#how did he end up essentially a field soldier and not an officer

[itsagrimm]

Something tells me that König did not have a usual childhood not just because of anxiety.

He entered military service with 17, which requires parental permission. Many kids in the german speaking countries still go to school when 17. König's parents being okay with their kid not pursuing education, which is highly socially expected of young people in all german-speaking countries, but instead actively allowing him to join the army, is extremely unusual.

Also, the military does not have the same social standing in Austria or Germany as let's say in the USA. It is not a very common thing people do here - especially minors.

Like, did his parents want him gone? Or did they actually felt like that was the best choice for their son because of circumstances unknown to us? Or did 17-year-old-König convince his parents AND the enlist officer to allow him to join the army somehow, giving an anxiety plagued teen a gun? And what kind of environment would allow that?

[keepmeinmind-01]

Hi! Will Percival and Theseus meet again in the future? What's your headcanon on their past? I really enjoyed their friendship during the captivity. Having Percy so broken was heartbreaking. Yet he still looked at Theseus as someone who could save him (it was awful of Grindelwald to mock him for that). It was really validating when he told Newt about the vow after everything. Did the meeting rekindled something between Thes and Percy? I assume that Grindelwald knew about their past when he captured Theseus? What's his view on past and present relationship between Percy and Theseus?

mild spoilers for my fic keep me in mind!

but mostly just Theseus and Percival backstory

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Hello and thank you for your question!! :D The way they meet is a little convoluted because of the wartime context, so brace yourself for a massive set of paragraphs ahaha.

Yes, they will meet again in the future. Percival comes back into the plot after I finish this arc (which ends with the canon plot of SOD) and start the next one. Until then, he’s essentially in a recovery facility. Then I have quite a few interactions, etc, planned for them, although I’m still building out the subplot that involves Percy for the last bit. If I ever get the numbers or dates weird, it’s on me LOL.

My headcanon on their past! I don’t know how historically accurate it is LOL but here goes. So I write Theseus as having gone to the front a few months after WW1 begins, being one of the first/the first surviving wizard to have broken Evermonde’s decree. A few million British soldiers did survive the entire war from start to finish, even if the average lifespan was quite short, so I imagine Theseus having served the whole way through (age 25-29). So he’d have the “Pip, Squeak, and Wilfred” set of medals.

I then imagine Percival has joined the war roughly at the time America entered, which would be in about 1917, where MACUSA was deliberately sending in higher level officers to essentially monitor the situation, keep a low profile, etc, as Percival is (in my headcanon) about 8 years older than Theseus and consistently a rank higher.

Theseus, like a lot of British soldiers, was deployed to France in 1914. I headcanon he was then reassigned to Ypres, Belgium in around 1916, after the Second Battle of Ypres but before the Battle of Passchendaele. Percival would have landed in 1917, earlier than the majority of American troops, who arrived in 1918 for the German Spring Offensive, because as a Senior Auror he wouldn’t have needed the same training time as civilian troops and was on a slightly different mission anyway.

So they both end being in the field in Belgium at the same time, but in different places. At this point, Theseus has been promoted from private to lance corporal to corporal and is commanding his unit section. Awful things were going on in Belgium at this time, in particular war crimes against civilians, so a lot of effort was targeted there.

I see MACUSA as sending a handful of people in not necessarily as foot soldiers, but more to keep an eye on things, passing through regiments, being more flexible on the Statue and so on, just because I feel like it aligns with US policy at the time, where they partly only entered the war (“belligerency”) to gain a foothold in the later international treaties and debates that’d follow. That and the early American attacks were ineffective and recycled some of the old tactics already used by European forces earlier on, so I could sort of see MACUSA wanting to do some kind of patriotic intervention.

So I imagine that therefore, in early 1917, Theseus is defending a Belgian village/civilians with his platoon. The village is lightly shelled to break the defence and then they’re attacked by the troops from the Central Powers. But the perimeter defence is killed, etc, and Theseus and the others end up having to surrender after a drawn out fight. It’s an incredibly tough fight where most of the Allied troops are killed along with lots of the civilians in proximity.

Therefore, the survivors of the platoon are taken as prisoners of war, including Theseus. As a corporal, Theseus probably wouldn’t have been interrogated for intelligence because there’d be the officer and sergeant ranking above him. But he uses magic during the fight to try and protect fellow soldiers and the Belgian civilians, a few things that aren’t really dramatic or noticeable (I don’t think he’d have had the power or reserves) but enough that the captors note this strange phenomenon.

Once Theseus is in the POW camp, Percival, who’s kind of bouncing around units/faking his death, etc, is in the area and senses a magical signature. Theseus gets interrogated a bit but has no special intelligence. Percival observes this and considers leaving him (in theory, the POW camps weren’t a death sentence, but they were pretty awful regardless) to continue his mission, but then after a few days of observation, Theseus is pushed to the point of doing accidental magic. So Percival has to just get him out ASAP as damage cleanup to avoid the Statue getting absolutely destroyed (although Theseus has already broken the Statue a load of times, especially in some of the earlier gas attacks, but this could get high level quite quickly in a POW camp vs on the chaotic battlefield).

