#funny how he started to shift when he started to listen to fox news | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meliorist-midoriya · 4 years

Text

chasing the sun

synopsis: there’s something screaming in familiarity—in mourning—deep in his soul at the sight of you, a complete stranger. this is the price you pay for resurrection, the sun whispers as it rises.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au

warnings: mentions and depictions of death, major character deaths, mentions of war (+ description of a battlefield scene), injuries, blood.

word count: 11.7k

a/n: happy (extremely belated) birthday, bird boy. and aaaa my baby’s here, she’s finally here! i’ve been working on this fic for a little over two months now, and i’m so happy to see it fully fleshed out! thank you to @dimplesum for beta reading, and the tumblr chaos server for listening to me yell all the time abt this fic :’) disclaimer, i did as much research as i could, but any historical depictions are not 100% historically accurate and i have taken some creative liberty, so please take the historical scenes with a grain of salt!

important: there will be songs linked throughout the fic to be played in accordance with the scene, i do hope you listen to them for the full experience! it is okay if the ost ends before the scene as that is also on purpose. the beginning of the song will start with 【 ☀︎ 】 with a link to the song. with that said, i hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

crossposted on Ao3

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Keigo, the youngest government official in the empire, stumbling upon a lone concubine in the eastern lotus garden.

He’d been searching for solitude, away from the viper’s nest of samurai-turned-aristocrats, strutting around the castle with their now-useless weapons strapped to their hips, discussing poetry and politics instead of battle and war tactics.

It’d been disgustingly easy for them to make the switch from warrior to bureaucrat, taking the status boost in stride. Those who couldn’t, they stayed with their lords if they were lucky. The warriors who weren’t… Keigo would need an abacus to count the ones who weren’t so lucky, the countless rumors and reports of wandering rōnin with familiar names never failing to reach over the palace walls to get to him.

(Oh, what he would give to join them.)

Of course, he’d been intending to brood ponder over this in the seclusion of the garden he’d discovered a few days ago, staring at the green buds of the young lotuses in the water until his head spun. The sight of the concubine sitting in his spot (that he was certain was too secluded to be found) told him fate had other plans, however.

He cleared his throat and forced down the grimace once he saw the concubine jump, startled, before trying her best to smoothly turn and bow without looking too flustered.

“Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning—”

He smiled through the static in his brain at the mention of his surname, messily tacked to the honorific that he would never get used to.

That name… it’s not mine. Don’t call me that.

A discordant mess of jumbled kanji that sounded nothing like the powerfully elegant names in the court. The ill-fitting characters standing out like an eyesore on his documents, the syllables falling awkwardly off the tongue in conversation.

Wholly fitting for an outsider like him, really.

The mention of that name grated something terrible in him, and he settled for keeping his teeth grit into a smile. A sheltered concubine wouldn’t know, of course she wouldn’t know. Practically no one did, so he had no one to fault but his own cursed sensitivity to a name he wanted to burn.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The slight twitch in her demure smile was answer enough, but he’d set aside time for this escape, and damn if he was going to let it go to waste.

“Of course not. Please, don’t mind me, my lord.”

He dipped his head in thanks and you bowed in return, the silence hanging in the air settling into something stiff and awkward.

A minute passed…

Then another…

Then five…

Keigo was going to go mad at this rate. Neither of you had any intention of leaving the rare pocket of seclusion, and the competitive whisper in the corner of his mind told him that leaving first meant conceding, meant losing.

(In his world, losing meant death.)

Keigo’s had enough of losing in life despite his dumb luck, thank you very much.

So, he did what he knew he did best. He talked. Shattering the awkward silence in an effort to coax the tranquil silence he was searching for back into the little gazebo by the pond. Maybe if he ran his mouth long enough, you’d get tired and leave.

“You’re a new face in the palace.”

With an expectant gaze, he watched the telltale shift from awkward to apprehensive, the rigidness of your stature sharply contrasting the flowing brocade of your kimono as you looked back at him with a too-sharp gaze before casting your eyes away to the green buds in the water. Had he been any slower, Keigo would’ve thought that the conflicted expression you quickly smoothed over was solemn (it was anything but).

“I would say the same to you, my lord, but every face in this castle is a new face to me.” You tilted your head with a thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Although… I’m sure an official who just arrived at the castle for his yearly residence would be an especially new face. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Keigo blinked. Once, twice, his jaw relaxing into a disbelieving smile at the sight of your steely gaze bright with a challenge and a smile sharper than the blades at his waist, the unsaid words ringing clearly.

Two could play at this game.

Well, now, this was new.

Perhaps it was your defiance that remained steadfast in this castle, or the blissful ignorance that made you one of the few to look at him straight on instead of down your nose. A little voice whispered that this would change in due time, the politics and power struggles confined within the castle never failing to break down even the most resilient. Those that didn’t know how to play the game correctly simply… vanished.

“Someone’s well-informed, I see.” He folded his hands behind his back, his wish for tranquility long forgotten. “I heard a new concubine has just entered the castle as well. A consolation prize, of sorts, from the farthest reaches of the country. Of course, as I’ve been gone for a year and have only been here for four, I’m not too sure.” He flicks his gaze to you, accepting your challenge with a knife-sharp smile of his own.

“I am curious as to what this concubine’s name is, however.”

You arched a brow, the thin-lipped smile widening into something sweet (that looked better on a fox rather than a beautiful concubine), and you bowed. Any trace of that stiff apprehensiveness dissolved into a graceful fluidity that seemed to disappear within the rippling silk of your kimono.

“Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

To this day, he’ll never admit how surprised he was at your reverence, nor how his heart did a funny little flip in his chest when you giggled at his flustered response. What kind of fool gave respect to a commoner picked up from the slums?

You. Except you were no fool, and maybe that’s why he kept coming back like a moth to flame.

Time passed, and he found himself in that little garden day after day, morning after morning. Listening to the concubine who told vivid stories of lands he could only dream of, foods he found himself craving, and tales of warriors past.

The conversations at dawn soon turned into stories of the past, the laments of the present, and dreams of a bleak future. With delicate hands and gently prying words, you two unlocked every bar and lock you’d put over your souls and allowed yourselves to lay them bare for each other, the intimacy of a bond forged in secrets and solidarity far stronger than any alliance or contract.

You two confided in each other in that garden, staring at the dew on the lilypads as you two whispered how you didn’t belong in the palace. How the confines of grand walls with ears and eyes were no place for the adopted commoner and a concubine far from home. Two people in this big world who were just lucky enough, fortunate enough to end up within this lavish palace, your lives guaranteed splendor and comfort.

Then again—you two would share a conspiratorial laugh—maybe you two were unfortunate instead. What was splendor and comfort when you had to constantly watch for a knife in your back or poison in your cup? When a single misstep could cost you your life?

Conversations shared with you, the concubine with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, were the most fulfilling he’s had in ages. Maybe it was the sense of formality that the intimacy of the waterside gazebo stripped away, or the unraveling realization that he hasn’t breathed this freely in ages, that he was looking forward to these moments in the morning. The intimacy shared in the garden he selfishly liked to call his own little world.

Keigo catches the smile you hide behind your sleeve when he steps into the gazebo, and he realizes you’re being selfish, too.

He didn’t know how the conversation got here, he didn’t know why he had a hairpin meant for you tucked into his sleeve. All he knew was that when it came to you, he was helpless to the whims of rambling and buying a pretty hairpin made of red jade because it reminded him of a sharp wit with a pretty smile.

“I live for this country and I die for this country. Well, not that there’s anything much to die for anyway.” Keigo’s laugh is empty, and your melancholic gaze even emptier. A fog had blown in that morning, covering the pond in a soft cover of white, and your soft voice and softer touch on his arm (careful, almost) silenced his dry laughter and left his throat even drier.

“What you would die for is also an excellent reason to live, is it not?”

Your words, whispered into the stillness of the moment, resonated so loudly within his soul and forced a shaky breath out of his lungs as he gazed in awe at you. At the soft, ethereal glow in the fog cast by the rising sun breaking through the clouds, the scent of bloomed lotuses wafting in on the breeze that rustles the dangling pieces of your hair ornaments. He is weak to whims when it comes to you, so he pulls out the hairpin burning a hole in his sleeve to slip into your hair with shaking hands unbefitting a swordsman. Keigo watches your eyes sparkle like the gem in your hair, and his heart lifts with hope as he whispers his devotion into the warm morning, carried by the wind into a sea of blooms.

“I’ll live for you, then.”

And with a smile, you fall in love.

(Keigo falls even harder.)

【 ☀︎ 】

He should have known.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from the son of a criminal.”

He really should have known.

“What was that fool thinking, taking a street rat like you in all those years ago?”

Honestly, he’d like an answer to that, too. Too bad the old man was dead and left him to inherit a position he didn’t even want. To think he’d agree with the emperor for once in his short life.

“Tsk, a son will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.”

Keigo should be concerned that he couldn’t feel how the coarse dirt dug into his knees anymore, his cheek still aching from where the guard had punched him.

(Okay, yes, he deserved it, but he could’ve done without tasting iron.)

The sadistic glee in the guard’s face after he landed that “disciplinary strike” told him otherwise. With a bitter grimace, he spat red into the dirt.

How long has he been kneeling here? Minutes? Hours? The words echoing over and over in his head pulled him away from his present reality, bringing him back to the blur that was the past two days.

(Three? He couldn’t be sure, time passes oddly in a prison cell.)

The servants whispering about a concubine being expelled from the harem, the handmaid being promoted to concubine suspiciously quickly, and sudden memories of too-loud rustling coming from the treeline that he’d foolishly brushed off. All of it culminated in the form of palace guards dragging him from his study all the way to the harem to throw him at the emperor’s feet.

“Could the street rat not keep his hands off the women of the court? Plenty to pick back where you came from.”

Keigo wanted to vomit at the cloying stench of sake, unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of his mind and forcing his limbs to lock from age-old fear. Not like he could use them anyway, with heavy hands on each shoulder pinning his knees to the tatami and his blades having long been tossed away in the struggle to drag him here.

“Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard?” A sickeningly saccharine voice pulled the man’s attention away to coo at the woman curled into his side, cradling a bottle of warmed sake. “Apparently the small-time nobleman who adopted him, did it knowing he was the son of that criminal you were having trouble with all that time ago.”

The grip forcing his head down loosened from the resounding laughter that rippled around the room, just enough to allow Keigo to glare at the loose-lipped concubine. Your opportunistic maidservant who’d been all too willing to take your place in the harem, having taken her chance and fleeing with it. Her tittering giggles and power-drunk grin grated his ears, and he kept glaring. Daring her to look back, to look him in the eye without feeling an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

Almost as if she heard his furious challenge, she took a glance at the man pinned to the floor (trying to look down her nose like she had been looked down on. Pathetic fool.) only to jump at the righteous fury burning in his gaze, fear clouding her conscience for a precious moment.

More, Keigo urged, rage bitter on his tongue, Guilt, shame, despair, all of it.

I hope you regret this for the rest of your life. Lament, as punishment for ruining hers—

“Don’t assume what I have and haven’t heard, woman,” The drunkard grunted, holding his cup out for her to pour with shaking hands and a meek surrender, “But, the man was losing his mind from age. What was that fool thinking, taking a dirty brat like this in all those years ago? Too useless to bear a son nor keep a wife, so he had to stoop low enough to take in a criminal’s son from the slums.”

Righteous fury welled up in his chest, and his body moved before his brain could catch up, spit landing at the emperor’s feet. Almost immediately thereafter, his head whipped to the side, cheek smarting from the sharp strike the guard’s knuckles had indented into his swelling cheek. He grit his teeth as that same cheek came down on the tatami, someone pressing his head into the ground.

“Years upon years of trying to force yourself into nobility, and you’d think you’d learn some respect along the way.”

Had he not been the one with his face pressed into the ground, Keigo would’ve laughed at the shade of fury-red the man’s face was turning. Sake did not treat him well. The concubines at his side, fearing for their lives, immediately rushed to whisper soothing words and calming pleas. Somehow, it worked, and he reclined back into his seat with a heavy sigh, draining the sake in one gulp.

“The son of a criminal shall inevitably become a criminal. Now that I think about it, this is a wonderful opportunity to get rid of an eyesore. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.” A sadistic grin split his lips around the cup, chortling with laughter at his own (terrible) wit. “Being buried next to his criminal father! What a filial son!”

The table shook from the force of a fine porcelain cup slamming down on it, as if the emperor were stamping his death certificate right then and there.

(He was.)

“Get him out of my sight. The next time I want to see his head is on the gates of Kozukappara.”

Keigo the official had died in that room, and the man that was dragged out by his shoulders left the castle as a criminal.

“Done saying your prayers?”

Slowly, he looked up from the white paper fan set in front of him in place of the tantō that should’ve been there for his use (obligatory seppuku, his muddled brain supplied with annoyingly familiar haughtiness, so the ex-warrior could die a warrior. What a joke—) to the man he’d chosen to be his executioner. Normally, he would’ve snapped back with something witty, something sharp, but going days without water wasn’t treating him well. A heavy sigh, and the man ran a frustrated thumb down the bright blue wrap of his katana hilt.

“The concubine, of all women? An imperial concubine, at that. I’d expect you to know better than that, my friend.”

Ah, the static in his head was a little stronger today. Wonderful.

“I thought I knew better, too. At least I get to die to someone with a steady hand.”

He scoffed, thumb running over the blue hilt again. Keigo idly remembered seeing the man rub his burn-leathered skin the same way countless times, the anxious habit having stubbornly ingrained itself into his being since childhood.

“Must you be so dark?”

“When am I not?” He managed to muster up a slow grin. “I’m hurt, I thought my closest companion would’ve known this after years of keeping swords out of each other’s backs.”

The heavy gong announcing his execution sounded, and he watched his best friend’s melancholic gaze glaze over into soulless steel that mirrored the blade drawn from its hilt. Keigo dipped his head with a solemn smile and shut his eyes in resignation.

I really… should’ve known…

“Keigo!”

Everything paused for a breath, in shock at your shout breaking the stillness of the moment. He didn’t have to lift his head to know who was crying out, trying to delay the inevitable certainty. A sharp smile and an even sharper tongue reduced to nothing but cries and desperation.

“...I’ll continue.” The executioner ignored your desperate “No!” as he shifted his stance, scarred hands steady as he placed the blade against the back of his neck despite the pain Keigo knew he was in.

It would’ve been nice to hold you in his arms, at least once—

No, for eternity.

The blade came down and, like a lotus facing the sun in supplication, you screamed your despair into the heavens.

That day, the blood red sunset matched the crimson pooling on the execution ground’s floor.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Private First Class Takami Keigo marching into a small city on the way to the front lines, rifle slung over his shoulder and feet aching.

They’ve been marching through the night, and for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful for Japan’s humid summer nights. He’d take sweat over losing toes from frostbite any day.

But, he decides, sighing in relief along with the rest of the company at the sight of a town once they crested the hill, there was nothing like the relief of a warm bed and any food other than the tasteless military rations.

“Tired already?” The low voice beside him would’ve made him jump had it not been so familiar.

“Aw, what’s this? Is Touya-kun worried for little old me?” Keigo shot a grin at the man marching next to him and dodged the elbow that he aimed at his side with a short laugh.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier.” A pause, and the next response came backed with a dry laugh. “Not like it’d affect you and your monstrous instincts, anyway.”

“Yes, as we’ve been told a thousand times, General.” The teasing tilt to his voice came easy, and he let his best friend elbow him this time, too busy laughing at his annoyance.

Should he have been a little more worried of the captain catching him messing around? Yes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Judging by the restless shifting rippling through the soldiers, no one was too worried about getting a scolding when they were so close to a warm meal and rest.

“Think the inn will be big enough to house all of us? Another night sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound all that nice to me.”

Touya scoffed as if his question was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day, keeping his gaze straight as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, the company shifting around them into formation as they approached the gates.

“You’re complaining like it’s anything new to us.”

“Harsh.”

The conversation faded after that, the rough dirt under his boots soon transitioning into the packed earth of the town’s main street as residents gathered to whisper and gawk at the soldiers passing through, the sight of their uniforms a jarring eyesore in this sleepy town.

A sleepy, familiar town.

Keigo’s mind was spinning. His restless gaze kept flicking around the too-familiar buildings and shops and people that remained after all these years. The restaurant with the broken kitchen window that was too easy to sneak into, the grocer who still kept his trash bin too close to the alley, the old woman sitting in front of her izakaya who always had ginger candy and a meal to give.

They slowed to a stop in front of the large inn, and he stared up at the building that looked much smaller than he remembered, the interior much less grand than he’d imagined it to be as they filed their way in, and he found himself in the room he once dreamed of sleeping in. There, Keigo sat in near disbelief, on the futon that wasn’t as soft as he thought it would’ve been.

“How time flies, huh?” He looked up to see Touya dropping his pack next to his futon and sitting down across from him with a melancholy grin.

There was too much Keigo wanted to say, nostalgia bitter in the back of his throat, so he settled for a matching smile.

“Old Man Yasutaro never got around to fixing that boarded up window.”

Touya barked out a surprised laugh, Keigo’s smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.

“You ever think he did that on purpose? He always did stock too much food.”

“Are you kidding?” Keigo shuddered at the phantom pain of the beatings he earned. “He was scary whenever he caught us, there’s no way mean ol’ Yasutaro would do all that just for a pair of orphans on the street.”

“Mm, I don’t know, he was always pretty sweet to Granny Tamayo, so anything that made him look good in her book.” Touya leaned back on his arms, the melancholy melting into the ease of bittersweet nostalgia. It was easier to smile through the painful memories rather than dwell on the past, so Keigo let himself toss his head back with a laugh.

“God, her ginger candy was the best.”

“You sure it was the candy? Or the granddaughter who always snuck an extra piece to you?” That earned Touya a frustrated noise of protest and a half-hearted kick he dodged.

“That was ages ago!”

“And you still react like a little boy!”

Keigo groaned, burying his face into his hands as if that would tune out Touya’s cackling laughter. It was short moments like this that took the weight off his shoulders, the murmurs of public dissent, the leaked plans of a planned riot, the magnitude of his actions tomorrow morning.

(Civilians. Of all things, why did it have to be civilians?)

He suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the heavy weight having pushed itself back onto his shoulders and slotting the familiar hum of alertness back into place. Touya gave him a knowing look that he, decidedly, ignored in favor of getting out before his mind swallowed him whole.

“Dinner is supposed to be in a bit, we should get going.”

“Wonderful job of changing the subject, really.”

“Wonderful job of being annoying.”

Touya dodged another swipe of the leg, laughing at his displeasure as he stood to follow.

“Why thank you, I try.” His grin widened with a certain glint in his eye that Keigo found himself dreading. “Now let’s get going, I heard some of the guys are at Granny Tamayo’s izakaya.”

“What?”

“My, isn’t that little Keigo? And little Touya?”

Keigo faltered halfway through the entrance, smoothing his grimace into a smile as he watched the old lady totter over from her seat with all the coddling of a grandmother. The soldiers within earshot (who were already drinking and eating away. It was barely sunset—) paused to gawk and grin at the endearing interaction.

“Not so little anymore, Granny.”

“I’ll say. Are you eating alright? Is the military treating you well?”

“Granny!”

“What’s this? Speedy and Torchface have some history here?” Keigo kept his smile smooth, only shifting it just the slightest bit into what he knew would look like a sheepish grin instead of the pained grimace underneath the surface. Boisterous laughter that only alcohol could bring rippled around the spacious izakaya, the men cracking jokes over drinks and food.

“Careful calling him Torchface, he has the temper to match.”

Ah, there it is. Touya shouldered past him to stalk towards the offending table with a scarily wide grin, pulling the loose-lipped rookie into a chokehold, his wide grin unmoving.

“‘Has a temper’ my ass, you’re just jealous that a guy with a bunch of burn scars has an easier time with women than you idiots.”

The laughter only grew louder, Granny Tamayo’s expression softening at the interaction before turning back to Keigo with a nostalgic smile.

