#having been cursed all her life she believes she's a monster and the sunny personality is a way for her to 'make up for it'

[ineed-to-sleep]

Blacked out in front of my tablet and woke up with sketches of my Touchstarved mc + Kuras my beloved. woops

[stellarcat52]

Timeless Blue Chapter Two

Okay so apparently I’m just gonna add this little bit to every chapter as a little authors note. So chapter two is here, and as I stop caring about what canonically is happening in whatever scene in writing, the more the style will reflect my normal writing style. On that note, does anyone care how much I deviate from the canon? Like change potentially important plot details aside? Cause uh... yeah I don’t have the greatest impulse control and might mix this with another Au I had in mind. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

Krel, Douxie, Claire, and a crystallized Jim free fall through the rift. Thanks to Douxie’s anti-gravity spells, no lasting damage aside from a crack in Jim’s crystalline savior was dealt.

Krel landed behind Douxie and beside Palchuck, barely being missed by Jim falling from the trees above a moment later.

“What happened?” Steve groaned from under Jim.

“Well,” Douxie started, “I just conjured and anti-gravity spell to slow our fall and keep us from dying. You’re welcome.”

“Douxie? Where is the flying castle?”

“Oh fuzz buckets.”

Knights in metal armor surround them, shouting and communicated within their own ranks.

“This means, we’re lost in time.”

“Time?! I know the geezer said the answers were in the past but time travel shouldn’t be technologically possible for any species yet!”

“What manor of sorcery is this?” A mounted knight demands.

Douxie reaches back and grabs Krel’s hand, “Don’t use your serrator, just follow my lead.” He whispers to the Akiridion, the message being conveyed to the other two as well. However, Steve freaking out did not help their case.

Douxie and Krel look up to see the Knight had taken off his helmet. “Sir Lancelot, um...”

“He’s so handsome..” Steve said, earning a questioning look from Krel and Claire before a sword was pointed at them.

“Wait! Aren’t you Merlin’s errand boy?” Lancelot’s sword crept closer to Douxie’s neck. “I hope you can explain why you are associating with a troll.” Lancelot points to Krel with his blade.

“Hey!”

“Apprentice, first of all, and Krel is not a troll.”

“He’s like an angel man.” Steve daydreams, leaning a little too much on Jim’s encasement. The green material shatters, waking him from his life-preserving sleep. “Woah!”

Douxie jumps up and away from Jim, Krel instinctively reaching for his serrator before remembering Douxie’s words.

“The devil-?”

As Lancelot leans back towards Jim, a red and black armored troll arm breaches the air.

“What? How did I-?”

“Jim! Are you okay?”

“Troll! Troll! To arms!”

Jim is met with two very different reactions, a hug from his girlfriend, and multiple swords being pointed at him.

Douxie starts to jump to protect Jim, a blue hand grabs the edge of his shirt too late to stop him. Douxie proceeds to try and convince Lancelot that Jim is a good troll, which is much harder to convince him of than Krel not being a troll at all.

“You will hang before the king for your insolence.”

====

Jim communes with Claire, Douxie, and his very reluctant cage-mate Krel to try and learn what’s going on before the group is brought before the king. Ending with a promise from Douxie that he’d explain everything once everyone was safe.

After a quick reminder to let Douxie handle this, introductions and explanations are due. Thankfully, Steve was more than happy to shut up once Krel reminded him there was no service in the dark ages and that if he said something wrong he wouldn’t be able to say bye to Aja.

“This is Claire of house Nuñez, and Steve of Palchuckia, a village idiot and uh knight in training.” Douxie starts, pointing to each person as he spoke, “and believe it or not, this is Prince Krel from house Tarron of Cantalupia.” Douxie cautiously opened the cage, bringing Krel out and implying Jim should stay there.

“I have not heard of Cantalupia.” Arthur watched every movement Krel made, from every step he took before standing behind Douxie to every subtle nerve driven shift in his weight.

“That’s to be expected. Before now-“ Douxie quickly gets cut off.

“I’ll have this supposed prince explain it to me.” Arthur snapped. “Explain why you are here, Prince Krel of Cantalupia.”

“Alright, well as the errand boy here explained, I am not a troll. I was cursed to appear like this and have been looking for a wizard to remove it. I would like to formerly request permission to stay here alongside my companions.” Krel gestured to Claire, and Steve, who were giving the Akiridion strange wide-eyed glances.

Arthur pointed Excalibur at the sunny patch in the middle of the floor. “Prove you are not a troll first. Step into the sunlight.”

Krel steps forwards, being followed by a pair of not-so-subtle knights every step until he stands in full daylight in front of the king. “I am no troll, or is this not enough to prove to you my story?”

Arthur’s tensions fade, his grip no longer iron on the hilt of Excalibur. “Alright.”

“Now that that is out of the way, I believe this beast deserves an explanation too, errand boy.” Lancelot pulled Jim out of the cage, forcing him to kneel in the shadows where everyone could see him. “He is most definitely not a cursed prince as your friend here seems to be.”

Douxie lets out a hissing breath, clearly not able to explain the troll. Thankfully, Arthur’s immediate rage was not aimed at anyone proven to not be a troll.

“A troll! I thought I made it very clear your kind is not welcome here when I banished you.”

“Don’t you mean betrayed?” Morgana steps out of the shadows, pushing her way into Arthur’s focus. “You gave the woods to enchanted creatures like these, would you break that vow?”

“These beasts care not of my vow. Especially not spies of Gunmar.”

“Stop calling me a beast!” Jim lunged forwards, held back by Lancelot and another knight. “Wait, Gunmar?”

“Uh, your highness,” Douxie coughs, “it’s good to see you again.”

“And who are you?”

“Hisirdoux, Merlin’s apprentice. I assure to you, he,” he gestures to Jim, “is no threat.”

“That is my judgement to make boy.” Arthur thunders.

Morgana lights up her hand, a ball of golden magic wandering as she speaks. “Trolls are born of magic, and you are of blood. How is their nature a crime?”

Krel had seen something like this before, the students standing up for him and Aja when Colonel Kubritz was looking for them in school.

“When they ravage our lands and take our loved ones from us? I made these laws to keep this fragile land together, and they will be abided.” Arthur shouted. “Leave the wood, the penalty is death. Bring this monster to the light.”

As Jim was carried to the light, protesting and claiming he wasn’t a troll, the entire group went to save him. Douxie attempting to reason with Arthur, Krel using his four arms to try and avoid being grabbed as well and prevent Jim from joining him under the sun, Steve starting to rush forwards but being cut off, and Claire protesting as she was grabbed just as quickly.

Everything happened too fast to understand. The shadows crept out of the corners and flooded where the light should be. In the corner of Krel’s eyes, Claire seemed to have blackened sclera until the light was gone, and the future Trollhunter was safe. Arthur, of course, blamed Morgana, who seemed to be the only person who wasn’t from the 21st century to realize it wasn’t her who had done this. Claire defended her boyfriend, claiming his innocence even if he was a troll.

“Evil is not inherited, it does not corrupt one species more than another. Claire is right to believe a troll, despite how evil you believe them, can be good.” The Extraterrestrial spoke.

“That means nothing Prince. This is my kingdom and I shall not fail it. These beasts are still dangerous, we are still at war."

“If you give into your fear, that is failing.”

“The girl and the prince speak truth. Please listen to them brother.”

Krel gives Douxie a questioning look, not seeing the family resemblance. Douxie shrugs, nodding but understanding where Krel was coming from.

“Fine.” Arthur decided. “I will show the troll mercy. He will live... in the dungeon.”

“Jim!” Claire attempts to follow as he is taken to the dungeon, being stopped and comforted by Douxie.

“As for you, Hisirdoux, shouldn’t you be with Merlin?”

“Well, yes, but you see...” Douxie raked his mind for something to say “I was-“

“I apologize, your highness, but Hisirdoux was busy attempting to help me. I have communicated with him and he intends to help me get back into my original body. If it is impossible, I’ll understand, however. While we are here, if I appear human or not, I do believe my friends and I can help with this war that Hisirdoux has mentioned before.” Krel flares at Douxie as this war had not been mentioned before, who in response glares back as the Akiridion had just interrupted him. “In my country, I am known for my intellect, and I do not wish to take from someone without returning something.”

“So in exchange for me helping him and his curse, he, Claire, and Steve, will help us in the war.” Douxie summarized, not entirely sure if Krel is capable of getting his point through with his sudden usage of fancier tongue.

“Alright. Sir Steve will work with the knights, Prince Krel I believe should work with you, Hisirdoux, and as for mistress Claire?”

“I will take her. I’ve been in need of a new handmaiden.” Krel sees the pleas of help and burning anger in Claire’s eyes as Morgana steps up for her.

“Alright. Now go, I have a kingdom to protect.” Arthur ushered them away.

“Okay Krel what was that?” Steve hissed before the separated, the threat of not seeing Aja again still holding its effect. “Last I checked, you didn’t act like a prince much.”

“Theater practice at school.” Claire starts. “Krel has gotten very good at improv.”

“You are in the play?” Steve was astonished.

“Yes, while you have been too busy complaining about Eli and Aja going to Akiridion-5, I was increasing my knowledge on human culture, of the present and the past, or would it be the future and the present.”

“It doesn’t matter. Krel, you did amazing. I was here during this time and I still wasn’t as fast as you to know what to say!”

“Did you just say you were-are here?” Krel asked.

“Oh fuzz buckets.”

The group separates, although partially unwillingly. Steve goes with Sir Lancelot, Claire with Lady Morgana, and Krel with a very nervous Douxie.

Part one Part three

[elderkale]

by any other name

50th masterversary @dwmasters​

tell me we’ll never get used to it - by any other name

(posting chapters here while off ao3)

There was no conclusive start to their time together. For her to have marked a beginning would have meant accepting that there would be an end, a limit, a day when their time would run out. And she didn’t.

She remembered the first time she’d seen her only because she knew it must have happened. What had she been wearing? Had it been sunny outside, or had it been overcast? Was the room hot or cold? When had their eyes met for the first time?

What had she seen in her?

This is how it goes.

There’s a monster on the loose, and everyone is hiding. There’s a monster on the loose, and the story should have a hero. There’s a monster on the loose, and it should be taken down by spears and cannons the strength of dozens.

There’s a monster on the loose, and she doesn’t care about any of that.

The Midsummerman, they’d called him. He’d liked to display his victims in works of art so meticulous it almost hurt to take them down—knives and cyanide, crowns perched on bleach-white skulls, hands and wrists interlocked in a bed of flowers. Like children, asleep in the meadow.

Midsummer for his dreams. Man because that was what they believed him to be.

Sometimes, she still cursed his name in her sleep.

*

She approaches her nightmares critically, clinically, cynically, and calculatingly, and everything else that starts with a C. What does this mean? What about that? Whose face is this? This hand? This body hanging from the rafters? Are those my demons crawling from the shadows and pinning me down, or are they someone else’s? Is it a river I’m standing in, or is it a sea?

Denial is the prescription she writes herself. She’s not a doctor for nothing.

*

She’d paid attention to her in the way a person paid attention to the stones on a trail, or the turn of the stars behind the clouds.

In another world, she didn’t think she’d even have noticed her. In another one, she didn’t think she’d have been able to tear her gaze away. Maybe in yet another one, where stakes were higher but life was simpler, they’d have been thrown together by fate and accident and wild, wild circumstances and gone up in each other’s flames, and it would have been easy.

She’d bumped into her on the first day, she recalled, going around the corner. She’d spilled tea on herself—not much, just a splash—and dropped a pen. Of all her memories of the day, she had no idea why that was the one that stood out the most. The way the mind works, eh?

She’d asked questions, she remembered. Most people liked to ask questions as if they already knew the answer to them—sos and what you’re sayings and rights. She’d asked questions the way questions were meant to be asked—wide-eyed and curious and serious at the same time, taking things in and thinking about them instead of being bitter about being wrong. She thinks that’s what struck her first.

She’d listened with her eyes and her hands and her face and her body, and, when she’d looked up, she’d meet her eyes and nod. A happy nod, a solemn nod, an impish nod, but a nod nonetheless. Yes, it said, I hear you.

And then, over a body stuffed with coals in a field of withered flowers, in the midst of lights and frenzy and protocol and shouting, she’d held a shaking woman in her arms and stroked her back and sat and listened until she gave a name.

*

What do we do now?

*

There had been an expression that almost looks like loss on her face when they’d lead Van Statten away, and, not quite sure what she was doing, but doing it anyways, she took her hand and led her to a hole-in-the-wall chippy with enough actual holes in the walls that she refused to eat in the building itself (much to the disgruntlement of the woman behind the counter, who’s shouts of It’s fucking atmosphere! followed them all the way down the street and around the bend).

(Maybe that’s when it started—the two of them wandering into a churchyard and sitting beneath stone angels, her laughing as she upset the box, and laughing harder as she plucked chips from the ground and ate them, dirt and all.)

Looking back, she found herself wondering why she never left. Or, rather, why she stayed. Companionship was the word that often surfaced. Camaraderie and a mutual inability to think of anything else to do, and maybe some curiosity thrown into the mix, too.

And then, one day, on the highest bluff in the middle of nowhere, hot and sweaty and aching to the bone, the trees below lit up like a forest of flames in the light of the setting sun and the sky above burning and swirling with stars and clouds, she took her face in her hands and pressed her lips to hers, and everything felt right.

*

Is this love, she wonders at a point, or is this obsession. And who’s to say that it isn’t both.

She doesn’t know the difference.

*

It’s enough to say that not much changes, because it’s too much to think about the little things that do. Hands that linger for fractions of seconds that burn like dying suns and the smallest of smiles from across hallways and conference rooms that shouldn’t make her heart beat like there’s two of them but do. Gazes that hold her and make the hair stand up on the back of her neck and scorch her to the core. A jacket hanging on a doorknob in her flat and an old pink mug on the kitchen counter in hers. Calls that stretch far past what could reasonably be called night, except there’s a reason now, and strands of bleached blonde hair tangled up in the sheets with brown.

And the kisses. The kisses are good, too. And everything else that follows.

She mentions it offhandedly, one day, the pipes and mildew in her flat. And then, because she wants to help, or because she doesn’t have a filter, or for no reason at all, she’s asking her to move in.

There’s a moment, when she’s staring at her, where she thinks she’s put her foot in her mouth. But then she throws her arms around her, and she can feel her smiling against her lips.

Her flat sells surprisingly well, considering the nest of cockroaches in the bathroom they didn’t tell the buyer about.

*

Jack is ecstatic. When is he ever not?

If only he could know how it ends.

*

It had been unrealistic, she supposed to have expected things to be perfect then and for forever. More fanciful, still, for her to expect her to be perfect then and for forever. Smiles tended to wilt behind closed doors and laughter turn to growls, and she had the illusion of all the time in the world to see every grin twist into a scowl.

Money was one of the few things she’d never had to worry about, which was just as well. She didn’t think she’d have been able to bring herself to care.

She’d disagreed. She’d disagreed back. And then they were shouting, and then she was storming out of the flat. The slam of the door had echoed down the hallway behind her, and kept ringing in her ears even five blocks away.

She’d spent the night curled up on a bus stop bench, hood pulled over her face and arms crossed tightly over her chest, and woken to an old woman with a shopping cart tugging at her boots.

She’d given her the boots. She didn’t know why. She still thought about them, sometimes.

She’d found her like that, twisting an old coupon the woman had given her idly in her hands, in the morning, a cup of tea in either hand and a box of custard creams tucked beneath her arm.

They’d bought a purple couch.

*

Three of us against the world, she used to say. And then it was two, and then. . .

And who knew what it was, now.

*

Communication is the key to a good relationship, she’d heard someone say once. A teacher, maybe? She doubted it was any of her friends. Maybe Jack, if he weren’t so bad at giving advice, and even worse at following it.

Communion is subjective. She talks, of course she talks. It’s the one thing she’s never learned not to do. She talks and she talks and she talks, but she never says, and she doesn’t think she hasn’t noticed.

She knew her; she barely knew her. She told her everything, but she still knew nothing. They’d speak without ever exchanging a word, and she would squeeze her wrist lightly when she stood to refill their mugs. She’d answer questions until she didn’t, and she’d ask until she stopped. Ebbing and flowing, the conversations went, and that’s how they left it.

It was beyond words, in a way, and so much lesser in another. Honest. Arduous. Cryptic and impossible and, depending on how you looked at it, completely pointless. She wishes everything were so easy.

She thinks that she knew—about her, what she was and what she wasn’t—or suspected, at the very least. She’d never said anything, not with words, but she’d say it in other ways—the way she’d roll over when she would crawl back into bed in the dead of night, and silently wrap an arm around her waist; the way she’d make no comment about the plain, dark clothes that would appear and vanish in their closet without explanation; the way she’d turn the news off when she switched it on in the morning and locked their fingers together as they drank tea over the papers; the way she never said a word.

See? Communication.

*

She wished—

Oh, god, she wished.

*

There’s a house on the junction of Satellite Street and Fifth Avenue. Boards that hadn’t been there when the house had been sold are nailed across the windows on the first floor. The windows on the second floor are shuttered. Daffodils grow in the front yard, and the roof is covered in dead leaves and fallen branches.

He was tired. Tired and scared, and ready to give up. She’d time it perfectly. He wouldn’t have fought.

Except she was wrong.

Nine shots. Six hits. She still couldn't stand fireworks.

Trembling on a porch, gasping for air, spreading pools of red, and pain that was so much more than just physical. Hands that couldn’t move, a heart that couldn’t beat, and eyes that could do nothing but watch as two more bullets sunk into her heart.

*

Rose.

[firewoodfigs]

into each life some rain must fall 

Six times he stands before a grave in the rain, grieving. But this time, courage is reborn. [5+1 Things] 

read on ao3 

i.

Riza Hawkeye is terrifying. This is the first thought that crosses Roy’s mind when he sees her slicing up the carcass of a chicken (or is it a duck?) without even flinching. So when it rains that day, he doesn't think it’s necessary to find her, in hopes of passing her an umbrella. Truthfully, he doubts someone like her is even capable of catching the common cold.

Perhaps it’s childlike bravery, or sheer stupidity, but Roy decides to search for her anyway. He can think of many reasons why this is an awful idea. First, Roy knows he’s kind of good-looking, the same way he knows he’s sort of ingenious and incredible. But he also knows his aunt is paying a lot of money for his lessons, and that he’s here to learn; not to chase girls or get a girlfriend. Second, he knows from his sisters’ stories that the female imagination is capable of unimaginable things, and he most certainly does not want her, of all people, to get the wrong idea.

If word ever gets out about the little stunt he’s about to pull, his sisters would never let him live it down.

But thunder rumbles in the distance, and rain pelts down incessantly, relentlessly. It’s enough to make even a grown man shiver. So he jogs over to her school in quick strides, searching for a socially awkward urchin with messy golden hair and a terrifying glare.

Roy only manages to find her in the end, after what must have been hours of searching. She’s not at school, no. She’s kneeling in front of a tombstone with a bunch of wilted freesias and roses, staring blankly at the inscription written on it.

He says nothing, only lifts his umbrella over her grieving form and lets half of himself get drenched.

Miss Hawkeye glares at him when she finally notices his presence, but accepts the umbrella begrudgingly nonetheless. As she turns around to face him, he sees rivulets streaming down her cheeks, and Roy wonders if it's the rain or her tears.