Percival then breaks in and helps Theseus escape. But they’re caught and have to full-on apparate out as they’re about to be executed. That’s the incident they talk about in one of the earlier chapters where it was right down to the wire in terms of getting shot by a rifle LOL. Percival is “fresher” and a bit more skilled than Theseus, who’s been essentially living as a Muggle for a few years with rusty magic, so they fake new identities and join another unit. This is Percival’s first taste of being in the trenches for a long period of time and having to act fully like a Muggle. This goes on for a few more months where they’re actually fighting side by side until Percival gets an owl. Which is for the more senior Americans (which he is as a Senior Auror) out in the field to regroup in Ukraine, because the British Ministry has started a programme on the Eastern Front involving dragons.

I’ll be honest here, I can’t remember if I wrote that Theseus manages to get home and briefly report back to the Ministry or goes straight there with Percival (so please forgive the inconsistency on this, as I think I wrote Newt as believing Theseus “followed” him to the eastern front but it wasn’t quite as deliberate as that haha). They travel with magic, some help from other agents, etc. Percival has got a solid rep at MACUSA so they’re keen to get him there safe for his excellent leadership skills. Of course, when Theseus rocks up, Newt’s there too. Which gobsmacks Theseus but also is classic Newt ahaha.

From there until a month before the end of the war, the three of them are there. Percival and Newt both go back as soon as the programme fails (Percival because he’s extracted, Newt because he’s devastated/furious at the Ministry killing the dragons) and Theseus does clean up for that last month. Hence Newt having to pick him up when he goes back on a conventional troop carrier, as the Ministry doesn’t want to expose any of the wizards among the Muggle troops.

I headcanon that they become friends at first and then the spark grows until in Ukraine, where they do become lovers (and have a physical relationship LOL). It’s kind of a situational thing but the attraction is quite deep and they’ve been through a lot together. Then, after the war, it’s easy for Theseus to find Percival, and they start a sort of relationship again.

It lasts barely two months and devolves into hookups as the two get busier and busier with work and generally more distant in different continents. They end up going back to friends because it’s clear it doesn’t quite work for either of them. They’re not quite long term compatible, they decide, just personality-wise, with Percival being the more decisive in breaking it off. And then in about two years, Theseus meets Leta, by which point they’re colleagues with no trace of the old feelings.

Haha, that was so long. I didn’t manage to get it smoothly into the captivity part of the story because there wasn’t much pacing leeway unless I did a massive flashback, but once more, your excellent question has made me realise it’s got to get written in somewhere rather than just floating around in my head LOL. Or maybe I do it as a linked one shot. In a way, it’s kind of fate, because Percy saved Theseus and then Theseus saved Percy :D

I wouldn’t say it necessarily rekindled something in a significant sense. It definitely helped them both, just because Percival was so touch and affection starved for something from a normal person (sorry, Grindelwald) that he was just instantly hit with the feels, but Theseus is also still being eaten alive by his grief over Leta. So there’s a bit of that intimate spark from surviving something awful together there which almost straddles any kind of relationship description, whether it’s friends, lovers, etc. Sort of like they might be happy to experiment again in the future, and definitely are desperate to see one another again as friends if nothing else, but probably don’t imagine a long term romantic relationship together.

As Grindelwald knew basically everything about Percival’s life, he did know, as you’ve said :) I honestly think he didn’t care that much about the past relationship, to the extent where he’s like “Ohh, the Auror from Paris is the same man from Belgium?? Ohhh, I forgot.” He doesn’t massively approve of the war and might see it as being born of violence, being too physical, etc, but I don’t think he’d really be too bothered about it. The present one annoyed him because he could tell it was making Percival less loyal. I don’t know if Grindelwald romantically loves Percival so much as he loves him like an object (not like Vinda, with some more genuine feeling, but there’s only space in his heart for Albus).

I think he could even consider a relationship between Theseus and Percival, if it ever happened (I’m not writing them as endgame, but might play with the boundaries between friends and friends with something extra a little) as useful in some form, as it gets the targets together. He might feel a bit bad for Percival though, given how much he hates Theseus for tricking him, in Grindelwald logic LOL.

I hope this all makes sense :)

[alcorian]

Hmm tell me if u don't wanna get more asks about those two but dream from last night about opbee is hunting me. I honestly might make it into an au of sorts or small drabble???

I dunno but:

What if Bee and Optimus were paired for a reckon or some sort of spying mission were lying low is required and through that they slowly bond and fall in love.

I feel like the main scene of the dream would be the two discussing their feelings in Optimus office and being very close to each other, just very tender moment.

If I had to organise my thoughts it would be like randomly an idea floats around the ark about doing random pair work, maybe it stem from twins doing a prank too many in the med bay or to prowl or someone said something about Jazz special ops trainings, I dunno the main thing that stemmed from the even is that everyone in the ark gets randomly paired with different bot.