“Not so little… I see.” She motioned to the table Touya had made a space for himself at, shoving the rookie (who was still in a chokehold, poor kid) aside to make room for him. “Take a seat, dear, and the drinks will be right out.”

The too-loud laughter and incessantly clinking glasses filled the space up with ear-grating noise, and Keigo wanted to leave. Search for peace and solitude in the quiet streets in a way that was strangely familiar.

(For a fleeting moment, he thought a quiet garden would be nice.)

However, he’d rather eat with the company of drunks rather than the void of his own mind and the horrors silence tended to bring, so the migraine starting to brew in the back of his head was a small price to pay. As was the heavy arm slung over his shoulder from some random soldier, alcohol-loosened and heavy, and the awkward conversation he found himself following along with perfectly tailored humor.

“Alright, I have two beers as well as a few rounds of edamame and—”

The familiar voice stopped short, and Keigo felt his heart stop in tandem. Slowly, he looked up and saw the girl who used to sneak out an extra candy when her grandmother wasn’t looking, now a woman in the izakaya uniform balancing trays in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“...Keigo?”

Almost as if the locked gates had been thrown open, a new rush of memories past had overcome him. Jaunts through the town disguised as adventures, clumsily dancing around an old gramophone and calling it a waltz, and the start of blossoming love. Keigo simply smiled, easygoing and familiar, like it hadn’t been years since you saw him run to the military with Touya the first chance they had, drawn by the promise of food and shelter. Like he hadn’t left a malnourished boy and come back a man with more scars than skin.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“‘Been a while.’” You rolled your eyes, setting down the mug in front of him with a huff. “The two most important people in my life run off to join the army without so much as a word, and that’s what you say?”

His words stopped halfway up his throat the moment he saw Granny Tamayo come up behind you to pinch you on the arm, the half-formed response morphing into a laugh as he watched you flinch back with a surprised (and betrayed) yelp.

“Y/N, darling, don’t be rude to the customers.” You pouted, rubbing at the sore spot on your upper arm.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s fine, Granny. Nothing new, right?” At the sight of his cheeky smile, the old woman scoffs, something endearing, before nudging him out of his seat despite your noise of protest.

“Well, since you two seem to be talking of nothing but the past, why don’t you go take a walk down memory lane?”

“Wha— Grandmother! There’s still customers—”

“Kaede can handle it just fine! Shoo, shoo, get out of my hair.”

Without missing a beat, Granny Tamayo smoothly plucked the trays from your hands and nudged you two towards the door as the soldiers watching roared with laughter and cooed jokes at the two “childhood lovers”. Keigo turned towards Touya, almost desperately, in a futile search for— what? Escape? Wasn’t he looking for escape in the first place?

“Wait, Granny, come on. Touya’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

“Don’t drag me into this, a trip down memory lane isn’t for me!” With an arm still slung over the now-wheezing rookie’s shoulder, Touya raised the cup of sake he’d ordered as if in toast. Whether it was to Keigo’s mortification, or to the potential opportunities this meant, Keigo didn’t want to know.

Probably both.

(...Probably the former, if he were to be honest with himself.)

A flurry of drunken laughter and lighthearted jokes, half-hearted protests that fell on deaf ears, and insistent pushing at his back later, he found himself standing outside the izakaya, blinking up at the full moon before looking over at you.

“...Did we just get kicked out?”

“I think we did.” You snorted, scuffing a mark into the dirt path with your heel, and Keigo wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. What was he supposed to do? Stuck with the remnants of a rekindling love, the awkwardness that tended to come with years of estrangement and words that failed him when it came to you.

Well, there’s really only one thing he could do.

Talk.

“So, what’s new with you?” He immediately cringed at his choice of words, forcing himself to school his expression over into an easygoing smile instead of recoiling like he so desperately wanted to do.

Nice going there, Keigo, really.

“...Same old.” Your quiet answer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head, almost like he was beckoning you to continue. “Same old town, same old job, same old life. I pretty much walked the path everyone knew I was going to go on as the granddaughter of the izakaya’s owner.”

You looked up with a sheepish grin, the bright moonlight casting the world (and you) in a silver glow, and Keigo felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Not the most exciting to a man from the military, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen a lot—” Keigo rubbed at the identification tag hidden under his clothes by force of habit, the leather cord heavy around his neck. He has seen a lot. Too much, to be exact, but how would he even begin to explain the horrors of man to someone… “normal”? How could he?

For someone whose wit and silver tongue helped him survive all these years, he was awfully tongue-tied tonight. Or maybe it was just you, and the surreal lightness settling into his soul that had him stumbling over his words.

“But you’ve seen enough?” You finished his sentence with a wry grin, and the surprised laugh found itself past his lips before he could catch it. How could he forget? You were always, always a step ahead of him. Back then and even now.

“Enough of my barracks and Touya’s face? Yeah, definitely.” You swatted his arm with a huff, and the familiar action made the next laugh come a little easier, his chest a little lighter as the awkwardness slowly dissipated into something… comfortable. Normal.

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Well, that’s your answer, Y/N. Don’t know what else to tell you,” He shrugged in mock ignorance, and you groaned, going back to worrying at the deepening scuff in the dirt.

“What, so, we both had boring lives?”

Far from boring.

“...Yeah, I guess so.”

You pursed your lips and stared out at the quiet street, the beat of silence almost bordering on awkward by the time you broke it with a resolute sigh, starting to walk forward into the moonlight.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make up for it somehow.”

“And how would you do that?”

“By going back to when life wasn’t so boring,” You hummed, spinning to face him and grandly spreading your arms, as if you were presenting the lantern-lit street to him, “C’mon! Tonight, this main street is memory lane!”

“Aren’t you taking me out of town at one point, though?”

“Oh, hush. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, coming.”

Oh, your smile was radiant, and Keigo had to force himself to keep moving instead of gaping like a fool.

(Was it possible for him to make you smile like that all the time?)

For the next hour, time seemed to stop. The moon stood frozen in the sparkling sky, watching two star-crossed lovers go around town, laughing and reminiscing on what could’ve been. What could be, if Keigo were to be bold. You took him down Main Street as promised, and he found it hard to relate to the memories you spoke of, associating each store with scornful stares and pitiful ignorance. Eventually, you two looped around to the outskirts of town. To the river that looked more like a creek now, and the quaint houses and maze of alleyways. To familiarity.

He smiles as he watches you skip rocks in the creek, laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the dog that always seems to only bark when you two pass by Old Man Yasutaro’s gate, and revels in the memories.

“You still suck!”

“Hey! It’s not like we skip rocks all the time in the military.”

You merely rolled your eyes and continued to skip ahead, the slow and awkward trudge from before revived into the enthusiastic step he remembered, fueled by the joys of nostalgia and escape.

This, Keigo realizes, is nostalgia.

Not the pain of remembering a past he wanted to forget, not looking at alleyways to remember what used to be his childhood, not thinking of the shops as someplace otherworldly. Rather, it was this. The joy of reminiscing on good times. The joy of breathing new life into old memories.

The joy he now knew was to be found in you.

“Hey.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see you grinning, the moonlight illuminating something akin to mischief in your eyes. “Remember that old gramophone we could never figure out when we were little?”

“You mean you could never figure out. I didn’t want to touch it because Granny Tamayo is a scary, scary woman.”

And a dirty street orphan’s hands had no place on such an expensive thing.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, following along anyway as you set off down the path with a new purpose. The route was familiar, and Keigo already had an idea of where this was going, but who was he to speak when you were nearly buzzing with excitement?

“What I mean to say is: I figured it out, so—” You spun in place again, taking his hand, and his heart damn near stopped, “—would you like this dance? To some actual music, this time.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? A proper lady needs the proper etiquette, after all.” His cheeky grin betrayed the politeness of his words, and you scoffed, tugging him along.

“Like you would ask me first.” Keigo’s tongue stalled around a response, scrambling for a proper comeback because you were right. Deep down, he knew that he still never would’ve asked you first for anything. It wasn’t his place. First, as a kid on the street compared to the granddaughter of the izakaya owner. Now, as a man with blood on his hands compared to an innocent civilian, untainted by the shadows of war.

Who was he to ask anything from a normal person?

“Lead the way, then.”

There was that radiant grin again, brimming with excitement and sending him reeling. Keigo couldn’t help but let your enthusiasm rub off on him as he followed you to the little communal courtyard behind Granny Tamayo’s home, where he knew that she liked to keep that Western gramophone to play for guests. You broke away to go and try and work the old machine, mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with the knobs and rifled through the records filed away in the ornate cabinet it was sitting on.

He took the chance to look around the empty courtyard, struck with the realization that it hadn’t changed at all in the years he was gone. He left all those years ago, only to return to a town that seemed almost frozen in time. It was too far from the cities for all the modern inventions to catch up with it, so the only things that changed were, well, the people. Keigo most of all. What if he hadn’t—

The sudden burst of music and your shout of victory cut off his wandering train of thought, and you walked back into his line of vision with a triumphant grin.

“I still don’t know how to fix the tempo, so the song’s a little slow. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” You offered up your hand and tilted your head, still smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Like you’d ask me first.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo grinned in well-earned defeat, and his hand slipped into yours with the other on your waist. The music swelled, and he took the first step.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

With too-slow, clumsy steps, the two of you slowly began waltzing your way around the small courtyard. You still kind of didn’t know how to work the gramophone—the song almost eerily slow, despite the years of fiddling—but that didn’t matter in the face of the giddy smiles shared, your soft laughs when he spun you in a flash of spontaneity, and the nostalgia of old times.

Before, he was a scrawny kid on the street who clumsily tried to follow the steps of the pretty girl playing a song on her father’s gramophone. Tomorrow, he would be Private First Class Takami Keigo, fighting for his life on the battlefield. Tonight, he would be normal again, slow dancing to Clair de Lune playing off an old, off-beat gramophone with you in his arms, mourning a start he didn’t get to have.

(As normal as a kid scrounging for scraps on the street could’ve been.)

Your voice, soft and wavering, broke the stillness of the moment, as if it were something taboo that shouldn’t have been uttered into existence at all.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

You flushed at the endearment, the next words shattering his illusion of happiness within nostalgia with the renewed vigor of confidence in the face of the impossible.

“Will you come home?”

Home.

A simple word, really. And yet it dropped like a stone in his chest. Home meant a roof over his head. Home meant warm food on the table. Home meant a simple life in a sleepy rural town. Home meant the promise of a new beginning.

To you, “home” probably meant nothing more than the place you had known all your life.

To him, “home” meant you.

So, like a dreamer in love, he answered with all the confidence of a fool.

“Yeah... I will. I don’t care how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come home.”

He thought the shaky lilt to his voice would’ve given him away, or the way his step faltered in the already clumsy waltz as if trying to step around what he knew should’ve been the answer.

Instead, you laughed. Something soft, and let him spin you once more.

“Well, I’ve already waited a couple years, what’s a little more waiting?”

Keigo had to keep himself from double checking if this was real. Dancing with you in the moonlight as he tried to step around the reality of that answer with all the awkward grace of a scared child.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

Truth be told, the both of you knew the answer long before you had pushed the question into desperate existence, searching for a shred of hope. That his simple answer should have been an realistic “I don’t know” or a pessimistic “no promises”, instead of a foolish “yes.”

Instead, he slowed the waltz to a sway, pulling you close to both ingrain the feeling of you into his soul and to hopefully hide the resigned melancholy of a soldier being carted off to uncertainty.

And, for a traitorous moment, Keigo wondered.

Dreamed, even.

What would it have been like to have a “normal” life? Instead of grasping the hand of desperation, would he have grown out of the side alleys and homes made of boxes into a “respectable” man? Maybe he could’ve gotten a job at the grocer’s, at Old Yasutaro’s restaurant, or maybe even Granny Tamayo’s izakaya. Could he have—he pulled you closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your temple—could he have courted you the “right” way? Brought you flowers and honey-sweet words of praise and promises of a happy future, instead of a single night dancing in the moonlight with a brittle promise hanging in the tense air that the both of you clung onto like a lifeline. A promise that Keigo wasn’t even sure he could fulfill.

He would later come to regret this single moment. Of this, he was sure.

(But, as you lifted your head from his chest with glassy eyes and a shaky smile, he knew he wasn’t alone in this regret.)

Keigo knew the words that you wished to let fall into the night air, in hopes of making that brittle promise tangible. Of giving life to a bright future with three little words. The reality crawled up his throat like poison, bitter and cloying, something that he knew shouldn’t be said. Keigo settled for gently wrapping his hand around your head to pull you closer, filtering the harsh truth into something a little softer, the bittersweet tone marking the unspoken truth as a reality instead of the dreams of a future.

One… two… three…

“Don’t,” He muttered, heart tightening as he felt you go rigid in his arms, “I know. Please, God, I know—”

You slowly relaxed in his arms with all the bitter acceptance of a night before battle, and he murmured the next words into another ghost of a kiss. A whisper against your lips, seen only by the fading notes of a song in the moonlight.

“—but don’t.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo’s breath was rattling, ears ringing with war cries, death wails, and everything in between. The once-blue noon sky was now a startling haze of ash gray, thick with the choking scent of the world burning.

He couldn’t even tell where the carnage started or ended anymore.

(Would it ever end?)

How long has it been since the first shot?

(Too long.)

Would he live to see the sunset?

(Of all times to worry about this, why now?)

The incessant drill of artillery fire was nothing new to him, as was the stench of the battlefield that could only be described as death. What was new, was something that pushed his aching body to keep moving, the autopilot state he usually entered backed with something raw. Something like fear.

Something like the will to survive.

The pain that set his nerves on fire has long since faded, all the pain of countless wounds blending together into something numbed by the adrenaline of survival. Were the wet patches on his uniform sweat? Blood? Both? He couldn’t tell anymore, all he knew was survival and the persistent voice whispering deadly distraction in the back of his mind.

Civilians. You’re fighting civilians, you mur—

The skin of his back prickled, the telltale whistling of something flying screeched in his ears, and his reflexes yanked him to dive out of the way before his mind could catch up. Not even a second later, another explosive detonated behind him and heat blazed across his back. His nerves screamed fresh pain into his senses and he grit his teeth, ignoring the concerning sound of sizzling over the ringing in his ears in favor of ducking into cover, collapsing against the wall of a destroyed building.

Since when did regular people know how to make bombs?!

In the next breath, someone else had ducked into the small shelter he’d found in this hellscape of a city.

Well, the remains of one. All hell broke loose once the other side brought homemade explosives into the fray and now, as he stared at the burning and destruction, Keigo wondered if those Westerners who muttered meaningless blessings whenever they passed were right.

If this “Hell” they spoke of really was on Earth.

He turned his head, suddenly sluggish, to the man that had joined him in the makeshift cover, and grinned at the familiar face.

“Hey, man.”

(Maybe giving his body a chance to slow down was a mistake.)

Touya ignored his exhausted greeting, instead opting to yank a rag from his pouch as he pulled Keigo to sit up so he could press the rag into the deep gashes the shrapnel had gouged into his back. Keigo immediately groaned in protest at the stinging pain, despite how necessary he knew it was.

“Fucking— how did you even survive that?”

“Dunno,” He let out a weak laugh, “Don’t think I will—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.” Despite his harsh threat, Touya pressed the slowly darkening rag deeper into his wound. A desperate (futile) attempt to stop the life pooling onto the floor underneath them, steadily flowing from the deep gashes in his back and all the other wounds peppering his body.

“Isn’t that the exact opposite—” He hissed in pain at the pressure on his wounds, “—of what you want?”

“Shut up.”

“You know you don’t want me doing that.”

(He was right. Keigo running his mouth meant that he was breathing. Meant that he was alive.)

Touya pressed his lips into a thin line, Keigo blearily tracking the way his burn scars pulled with the movement.

Grounding himself, that’s what he’s supposed to do during times like this, right? Hell, he didn’t know. Not every day he came so close to death. Touya really needed to look into something for those sc—

“For the love of the gods, I am begging you to shut up.”

Ah, he said all that out loud? He managed to muster up a sheepish grin, despite Touya’s grim expression.

“Ooh, Touya? Begging? That’s a first, I should stay awake to hear it.” Keigo didn’t have to look to know that the rag was soaked through and Touya was fighting against the inevitable at this point. Keigo? He… he was too tired to fight to keep his eyes open. Too cold.

“Maybe you should stay awake to go home, loverboy.”

“I should.” He fumbled to find purchase, pressing his palm into the ground and scooting his feet closer for leverage. “Can’t leave Y/N waiting after all.”

Maybe it was the delirium from the blood-loss, or the desperation of this cursed situation, but Keigo tried to pull himself up. To move, to get somewhere safer, somewhere where he could survive. His palm slipped on the blood-slick floor underneath him and he came crashing down once more, his strength disappearing along with it as he slumped against Touya.

“Ah—”

“Shit, I’ll get you to the medic.”

Keigo groaned at the pain of his wounds being jostled as Touya tried to haul the deadweight of his sluggish body up. The reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders (or was it his strength leaving him?) and he licked his chapped lips, whispering the grim truth into the ash-hazy air.

“I’m not gonna make it to the medic.”

“How many times do I have to keep telling you to shut up?” Another attempt to pull him to his feet, and Keigo managed to push out a weak laugh.

“Just a couple more times.”

“Hey… hey, c’mon now, I still have to make fun of you and Y/N for being the most disgusting couple I’ve ever met.” He carefully shook Keigo, trying desperately to get him to keep his drooping eyes open.

“Aw, don’t tease Y/N too badly.”

Something changed in Touya’s voice, a block in his throat that he had to force his words through, and he clutched the dripping rag closer to his wounds as he muttered out his response.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good,” Keigo’s hands clumsily fumbled for the cord wrapped over his chest, tugging at it until it came loose. “Hey, can you tell Y/N that I’ll do my best to come home? In any way I can.”

“...Just do it yourself.”

“Mm, that would… that would be nice. Coming home, I mean. I promised… Y/N… I would…”

His words faded, and Touya froze, arms suspended in midair around the slumped form of his best friend, his stunned gaze locked on the identification tag hanging from a limp, bloody hand.

“Kei...go?”

【 ☀︎ 】

Waiting was agony.

You used to think you were a patient person, years of dealing with drunks, horrible customers, and everything in between training the patience of a saint into you.

Today, however, revealed that you were anything but. The moment the company had crested the hill and out of sight, your anxieties slowly overcame you the farther they went. Working in the izakaya helped, the constant flow of customers and orders kept you on your feet and your thoughts off the battle that was no doubt waging mere miles away. Every so often, a wandering patron would come in murmuring that they heard bits and pieces of the battle, and you forced yourself to forget again.

All that effort was lost once the company’s runner came barreling through the town, shouting that the soldiers were on their way back. That they needed spaces cleared for the wounded and their lodgings secured. They called for the doctor, they called for food, they called for supplies.

If you didn’t know any better, it would’ve sounded like a cry for help.

Word spread like wildfire, and the rush of serving customers turned into the rush of trying to help prepare for the soldiers’ return. None of it helped get your mind off the one thing you didn’t want to worry about. If anything, it just shoved all your worries to the forefront of your mind, accompanied by the dull headaches of something you hoped were just random fantasies.

(Fantasies of a lotus garden, a guarded grin, a red hairpin, a betrayal—)

Would he have to be wrapped in the bandages you were carrying? Would he have to rest in the bedding in your hands? Would he be able to eat the food your grandmother was preparing?

Then, they came.

A slow straggle of wounded and weary men, leaning and limping on each other as they slowly trickled in through the main street.

There were many things that wouldn’t happen, you would later realize, watching the company trudge back into the town. Their formation was shaky from the hobbling wounded, and you felt your heart drop as you desperately searched the noticeably thinner crowd, trying to peek through the uniforms and bandages and dented helmets for any sign that he had come home. That he had survived.

How many men did they lose?

(Too many.)

You watched the flow of soldiers slowly follow their commander to their lodgings and the doctor, the once boisterous crowd now silent and battle-worn. The rookie that had just been under a chokehold the other night was now cradling bandaged wounds and a gaunt expression that only told of his first brushes with death.