She rubs her eyes impatiently. “It’s just the rain,” she insists, even though the umbrella shields her from the raging storm overhead.

ii.

Master Hawkeye dies in his arms after begging him to take care of his daughter. He’s only twenty, halfway through the academy and still unacquainted with death. He’s too stunned to care about decorum and propriety and honorifics at the moment, and ends up yelling for Riza to come.

She appears a moment later, hair still a dishevelled, dampened mess; knuckles white from gripping the doorframe so hard. Her eyes are hollow and she’s too numb, too shocked to say or do anything as she stares at her father’s unnaturally still form.

For a long while, nothing he says seems to elicit any kind of response from her. It’s almost like she’s catatonic; trapped in another dimension where he can’t reach her.

He ends up taking care of the burial and the estate and everything else.

The funeral passes by in a haze. It’s a small, quiet affair. His master has never had many (or any, actually) friends to begin with, anyway, given his eccentricity and preference for seclusion.

Roy stays by her side before a gravestone again afterwards. It’s a sunny day. She doesn’t kneel this time; only stares quietly at the name engraved on it like it belongs to a stranger rather than a father.

To his dismay, he learns that, unlike him, she has no other living relatives or family to turn to. How lonely must it be, then, being trapped in this nondescript, deserted town all by herself?

So he offers her his contact details; his dreams and aspirations for the future as an excuse for them to maintain some semblance of a friendship. It’s probably closer to an acquaintanceship, given that they hadn’t really spoken much even during his stay at the Hawkeye manor. Either way, it’s better than being all alone, he thinks.

In exchange, Miss Hawkeye simply responds with a small, sad smile before asking if she can entrust her back to his dream; offering her own naive ideals and hopes for a better, brighter future.

And then, she unbuttons her blouse as soon as they return to the manor to unveil an intricate array begging to be deciphered. For all his brains and talents Roy can only stare, shell-shocked.

What the hell had his master done?

The sky begins to weep for the abuse she’s endured for the sake of bearing an alchemist’s legacy. But the misty rain can’t wash away the ink splaying out like blood on her back; the pain she must have suffered during the excruciating procedure.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say to break the silence that hangs over them like a death sentence, as he crosses the distance between them to ghost his fingers over the apology inscribed onto her back.

Miss Hawkeye offers him an impassive shrug. “It… it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, but her shoulders are quaking and her hands are trembling as she grips on to her blouse for dear life.

iii.

The war finally ends. Rain descends from the heavens like drops of silver after what must surely have been hell on earth. A rarity, Roy thinks, where condensation in the air is caused only by blood, not water. A gift from the gods (do they exist?), perhaps. He lifts his palms heavenward, as if begging for the rain to wash away his sins; his scars and his very soul.

It doesn’t. A soldier like him now inured to violence and gore doesn’t deserve such a reprieve.

At the very least, though, the Hero of Ishval is grateful that it renders him useless. A hero. The title sits uncomfortably on his tongue, in his gut. He’s nothing more than a murderer; a monster, and he doesn’t want any medals of gold or glory emblazoned across his military garb. Not when they’re just symbols celebrating death and destruction.

Roy watches from the distance as a sorrowful silhouette with a familiar tuft of blonde hair kneels over a makeshift grave.

“An Ishvalan child, shot and left to die on the roadside alone,” she explains reverently with a forlorn smile, when he inches closer to ask whether it’s a fallen comrade.

He swallows thickly. God, if only he’d kept his ugly mouth shut back then. Then maybe she’d still just be shooting birds and rabbits and antelopes. Maybe she’d still be making chicken soup for dinner now (imagining the smell of cooked meat is enough to make him nauseous). Maybe she’d still be stuck in the raffish countryside; in that countrified, eerie manor all by herself.

Being alone, he thinks, is still infinitely better than being surrounded by cadavers in a deluge of blood-stained sand.

The… sniper (The Hawk’s Eye leaves an awfully bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s biting a bullet) clenches her fist when she’s done, before asking him for the impossible.

“I have a favour to ask of you, Mr. Mustang,” she begins. “Please burn and crush my back.”

“There’s no way I can -” Roy replies immediately, almost yelling. How in the world could he burn her flesh, with the alchemy he’d learnt from her back?

“Please,” she says, begging for him to liberate her from the bonds chaining her to a deceased man so that she can be her own person. Just Riza Hawkeye, not the keeper of her father’s secrets.

“Damn it,” Roy curses under his breath. She makes it sound like it’s her fault for entrusting her father’s research to him. But isn’t he the one who had abused the power entrusted to him; defiled her trust, destroyed her hopes of everyone getting their happy ending somehow?

And yet... endings like these only exist in grand castles and fairy tales. Not in arid, scorched deserts, and most certainly not in their horror stories of ruthless murder and bloody genocide and endless strife.

If only he’d been a little less foolish back then. If only.

Roy relents.

iv.

Rain pours down in heavy, roaring torrents when he burns her back. Roy wishes it could fall through the roof somehow; douse the fire eating her at her flesh so he doesn’t have to hear her suppressed screams that come out as whimpers as she bites down on an old, ragged cloth. It breaks his heart to burn her, a friend he’s come to cherish and appreciate through all the hell they’ve endured together over bland coffee and stale bread.

But he does so anyway. Because it’s what she wants - no, what she needs. He lets the massive downpour swallow the sounds of their cries; lets the wind carry away the lethal secret that has killed hundreds (or thousands?) into the dark, endless void.

“It… it’s done,” Roy whispers breathlessly at last. He removes the burnt tissue carefully, mindful of her quivering frame before covering them with sterile dressings. Then, he gives her the painkillers he’d gathered from the apothecary, which she eagerly swallows.

He doesn’t dare meet her eyes while she’s still conscious, fearing that he’ll only see hatred swimming in them. How could she not, after all that he’s done? He wouldn’t blame her, to be honest. She has every right to, and he deserves every ounce of it.

Fortunately, the medicine kicks in quickly. Roy kneels before her half-lucid form as her eyelids begin to flutter shut. God, he wants to beg for forgiveness, but...

“I forgive you,” she murmurs sleepily even before he says anything, before finally falling into painless oblivion. Roy stays by her side, nervously close and gentle as he wipes her forehead with a cool, damp cloth to make sure a fever doesn’t develop.

Afterwards, he goes to her parents’ grave to beg them for forgiveness; to repent for all that he’s done to their daughter.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t fulfil your last wish, Master,” he cries, filled with regret that he hadn’t listened to his warning back then. The stones only stare back at him wordlessly. Self-reproach swallows him whole, the way squalls of driving rain completely engulf him.

A little less than a month later, Riza Hawkeye marches into his office, stoic and stalwart with an unrivalled expertise in guns and an unyielding duty to the living and the dead. He’s inclined to believe that maybe, just maybe, he can make the necessary reparations and restitutions with her by his side. And so he makes her his personal adjutant; gives her the right to shoot his back if he steps off the path.

It’s the least he can do after he’s defaced hers, after all.

“Will you follow me?” Roy asks apprehensively.

“If that is your wish, then even into hell,” she states, not flinching in the least. He wants to tell her that she’s already been through hell with him, and she doesn’t deserve anymore of that.

Instead, he grits his teeth and looks on ahead resolutely, determined not to let her down this time.

v.

Brigadier General Maes Hughes is buried on a relatively bright afternoon. The sun shines as birds sing and flowers begin to bloom. The spring sky shimmers overhead in a vibrant, cheerful shade of blue like it’s paying an ode to his sprightly nature.

And yet, the ceremony is distinctly somber: it’s filled with soldiers who aren’t allowed to break protocol and say their eulogies and prayers; a wife whose heart is torn asunder, who still yearns for him to return home, and a child who’s far too young to understand that he’s not coming back.

Colonel Mustang stands at attention as the soldiers lower his best friend six feet under. His stomach coils as his heart wrenches. He feels like throwing up again. A part of him wishes his body would stop behaving in this manner so that he can at least attempt to convince himself that this isn’t real; that it’s just a feverish dream which will be chased away by the morning light.

But it’s real. It’s not a dream. Because Elicia, darling Elicia is crying for her father. “Why are you burying Papa?” she yells. “He has to return to his work!”

Roy only barely manages to stop himself from grieving aloud. Years of military training, perhaps. He continues watching quietly as the bugle sounds off in Hughes’ honour instead, and waits for everyone to leave before saying his piece.

Well, almost everyone.

“... Are you alright?” His Lieutenant asks.

“Yes,” he answers unconvincingly. “It’s… it’s a terrible day for rain.”

She looks up at the vast horizon above them, a pretty pastel pink with tender ribbons of lilac streaking across. “It’s not raining -”

“Yes, it is,” he whispers, before donning the military cap once more.

Thankfully, Hawkeye understands. She gives him a moment to grieve, not bothering with senseless platitudes or empty sympathies. A crow caws in the distance, calling for the departed soul of his friend as he stands, uniform dry but cheeks inexplicably damp.

“Let’s go, sir. It’s getting chilly here,” Lieutenant Hawkeye calls gently. Colonel Mustang nods and obliges, leaving his best friend behind in the setting sun.

Daybreak arrives once more, like clockwork. His eyes are raw and red and swollen shut as he mulls over the consequences of ditching work for the day.

Hawkeye turns up at his doorstep with freshly baked bread and a warm cup of coffee just then: the morning light that offers him a brief respite from grief.  

vi.

It’s pouring this time as he stands in front of Hughes’ grave. Somehow, it always does whenever he stands alive before death.

The sky and rain are like sackcloth and ash, Roy thinks, as it falls on his shoulders and shrouds him from the rest of the world in a sad, pearly grey. But he’s been so scared and frustrated and exhausted over the past few months - from losing his closest friend, to dealing with a government corrupt to its very core and an impending nationwide catastrophe - that it’s a welcome relief.

“It’s almost time, Colonel,” comes a gentle voice in the midst of the gloomy darkness.

The downpour gradually lessens into a soft drizzle.

It’s impossible to miss the scent of her, lavender and petrichor masked beneath gunpowder even in this graveyard reeking of death. And it finally dawns upon Roy then, why the time they’d spent apart had felt like an eternity; why it’d pained him so badly like someone was ripping his innards out. Because he loves her. He loves her so much that it pushes out through every fiber of his being; that he almost can’t contain the urge to kiss her; hold her, keep her in his arms forever.

Behind him, he hears her feet shift subtly. Her breathing is weary and slightly laboured. A well-timed reminder that she’s very much alive, not buried underneath soil like the other rotting corpses in this god-awful place.

Roy bites on his lips, hard, to restrain himself from crushing them on hers. They don’t need any more fires between them when they already have enough to extinguish.

But she’s here now, at least, and that’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to keep moving forward despite having buried a part of himself alongside the man he’d seen as a comrade, a friend and a brother. It’s enough for courage to be reborn; for him to face another day with strength and hope.

“Let’s go, Lieutenant,” he says at last, a genuine smile crossing his features for the first time in months. She hesitates for a moment before trailing behind him, footsteps quiet and steadfast. And when they depart the land of the dead (together) to meet the maelstrom awaiting the living he’s not afraid anymore.

[kayliemusing]

30

1: Name - Kaylie

2: Age - 23

3: 3 Fears - Spiders, failure, loss

4: 3 things I love - Reading, writing, Taylor Swift

5: 4 turns on - Kindness, nice hands, humor, someone who has a really warm heart.

6: 4 turns off - Arrogance, moustaches lmao, narcissism, basket ball shorts *shudders*

7: My best friend - Her name is Megan (but also my mom lmao)

8: Sexual orientation - Heterosexual

9: My best first date - I have never been on a date.

10: How tall am I - 5'2

11: What do I miss - My childhood mostly

12: What time were I born - 2:45 pm

13: Favorite color - Red, but sometimes a nice summery, pastel yellow

14: Do I have a crush - no

15: Favorite quote - I have so many that I can't say my utmost favourite, but one that I always think about is from Richard Siken "He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand." I'm not even sure how this is supposed to be interpreted, but I just love the detail of this. Of someone looking at the moon and pointing at it, but you're looking at their hand because you're that consumed by them and also they're like your moon. anyway-

16: Favorite place - My house lol

17: Favorite food - Cheesecake

18: Do I use sarcasm - Yes, but very dryly

19: What am I listening to right now - Nothing actually. I'm just sitting in the quiet.

20: First thing I notice in new person - I used to think it was physical, like eyes or their smile, but I think it's actually their demeanor. i.e., confidence, if they're laid back, talkative or quiet, etc. Or even just how they handle things. Like when I'm at work and I meet a new co-worker I'm always noticing how they are with people.

21: Shoe size - 6.5 US but I can manage a 7 US too.

22: Eye color - Grey

23: Hair color - Ashy blonde, but I usually get it highlighted to be a brighter blonde

24: Favorite style of clothing - I'm super into the French girl vibe right now (elegany, classy, ribbed sweaters tucked into high waisted jeans or dress pants, a blazer thrown over and a nice gold necklace) but I'm also really into a summery boho look (flowy maxi dresses and skirts)

25: Ever done a prank call? No

27: Meaning behind my URL - On this account, it's just my name and then 'muses' because this account is just me talking to myself tbh. My main account is called autumnsletters which is just a combo of my fav things: autumn and handwritten love letters, and finally, my embarrassing taylor swift account is called sixteenavenue which is a lyric from her song I Think He Knows where she mentions her heart skipping down sixteenth avenue.

28: Favorite movie - I feel like i don't have one answer bc I always have a different answer to this question lmao. I think it's called A Christmas Carol (the 2009 version w/ Jim Carrey). It just makes me feel cozy and warm inside. Also: Clueless.

29: Favorite song - All Too Well by Taylor Swift I think.

30: Favorite band - Of Monsters and Men

31: How I feel right now - I actually feel really happy today, which is a change lol. I had an awful week last week, but over the last couple of days I've just felt more creative and happier.

32: Someone I love - My mom

33: My current relationship status - Single

34: My relationship with my parents - Excellent.

35: Favorite holiday - Christmas

36: Tattoos and piercing i have -0 :'(

37: Tattoos and piercing i want - I want to get my ears pierced again bc the holes grew over. Low key want a nose piericing and low key want a tattoo on my collarbone (or somewhere around there)

38: The reason I joined Tumblr - Because everyone else had it and I felt left out LOL

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? - I don't have an ex

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? - No

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? - No i've never been kissed rip

42: When did I last hold hands? - never but it's ok bc i can hold my own hand

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? - Depending on what I'm doing. If I showered the night before and I'm just doing a very low-maintenance look, roughly 15-20 mins. On a normal day in which I shower in the morning and am trying to actually be presentable, roughly an hour.

44: Have I shaved your legs in the past three days? - Have YOU shaved MY legs? No. Have I shaved my own? Yes

45: Where am I right now? - My room

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? - Most likely I'm not drunk, but IF I WAS, it would be my friend, my mom, or my sister (my sister would probs make fun of me and film me tho tbh)

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? - Loud if I'm jamming with nothing else to do but sing along. If I'm trying to do something, I'll turn it down bc I can't focus with loud music (especially if I'm trying to write something/talk to someone/text someone)

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? - My mom bc my dads dead

49: Am I excited for anything? - My sister and I are going to Banff in about three weeks so I'm excited for a getaway.

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? - No

51: How often do I wear a fake smile? - I work in retail so

52: When was the last time I hugged someone? - I don't know. I think I hugged my mom at some point this week lol

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? - Bye bye babyyyy

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? - my cat

55: What is something I disliked about today? - I had to go to work

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? - Taylor Alison Swift baby

57: What do I think about most? - Probably Taylor Swift.

58: What’s my strangest talent? - I can make stomach gurgling noises with my mouth closed.

59: Do I have any strange phobias? - Nah, pretty generic ones

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? - Behind the camera

61: What was the last lie I told? - Some lady asked if a product was good and I said yes so I wouldn't have to help her find another one

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? - Neither what the hell

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? - Neither

64: Do I believe in magic? - No

65: Do I believe in luck? - No

66: What's the weather like right now? - It's calm, but a little cloudy. It was really warm and sunny earlier, but it's gotten a little grey.

67: What was the last book I've read? - I just finished this series called The Winner's Curse by Marie Rutkoski and it was so good but so stressful omg. Still 5/5 stars.

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? - Yes

69: Do I have any nicknames? - Not really, but sometimes my coworkers call my Kayls

70: What was the worst injury I've ever had? - Oh my god when I was like 10 I fell during grounders and the bar hit me right on the cooch. Most painful event of my entire life.

71: Do I spend money or save it? - Spend it bitch

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue? - No

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me? - yes!! my blanket!!

74: Favorite animal? - I love hippos and I don't know why.

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? - Reading on my phone to avoid sleeping so I could prolong not going to work

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? - Devil. Kind of like Satan The Devil is his full name

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? - Shake It Off

78: How can you win my heart? - Learning Taylor Swift's entire discography for my sake

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? - tbh I really don't know

80: What is my favorite word? - Wonderstruck

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr - n/a

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? - stream fearless taylor's version

83: Do I have any relatives in jail? - no

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? - Healing

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? - N/A

86: What is my current desktop picture? - it's a misty forest

87: Had sex? - no

88: Bought condoms? - no

89: Gotten pregnant? - no

90: Failed a class? - yes

91: Kissed a boy? - no

92: Kissed a girl? - no

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? - no but it's a dream

94: Had a job? - I've had two so far

95: Left the house without my wallet? - Yes, sometimes I do it on purpose so I can make my mom pay for something lmao (chill i'm talking something small like candy)

96: Bullied someone on the internet? - no

97: Had sex in public? - no

98: Played on a sports team? - no

99: Smoked weed? - no

100: Did drugs? - no

101: Smoked cigarettes? - no

102: Drank alcohol? - yes

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? - no

104: Been overweight? - I feel overweight, but technically no

105: Been underweight? - No

106: Been to a wedding? - Yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? - Yes, but not since I was younger. I'm mostly on my phone now.

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? - Oh yeah lmao

109: Been outside my home country? - No

110: Gotten my heart broken? - Yes

111: Been to a professional sports game? - No

112: Broken a bone? - No

113: Cut myself? - Yes

114: Been to prom? - Sort of. I'm Canadian so I had grad.

115: Been in airplane? - No

116: Fly by helicopter? - No

117: What concerts have I been to? - Jonas Brothers when I was about 10 lmao and Marianas Trench when I was 15

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? - No

119: Learned another language? - Tried to

120: Wore make up? - Yes. I do work at a makeup store.

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18? - no

122: Had oral sex? - no

123: Dyed my hair? - not a funky color, no

124: Voted in a presidential election? - Sort of; I voted for a prime minister

125: Rode in an ambulance? - Yes

126: Had a surgery? - No

127: Met someone famous? - No

128: Stalked someone on a social network? - No

129: Peed outside? - No

130: Been fishing? - No

131: Helped with charity? - Yes

132: Been rejected by a crush? - No bc I never fessed up to any crush lol

133: Broken a mirror? - No

134: What do I want for birthday? - A jewelry box

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt (E.D.)

Summary: Some stories start with a meet-cute, but this one starts at the end. 

