlies took away the boy from Cardiff and replaced him with another wounded soldier from some other town nowhere near where they were. She watched the affair quietly, as did Thomas Shelby and his blue eyes.

Before she turned in, Ruth returned to his bedside and held out her right hand.

“I believe I owe you this, Sergeant Shelby.”

There was a ghost of a smile on his face when his hand took hers, his grip strong, callouses like sandpaper against her skin.

That was the first of seven days Ruth Coleman knew Thomas Shelby during the Battle of the Somme.

Seven days was all it took for neither to ever forget about the other.

[raendown]

Day 2 entry for @madatobiweek! I wanted to combine both prompts for alternate universe and office shenanigans and somehow this is what I came up with.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Rating: T+ Word count: 3392 Summary: Ten years is a long time to be gone. It's amazing how much has changed - and how much hasn't.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Wounded Lips and Salted Cheeks

“If I didn’t know better I would say that was Senju Tobirama underneath that hat.”

With the side of his mouth quirking up in a hesitant smile, the man in question raised his head to peer at the figure casting shadows in the doorway to his office.

The newcomer cut a dashing figure in what must have been a very expensive outfit before it was coated in soot and salt water. His fitted black trousers and knee high leather boots were a delicious treat for the eye of their beholder, although most of Tobirama’s admiration was focused on the large swath of chest visible through the gaping neckline of his billowing shirt, clasped shut with a very intricate belt. Raggedy black hair fell to the man’s waist, riddled through with braids and beads, and Tobirama wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers within it.

“But that can’t be; the last time I saw Senju Tobirama he was naught but a cabin brat looking up to his betters with stars in his little demon eyes.”

“A lot of things have changed since you left, Madara.” Tobirama lifted his brows until they threatened to disappear under his admiral’s hat. “Clearly much has changed for you as well. Gone a decade only to be arrested for piracy by the very cabin brat you so loved to torture. Many would call that irony.”

“I’d call that the sea gods having a laugh,” Madara chortled. There was an empty scabbard hanging from his belt and one of his sleeves was stained red.

“You look just as you did then.” The words came out quiet and filled with the shadows of a decade spent wondering. Madara shrugged, an easy gesture for a man whose wrists were bound in iron.

“Can’t say the same of you,” was all he said in return.

Tobirama turned his red eyes to the uniformed pair holding his new prisoner by each arm. “Clean him up and have his wound seen to.”

“Aye, Admiral!”

He tried not to, but Tobirama couldn’t help but notice that Madara gave no protest as he was pulled away and led towards whatever awaited him for his crimes. Nor did he look back despite the fact that Tobirama was left staring at the empty doorway for quite some time after he left.

-

“My brother searched for you.”

He had never been very good at casual. Bluntness yes but not the practice of saying a thing without the weight of all his meaning behind it. A soldier must say what he means or stay quiet and say nothing; such had been his philosophy for many years and it had served him well in reaching every goal he had ever set for himself. It was his honesty and intelligence which had shot him up through the ranks of the Queen’s Navy to find himself a decorated Admiral before reaching thirty years of age.

It did little to serve him now when faced with a man who had always been able to read him better than Tobirama wished him to.

“I figured he might,” Madara admitted from where he was lounging by the window.

“Very likely he would still be searching if he hadn’t fallen in love with an Uzumaki princess and settled down in the Whirlpool Islands. Last I heard they were expecting their second child.”

“Truly? Good for him.”

Madara didn’t even bother to look over at him, still staring through the glass with the slightly distant expression which had been hiding just under the surface of his every emotion since his ship was downed and he was taken prisoner aboard the Hidden Leaf. As much as Tobirama hated to admit it, even all these years later, he still had no idea how to read the man.

Prisoner he might be but volatile he had proved he was not and so Madara was allowed to wander the ship at will so long as he was accompanied at all times by at least one guard, for which the admiral himself most certainly counted. There were no counts of murder or undue violence against him, only the vague charge of “piracy” to which he freely pled guilty at first accusation, so he wasn’t viewed as much of a threat.