One soldier broke from the crowd to make his way towards you, and—for a fleeting moment—you hoped.

And just as quickly as it came, that hope you had soon sunk into despair once you saw who it was, and what he held in his scarred hands.

Across the street, a man broke rank, with a heavier burden than most would’ve thought and few would ever experience. He hoped that no one would have to experience this, a death and the task of delivering such news weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Life, Touya thinks, is cruel.

It left such a brilliant mind like Keigo to starve with him on the streets.

It forced him to run to the military in desperation, searching for steady food and shelter.

It snatched away the one man who had salvation waiting for him.

Death, Touya grieves, is even crueler.

Keigo would never get to go home.

He wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face once you welcomed him home with open arms.

(How could he? When your expression twists into something akin to dawning horror instead of joy, watching Touya make his way up to you with downcast eyes and a heavy bundle of fabric carefully cradled in his palm.)

He wouldn’t get to start the new life he deserved, in a sleepy rural town with the one he adored.

He wouldn’t get to fulfill his promise to you.

A promise that everyone knew was too risky a promise to make. Yet, he believed enough to make it to you.

A promise that Touya holds back on his tongue because he knew this—a little metal disc on a bloodstained cord—wouldn’t fulfill it, not when he hands you the neat square of scrap fabric and watches your tears flow before you even open it. Not when you slip out a worn identification tag, holding it up to the sunset to try and make out the letters you already knew were there.

A lantern illuminates what the fading sunlight could not, casting the stamped characters of Keigo’s bloodied name in an amber glow, and you crumble.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Professor Takami, Head of the Sociology Department, first through the doors of the campus café with essays to be finished grading in one hand and his laptop bag in the other.

The cashier greets him with a familiar warmth as he steps up to the counter, his staple order already halfway punched into the register with a knowing smile that he forces himself to return. There’s a nervous energy simmering under his skin that he can’t seem to shake, and it shows. The barista (Touya. His name is Touya. He literally has one of the guy’s essays in his hand, fucking hell. Get it together, Keigo) shoots the normally easygoing professor a worried look as he slides the warmed pastry across the counter to him, the full sleeves of swirling blue and black ink a stark contrast against the smooth wood of the counter.

“Everything good with you, Professor?”

“Perfect, now that I got my pastry. Think I’ll be even better once I drink some coffee.”

Nothing was perfect, and he couldn’t even put a finger on what it was.

He plastered a convincing smile on his face as he picked up the too-heavy plate, careful to hold it steady before making a beeline for his usual table. The faster he got to sit down at his usual corner booth and sort himself out, the better.

He knew that he would just drown himself in grading papers instead of figuring out what was making him feel off, but it was the thought that counted.

The hum of energy under his skin was nothing new to him. Something deep inside that made him almost jumpy, wary of the peaceful days that had consumed his entire life, lying in wait for… something. For what? Keigo wished he knew.

(For battles yet started, for warcries yet sung, for survival yet fought for.)

All he knew was that the strange hum that threatened to vibrate him out of his own skin was different this time. Wrong. It didn’t help that his sleep had been suffering for the past week, plagued by dreams and nightmares both of eras past, the blurry picture of the same person a constant sight in the swirling mix of history. Images flickering between a secluded lotus garden and an elaborate kimono to an old izakaya and Clair de Lune at moonrise. Images of yearning and blood and tragedy and endings before the beginnings.

At least his conversations with the once-intimidating Japanese Literature professor got a smidge more interesting.

With the resolute click of a red pen, he swept away the thoughts clouding his mind as he resigned himself to his fate of just dealing with the strange mood for now, fully intent on getting to work. Years of repetition and muscle memory had him opening up his email with practiced ease, quietly sighing to himself as he waited for the doubtlessly endless emails from students and colleagues alike to load.

Would procrastinating just the tiniest bit by fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his sleeves or pushing up his glasses for the nth time help at all?

No, but it let Keigo expel the weirdly restless energy in what ways he could, the creeping sense of foreboding setting his nerves into overdrive. The page loaded and he frowned at the onslaught of emails he knew were going to flood his inbox.

Hell, he expected them to.

What he didn’t expect were the contents, the subject lines all variations of “Did you know?” and “There’s no way” and “I can’t believe it” from colleagues he didn’t even talk to regularly. Sure, the email from the cultural anthropology professor made sense, but the graphic design professor? The head of the business department?

Before he could open the first email of many, his laptop chirped out the familiar ‘ding!’ of a new email, the sound rippling through the café as everyone’s phones and laptops lit up with the same message.

A schoolwide email? Okay, th—

The world slowed to a crawl, everyone in the packed coffee shop silencing almost at once and the shocked whispers rippling throughout the space only serving to make the silence all the more deafening (“Hey, check your email.” and “Look at this.” and “No way.” and it was too loud someone please make it stop—), his ears near ringing as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the picture embedded at the top of the page.

“Looking a little rough there.” The cotton suddenly stuffing his ears muffled the barista’s voice and would’ve made him jump out of his skin had he been focused on anything but burning the email into his eyes. God, he’d barely even registered the guy coming up to serve his coffee, what was wrong with him? “Professor? Was it that email?”

“Y-Yeah, I just read it.” He cleared his throat and slid the mug closer to himself, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to ground himself as he stared at the picture of you.

The barista merely arched a pierced brow and muttered a soft “ah.” before going back to his spot behind the espresso machine, vibrant blue eyes tracking the rattled professor suspiciously. Keigo was too preoccupied to thank him as he usually would’ve. Too preoccupied with what was staring back at him from his laptop screen.

A picture placed right under the subject line plastering “Unfortunate news about Prof. L/N Y/N” across his screen, the few words in the body text (that he could pick out through the sudden tidal wave of memories past clicking into place) painted an image that he couldn’t help but mourn.

After being reported missing… remains found… will be missed.

Will be missed…

Well, now that he thought about it, Keigo had been missing you all his life, hadn’t he?

Both figuratively and literally, always arriving after you left and vice versa, never really seeming to connect in person. Any emails were shrouded with a veil of professionalism that he couldn’t pierce through. Yet, there were things so irrevocably you that he knew to pick out now. The jovial note at the end of your emails, the unapologetically confident sharpness to your words, the extra mug you left for the next person that passed through the faculty lounge (that somehow always ended up being him on the days he was rushing to his next lecture).

All these things, all these moments, and the fool had passed all of them by.

The restless energy humming under his skin through his entire being disappeared much quicker than it had come, its job done, leaving a gaping void in its wake that was shockingly familiar. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time this had happened, where the curtains never raised on the beginning you two could’ve had. He took a shuddering, stabilizing breath (that didn’t work), too numb to feel the freshly brewed coffee scalding his tongue that he had hoped would pull him back to reality, hoped the sweet taste would wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and the splitting headache of years upon years of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Professor Takami had work to get done.

Keigo could mourn later.

Even as he convinced himself of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to brush the dead lotus petals off his work, the sight of the wilted centerpiece only bringing more pain. The cruel coincidence of the once bloomed flowers now dead in his hands didn’t go unnoticed, and Keigo desperately tried to bore the printed words laid in front of him into his mind.

As if doing that would sear away the sudden onslaught of memories, dead lotus petals igniting a yearning for a long-demolished lotus garden and a pretty concubine who didn’t belong in the palace (or was it a small town and the life he could’ve had?) and the love that slipped through his fingers once more.

Did you go through this too? When he—

The half-graded essays lay untouched for the rest of the day, red ink disappearing in the crimson light cast by the setting sun.

【 ☀︎ 】

When did I…?

He blinked down at the concrete under his feet, stunned, before looking up to see an endless sea of trains passing in front of him. The incessant rushing of the trains around him had replaced the silence of the hotel room he was supposed to be sound asleep in, the too-rhythmic noise of the train tracks surrounding him in an almost ethereal white noise.

I had just gone to bed… How did I end up at a train station?

He winced at the glare of the midday sun reflecting off of the last car of the train passing in front of him, before stopping short at the sight of someone standing on the other side of the tracks—alone—revealed by the passing train. His heart leapt into his throat and pushed a name he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember out of his lips. There was no way he knew her, the multi-layered kimono and elegant hairpins looked like something out of a millenia-old ukiyo-e print and wholly out of place in a modern train station. But... something deep in his soul knew that it was right, and it sang as he watched the woman turn around.

“You’re dreaming right now, Keigo. Go back to sleep,”

“What…?”

“It’s true,” The woman tilted her head with the soft smile that he’d missed so much (missed? Wasn’t this his first time seeing it?) and the ancient hairpieces jingled and swayed with the movement, his gaze locking on a familiar crimson gemstone catching the sunlight, “Don’t believe me? Try to count some numbers, then. One… two…”

Another train hurtled past, blocking his view once more as her painted lips moved soundlessly around the final number.

“Three.”

Keigo sat up with a gasp, staring at the soft shafts of light the sunrise painted on the walls.

It was the start of a new day, and he found himself mourning something lost that he couldn’t even remember.

Dawn finds Hawks, the number two hero, leaping out of his Tokyo hotel window, wind catching on vermilion wings to buffer his descent to the sidewalk.

He was far from home, his current mission dragging him all the way to Tokyo from his agency in Fukuoka. Sneakers touched concrete, and he started down the path where he was supposed to meet with the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially after that mess with the High-End Nomu. He shuddered, spreading his wings as if to remind himself that they were all there, recovered after that hellish fight.

Come to the location on foot, he’d been told, and don’t be conspicuous.

Weird request, and it was kind of hard to remain inconspicuous when he was the number two hero and had a pair of bright red wings announcing his identity to the world. Alas, he needed to cooperate or else he’d end up jeopardizing the entire mission, so Keigo settled for ditching his hero costume in favor of casual clothes and a cap to hide his identity. He pulled a mask over his nose and tucked his wings closer to further help conceal himself as he walked down the street, dipping into the first alley he saw.

His path through the grid of alleyways and side streets had already been mapped out the days before, so it was just a matter of making the short trek there. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t the best, and Keigo found himself slowed by sidestepping trash and the occasional bottle of liquor. The scent of stale alcohol only brought unpleasant fragments of memories, and he pushed them aside in favor of quickening his pace.

“My, not every day I see such a bigshot hero pass by.”

He almost tripped over another bottle, wings ruffling in surprise as he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

There was an old woman sitting there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she sat outside her quaint little storefront.

A flower shop, in this secluded side street?

“Ah, sorry, ma’am, you have the wrong person. I mean, me? The number 2 pro hero?” He was quick to deny her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. She merely hummed and took another sip of her tea.

“Do I? Well, this old woman’s eyes aren’t what they used to be after all.” She set down the cup and stepped out of her chair, shuffling over to the water feature on the other side of the doorway that served as an attraction. He could see why, the soft rush of the small waterfall and fragrant lotuses drawing his attention the more he stared.

Suddenly, the woman plucked one of the younger lotuses, patting the stem dry before handing it to him with a smile.

“Uh—”

“You saved my son that day, from the Nomu attack in Fukuoka. This is the least I could do.”

Against his better judgement—he really needed to get going to catch the train in time—he took the half-bloomed lotus in his hands and pulled down his mask to smile at her.

“Your eyes are… actually pretty sharp, ma’am. Thank you.”

She laughed, sitting back in her seat and sent him on his way. The rest of the walk went smoothly after that, and he soon found himself jogging up the stairs to the station, muttering under his breath as he checked his watch.

Right on time.

【 ☀︎ 】

A strange sense of deja vu creeped into his chest as he stepped onto the platform in Minami-senju station. He’d been feeling off all day, and the weird sense of familiarity that had been tugging at the back of his mind didn’t help. Luckily, he’d managed to arrive in time to catch the noon train so the rest of his schedule should hopefully go smoothly from here. A departing train screeched into motion, and he winced at the rippling glare of sunlight that reflected into his eyes, the strange deja vu rearing its head again.

Keigo stared at the train passing in front of him as he idly twirled the lotus stem in between his fingers. The words left his lips before he could catch himself.

“One… two…” He cut himself off with a sigh, dropping his head and dragging a hand over his face.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Keigo.

His head shot up at the sound of his name, the world darkening under the shade of a passing cloud. Did he just imagine that? He had to. The train station was practically stranded, and there was no one even close enough to call his name without shouting across the station (if they even knew his name in the first place). Despite his better judgement, he wet his lips and shut his eyes, the strangely familiar words passing his lips once more as he desperately tried to recall the familiarity he longed for.

“One…”

I want to see you.

“Two…”

I don’t even know who you are, but I miss you anyway.

“Three—”

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the train tracks silenced and left him with the raging drum of his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the person standing on the other side of the tracks. The emerging sun smiled upon him, casting the world in light once more as his voice locked around a familiar name he’d never spoken.

It started as a hushed whisper, and he swallowed the lump in his throat to call the name thrice ingrained into his soul.

“Y/N!”

The familiar smile that bloomed across your lips was answer enough as he pushed through the newly arrived train to the other side, to you. He reached out, clawing through the rush hour crowd (why were there so many people? Why were you so far? Closer, closer, closer—) and he nearly sobbed in relief as you fell into his arms, clinging to each other as your souls finally, finally, melded together as one. Now and forevermore.

The questions could come later, but now... he had a promise to fulfill.

He was home.

notes: minami-senju train station is located in very close proximity (a two-minute walk) from what is left of the kozukappara execution grounds, where a temple now stands in its place. he’s made quite the journey to come full circle, hasn’t he?

#takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha oneshot #hawks x reader angst #mha oneshot #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #reincarnation au #from the typewriter #pocuties #cw death #tw death #cw blood #tw blood #cw war #tw war #if you'd like me to add a warning please let me know!

476 notes · View notes

loth-wolffe · 3 years

Note

About that Fox post: i absolutely love you for writing it, thank you for that

Also, for your consideration:

- Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

- throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

- going shopping together

- I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

- what's the friendship with his brothers like?

- why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something

- on that note, does he get the dad genes from Jango?

- post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to

- Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

many Fox thoughts today, many thoughts

sorry this is so long, I have little self control and a lots of love for fox. i love u so much for asking this and letting me explore what a life with fox would be like.

also I apologize for being a h*rny bitch and not controling myself, so nsfw thots are marked like this so if u wanna skip that's fine.

and uh, first I'm gonna answer the investigative journalist hc and base everything about this in that solely thought because that's a galaxy brain thing to say.

I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

AHDJSJ I LOVE THIS. okay okay but I feel like because of this job this is exactly why you guys met, like you needed some info and you asked some shiny but he didn't know a thing and you were like "is there someone I can talk with about this?" and when he's about to reply, Fox enters in action and he's like "need anything?" but sO COCKY.

he hates journalists mostly because some of them treat the clones very badly and never talk about the casualties or that kind of stuff about war, right.

like, it would turn into this-- banter filled with sexual tension that would've ended up in a make out session if 1. fox didn't have that much of self control and two if he weren't wearing his bucket.

it'd be like

"listen man-"

"it's commander for you." a pause, "or sir."

or like

"i need to do other things if you don't mind."

"i can think of a few you could be doing right now." and the way your eyes run through his entire body, even if he's all covered in plastoid but damn you if he isn't the hottest man walking, and he actually shivers, and gulps, because it's not like he wasn't thinking about that either, pushing down your pants and railing you right then and there in that fucking filthy alley. he is well aware how his suddenly codpiece feels too tight, but you only smirk and go, "you know, like giving me the information I need?"

KDJSJ IMAGINE THE POWER. THE POSSIBILITIES.

it'd be so ridiculous, but you also caused this impression on him that when you turned away to go on your business he was dEVASTED, but he didn't want to let u know he actually liked you. He's stubborn, that man.

So by some miracle when you're investigating something, you guys run into each other bc he's on patrol or something and he's GIDDY. but also frozen in place bc he didn't think he would ever see you again, mostly because Coruscant is big and has too many people in it. and you're like

"ah, commander fox, isn't it?" and he quickly resumes to say something that shows how aNNOYED he pretends to be, but he ends up tagging alone because "these parts are not safe"

"oh?"

"you'd need protection."

and the smirk you have is sO ARROGANT because it's not your first rodeo.

"you wouldn't want to have a civvie getting killed or something on your watch now, would you?" and he clears his throat and nods sharply. and you give him this innocent eyes and bat your lashes, "my hero."

and if you think those words didn't do aNYTHING to him, you're mistaken u hear me, he's instantly hARD.

so anyways after that YOU ask him out, and he's like, stuttering and saying yes and all.

now some random thoughts on this magnificent hc.

• if it can't be himself, he would always have the men he trusts the most going on patrols around the zone you're around in case something happens.

• he lOVES when you rant about something new you discovered, and when he asks for mOre info bc he's a, how do you say chismoso?, he loves gossip??? anyways and you're like "nu huh, you gotta wait till tomorrow, foxie"

• he aLWAYS makes sure to read/see your job, either if you work for some newspaper, magazine, etc or if you're on the TV he nEVER misses it.

• if you work for the TV, his brothers are always like "fOX YOUR GIRL IS ON THE HOLONET LIKE RN!!!" and he gives them this bitch face because he kNOWS THANK YOU.

• alright but imagine going on dates with him and being like "did you know there was an investigation last year around this part that–?" ROMANCE AT ITS PEAK.

• if his shift ends before you even think of going home, he definitely joins you on your investigations.

Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

uhh, I think you'd be home, like maybe you turned in early and fox maybe didn't know, so he was almost in tears when he called you after the whole thing happened because he was so worried.

of course, during the attack, he tried to push the thought aside, bc I think all clones have this, uh, switch, that makes them not worry during missions that much? just like, have this thought here and there but nothing serious that would make them paralyzed and have a panic attack right there. but every second he thought of you and hoped you were alright.

unlike you, that were worried sick because you saw the chaos unfold, the troopers arriving in shuttles and the jedi doing whatever they were doing and you just heard destruction. you DID cried a bit and when fox called you, you cried even harder. and he was like "it's alright, I'm alright baby."

that night he hold you SO tight, whispering sweet nothings on your ear and never stopped kissing you once. you barely got any sleep because you were so afraid of waking up only to find out the other died on the attack and it was all a dream.

throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

AAAAAH THIS IS SO CUTE.

now, clones don't exactly have a birthday???? but he did all these nice things for your birthday (he and the boys baked you a cake that was sO UGLY and tasted a bit weird) so you thought you could surprise him too.

it's most likely he gives you the date when he graduated from Kamino or something and for all the years you're with him, you never miss his "birthday" at first you did something quiet, like a dinner at your place, bought him something nice, gave him a bath or something and spoiled the shit out of him.

so for the second year, you threw him a party in his office, made him this cake or whatever and decorated with red and white balloons and invited a few troopers that wanted to help you and he was stoic for a moment, but then you were like "hAPPY BIRTHDAY!" and hugged him so tight and he relaxed under your touch and whispered this small "thank you baby"

everyone congratulated him and he was a bit awkward but when they start telling all these stories of them and fox on the job, he starts to loosen up a bit, so while everyone is eating cake he hugs you from behind and chuckling lowly in your ear as he listens to his brothers.

he dOESNT like pda like I said but he forgets for a moment because he just loves you sO SO SO SO MUCH. it's also easier for him to whisper filthy things into your ear and mumble how good you are for him, that he doesn't deserve you, that he can't wait for everyone to leave cause he wants to have his present (you) nipping your earlobe and making u all hot and bothered and would def fuck you nice and hard on his desk. yup

going shopping together

imagine, jUST IMAGINE, he'd look like your personal bodyguard 😭😭 like, he'd be behind you carrying most of your bags and people would look at you wondering who are you, why are you sO important to have the commander of the Coruscant guard with you???

but like, you don't care and fox doesn't even notice, and he'd be so attentive, faking to be both annoyed and uninterested but he'd see this nice shirt or dress or whatever and grumble something like "you'd look good on this" i just-

and like when you pass by the lingerie store, dUDE, he'd make you model for him, him sitting like he fucking owns the place, getting harder and harder every time he sees you in a new pair of underwear and when you show off this cute little red set. damn.

if you go to the market or something, he'd always love to show you these things like "look at that" or just pull you towards this stall and you'd adORE to show him stuff like, "ohh, fox here try this" or "what you think about this?" and stuff like that.

what's the friendship with his brothers like?

i think it'd be very easy-going and light, they would tease you sometimes, but they really like you, mostly because they see fox isn't as stressed as before and they see how happy he is when around you.

they think he deserve it, to have somewhere where he's free and loved, so yeah.

they sometimes ask him about you and never miss a chance to say hi when you stop by the office.

the boys absolutely ADORE you.

why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something. does he get the dad genes from Jango?