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of sex, swearing, ANGST

Word count: ~ 2100

Hurt - Series Masterlist

Ethan said he loved her and she took him at his word. He said she was his soulmate and over the years he had become an integral part of her being. You see, Ethan Dolan wasn’t one to go around throwing the L-word so carelessly. He’s the kind of guy who shows his feelings, and he did. Day in and day out, for four years. Then one sunny Sunday, under a cloudless sky, the pair sat in comfortable silence in their backyard, watching over Grayson’s kids as they ran wildly around. And he spoke, changing her life forever.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

Ethan Dolan doesn’t say the L-word so easily…that’s why the pain of hearing it said about someone other than her had nearly shattered her. And sitting across from him now, each armed with a lawyer by their side; this wasn’t how she imagined her marriage with Ethan going.

The worst of it all…she never saw it coming. He simply announced he was in love with someone else. It would have been kinder to kill her. She couldn’t even react in the moment, staring at his side profile in shock as she tried to collect herself. He didn’t even look at her. Not even a glance.

She wanted to throw a fit and curse him out, but she couldn’t. Not when she had promised Grayson to keep his kids happy for the day. She couldn’t act out in front of the little ones.

“I’m sure you’ve gone over the details.” Ethan’s lawyer spoke smugly, thinking this would be an easy win. But Ethan? He was still too much of a coward to look her in the eye again.

“We did and my client finds the offer ridiculous.” Her lawyer remarked, making Ethan roll his eyes and sigh. He played with his late father’s ring, twisting it continuously – a nervous tick as Y/N remembered.

“Considering there was a prenuptial signed, I’m sure you can see my client has been more than generous.” Y/N chuckled dryly, unable to contain her emotion. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling out of control, the unusual situation seeking an atypical response.

“I’m sorry, but does she need a minute?” Ethan’s lawyer asked with contempt, noticing the young woman start to collect herself and the pieces of her sanity that were so evidently far from picture-perfect. There were many cracks in her mind and heart right now, the ability to cope shunned by other, much stronger emotions.

To survive, she must be this person filled with a bitterness she can’t control.

“She

is to be the mother of his children, the kids they planned to have together. Had he at least given her some reason to think there was anything wrong or lacking in their marriage, she’d be much more accepting. But there wasn’t. Hell, they even had sex almost every day during their marriage, even that Sunday morning after which he decided to tear her heart out and stomp on it.

Since then, the girl he met years ago on the beach, the one with the big eyes and the bigger heart is now consumed by a hatred she never knew could take root. She wasn’t human anymore, but a persona she crafted to keep herself going.

“Who is she?” Y/N asked, her voice firm with a slight crack at the end. She poked his chest repeatedly, talking in hushed tones while the kids were taking a nap, not wanting to alert them to anything being wrong.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Ethan replied, almost annoyed by her show of affection and the betrayal in her eyes that have been swimming in tears for the past two hours…tears she swallowed and kept hidden deep inside.

“It matters and you know it.” She felt herself cracking at the seams, her hands latching onto her hair as if she fears her brain might explode. “Did you fuck her?” She bites down on her lip, shaking violently as the thought of his body on top of hers makes her sick. He had been kissing every inch of her skin merely five hours ago…he whispered the sweetest things in her ear as he guided her to her orgasm. He had interlocked their fingers as he thrusts deeper, cumming inside. This morning, his hands on her, his cum dripping out of her…it was all endearing. Now? It made her sick to her stomach.

“I didn’t.” Ethan looked at her, a fleeting glance more than a proper look. It’s as if he’s assessing the damage, checking if she’s about to break. And she was. She was standing on the edge of a very tall cliff…the one she believed was his love. But now he was on the other end, pushing her down and he had no intention on catching her when she falls.

“I didn’t even kiss her. I wanted to wait until I told you. Out of respect for what we had.” He added, looking at his hands instead of her face. She wanted to chuckle…she wanted to strangle him. That’s how much she hated him right now. She could have killed him and not batted an eye. She never understood how crimes of passion were possible. How could a person experience emotion so severely, so deeply and all-consuming that they were blinded by it?

She understood now.

“Respect? If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t have been fucking me this whole time like I was still your number one girl. You wouldn’t have whispered ‘I love you’ this morning when you woke up to my smiling face nor when you were balls deep inside me. You have no respect for me. I see that now.”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Especially since I’m not accepting these terms. Not by a long shot.” Y/N stated plainly, clasping her hands together as she placed them on the glass table in front of her. Leaning in, she smiled wickedly, a decisive glint in her eye – one that would scare Ethan had he dared to look at her.

“The prenuptial I signed had a clause on cheating. I wouldn’t get anything had I cheated or if I had been the cause for our divorce on any grounds. And I wasn’t. Your client here couldn’t wait to tell me he is in love with someone else and that he’s simply waiting for me to be aware of the fact before he starts fucking her. I believe I deserve a little more than twenty thousand dollars for his actions.” Her eyes narrowed at Ethan, wishing he’d just look at her. She wanted more than anything for him to look at her and see the monster he created. She wanted him to beg for mercy…for forgiveness. And only then would she tell him to fuck off and leave him on his knees. She wanted revenge.

“And what is it that you’d like?” His lawyer decided to indulge her. Just for a moment.

“The house is my number one request.” She wouldn’t even live in it. In fact, she can’t stand being inside. Those walls carry too many memories, most of which are now tainted. No…she’d have it on the market the moment she got the deed on her name alone.

“The Jeep.” She’d sell it for parts, just as a cathartic experience.

“And I want never to see his face again.” Her harsh words finally made a dent. Ethan looked up just in time to catch her fiercely wild gaze, enough to see the hate within.

“Not gonna happen.” His lawyer stood up, tapping Ethan on the shoulder but he found himself too engrossed in her, almost as if she put a spell on him. He was in disbelief. How quickly her love turned to hate as if she didn’t even fight it. She let that negative emotion swallow her and pour acid into her soul, but he understood why. He deserved, he was aware. It didn’t lessen the hurt that overcame him as he saw she was no longer who he knew.

“You changed.” Ethan threw the statement in her face as an insult. It was meant to make her feel inferior as if she was the one making the mistake. Like this was her fault.

“Yes. I did. Drop the judgy tone. You don’t get a say in how I fix what you broke. You don’t get a say in anything concerning me at all.” She stood, leaning on her sprawled out hands that stuck to the table like they were glued to the glass. “You’re the one who cheated, remember?” She added, feeling herself growing faint, but she refused to show how her knees are on the verge of buckling or how the back of her neck is drenched in cold sweat.

“I changed by turning my skin from porcelain to steel. I’ve become stronger, fiercer and a lot less trusting. If my ‘soulmate’ could do this to me, anyone would do far worse. I’ve learned from my mistake and I’ve adapted accordingly. But you? You’ve become a coward.” She spat, the weakness she felt in her legs now consuming her body.

“And why is that?” Ethan snorted, looking down on her trembling hands. He knew her well enough to notice something isn’t quite right. But he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to overreact. She wouldn’t want him to show he cares anyway.

“This is the first time you’ve looked me in the eye in the past two months. And you still can’t even keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.” She felt herself falter, her mouth dry as she blinked faster to keep her vision from blurring.

“You LEFT ME!” She raised her voice, her tone alone is an indicator of her fading. “And I hate you for it.”

That’s the last she remembers as her eyes closed shut and her body dropped to the ground. It wasn’t rigid sort of a blackout, rather limp. Managing to knock her head on the desk, she began bleeding from the cut the glass edges left on her scalp, the blood excessive and unrelenting.

“Call 911!” Ethan ordered his lawyer, jumping over the table without a second thought. He checked her pulse, drawing a deep breath once he realized she’s still alive. For a moment he feared she was gone and it scared the life out of him. It felt like his world collapsed on itself and he found it hard to breathe.

He pressed paper towels against the cut blindly. He couldn’t even see where it was, only the blood gushing out.

“You’ll be okay. Okay?” His own voice was no longer as steady as before, a river of emotions breaking through.

The paramedics came in quick, forcing Ethan to step back as they loaded her on a stretcher and into the ambulance. He remained in the office, his clothes mattered with her blood – his on-brand clothes ruined.

By the time she came through, Y/N had seven stitches in place and a killer headache to match. Her back hurt from hitting the chair on her way down and her arm was lightly bruised from the fall as well.

“Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be fine. Took a nasty fall, but you and the little one are just fine.” The older nurse reassured her, placing a hand on her lower abdomen with a soft smile on her pale lips.

Y/N smiled, nodding in relief. She was worried about her…wait a second!

“Little one?!” She exclaimed, seemingly more panicked now then when she just came to.

“Yes. The baby. Oh, guess the fall was a little rougher than I thought.” The nurse laughed, but Y/N caught her by the wrist just before she walked away.

“Pregnant? I can’t be pregnant.” Y/N insisted, the sound of her heart beating drowning everything else.

“Have you had sex?” The nurse remarked. Y/N went silent, closing her eyes in utter defeat as she realized what’s happening here.

“Not since the day I found out my husband is in love with someone who isn’t me.” She replied in resignation, swallowing thickly as tears pooled in her eyes.

She wanted to look back on her life with Ethan fondly, to preserve some good memories. That wasn’t possible…at least not yet. Not when she found herself linked to him once again and this time it wasn’t just by a piece of paper that stated they were legally bound in matrimony…this was much worse. He was literally inside of her and while she wanted to be the mother of his children more than anything, this was the final blow.

“Can you please get me a doctor? I’d like to talk about my options.”

PART TWO

PART THREE

Tags: @dolandolll @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @peacedolantwins @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @ethanhes

[lyricfrost13]

BNHA/Naruto reincarnation au

Ok ok so the trope is that one character is reincarnated into another world, either as another character or as a new insert in the world right?  I had a kind of cracky idea for this one.  

It’s a bit long but basically a ton of characters from My Hero die during the War arc and are reincarnated as Naruto characters, which changes canon timeline but not a ton at first because they all think they’re the only one. Like, literally Minato is All Might, Aizawa is Kakashi - Team 7 is Izuku (Naruto - trust me I know it’s weird, but nearly-adult Izuku in a child’s body is here to cause problems on purpose), Bakugou (Sakura - the temper and eventually the ability to smash boulders? Yes. I know Naruto and Sakura could be flipped but I have Reasons), and Todoroki (Sasuke - evil older brother, fire stuff, kinda stoic) - there’s more under the cut because I don’t have the energy to write an actual entire fic but I need to put it down. Maybe at some point I’ll write the rest. 

Yagi thought it was a dream for a while.  Thought it was a nightmare, some days - but being Namikaze Minato was oddly satisfying in that he earned every bit of his power along the way.  He was proud of it, the strength and speed and intellect. The only person he ever told about his old world was Kushina - and she believed him.  His heart ached when his team fought and died and fought more - he tried to reach Kakashi in his grief, but the boy wasn’t happy. 

Aizawa doesn’t tell a soul that he’s someone else, that he’s a fraud, not a genius.  He doesn’t dare make a friend in Obito or Rin, still aching because all he can think is Mic and Oboro and his fucking class all gone.  Minato’s sunny smiles in the midst of being a deadly destroyer of armies makes him think of All Might and Izuku, the heroes, the best of them.  It hurts when it’s all taken away, and he uses his knowledge of how not to strain eye-related powers to cover his Sharingan when not in use and dives into ANBU to avoid thinking too hard about everything. 

Touya aches. He’s a genius of his clan, blew his first fireball so hot that it charred his throat for a week and glowed blue-white instead of red. This world doesn’t leave him burned beyond repair, and killing isn’t what makes a villain - but he still becomes one, for his little brother’s sake, because while Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shouto are gone, he still has Sasuke. (Another suicide mission fueled by revenge - only this time it’s him that has to die in the end, not his father.)  Itachi’s new flames are black, not blue.

Hawks is tired of lies.  So tired of being loyal to a system that’s full of false promises.  He might be a shark instead of a bird now, but he still flies the coop and joins up with a group that comfortably reminds him of the League. 

Izuku grieves everyone - of course he does - in the quiet of his little apartment. He’s reminded again and again of the fact that he’s different for whatever reason.  This time, instead of crying, he shouts - he laughs - he pranks the shit out of everyone to just be noticed for something that’s actually under his control.  If he can’t be the #1 hero, then dammit he’ll be Hokage - the strongest leader he can manage to be. 

Katsuki doesn’t know what the fuck to do. One, he’s become a girl - gender didn’t really matter all that much to him compared to strength and intelligence before, but it was still weird. What frustrated her more was his lack of quirk - explosions had defined Bakugou for so long that frankly, she was still going to research Iwa’s explosion corps and do something about that to add to her repertoire. Somewhere along the line Ino attached to her like the limpet Kirishima and Mina always had - getting up in her personal space without caring one way or another, understanding when she refused to speak, encouraging her temper every once in a while. The one annoying thing is that Ino interpreted her need to get stronger than the current projected Rookie of the Year as a crush.  Which - no. Sasuke was objectively good looking for a kid, but he was also intellectually a hell of a lot younger than Katsuki-Sakura, and he always uncomfortably reminded her of Todoroki. 

Shouto thrives at first - glad not to be the only one with expectations, even if he winces at the idea of an older brother shouldering so much responsibility.  He lives for having an older brother to look up to, to get close to.  He’s a little miffed that his clan’s specialty is fire-based, but hey, at least his father doesn’t expect him to be his successor - until he does. Until Itachi starts going on more and more missions, poking his forehead and saying “Another time, little brother,” more and more often. And then the massacre happens, and Sasuke wonders why he ever trusted that things would be so stable and ok.  He’s going to get strong, drag Itachi kicking and screaming back to Konoha, and rip his eyes out so he never does that again.

...

Kakashi is late again. Sasuke was more irritable than usual - after Wave, their sensei had promised to help him learn the Ice Release that Haku had done, and he’d really wanted to have that in his arsenal to have something more familiar. Sakura and Naruto had begun sparring in their boredom, and in the middle of it, Naruto slipped and hit one of Sakura’s sore spots from the mission.  She snarled.  

“Fucking deku, what the hell!” she said.  

Naruto yelped and fell forward, following through too far on a punch, eyes wide.  Sasuke stared, blinking.  

“Interesting,” said Kakashi’s voice behind them.  Sasuke was staring at Sakura in shock, and Naruto looked like he was staring at a ghost.  Sakura’s cheeks were turning pink. 

“What are you looking at me like that for?!” she demanded.  

“Problem children,” Kakashi said.  All three faces whipped to face him, mouths gaping, eyes wide. 

“ . . . Aizawa-sensei?” asked Shouto quietly. 

“What?” demanded Bakugou.  “All of us?  Who the fuck are-Icy-hot? Deku?” 

“Kacchan!” Izuku’s expression on Naruto’s features was - well.  Kakashi cursed inwardly - had things gone well, fuck, he’d be the kid’s older brother figure.  This wouldn’t have gone this far.  But the elation of not being alone was too much, even with that sting of he was right in front of me and I did nothing.  

“If we’re all back here,” Sasuke said quietly, “Who else might be?”

“Well, this changes things for us, but not for anyone else,” Kakashi explained.  “As far as the world knows, we’re the same as we’ve always been.  However, you studying Iwa explosion tactics and you wanting to learn ice release jutsus makes a lot more sense now.”

. . . 

Gaara had always had it in him to destroy.  From dust to sand to death - it was all the same.  The Ichibi raging against a jagged seal had only exacerbated an already damaged mind, one that couldn’t handle the empty space where All for One used to be. Instead stood rage.  

Yashamaru had helped, for a while. Gaara had almost even considered telling his greatest secret to his siblings - that he was once a terrible monster of a human, Shigaraki - but his uncle’s death shattered that thought quite thoroughly.  That was all it took to turn him once again into a monster, until a kid with another tailed beast inside him raged against his pain hard enough to scrape at his most protected secret: He didn’t want to be a monster or a villain. 

Naruto had that blinding smile as he fought he’d only seen a few times before - on Midoriya Izuku. 

. . . 

When Itachi next faced Sasuke, he had expected pain and rage. 

Instead, his little brother created a prison of ice mirrors, Sharingan flashing as he finished the sequence of signs.  His teammates screamed from outside the dome, and Itachi grimaced as he readied a stance - when had Sasuke learned anything about ice?  Why would he - 

“You’re going to give me answers, aniki,” he said.  “One of which is this: Touya, what the hell?”

Itachi stared.  And stared.  

“You-Shouto?”

“Apologies for not having the hair dye remover and livestream set up, but yes,” he replied.  

. . . 

Shikamaru was . . . well.  He wasn’t an idiot.  Talking about reincarnation and heroes and another life was a way to get a trip to T&I and never leave.  It didn’t mean he didn’t use his skills - Aizawa would be proud of how lazy his son had gotten in his next life, he bet. 

So when he saw Team Seven act a lot differently at the beginning of the chunin exams than he recalled, he was on high alert to find out what was going on. Naruto had learned some level of volume control, Sakura had tempered whatever her issue with Sasuke was, and Sasuke had - not softened, but definitely cooled off.  Seemed more attentive to his teammates. 

And Kakashi had certainly become more present, if the way they were presenting themselves with high-quality gear was any indication.  

Chunin Exams, Sports Festival - didn’t matter, he was still going to prove himself. No matter the fact he didn’t have his quirk anymore, he still kept asking questions. 

“Hey, Sakura.  Naruto. Sasuke. You ready for this?”

“We’re going to pass,” Sakura said. “No other option.”  He raised a brow. 

“You sure about that?”

“Sakura-chan said it, so she means it,” said Naruto.  Sasuke nodded. 

“What about you and your team?”

“Well, it’d be a drag to take the exam again. Guess I’ve got to get the promotion now,” he sad, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Gotta scope out the competition - I’m not here to make friends.” 

All three stiffened, and Naruto’s eyes lit up.  

“Shinsou!” 

Shikamaru spluttered. 

“Wh-what?!”

“You’re not the only one,” said Sakura immediately.  “Shoulda figured, eyebags. Would have thought Aizawa would be a Nara too, but it still fits.” Shikamaru was, of course, reeling.  

“Aizawa’s here?!  Wait, who are you three, then, if you know?”

“I’m Deku,” said Naruto, and yeah, that tracked.  

“Who the fuck else?” asked Sakura, and yep, her temper and Bakugou’s were just about the same amount of hair-trigger.  Which left - 

“And you’re Todoroki,” he said.  Sasuke nodded. 

“Kakashi’s Aizawa.  He’s gonna be really glad that you’re here, Shinsou. Talk to him when you get the chance.”

. . .

“You might be a monster, but so am I,” Naruto insisted as Gaara’s wild gaze turned on him. 

“No, no, I was born a monster,” Gaara insisted. “I destroyed everything I touched, it all was decay, I ended a world -”

Oh. Oh. 

“And All for One’s gone now,” he said. 

The Ichibi’s form flickered, and the sand surrounding the boy flailed whiplike and dangerous. 

. . . 

Naruto entered the seal and frowned.  It - his body, his spirit felt different. Somewhere between Naruto and Izuku. The mindscape shimmered, and a blond figure stepped forward - the First Hokage. But another step forward, and he shifted into someone else equally, no, more familiar. Naruto choked. 

“All Might?!” he gasped. “You’re the Fourth?  But - how - how is this?” he was helpless for words. Minato stiffened, staring at how the spirit before him shifted back and forth between a young man with whisker marks and blue eyes and a mop of green fluffy hair. 

“Izuku? You’re Naruto?” he asked quietly. His son nodded vigorously. 

“It seems I’ve bestowed quite the power and burden on you twice over,” he mused.  “Come here.  It’s not every day a father gets to see his son for the first time in over a decade,” he said, arms open.  Naruto blinked.  