Essentially someone from science Division may end up doing special ops or surveillance mission or Prowl might have to do jet jitsu with twins.

Somehow, someway Bee and Optimus got paired together- Teletran-1 is strangely silent about it -which led to few grumbles here and there but those bits were quickly distracted when they got paired with people they hated or disliked. Bee is keeping it together but like barely BC damnit that's his crush and he gonna make fool of himself and just spirals down from there.

Whilst Optimus looks calms on the outside he is panicking like bumblebee, maybe worrying a bit more about this whole idea seeing the chaos but that ship had sailed. Anyway, whilst everyone gets chaotic first hour, bee and Optimus get to just know each other beyond leader and soldier.

Like maybe Optimus had paperwork or bumblebee had to do Inventory or something to that extend but just- They talk they learn they feel.Maybe there is opportunity for field mission for bumblebee and it's quite low key one so both Optimus and Bee get to go on it. Maybe it's spying on some decepticon mining facility or something but it goes well.

Untill it isn't well and the two have to hide.

Optimus probably reacted instinctively or maybe he was a lookout whilst Bee did most of the spying but the second he spots the approaching danger he grabs Bee and hides them in the shadows of the smaller caverns in the cave which forces them to be flush against each other.

Bee is confused at first when he was grabbed but second he spots the danger too he quietens down and listens out for it too, only realising how close he and Prime are when he tries to shift making Bee blush like crazy and it takes all of his will power to not make startled sound or for his fans to kick in.Optimus doesn't realise what happen untill much later when he has time to digest the day events in his quarters.

If he avoids Bee optics next day that's no one business but his.

Anyway just the two slowly bonding and having those lightbulb moments of "oh O H " untill the last day of the whole partnered up thing, in Optimus office as the two do their work, feeling so domestic so comfortable for maybe first time in eons of the war Optimus takes that final gamble. Slowly he putting the paperwork away, much to Bee confusion as his own files are taken and put away, Optimus looks at Bumblebee and lowers his battle mask- noting the way Bee optics widen and how mesmerized bee looks -and just speaks.

It's not like his usual usual speeches, crafted to the perfection and carrying words of encouragement for the wary troops, no. Optimus stumbles and backtracks and keeps it as honest as he can as he bares his feelings, ever the soldier ever the prime, despite wanting to look away, he can't as he watches for bee reaction.

Bee takes it in, the confessions, the actions, the words. Bee takes in Prime and realises that Optimus means it. He isn't taking pity he isn't joking he means it. And just as Optimus starts to doubt, Bee speaks. Offering his side, his confessions his actions as he lets the always cherry persona mask fall. Showing his weariness and the ugly he keeps away for benefits of others.Slowly but surely they talk they confess and discuss and they come closer and closer for their first kiss.

Whatever happens next is well up in the air.

I think it be funny if the two started dating but didn't try to hide it all that much and autobots don't pick it up untill after like final battle of the war where Bee or Optimus borderline make out in the battle field.

I dunno I just enjoy the trope where two people are dating without hiding it but people around them think they are oblivious to each other feelings or don't notice it untill it's spelled out to them.

But yeah :D

-@);-- R Anon

And once again I do apologise for any spelling or other mistakes, I am after work and not wearing glasses cause ouche

ahhhh yes im always here for more opbee, i love them

[yhwhrulz]

Wayside Chapel Daily Devotional 1st November 2023

November 1

2 Timothy 2:3-6 3Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. 4No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs-he wants to please his commanding officer. 5Similarly, if anyone competes as an athlete, he does not receive the victor's crown unless he competes according to the rules. 6The hardworking farmer should be the first to receive a share of the crops.

Paul gave us three vocational analogies to the Christian life. First he suggests we are like soldiers. Soldiers endure hardship. They are not at home but out in the field for a cause. Their time of hardship is temporary but necessary to secure freedom. As a soldier they do not get involved in civilian affairs. They want to please the commanding officer. Civilian affairs would be a distraction. It is not the reason they are there.

What a great analogy for our walk with the Lord in this life. Some Christians complain, "I didn't know it would be so hard!" Then why did you join the battle? You could have just stayed a slave, but do realize how hard that is? Thankfully ours is a short tour of duty. We are going home soon. Don't get wrapped up in this world and its affairs.

The athlete is our next analogy. He trains hard and goes without many of the simple luxuries of life, because he wants to win. Then, as he competes, he must do so according to the rules if he is to win. As Christians we, too, go without some things that the world may consider essential. We are after a heavenly prize. We want to hear our Lord say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." That's why we discipline our soul and operate according to the guidelines of the Spirit. We don't want to be disqualified for the prize.

Last is the farmer. He works hard to raise a crop. He's up at dawn and quits at dark. Day after day he tends the soil, the crop, picks the weeds, and ensures the crop gets water. There is never an end of things to be done, but he is first to be rewarded with a share of the crop.