HE WOULD AND HE DOES.

like, I think at first he'd be very hesitant when it comes to children, like he'd be nervous when you introduce him to your niece and when you ask him if he wants to hold her, he says a quick no and just prefers to watch you, heart feeling funny when you make faces at the little baby in your arms.

at some point he dOES hold her, with such care and a gentleness that makes your heart flutter, and he coos softly as she sleeps soundly in his arms, rocking her with a delicacy you thought impossible from such hard man, and when he looks at you his eyes shine with this flash of something you can quite place but makes your heart skip a beat and think of how much you'd love to have this, with him, a little family, a baby that has his curls and maybe your eyes, a mix of your skin color with his and maybe his stubbornness completed by your charisma. a perfect little thing for you two to hold and care and love.

he'd be such a good dad, but then again every clone would be the most fantastic dad bc it's literally in their genes.

if you have a nephew that is, u know, older but still a kiddie, like 5 or 6, the lil boy would be aMAZED by fox, he'd love him so much, like imagine, always asking for the commander, wanting to play with him, asking fox to carry him eVERYWHERE, and at first fox would be like, shy and uncertain and he wouldn't know how to act until he accepts the fact that this little boy really likes him and looks up to him and fox becomes The Cool Uncle™

post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to and Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

well, in my post-war AU, clones get Rights™ and get paid and have vacations and stuff, sO, maybe you get to have Fox for a little more time and his schedule isn't as bad as it was during the war, so maybe after the war you get home to a nice dinner and fox using this silly apron and sometimes you come home early just so you can cook with him.

maybe you go on holidays to these nice places, going to the beach or the woods and finally settling somewhere quiet, start a family in this nice house or if you don't want kids then it's just the two of you and maybe a few pets.

i think the wedding would be officiated in Coruscant, of course, so his brothers and your fam can go, he'd definitely cry when he see you walking down the isle or when you put the ring on his finger and he'd be so so so happy, dancing with you all night, being so clingy because he's just Over the moon, y'know, kissing your cheeks and neck, whispering how lucky he is and how much he loves you, and how good you look, never leaving your side and always leaning over with pouty lips for you to kiss him.

when he proposed it was during one of your sweet, soft times with him, maybe in the aftertaste of your sexy times, as he holds you close to his chest, fingers running up and down your skin, as he stares at the ceiling and the question comes out as if he were talking about the weather, his heartbeat is slow and steady and it's one of those times he feels confident and sure.

you have talked about a future together, so he knows you'd say yes.

it's more a statement than a question, really.

"marry me." he would say, so quietly, almost a whisper. and when you look up you only find this beautiful emotion filling his eyes.

"what?" you just want to make sure you heard right, he'd smile softly, cup your cheek and as his thumb caresses your skin he'd whisper.

"will you marry me?"

you oBVIOUSLY say yes while ugly sobbing.

#ANYWAYS #i love fox #i love him your honor #I LOVE HIM #commander fox x reader #commander fox #headcanons #ted talks with ari

41 notes · View notes

vanserraseris · 3 years

Note

END OF PART III - Ruchi can I just say that your comments give me life. We get to see a little bit of Helion here because I couldn’t just not have him make an appearance. Thanks to everyone who’s reading :)

tysm this fic gives me life and AYYYYY HELION

Prince of Ashes. Part III.

masterlist.

Eris was tired, and irritated, and annoyed. He had no patience for the aristocrats in the ballroom of the Dawn Court. Most everyone bothered him and he was growing more and more frustrated that his father had thought it was a good idea to bring Lucien, still a toddler, to a political event. There was only one faerie in the Dawn Court that he could even stand, and she wasn’t even at this cauldron-forsaken gathering.

Lucien wriggled in his arms, and Eris tried to rub soothing circles on the cranky toddler’s back. Lucien just rubbed his face on the expensive fabric of Eris’s dark red tunic, sniffling. Lucien’s small, chubby fingers tightened their hold on Eris’s sleeve, “I want home,” he mumbled. Eris moved further away from the ball room, the sound of his brown, knee-length boots hitting the marble floors echoing in the hallway.

“Me too, fox,” he grumbled. Eris didn’t know when the nickname had stuck, but Lucien seemed to like it. Eris decided he would just wander the halls of the palace until Lucien fell asleep. He silently cursed his father for thinking that bringing Lucien would benefit them in any way. Eris had been left with tutors and nannies and servants to look after him at Lucien’s age, and he figured that perhaps Beron simply wanted to keep Eris busy while he tried to arrange another marriage for him.

Rufus had grown tired of trying to entertain Lucien, and had handed him off to Priam, who silently handed him to Maddox, who simply scowled and handed him off to Owain, who didn’t have a clue what to do with a child as little as Lucien and knew better than to give him to Cato. While Eris had been glad for the opportunity to stop talking with the eldest son of the High Lord of Spring, who was dreadfully boring, Lucien had been in a terrible mood.

Eris could have laughed at the panicked expression on Owain’s face, his short red hair a mess as it usually was and his brown eyes wide with fear as he had placed Lucien in Eris’s outstretched arms. A warrior in every sense of the word, Owain was huge and hulking and had never lost a fight, but the fear in his eyes as he awkwardly held onto a crying Lucien was amusing. Eris turned another corner, slamming right into a faerie.

Just his luck that Lucien was finally quiet that he’d run into someone. At Lucien’s little whine, Eris growled, “Watch it.” He looked down at Lucien who’d begun crying again in earnest.

“Apologies, Eris.”

Eris looked away from the still-crying Lucien and met the amber eyes of Helion Spell-Cleaver. Helion was wearing one of his bolts of fabric, this one a dark blue with gold detailing along the edges. Helion smiled at Eris, his handsome face seemed to glow with an other-worldly light.

“Didn’t know we were on such familiar terms,” Eris said with a scowl. He’d obviously met Helion before, but the heir of Day seemed to want to avoid him at all costs. Not that Eris cared too much, he rather preferred that no one speak to him at court functions. Eris also thought he remembered being a youngling and having Helion wink at him as he hid behind his mother’s skirts, probably just a figment of his imagination but it was one of the better things he remembered from his childhood.

Eris tried hushing Lucien. If they had been at The Forest House, Eris would have simply made some foxes out of fire and had them run around Lucien to get him laughing again. “Cauldron boil me,” Eris breathed as Lucien began crying louder at Eris’s horrible attempts to get him to stop.

“Try bouncing him,” Helion offered. Eris never really listened to anyone’s good advice.

“Try leaving me alone,” Eris snapped, making to walk past Helion.

“Works wonders.”

Eris sneered, “Did you read that in one of your library books?”

Helion laughed, a reaction Eris hadn’t been expecting, “Yes.” It was a deep and rumbling laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners from joy. Eris didn’t know what he’d said that was so funny.

Eris scowled again, feeling his ears heat as he awkwardly bounced Lucien. He felt like a fool, but he’d do just about anything to get Lucien to stop crying.

Helion raised his dark brows when Lucien’s cries got louder.

Eris frowned, slowly bouncing Lucien as Helion watched. It didn’t seem to be working. “Come now, fox,” Eris started, his tone soft. Eris wasn’t very good at being comforting or affectionate and he didn’t want to start humming a lullaby. His mother was much better at singing children to sleep and Eris would rather drown than have to give a strange, out of tune, humming performance in front of Helion Spell-Cleaver.

“Please stop crying,” he murmured, kissing the crown of Lucien’s head, choosing to pretend Helion wasn’t even there. Eris thanked the Mother when Lucien shifted in his grip and pressed his face in the crook of Eris’s neck. With a small sniffle and a contented sounding little sigh, Lucien had stopped crying.

“Handsome little thing,” Helion said, and when Eris looked at him, he was surprised to see the longing on his face — the pain.

Helion’s amber eyes were fixed on Lucien, and Eris felt that an emotion so raw wasn’t really meant for his eyes.

“Takes after his brothers.”

Both Helion and Eris jumped at the sound of Rufus’s voice. He’d somehow managed to sneak up right by Eris’s elbow without either of them having noticed. Maddox was at his side, looking for all the world as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

At least Rufus looked like he was enjoying himself, but as the sixth son it made sense that he wasn’t too troubled with appearances and expectations. Rufus dipped his chin at Helion and placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, “We were wondering where you’d gone off to.” He flashed Helion a courtier's grin, “Excuse us.”

“Be well, Eris, Rufus, Maddox,” with a charming smile and one last look at Lucien, Helion turned on his heel and walked down the hall.

Eris turned to face his brothers, raising an auburn brow. Maddox was scowling, like he usually was, he ran a hand through his short hair, “You can’t just disappear, one of us is bound to follow you.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand, the other still holding onto Lucien. He briefly wondered how Helion knew all of their names, sometimes courtiers from Autumn confused who the younger ones of Beron’s sons were.

“Why were you talking to the heir of Day?” Rufus questioned as they continued down the hall. His shoulder length hair had been brushed and pushed out of his handsome face, all the golden hoops on his ears catching on the light streaming in through the windows. He and Eris could have been identical were it not for the darker shade of Rufus’s eyes and the freckles that scattered his younger brother’s nose and cheeks.

Maddox wrinkled his nose, he looked more like their father, slender-faced and brown-eyed. “I wouldn't talk to him, he causes half the scandals in Prythian.” After a short pause, he added, “You know, I think I’d heard Lady Spring was having an affair with him.”

“Good for her,” Eris hadn’t heard that one.

“Rumours, I’m sure,” Rufus waved a hand dismissively, “They say the strangest things about Eris, too. Were you aware that you picked your teeth with the bones of your dead enemies, brother?”

Maddox smiled for a moment, “I’d heard a rumour about Eris having talons instead of fingers.”

“Hells, the gossip amongst the High Fae keeps getting stranger,” Eris mumbled, one of his very normal hands raking through Lucien’s short red hair. He hoped no other rumours had made their way to the ears of Autumn Court officials.

They’d reached the grand, gilded archway that led right back into the enormous ballroom. Rufus held out his arm in front of him with a flourish, “Heir goes first.”

Maddox rolled his eyes, walking past Eris, scowl firmly in place once more as he walked towards Owain. Eris walked into the large space next, eyes spotting his mother and father on the opposite end of the room. He nearly shuddered to think that he’d have to be the one talking politics with faeries he didn’t like when he became High Lord. He noticed that his mother didn’t look very happy, an ancient sadness in her eyes as she looked to the floor.

She looked up for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she averted her gaze from whatever she’d spotted.

Eris just walked to one of the chairs along the walls of the ballroom, Lucien still comfortable in his arms. He briefly noticed Priam talking to the new High Lord of the Dawn Court, and turned to remark on the hand Thesan had placed on Priam’s shoulder to Rufus. Rufus hadn’t followed him and had probably gone off somewhere with a pretty female.

With a small sigh, he sat, content to just watch everyone as his brother slept in his arms. Eris bit the inside of his cheek, eyes squinted slightly as Priam leaned closer to Thesan. He wondered what they were saying, a rare smile on Priam’s face as the new High Lord spoke to him. Eris watched as Priam bowed just slightly at the waist, his face neutral once more. Thesan made his way to speak with the High Lord of the Night Court, Priam grabbing three drinks from a nearby table, downing the one.

Eris hoped he hadn’t been doing that all evening. When Priam locked eyes with Eris from the other side of the crowded room, Eris raised his brow in question. Priam turned a frightening shade of red, the flush creeping up his neck, on his cheeks, all the way up to the tips of his pointed ears. Eris wasn’t too surprised to see Priam walking towards him, remembering how Priam would sit next to him at court functions when he had been a youngling.

“Finally asleep?” Priam elegantly sat down in the chair beside Eris, handing him one of the drinks he had in his hand. Priam was usually very quiet, hardly ever talking to anyone but Maddox.

Eris nodded in response, looking at Priam. His long hair was tied at the base of his neck, his handsome face expressionless as he looked at the faeries dancing around the room.

Priam’s russett eyes met Eris’s amber ones, “Not planning on having some of your own any time soon?” Eris felt like Priam was trying to hide something by asking all these questions, but he wasn’t too worried about it, and definitely not worried enough to ask him at a public gathering.

Eris smiled at his brother, not like they were close, but at least him and Priam were never actively trying to kill each other, “Maybe in a thousand years.”

“Shame,” Priam said in that quiet, cold voice of his, “I think you wouldn't be half bad at raising decent children.”

Eris furrowed his brows, raising his glass just slightly in Priam’s direction before he took a sip of the smooth, light pink drink. Eris couldn’t help looking at Lucien asleep in his arms, remembering the vow he’d sworn to protect him, and hoping that Priam was right.

51 notes · View notes

pipedream-parrish · 4 years

Text

Happy 34th birthday, Twinyards

read on AO3

It is Aaron’s 14th birthday and he has just found out that he has a brother - a twin brother, an identical twin brother, who looks exactly like him and might just understand him, too. His mom didn’t do anything for his birthday - she hasn’t since he was little, or maybe those long-forgotten memories were really just dreams that have managed to worm their way so deep into his psyche that he’s accepted them as truth. The kids at school sang to him, which was fine, but Aaron can’t help but think maybe now it will be different. Maybe once he meets this brother of his, then they can celebrate their birthdays together. Maybe they can give each other presents, and eat cake, and blow out the candles using the combined forces of their breath. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Andrew spends this birthday choking down cake that Cas got him, trying to hide the fresh marks on his arm, and thinking about the best way to keep his mysterious brother as far away from him as possible)

((one month later, Aaron receives a letter in the mail. He couldn’t tell you everything it said - he just knows that all of these maybes have just been thrown into the middle of a busy highway to be crushed under uncaring tires.))

Its Aaron’s 15th birthday and his mother has celebrated by beating the shit out of him and then throwing a random assortment of pills from the bottom of her purse in his direction as an apology, and Aaron cannot help but think that maybe it won’t have to be like this anymore. He thinks about what Andrew said (Andrew, who really does look just like him, and who seemed so angry about Tilda, and seemed to believe that Aaron didn’t deserve, that he deserved good things--) had said to him, thinks about how maybe when Andrew moves his mom will stop it, maybe it’ll be alright, maybe nothing will hurt anymore and everything will be okay and he’ll have a brother. It’ll be the two of them against the world, and Aaron may not know this other boy all that well, but he promised to protect him, so that must mean something, right? Even if before that he said he didn’t want anything to do with Aaron, he changed his mind, and thats what matters, right? Right? And so when Aaron blows out the birthday candles that he bought for himself at eh convenience store the night before, he wishes for his brother to come home soon, and for them to be a family like they were supposed to be. Like he deserves.

((Six months later, Tilda is dead and Aaron has stopped believing in family.))

iii

It is Andrews’s 16th birthday and he has not spoken more than two words to his brother for most of the year, but Nicky tries to force them to do something, to celebrate, to be normal teenagers for once. Andrew leaves halfway through the elaborate dinner that Nicky has prepared, and pretends not to see the sad look he aims at his retreating back. Pretends that he doesn’t care what Nicky thinks of him, what Aarons thinks of him. Pretends that he stopped caring about Cass, that actually he didn’t care about that, either. Pretends and pretends and pretends, and convinces everyone but himself.

((He’s not so great at lying to himself yet. He’ll get better with age.))

Late that night, after he’s heard everyone else going to bed, he sneaks downstairs and steals a slice of the double-chocolate cake that Nicky got them. There are already a couple of slices out from where Nicky and Aaron had some, so hopefully, this moment of weakness will go unnoticed.

(Aaron spends his 16th birthday sad and mourning, refusing to look his brother in the eye. When he blows out the birthday candles with no help from a magical brother, he wishes that he never met Andrew in the first place. Not that he believes in magic or wishes or anything good at all, anymore. He barely has a bite of his cake before leaving the table. He, too, pretends not to see Nicky’s teary eyes as he leaves him standing alone in the kitchen, the remnants of a wasted attempt at love scattered all around him)

((he, too, is not so great at lying to himself yet. He, too, will get better with age))

(Nevertheless, when he hears Andrew come downstairs in the dead of night, he creeps into the hallway to watch his petty theft)

((He never mentions it.))

It is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he is so high off the ground that he never even realizes the date.

Or maybe he does and just forgets.

The meds are still new, and he’s not used to them yet. Not used to the loudness, and brightness, and plastered on a smile. His cheeks hurt all the time now - he is constantly working muscles that have not had much use, the last couple of years

(the last couple of lifetimes)

Needless to say, it is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he does not even realize it, and instead, he spends it in his room, his precious room that has a lock that works, coming apart at all his frying edges. Boys like him were never meant to grow old. Boys like him were never meant to last. And so he lays there and shakes uncontrollably, and laughs, too, tells himself this is fine, he’s fine it’s all fine and knows better than to believes it. Perhaps it is a mercy, that he eventually gets used to the meds.

Perhaps it is not.

(Aaron doesn’t celebrate his birthday, either. Instead, he picks up extra shifts at Edens and goes to bed early.

He cannot wait to leave this fucking house)

It is Aaron’s 18th birthday, meaning that he is a legal adult. He finds this funny. He has always been an adult; he was an adult when he was four and creeping across the house on silent feet to steal crackers from the pantry because mom forgot to feed him; he was an adult when he was 10 and forging his mothers signature on school papers, and making excuses for why she couldn’t come into parent-teacher conference night; he was an adult when he was sitting across from his reflection in a juvenile detention facility, and promised protection. One more birthday doesn’t mean shit.

(Andrew agrees. He, too, has been an adult for as long as he can remember.)

((Still, when Nicky slips cards under each of their doors wishing them a happy birthday and telling them he’s proud of them, and that he hopes that adulthood treats them right, well. If Aaron squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can to prevent the tears from escaping, and if Andrew tares it up into a million pieces because it almost makes him feel something, then no one needs to know))

It is November 4th, and the newly-coined monsters are in Columbia, just like they are most weekends. They make the same stops as always, go to the same club, the same restaurant.

Never once is the word birthday mentioned.

vii

It is Andrew’s 20th birthday and he is about to make one of the worst mistakes of his life. For now, he sits against the windowsill, watching his smoke dissipate into the afternoon air, absently listening to the sounds of Nicky and Aaron’s video game wash over him. He’s grinning, as is usually is these days, and if he was capable of having a long-lasting coherent thought, he would want to carve that grin off his face.

Alas, he is not capable of long-lasting coherent thought. Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best.

Renee got him a gift. Silly Renee. Always so nice, so kind, even to monsters like him. Hasn’t she learned better than that by now? It seems not.

When Nicky receives a phone call that leaves him in a panic, it is almost enough to garner Andrew’s attention.

Almost.

When he leaves the room in a rush only to come beach with Neil, the enigma, the hallucination, the rabbit, in tow behind him, Andrew actually does start to pay attention. Only a little though.

When Neil pulls him aside, and asks for the unimaginable, and then manages to make it seem like a good idea, well. Andrew’s interest has been peaked, and he agrees. Why not? It might be fun. Might be, might be, might be.

(It’s not. It’s not fun at all, and if nothing else then Andrew is finally allowed to leave that smile behind for good. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Andrew, happy birthday to me!)

((Aaron spends his birthday playing video games and wondering why the new kid holds such sway over his brother. When he looks back on that day, he will not remember any of that. He will only remember that that was the day everything went wrong, and he was unable to fix it.))

viii

It is Andrew’s 21st birthday, and it might just be a good one. No alarm wakes him up in the morning, even though he’s sure he set it last night, meaning he gets to sleep in. When he wakes up it’s to Neil bustling about the dorm room, clearly searching for something.