“My - my father?”

“Yes,” he said with a sad smile. “I only ever told your mother about my past life. She even believed me!” 

Izuku-Naruto stumbled forward and sobbed into Minato-Yagi’s shoulder, clutching him tightly.  

“It’s not just us,” he said, “Aizawa and Todoroki and Kacchan and Shinsou and - there’s more out there, I’m sure of it. Not everyone, but more. And I’m going to save them all this time.” 

Minato smiled. 

[creative-type]

Commiseration

Robin didn’t talk much about her mother. Strangely enough, neither did Usopp

Rating: Gen Word Count: 3100 AO3

Robin didn’t recognize the silence at first. She had been engrossed in a book, a history of the West Blue that predated the Buster Call that she’d been trying to get her hands on for years. There was nothing between the covers that she hadn’t read before. The history of an entire sea was too broad a topic to go into too much depth on any one subject, but it wrote of Ohara and the library that rested there, and it did so without calling the scholars of the Tree of Knowledge demons or monsters or traitors of their chosen field. Newer editions of the same book had been sterilized by the World Government, passages that lovingly described the verdant branches of the great library scrubbed from the public consciousness as if it never existed.

Of course, a book of history would love the historian’s holy land, and Robin remembered reading this very tome from within those hallowed grounds. The memory was a balm for the ache she still felt when she thought of Ohara, the familiar words a warm summer breeze against her soul.

But then, there was quiet.

It was the sort of quiet that became its own sound, unfamiliar and unwelcome in a crew as boisterous as hers. As was her habit, Robin had her ears spread throughout the Thousand Sunny . There was a time she had been forced to listen for the first sounds of betrayal, but those days were long past. The lesson borne out of paranoia evolved to serve a more benevolent purpose.

Robin marked her place and peered across the deck. Luffy was sitting crosslegged at the ship’s prow, a monkey atop the head of a lion. He was in one of his rare contemplative moods, gazing out at the sea with eyes lit with a childlike wonder. Sometimes Robin he saw that excited him so.

But even now he was not still. Luffy never was, not even in sleep. He hummed a rather out of tune rendition of Bink’s Sake, slapping his sandals together as he kept time. He was not the source of the quiet, and so Robin stood, stretching in a long, catlike motion and wandered to the woman’s quarters.

Robin spread her eyes as she walked. Sanji was cooking, Zoro keeping watch while he lifted weights. Brook was on fishing duty with Chopper by order of Nami, after an ill-considered dare led him to breaking the glass of the aquarium with his voice alone. Franky had, of course, replaced it posthaste, but was in the bowels of the ship drafting a new design that was resistant to sound as well as any damage that might be caused by any future roughhousing.

None of them caused the disquiet that Robin felt in her bones. She dropped her book off in her bedroom, exchanging brief pleasantries with Nami and inquiring how her researched fared as she planned their course ahead.

“I’m still not sure how we’re going to get to Fishman Island,” Nami admitted. She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes with her forefinger and thumb. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Robin’s smile seemed to reassure her some, and she let Nami return to her books. Her apprehension, while noteworthy, was not the source of the silence that roused Robin from her reading, which left one final destination.

She found Usopp at the workbench of his designated tinkering room. Surprisingly, it was cleared of tools and the odds and ends he used while inventing. Instead he had the day’s paper spread out flat, staring intently without seeming to actually read .

Robin couldn’t think of a time she had seen him worry over the news. She could count on one hand the time she’d seen him with a paper at all. Like most of the crew, he was content to let his knowledge of the outside world filter through Nami, trusting her to share with the crew anything that was important enough for them to know.

He was tense, singularly focused on the words that lay in front of him. All the boisterous enthusiasm, the bravado -- both warranted and not -- had left him, leaving Usopp looking strangely small. His bluff and bluster usually puffed him two sizes bigger than he actually was, but now all Robin could see was his knobby elbows and the round youthfulness that remained in his face.

Usopp seemed...young. Unsure of himself in a way he rarely let others see, but often felt. Robin was suddenly aware that he had sequestered himself away on purpose, taking the news that distressed him so much to the one space on the ship that was well and truly his.

Robin lingered in the doorway for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. It was difficult while out at sea to find a place to be alone with one’s thoughts. Not every bout of quietness required direct intervention. Not every secret needed pried loose.

This, too, was a difficult concept that Robin was just starting to wrap her mind around. She had spent her life searching for hidden things. There were no efforts she wouldn’t go to in order to find the truth, no matter how painful or personal. Secrets were powerful, just as capable of destroying a person as a knife or a gun. Robin collected secrets like some did bottle caps, and had learned as a young girl to jealously guard her own lest they be used against her.

The Straw Hat Pirates deserved the same privacy they had afforded her. And besides, Nami was not the only member of the crew who read the paper, and Robin had a strong inkling as to what was bothering their sharpshooter so badly.

Robin was about to slip away unnoticed when something within Usopp shifted. He stared at the black and white print so long he saw red, and making a sound that was half-curse, half-noise of impotent frustration he crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it across the room. Usopp spun sharply away from the table, as if he was about to storm from the room, bringing himself face to face with Robin.

All the color drained from his face and settled in his ears, which burned with embarrassment. He sputtered half a dozen excuses and apologies before Robin held up a hand to silence him.

“It’s okay. I was just passing by and wondered if you wanted me to fetch you a drink. I believe Sanji was working on a new concoction using some of the jackfruit we found on the last island.”

It was ironic that he couldn’t tell that she was lying. Usopp let out a rush of breath that he’d been holding, shoulders drooping like a flower in the desert sun. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though.”

His fingers became restless, fidgeting and twitching with the need to be working on something, anything , to distract from the fact that he was very much not fine. Robin waited as he pulled supplies from the cubby holes Franky installed in the walls: his chemistry set, a few sheets of scrap metal, a long-handled wrench. Nothing that could be used effectively in conjunction with each other, a sign that his mind was still preoccupied.

And truly, Robin would have been content to let the matter drop, but she knew at that moment that he did not want to be alone. She had long-since memorized his tells, the little shifts of insecurity and nerves that went beyond his usual theatrics, the quiver of his lips as he tried to speak but couldn’t find the words.

She slid into the seat next to him and waited. If there was one thing she knew about Usopp, it was that he could not be kept speechless for long.

“It’s stupid,” Usopp muttered. He bent so low his long nose nearly touched the table, clasping his hands around the back of his neck, his nails digging into skin and leaving white streaks that filled in red.

“How do you mean?” Robin asked.

“It’s just...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Everything was fine the way it was, and now...I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Only this time the tone he used for the word it’s made it sound as if he’d meant I’m. Robin conjured a line of hands to retrieve the crumpled up paper and smoothed it out on the table. The headline was about a recent marine skirmish with Red Hair Shanks, and some intrepid soul had managed to catch a snapshot of the battle itself.

Beside the Emperor was a tall man with dark skin, dreadlocks hanging to his shoulders and a gun in each hand. A tattoo was partially visible below a billowing and rather tacky cloak with the letters Yas clearly legible.

Even without it, the man would have been unmistakable. His grin was identical to his son’s after a particularly good shot: cocksure, almost arrogant. But justifiably so, if the rumors of his sharpshooting prowess were to be believed.

“I wanna see him so bad it hurts,” Usopp said miserably. “So why am I so mad?”

Robin folded the paper into neat fourths and set it aside. She knew enough about Usopp’s past to understand what he was saying, having pieced together the snippets and stories he’d shared during their travels. Some of them may even have been true, but even if they weren’t it was evident that Usopp worshiped his father. Held him as a picture of an ideal pirate, one that chased his dreams on the open sea.

Even if that meant leaving his family behind.

There were other details that were less clear. Usopp spoke less frequently about his mother, but always warmly and with great fondness. The rest of the crew made it seem as if he had been living alone when they found him at Syrup Village, a boy of seventeen by himself in an empty house. Robin could guess what had happened, but she didn’t know for sure. Whatever the case, there was no mistaking the hurt on Usopp’s face now, and the anger he used to defend himself from it. Grief and loss commingling with confusion and helplessness into one wretched expression.

Robin knew, because she had experienced it herself. She could read all the histories she wanted about Ohara that venerated the ground that it sat on, but without the buffeting layers of nostalgia, the truth became much more complicated. Her few happy memories with the archeologists were like a scab protecting a bleeding wound, and once peeled away all that remained was a lifetime of pain and misery.

“There is nothing wrong with being angry,” Robin said. “And there is nothing wrong with admiring him.”

“But those two things don’t fit together,” Usopp protested.

“I know.”

Robin hadn’t meant the words to come out as bitterly as they did, leaving the sour taste of regret in her mouth. Usopp looked at her, eyebrows knitting together in an unspoken question.

It was her turn to go silent. Robin had not spoken about her mother in anything but the broadest terms, preferring not to think of her if she could help it. Twenty years had passed, and the contradiction did not get any easier to untangle, the knot of repressed feeling, confusion, and resentment growing only larger over time.

But Usopp waited for her to speak, and Robin realized suddenly that if there was anyone on this ship who could understand, it was him. The revelation startled something loose, the one final push to break down one of her oldest and strongest walls.

“My mother left Ohara when I was young to study the poneglyphs,” Robin said. She propped her hand under her chin and looked at the opposite wall, studying the grain in the wood to distract from the surprise on Usopp’s face. “My father passed away before I was born, and my only relatives were my mother’s brother and his wife. They had a girl about my age, my only cousin. And they hated me, or at least my aunt did. The rest followed suit.”

Robin blinked to clear her vision, which had gone unexpectedly misty. She had forgotten the truth of her words until she was forced to say them aloud, locking the memories of home into some deep corner of her soul and throwing away the key. Now they rushed back and pressed against the corners of her skull, demanding to be remembered. For the truth to be told, instead of the sweet falsehood that was so much easier to bear.

“She’s the reason I became an archeologist,” Robin admitted. “I thought that if I did she would take me out to sea. I met her, once. The day Ohara burned. She told me she was proud of what I accomplished and sent me out alone. She died with the rest of the scholars trying to save the library.”

A lost cause, Robin knew. Had always known. Ohara had been doomed the moment the World Government pressed the golden den-den mushi. And still her mother stayed.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference, but Robin had always wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t. If anything would have changed if Robin had one person who she could trust and depend on instead of spending twenty years struggling to keep her head above water in a sea of loneliness and isolation.

“Why?” Usopp asked.

“I wish I knew,” Robin said. “She said I would understand someday, but it hasn’t come yet.”

It occurred to Robin then that she was doing a very poor job, sharing her own woes instead comforting Usopp. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose before turning back to look at him properly. It was difficult to find a smile for him, but she managed. The caustic aftertaste of her own bitterness twisted it into something less than genuine.

“I’ve worshiped my mother and cursed her name, sometimes in the same breath. I’ve hated her, and loved her, and wanted her, and wished I never knew her all at once. I’ve dreamed of seeing her and wanted nothing more than to hurt her beyond the grave. It’s not logical, and there was a time when it almost consumed me.” Robin paused, more memories of an angry and self-destructive adolesce causing an involuntary shudder down her spine.

Really, it was a wonder she was still alive at all. There had been nothing left after the rage burnt itself out, the pressing need of her own survival giving her little time to nurse the hurt into a wrath that could sustain itself. Bit by bit the weight of life had pressed against her, smothering what little hope she had left and leaving a bleak wasteland that made Robin want to curl up and die.

After all, she’d twice been abandoned by her own mother. Who would want a monster as unlovable as that?

“I just don’t understand why he never came back,” Usopp said after the silence went on a beat too long to be considered comfortable. “Or write, or something. Was he trying to protect us?”

He looked down at his hands, calluses and fine white scars crisscrossing into a map that laid out the path of his adventures. He clenched them into fists, the strain pulling the tendons taunt against his knuckles.

“Did he forget about us? Does he know what happened to Mom? Does he even care ?”

Usopp kicked at the leg of the table, then yelped when he succeeded in stubbing his toe. His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Robin knew the physical pain wasn’t their source.

“I don’t know,” Robin said. The blunt truth startled another yelp out of him, and Usopp looked up at her with his jaw slack and an unguarded look of terror in his eyes. Robin felt her expression soften, and she reached out to lay her hand over his.

It had been a long time since her touch could offer comfort instead of destruction. The simple act of holding his hand brought back more memories, one that was neither the tearing pain of her miserable childhood nor the false nostalgia that she’d hidden behind for so long. It was a healing sort of hurt, powerful in its simplicity, and Robin gave a soft, reassuring squeeze.

I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.

“What I do know is that your father is still alive,” Robin said gently, “and when the right time comes I believe that you will have the courage to face him.” She paused, one last silence in a day that had been full of them.

“And...you don’t have to follow his path. No matter how similar you are, no matter how much of him rests in your heart, you are not your father.”

Robin thought back to that last meeting with her mother. She had been honest when she said she didn’t understand why she had stayed behind. Her mother had chosen her dream over the people she loved. Despite Robin’s best efforts to convince herself otherwise, as time passed and she became, if not unbiased, then more openminded, it became clear that her mother had loved her very, very much.

He mother said that Robin would someday understand, and when faced with the same impossible choice Robin thought she finally would. Had her mother been at Water 7 Robin had no doubt that she would have chosen her own survival over the life of the Straw Hat Pirates. After all, that’s what she had done at Ohara.

But Robin couldn’t. Twenty years later, and she was still no closer to understanding. She made her peace with that. She had to, or the contradiction would have torn her in two.

Usopp broke through her ruminations with a hug that threatened to crush her. Robin sprouted arms to keep her chair from tipping, then returned the embrace, digging her fingers into the rough fabric of his coveralls as if he’d disappear if she didn’t hold on with all her strength.

“Thanks, Robin,” he said, his voice muffled and wet.

Robin smiled, not caring when a tear slipped down her cheek. She had no answer, safe to tighten her hold, the silence holding more understanding than words ever could

[narniaandplowmen]

Mysterious Fathoms Below (7/8)

Fandom: OUAT Pairing: Captain Swan Also on AO3

Rated: General Audiences Complete Full Fic is 12005 words

Summary:  When a storm throws Killian overboard, a mysterious mermaid who saves him. Now it is up to him to save her and bring her back home.

[first chapter]  •  [previous chapter]  •  [next chapter]

CHAPTER 7 - Reunions

It turned out that she couldn't. It was four hours later and they were picnicking in a kelp field. Emma had learned a lot about her parents since they left the castle. She did not know her mother used to be a bandit, nor that her father was engaged to someone else. Their love story turned out to be quite an adventure. Whilst Emma listened to her mother tell about the time she almost got killed by a pack of weresharks, she suddenly noticed that she felt at peace. And, without realising it, she started to cry. “Oh Emma! Are you okay?” Snow White looked at her worried. Emma nodded, but seeing her worried parents, only sobbed harder.

“It’s- I just-” after shakily breathing, she continued. “This is what I have always dreamt of. Of having parents, and of them telling how they met, and how much they love each other and- and-’ she hesitated. “And I just never thought that it would happen. I- I am sorry I ran away, I just-”

“It’s okay,” David interrupted her. “It’s our fault, too. We didn’t take the time to meet you. You are your own person, and it is just hard for us to know you have grown up without us to see it. We should have given you more time.”

“I love you dad’ Emma replied, and before she realised what she had said, she was engulfed in a big hug. A hug from her parents. Her parents who loved her, cared for her and never stopped looking for her. And, for the second time in her life, Emma felt completely safe.

    ~   ~   ~   ~

 Killian cursed. “Are you sure it was him who took it?” Ariel nodded, sadly.

“There used to be two. I still have one, but he has the other one. He stole it from Ursula years ago.” Killian nodded. Now that Ariel mentioned it, he remembered that the young girl he once knew wore a strangely decorated wristband. “I’m sorry I can’t help you any further.”

“Don’t worry lass, you helped me plenty. Say hi to Eric and Melody from me. How is she, by the way?” Ariel’ face lit up as soon as he mentioned her husband and daughter.

“Oh, she is doing amazing! She started to walk a few weeks ago, and my father has stationed mermaids in the shallow waters near the castle, they had to save her twice now. We’re trying to teach her how to swim now!” She smiled, incredibly proud of her little darling.

“You get back to her then, she has to learn from the best. Thanks again.” Ariel nodded and after saying her goodbyes swam away, leaving Killian alone to think. The Crocodile, he should have known. Any time something positive happened in his life, the Crocodile was there to ruin it all. Apparently, the bastard had stolen the wristband from Ursula after the two got into a dispute, effectively chaining her to the sea. Killian had heard rumours that the Dark One was afraid of the open water. Although he knew him as a coward, Killian doubted it. The sea probably reminded the monster too much of his former wife, the one he murdered. He tensed his stump as he remembered the day the Crocodile had appeared on his deck, crushed Milah’s heart and cut off Killian’s hand. He grimaced, turned his back to the sea and started walking in the direction of his biggest enemy.

    ~   ~   ~   ~ 

“Killian?” Killian had expected many things when he entered the territory of the Dark One, but not the friendly voice of a woman. Startled, he turned around to face-

“Belle? What are you doing here!?”

“I could ask you the same!” The brunette smiled. She was wearing a beautiful yellow summer dress and held a basket full of what seemed to be clean folded laundry. “It has been so long! How is your ship? Your crew? Does Smee still have the red beanie I repaired for him? Is Blacky still alive?” Killian smiled at Belle’s enthusiasm, but then grimaced.

“Blacky has passed away, she lived long for a cat. She died in her sleep on a sunny day at her favourite spot on deck. But I will tell you all later, you have to get out of here. This is the territory of the Dark One, he’s dangerous!” To his surprise, however, Belle burst out laughing.

“Dangerous?” She put down the basket of laundry and held out her hand. It took Killian a second, but then he realised she was wearing a wedding ring. “I married him!”

“I- You- What?” Killian went from surprise to anger to disbelieve so fast that his mouth fell open, only causing Belle to laugh even more. “But-”

“I know the stories people tell about him, Killian. But don’t worry. He’s changed. He is a good man now, even when not many people can see that.” Somehow, Killian sincerely doubted it, but he did not have the change to voice his concern.

“Hello, dearies. Having a little chat now?” It was the last Killian heard before he was lifted off the ground and felt the familiar sensation of magic pushing his air pipes shut.

    ~   ~   ~   ~ 

“Excuse me young la-” Killian started with a flirty voice when a pretty woman walked into him, but he cut himself off when he saw the look of panic on her face. “Are you okay?” He asked, normally this time, quickly glancing behind the girl to see what could be the source of her distress. He saw the girl looking at him doubtfully, then deciding that didn’t have another choice.

“I am being chased by my father and his friends. They want me to marry.”

“And you do not?”

“I want to marry for love. And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t want to marry that nasty, brutish jerk for all the money in the world.”

“Ah.” Killian nodded. He had met a lot of women on his travels with similar stories. Most of his best crewmates had been women like that, escapees from arranged marriages, abusive husbands or fathers. “Well then,” he considered, looking at the obviously well-bred woman still clutching him and looking around terrified. “Can you read?” She looked surprised but nodded.

“In English, French and German, sir.” She replied.

“Ah, well-educated, I hear. So, can you do maths?” She nodded again. “ Well then, if you are not afraid to work hard, you have a place in my crew.”

“Your crew?”  she asked, but Killian’s answer was cut short when he heard commotion ahead.