Thus began Madara’s habit of spending quite a bit of his time in the cabin which served as Tobirama’s office. It was also his sleeping quarters, although you would have to squint to find the tiny cramped sea bed among the books and papers and the innumerable maps.

Sometimes they spoke and other times they sat in silence as Tobirama worked, writing correspondence and a log of their journey, drafting essays on the scientific studies he often completed on his travels at sea. The days in which they spoke were the ones Tobirama preferred even if he would never have admitted to such a thing out loud. Although it had been a full decade since they last saw each other, there were still too many memories in his eyes whenever he looked at the prisoner in his window.

“Did he ever find anything other than a wife?” Madara’s voice broke through his thoughts and in the privacy of his mind Tobirama begged the older man to look at anything but the fading horizon.

“No.”

He knew exactly what Madara was really asking, the treasure he hoped that his old friend might have found, and Tobirama truly hated to be the one to deny him.

“Is he happy where he is?”

“Yes. Every letter that reaches me is happier than the last.”

“I’ll bet they’re absolutely covered in tear stains too. He always was a sap.”

Free to smile fondly as he continued to go unobserved, Tobirama let his eyes drift over to the small frame bolted down to his desk and the photograph contained therein. “He got worse with age, trust me. The last time I made port in Uzushio it took him half an hour to stop sobbing on me. Ruined a very good jacket.”

Madara gave a startled bark of laughter and finally turned to sit with his back to the window, raising his arms to tuck both hands behind his head and play with the braids in his hair.

“I hope it was expensive,” he teased. Tobirama sighed.

“My favorite, actually. But after he covered it in snot I couldn’t bear to put it back on.”

“Ah.” With his eyes now staring at the ceiling above him, Madara’s expression looked no less distant as he murmured, “The sea gods take as they see fit.”

Tobirama had little to say to that. It was clear that he would have no luck breaking the pensive mood his prisoner had fallen in to today and so he turned back to his papers and told himself to concentrate on nothing else. Across the cabin, Madara barely seemed to notice.

-

“How long until we make port?”

Madara tossed the letter opener in his hands up and watched it spiral through the air before catching it by the tip as it came back down. Then he casually tossed it up again as he had been doing for the past fifteen minutes.

“A few weeks yet,” Tobirama replied absently.

“I thought you said that two weeks ago.”

“Mm. That was before the storm pushed us so off course.”

The frown on his face deepened and Tobirama rolled up the map in frustration. His charts simply didn’t match up and he felt nothing so much as a failure. How could he have missed anything after searching the area as many times as he had? It didn’t make sense. And yet…

“So a couple of weeks more and you’ll be free of me then?” Madara tossed the letter opener up again. “I’ll have to talk to my wonderful guards about how to properly get under your skin. Someone needs to be up your ass once I’m gone and pull your head out of those maps you’re always staring at. Don’t you know where you’re going?”

“Of course I do. They’re not maps of this area; they depict somewhere else.”

“You’re not going to tell me where though.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Tobirama looked over his shoulder to lift an eyebrow at his prisoner with a wry smile, more pleased than he should be to see it returned.

Catching the letter opener yet again, Madara twirled it idly between his fingers. “Right, right. Little Tobi with his big brain. You always did have to know more than everyone else around you.” He laughingly dodged the empty cup that came flying towards his head for that comment. Tobirama huffed at him.

“Doesn’t take a genius like me to see how impatient you are to face the queen’s justice. I think it’s you who is looking forward to being rid of me.” If the universe was kinder then it would not have been obvious how much pain the truth of that statement caused him. But the universe had never been very kind and, although Madara refrained from sending him a look of pity, he didn’t hold out much hope that his emotions had gone undetected.

“Think you’ve got me all figured out, eh?” Madara shot him a cocky grin but all Tobirama did was sigh.

“Not then. Not now.”

He turned back to his desk and reached for the account he’d been trying to match up with his charts. If he could only work out where he might have missed something then his life’s work would finally see its end and at last he could rest.

Behind him, Madara remained suspiciously quiet.