“Practice?” Andrew asks and is told in no uncertain terms that they will be blowing it off for the day. Yes, today is shaping up to be a good one.

Instead, they go out driving, blazing down empty roads as fast as the mas will take them, eating up millage and gas money and caring at all. Neil rolls down the window and lets out victorious whoops into the still afternoon, the wind flushing his cheeks and tousling his hair. Andrew almost thinks something disgustingly sappy about that but is able to rain in his own brain just in time.

They got greasy diner food for lunch, and Andrew orders a massive ice cream Sunday that Neil doesn’t comment on. They go back to Fox Tower and lounge around their dorm, kissing and smoking and playing video games. They have pancakes for dinner, and Kevin doesn’t bother them once about going to tonight’s practice. Andrew goes to bed full and sated, and almost, almost, happy. It’s a good birthday.

((the next day at therapy, Aaron complains that he didn’t get to skip practice yesterday. Andrew shrugs and says that he should take notes for next year. It’s almost an invitation. Almost, but not quite.))

It is Aarons’s 22nd birthday, and he takes a leaf out of Andrew’s book and skips practice. He and Katelyn drive into town, and walk up and down the streets, popping into stores at random and picking out delightfully ugly things for the other to buy. In one shop, Katelyn shows Aaron a shirt made from a disgusting green fabric with the gaudiest floral pattern he’s ever seen. In another, Aaron finds shimmering, sparkle filled pink and purple shoes with a six-inch heel. They both nearly get sick from laughing. That night, they go out to the fanciest restaurant they can afford and get wine drunk. Aaron tells Katelyn that he loves her, which is something that he’s told her a million times before, but that doesn’t stop it from mattering. This will always matter. She will always matter. He looks at her, just looks at her, and thinks about how lucky he is to have this. And he thinks about Andrew, just for a second, curses him for keeping her from Aaron. But then, for an even shorter second, the thought occurs to him. I hope he’s as happy right now with Neil as I am with her.

((Andrew may not show it the same way, but he is. He is.))

It is their 25 birthday now (which it longer than either of them thought they would live), and after years of therapy and working through their issues, Aaron has decided once again that he wants a brother. And so he books a flight to Boston, and buys a ticket to Andrews game, and watches his brother play exy on their birthday. Their birthday. Sometimes he still forgets that they are a “they” now. He'll still say my birthday, my mom, my cousin, my family. But it's not just his, and so he meets Andrew at the player’s exit after the game and forces him to go to dinner with him. And they spend their birthday together, just the two of them, for the first time since they were born. And its-

Well, it’s not bad. It's kind of nice, actually. Stilted, at first, and undoubtedly awkward, but.

But they’re still brothers, even after everything. They share family and history and most of their DNA, so it seems right that they also share a dinner. And they talk, about Andrew’s pro team and Aarons residency, and about halfway through Aaron realizes that even though he was the one who forced this, Andrew isn’t trying to stop it. He came with him to dinner, and he’s talked more in the last hour then Aaron thinks he ever has before, and Aaron realizes that he wants this too. Andrew wants a brother too. They part ways outside - Andrew doesn’t offer to drive him back to his hotel or to let him stay at his apartment, but that’s ok.

Because Andrew wants this too.

Andrew wants this too.

epilogue

It is the Minyard twins’ 34th birthday, and as has become a tradition they are each awoken by a phone call from Nicky. Aaron only grumbles for a moment before Katelyn is handing his phone to him and he’s picking up. Andrew takes longer, turning over and burying his face in Neil’s neck for a second or a minute or a year, before finally grabbing his phone. To be fair, it’s about 2 hours earlier for him than for his brother. When he was younger he would hang up, and Nicky would call back, and he’d hang up again, until around the third call when he would finally give in and answer and phone. He doesn’t hang up anymore. He supposes that he’s grown. It’s a facetime call, so he’s greeted with Nicky’s over-enthusiastic smile and Aarons bedhead that looks so much like his own. He props himself up on some pillows so that he’s nearly in a sitting position, and gives a halfhearted wave. Beside him, Neil stays lying down, curling himself into Andrew’s side. Andrew absently starts carding his fingers through his hair. Nicky starts to talk, telling them about the business, and the adoption process, and the cute thing that his and Erik’s dog did. King jumps up onto Andrew’s chest, and then there’s a lot of cooing over how cute she is. She starts to lick at Andrew’s temple, which makes everyone laugh and Andrew rolls his eyes. It’s ok. He doesn’t really mind. Aaron talks about the hospital, and then his toddler (who is really more of a kid now, she’s getting so big holy shit) bursts into the room, climbing up onto the bed. She says hi to her Uncle Andy (Neil taught her to say that when she was a baby, and it tuck. Again, Andrew doesn’t really mind) and Uncle Neil, and her cousins Nicky and Erik. they talk more, Andrew waking up and partaking in the conversion, occasionally mouthing things to Neil in Russian to make him laugh. He loves it when Neil laughs (he’s not so concerned with not thinking sappy things anymore).

It’s a good start to a good day. They order take out and eat it on the floor, just like they do every year. Neil gets him a cake, and he sings happy birthday, just like they do every year.

A plane ride away, Aaron and Katelyn hire a babysitter and go out to dinner, just like they do every year. Katelyn gets him a loudly collared tie, just like she does every year.

It’s a good day for both boys (who are now much closer to men), but more than that, it is a good day for both brothers. For that is undoubtedly what they are now. Brothers.

That night, they both get a text from Betsy. It says Happy birthday, my lovely boys. I hope this year treats you well.

And then it does.

It does.

thanks for reading! if you reblog i’ll love you forever :)

109 notes · View notes

torujours · 4 years

Text

🦇 plot: Your city has been dealing with vampire attacks year after year and you have been lucky enough to avoid coming face to face with the famed vampire himself or do you? Afterall, vampires look just like you and me. Normal right? Untill it's too late for you to say goodnight and go.

🦇 wc: 2,110

🦇 warnings: slight metions of blood and violence!!

🦇 mini playlist:

Monster- Lady Gaga

Bad Romance- Halestorm version

Never getting rid of me- EGG version

🦇: please note: this is a longer continuation of this drabble i wrote but you can read this as a stand alone also but there is some references to this drabble fyi

It’s been a week since you saw Suna.

You would think meeting someone like him would stay stuck in your head, playing on repeat but it just was the occasionally thought.

He didn’t occupy your mind in such a way, it was odd but nothing you can do about it. After all, that fang you saw was just your imagination after a long night you were sure of that. Vampires aren’t real, but your city is ripe with these “vampire attacks” for many years people have been attacked by someone who takes large amounts of their blood, leaving them knocked out and with puncture wounds that look like vampire bites but not many people believed it was a real vampire but some creep harming people late at night. You no longer believed in vampires, yes there was a time you were deeply convinced the blood sucking creatures of the night walked among humans but that was a long time ago. So you carried on, October was coming to a close and nothing in your life truly changed.

Unknown to you, Suna wasn’t thinking much about you either. Sure, it was odd you managed to find out he was a vampire just by looking at him but nothing about you stood out. You just seemed normal, you didn’t even have an intoxicating smell just sweet and pleasant but nothing to knock him off his feet (plus it helped he fed before that encounter at the party). “Thinking about that person you met at the party I see” Suna kept his mutual face despite his announce towards his blond friend “Of course, not you overgrown dandelion, now leave me alone” But Atsumu just smirked and laughed “Well I happen to know where they work in case you ever want that info~” Suna doesn’t say anything, shutting his eyes and finding something better to do with his time.

Another week goes by and at this point, Suna is more of a memory. You don’t even know if he lives around here. Your eyes wander around the quiet and almost empty library, the sun was starting to set and your shift was just getting started. Working at the campus library has it's perks like you get easy access to books for projects and studying plus you have always been a night owl. “I’d like to take this book out please..” you look up at the backpack wearing student holding a thick book in their hand “sure thing..” you take the book and scan it, the title catches your eye “the history of mythical creatures huh.. Sounds pretty cool” you state and they nod excitedly “it’s for a story I’m writing but it also helps I like reading about that type of stuff” you also liked reading that type of stuff, falling into the lore and mystery that came with witches, werewolves but most of all..vampires.

“Thank you..” they take the book and walk away from your desk, leaving you to think for a moment about what other books on vampires the library has but you don’t linger on it for long. Your shift ends hours later without issue, but the sun is down and the moon now hangs eerily in the sky as you walk out of the quiet building. You have grown to hate how early it gets dark during this time of the year, it doesn't let itself well to a nice walk home and now the attacks have everyone on edge yet again. Still you hold onto your bag tightly and don’t waste time walking home, staying close to lightpost and open spaces. You haven’t been attacked before and don’t want this year to be the one.

Suna whips the corner of his month, the taste of dark red blood heavy in his month still as he looks at his “victim” before moving their body to lean on a nearby tree, he might be a vampire but he isn’t a monster. They aren’t dead don’t worry...just taking a nap in his mind. So after calling 911 and telling them to pick up the body, he doesn’t waste time heading home. Feeling the need for a after meal nap, he walks down the empty sidewalk when a familiar scent hits his nose causing him to stop momentary. It’s you he can smell. You might not have a smell out a fairytale book but Suna never forgets a smell. So, it takes him no time finding you as you powerwalk your way home. It’s funny, Suna didn’t think he would see you again yet here you are. Should he say something? Maybe be a jerk and scare you would be funny? But he decides to just watch you on your way home, but he smirks and shakes his head watching you jump slightly at the smallest sounds. It’s dangerous to walk home so late, he is out and about so just where did you come from? He eventually gets board of watching you and finally leaves you to walk alone again, remembering that annoying wolf aka Atsumu knows more about you. Suna doesn’t believe in coincidences but it is just a tad bit interesting you keep popping up on his radar, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more would it?

After one of the worst walks home, you finally shut the door and let out the breath you were holding. Someone was following you, you were sure of it but they just left you alone. You shiver, wanting nothing more then just to shower and relax. Relax you do for a few hours till your phone blows up the next morning with alerts about yet another attack no too far from where you were, the chill once again runs down your spine.

Yet another hard working night at the library, it’s even more empty so you decide to find a book to read (wanting to stay away from anymore news about the attack) As if automatically, your feet put you right in front of the books about mythical creatures. Books about vampires stare back at you as you grab one and head back towards your desk. You flip mindlessly though the pages, taking little information other then what you already knew.

Beautiful skin, sharp fangs, no sunlight and blood.

But the attack last night won’t leave your mind. What if that was you? You did feel something follow you, could it have been-

Shaking your head you shut the book quickly, there is no vampire. It’s a little funny, you claimed joking that Suna was a vampire and hear you are, along with your whole city, on a vampire brainrot of some kind. It’s almost time to go home, the moon once again staring down from the sky, when the heavy door to the libary opens catching your attention but you jump slightly at the person walking into the warm building. Suna.

Okay now this is getting freaky.

He eventually turns your way and your head cracks away, trying to look more busy than you are completely missing his smirk. He owns Atsumu one for giving him your place of work, is it a little creepy? Yeah, but he just doesn’t care it’s time to put his plan into action.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he disappears into the many selves of books. You relax your tense shoulders for a moment, guess that answers the question if he lives around here. It doesn’t take long for him to reappear, a thick, black covered book sitting in his hand as he stunts over to you. He doesn’t even look real. Pale skin, sharp and fox-like eyes along with the always nonchalant look. Maybe it's the lighting in the old building but damn he looks good. He keeps his neutral face as he hands you the book “Fancy meeting you here Y/N..” you scan his book and let out a soft chuckle “Yeah, small world I guess..” He agrees with you and watches you as you put in the information, “The library is empty, how long do you have till you leave..” he asks you calmly as you hand him back the book “I can leave now actually..” the corners of his mouth lift up only for a second before he turns his back to you, casting a look over his shoulder “I’ll walk you home then”. Um..not what you were expecting. Should you say yes? It would be nice to have someone with you or should you say no? You only have met him twice (counting right now) what if something happens? You shake your head again, if something where to happen it would have happened around so it should be fine. “Sure, let me grab my bag.”

“Thank you for walking me home..” you finally say after a few minutes of walking in silence, he just nods “Sure, plus isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be walking so late with yet another year of these attacks...” you frown slightly “yeah but hey someone has to lock up the library..” he chuckles as you keep talking “People think it's a vampire again..” he keeps the smirk off his face “of course they do, with the victims being attacked late at night, the lost of blood and the puncture wounds on their necks but what about you? You buy into the whole vampire thing?” he will admit, he is a little interested in yoru answer. “I gave up believing in vampires a long time ago but I guess I still find them interesting..” He hums listening to you “So you wouldn’t jump in the arms of a handsome, centuries old vampire who wants to suck your sweet, dark red blood?” he smirks at the slight look of embarrassment that flashes in your eyes “If you asked me years ago maybe but I’d like to keep my blood to myself as much as I can..” you laugh, but now that’s interesting to him. Very. “What about you?” You ask him back “hm?” “Do you believe in vampires?” it’s quiet for a moment “Yeah I do..I wouldn’t be surprised if vampires, witches, werewolves and the like walk around..” he looks into your eyes, causing a chill to run down your spine but it's the wind right? “Afterall, they look just like you...normal everyday people hiding their true nature some better then others I assume” he then snickers “Did I spook you?” you huff and turn your head “No way...but I guess you could be right..”. Your thoughts are going wild in all the wrong ways but you don’t voice them as you both keep walking.

Your front door is a warm sight in the chill of the night, turning to look at Suna you give a small smile “Thanks again..” his sharp eyes drill holes into your head “Sure, maybe I can keep walking you home till this attacks stop hm?” Your heart is pounding loudly, you almost wonder if he can hear it (and yes he can) as you just smile “I wouldn’t mind that..” just say goodnight and go rings in your ears as his stare counties to look right into your deepest thoughts but he smirks yet again, turning his back to you “Goodnight Y/N...see you soon” it comes out soft, sultry and you aren’t sure why you feel so effected by it but you waste no time turning towards your door. You get a foot inside before a cold hand grabs yours, a chuckle hits your ears as you shut your eyes. “Remember when I said I wasn’t a vampire I just looked good in black..” Suna’s voice flows smooth from one ear to the next as he has trapped you in front of him “Well..I think we both know I lied..” Your eyes widen as your heartbeat quickens, your palms get sweaty and oh my god are your thoughts running wild. Suna is just living for it, finally finding you and your time tonight to be the most interesting interaction with a victim he has ever had in his many years of life. “You said you wouldn’t run into the arms a vampire who wants your blood but I think we should test that idea hm..” he toys with you and you still can’t say anything but your head gives a slow nod, you find yourself unable to say anything.

Is it out of fear? Or want is the real question but you don’t have time for that cause Suna is already in your home.

No time for thinking now. No time for a “goodnight and go”

#suna rintaro scenarios #suna rintarō #hq suna x reader #suna rintaro x you #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro imagine #hq suna rintarou #hq suna #haikyuu suna #suna oneshot #suna rintaro headcanons #lunar works 🌙❤️

83 notes · View notes

seaswalllow · 3 years

Text

hey nerds, surprise is here! this is a sort of... what-if exploration of what quackity could've possibly told technoblade in order to get him on his side for the red banquet. enjoy; and remember, comments and rbs feed the author :P

a man with a coin and a smile steps through a whirling portal. vertigo, as familiar as it is painful, grips him down to his bones; he grits his teeth against it and keeps his eyes open, for he has a job to do, and it is a dangerous job indeed.

and many, many blocks away, another man brushes the snow off of the hide of his horse, unaware yet of his visitor.

Technoblade would've liked to say that he heard the crunching of the snow first. That some prickling on the back of his neck had warned him about his unwelcome guest.

As it stood, exactly none of this had happened. What happens instead is this: chat starts whispering, starts hissing until it resembles a storm more than itself, he straightens up by carl to turn around, hand on his axe, and Quackity says "Hello, Technoblade."

His axe is at Quackity's throat before the man can even get his next few words out. He scans the landscape, eyes narrowed. There's not many places to hide out, here, on snowy plains as far as the eye can see- but he was proven wrong once.

He doesn't have the luxury of being proven wrong again.

trap? trap? why is he here fucking stupid be careful look out

It's funny, how often they end up in these situations.

And by funny, he means that he would like for it to stop.

"Who else is with you," he demands. The edge of the axe glitters, pressing a thin red line into Quackity's neck. Quackity, who doesn't look panicked, or frazzled, only calm, calm, calm.

That worries him more.

If they were annoyances while desperate- confident men can be foolish men. And Quackity has been a fool before. But if they were to execute him while desperate- then they've had time to stuff their sleeves with plenty other tricks now.

"I came alone," Quackity shrugs. He's careful to keep his hands where techno can see them, Techno notes.

alone why that's so stupid lying why

Chat slowly, slowly quiets; moreso out of curiosity than any real appeasement as they swarm Quackity, wolves flocking to a sheep.

"You're welcome to check the perimeters. or keep this axe up. I don't blame you after..." after he was hunted down in his own house in a mockery of justice? Techno is sure that Quackity sees the displeasure that pulls his lips back, baring his tusks further.

Still, his voice remains level.

"I know how this looks," Quackity agrees, and that pulls another narrow-eyed look out of Techno.

"After taking me back to be executed? I'm glad that at the bare minimum, you don't blame me for what I'd say is... oh, reasonable caution."

"Then why'd you come here? Some would say that's plain stupid. Walking into your enemy's house like a sitting duck."

technofunny technolame haha sitting duck lmao L L L

Quackity, to his credit, smiles. Or some fascimile of it, at least. It bares his teeth, gold winking in the weak winter sun, leaves him jovial-looking enough, but it never reaches his eyes.

"Clever. I came here because I have a proposition."

Techno exhales. Lowers his axe.

He's not doing this again.

"No."

"I haven't even asked yet," Quackity hums, and Techno arches an eyebrow. The axe is hoisted over his shoulder, and he makes sure the light catches the worn enchantments. A warning.

"And i said no. Whatever it is, I'm not interested. You've got some nerve, coming here with a proposition."

Chat, like the swarm of traitors that they are, though, stills. He can't make out a single word above the murmured buzz, but he doesn't like how thoughtful it sounds.

"Have you heard of the Eggpire?"

This... stops him in his tracks. Quackity hasn't taken his eyes off of him. (Smart, Techno thinks. Watch the biggest threat. Negated by the fact that you sought him out.)

He neither confirms nor denies, and instead continues watching Quackity, who takes it as a cue to continue.

"It's a rather large group that's started amassing around some fucking parasite. They've expressed interest in... recruiting. I'm sure you remember this."

Hard to forget, he nearly says, but he's not exposing his neck any more than he already has by staying and listening. (He's not showing that he remembers tossing pearls, tridents down to the kid stuck by the egg, that he remembers the egg itself hissing gently in his ears and pulling at Ranboo.)

"And I thought that well... if there's ever a reason to come here, it'd be for common enemies. You, an anarchist with some... personal investment. Me, with personal investment and a concern for the people."

crimson. disgusting. hate it. false god rotting god tear it up and watch it burn

Chat, shut up.

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Concern for the people. Don't make me laugh."

Quackity tilts his head, eyes narrowed. He looks about as serious as Techno's ever seen him on this visit, jovial facade wearing away. (He looks like he did the day that he brought the Butcher Army to his doorstep, flint in his eyes and axe in hand. It's funny how some things just don't change.)

"I had friends, Techno. Good friends who the Crimson has taken, and warped until they're unrecognizable, and wouldn't recognize themselves in the mirror. I have had other friends suffer at their hands. Starvation's not a pretty sight in close quarters, especially when the thing encourages you to take to yourself, so to speak. Yes, concern for the people."

Techno looks at him for a solid minute; long enough for something to strain at the corners of Quackity's eyes. That's fine; Techno couldn't give a damn.

"Tell me what you want first, and why."