“Are those the people who are after you?” One look from the distressed girl was enough of an answer. Killian grabbed her tightly, turned around and ran with her to his ship.

  ~   ~   ~   ~  

Tea. He was drinking tea with the Dark One. After he had met Emma, his world truly turned upside down in ways he could never have imagined. When the Dark One was choking him, Belle had pleaded for his life. Aside from his skin, which now looked human again, something else in the Crocodile had changed, since the monster had listened to her and had let him live. Now, the three of them were drinking tea in a lovely little garden house with a beautiful view of a large valley with grazing horses. Belle was happily chatting, telling the tale of how she met ‘Rumple’, as she endearingly called him, and how they got married. Killian could still barely believe it, and was almost suspecting dark magic was it not for the fact that Belle was still her cheery old self. Dark magic left its traces, and none of those could be found in Belle’s behaviour. Suddenly, Belle looked at him expectantly. “Sorry, could you repeat that, lass?” He was afraid for a moment he had offended her by not paying attention to her story, but she just laughed.

“Still often lost in thought, Captain? I asked what you have been up to since our parting.”

Trying to kill your husband, he thought, and a quick glance at the Crocodile’s wry smile confirmed that the man in front of him thought the same. “There aren’t many tales to tell, it is simply the usual. Finding treasures, daring escapes and heroic rescues of damsels-” and, after a stern look from Belle, he added “and gentlemen in distress. All in a day’s work.”

“Oh, come on. Something must have happened! Why are you here? Where is your crew?”

“My crew-” he hesitated for a moment, before continuing. “My crew is fine. We had a few changes since you left, basically only Smee is left, with his beanie, as ever.” Belle smiled as she remembered how distressed the man had been when his red hat had ripped during a fight. “The reason why I’m here, now that is a much more interesting tale. I recently found myself in a bit of a tight spot, which caused me to meet a wonderful young woman. This girl turned out to be the long-sought-for daughter of Atlantia’s Royals. So, I returned her to her parents and they live happily ever after. Back in the Enchanted Forest, I heard that your husband owns something I need, which is why you found me here.” The Crocodile, who had seemed absent for most of the conversation, suddenly looked up.

“You want to make a deal?” He grinned, rubbing his hands together. “How delightful!”

“Rumple.” Belle stared at him, and miraculously the man backed down. “What is it that you need? I am sure my husband will gladly give it to you.” She continued, looking pointily at her husband whilst emphasising the use of the word ‘give’.

“Your husband sto- came to possess a special wristband, which allows the wearer to switch between tail and legs.” Belle looked confused for a moment before Killian could almost literally see her realise his intent.

“You found love?! Did the fierce pirate Captain out for revenge finally find love?! Tell me about her!”

Killian rubbed his brow. “I’m not- it’s not-” he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Trust me, the best stories are.”

    ~   ~   ~   ~ 

The lass had introduced herself as Belle French, the only daughter of a lower-high class family nearby. She was betrothed to the hero-of-the-town, a fellow named Gaston, known for his muscles and hunting skills. But, according to the newest member of his crew, he was nasty, brutish, mean and the sort of guy that would consider the phrase ‘you are positively primaeval’ a compliment. And since she had no hope of escaping her marriage and since she was looking for adventure, she had happily sailed out on the Jolly Roger the next day. She was a good addition to the team. She was strong and hardworking, as well as incredibly smart. The crew took a liking to her determined nature, and the fact that she did not mind cleaning the human waste buckets helped her popularity rise quickly. She learned to fight and navigate, and after saving a small kitten from a burning ship she raised morale by raising it as the ship’s mascot. Killian had been sad when she left the crew after they docked at Arendelle, but he understood her need for answers about her mother. ‘

“Take good care of Blacky for me, okay?” She had him promise. “We will see each other again, I am sure of it!”

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 3. Onward and Forward

Sunny sat in silence for a while, miffed, but quiet as she gathered her thoughts. She was ready for work when Leere told her that she was having to go away. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“What you want to do is dangerous.”

“It is.”

“Are you absolutely sure you have to do this? You said that being a sage would keep you in Hyrule. Can’t someone else do this?”

“No. I’m sorry. It has to be me.”

Sunny watched Joy play in living room, wincing at the thought of losing her wife. “What about our daughter?”

“I’m certain if I don’t go, you, our daughter, and so many others will be killed. I’ve foreseen this.”

Sunny pinched her forehead, sighing deeply. “Goddarn it.”

Leere gave her moment before holding her hand. “Sunny...”

“Don’t make a girl a promise if you know you can’t keep it.”

Leere smiled, waiting for her wife to look her in the eye. “You know me, when I make a promise.”

Sunny smiled back, yet her sadness was still there. “Well, we’ll be waiting.”

Standing up from the table, she looked to Joy. “Joy? Both your mommies are leaving for work. You’ll have Aunt Galaxia look after ya.”

“Ok. Love you both.” Joy ran up to hug both her mothers, with both women kneeling down to hug her back. Leere smiled, rubbing her daughter’s hair. “We love you too.”

As both moms walked out the door, they turned to each other, stole a kiss, and walked separate ways to their work. Now the only ones who knew Leere left was her wife. Heading back to the Hive, she stopped by a mail box, having a backup letter delivered to Zizi.

~

"Hades," The notorious assassin of the Hive, nicknamed 'Black' by Bonegrinder, appeared to the Lynel. He was rather curious why the summons. Usually, the Lynel avoided him, saying the scent of undeath was disgusting. "You called?"

“I did. I need someone who can protect and aid the shadow sage, as well as our leader when we venture to Malus.”

"... you do realize I am an assassin, not a guardian?" Black thought someone had rubbed the big cat's fur the wrong way to get him thinking such nonsense. "I will go if Bonegrinder requires me, though, I am a surprise he agreed to go to Malus."

“Only because of the girl. I don’t trust her. Another reason I’m asking you to go.” Hades rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you sense deception that could put Bonegrinder in grace mortal danger, I want you to execute her.”

"I will not hesitate to kill her if I sense ill will toward Bonegrinder." Black assured the Lynel. He had been with the Anagari almost as long as Blue and White. Bonegrinder had found him wandering a graveyard and managed to help him recover some of his memories. He felt he owed the Echidnan a great debt. "Or any other being. Including yourself."

“Your loyalty and lack of flare in order to work effectively is why I value you most in the Hive.”

"I am here to serve Bonegrinder. You may be his friend, but I am his assassin." Black stated with a stoic expression. "I owe him for helping me remember who I was, how I died, and if not for him, I would have been unable to get my revenge on those who wronged me. Now, since I am still here and trapped upon this earthly plane, I wish to be useful to him until the magic which keeps me this way runs out."

“That is all I and him ask of you Black. Now come, the witch approaches.” Leere navigated the Hive, this time escorted by Silver. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she disliked him or Red more. Least Red was physically attractive.

But Red loved to talk. "You know, sweet thing, I could totally give you some tips on how to make that pretty wife of yours just squeal in bed." The incubus floated a few inches off the floor, puffing his long jade pipe. "You do know that if you do the Omishan alphabet with your tongue, then she'll be orgasming within seconds."

"Can you talk about anything other than sex?" Silver groaned as the incubus pestered Leere. "Like... maybe the weather for once?"

"The weather in the great down under is doing just fine." Red grinned. "Moist, warm, and ready."

"... remind me to never ask you that again."

Nope. Red was worse. “Please. Stop.” Leere rubbed her temple to clear a migraine.

"Leave the sage alone, Red, she does not require your lessons in nocturnal activities." Black told the incubus with an annoyed expression. "Go back to your whore houses."

"I just don't understand how she resists me and yet fell into the claws of those sisters." "I guess they're a better fuck than you." Silver snorted. "And how would she know? We haven't fucked yet!"

“Because they’d be better company before and after. Leave.”

"You're missing out, girlfriend, that's all I can say." Red then disappeared with a puff of smoke, leaving Black and Silver to waft it away out of the air.

Leere moved through the smoke to Bonegrinders chamber. She knew well enough it was by now.

The Anagari was rapidly puffing his own pipe from Red, angrily. Needless to say, the snake was very agitated. He had books thrown about, opened to various pages, and was cursing in Omishan.

“Bonegrinder? I’m ready if you are. Leere was decked out in her monster hunting robes, ready for cooler weather. She thought it best to open up to the serpent in a friendly mood.

"He is not going." The Anagari flicked his tail, taking a deep inhale of his pipe to calm his nerves. "Malus is a wasteland, nothing but death and decay and dangerous and demons---why did you agree to take her there, you idiot divinity?!"

A sudden shift of personality and glowing eyes revealed Prama once more. "I am Prama, the Maker, and those innocents inside of Malus deserve a chance to be free of the enemy---"

With a grunt, Bonegrinder returned. "And have you thought about what would happen to your precious prophecy, your beloved Kaksa's host, if you were to be caught?!"

"You mean if we were caught."

“You won’t be. We’ll be careful every step of the way.” Leere walked over, picking his books up. “You should keep better care of these.”

"He is researching how to expel this nuisance from his body."

"Your body? We share it, you overgrown sack of scales."

"He is not going!"

"Yes, you are!"

"You cannot make him!"

"Do you really want me to take over your body for the entire trip?"

"Don't you dare! You're such a pain in the ass!"

"The Shadow Sage requires our assistance and has made a good point. Kaksa would want us to continue to try to do good."

"Kaksa is the reason this whole mess started."

"You take that back!"

"Kiss his black scale-covered ass!"

The arguing was stopped when Leere took their hand. “Bonegrinder. Not only do I believe my own life is danger, but also my families and the people of Malus. I want my friend to be with me and have my back. Can I count on you?”

"Mother has warned you of Malus, he has warned you of Malus, and you still insist upon going?" The Anagari asked his friend. "What makes you so sure that he knows how to get in the country in the first place?"

“Because of your insistence of not going. You know.” Leere patted his hand, unable to be unswayed. “Please? For me?”

"Hrm... he does not like it when you beg him."

“I could go by myself you know. Take a lot longer. More danger too.”

"Now you are being a brat."

“Am I? I’m not the one throwing a fit with himself.” Leere shrugged. “Guess I better get going if I want to save those people.”

"Prama is not Bonegrinder and Bonegrinder is not Prama." The Anagari shook his finger at Leere. "Two souls, one body." He grumbled under his breath. "He does not like it that you did not speak to him first on this issue. Malus is a one-way ticket to hell on earth, Leere. He fears for your safety."

“And I my family Bonegrinder. This is me asking a friend to help me. Can I count on you?” Leere put her hands to her hips, waiting for her final answer.

"... he will go." Bonegrinder finally replied, not liking the fact that Leere was trapping him between a hard choice and an impossible task. "Though we will not stay but one day."

“Thank you. Then let’s be off.”

“Not without us.” Hades trotted over with Black, his hooves clipping silently. “We will accompany Bonegrinder for his safety.”

Leere didn’t expect a larger party. “Oh. I didn’t think this needed your attention.”

“Believe me, it does.”

"Hades, old friend, and Black, his trusted warrior, Malus is a country full of hellish monsters and those looking to steal your soul." Bonegrinder frowned. "He does not wish to put you two in harm's way."

"I have already departed this world once, Bonegrinder, I do not fear doing so again if it is to help you." Black stated. "You once helped me with no qualms. I am going to be by your side to look out for you when others fail to do so."

“And I am a monster among monsters. None can kill me so easily.”

"And you may be the last of your kind." Bonegrinder asked the Lynel. "Would you have this Anagari be responsible for the death of the last, great Lynel?"

“Don’t worry old friend, you won’t.” Sheer-Khan patted the snake on the shoulder. “But let us make this quick so that the woman’s quest does not delay us from our tasks here.”

"Hrm, are you using this as an excuse to get away from Red for a while? We both know the incubus would love to have a roll in the sheets with you." Bonegrinder chuckled, not passing up an opportunity to lightly tease his friend. "We must be able to stay together or at least know where the other is in case of danger." The Anagari plucked three of his scales. "Consume these and he will know where you are if he has to create portals to get us out of harm's way or if we are somehow separated."

They all took them, nodding. Leere gripped her shadow medallion, giving herself assurance. “When you’re ready.”

"He must warn you all. While creating portals is an easy task with the right magic, keeping them open is another. If he says we go through then, we go then. Not later. Are we all clear?" "Yes, Bonegrinder." Black replied.

“You need not ask twice.” Hades replied.

“I understand.” Leere said in turn.

"Stay together and do not wander off." Bonegrinder pricked Leere's and Hade's fingers and took a single hair from Black since he only had dead blood. Then he started working on the portal.

"This old snake will be very limited with his magic when we arrive. The last thing he wants is trouble. If we do not find what Leere seeks within a day, we are coming back."

Leere nodded in agreement. She wasn’t going to disagree with her friend. As the portal opened, she steeled herself for what would come ahead.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816111410233344/evils-bane-ch-2-obligation

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816676434313216/evils-bane-ch-4-dangerous-uncharted-territory

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Layla Cooke Species: Werewolf Occupation: Unemployed Age: 18 Years Old Played By: Sunny Face Claim: Madelaine Petsch

“If being Typhoid Mary wasn’t enough, how about permanently smelling like a wet dog…”

Layla Elizabeth Cooke had a relatively happy childhood. She was born to two loving parents, Sam and Eliza Cooke, and had just about anything she could ever dream of. However, very early on, her father and mother felt that Layla needed to learn to defend herself. While they hadn’t decided to divulge the information that there were very bad things in the world that wanted her dead, as no sane parent would, they knew the small child came out into the world with a target on her back. But still, the couple had desired to start a family, and so that’s what they did. Besides, both coming from families of hunters, who knew the ins and outs of their abilities had made it clear that they could raise a child to carry on their legacy. Around Layla’s seventh birthday, when she hadn’t started showing the typical signs of a hunter, her parents had begun to worry. All the tests they had been put through as children at that age, she had failed. But when Eliza had surprised her daughter with archery lessons on her 8th birthday, Layla seemed to show skill early on putting to rest any fears Sam and Eliza were beginning to have, believing their daughter to be a late bloomer. But something was different about Layla. Something no one could put their finger on quite yet, and instead of further trying to figure it out, the Cooke’s carried on as if nothing was wrong.

“I don’t want to, Daddy! Don’t make me hurt it!!!” A fit of tears and hesitation had sent a twelve-year-old Layla to her room. Her refusal to kill and skin a rabbit left her angry and hurting. How could her daddy be such a monster? It was a living thing. In school, she had been taught to care for and love all living things. Not hurt them. It was mean and cruel to hurt something. That thing that her parents had ignored was beginning to become apparent. And this continued until Sam and Eliza forcibly made Layla kill a wounded squirrel. From that day forward, she had started to resent them, but not enough to alert her to anything.

It wasn’t until she was 16 that her parents had finally revealed the truth to her. It had taken her at least a good month to believe them, but when she had finally seen proof for herself, she could see why her parents had been training her. However, it still didn’t ease her mind about killing, and instead, she preferred non-lethal ways of disabling such creatures. It was also the biggest reason her parents had seen her as being soft. This had proved to cause several arguments in their household with a rebelling teenager who only wanted what was best for all. At least it’s what she whole-heartedly believed.

However, by the time she turned 18, everything had changed. A simple bite from the hunting trip that was supposed to prove Layla was the daughter and hunter her family had hoped for almost turned into a deadly mistake. The target on her back had proved successful, and Layla now bore the curse of the creatures her family so desperately despised. Ironically, it was the curse of the bite that had given her all she needed to be successful in a family of hunters, but Sam and Eliza didn’t see it that way. In fact, the werewolf bite that had ruined her life had also given her the chance to save her own; acute hearing picking up on talk of filicide.

A girl once full of life and hope had found herself shunned by her family; a family who reluctantly wanted her dead. But even more so, shunned by the creatures that she so desperately wanted to save growing up. She was lost and had nowhere to go, until a strange, but familiar scent had led her up north to a small town known as White Crest. The curse of the werewolf saving her yet again.

Now, Layla’s trying to figure out her new life. Scared, alone, and full of resentment towards her family, and an entire species that forcibly made her one of their own, the teenager is desperate for anyone, anything, and maybe just a little hope to get her through the rest of what’s shaping up to be a lonely life.

Character Facts:

Personality: Resilient, angry, withdrawn, insecure, selfless, empathetic, skillful, careful

Despite being a pacifist (when the moon isn’t full), Layla is deadly with a bow. Her opinion of the weapon changed after her parents revealed their true motives, but she still has a passion for the hobby, despite the fact that she could kill, if she wanted to (and her nerves don’t get the better of her).

Layla is still a wolf pup in terms of skills and abilities. And she tries desperately each full moon to lock herself up so as to not hurt anything. However, every time she’s woken up covered in blood, she carries a little more guilt in her heart for what she’s done.

All the animals she couldn’t hunt in her parent’s desire ended up with names, and she would often sneak off to feed them.

Her life isn’t completely about werewolves and disobeying her parents though. Before she ran Layla had a passion for fashion, cheerleading, and getting ready to start her freshman year at college.

The biggest thing she regrets about running isn't leaving her family. It’s leaving her girlfriend behind without any word. She’s hoping that she can someday explain what happened and make it up to the one person she loved most in the world.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess of the Grunewald (19): Secret Whitsun Holidays on Rügen (8): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (6a)

“Island of Rügen / Germany / Baltic Sea / View to the Cliff ‘Königsstuhl’ (King’s Seat) by itsme

Chapter 18

Sunday, Pentecost, 2020, two days after Claire's release from prison

         The day could not have started any better. After Claire drove him and Bismarck out of the bedroom, Jamie showered extensively and got dressed. On the way to the kitchen, he quietly crept back into the bedroom and then, with a quick jerk, pulled the bedcover off Claire's body. Adso, who slept at Claire's feet, leaped off the bed with a loud hiss and crept under it.          "Get up, Sassenach!" Jamie said loudly but friendly.          Claire answered with  a loud "Ah!" Followed by a series of indistinct curses that ended with a loud "Bloody Scot!".

         "Do not pretend to be tired! We do not want to waste this beautiful sunny day. Take a shower! I promise: You get a strong coffee as a reward."          As he spoke, Jamie had opened both windows and hung Claire's bedcover over the windowsill of one. Before she had a chance to grab his bedcover and disappear under it, he grabbed it and hung it out of the other window.          "Get out of bed, my lazy one. The island is waiting for us to conquer it."               Claire made an unverifiable sound, then she stretched and said:

         "Dr. Fraser! Did not you explain to me that any kind of torture is prohibited by the constitution of this country?"          Jamie sighed. No, he would not get involved in a legal discussion right now. He would not even look at her. For in a way, Claire was the human version of Bismarck. Her eyes were not deep black as those of the dog but reflected the many facets of amber.  Yet, when she looked at him in this incomparable way of hers, he became just as weak, if not even weaker ...          These two! They knew exactly how to sneak into his heart! And since they had settled there, nothing, absolutely nothing in his life, was safe from them. If you gave them a little finger, he thought, they took your whole hand - or bit into it. It was useless to fight with them. He just couldn't win. Inwardly he had to smile because he knew only too well that he didn't want to win. He was too happy to surrender to these looks. But now he reminded himself inwardly:          "Not now!"          If he would look at her for a moment longer, he would take the covers out of the windows and spend the rest of the day with her in that room. He turned around, shouting                  "Bismarck!"          and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. 