Consider: Reward is coming fellow laborer. Keep up the hard work. We will go home. There is a prize. You can almost taste the fruit of your labor.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Across the landing field the ground crews were in frantic motion. Landing pads that had been used as temporary supply dumps were cleared, refugees and civilians were moved up for transport off world, and for the first time in seven months the Galaxian base commander braided his face tentacles.

From his office overlooking the entire compound, Commander Zavar kept watch of the progress from the corner of his eye while his main focus was on the mirror in front of him. Carefully observing his reflection he intertwined the several dozen chest length tentacles that grew just beneath his jaw into elegant patterns.

He hadn’t bothered to for the last few months as the braiding of tentacles was meant to show a sign of respect. A Galaxian with unbraided tentacles was essentially stating that whomever they spoke with they held them in low regard. Zavar hadn’t braided them for some time as he felt no need to show signs of respect to anyone under his command.

It had been months since the landing base was established with the intent to use it as a jumping off point in new offensives. When Zavar had been given command he felt that he would be helping bring an end to this bloody conflict by maintaining such a crucial facility. Yet just as the offensive was about to begin their enemies decided to launch a massive counter offensive on an entirely different continent. In short order the manpower which had been set aside for the Galaxian offensive was pulled away to mount a rapid defense and halt this no enemy offensive.  

One by one troop ships stopped coming to his base and requested materials became increasingly diverted to other theaters of the war until finally this once crucial launching point became nothing more than a gas station for passing supply ships.

He grimaced as he made a wrong twist while braiding remembering his degrading morale and the effect it had on those under him. The drive that had once fueled Zavar was sapped away by months of repetitive supply transfers and paperwork, and this soon turned to ever laxening of base discipline among the work crews. When Zavar’s second in command came to him with information that several of the crews had taken an abandoned storage building and had turned it into an entertainment club of sorts, all he did at the time was put on his military cap and take a walk over to it for a drink himself.

That had all changed last night when in the middle of darkness moon Zavar had received an offworld communication from central command. After weeks of careful negotiation the human government they had agreed to join the war effort on the Galaxian side. A substantial force of at least four of their divisions had already arrived in system and would be sending down a battalion of 500 soldiers to further secure and expand Zavar’s base.

Within moment of the calls end Zavar had ordered all of his crews to standby and began issuing orders with renewed fire. As Zavar finished braiding his tentacles and looked out across his base he saw all of the landing pads had been cleared, and with moments to spare.

A loud rumbling could be heard and Zavar could feel the room slowly vibrating as he looked to the clouded skies.

Breaching through the murky grey clouds that had covered the sky for weeks Zavar saw a human landing craft. It was a bulky black mass of metal with a design reminiscent of an overweight bird Zavar thought as it slowly descended towards the base. He was slightly disappointed in the lacking design aesthetics of the human craft, but he had remembered that these transports were designed for carrying large amounts of troops to safe areas rather than enemy held landings. Zavar watched it for a few moments more before leaving his office and making for the landing pads.

It was a short ride from his office to landing pad three were Zavar met his second in command already waiting with a small detachment of honor guard. He exited the vehicle just as the landing craft set down sending gusts of wind out from the engines as they slowly died down.

As Zavar took his place at the head of the honor guard the loading door of the transport popped open with a loud thud and began to lower.

He had heard stories of humans before, how they were great warriors of the highest caliber, that their reflexes were heightened to such a level in the heat of battle they could see an enemy from miles away, that they could lose limbs and heal after a period of time only to forge new ones and return for more combat; truly these beings would bring a swift end to this war.

The ramp finally touched the surface of the landing pad and Zavar could finally see inside of the transport. What he saw rather surprised him however…..

At the top of the ramp stood several ranks of human soldiers dressed in combat gear, but at the head of them was a uniformed Kliptec; their serpent body draped across the decking of the craft.

Zavar cast a side long glance at his second who looked as dumb founded as Zavar was feeling before looking back at the Kliptec. Their upper body was humanoid in shape, yet they bore more hallmarks of a reptile. Scaled skin, slit like eyes, sharpened fingers, and in place of feet was a roughly six foot long tail.

As the Kliptec slithered down the ramp towards Zavar and the front ranks of humans followed Zavar was greeted by further confusion. Mixed in with the humans soldiers Zavar noted several other species not native to the human worlds.

A Draxic casually stomped forward with the ranks appearing to carry some form of heavy weapon casually over their shoulder, a Flinchestet with a communication device glided across the decking as if its limbs could not be bothered to touch the floor, a Valmorian with a red cross painted across their helmet stood alongside a Combra whose face had been ritually scared for the coming battles; but most surprising of all was the towering figure at the very back of the transport.

A hive warrior drone draped in the uniform of humanity. It held no weapon between its claws but Zavar was positive it would have no need of such a device to rip through the lot of them. Some of the honor guard made let out whimper of fear and one even went so far as to start to bring their weapon to bear.

With only a look Zavar’s second command was at the guard’s side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.

“Be. Calm.” Those two words were all he said to the guard before returning to his place next to Zavar, the weapon he had taken from the guard clutched at his side.