Something slips off of quackity's shoulders. He digs his hand into his pocket; Techno tenses, but Quackity's simply pulled out a coin with a smiley face on it, rolling it over his knuckles and under his hand.

"They're holding a banquet in a few days' time. They've invited... quite a few people. The entire server, if I remember right. They said it's to turn over a new leaf, but... they're also holding it right down by the egg."

The coin has stopped flipping. The smiley face lies face down, leaving the crown side up, sunlight reflecting off of it. Quackity leans closer, voice dipping. Paranoid, ever paranoid.

"I want to crash this fucking thing, and clean up the egg mess once and for all. Eliminate the threat."

Techno shifts his weight, hooves sinking deeper into the frozen layer of snow atop the fields. Chat, oddly, has fallen silent. All that they hear around them are the bees working gently to the side of Techno, and the foxes yipping behind them.

"So you want to use me as a weapon. Again."

"Purpled? So you're saying there's other people involved."

"As a partner," Quackity corrects. "I'll scout the area for you, give you all of the logistics; let you know what timing we need to worry about. You'll be compensated for your assistance, obviously, too- just like Purpled. As a valued business partner."

Business folks. All the same, sweet words that bely the fact they'll leave you out to bleed dry.

this is weird egg egg fight egg crimson

"You and Purpled are the only ones I've approached. Purpled's already accepted."

Techno taps his fingers against the handle of the axe. Not once has Quackity broken eye contact- he leans back now.

"And if I say no?"

quackity shrugs. "Oh, you can say no! This is by no means meant to pressure you. I just figured- as an anarchist, you'd jump at the chance to take down an empire." He pauses. "Especially because this empire is known for being... persistent in their recruitment and expansion. They went for Ranboo once- who knows who else they'll go for?"

The implication does not go unnoticed. Techno bristles; chat bristles. Quackity raises his hands slowly. He still hasn't stepped back, even with the axe in front of him.

"I'm not threatening them. I'm just saying- the Eggpire is a threat. The Red Banquet will make them a bigger threat, but it's also the best time to shoot them in the knees."

Techno inhales. Exhales.

fight the crimson fight fight money free party free food

God, chat was annoying today.

"Time, place, and payment."

Quackity doesn't smile. He does nod, however, the sunlight winking off of the gold in his teeth.

"You won't regret this."

"I'll be the judge of that."

#dream smp #quackity #technoblade #kit writes #i wrote this at midnight and did brief editing just now so like be gentle LMFAOOOOO

8 notes · View notes

ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

love me naked

pairing: fox / reader

word count: 1749

summary: you and fox both overwork yourselves and in order to get him to slow down, you have to do the same.

a/n: i love fox dearly and had intended on saving this for a while but i got impatient. i’ve never written for fox until now so he may be a bit ooc, fingers crossed that he isn’t. hearth is an oc and i love him so much, if you have questions abt him or any of my other oc darlings i’d love to answer them. (listen to this song)

“he hasn’t come out in ages,” thorn’s voice is rightfully worried as he approaches you. you’re treating a shiny that came back from his first rough shift. the poor thing was shaking, nervous and still reeling from the fact he was attacked by the civilians he was so eager to help. hearth, he said his name was, and you recognized the name from hearing chatter around the medbay. medics were flies on walls, and hearth was quickly becoming known for his empathy and what some claimed were the best hugs in the guard.

you knew that thorn was talking about fox. your boyfriend had a reputation that heavily revolved around the way he would throw himself into his work and burden himself with more than anyone ever should, but to point fingers would be quite hypocritical on your part.

being the chief medical officer of the coruscant guard’s medical bay, you’ve pulled all-nighters that could put some front lines medics to shame. you hadn’t slept in nearly three days, spending all of your time elbow-deep in blood and bacta. there wasn’t even a reason for you to be up; your staff had recently been replenished (there had been several civvie medics quit after a particularly bad riot) last week so there was no dire need for you to stay in the medbay.

it could be seen as hypocritical of you to chastise fox for his behavior with your current state as well as priors, but someone had to take care of the self-sacrificing commander.

“i’ll be with you in a minute, just let me take care of hearth here first.” thorn nodded and stood nearby while you finished up with the last of the bacta patches the former shiny needed. it would’ve normally taken a minute or two tops, but you wanted to go slower; you could tell that hearth needed the extra attention.

after a few minutes, hearth is completely patched up. he’s leaving the medbay with a sucker in his mouth and a calmer demeanor than when he came in. your area is sanitized and the bloody gauze and gloves are unceremoniously thrown into the biohazard basket, and you’re off.

it’s time to rescue your fox from his own mind.

--------

three knocks snap fox from the hypnotic daze the datapad had over him. he hadn’t moved his eyes from the screen in what was probably hours, his eyes no longer registering the burn the blue screen caused. he called out a gruff come in and was surprised to feel how dry his throat was. when was the last time i actually talked?

you were in your greys, thorn standing slightly behind you. your eyes were a little hollow, probably from pulling the third triple shift this week. why didn’t you try to rest? you had the authority to maneuver the schedules of your medics however you wanted to, there was no reason you had to put so much on your shoulders.

but what upset him the most was the way your eyebrows shifted when you took in his surroundings. datapads were anywhere from six inches to two feet high stacked like a fortress around and on his desk, crumpled balls of flimsi scattered throughout. one stack of datapads had several dirty plates stacked from what little food he’d actually eaten in the past couple days.

your voice is soft, worried, when you speak. “fox, can i come in?”

fox hated the way you were using your gentle medic voice on him because it meant that his state was more pitiful than he cared to realize. “yeah, baar'ur’ika.”

thorn nods, seeming to be satisfied now that you were here to get his commander the rest he needed, and leaves. you slowly make your way into the room and fox goes to meet you in the middle so you don’t have to navigate his datapad fortress, but he must have been sitting far longer than he thought he had been. his legs start to give out under him and he leans onto the corner of his desk for support. his weight jostles the desk a smidge too much and one of the datapad stacks is seconds from falling on top of him before you’re pulling him towards you.

you both end up on the floor after you tripped during your daring rescue but it was fine.

the datapads crash into the space fox was occupying seconds before and for a moment, the office is completely silent. then fox laughs, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. it sounds like the heavens are singing, his weary smile shining brighter than the stars could even hope to. you grinned, soon joining him in gleeful fits. neither of you remembered the last time you both found something funny enough to show it this much and it was peaceful.

fox sat up, pulling you into his arms and resting his chin on your shoulder as his jovial demeanor mellowed out into a peaceful, easy feeling. you and him sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting you both heal from the long hours at the other’s side. moments like this are rare and you don’t think anyone or anything could drag you out of fox’s embrace.

that is, except for fox himself.

he pecked your temple lightly before shifting you out of his lap. there was no hint as to what he was deciding to do, no way for you to gauge his next move. when he picks up a datapad from the toppled stack you’re immediately standing. he was not about to start working again so soon, you wouldn’t put up with it.

right as you’re about to scold him for leaving your spot on the floor, music reverberates through his office.

it wasn’t a song you recognized but it was soft and slow, the kind of music you’d sway to on a date or in your bedroom after nights spent in his arms. it was relaxing and you could see the way fox’s shoulders released some of his backup supply of tension that it had the same effect on him.

fox knew he was working himself into the ground, and he knew that you had a tendency to do so as well. if taking care of himself would get you to do the same for you, he just had to take the bullet. for you, of course, not because he thought he needed (or deserved) a break. when there was an opportunity to rescue you from responsibilities for a little while, he had to take it. here you were, eyebags darker than he’d seen them in a while and a soft gleam in your eyes that reminded him of the first time you treated him in the medbay, and he felt at peace for the first time in a while.

he extended a hand out to you as he set the singing datapad precariously on one of the pillars of its brethren. “would you like this dance?”

the last time fox had danced was at a stuffy senatorial party, before either of you made your affection for the other known. that night he didn’t pull you as close as he wished he had, but today he held no such reservations about maintaining proper space between the two of you. he was so graceful when dancing, his body having an elegance about it in those moments that was utterly hypnotic. you didn’t realize how much you missed the way his body felt against you until he was beginning to guide you to the song.

but what if i told you

there's nothing i want more in this world

than somebody who loves me naked

someone who never asks for love

but knows how to take it

the words resonated with you, the softness of the instruments driving the sensitivity home. it made you pull fox as close to you as possible, his chest flush with yours. with the proximity, fox seemed to debate with himself for a moment before abandoning the structure of your slow dance in favor of both of his arms wrapping around your waist. yours went to his neck while one hand gently played with the hair at the nape of his neck, relishing in the serenity around you.

no matter how hard i try

to run away from love at the end of the night

i need somebody who loves me naked

you gasp when there’s an unexpected twirl, your feet somehow able to carry you away and back into fox’s arms with ease. fox shoots you a sly grin when his hands take new positions against your skin and you bury your face into his neck. he’s warm against you and you can feel the calluses of his hands even through your scrubs.

i need someone who loves me when i wake up

who thinks i'm beautiful when i'm looking fucked up

i want the perfect love, am i asking too much?

someone who shoots for the stars

knowing i think i’m never good enough

you allow fox to lead in the swaying (because let’s face it, it stopped being actual dancing after the surprise spin) and let the words and the solid body of your commander bring you to peace.

are you that somebody

who sees a wall and breaks it

are you ready to fight just to see what's lost behind my flaws

can you love me naked

--------

thorn returned to fox’s office a few hours later with two trays in hand stacked high with food from the mess. he’d asked around base if anyone had seen either of you since you left the medbay, but no one had. this brought the commander to the conclusion that you never left fox’s office. it also meant that neither of you had dinner, which was an error that would soon be rectified.

with a sense of balance thorn didn’t know he possessed, he was able to successfully rest one plate on a raised knee while entering the entry code for fox’s office. upon entry, he found you both curled up against the front of fox’s desk, clinging on to each other as if your lives depended on it.

“it was about time they took a damn break,” thorn mumbled to himself. he set the food down on fox’s desk and searched his vod’s office for a moment before finding a blanket to drape over you both. maybe this way you two would actually get some well-earned sleep.

#star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #commander fox #commander fox imagines #love me naked #commander fox x reader #clone trooper x reader #commander fox deserves more love

235 notes · View notes

alkhale · 4 years

Note

so... that new his dark materials on HBO got me feeling some things and thinking... Memos HDM AU?

Memos His Dark Materials AU Ko-Fi Request

(for context for the excerpt down below this, when someone’s daemon makes contact with another person’s daemon, it’s considered very personal and intimate. This is normal between family members and very close friends or loved ones, say, Luffy’s daemon would probably touch all his nakama’s left and right just fine, but for certain others, this may come as a bit of an alarming little sensation for them since people feel what their daemons feel and the same vice versa as extension of their souls)

- Hoku’s daemon is a white panther named Hau.

The two of them don’t get along very well and tend to get on each other’s nerves due to personal reasons. They’re capable of being a fairly good distance apart even though this isn’t normal and considered painful for most people. They sort of trained themselves to be able to be apart because they felt following their independent values was most important. It’s a bit of a messy situation but they’re the first ones either of them would turn to no matter what. He has the same marking she has painted around the curve of his left eye because it’s tradition for Pokians to paint it onto their daemons when they come of age. All daemons from Artopoki are also always colored white just like their hair.

His name means “happiness” in Hawaiian.

- Mahina’s daemon is a white horse while Manu’s is a small white wild cat. Mihawk’s is a massive, massive ink black raven named Sable. She and Mahina’s daemon got along really well.

- Shank’s daemon is a reddish tinted lionness who goes by Reina. Hoku and Hau are a bit smitten by her but Hau kind of hates Shanks, maybe not hate but he tends to be on the more skeptical end of him versus Hoku being a little doe-eyed for the man. Hau loved Mihawk though. Mihawk was the first person to ever touch him outside of Hoku’s parents (human to daemon contact is a super big deal when it’s not family or intimate loved ones, daemon to daemon is a little more tolerable but raises some brows)

- Luffy’s daemon settles as a springy lionness name Soleil who he calls Sol. She’s very energetic and can’t really read a room but she makes up for it with energy. She and Luffy are two peas in a pod.

- Nami’s daemon is an orange fox named Riki, the greatest thieving duo across the East Blue.

- Zoro’s is a massive bengal tiger named Masumi and she’s got a much more approachable personality than her counterpart but tends to be just as lazy and ferocious.

- Usopp’s is a chameleon by the name of Emmo. She’s a bit of a coward too but she’s funny.

- Sanji’s is a beautiful, rather stunning lady jackrabbit by the name of Celine who loves beautiful people and kicking. She seems a little wiser than Sanji.

- Brook’s is the skeleton of a songbird named Aretha. They’re the strangest case on the Grand Line because of his devil fruit. She sings beautifully for a pile of bones though.

- Franky’s is a female beaver named Aspen, they’re pretty much carbon copies of each other.

- Robin’s is a black owl named Yuval. He’s on the quieter side and tends to creep people out on first glance but he’s a very gentlemanly owl.

- Ace’s ends up settling as a red and black lynx by the name of Iskra. Sabo’s is a peregrine falcon named Brisa.

- Vivi’s is a fennec fox named Seti.

- I couldn’t decide of Kid’s should be one hell of a murderous honey badger with attitude named Naga or a crocodile or a bear. Any of those three felt pretty right but I lean more toward the honey badger HAHAHA.

- Law’s daemon is a snow leopard named Estrella. These two are an especially dangerous duo and Estrella tends to be a bit more on the mysterious side at first.

- - - - - - -

“Your blood,” Shank said, cupping her cheek. “Is worth treasures more than his.”

Hau bit at Shanks’ cloak, snarling as a white husky in protest, trying to pull him away. Reina watched him in utter amusement.

Steam exploded from Hoku’s ears, her entire face flushing red.

“Oops, hey, someone get Makino! I’m worried dove’s got a fever!”

- - - - - - -

“It’s nothing but a childish crush,” Hau said pointedly to her, perfectly aware of the fluttery, gross feelings inside Hoku spilling over to him. He walked after her, lashing his tail angrily while Hoku stared up at the sky in a daze. Shanks had just given them a living, ripe kiionohi tree. “He just thinks we’re cute kids. He likes teasing us. This is how he took Luffy!”

Hau worked over-time to remain as indifferent toward Shanks as Hoku originally wanted to be. Hoku had just given up and rolled over to the fact that Shanks was just… so hard to dislike. Was there even a reason to dislike him? Sure, she still got jealous that Luffy was so damn fond of him, but when Luffy was always pulling her around despite that, promising she was his first before anyone else—

“Are you listening to me?” Hau hissed at her, biting her ankle in protest. Hoku looked down at him. “I don’t like him! He’s just another schmuck! Nothing’s gonna happen anyway! Dream on! We’re just kids to him, got it?”

“I know that,” Hoku snapped, cheeks flushing. “I-It’s just adoration. Childish adoration. What do you think I’m gonna do, ask him to marry me?”

“No,” Hau muttered, “but don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not,” Hoku snapped back at him, lightly nudging his paws. Hau swiped at her. “He’s just… he’s just charming, is all. And you’re one to talk, you know. You look at anyone that’s willing to scratch your ears like they’re god!”

“I don’t let people scratch me behind the ears!” Hau protested. “No one’s allowed to touch me!”

“Yeah,” Hoku snorted. “Except Luffy, right? I feel what you feel too, dumbass. Think about how it feels for me to get scratched behind the ears too, okay?”

Hau grumpily settled down onto his haunches, stubbornly looking over to the side, “But it’s Luffy.”

Hoku could understand that, but it didn’t make the sensation any more normal. Actually, I might be starting to get used to that. Luffy’s so damn touchy it’ll kill me. She didn’t even flinch anymore when Hau and Soleil were pressed tight together, rolling around or tumbling about each other or cuddled up in a pile. Luffy’s warm fingers patting Hau’s head, hefting him up into his arms—that was still something she was getting used to.

Or Hoku, cupping Soleil’s head in her hands, pressing a kiss to the top of the daemon’s head, committing utter taboo. Hoku, letting Soleil cozy up to the crook of her neck, shove her face into Hoku’s hand, weave between her fingers while Luffy laughed beside them—

The four of them, touching each other’s daemons, each other’s partners, each other’s souls—

But I am getting used to it. Hoku shivered. Never touching anyone’s daemon, huh?

Hau lashed his tail, “I won’t let Shanks touch me, you can count on that.”

“You’re just jealous,” Hoku said. “Luffy and Soleil already said we’re first. And it’s not like Shanks is going to be here forever, he’s a pirate, remember?”

Hoku rubbed the side of her arm, looking down at her shoes, “He’s just… he’s just become Luffy’s idol. You see how he looks at him—Luffy knows what he wants to do now ‘cause of him.”

Hau huffed, whiskers twitching. Hoku gave him a little shove and Hau shifted into a bull, ramming at the back of her knees as Hoku laughed, shoving back at him.

Shanks was just a bit of fun, that was it.

- - - - - - - -

But Reina didn’t play by the rules.

“You’re getting faster, little dove.”

Hoku almost screamed. Her heart lodged into her throat, forcing her to choke as Mau nearly clattered onto the dirt from her hands had she not hooked it last minute. She apologized to the amused blade, checking for scratches and trying to work out a game plan in her head.

Hau frowned. As deep of a frown as an unhappy skunk could make, sitting by a log and looking pointedly Reina’s way.

She didn’t know when Shanks’ daemon had made her way over to them or where Shanks was, probably with Luffy to be honest, but there Reina was, living up to her name.

The lioness daemon was stretched out onto a fat slab of rock jutting upwards from the ground. Luffy used it as a launching platform a lot when they were playing. Her red-gold body rippled, leisurely soaking up the sunlight.

Hoku’s fingers itched.

Reina watched them with golden irises.

“Thanks,” Hoku said, trying not to be awkward but feeling very much so. “I’m not there yet though.”

Reina’s chest rumbled, a deep sound that made Hau wrinkle his nose in protest. She laid her head down onto her paws, rolling over onto her side. Hoku noticed the scars lining her softer underbelly, the notch missing from a piece of her flicking tail.

“You’ll get there,” Reina said soothingly. “Why don’t you take a break?”

I feel like I’m talking to the devil. Hoku shivered. Temptation incarnate. “I haven’t hit my number of swings yet.”

“Shanks and Luffy are playing by the harbor,” Reina almost purred. “Don’t you want to join?”

Hoku frowned at her boots. Yes. “No. I’m glad Shanks is taking up all his time.”

Reina’s ear twitched. Her eyes glimmered playfully. Hoku felt as though if her feet weren’t planted firmly to begin with, she’d already be making her way over to the lioness for no reason other than the fact that Reina seemed to be beckoning her over.

“How come you two can be so far apart?” Hau blurted. Hoku shot him a look of disbelief.

Reina’s whiskers twitched in amusement.

Hau hunkered down, waving his big bushy tail. “I-Isn’t it painful? It’s weird, daemons aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

“You two seem to be able to go fairly far,” Reina murmured. “Is that not strange?”

Hoku and Hau flinched.

Reina laid her head down onto the rock, letting the sun color her pelt. She looked crimson gold in the sunlight. “He and I simply found it in ourselves to promise to live our lives to the fullest and the freest.”

Reina seemed to smile, lips pulling back to show her fangs. “Besides, like this, I can be with Luffy and he can be with little dove at the same time, hmm?”

Hoku and Hau blinked in confusion. They looked at each other and back to Reina who’d rolled over to show them her back, settling down for a nice, long nap.

“Finish up those swings, dove,” Reina purred. “Then let’s play.”

I miss Luffy. Hoku miserably flattened herself down against the grass, Mau propped up onto a trunk beside her. Hau was chirping haughtily in the tree branch above her, flapping his white wings even though he was supposed to be a toucan. I always run off even when he’s playing with Shanks. Maybe I should just suck it up and have fun with them too. Or, not fun. Just… spend time. Yeah.

Hoku groaned, rubbing her sweaty face with her hands.

“About time,” Hau chirped at her. “Let’s go! I don’t care if Shanks and everyone else is there, I want to see Luffy and Sol.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoku snapped. “I heard ya. You just want to get touched again.”