“Katzenpfote” by Lemonsandtea

         Claire stretched again. Then she noticed Adso jumping back onto the bed. Running over Jamie's side, he sat down beside her and made himself comfortable. She sat up and took the cat on her lap.          "Come, sweetheart. We have to get up. The master of the house decided that we slept enough. But if I understand him correctly, you'll have the rest of the day free of us and the dog."          She gave the cat some more pats, then she set him on the ground and stood up. From her room, she got the clothes she wanted to wear that day and went to the bathroom.          On her way, she heard Jamie talking to Bismarck. For a moment she was tempted to open the door of the kitchen. But she decided against it. She just smiled and shook her head slightly. This man could be so funny. Frank, on the other hand ... had never behaved like that. Apart from the fact that he considered a pet completely superfluous, he would have dismissed such behavior as childish. Everything had always to be serious and appropriate to his position as a professor. Once again she realized how poor her life had been at his side. How fitting this expression was: by his side! Not for a one day had she been the center of his life, not for a single moment. She had already realized this a few months after the wedding. She didn’t know how many years she wavered between a resigned "It's all too late anyway!" and the silent hope for change. But in Frank Wolverton Randall's life, there was only room for one center: Frank Wolverton Randall. And yes, it was a poor life. Not only because Frank never gave her the place in his life that she should have had naturally as a wife, lover, confidante. No, her life at Frank's side was a poor life because it was a life without real joy. All those years of hope had proven nothing but an illusion. This illusion had ended only when Frank Randall was lying at the bottom of the stairs at his villa - in a pool of blood, struggling for his life. It was that moment the burden left her.          James Fraser, on the other hand, knew how to combine professionalism with humor. His title and his specialist knowledge were nothing that he carried before him like a trophy. They were natural parts of his life. They were neither less important nor more important than others. They were simply parts of it - like his love of good food. Like his great passion for all kinds of books, science, and knowledge. Like the joy with which he explored all things nature. And like the humorous handling of pets.          The lawyer who had become her lover, too, was able to dedicate himself to his work with determination and even doggedness. If needed for hours, days, weeks and months. She had observed while he prepared her for the trial. He pursued his goals with perseverance and was prepared to even accept a personal loss to achieve them. He was disciplined and he could be incredibly stubborn, always with his goal in mind. And yet: When a goal was reached, he was able to switch off. He did not keep his mind on the job all the time, neither in what he did nor in what he had to do in the future.          Jamie was able to refrain from his work and turn to other things. He used his spare time to enjoy the beautiful things of life. His life was marked by vitality and diversity. And yet it was a "unity", as Claire had rarely observed in the life of other people.          As she stood in the shower, letting the warm water flow over her body, she thought of Frank again. His life had been very one-sided. She didn’t doubt that Frank really enjoyed his research and work. But it was - besides everything else - also this one-sidedness, which developed into monotony and which had sucked the joy out of their life. Unlike Frank, Jamie seemed to live a life full of vitality. But maybe .... maybe she was wrong? He was at least fifteen years older than her. Maybe people just got calmer over the years? Jamie was older than her, only a few years. Did she have to expect that his life took a similar turn like that of Frank? She didn't want to believe it. But what did she know? What could she say with certainty? It was Jamie's voice that interrupted her circling thoughts:          "Claire? Are you still alive? Or did that mass of water flush you through the drain? Do I have to call the plumber to free you? Claire! Darling! Please! Say something!"          His voice sounded playfully worried and she could not resist a big grin.          "Do not worry, sweetheart! I'm still here. I will not let you go that fast! "                "Ah! What a relief to hear your voice!" came his answer through the door.                Ten minutes later, Claire stepped out of the bathroom and saw Jamie standing at the open front door. He watched Bismarck playing in front of the house. She looked around and saw that Adso had made himself comfortable in one of the two armchairs that stood in front of the fireplace. He lay curled up next to a pillow with closed eyes. Jamie whistled, then turned to face Claire and smiled at her.                  "You look so beautiful, Sassenach."          She looked down at herself.          "Dark jeans, light shirt, and hiking boots? You find that 'beautiful'?" she asked with a mischievous smile.          Jamie did not answer but spread his arms and she slid against his chest. As she looked at him, he kissed her gently. Then he sniffed her neck.          "You smell good, Sassenach," he said with a big smile on his face.                    "My lawyer was so kind as to surprise me with a new perfume. When I got home, I found a small bottle in my bathroom. 'J'adore - Extrait de Parfum' was written on the little box and if I remember correctly, it came from Dior ... "          "It seems your lawyer ..."          "Is a very attentive man?"          "He certainly is ... too."          "But?"          "No 'but'. It seems, he not only left a bottle of perfume."          "What else?"          "Maybe ... also ... a ... little ... message?"          She looked at him and tenderly brought her hands up to the sides of his face. Her eyes searched his face as if she wanted to take in every little detail. Then he leaned over to kiss her. Claire closed her eyes and opened her lips. She felt his tongue carefully explore her mouth.          "You taste like coffee with milk," she said softly as they parted.          "You wanted coffee, right?"          "I did not complain, Dr. Fraser!" she answered with a smile.          He pulled her close and rested her head on his chest.          "I'm so glad and so grateful that you're here, here with me, Claire," he said hoarsely.

“Frühstückstisch” by congerdesign

         At that moment, Bismarck, who had walked around in front of the house, began to jump up and down Jamie's legs.          "Didn't you feed our little fur monsters?" Claire asked with an emphatically reproachful look.          "Of course! Both got a whole can! You know, their greed knows no bounds. But I think Bismarck is simply driven to get out. I probably shouldn't have told him 'we're going out'. He knows exactly what that means. Come, let's have breakfast!"          Forty minutes later, the breakfast table was cleared. Adso had been provided with food and fresh water for the day. Exactly at the moment when the cat sat down at his bowl, Jamie sneaked out of the front door and closed it behind him. Then he entered the car, where Claire and Bismarck were waiting. First, they drove towards Lohme. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the harbor of the small former fishing village. At one of the local stands that sold snacks, Jamie bought fresh rolls with egg and different kinds of fish. Then they drove on until Jamie parked the car again.          "What's to see here?" Claire asked.          "When you get out, I'll show it to you," Jamie said, already a few steps away.          "Will Bismarck not come with us?"          "No, we will not stay that long."          Claire followed Jamie and when she reached him, he put his left arm around and her and pointed with his right arm to a cliff, which faced the one on which they stood.          "That’s Cape Arkona," he said, "it's a 43-meter high cliff on the Wittow peninsula, a so-called 'land monument'. At the Cape, there are two lighthouses from the 19th and 20th centuries, a tracking tower from 1927, two military bunkers from GDR times, as well as the Slavic 'Jaromarsburg'. The castle was built in the 9th century and until the 12th century, it was not only used to defend the settlement but also as a central place of worship for the West Slavic tribe of the Rani. It seemed that hey arrived at this place in the course of the great migration of the 7th century. The Rani built their castle at the very tip of the cliff. That way, it was protected on three sides by the cliffs. On the side open to the country, they built a wall which was 25 meters high. Do you see the green hills in front of the gray-brown tower?"          Claire nodded.          "When the Danish King Waldemar I conquered the castle in 1168, parts of it were destroyed. Today, almost only this grassy wall exists. For in the past centuries, parts of the cliff broke off again and again and plunged into the sea.  Remains of the castle were destroyed and crashed into the depths. Even so, Cape Arkona is still popular and a place worth visiting.”          Claire looked at him.          "Is the village we were as old as the settlement over there?"          "Lohme?"          "Yes."          "It is believed that the entire area was first populated around 5.500 years ago. The large stone tombs found near Nipmerow near the mountains of Magelow are from that time. Around Lohme there is also a group of seven megalith tombs, which could be even older. Since 1168, the island was under the rule of the Danes. Later, the area became part of the Duchy of Pomerania. In 1648, after the Thirty Years' War and the Peace of Westphalia, the place belonged to Swedish Pomerania. It remained that way until the German Wars of Liberation. In 1815 Lohme became Prussian and henceforth belonged as part of New-Western Pomerania to the Prussian province of Pomerania. I don't know if it is documented when the first humans settled in Lohme. But I remember reading that the Estate of Ranzow, where there is a small castle until today, is mentioned in documents as early as 1314. The estate was owned by some noble families. The family von Jasmund, after whom this part of the island and the national park are named. They were the first owners. This noble family originally came from Rügen. They then spread to Pomerania, Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Brandenburg-Prussia, and Denmark. In the late 16th century, the families von der Osten and von der Lancken became owners of the estate. The von der Osten’s were descendants of an aristocratic family from today's Lower Saxony. The family von der Lancken was from the island of Rügen, but they originally lived between the towns of Granitz and Mönchsgut. A descendant of this family, Fritz von Lancken, was one of 'the men of the 20th July'."          "A resistance fighter who was involved in the assassination attempt against Hitler in 1944?"          "Yes. In a house that belonged to him, the explosives used by Count von Stauffenberg were temporarily stored. He was a staff member of von Stauffenberg’s department. When the assassination failed and the resistance in Berlin was crushed, he was incarcerated and later given the death penalty by the so-called People's Court. Fritz von Lancken was hanged the same day, 29th September 1944, at the prison in Plötzensee near Berlin."          They were silent for a moment. Then Jamie went on:          "In the 19th century, the estate belonged to the von Bötticher family. This noble family originally came from Holstein and Thuringia. They have spread even more than the family von Jasmund. Descendants of them still live in the USA today. In the 20th century, the estate came into the possession of the well-known Prussian family von Seydlitz. They belonged to the Silesian ancient nobility and produced no less than six generals."          "Six Generals. Is there a reason why you emphasize that?"          Jamie grinned. Then he whispered conspiratorially:          "One of my ancestors, Simon Fraser, served under Anton Friedrich Florian von Seydlitz. That was during the Wars of Liberation. At that time von Seydlitz was the commander of the 2nd West Prussian Infantry Regiment No. 7. Together they fought, among other places, in the battles at Ligny and Belle Alliance. Against that short man from ... another island ... what was it called? Oh yes, Corsica."          Claire let out a soft whistle.          "I'm impressed, Dr. Fraser. But seriously: My uncle Lambert would be excited to hear all this."          "And you? Are not you excited about me?" he asked, looking at her with a curious look while pulling her close.          "Surely!" Claire replied and before he could say anything, she pulled his face down to him and kissed him.

“Kap Arkona” by Klugschnacker via Wikimedia Commons [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

         Silently they went back to the car, where Bismarck greeted their return with loud barking. Then they drove towards the National Park Jasmund. The ride didn't take more than twenty minutes.          Three kilometers from the visitor center 'Königsstuhl' they parked the car in a large parking lot. Jamie pulled a day ticket and freed Bismarck from his travel box. He handed Claire the leash to Claire, got his backpack out of the trunk and they set off.          After almost an hour's walk through a beautiful beech forest and along some small lakes, they reached the visitor center. Jamie got the tickets, then they took a short break. Because the weather was extremely good, they decided against visiting the exhibition, which was offered by the visitor center. They first hiked to the Victoria View from where they enjoyed the breathtaking view into the depths of the sea and to the 'king's seat', the highest point on the rocky coast. Then they followed the signposts showing the path to the way down to the beach near the 'Kieler Bach'. It took them a little more than an hour to complete the three-kilometer route. There they found the small brook, which fell down the steep coast as a small waterfall. Next to it was a stable staircase made of oak and steel. When they arrived there, they already saw a large part of the white chalk rocks. The approximately 120-meter long way down on the secured path was more difficult than they had expected. Jamie took Bismarck on his left arm and held or supported Claire with his right one. But when they finally arrived at the beach, they were completely compensated by the sight of the monumental white rocks. Exhausted, they paused at the foot of the stairway before heading off for a walk along the beach.         Of course, they could have made a trip by boat. From the sea one could see the entire panorama of the chalk cliffs at once. Jamie had thought of booking such a trip but decided against it. He was not sure if Claire was willing to spend a few hours with a lot of other people on a narrow ship. On the other hand, Jamie knew very well that he preferred to spend time with her alone on a hike.

“Rügen - Kreidefelsen” by denfran

         They walked along the beach for about forty-five minutes, fascinatedly gazing at the cliff of the Königstuhl. From time to time one or the other collected colored stones or shells. On their way, they only met three or four other people.  As Jamie and Claire walked behind Bismarck, who constantly sniffed at new "finds", they discussed the differences between the White Cliffs of Dover and the Chalk Cliffs of Rügen. When they found an old tree trunk, which had tilted between two large boulders, they decided to take their lunch break.

Thank you for reading. Next time, read “The Murderess from the Grunewald (20): Secret Whitsun Holidays on Rügen (9): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (6b)”

[elejah-wonderland]

Don’t You Remember You Said You Loved Me/4

Fanfiction

Part 4

Elijah Mikaelson x Elena Gilbert

A TVD/TO alternative universe story

a/n: thank so much for reading. It is so appreciated. 

tags @rissyrapp20 @dendrite-lover @captainshurley @cassienoble2000 @goddessofthunder112 @elejahforever

_____

Previously

Elijah now embraced Elena dearly.

"My darling, my dearest darling-"- he breathed in deep as he caressed her head now-"I love you like I never loved anyone. But what are we going to do?"

Elena, who now was facing him again said-"I don't know, but I - don't want to go back to Mystic Falls."

Elijah now smiled reassuringly at the brunette, looking at her lovingly-

"I will deal with this. Everything. I promise."

Elena smiled back at the Original, nodding with hope in her heart, now leaning to him, kissing him sweetly.

Pulling a little out of the kiss, Elena whispered now, her eyes gleaming- "Love me"

It was incentive enough for the Original to lift her up into his arms,  speeding them to his bedroom. 

Undoing his tie, and her removing his suit jacked off of the Original, Elijah leant in and placed a slow, soft kiss on her mouth, taking his time to show her that this was about everything he felt for her. Shedding one part of the clothing after another, his lips moved down to her neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses on her collarbone, making her shiver slightly at every impact.

Lips hovering over hers  a second later, made Elena swallow hard, her whole body shuddering with what was to come. Elijah brushed his lips now over hers, teasing them slightly with the tip of his tongue, as he beamed his eyes at her, meeting the quivering desire. She now pulled him into a long drawn passionate kiss.

Their tongues tangled gently, both taking time to enjoy the taste of one another. Leaving her lips, breathing heavily as his lips danced on her silky skin, he moved down the line of her chest to her stomach.

His hands were everywhere, his fingers trailing everso lightly  across her skin with tantalizingly small kisses. He kissed the innermost part of her now painfully slow until her entire body quaked with delight.

His lips were on hers once again, searing into her. His hands swept over her body, his fingertips burning her skin, sending Elena into an even higher pleasurable frenzy.

Coming back together, bare skin against bare skin, Elena's fingers tangled into his hair, sliding them down across his back, feeling his muscles flexing beneath her fingertips as he finally pushed into her. She held onto him tighter, fighting the clenching of her muscles as he thrusted deeper. Breaths, moans mingled, hearts fluttered up in the chest as they fell apart delectably, lost in one another. 

___

New Orleans

Sophie Deveraux walked in the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. She stood in front of her ancestors tomb, now calling for her grandmother to appear. Using dark magic was always very exhausting for a white witch, and her grandmother now warned her of the consequences.

"Please, help me, Grams.”                 

"Celeste Dubois has left me the Grimoire and I tried to understand what was going on. The last entry holds a clue. She talked about a baby - two babies maybe."

"Yes."- Kate Leroy- Deveraux said-"there are two babies conceived. A baby of the Moon and a baby of the Sun. The Bennett witch meddled, but, it was to save the babies."

"Ok. One is the Mikaelson hybrid baby, and the other?"- Sophie asked.

"It's also a Mikaelson baby. You must protect them both. The dark witches cannot have them." - Kate said-"I have got to go. I feel someone's presence close by. Be safe, my child."

The Deveraux ancestry witch now disappeared and Sophie shook her head, her mind going wild. Two Mikaelson babies?! The witch the cleaned the blood from her face and walked away from the tomb. 

___

In the French Quarter

Around the dawn

Klaus knocked at the door of Caroline Forbes' house.

The blonde had sensed his presence and now, standing at the door, not opening it said-

"Go away!"

"Come on, open. I want to talk to you."

"You're drunk. Go away." - Caroline said.

"Please, open. I need - to talk to you!"

Caroline never heard Klaus say please to anyone before, and she gulped. Thinking if she should open or not.

"Please" - she heard the hybrid say.

Reluctantly, she opened the door, meeting his Cheshire-cat smirk.                    

"Hello, luv"-Klaus slipped.

"What is so important that you have to tell me?"

"May I come in?" - Klaus said politely.

Caroline sighed, and though it was not a clever thing to do, she nodded as a yes, shooting at him at the same time-

"Shouldn't you be with your wife?"

"She is not really my wife. You know that it is a supernatural kind of a joining of two. I helped her and she helped me."

"You are disgusting."- Caroline blasted at the hybrid.

"Don't you know how it works already in the supernatural world- we make deals."

"OMG! Out!"- Caroline said furious-"I really don't know what I saw in you? I must have been blind! Yeah, definitely. Elijah was always defending you, saying you got a good, warm heart- it's just that you are lost, because you didn't know what love was_ because you were treated so cruelly as a kid- but - no- you are a real asshole!"

"Well, it's true that I have done a thousand things I am not proud of. And I am - as you put it so bluntly - an asshole. But - this asshole loves you!" 

                       "You what?" - Caroline said in total disbelief.

"This is what I came to tell you. You are the only one that is - all-"

"Get out! I hate you! Don't you ever come looking for me again! " - Caroline now pushed the hybrid, though he didn't budge an inch back.

Klaus looked at her seriously now. Too seriously. His eyes darkening.                 

"I know that you have been with him."- Klaus now said-"But he is with her. He only cares about her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Elijah." - Klaus now said.

Caroline now felt like someone cut her in half. She looked at the hybrid completely gobsmacked.

"How do you-?" - she gasped a little.

"I have spies everywhere."- Klaus now said.

Caroline now gulped, but then said-"Yes, I was with him. And it was good. It's all about sex with you Mikaelsons. As I know you don't believe in love, so all your talk about love - you don't know a first thing about it. Get out now."

The hybrid left, and as he went, Caroline slammed the door behind him, now bursting out in tears.                        

Klaus felt his heart burning with pain. 

He could always hide his emotions underneath the façade of the cruellest of all the monsters, but his heart burnt heavily. He now cursed his fate, and all that it had put him through over the centuries.

____

At the Plantation

Elijah woke up with a zillion thoughts swarming in his head. He looked at Elena, sleeping serenely beside him. He had never been so happy, and yet so anxious in his entire life. 

                       Gently he tickled her on the neck, sliding his fingers lightly down her back.

Elena moved a bit letting a small sleepy muffling sound out.

"Morning lovely" - he said as she turned around to him.

"Morning" - Elena said with a smile, now leaning into a kiss.                        

"Love you" - she then said.

"Love you, too" - Elijah said taking her hand now, kissing it. 

____

New Orleans

Algiers

Nine months after

Elena walked to the window of her and Elijah's apartment in Algiers Point, gazing out to the Mississippi. She wiped her tears off. Her mind now shimmered back to the most perfect day she had with the love of her life on the Plantation after they declared their love for one another 9 months ago.