His men looked at their commander with silent awe as they saw Zavar look unphased at the sudden turn of events. Instead of humanity’s reinforcements they appeared to have been given a cavalcade of species that had once fought against humanity. In truth Zavar was deeply concerned about this development, but the one thing keeping him from panicking was his observations of the actual human soldiers present.

Their eyes lacked a sense of fear one would normally experience when coming upon something, or someone, so unnatural to themselves. They were alert and disciplined which was all that Zavar needed to know to reassure him that things were as they should be.

The Kliptec finally slithered in front of Zavar and gave a crisp salute which Zavar returned with a bow of comradery.

“Lt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.” the Kliptec said.

“Base Commander Zavar Hatsval,” Zavar replied as he motion to his second, “and my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.”

“I must admit,” Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, “when I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.”

Reginal’s sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.

“Our military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.” he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. “It is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?”

“We do not ask others to fight in our stead.” Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.

“And how has that turned out for you here?” Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. “Because from where I am it looks like we’re here to fight in your stead.”

Xixvil’s mouth dropped open in shock before morphing into one of anger while Reginal continued smirking. Zavar thought he was about to see his second lash out when the hive drone he had seen before marched over to them.

It stood easily twice as high as a Galaxian and three times as high as the human soldiers around it. Its collection of eyes were constantly darting around randomly as if trying to observe everything at once while it hovered over the trio. It slowly opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharpened teeth as it surprised Zavar once again.  

“Dro…..go…..where?”

In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxian’s had fought several wars with the Hive and at every encounter the drone warrior caste was found to be near mindless killing machines without a queen’s control. To hear one speak in a language he could understand, let alone in broken sentences was enough to end the careers of several Galaxian biologists.

“Report to Sgt Morris, Dro.” Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.

The drone’s eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing “Morris…..yes…find…Morris….going….now…sir.” It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.

“Carry on Dro.”

With that the drone shambled off after the majority of humans who had left the landing zone leaving only a few behind to begin unloading the battalion’s equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. “Once our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that we’ll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.”

Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.

“I do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone “Dro”?” Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.

Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering “That’s his name; Dro Harris.”

“It was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.” Xixvil continued as he watched the drone in the distance stop in front of a humanoid looking figure before following them into a storage bay.

“Normally they aren’t able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.”

Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.

“One of his parents fought in the human hive wars and took an egg back as a trophy. Turns out it hatched and they decided to raise him as their son.”

“I can’t imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.”

To their surprised Reginal shook his head. “From what he’s told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.”

“Now I know you are making things up.” Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Humans do weird things like this all the time,” Reginal said, “they act distant at first but once they warm up to you the majority of them will welcome you with open arms and treat you like kin.”

He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.

“People assume humans are barbaric isolationist xenophiles, and while it is true there are some of them out there they do not make up the entirety of humanity.”

“There are humans that will sit down with complete strangers and within an hour be closer than brothers with them, humans that will drop everything to come help you even when there is no benefit to themselves, humans that will check up on you just to see if you are alright.”

“It’s weird but at times it’s almost as if humanity has been sick of just knowing only humans and will throw themselves at anything different just so they can experience something new, something exotic and exciting.”

Reginal looked at the two Galaxians as they took in what he had to say and shook his head. He gave a quick salute and then slithered after his men as the heavy equipment began rolling off the transport leaving the Galaxians in the dust.  

[xenia-cenia]

Kaeya x Fem!Reader - To Heal

A/N-part 4... god razor and albedos are gonna kill me i FEEL it also wtf his backstory is so SAD.... enemies to lovers.... but only one sees them as an enemy..... god the brainrot is so good today 

Trigger/Content Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeyas backstory, minor character death, light swearing, PTSD/nightmares, blood, kidnapping

I promise it’s only half as angsty as it sounds

Word Count: 2,267

Request: No

Summary: You hated him. He loved you. It’s every romcom but this time, there’s trauma.

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

Kaeya Alberich had the world beneath his fingertips. 

Very few people could resist his charms, good looks, or smile. Especially not healers who hung towards the back of the party and saved every life he put in danger. 

Kaeya Alberich was a genius. People would willingly divulge secrets that would ruin their lives to his kind gaze and warm smile. He was manipulative, he was a liar, he was a traitor.

No person in Mondstadt hated Kaeya Alberich more than Kaeya Alberich himself. Though, you were a close second.

“Captain!” You barged into his office as he tied his hair up into a ponytail, “You can’t keep endangering people like this!”

He turned to you with a confused smile, “Like what? They’re Knights, aren’t they?”

“It doesn’t matter! Eventually, my healing won’t be enough!” You marched over to him and slammed your hands down on his desk, “You are selfish! You disgust me.” He shot you a big smirk which caused you to spin on your heels and leave the room, your anger nearly tangible.

Kaeya leaned back in his chair and sighed, a goofy smile lingering on his face.

No person in Mondstadt loved you more than the soldiers who you saved. 

Though, Kaeya Alberich was a close second. 