Hau flattened, ruffling his feathers, “That’s not true!”

It absolutely is. Hoku sighed, preparing her aching muscles to lift her sluggish body up. Hau was practically touched starved and Luffy’s generous pats were like a drug. He did a good job making sure Shanks never got near him though. Hoku didn’t even flinch. Touching other people’s daemons is still such a weird feeling though, I can’t get used to anyone else but them.

She’d only ever touched Sable twice. Ki and Kekoa didn’t count because they were family. Soleil was the only one she ever really touch-touched, and even then, it was still a sensation Hoku felt all the way to the tip of her toes and down to her bones. Intimate.

Bet no one else has a daemon willing to get himself pet. Hoku peeked through her fingers at Hau who jumped from the branch and shifted into a little white butterfly. He’d turn into a dog later because it was easier to play with Luffy like that. What daemon goes up to someone to get themselves touched?

Some taboos just weren’t meant to be crossed.

A shadow fell over Hoku’s face and she blinked, moving her hands away to look up.

Reina looked down at her.

Hoku froze, stiff against the ground like a corpse. Her heart hammered stupidly loud in her chest, loud enough to burst through her ears. From this spot, she could make out every fine, red-gold hair smoothed over Reina’s slender face. She could see the dark lines that traced her feline gold eyes, followed the slope of her muzzle, to the long, elegant whiskers—a few cut short, and the few scars that lined her soft nose.

This was the closest she had ever been to the daemon.

She could sense heat from the lioness, hulking power and muscle. Reina’s killing paws sat on either side of her head. She could crush Hoku’s skull without much effort. Rip her throat out. In another world, Hoku would be fearing for her life—even in this world, Hoku was still fearing for her life, but, but, maybe death at the hands of such a beautiful, powerful daemon couldn’t be that awful.

Hoku waited, staring at Reina with wide eyes.

Reina blinked once, slowly. Something like amusement seemed to shift over the fine hairs on her face and she lowered her head over Hoku’s. Her body seized up, unable to breathe.

And then languidly, a warm, wet and scratchy pink tongue rolled once across her face, down her forehead to her lips and over her chin. Reina pulled away, satisfied, looking down at Hoku’s disheveled, slightly wet face and bulging eyes before calmly sauntering off, hips swaying.

It took her a moment. A good, solid moment. Her heart did something funny, her body frozen stiff and ascended to some other plain of existence, her mind whirring and still buzzing from the electricity of the slightest contact with—

Someone else’s daemon—

Reina—

Shanks’ daemon—

Touched—

Hoku’s face blushed a bright, scarlet red. She grabbed her face with her hands and rolled around in the dirt like the little bug she was.

Hau jealously nudged her face with his little ferret nose, huffing and puffing in displeasure.

She’d never been touched by someone else’s daemon before.

- - - - - - - -

The final nail into her own coffin was done by Hoku’s own hands.

At the crack of dawn, when the light was just beginning to crawl its way out of the horizon to peek over into the sky. Just hours before, Hoku had finally shown Shanks the book, speaking with him in the low light of that bar and making a total fool of herself—enough for Hau to tease and taunt her about it for hours until they fell asleep.

She woke up earlier than Luffy today, leaving him snoring in her hammock with Soleil sprawled as a baby badger over him. Hau woke up, slithering into her shirt and keeping himself warm by her stomach as they walked out into the forest.

Reina was already waiting for them.

“Dove,” Reina greeted, velvet voice carrying over as Hoku trudged through the dewy grass. Sunlight was warming her pelt, heating it up like a forge and turning the red-gold of her pelt darker and brighter.

Hau muttered a low, half-reluctant protest. Yesterday, Luffy had picked him up, holding him close and willingly thrusted Hau toward Shanks like some kind of sacrificial offering.

Shanks didn’t take the daemon, simply grinning in understanding at Hau’s horrified expression. Her daemon had never felt more betrayed.

“Hau, you gotta get along with everyone!” Luffy laughed. “Don’t be dumb like Hoku!”

Hoku couldn’t stop the greedy, uncontrollable itch in her fingers.

“...good morning,” Hoku mumbled, tucking hair behind her ear out of habit. Reina was stretched out, regal and picture perfect on that same slab of stone. Dawn was rising over the fine curve of her spine and the lioness kept her gaze on them evenly, waiting as Hoku slowly came to stand beside the slab of rock.

Reina’s ears swiveled forward. She watched Hoku, eyes glittering. A soft sound left her parted jaws.

Hoku hesitantly took a seat on the rock, a few inches away from Reina. She could feel heat rising from the daemon, her head turning to follow Hoku as they stared at each other.

She weakly raised one hand. Hau’s heartbeat matched her own.

“Could I… Could I draw you?”

Reina’s jaws parted to let out a soft rumble. Her body curved more, keeping Hoku in the middle. Her paws stretched out and Reina kept her eyes evenly on Hoku’s.

Hoku softly set her hand down on Reina’s side. Warmth flooded into her fingertips, spreading up her arm and making half her body feel almost numb with the sensation. Hoku’s head spun, buzzing with that vibrant thrum of energy as Reina’s pelt shifted under her fingertips. Hoku daringly let her hand come down Reina’s spine, feeling the muscles and scars in one gentle stroke.

Reina’s scratchy tongue dragged over Hoku’s hand in approval.

“I hope that man is deep, deep asleep,” Hau muttered. Hoku agreed.

She thought her heart was going to burst.

- - - - - -- -- - -

“This place is crawling with marines now,” Smoker said. “What are you going to do? Let them arrest you like some kind of washed up drunk?”

Hoku lightly pushed the glass in front of her. The bartender nervously refilled the glass, jumping in fear when Smoker glared daggers at him.

“Hoku,” Smoker said.

The woman kept swallowing mouthfuls of the whiskey in her cup, ignoring him. Blanca’s fur had settled over her back, smoothing out. His daemon watched the woman before them in silence, looking at Hau and then back to Hoku.

A soft sound left Blanca’s lips. Smoker shot her a warning look. The smoky colored husky daemon lowered her tail.

“What happened to all that spunk?” Smoker continued. “You don’t give two shits if I cuff you and take you in from here?”

Hoku didn’t even turn to look at them. She kept her shoulders hunched, curling in on herself over the bar’s countertop and refusing to meet the gazes burning into her back. The empty glasses spread out across the wood counter beside her, the heavy smell of alcohol settling amidst the cigarette smoke.

Hau kept silent at her feet, curled up and head low. Smoker observed the daemon carefully, noticing the matted fur, the dirt stains in the crisp white that used to be his go-to for hunting them down in the crowd. His unsheathed claws, caked with dried dirt and blood. The cleanest spot was the blood red ink curled over his half-hidden face under the countertop’s shadow.

A new spot was inked into his fur. A small, blood red flame right where the muscle of his shoulder blade bunched under his right foreleg. Smoker’s eyes traveled upwards to the matching red flame inked into Hoku’s skin over her right shoulder blade.

“This is it?” Smoker said gruffly.

Hoku snorted. Blanca shot him a look, gray eyes hard to read but Smoker never needed to read her eyes, he could hear her thoughts loud and clear in his own head, in the space they shared.

“Who cares,” Hoku muttered bitterly. “You got what you wanted.”

Blanca fell silent. Smoker shot his daemon a sharp look, but she refused to meet his gaze, tail limp behind her and ears pricked far forward, focused on the woman before them.

Hoku bowed her head. Her hands went up, carding through her hair, holding them there as though she were cradling her head in her hands.

“You won,” Hoku whispered.

His daemon took a step forward.

“Blanca,” he warned.

The husky kept her muzzle shut, looking at him.

“Smoker.”

Smoker tossed his cigar to the side. His gloved hand clenched into a fist before it loosened. Smoker let out an aggravated sigh, shaking his head. He took a step forward, raising his hand up.

Hau’s growl ripped through the air like a knife. A single, resounding warning. Smoker glanced down to the daemon, glaring at them with icy venom, fangs and claws bared. Blanca lowered her head only an inch, her only way of showing they meant no harm. Hau pulled his lips back into a louder snarl, tail lashing in aggravation.

Hoku glanced down to her companion, frowning for a moment before she raised her head and looked back at Smoker.

Tears continued to trickle from the corners of her eyes. They slid down the curve of her cheeks, dripping down her chin. Hoku watched him in silence, expression unreadable.

The admiral hesitated for only a second. Blanca let out the softest, softest whine.

For a moment, Hau’s body untensed, staring. The foggy look started to clear. Hoku’s brows creased and Smoker reached out with his gloved hand one more time.

The doors to the bar slammed open.

The light winked out from Hoku’s eyes. Hau stood onto his paws, head lowered, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

His men flooded the dimly lit room, raising their guns and shouting out orders as Smoker cursed in his head and Blanca’s ferocious barks of protest flooded the room over his, ordering the marine daemons to stand down.

Smoker lurched, eyes snapping in surprise to where Hau suddenly had Blanca pinned to the wooden floorboards of the bar. His daemon was silent, rigidly looking up at Hau with her teeth barely bared, body still while Hau’s jaws were wrapped around her neck. Smoker felt his teeth on his own, Hoku’s dead eyes looking at all of them.

“Go ahead,” Hoku said coldly. She turned to the marines by the door, half-smiling. “Just don’t forget, Hau’s got one more life over her.”

Blanca kept silent, staring imploringly at Hau. The panther ignored her gaze, keeping his jaws buried in the scruff of her throat, waiting. Smoker stared hard at Hoku and she kept her gaze on his men, expression devoid of emotion.

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

“Estrella,” Law drawled, ice dripping with the roll of his tongue.

His daemon pounced.

They poor no-body marine dog never stood a chance.

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

“No,” Law said. “This is rehab.”

He kicked Hoku’s lower back, sending her flying down the stairs with an ungoldy screech and down into the boiler room. Penguin and Sachi peeked their heads around the corner, staring down into the darkest depths of their sub while Law shoved a hand into his pocket.

“Is she still alive?” Penguin asked.

“She’s got a couple, right?” Law asked Hau. “Which one was that?”

Hau flicked his tail tip, the only sign of his annoyance. Estrella watched him with peering eyes, following the sway of Hau’s haunches as he slunk down the steps into the boiler room after Hoku.

“Fuck you, Law!” came the ghostly holler. “I’m going to blow up your submarine! You forgot I’m suicidal, asshole!”

Law looked satisfied, turning his back on them and closing the boiler room door. To Sachi and Penguin he added, “Make sure she doesn’t come out until she’s done.”

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

Law froze, his entire body stiff as ice.

He took a moment, reassessing the sensation he felt unfolding in his chest. He considered it carefully, made sure this… this feeling was not a mistake, that he had not wrongly interpreted the shared sensation between himself and his daemon. He picked it apart in seconds, slowly, rigidly turning his head to the corner of the deck.

It was dark, only a single headbeam lit from the corner pathway of the submarine. The deck on top of the rounded hull was bathed in darkness, but even in the thin light, he knew down to his bones he was not seeing wrongly.

Law gave the woman beside him one discreet, searching glance.

Hoku looked completely and utterly unaffected. He watched her a second longer to make sure it wasn’t an act, but her careless, bored demeanor showed truthfully she had no inclination whatsoever to sharing his barely, barely startled turmoil. Hoku looked completely at ease, still squinting in the distance to see if she could make out the constellation they’d just discussed, mouth moving around the dried fruit she’d just popped into her mouth.

Law carefully, with great composure, withheld the light, creeping shiver that traveled down his spine. He narrowed his eyes, looking back, but Estrella coyly kept her mind blank, hiding all of her thoughts from him the way they’d taught each other to.

There, against the side of the entry doorway, the two of them laid.

Hoku’s daemon had stretched out, directly in the middle of the deck to keep the perfect distance away from either side of the railings. His long, furred body turned a pale, ghostly shade of white under the moonlight, large paws hiding pearl white claws. Hau’s side rose and fell in lazy slumber, his tail stretched out behind him like a white whip, ears twitching only occasionally.

But the issue was who was beside him.

Estrella had silently made her way from Law’s side across the deck to his. Her lithe, powerful feline body almost nearly matched his in size. Law watched her with rapt, rigid focus, brows furrowed in dark disbelief as his daemon purposefully ignored his silent prodding.

She stopped inches from Hau’s form, sitting on her haunches, tail curled neatly over her paws. Hau’s ear flicked once in her direction to signal he’d noticed, but kept his eyes closed. Estrella stared down at him, icy gray gaze that had stared back as she ripped throats out of marines and pirates and their enemies alike, becoming almost clear.

Estrella rearranged herself, laying down on her stomach barely a centimeter—a heavy, tense centimeter Law could feel—from him. She folded her paws neatly over each other, staring out seemingly in boredom. Her striped black tail flicked from side to side, occasionally brushing against Hau’s limp one. A ghost of a touch.

Touch.

His daemon. Estrella.

Hau didn’t move, tail limp, body relaxed. Estrella turned her head to look down at the other daemon, expression carefully blank. Her tail curled and then the tip of it brushed against Hau’s flank. His fur seemed to shift, bright, scarred pink nose twitching but he remained relaxed. Estrella seemed pleased by this and her tail promptly laid out beside his own, curling idly over his.

Touching.

Law looked back at Hoku and she reached for another dried fruit, popping it into her mouth. She shuffled through her bag, debating whether or not to shove a handful more. Oblivious.

Is your connection to your daemon that terrible? Law almost bit out. Almost. It would have come out calm and cold and collected. Are you that dull? Is it that messed up? Are you an idiot—

He went rigid, gripping Kikoku with white knuckles.

Law exhaled, slowly. He carefully turned over his shoulder, inch by inch, glaring daggers behind him.

Estrella didn’t even blink at him, eyes trained sideways and away. She looked silver against Hau’s snow white. Her long, raspy pink tongue slid out languidly from her mouth in soothing, relaxed motions. It showed off the dangerous curve of bone-crushing fangs. But Estrella’s tongue was now running over the top of Hau’s face, over his ears, around his neck as she turned her face and—

“Are you grooming him?” Law spat out in disbelief at her.

The snow leopard lazily flicked her tail behind her in response. Hau yawned, stretching his paws out, unbothered, and resumed his slumber as Estrella continued her grooming, content.

Law ripped apart the shudder that almost raced down his spine. He shoved the sensations traveling from Estrella and Hau’s shared connection, the low buzz of energy, of electricity that came when two daemons touched each. A feeling he’d only ever felt when Corazon’s Rosa would curl her soft, furry body up around Estrella—

He grit his teeth, squaring his shoulders and forcibly maintaining his composure as he promptly knocked Kikoku against the metal railing once.

Hoku looked up, brows creasing. A fruit stuck out from between her lips. She gave him a look, as though he’d done something wrong for disturbing her.

Your daemon is touching my daemon.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hoku asked.

Do you not feel what I feel?

Law gave her a flat look. Hoku continued to chew.

Go get your daemon—

“Hoku,” she and Law both looked down. Hau’s voice was smooth and not too low, like a melted rumble. He came up to her leg, pressing his big head against her hip and curling his tail over her leg. The white panther daemon blinked blue eyes up at them. Law could see gold.

Hau seemed to examine Law for a moment before his long whiskers twitched. The white panther blinked once. Law stared back at him, curious about the eye contact someone else’s daemon was making with him.

Without even pausing, Hoku’s hand ran over his face, pushing past his soft ears and turning against his cheek to scratch under his chin. Hau lifted his head for better access, a loud rumble filling the air.

Several feet away, Estrella slowly made her way toward them, nonchalant and shifting mass of silver and black fur. She didn’t even acknowledge the icy daggers her other half was fixing her with, haunches swaying as she came up and sat down loyally by Law’s feet. Estrella looked up at Hoku, whiskers twitching.

“What game are you playing?” Law thought at her.

“Nothing,” Estrella thought back at him, innocent. “Nothing at all.”

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

P.S - If you guys like this au, highly recommend checking out 500shadesofblue’s story “Echoes” on ao3, super good.

#memos #memos au #hdm au #daemons #straw hat crew #shanks #trafalgar law #mihawk #mahina #manu #hoku #ko fi requests #smoker

204 notes · View notes

gracereadstoomanybooks · 4 years

Text

answering questions I’ve been asked on TikTok✨

QUESTION: how did you get into reading?

So, when I was in middle school (many moons ago) we had this thing called AR Testing. Basically, you read a book and take a test on it—the questions were things that happened in the book, it was really simple. If you got a good grade, you got points. The more points you earned, the more eligible you were for the reading party at the end of each semester. Me, being the nerd I am, got top of my class because I went through 8th grade level books like it was nothing. The librarian at my school brought me books from the high school to read since everything was easy for me, and alas, my addiction began. And now that I have adult money, it’s a true addiction. Also, telling my father “I’m bored” and his response being, “go read a book or something” so thanks dad.

QUESTION: what’s one book you ALWAYS recommend to people?

This one is tough because I’ve read THOUSANDS of books, but if I had to choose one, it would probably be Confess by Colleen Hoover. I fell in love with her work in high school when I first read Ugly Love, but Confess is the type of book that pulls at your heart strings, y’all. It has everything people love: humor, sexual tension, drama, love. GO BUY THE DAMN BOOK. Or honestly any book by Colleen Hoover—she’s a fucking amazing author.

QUESTION: outside of making TikToks, what do you do for a living?

I currently work at a restaurant and hate every second of it. If anyone tells you to become a server, DONT. It’s not worth the hassle, I promise you. Sure, you can make decent money but the amount of rude customers and shitty tips you receive each shift is very disheartening. If you really need a job, do anything BUT work in the food industry.

QUESTION: what’s your wattpad story about?

First question: which one? I have about 30 drafts sitting there waiting to be posted. But, I’m going to assume you’re talking about the Harry Styles fan fiction I’ve been working on for the past 4 years and haven’t had the courage to post. I’ll tell you a little about it: Elaine Aldridge is forced into a betrothal to a man she’s never met & loathes. She goes to his court and realizes things aren’t what they truly seem. And the guard her future husband sticks on her??? None other than Mr. Harry Styles. Add in some magic & deaths and you’ve got my story— The First Prince. (Honestly, that’s an extremely shitty description so if you wanna check it out go to my wattpad account)

QUESTION: how old are you?

Ahem. . . twenty-one.

QUESTION: what is your dream career?

Being a published author and having people rave about my books. That’s all. Or, an editor for a publishing company. Imagine reading all day and being paid for it🤩

QUESTION: what was your least favorite read of 2020?

I already KNOW I’m gonna get shit for this but....... the wicked king. YALL I LITERALLY COULDNT GET THROUGH IT IM SO SORRY, I STILL HAVENT FINISHED IT

QUESTION: current favorite author?

Sarah. J. Maas. I don’t know what it is about her writing style, but it’s addicting. Throne of Glass is hands down the best series I’ve ever read. A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book I’ve EVER reread. Her stories truly suck you in and hold onto you—you get lost so easily in her writing and it’s like once you’re done with a series, nothing will compare. Or, at least that’s how I felt after finishing Kingdom of Ash. Honorable mentions: Jennifer L. Armentrout, Penelope Douglas, L.J Shen, Elle Kennedy and Kennedy Fox.

QUESTION: any recommendations/tips to give to a new reader?

I’ve always given this advice to people who want to get into reading: find what you like and start with that. If you like romance, I’ve got a list for you to choose from. Mystery? Another list. Sci-fi? I GOT YOU. Fantasy? Yes! Sports fiction? It might take me a second but I’ll find you a book. Nonfiction? I’m zero help in that category, honestly. The point of the matter is that you’re never going to enjoy a book if you aren’t interested in the underlying topics.

QUESTION: do you ever find yourself comparing your life to fictional life?

Yes. All the time. I daydream about being apart of the Inner Circle and living in Terrasen with Aelin and Rowan. I think about what it would be like to have real powers and a mate. It drives my boyfriend crazy—but he loves me anyway.

QUESTION: what are your most anticipated books of 2021?