Flashback

"Ok, I will do breakfast." - Elena said as she now broke away from the sweetest gaze -"You just sit and do nothing for a change."

"All right" - Elijah said.

Putting the radio on, Elena now started doing a bit of a more elaborate breakfast.

Elijah watched the way she went around the kitchen area, shining and smiling. Elena in love was a person, absolutely full of life, chirpy, sweet and creative.

A bit later, she had a stack of pancakes ready with plum sauce, toasted bread coated with sugar and cinnamon, and some with heart shaped eggs. 

"You are well aware that I - nevermind-this looks delicious-" - Elijah said, who now tucked in.

"Yeah, I know- food doesn't do anything much for you - I just - got carried away"

"I can eat it anyway."- Elijah said-"it's the company that matters, not the food - sometimes."

Elena smiled putting her hand on his, caressing it dearly.

"But as a human, you must have loved something - I guess you had no pancakes?!"

"Of course not, or heart-shaped sunny-side up eggs. Everything was very simple then. We ate a lot of meat, fish, but also vegetables, cereals and milk. We had sweet food, but only in the form of berries, fruit and honey. We also drank a lot of mead." - Elijah explained.

"Cereals?"

"Porridge" - Elijah replied-"I would put a lot of berries and apples in it to make it more scrumptious. Rebekah would put 4 or five big spoons of honey."

Elena could see the way the Original's eyes sparkled that he loved talking about the time he had been human.

Elena now wanted to know more, and not just about him. 

The doppelganger now closed her eyes and tears dropped out of them. 

“Here”- Kol’s voice made her turn around now -”she is fed and I changed her nappy and I think she wants her mummy now.”

Elena wiped her tears off and smiled taking the baby from her uncle.

“Thank you so much”- Elena said to the Original vampire.

“Hey, no probs. You know that you two are the most important people to me and I promised Elijah I would look after you. Oh, you’ve been crying again.”

“I just miss him - I will miss him forever.”

“Me, too. He was the best of us.”- Kol said and now placed a kiss on little baby Elianna’s head, and then a small kiss on Elena’s temple.

___

[raendown]

Can I leave you another prompt? TobiKaka for #50?

Falling in love with someone who had been born generations before him hadn’t exactly been part of the plan when Kakashi had agreed to travel back in time. The plan had been simple: stop it all at the source. And he had accomplished that, thank goodness. But he had also somehow managed to fall in love with the one of the most prominent figures in history. 

What could he possibly offer to someone like Senju Tobirama? The man was grace and poise personified, one of the strongest shinobi to walk the earth with a mind sharp enough to make a Nara jealous. In the timeline Kakashi had lived there had been no record of the Nidaime ever marrying and just from his own observations he was beginning to wonder if the man were possibly asexual, perhaps even aromantic. He never seemed to have any interest in either sex or a relationship. 

Either that or he was just very very subtle. 

Whatever the case was, Kakashi was smart enough to keep his feelings to himself. He considered himself beyond lucky to have struck up a friendship with the man and was determined to be content with that. Not many people even in this time could say that they were friends with the elusive Tobirama. 

Of course, considering both of their personalities, it was a quiet friendship. They spent a lot of time sitting in the same room without saying anything. Kakashi helped with the other man’s experiments sometimes and other times they sat on opposite sides of Tobirama’s living room, each reading their own book. Today was neither of those days. 

As happened to everyone from time to time, Kakashi found himself feeling restless and low. He prowled through the village until he had passed by the same old woman sitting on her stoop three times and she began to look at him askance. His feet took him to Tobirama’s home but even as he tried to settle himself across from where his friend was working on some forms from the cipher department, he still felt full of restless energy.

Tobirama said nothing as Kakashi continued to prowl, moving aimlessly about the room, picking things up just to put them down again. It wasn’t until he stopped by the window to glare out at the perfect sunny day that the other spoke up. 

“You have that look in your eyes again,” his friend noted. “Are you thinking of your home?”

“It’s been on my mind lately,” Kakashi admitted. 

“Any reason in particular?” 

“Just thinking of all the people that I’ll never see again; wondering how things would have turned out if I hadn’t been sent back; wondering if they’re better off without me there.”

Tobirama set his brush aside, a frown appearing on his lips. “Why would you think them better off without you?” he asked. Kakashi shrugged.

“I’ve always had a way of destroying the things I love. Never on purpose, of course, always an accident. I think I was born a bit of a monster, cursed or whatever you want to call it. Sometimes I just wonder if they’re better off without me there to ruin their lives by accident in some way.”

He could see Tobirama’s reflection in the window, the way his face was very carefully blank as he slowly considered Kakashi’s words. Tobirama was the type to always consider his words before he spoke. 

After a moment he stood up to walk around his desk, placing himself just behind Kakashi and resting a hand on his shoulder. Kakashi met his eyes in the window’s reflection and tried not to shiver at the casual touch. It wasn’t often that this man allowed other people so close to him. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Kakashi.”

“No?” The word choked in his throat. “What am I then?” 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

Just four simple words but it left both of them with pink ears. Kakashi spun around to look the other man in the eye, a little startled to find then even closer together than expected. He tried to speak but as soon as he opened his mouth he realized that there were no words to describe how he was feeling. 

Luckily, Tobirama didn’t seem to need him to say anything else. Slowly, as though he were trying not to spook a wild animal, he leaned down towards Kakashi and let his eyes flutter shut. It was just one simple, soft kiss and Kakashi hadn’t even had time to remove his mask he was so frozen with shock but it was like awakening after years of mental slumber. It was like a light turning on where there had only ever been darkness. 

When they parted Tobirama stroked down his jawline with the pad of one finger, looking in to his eyes with a gentler smile than Kakashi had ever seen on him before. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said again.

And for the first time in his life, Kakashi believed it too. 

[loreleywrites]

Raiders of the Lost Arcs

Marvel didn’t start with The Avengers. Instead, they gave Iron Man, Hulk, Thor, and Captain America their own films to set foundations for their characters before showing how they interacted. Every development from these four superheroes since is still rooted in those original films. Tony Stark is still striving to improve the world with technology. Bruce Banner just wants to be left alone.

Wizards of the Coast didn’t start with the Gatewatch either. Instead, Magic Origins provided us with the backstories of the five pivotal Planeswalkers in this group. Chandra, Nissa, Gideon, Liliana, and Jace were born at different times and on different planes. They each have their own stories, only coming together as one fighting force to confront some of the deadliest foes in the Multiverse.

Like the members of the Avengers, the members of the Gatewatch are still defined by their origin stories. In fact, many of those stories set up conflicts that are still playing out in Magic years later. Today’s article is going to go through each Planeswalker’s origin story and trace where those first conflicts stand in today’s lore.

Chandra

Story art by Lius Lasahido

Chandra Nalaar’s origin is told in “Fire Logic.” She was born in the city of Ghirapur on the plane of Kaladesh. Aether is refined and distributed by a governing body known as the Consulate. While this organization is intended to benefit all citizens of Ghirapur, a handful of corrupt officials have perverted it for a profit.

Aether is strictly regulated, much to the chagrin of many brilliant inventors. Mages are outlawed, as their powers are wild and unpredictable. Unfortunately for Chandra, she is a pyromancer and daughter of two aether smugglers. This pits her against an icon of the Consulate, bad cop Dhiren Baral. He murders Chandra’s father, captures her mother, and is set to personally execute the pyromancer. This is when Chandra’s spark ignites, bathing Baral in a blaze.

Of course, we know what happens to this story arc. In Kaladesh and Aether Revolt, Chandra returns home for the first time in eleven years. She rescues her mother, defeats Baral, and helps the renegade forces extricate the corrupt Consuls.

It doesn’t go so easy, however, and we end up getting insight into Chandra’s personal demons. We learn that she’s internalized Baral’s words branding her as a monster, that she’s reckless and a danger to everyone around her. And for Chandra, that’s difficult to deny. She’s killed people, innocent people, and she never really comes to terms with it. In “Burn,” she almost lets it get the best of her:

“I’m not a monster. But I can be.”

Nissa’s intervention convinces Chandra that despite Baral’s taunts, she is a loved part of many people’s lives.

Chandra has closure on her initial external conflict; Baral is rotting in prison for the rest of his life. What is still to be seen is how she reconciles her past recklessness. As a Red character, personal responsibility is not her strong suit. She’s also only twenty-three. Good intentions and destructive magic make for a volatile life. Shouldering this is her next step into adulthood.

Nissa

Nissa’s Revelation by Izzy

In “Home,” Nissa forges an animist’s connection with Zendikar as it conscripts her in the fight against the still-trapped eldrazi titans. It leads Nissa to Akoum, where her mind is attacked by the dormant Emrakul. She is whisked away into the Blind Eternities, awakening as a Planeswalker.

From there on out, Nissa’s conflicts continually put her at odds with the eldrazi. She ends up releasing the titans themselves in The Teeth of Akoum, hoping they would flee Zendikar for another plane. The next two years involved her failing to stop Ulamog’s relentless assault.

Nissa spent almost forty years living alone with Zendikar, so she didn’t quite understand what was at stake in her fight. It’s not until “Nissa, Worldwaker” that she realizes there are other people who she can ally with. Other people who have lost loved ones. Other people who have fled their ancestral homes. And when Gideon, Jace, and Chandra show up; other people who bear the shameful responsibility of unleashing the eldrazi.

Defeating Ulamog and Kozilek requires Nissa to play well with others. Her skill manipulating leylines is only one part of the puzzle. Chandra’s harnessing of a plane’s worth of mana into one spell is the other.

Emrakul still loomed on Innistrad, however. Emrakul, the titan who flung Nissa into the Blind Eternities in the first place. The Gatewatch helped Nissa realize that she has the power to help planes other than Zendikar, and this was her opportunity for closure against the eldrazi.

But did she win? Was there closure?

Nissa tries to use a similar technique to try to destroy Emrakul, but Innistrad’s mana does not cooperate. In addition, Emrakul manipulates Tamiyo into merely binding her in the moon. “The Promised End” depicts just that, an end. Victory? I’d say not.

Nissa’s core internal conflict is trust. Kaladesh block had her warm up to Chandra, while Amonkhet broadened her perspective with access to Blue mana. Her social skills are new, but growing. The question remains if Nissa herself is trustworthy.

“The Hand That Moves” gives us some horrifying clues for the future. Nissa has a vision of what she interpreted as Emrakul, who utters:

“I can do anything I want. Anything at all.”

A corrupted version of Nissa also said these words to Jace in his vision in “The Promised End.” The Emrakul inside Nissa’s trance also asks if she’s a pawn or a queen. This ties back to the game of chess Jace played with the titan. Remember, that ended with one of Jace’s pawns stabbing his queen.

We don’t know exactly what this Nissa-Emrakul connection means, but calling it foreboding is an understatement.

Gideon

Tragic Arrogance by Winona Nelson

I didn’t used to be much of a Gideon fan, but he’s grown on me a lot in the past two years. His arc is an internal struggle.

He wasn’t always called Gideon Jura, as we learned in his origin story. “Kytheon Iora of Akros” chronicles Gideon’s youth as an orphan, prisoner, and Sun’s Champion. Kytheon and his buddies are petty thieves, landing them in jail. The warden, Hixus, sees Kytheon’s potential as a hieromancer, a law mage. He trains Kytheon in such magic and instills in him a sense of justice. Kytheon ends up using his power of indestructibility to help defend Akros from monsters and feels pretty good about doing a good thing.

Heliod, God of the Sun, later tasks him with killing a giant sent by Erebos, God of the Dead. Kytheon is given a glowing spear, which easily slays the menace. But hubris drives him to take aim at Erebos himself. The god reverses the spear’s trajectory, killing all of Kytheon’s friends. Kytheon survives, flung off to Bant (before the Conflux that reunited Alara). The knight who finds him mishears “Kytheon Iora” as “Gideon Jura,” and the Planeswalker adopts this new identity.

Why?

It’s a complicated question. Gideon spends the rest of his life defending the weak, putting his own life on the line for others. He carries regret and blames himself for the death of his friends. But he also still carries the tragic arrogance that killed them. This parallel is directly echoed in “The Liberation of Sea Gate” during the Battle for Zendikar story. Gideon falters in finding his purpose. Is he a figure for others to rally around? Is he a one-man army?

These questions get more profound during the rebellion on Kaladesh. In the appropriately named “Quiet Moments,” Gideon ponders the role of the Gatewatch on the plane:

“Jace and Liliana's alarm at Tezzeret's presence seemed genuine, but both had been scant in the details of the specific threat he poses. Yes, Tezzeret inserting himself into the politics and leadership of Kaladesh certainly caused Gideon concern and was reason enough for the Gatewatch to investigate. But Tezzeret's entanglement with Kaladeshi forces, along with the relationship between the Consulate and the renegades made things...complicated. Cutting down Eldrazi and the threat they posed to Zendikar and Innistrad left little room for questions. His sural slicing through whirring gears of Kaladeshi-forged automatons, battling Consulate forces that were just trying to defend the laws of the land...

Far more complicated.”

Amonkhet doesn’t make anything easier for Gideon. He leads the charge into Nicol Bolas’s hell-plane…only to find gods that are actually nice to the people. It’s sunny. Folks work hard and are well cared for. The gods even call Gideon by his old name, Kytheon Iora. He does eventually find out the cruel intent of the trials in “Brazen,” but not without Bontu, God of Ambition (metaphorically) slicing right into Gideon’s heart:

“Such a long quest for faith, Kytheon Iora, and still you know nothing of it. Of course they doubt. Doubt is the necessary shadow to the light of faith, Kytheon. The stronger the faith, the deeper the shadows of uncertainty. Yet still, their ambitions drive them to shine brighter, reach higher, unsatisfied by complacent divinity. When will you be able to say the same for yourself?”

Gideon is waffling on what he believes, what ideals he defends, whose benefit he’s fighting for. Who is Gideon? So far, all he’s figured out is, “Not Kytheon Iora.” I think Gideon so readily accepted a new name because he wanted to leave Kytheon Iora dead on Theros.

How perfectly tragic that the soldier who wishes to die protecting his friends is cursed with indestructibility. We’ll see if Gideon’s wish ever gets granted.

Liliana

Story art by Victor Adame Minguez

Holy moly does Liliana have a lot going on. She’s a pre-Mending Planeswalker, which means she first ascended when Planeswalkers were immortal, god-like beings. The Mending stopped the collapse of the Multiverse, but made Planeswalkers normal mages again. Live for 200 years like Liliana and you get wrapped up in a lot of drama. So let’s focus on her narrative through-line: cheating death.

“The Fourth Pact” is Liliana’s origin story, but hers is not the first life she tries to save. That belongs to her brother, Josu, fatally injured in war. Liliana was a healer who dabbled in necromancy, and was tricked into turning Josu into an undead monster by the mysterious Raven Man. Emotional trauma! Liliana ascends.

After the Mending, Liliana begins to age again. Near death, Nicol Bolas arranges meetings with four demons for her. They each offer Liliana power and youth in exchange for her services whenever they call.

Death is averted, for now, but it doesn’t take long for the demon Kothophed to task Liliana with bringing him an artifact known as the Chain Veil (told in the webcomics “The Hunter and the Veil” and “The Veil’s Curse”). She retrieves the vexing and hexing item, but uses it to kill Kothophed instead of handing it over. She has found a way out of her pacts! Except the Veil fills her mind with the droning of ghostly ogres, threatening to kill her to bring about some new calamity. I’ve written a lot about the Chain Veil and the Onakke Ogres and the Raven Man already, so I’ll just refer you to my past article about them instead of explaining more here.

In case “The Promised End” wasn’t meaty enough already, it’s also the story where Liliana joins the Gatewatch. The Chain Veil is killing her, so it’s time for her to avoid death once again and find a new source of power. Her oath says it all:

"I see that together we're more powerful than we are alone. If that means I can do what needs to be done without relying on the Chain Veil, then I'll keep watch. Happy now?"

Currently, she’s relying on the Gatewatch to help kill her third demon, Razaketh, on Amonkhet (She killed Griselbrand with the Veil back on Innistrad.) But we also know Razaketh serves Bolas. Liliana has woven a complicated web of relationships, ripe for drama. I told you she was wrapped up in a lot of drama.

Liliana’s story is still developing (as it has slowly been doing since before Innistrad), but where does it end up? She has two demons left to kill. The Onakke want out of the Chain Veil. The Raven Man’s mysterious plans for her are still blooming. And, most importantly to Liliana, she still hasn’t found a way to save her brother:

“Only one thing, in those days, had seemed beyond the reach of her magic: undoing what she had done to Josu.”

The ending of Aether Revolt strongly hinted at a return to Dominaria, Liliana’s home plane. Expect big things from Magic’s most ambitious necromancer as her life spins out of control.

Jace

Story art by Ryan Barger

And that brings us to Jace. This poor boy from Vryn is just outright lost. He was bullied for being a telepath. A sphinx named Alhammarret recognized his talent, however, and trained him in the mental arts. Then Jace found out Alhammarret was using him to steal military secrets and prolong the plane’s civil war, wiping the boy’s memory after each mission. Jace confronted Alhammarret and engaged in a telepathy battle. Jace wins, but “Absent Minds” ends with him waking up on Ravnica with no idea who he is, where he’s from, or what he’s doing.

As you can imagine, this makes it difficult for Jace to continue his origin story’s arc. We know Jace’s family is still on Vryn. The war might even still be raging. But without an external impetus to go there, Jace won’t find his way back on his own.

That isn’t to say he hasn’t kept himself busy. Jace is naturally curious, and that’s what has defined his story since ascension. He’s gotten his hands into Bolas plots, Tezzeret plots, Liliana plots, Garruk plots, Chandra plots, eldrazi plots, Ob Nixilis plots, and is the highest-ranking government official on Ravnica. Not that he sticks around much.

You know what happens when you keep jumping from project to project? You don’t follow up with the consequences of your actions. “Keeping busy” becomes a way of avoiding your problems. Jace lacks responsibility.

This passage from The Secretist is a perfect indication of the lengths Jace goes to not deal with things. He has just wiped the memories of Kavin, a vedalken who was helping him investigate the Implicit Maze, because he thought they were going to get in trouble. Emmara, his elf friend, is witnessing the event and begs Jace to stop:

“It’s not about watching you do it. It’s not even about you choosing not to help me, or about being present while you destroy part of yourself. It’s about the mistake you’re making. That’s what [sic] impossible to watch.

He wondered if their friendship was breaking apart, but decided it was worth it to protect her.

“I can’t help you.”

“You have to. Just think about it for a moment.”

“I have,” he said. “Please stay.” And then he cast a spell he never thought he would use on himself.

Not only does Jace stay busy to avoid dealing his problems, but he’s still wiping his own mind too. To be fair to Jace, we’ve seen a little growth in this regard. He runs off with Gideon to Zendikar to own his role in releasing the eldrazi. Jace never wiped his memories of his relationship with Liliana, which of course means he’s still wallowing in that toxicity.

Jace may not remember his past, but his story has been one of a child becoming an adult, making difficult decisions, and dealing with problems in healthy ways. He’s not there yet, but the Gatewatch sure is giving him opportunities to mature and finally take responsibility for his actions.