-

“He isn’t here.”

Only just managing not to leap in to the air with fright, Madara swiveled his head round until he laid eyes upon the young woman standing next to Tobirama’s desk. She had long hair twisted up in a vicious looking topknot and her uniform was a tad sloppier than most. The size of her arms, however, said that this was someone he definitely shouldn’t mess with.

Madara had never been good at backing down, though.

“Does he know that his crew skulk around in here while he’s gone?”

“He knows that you do and he has a hundred times more reason to trust me.” The woman’s face twisted in an ugly expression. “The world likes to think he’s changed – he likes to think he’s changed – but he hasn’t. Still the same old Tobi, hopping ship to chase after you and that rat brother of yours.”

Madara was across the cabin before he even registered that he’d moved, his fingers twisted in the collar of her shirt. “One more word about my brother and I’ll beat you black and blue no matter your rank.”

“What does he see in you?” she continued. “You’re nothing but a deadbeat who ran away from home. You haven’t taken anything seriously since you came on board, you look down at him like you always did, you walk this ship from end to end and think nothing of the liberties he gives you. So tell me, pirate scum, what did he ever see in you that could possibly have driven him to sail the world over so many times just for your sorry ass?”

“For – what?” Anger seeped away in favor of confusion the longer she talked until he hardly noticed when the woman batted his hand away from her throat.

“Don’t act coy, Uchiha. You think he joined the queen’s navy for fun? The cabin kid with salt in his pockets and science in his head? Ten years you’ve been gone and he’s spent the whole time out here on the waves, looking for you.”

“No. That’s not – why would he do that?”

The woman snorted as she shoved him away, watching him stumble with a disdainful curl to her lip. “Beats me. You’re not worth looking for.”

Madara reeled, unsteady for the first time since he was a child finding his sea legs on the boat that he and his best friend built themselves. Hashirama had been so happy with their tiny craft, barely more than a raft with a mast, but he’d called it the FriendShip and let his little brother sit on the back, called him cabin boy and yelled at Madara whenever he pushed the young thing overboard.

And then his own younger brother had found out and demanded that he be allowed to play with them too. When Madara told him there wasn’t room enough for a fourth body Izuna had cried and run home, swearing up and down that he’d build his own boat and that none of them could sail on it. A week later the sea had swallowed him and Madara had never seen his little brother again. Seventeen years old, full of desperation and guilt, his mind had refused to accept that Izuna could be gone and he’d done the only thing that made sense at the time.  

He fled their poor little fishing village and turned to piracy, using his freedom outside the law to search and search until the day his past caught up with him in the form of the Hidden Leaf.

“It wasn’t his fault,” he heard himself say. “It was mine.”

“You think its guilt that he’s hung on to all this time?” The woman snorted again and shook her head, slamming her hand down on the maps Tobirama spent so much of his time poring over. “He tore that cove apart inch by inch trying to find Izuna for you. He caught the first passage out of town against his brother’s wishes trying to find you. He joined the navy and he did his time until they gave him a ship of his own and all this time he’s been looking for you!”

Madara flinched. Why Tobirama might have entered the queen’s service never occurred to him. Sure it had seemed strange that a mind so wild and curious as his had always been would have subjected itself to the rigid rules of the navy. But as he had for the past decade, Madara had thought only of himself.

In truth, his heart had given up a long time ago and admitted that his brother lay buried beneath the tides. Only stubbornness and a lack of anywhere else to go had kept him at the helm but now he wondered: had he always had somewhere else to go? All this time he had been longing for home, had home been searching for him?

Both he and the woman before him startled and whipped around when the door to the office opened. Tobirama stepped inside with sea spray still wet on his boots and glistening in his hair, a suspicious expression immediately falling across his face when he spotted them there.

“Touka,” he nodded shortly to the woman.

“Cousin,” she replied to Madara’s surprise. That would explain her familiarity with Tobirama’s motives.

“Did you need something?”

“I was just leaving.”

And she did leave but not without sending Madara a look full of acid. Tobirama caught her eye as she passed him and returned the look with enough venom to quicken her pace, leaving the two of them alone as they usually were.