He didn’t know why he loved you so much. By all accounts, he should hate you. He should despise the way you brought comfort into everyone's eyes, the way you always arrived just in time to save countless lives, how your power in battle nearly outmatched his own. 

He should be jealous. He should be angry. He should not be head-over-heels in love with you. He should not be trying to plan more carefully so your healing workload is lightened, and it shouldn’t even cross his mind to leave his door open so you don’t hurt your hands as you barged in here with your justified rage.

Kaeya melted into his chair as he tried to contain the thoughts that ceaselessly ran through his mind. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, sweat dripping off his face as he saved your life. And you’d smile at him, a shy and genuine smile, as you thanked him profusely. 

But he was no fool. He knew how deep your hatred ran. And he couldn’t blame you, by all accounts he was selfish. He was disgusting. He risked lives for his enjoyment, he loved seeing the fear in recruits as they ran from danger.

Did that make him a bad person? Yes. Yes, absolutely. He slept every night trying to forget their screams as they called for help. No. Not called for help - begged him for help. 

You seethed as you walked out of Kaeyas office. Too many lives were senselessly taken every day, too many people's blood-stained your hands. 

Just like... no.

“Stop it, (Y/N). You can’t think like that.” You shook the thoughts out of your head as you mumbled to yourself. You looked to your side and caught sight of your reflection in a window. You stared for a moment, a blank expression on your face before it fell into a glare. 

Kaeya Alberich brought anger into your heart. Kaeya Alberich made memories you’d rather die creep up to the surface and hit you with guilt. You hated Kaeya Alberich because he was...

“Dammit.” You slapped your cheek, “Cut it out.”

You walked back to your home and thought over what you’d do for the rest of the evening. Maybe a warm bath and tea? However, you did like the idea of belting songs from the privacy of your home... the possibilities were near endless! But, as usual, you would wash your hands first.

It didn’t matter if you hadn’t touched anything. It didn’t matter if they were already clean. You would wash them every time you had the chance. 

When you finally arrived home, scrubbed your hands, you decided to put the relaxing bath off for a different night. You collapsed onto your warm bed, happily covering yourself in your heavy sheets as sleep overtook you.

If you had any regrets in your life, learning how to fight would be your top one. As the only fighter in your small town, you were relied on for everything. (Y/N) go hunting, (Y/N) take out these slimes, (Y/N) head to Mondstadt, and purchase goods.

And you were there. You were there when the small army attacked. Why were they attacking? You weren’t sure. 

Families, friends, enemies. They all blurred together as you raised your weapon. In the end, you were the only one left. You weren’t out of breath nor saddened by the deaths.

Instead, you looked around the corpses that littered the ground and tried to hide your exhilaration. 

For the first time, you had to fight like your life depended on it. For the first time in your life, you could let your frustration out. And there, covered in blood, was a small icy ball. You leaned over and picked it up, wiping the blood off with your hands. A Vision.

And for the first night in years, you found you couldn’t sleep. Every time your eyes would shut, you would see their bodies. Every time you plugged your ears you could hear them call your name. Every time you breathed you’d remember that they never would again.

You spent years atoning for that day and dedicated yourself to saving lives. You mastered healing, it took the same precision as killing you quickly realized, and went to Mondstadt hoping that the City of Freedom could free you from these deeds.

It couldn’t.

Nothing could. 

Eventually, you found yourself working for the Knights of Favonius. As long as you didn’t swing a weapon, you were fine. You were just saving lives. You were keeping your promise.

So, why did it feel so good when their lives all depended on your choice? Why did you feel so powerful knowing you were essentially the God of these men? 

Did you only join the Knights because you knew violence and bloodshed would always be a part of you? 

You did everything you can to suppress these feelings. You swore off fighting, ignoring people's begging to duel you one-on-one. You’d lie and say holding weapons scared you, but it was always Kaeya who saw through your facade.

And that’s why you hated him. He was as bloodthirsty, evil, and selfish as you. He saw through each lie you spent years carefully crafting.

You hated him because he was you. 

One week later, it was time for another raid. 

As long as you were on the field, none of your allies would die. The raid started fine enough, you all charged into a Domain under Kaeyas orders. He froze falling rocks or spare enemies that could have killed his troops, as you stayed in the back and healed every scraped knee and minor wound.

Stay in the back. They had said. It’s safer in the back. Kaeya is smart. He’ll never lead us into a trap.

And you hated him. You truly hated him. But, damn, you trusted his plans. Even if it meant you had to work harder to keep everyone alive, you knew that the job would get done. Together, you were unstoppable. 

Maybe you put too much confidence in him. You couldn’t muster a thought as a bubble of water enveloped you. You tried to break it, but all you did was force your oxygen to run out sooner. 

With one last hint of desperation, you threw your vision onto the floor. And then, you fell unconscious.

Kaeya was no idiot. He saw the number of his troops dwindling and knew what happened. He ordered the stragglers to retreat, take the wounded and try their best to not die without him holding their hands.

When they were out of his sight, he immediately started to retrace his steps. 