Here’s a list:

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

The Crown of Gilded Bones by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Gods and Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Crescent City 2 (Untitled) by Sarah J. Maas

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer (I just ordered this one & it arrives tomorrow)

Blessed Monsters by Emily A. Duncan

QUESTION: why did you start a Tumblr?

Honestly, I used to love tumblr when I was in grade school (way too young to be on here then but what else is new). I like having an extra space to get my questions and comments out without having to compress it into a 60 second video for TikTok to see. Tumblr is a good place to blog & post things like this.

QUESTION: what’s your favorite song right now?

I’ve listened to Carry You by Novo Amor every day for the past two months and I cry each time.

QUESTION: why write Harry Styles fan fiction?

Simple: I love Harry Styles. I’ve been a fan of him and One Direction since they were on X FACTOR. Read that again. X. Factor. I used to watch their performances on YouTube before WMYB even came out. Of course, I love all of the 1D boys but I was always a Harry gal. And I look up to him in a way—I’ve read things about people wishing they knew him personally and honestly? I would never want to meet him. I like the version of him I’ve cooked up in my brain over the past 10 years. I like the symbiotic relationship I have with his music. Fine Line is a ✨masterpiece✨. HS1 is a ✨work of art✨.

now, some topics I’ve been asked way too many times and want to finally get to:

QUESTION: political views?

the saying “anyone but trump” has been in my brain for the past four years. No, I’m not a republican. No, I’m not a democrat. I like to think of myself as a progressive (ahem, liberal) Did I vote for a democratic candidate? Yes, and I’d do it again and again until the US isn’t one of the worst countries—I’m sorry, businesses— to be apart of. I wanted Bernie but got Biden, and I’m alright with that. And my girl Kamala🥳

QUESTION: how did you feel about the BLM protests?

I went to multiple BLM protests and donated a lot of funds to BLM & other organizations. It’s 2021, people... stop being fucking RACIST. And don’t be afraid to call racist people out! Black Lives Matter, even if no one is posting about it anymore.

QUESTION: thoughts on abortion?

your body your choice, queen! not my uterus, not my problem.

QUESTION: there was a comment on an old video of yours talking about r*pe, why did you delete the comment?

I made a video when I first started my account on TikTok about reading in public and feeling “turned on” by it. Go watch it if you don’t know what I’m talking about. BUT, some ignorant male decided to comment and say “this is how girls get r*ped”. Whew. So. I deleted the comment because ....

I am a victim of sexual assault. Along with a lot of other women. 1 in 5 women have been victims of sexual assault. Talking about being r*ped isn’t funny.

No one else needed to see his comment. I reported it immediately and his account was shut down.

I never got justice for what happened to me, and the fact that some random male—who had never even met me or seen me before my video showed up on his FYP—had the nerve to comment that? Unacceptable.

this question isn’t as controversial but

QUESTION: what’s the best way to get out of a toxic relationship?

okay, let me just start off by saying that the people around you who love and support you are going to be your backbone. Leaving a toxic situation is hard, and every situation is different, but my best piece of advice to offer you is don’t be afraid to ask for help. Your loved ones are going to be there for you when you need them, even if you don’t believe they will. If you explain what’s happening, someone you know and love will drop whatever it is their doing to make sure you get out safely. good luck my babes.

now, back to our regularly scheduled program:

QUESTION: any tips on making tiktoks?

Literally none. I post what I think is funny and relatable and if anyone agrees, I’m satisfied. Even if it’s one view, it’s good enough for me. So I guess my one tip is to not base your life off of an app and followers.

QUESTION: favorite Harry Styles fanfic?

DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE. Duplicity is up there, along with Stall 1&2, and Kiwi. After? Absolutely not.

QUESTION: favorite WEBTOON?

y’all already KNOW. LORE OLYMPUS BY USEDBANDAID. Rachel is a genius and I have reread the series a million times. Hades is my soulmate and Apollo can rot in the fiery pits of the Underworld. also, if we’re talking about other webcomics, reading Walk on Water on mangadex...🤫

QUESTION: favorite movie?

Howls Moving Castle. I will be getting my “a heart is a heavy burden” tattoo very very soon.

QUESTION: I read your Elain theory on tumblr, can you explain a little more?

I thought I was pretty straightforward but I’ll say it again: she is always the “good” one and it’s too suspicious. SJM has already given one Archeron sister a happy ending, Nesta’s is obviously inevitable, but Elain? She has too many options for a happy ending. Lucien, who is her “mate”. Azriel, who is intrigued by her slightly. Her human guy—I don’t remember his name—who is disgusted that she’s not human anymore. Or, alone, planting flowers all day. BUT! My point is that she’s not truly happy. She was forced into the Cauldron just like Nesta. She was ripped away from the life she loved so dearly and didn’t want to give up. The man she was going to marry now hates her guts because she’s a High Fae. She has the perfect set up for a villain plot line and I’m all here for it.

well, that’s all I feel like doing tonight. hope you enjoyed my little q&a! be kind, and talk to you later! byeeee!

#a court of silver flames #acotar #harry styles #one direction #sarah j maas #throne of glass #wattpad #tiktok #elain archeron #howls moving castle #lore olympus #q&a time #walk on water #persephone #lore olympus hades

14 notes · View notes

hasliaran · 3 years

Text

Undertale is owned by Toby Fox

Sooner or Later You’re Gonna be Mine is written by Staringback.

TimeHealsTale - Still a WIP by me.

Meet my undertale OC from TimeHealsTale which is an AU living rent free in my head. They are a canon MC that replaces the real Sans (age 5) after he got dumped into a tub of Void by Gaster to be forgotten.

Name: Comic Sans Du Font (Comic/Komi)

Age: 22 (5 years younger than canon Sans and 8 years older than Paps)

Job: Monster Healer that does House-calls. (Not a Judge; Sans disappeared because he was a Judge)

Profile in Game: Toriel’s Contact, The Smuggler, Summon Healer (after befriending; limited to 5 calls (diff. work phone no.); rapid calls will assume it’s a prank and not be picked up for a certain period of time.)

This is not her usual outfit but I just really wanted to post it.

In my head, the scene goes …

- she fell into the void trying to pull out a deformed still 5 years old Sans when she was going through her father’s stuff in his lab dungeon. (Occurred after the barrier broke)

- Sans was in a mega huge test tube floating in pitch black Void essence (frozen in stasis as no time passes through Void), so she couldn’t see anything or knew he was inside. Only after she accidentally tipped it over, smashing it to pieces, when trying to push it out of the lab that she realised there was an effing toddler inside it.

“Dad, seriously?” Comic got fed up already with the mess her father left behind after he got scattered.

- Cue her trying to grab the kid out of the muck only to fall in and be dropped down into another universe with the little one.

(Yes, this is the multiverse travel scene excuse and I love it)

Back then, Sooner or later your gonna be mine just uploaded a new comic chapter on YouTube. Hence, my brain went overdrive and said it’s a free real estate. So, I imagined the duo getting found by the skeleton brothers before the story started from rumours of them pillaging around trash sites, random food thefts and small skeletons offering up to do odd jobs.

Other skeletons than them, huh, curious.

Them skeletons in that story was already huge as heck though, now imagine a five a year old and a roughly five foot skeleton with a slight build running around what was essentially a mob era in the 1920’s.

The first thing that would go through their thick skulls was KIDS, THEY ARE KIDS, WHO HERE F***ED AND DIDN’T USE PROTECTION ?!

So much shenanigans from just trying to chase them down. ^_^

In the end, Komi and Void/V (little Sans; Komi’s not that creative at naming) were lured in by food, an offer for a roof over their heads and warm baths. Yep, tragic.

Little sans doesn’t look like a sans anymore here but a mere smooth skull shell with two big eye sockets and nothing else. I meant that literally. No lips or teeth as those were melted away and a pitch black body with stumps for legs. (look at Hollow Knight; Ghost but without the horns and has smoothen out round cheeks at least. I love that game.)

The last thing he remembered was that his aunt (step sister actually but he knows her as auntie) giving birth in the Underground Hospital and his uncle (Gaster) pushing him into a tub of black liquid, watching him drown.

And now he can’t talk since his lips is sealed shut.

Moreover, someone with his name who looks like a lot like his auntie and a bit like his uncle was dragging him around somewhere. It’s hella weird and confusing and he can’t cry properly. (Yes, HK reference here)

Yes, there is a story here for the duo that will coincide with SoLY’reGBM. Mostly, with Komi claiming Bara Sans courting skills were lame as hell no wonder Frisk ran screaming. This happen only at the time they were all comfortable enough to diss each other. Still, she and V were treated like sassy annoying younger siblings.

One’s assumed to be a teenager another a preschooler. So both were admitted to schools by force and with threats for Komi by Gaster since he didn’t want them in the house 24/7. Also to just enjoy the fact they have money now to send someone in their place to experience school. Papyrus here loves it that someone gets to experience and tell him all about while also not being the youngest in the family anymore.

Komi, in hindsight was 50/50 about it. Hating the idea at first before going, huh, maybe it’s not so bad… Hence the outfit up there. ^

She only has been to pre-school when her mother was alive and nothing else since, Gaster, her father, deeming it useless and only had been homeschooled by him. As much as you could call being locked in a room and told to read/answer these sheets of questions or not she’s never allowed to feed Papyrus as homeschooling activities. It happened in a period of when she was 10 - 14, so Paps would be 2 - 6. Damn well, she learned to memorise and spit everything out like a photocopier.

Seeing the Gaster in this universe sorta freaks her out. Making her wait to be ordered and when she doesn’t gets the order or the orders were just a pat on the skull and be told to behave, nothing else. She will proceed to look at him funny only to realise that oh, this is not dad. The three brothers can see that gal there has been through some shit and it’s not the fun kind. This also makes them question whether they should let them go back to wherever they came from, and that’s a whole other bag of fish to fry.

Komi knows they are a mob family, accepts it because hey her dad had a dungeon where he cuts up humans and eats SOULs for breakfast so why not this?

Only to find out they are pretty nice for a family and was this what a family suppose to be like? She liked it.

Komi with V/Void -, I will protect you my new baby brother that I have adopted at first sight with my body and SOUL. Which she does, she was raised with her Papyrus who was always aimed at gunpoint by her father. Basically, a rinse and repeat cycle situation in her eyes. Only to find out that no, nobody was out to get V!

She felt so gosh darn free in this universe but felt as though she was missing something all the time.

Yep, her found family from back home. So, definitely gotta get out of here somehow.

While also going to high school and befriending your adopted uncles’s enemy’s niece. Fuku Fire. Definitely not telling them what she did. They are gonna get so pissed.

Fuku - I have befriended the cool kid that’s not afraid to talk back against adults and was already a pro in home economics, who is also a skeleton Monster, meaning from a rival family. My parents and Uncle *pedo* Grillby must never know.

Comic will also be going through the motions of life here while figuring out how V’s powers work to send them back home and be getting a supply of Uncle’s favourite mustard since he’s been bitching about it every day by now.

He and Gaster will most definitely never know.

Nah, they know. Comic is a freaking blabber mouth that tells everything to this version of Papyrus just like she does in her own universe. Confirmed, she’ll be outed within 3 days by Paps and a fight about who she befriends was not their business.-at Gaster - who then sees it as an opportunity. Which leaves her storming out yelling they are all the same. Gaster and her Gaster.

Shit goes down that day, and everything went A-okay. Komi would make attempts to not overlap her father’s image over this guy because really, this Gaster is the farthest thing to her dad that’s a centuries old psychopath craving the secrets of the multiverse who would instead have not let her run out the house unscathed for yelling nor talked through things with her when she was brought back.

Darn guy was pretty nice.

Sans and Papyrus of this universe : who are you and what have you done to our brother?

G: What was that?

S&P: Nothing. S: (mutters under his breath) bias piece of sh*t

Then there’s that scene where they now got a new area to govern. Komi and V finds it weird but okay. *shrugs*. It felt like they were going to govern their territory or something. Sounds like basic Royal Guards one-o-one shtick her middle bro’s and friends’ kinda work. Seems simple enough.

It was not simple. I repeat, it was not simple.

G: No, we do not have to patrol the area.

G: No, we do not do shifts to monitor criminal activities.

G: It’s just an area that we will get a claim to.

G: But I need the humans here to be comfortable with Monsters, so I am going to let loose Papyrus on them. Since, we also have you two as well. Feel free to interact with the Humans. Tell me if anyone gives you three any trouble, Sans and I will personally deal with it.

S: wut? Yes? Yep, whatever he says goes. Better listen to your elders, brats.

P: Really, Sans?

C: So-, you want us to help around with the people in the area? Like charity work? Give free food and all that?

G: (how did she jumped to that? but otherwise, she’s not wrong.) … Yes-, that. Feel free to use your green magic on them as well if you have to but only when necessary. I don’t want you to suddenly disappear because your own loose lips.

C: Alright. (Does an excited fist pump) This is gonna be awesome~! …. Heyyy, did you just-

P: And I will be sure to guard them. (No arguing here from the other brothers)

V: (pouts and hand signed) N-O-T—B-A-B-Y

P: (could only stare at this being that barely reaches his kneecaps) Of course, little one.

All I know is, all of them are sassy sarcastic shits and there’s way more to be continued here.

So byeeee~

#timehealstale #undertale #undertale au #fanart #fanfic #fic ideas #sooner or later you’re gonna be mine au idea #do not repost #do not copy #multiverse #dimension travel

5 notes · View notes

foxeshaveclaws · 5 years

Text

When I know the time is right for me--An AFTG Headcanon

This is for @thebashfulpoet for the @aftgexchange! I wanted to make this a full fic but with life I knew I couldnt do it justice, so have a 1.4k long headcanon soulmate AU! I really hope you enjoy it! <3 (also, i deffo stole the title from “I Have A Dream” by ABBA which is REALLY funny once u read it, trust me)

Imagine a soulmate AU where you share dreams as long as you are both asleep and dreaming at the same time

The first time Andrew and Neil meet it's when they are little kids,around 6 or 7. Neil is sitting on a swing set in a park and Andrew just shows up and is like “what are you doing?” and Neil just goes “swingin” and Andrew gets so upset at this weird auburn haired boy that he wakes himself up out of sheer spite.

That's pretty much how it goes over the next few years.

They meet in dreams and have short conversations but both of them kind of refuse to talk about themselves, so they spend a lot of time just sitting in the park swinging together. They don't exchange names even and when they talk, it's only about the small things. If pressed, Andrew might admit that it isn't terrible.

One night, a few years after their first dream meeting, Neil mentions Exy. Andrew had only heard of it once before but the other boy knows a lot about it so Andrew just lets him talk and talk about it until they both wake up. It's……..nice to listen to Neil talk. Andrew doesn't hate it.

That was the last time they met in their dreams for a long time.

Neil stopped dreaming for the most part when he and his mother were on the run. It was too stressful and very rarely did he ever sleep deeply enough to dream. Andrew was getting shuffled between homes and then, once he started living with the Spears, he stopped sleeping all together.

It had been so long that when they saw each other, they didn't even recognize each other. How could you recognize someone when the last time you saw them was when you were a little kid? Besides, Andrew has essentially sworn off soulmates. He doesn't see the point in them, not anymore.

Even after Neil moves to Palmetto, he doesn't dream. He’s too keyed up, too on guard to sleep well and at this point, soulmates and dreams are the last thing on his mind. He doesn't even really think about them at all until Nicky brings it up during practice and mentions the fact that he’s soulmates with Erik and how Dan and Matt are soulmates and wondered if Neil knew anything about his soulmate and Neil just kind of shrugs and says that he hasn't really dreamt since he was a little kid. Yet another instance of Neil breaking the Foxes hearts

A few days later, after their first official game of the season, Neil and Andrew are both so tired and worn out from the game that they dream again. It's the same park and swing set from when they were small . Andrew sees Neil and he once again gets so Angry that he wakes himself up out of spite.

The next day is Kathy’s show and when they get on the bus, Andrew’s eyes bore into Neil’s back but Neil just ignores it until they eventually drift away.

They don't talk about it, not yet.

After Seth’s death, they both stop dreaming again.

It fluctuates like that throughout the rest of the school year, up until winter break. The meds they give Andrew at Easthaven puts him in such a deep sleep that he has no choice but to dream but they morph all of his dreams into nightmares. When Neil finally gets back to Palmetto, he dreams for the first time while sleeping on Wymack’s couch. The dream they share there is…….strange. The park that they meet at is morphed and shifted into something weird and horrible but Neil and Andrew are untouched. And for the first time, Neil and Andrew talk about it. Neil doesn't have his bruises but even in the dream his hair is auburn and his eyes are blue. Andrew asks him why and Neil skirts around explaining exactly why but he does ask if Andrew is safe. Andrew avoids answering that question but they both know that he won't be truly safe for a while longer, until he's back with Neil and the rest of the Foxes.

The next time they dream together is when Andrew gets back from Easthaven. It comes after the iconic pipedream conversation and Andrew tries to point out that Neil is literally a dream to him. Neil steals the cigarette that Andrew is smoking out of his hand and they are both startled by the fact that they can touch in the dreams.

Their rooftop conversations slowly fade into dream conversations. They sit on the swing in the dream and talk as they dream, along with staying up on the rooftop (when do these fuckers actually rest?)

Andrew tells Neil about his fear of heights. That night, in exchange, Neil explains why they are always in a park in their dreams “It was my safe space as a child. No parents to hurt you in public at a park. And I liked swinging.”

From there, things continue as canon says (i rlly like canon compliant AU’s i'm so sorry lol)

Up until---- Neil’s suddenly kidnapped.

He's taken and tortured and it's nasty but when he is drugged and forced to fall asleep, something strange happens. He dreams.

Meanwhile, Andrew freaks out when he cannot find Neil and he eventually tries to strangle Kevin. After Andrew gets calm down and the Foxes begin the trek to various hospitals to find everyone else, Andrew gets in idea.

He goes to sleep in the back of the bus and as he falls asleep, he gets as close to praying as someone like Andrew can. He falls asleep and the miraculous happens. He dreams.

In the dream, Neil doesn't yet have the scars Lola gave him but he still manages to look shitty. Immediately upon seeing him, Andrew asks Neil where he is and Neil answers as truthfully as he can but he knows what's going to happen next. He finally tells Andrew the truth, the full truth. And Neil is as happy as he can be because he gets to tell Andrew goodbye this time. A true and real goodbye and it's heartbreaking. Andrew refuses the goodbye and promises Neil that he’ll see him again.

Neil doesn't believe him but he smiles and they kiss for what feels like the last time. Neil wakes up mid-kiss and Andrew is left holding nothing but air.

Andrew wakes up and runs to explain to Wymack where Neil is. At this point they have picked up all of the other Foxes from the ER and this, THIS is where the Foxes find out that Neil and Andrew are soulmates </3 (oof)

Wymack calls the cops, who in turn tip off the FBI and confirms what the FBI and the Hatfords already kinda knew. But this time, Stuart knows going in that Neil is there and is able to get there sooner. They still have to go through with the plan they do in the book but they got there just a little bit sooner and was able to make it so Neil didn't get detoured straight through the FBI.

They have their reunion in the hospital instead and it's a funny sight, all of these Exy players jammed into a single hospital room, trying desperately to see this little fucker. Andrew pushes himself in first and Andrew tears Neil a new one for trying to really say goodbye to him via dreams and just clutches him tightly. Neil apologizes again for that and promises to never do it again.

The FBI still tries to get Neil to join Witness Protection but they don't have much of a leg to stand on because Neil just tells them that his soulmate will find him. They let him change his name and they take his statement and story, but he gets to leave with the Foxes. He gets to go home with them.

After that, things stick with the rest of TKM. Eventually, when Andrew graduates and goes on to play professionally and then Neil follows and they are forced to go long distance, they find solitude in their dreams and they spend their nights and midday naps together in dreamland.

And even when they are finally able to live together, they still dream together.

#beck screams #aftg exchange #headcanon #soulmate au #Andreil

240 notes · View notes

meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

22 notes · View notes