A Storied Future

Feel free to dismiss any complaints that the Gatewatch members aren’t developed as characters. While Chandra’s origin story has come full circle, we’re still witnessing repercussions of events deep in the past of the other four members. Nissa’s battle with Emrakul doesn’t seem over, Gideon still hasn’t figured out what he stands for, Liliana’s flight from death keeps running right back into it, and Jace’s lost memories have left him a powerful yet immature person thrust into adult situations.

During a panel at Momocon, Kelly Digges confirmed that Hour of Devastation is going to represent a major shift in Magic’s story. The Gatewatch is heading into a battle that will fundamentally change them. Will Liliana’s loyalties be tested? Will Jace finally step up and take responsibility for his shady past? Will Gideon finally die the heroic death he thinks he deserves?

Hold on tight, Planeswalkers, for there is so much more Magic story to tell.

[itsclydebitches]

Title: Trial by Fire

Summary: Tulip and Emily are so disgusted with Jesse and Cass that they decide, entirely through logic, that they should set them up. After all, now the fools can torment each other, right? 

Emily and Tulip finally getting close is just an added bonus.

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 3,756

Warnings: None 

Pairings: Jess/Cass, Tulip/Emily, implied Jesse/Cass/Tulip/Emily

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Trial by fire

Tulip believed firmly that the strongest friendships were forged in fire. No, not just facing the flames together—setting each other ablaze. If you hurt someone, betrayed them, kicked them when they were down and they still reached up a hand in trust to you... that was someone worth keeping. Probably wasn’t the healthiest way of viewing things—sure as hell wasn’t the nicest—but it was a goddamn truth she’d learned hard and fast over the course of her life and it had held true. Everyone who’d ever given Tulip a sunny smile had left as quick as it took for it to sour. Everyone she’d bared her teeth at and who’d bit her in turn? They’d stayed. They’d been worth investing in.

10:53 Tuesday morning and the number of investments Tulip had was exactly two: Jesse Fucking Custer, asshole extraordinaire, and Cassidy of first name unknown, professional monster—whose title had absolutely nothing to do with his bloodsucking nature. Tulip loved her boys. Never doubt that, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on the lookout for something more.

And she found more, in the sunny living room of her piss-poor neighbor.

“Stay away from my boyfriend!”      

Tulip hurled the words even harder than whatever projectile she’d scooped up into her hands, dimly aware of it smashing against the far wall. They were rage-filled and a little fragile, because Tulip didn’t know where any of them stood anymore. She and Jesse had yet to recreate what they’d had outside of Annville. Tulip didn’t know what she had with Cass. What Cass and Jesse had with each other? Ha! That was a whole mess of shit that she’d stepped in. God help her poor shoes.

And then here was Emily, encroaching on it all.

Tulip might have been a firecracker, a pistol, and goddamn fuckin c*unt and so many other things, but even she balked at getting violent with pretty little Emily, soft-spoken and oh so polite. It was coming too, Tulip could feel it building in her bones and smashing some stupid art project did shit all to alleviate the itch. She had to leave then. Quickly. Tulip pushed past Emily’s shell-shocked expression before she started throwing punches at it.

It was a little better out in the car. Tulip let the heat and claustrophobia press down on her anger some, containing it. She had everything under control. Yes siree. Fucking peachy.

Which means she assuredly did not jump when Emily came banging on the window.

Tulip stared. Her mouth was catching flies and her eyebrows crawled up into her hair because goddamn, who would have guessed it? Sunny Emily Woodrow—renowned for her pies, charity, and a history of letting people walk all over her—was cussing Tulip out just fine and fair. It was in that moment, leaning away from the window because Jesus Christ Emily was leaning in, that Tulip remember that the girl had grown up in Annville, just like she had. Mousiness aside, she was a Texan, and Tulip would have done well to remember that.

Emily was reminding her now.

“You broke my kid’s art thing,” she hissed, shaking the bits of pottery in Tulip’s face. It really should have been funny, but Tulip wasn’t laughing just yet. That ‘art thing’ was a treasure now. The shards’ edges sharper than any knife. Emily’s fury wasn’t something to piss on so Tulip nodded, holding up her hands like so many arrests and eased her way carefully out of the car.

“Alright,” she said. The sun was beating down hard on her head. “Don’t throw a fit about It, ‘Em. I can fix the stupid thing. Just gimme a chance.”

A calculated risk, but Tulip was nearly as good with words as she was her fists: the quick agreement, tempered by a an implication that Emily was overreacting, that Tulip wouldn’t take all of this shit lying down; slipping in a personal nickname; the blunt request for a second chance, obvious to anyone with half a brain... and Emily had a whole noggin to work with. Tulip was only half surprised when she lowered the shards and gave a clipped nod in response.

Her sensible flip-flops smack-smack-smacked on the way back inside.

There were lots of names for Tulip O’hare, but not one of them was ‘liar.’ Not to those she’d weathered fire with. So Tulip sat her butt down at that pretty, yellow table and set to mending things with patience and a bit of cheap glue. Emily watched her for the first ten minutes, looking about as thrown as Tulip felt. When she couldn’t take the judgment anymore Tulip flapped a hand in her general direction and told her to sit.

Emily stared. Her shoulders jerked a little. “It’s my house.”

“All the more reason.”

Tulip had her eyes firmly on a particularly messy chunk of clay (the hell was that anyway? The nose? A hoof?), but she watched from the corner of her eye as Emily turned on her heel and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Tulip mentally shrugged. Okay. Let her play it that way. It wasn’t as if she actually gave a damn.

Except that just a few minutes later Emily came back out, this time bearing a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. There was even a little doily beneath the offering, all fancy like. Tulip abandoned her work to watch Emily pour herself a glass and down it back like a shot.

“You make that fresh?” Tulip asked, pointing to the lemonade.

Emily came back up with a gasp. “Of course.”

“Jesus you’re a messed up lady.”

Which was true enough she supposed. Though of course, Tulip was messed up too.

She snagged a glass of her own and got back to work.

***

Somehow, they got talking.

Emily asked her with forced casualness where she’d learned to do this. Tulip responded cuttingly that ‘this’ was just shoving chunks of shit together and slathering on some glue—didn’t they teach you this kiddy stuff in school? Her tone somehow didn’t get her kicked out of the house and so Tulip pulled her weight, asking next what the ever loving fuck this was supposed to be. Emily said a bear, though Tommy had always been awful at crafts, huh? It startled a laugh out of Tulip that filled up the room.

The heat sent them through the pitcher of lemonade faster than normal, resulting in Tulip asking with gritted teeth where the bathroom was located. She got an embarrassed wave of a hand in response. So she bypassed toys on the floor and more awful art on the walls, sneaking into the powder room (who called it a powder room?) like she was still an intruder instead of a guest—which Tulip kind of thought might be the case. There was smelly potpourri in a dish and a ‘Home Sweet Home’ plaque on the inside of the door, cheesy enough that Tulip considered vomiting when she was done. Instead she snooped through the small medicine cabinet.

There were bottles of Xanax and Lorazepam. Neither looked like they came with prescriptions.

Tulip pursed her lips. She marched out, grabbed the empty pitcher, and made a beeline for the kitchen. She threw Emily a rude gesture when she implied that Tulip couldn’t make fucking lemonade.

As if.

“I think that goes there,” Emily said, pointing to a piece that was obviously the snout and not the tail. “Also this is watery.” She sipped at the glass with lazy disdain.

“Yours had too much sugar.” Tulip smacked the bit of clay against the rest of the bear’s face. It would fit.

“I need the energy. That doesn’t fit.”

“It does. And my waistline don’t need all that.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Well that line caught Tulip’s attention. Not because of the compliment, or even the offhanded manner Emily delivered it with—a tone that was entirely genuine. Rather it was the curse word snuck in the middle. She’d heard the girl cuss before, but it was always carefully under her breath, kept close to her chest lest it actually escape out into the world where it belonged. It hit Tulip for the second time that day. Annville. Slumped in a rickety chair, drinking lemonade like booze, raising compliments with curses. That was Annville.

“Yeah. Guess I am.” Tulip turned the piece and connected the tail. Emily smirked. “Jesse always thought so anyhow.”

She saw Emily freeze. Saw her deliberately relax too. The Thin Mints had melted onto the doily and she flicked at the chocolate with her nail.

“Jesse has good taste,” Emily said. It came out like a sigh.

“Jesse settles.”

“Hardly. He could have anyone.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t much to choose from in this town, is there? Except you.”

Emily rolled a mouthful of drink between her cheeks. “Am I a choice?” She suddenly grinned, more wicked than sad, and Tulip felt her heart speeding up like they’d started a race. “I’m not exactly the greatest catch. Got an iffy ex, after all.”

“You think I don’t?”

“...a side-piece too.”

Hearing Emily say ‘side-piece’ was easily the highlight of Tulip’s week. She sat back with a grin. “No. Who?”

“The mayor.”

“The mayor? Oh hell fucking no.”

Emily shrugged. “He’s... there."

“Mmm.” Tulip nodded, considering. “Suppose I’m the same. My piece is the ratty drifter who just came through.”

“Cassidy?”

“The same."

"...oh. He asked me for drugs the other day."

Emily said it so straight-face and confused that Tulip inhaled that last gulp of lemonade, choking and spraying a fine mist all over her table. When she finally got some air down her windpipe she started laughing and Emily, astoundingly laughed with her.

"Fucking hell." Tulip wiped spit from her chin. "Yeah. That sounds like Cassidy."

Emily's face twisted. "That sounds like all the men in my life. Your life too. Even Jesse."

It felt like some sort of strange, tentative peace. Tulip only hesitated a moment before agreeing: "Jesse is trash."

"Awful."

"The fucking worst."

The two women paused, making eye contact for the first time in an hour. In that moment they were both aware of the fact that they each wanted Jesse Custer, that neither of them truly had him... and the most important thing: that he wasn't fucking worth this. 'This' being smashed art projects and hearts and the fact that it had taken them this long to maybe, sort of, unexpectedly enjoy one another's company. It was a revelation—hot and scarring like flames.

"You know..." Tulip traced her finger slowly around the edge of her cup. "I've got it on good authority that Cass has a thing for Jesse."

Emily's eyebrows jumped. "What authority is that?"

"The freaking dent in his pants whenever he passes by."

Emily laughed, leaning into the table. "That's fascinating, considering I think Jesse kinda likes Cass too."

"Oh?" Tulip very deliberately kept her voice light. She could feel Emily doing the same.

"They're very... cozy, after church."

"Hmm."

They were each thinking along similar lines, though what those lines were exactly remained muddled. It was something though, like possibility. Concepts that moved past the boring man-and-wife mentality of the town. The desire to simultaneously hurt these men and give them everything they'd ever wanted. They were thoughts of sharing, thoughts that never would have been possible if Emily hadn't shared first. Breaking bread, so to speak.

Tulip took another glass of lemonade. A cookie too. She stared out over the table and into the kitchen. "Want to get those two fools together?”

She couldn't seem Emily's expression. Tulip caught the slight intake of breath though.

"What if it doesn't work?" She finally asked. "Jesse's... the preacher. What if it ruins him?"

Tulip grinned. "Even better."

"...what if it doesn't?"

"Then that's something I think we can work with."

Emily sighed. It wasn't one of defeat though—more the exhale that came before a woman began her work.

"More entertaining than Miles," she muttered.

Emily lifted her glass for a toast and Tulip happily complied. They left the rest of the art project behind and stepped out of the house together.

It was a scorcher of a day.

***

Cass was having one hell of a weird day.

Weirder than normal—and considering this was the town with an All-Powerful preacher, immortal government officials, and a fucking racist 'Indian' dude always loitering outside the bar, that was saying something. And okay, maybe that last fucker wasn't uncommon, but he was still weird.

Cass extended a finger and suspiciously poked one of the cookies, gorgeous and gooey on a little blue plate. It indented a bit at his touch because good god, they were still warm.

"These are for me?" he clarified because that right there was throwing Cass' world into a confused orbit. Emily just blinked innocently and pushed the plate a little closer to his chest.

"Yes." She shook her head. "Honestly would you just take them already? I'm exhausted."

Cass quickly snatched the plate and Emily drooped like a marionette on cut strings. She wiped real sweat from her brow.

"Exhausted from... bakin' these?" he asked. Cass still held the plate like it was crawling with spiders or some such. Even though he could still feel how warm the treats were. They were piled in a perfect little pyramid that emitted curls of steam, floating up towards the sky. Like holy hell and what the fuck, who managed actual fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies?

"I did," Emily said slowly and Cass came back to himself, feeling a little like he should be down on his knees. "But I wasn't really intending to. I mean, I was fine with my Thin Mints, I normally only bake on Saturdays before the church potluck." She pursed her lips, considering. "Someone asked me to this morning though, as a favor. I mean, I've got so much to do, but I couldn't say no to such a cute request."

Cass stared. "A cute...? You've lost me, luv."

"Really, Cassidy. Someone asked me to bake you cookies. It's all rather sweet. Looks like you've got yourself a secret admirer, but I'm not saying who."

Weird indeed. Eerie too. Cass had resigned himself to seeing some strange sights in this here town, but Emily Uptight Woodrow giving him a saucy wink? Walking her fingers up his chest and snatching one of the cookies? Cass felt like someone had pulled the proverbial rug out from under him—and the floor was a fucking lava pit with lava crocs come to snap him up. He was sure his already pasty ass looked like it was going to faint.

"Uh huh," he managed.

Emily did eventually leave and what passed for Cass' brain did, in time, start firing again. When it did the useless slab of meat told him exactly two things:

He still had a massive plate of vaguely warm cookies to devour.

There was only one person in Annville who could maybe, possibly, even hypothetically be this so-called "secret admirer."

Cass sat down, right there in the dirt by the side of the road, under the safety of a nearby tree. The occasional car drove past and gave him the confused, dirty looks that could only be achieved by those small-towners spotting someone who Didn't Belong. Cass waved them all off with a smile. He felt light and bubbly in the heat, smashing cookies into his mouth so that the chocolate ran down his chin.

He was a (literal) bloodthirsty animal. He killed without thought and often enjoyed it. He was also, irrevocably, a romantic.

"Jesse Custer," Cass said, shaking his head. He wiped crumbs and chocolate on the edge of his shirt. "You big old softie bastard."

***

Tulip was fixing the air conditioner.

She was, in fact, fixing it fast, pulling out every bit of knowledge that her uncle had ever dropped (few and far between; between the increasingly common periods of drunkenness, that is) and relying on a Youtube video for the rest. There was shit all service in the church, damn thing could only be reached by balancing on the couch, and Tulip could feel a whole mess of drippings rolling down her wrist and dropping onto her jeans. At least maybe that meant the stupid thing would finally work.

Lo and behold, it did. Just in time too. Jesse clomped his way to the back of the church, hollering Tulip's name.

"In here," she called, giving the ancient machine one last smack. It sputtered to life and Tulip had all of a millisecond to stuff her tools under the couch and spread out casually, one hand propped behind her head. It was a good look on her. She was quite the liar.

"Hey, Jesse," she said.

He didn't repay her the greeting. Asshole. Well, to be fair, he was a little distracted, staring as he was at the air conditioner like he'd finally, finallygotten to witness the miracle he'd always dreamed of. Tulip took a perverse sort of pleasure in watching his mouth unhinge—not exactly the most attractive look on Jesse. For the first time since this morning Tulip wondered if, when push came to shove, she'd have really been willing to beat Emily's head in over this here fool.

Jesse shut his mouth. The image was restored. Shit. Yeah, probably.

Hot damn.

"You fixed the air conditioner?" he asked. Tulip scoffed with full force—though she made sure not to overdo it.

"Me? Hell no. It was all fixed up when I got here." Tulip settled deep into the cushions, making it look like she'd been here a good long time, and raised a languid hand to pat the machine fondly. She hoped her light touch didn't set the thing choking again. "Someone obviously spent a lot of time on this, huh? Gotta think it was just for you. After all, rest of us aren’t spending much time back here. Now I can’t swear to it… but I’ve got a good guess as to who’d go through all the trouble…."

It wasn't a lie—Tulip certainly knew herself most of all—but the implication set Jesse's eyes alight.

"No," he said. It was slow with disbelief. Tulip had to bite hard on the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. Best that Jesse come to his own conclusions.

In fact, best that she not say anything at all. Tulip settled for shrugging against the pillow.

And Jesse nodded. There was a whole world encompassed in that nod, a considering, almost sweet (cloyingly, ugh) spark of hope. As she'd hoped he would, Jesse took in all the little details that Tulip had left for him: the now spotless and dust free exterior, the thin blue ribbons attached to the grill that fluttered prettily in the breeze.

You could say a whole lot with just an air conditioner.

Jesse still had his keys in one hand. He shook them, absently, before finally pointing them Tulip's way.

"Mind if I take off?"

"But you just got here." Tulip had to play with him, just a little.

"I won't be long, promise—"

And oh, how sad, Jesse was already out the door, the sound of his increasingly quick footfalls echoing off the church floorboards. Tulip sat up and cranked her neck, even though she couldn't see him. The front doors slammed shut at the exact moment the air conditioner gave out.

Tulip laughed like a gunshot. "Perfect timing," she said, giving it another slap. It was almost sad how easy that had been.

Now all they had to do was wait.

***

There was actually little waiting involved. Emily had stationed her car just to the side of the church, watching and waiting for Jesse to leave again. When he did—walking in the way that meant he really wanted to run—she came waltzing in, holding up her second plate of cookies in triumph. Tulip took another minute to re-fix the air conditioner and soon the two of them were shoulder to shoulder on the couch, halving gooey deliciousness and sighing at the breeze on the back of their necks.

"What now?" Tulip asked. She pulled apart a cookie until the strings of chocolate stretched thin.

Emily rolled her eyes. "I left Cass on the side of the road—the one damn road Annville has. Jesse will reach him in about, oh," she checked her watch. "Now. I suspect they'll start having sex in the flatbed of the truck soon enough.”

Tulip snorted. "Nah. Under the tree. Right there in the open. Cass needs the shade."

"What? Why?"

"...Just 'cause."

"Uh huh. Well, I hope they're happy together."

"Them? Never. You think they'll realize it’s a setup though?"

"Them? Never."

“Ha.”

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Their topic of conversation—the only one they presumably had—was well and dry. Tulip held another cookie in her hand and ran her thumb along the heat. She thought of Thin Mints in Emily’s kitchen, and of fire.

Together they went through the little batch fast and soon there was another blue plate between them, this one bare but for a few remaining smears. Tulip was thinking hard, so hard, when Emily glanced up with a large piece of cookie dangling from her lips, realization that it was the last one spreading across her face.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry—"

Tulip leaned forward, taking the rest of the cookie in her mouth, pushing gently until Emily swallowed to let their lips finally meet.

“Oh,” she said again.

Emily tasted of chocolate, obviously, but her skirt underneath Tulip's hand was softer than she would have imagined. It took her a hot, fuzzy moment to realize she was palming Emily's skin. They were similar then, Tulip could feel it: dainty things with hard interiors, capable of moving through whole waves of emotions in just a day. They were strong and furious. They were Annville girls.

Tulip wondered if Cass and Jesse were doing this exact same thing, some three miles out from. Probably. One might say, undoubtedly. The four of them were just synched that way.

"Screw 'em," Tulip murmured, smiling against Emily's lips. “Just…”

She trailed off because then Emily had pulled her closer, her hands spanning Tulip’s back with a touch that was both tender and bruising.

They left prints that smoked against Tulip’s shirt.

Trails of fire.