He didn’t need to come very far to notice the Vision that was kicked around and sitting on the floor. Kaeya walked over to it and picked it up, rubbing his finger over the outside. 

“Cyro Vision...” He tossed it into the air, grabbed it, and continued walking. Once again, he noticed a trail of water that was slowly beginning to dry.

After not even 5 minutes of walking, he saw what he needed. A slightly askew rock. Kaeya chuckled to himself as he pressed his on it, the rocks pushed themselves aside and revealed a staircase heading down.

“Well, here goes.” He muttered under his breath as he went down the staircase.

The Abyss Mages had taken you out of the bubble and tied you to a table. You were waking up, groggy and confused, but when you remembered felt anger bubble in your stomach.

“What the hell!” You yelled at the two Abyss Mages who captured you. They both jumped and turned to face you, “Why am I here! I swear if any of my men died...”

“You’re awake.” One of them chirped.

“You’re awake-” you mocked, “did you think I was sleep talking or something?! Let me out of this!”

“We know about your true power.” The other one chimed in, “We know what happened that night. It was our allies who you killed. You must face punishment.”

You stared blankly before breaking out into laughter, “Wait - that was you guys? God, you’re pathetic! Can’t believe I was relying on someone to save me.” You began to struggle against the ropes.

“The ropes are sealed, they can only be undone with the work of a Vision. We know you are Visionless - none of the Archons would grant something as lowly as you power.”

“Oh,” you bit your lip, “that might be a problem.”

“So you accept your fate!” 

“Let our justice reign down-”

Kaeya, who was standing on the staircase watching this all happen, let a laugh slip out.

“-who was that?!”

He walked down the rest of the stairs and clapped his hands, “Great show you two have put on here.”

“K-Kaeya!” You yelled. “Did you grab it?”

He threw your vision to you, and just being near to it made the ropes fall to the ground. 

“I-Impossible!” 

You stretched, stood, and smiled widely at your kidnappers, “I hope I’m not rusty.”

Within seconds, the Abyss Mages were dead. Ice bit at your skin, and, once again, there was blood on your hands.

You looked at your hands and felt your body start to shake. Kaeya walked over to you but stopped when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Don’t... don’t look at me.” You turned away from him, “I’m... I’m no better than them.”

His heart snapped in two, “(Y/N)...”

“You heard what they said. I’m a killer. I killed everyone I cared about and after everything, after every promise I made... I just... I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, don’t look at me.”

“If you’re bad then I’m the worst.” He stepped over the corpses, “I didn’t cry when my Father died. I put everyone in danger for fun. I left... well, I can’t call him my brother now, can I?”

You slowly turned to him, “Kaeya, I-”

He kept his gaze on the ground, “I tried to make them happy. And I did- I do- really love him. Even if I’m not his brother, he’s still mine. I didn’t mean to hurt him. That’s all I ever seem to do... I hurt you. I hurt them. And I’ll do it again. I... I know all of their names. You probably don’t believe me, I wouldn’t blame you. I am a bad person.”

In a few steps, you reached him. He looked up at you and felt his eyes widen as his hand hovered above his cheek. You hit him. No, you slapped him.

“Stop talking about yourself like that.”

“Why? You think like this too.”

“Because you’re me.” You stiffened, “Everything you do is something I’ve considered. Every plan you make is one I dream of. Every life you put into my hands is one I know I can leave.”

“But you still...”

You kneeled next to him and grabbed his hands, “Because I am more than these thoughts. I know how much it’d hurt if I let them die, how much their families would cry. I see it, Kaeya. I see the ways you care for people. You can’t tell me it’s all an act.”

“What if I did?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe someone who hates his people would spend time listening to Glory or look into medicines for Anna. You do it even when you think nobodies looking and I...” you took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“My anger for you was directed at myself. I do think you need to change the way you plan things, have more care for people's lives.” You smiled at him and wiped the tears from his eyes, “I’m also really sorry for hitting you.”

“It’s fine, I deserved it.” He chuckled lowly.

“No, you don’t. You did like... a month ago. But not tonight.”

“So, what now?” He looked at you with small tears still in his eyes.

“Well, I think first we get out of here. Next, we should spend some time and work on ourselves. And finally...”

“Finally?”

You blushed, “Let me buy you dinner.”

The two of you left the Domain, and for a reason, no person in Mondstadt could explain, you and Kaeya became inseparable. His plans suddenly became more conscious of his men. 

And together, you began to heal.

[nervousladytraveler]

@veryflowerobservation asked me for a little story with a very specific plot line. While I doubt this is what they had in mind (apologies in advance) this is what came to me over my morning coffee. Also, I’ve been reading Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, and am indebted to her for the world (and tone) of that novel that I borrowed here.

---

She was already seated at a table in a quiet back corner when Ross entered the restaurant. A sandwich sat in front of her--untouched. How long had she been waiting? Ross hadn’t been late. In fact he was rather pleased with his timing.

He’d only just found her note a mere half hour before he was to meet her. He’d almost missed it--a small piece of folded paper deposited on his desk and no one claimed to have seen the messenger.