“Have an interesting conversation with my first mate, did you?” As always, he failed to sound as casual as he would have wished to. Only this time Madara finally understood what he had been hearing since they were all just little boys sailing the bay of a tiny fishing town.

“No,” he lied. “We didn’t talk about much.”

The words tasted strange in his mouth.

-

“Where did you say your brother dropped anchor, again?”

“In the Whirlpool Islands.”

“Ah.”

Madara fidgeted and shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing up against Tobirama’s where the other man stood perfectly still at his side. Although he was certain that a week ago he wouldn’t have noticed, it occurred to him that in all the time since he’d come aboard this vessel, this was closest they had been to each other.

They watched the horizon together for the first time as Madara contemplating the noose soon to tighten around his neck. Shore was in sight and despite all the many weeks he had spent in this very room it still felt as though he hadn’t had long enough.  

He’d thought he wouldn’t care if he died. He’d also thought there would be no one esle left in the world who would care if he died. Apparently he’d been wrong on both counts.

“I hear Uzushio has really nice weather all year round,” he murmured.

“So it does,” Tobirama replied, his confusion at that statement as clear as day in his voice.

“Will you settle down there with him?”

Shifting his own weight, although he was more careful not to brush up against the man beside him, Tobirama kept his eyes pointedly forward. “I don’t know that I ever will settle down.”

“Not even if there was something to keep you there?”

“Perhaps then, yes. But I don’t truly belong to Hashirama’s family, although I’m certain brother would be more than happy to see me. His princess would not take kindly to me inserting myself in to their lives in such a manner as I would without any other attachments.”

“Ah.” Very carefully, Madara leaned sideways just until their shoulders touched and held there. “I also hear that Uzushio won its freedom from the crown and is no longer considered a part of The Colonies.”

“That is true, yes.”

Without looking away from the horizon he twisted his wrist until their fingers were touching, not reaching, not presuming, but presenting the offer and hoping that all the sea gods who could possibly be listening might hear his fervent prayers. “How would you feel about staging a mutiny and running away with the fastest vessel in the queen’s navy?”

He barely had time to blink before he found himself being spun around and shoved up against the wall of the office cabin. Tobirama left the man no time to question his intentions as he crashed their lips together and vented a lifetime of frustration and yearning, a decade of worry and pursuit. Pale fingers buried themselves within dark braided hair and twisted as though hoping to stay tangled there forever. Both of them groaned in to the heat of each other’s mouths, their bodies pressing together, rocking with the motion of the sea beneath their vessel and the tides within their souls.

Knowing they didn’t have much time, Tobirama forced himself to pull away before he lost his head entirely. His chest heaved as he pressed his forehead against Madara’s the way he had been dreaming of since they first set sail on the back of a barely floating raft together.

“We’ll pass in to the bay within an hour. If you want me to mutiny my own ship we need to get going now or we’ll be within canon range of the others at port before I can turn any of the crew to my side.”

“Right. So, Admiral.  Yo ho, yo ho?”

“It’s a pirate’s life for me,” Tobirama finished in a dry voice, trying to contain his smile and failing wildly. Madara laughed at his efforts.

“No regrets?”

“I went to sea to find you,” he said softly. “And now I have and I won’t let you go.”

“Been waiting for the offer?”

Tobirama looked rather dashing with a blush across his cheeks. “Hoping.”

“Let’s go then.” Madara skimmed his hands down the hard body pressing his against the wall until they rested on a set of gorgeous hips, displayed so nicely by the admiral’s uniform. He pulled Tobirama in for one more kiss before they tore themselves apart and turned to face the doorway.

Neither of them looked away from the door and yet both reached out at the same time to entwine their fingers together. As Madara reached for the handle, Tobirama reached for the saber at his belt, tossing it and trusting his partner to catch as he then reach for the pistol just inside the breast of his doublet. They shared a grin before Madara pulled the door open and they stepped out on to the deck together, facing the midday sun and whatever the sea gods had in store.