Dear Mr. Poldark, it read. Please meet me, if you can, noon today. The Drake. Important item to be discussed. Yours, Miss D. Carne. The ink had smeared a bit revealing an impatient or untidy author.

He remembered Miss Carne. Often, if he were to be honest. He smiled at the physical feelings associated with the memory and was on his feet shuffling for his coat before he’d thought it all through. After a late breakfast, he wasn’t hungry yet his curiosity was piqued by such a veiled message. Then again cryptic was the nature of their business, he supposed.

Ross hadn’t wanted the job but was cajoled, battered--railroaded really. But his gallantry in the previous war and in his off-the-record jaunts in between, not to mention his Good Family (“So many Poldarks already in the high ranks, you know”) were all tallied up. If Ross was trying to slip away from duty unnoticed, it seemed he was his own worst enemy. And if he had a choice, he’d have preferred to return to the army, but his ankle still bore shrapnel from ‘17 and apparently he wasn’t needed in that capacity.

“We need trustworthy men inside, Poldark,” some smart Undersecretary and an older but oh so reputable Colonel had huffed. They nodded in agreement with one another, and without waiting for an answer, had begun making plans for Ross in an unmarked office at the end of a serpentine hall in That Building.

The last thing Ross wanted was to be trusted with someone else’s secrets and yet, there he was--working for the War Time Government, which he soon learned was a very different machine than the one they’d elected in times of peace, the one everyone thought they knew. And once he saw the ways the gears really moved, Ross was certain most would prefer not to know much about this one at all.

Miss Carne, the author of the note and the guardian of the untouched sandwich, was one of the girls in the unmarked office. The department that didn’t really exist on paper needed scores of young women to keep it running.

She was different from the other girls. Not just a typist but clever--she was always solving problems, often before they were discovered, and saving the men who didn’t really exist on paper from very real embarrassment.

Ross hadn’t many dealings with her. Well, not until that one night when he got to know her quite well.

It had been a Thursday and there had been cocktails out--what had been the occasion? War had already been declared so it was quite unusual to have held a work do. Why was she even there?

He remembered the dress she wore--blue satin--and the way it fit her. Like a glove. No, more like water in a stream rippling smoothly over immovable stones. It made him feel at ease to look at her and he knew how the night would end.

In the all the secretarial pools across the city, few girls had their clothes tailored--who had time or money? So when they ventured out after work, they sported those subtle signs of economy--gaping necklines or tight stretches across the middle. Their one good dress hadn’t been replaced in so many years but their bodies had changed with the war. Rationing had left them scrawny or cheap gin had left them bloated.

Oh but those girls tried, didn’t they? They carried on the best they could. With their lips so brightly made up they could violate the black out, they were hell bent on keeping up the spirits of the lads. Wartime made for an interesting and furtive nightlife. Of course the nice girls, the ones with breeding and good dress makers weren’t out much at all these days.

But this one, Miss Carne, with her red hair--real, not from a bottle--and a fitted dress the colour of the sea at twilight, was different. Demelza was her name. It sounded like some yet-undiscovered gem. Rare as hell and essential to keep out of enemy hands. She didn’t seem to belong in either world--not the world of well dressed would-be fiancees nor the seedy boîtes, that were filled after hours when the good girls were tucked up in their bunkers.

The hotel Ross had taken Demelza to after they’d left the party was nice enough. Not the Savoy but it had a toilet ensuite and the sheets were clean. She was not Ross’s first affair so he knew how to be discreet when signing the register. He needn’t have bothered--the concierge clearly hadn't cared.

He remembered the sound of that blue dress as he unfastened it down the back. A crisp zip in an otherwise quiet room. That and her breathing and his heart beating in his chest. The sounds of anticipation. Before the dress slipped from her shoulders and his hands clasped her naked body to him.

Today she wore a stiff woolen frock the colour of filing cabinets. It reminded him of a wall of sandbags, protecting a hidden softness beneath. Still the zipper would sound the same.

“Miss Carne,” he smiled and held out his hand to her. He contemplated kissing hers when it was finally offered but sensing some unspoken chill, he refrained. He sat down opposite and gave his serviette a merry snap.

She twisted her lips when she spied the gold band on his left hand.

“You're married?” she began, raising one perfect brow. Was it naturally arched or was that her own artistry?

He might have wanted to scrutinize her face, to map out what was artifice and what was real, but at that moment he didn’t dare look her in the eye.

“Yes, I am,” he said, just a decibel louder than a mumble. “And yes, I was married when we…” He took a gulp from his water glass.

“And yet there was no ring that night,” she mused. She had no problem with eye contact, her blue eyes remained fixed on his face.

“We...uh...we were in the midst of a separation then but the war has made us rethink things…”

We. Us. There wasn’t really an us. Elizabeth was merely feeling scared and lonely, between lovers, and suddenly liking the idea of a strong husband about. But since then her plans to retreat home to Cornwall, first spoken of as a ‘hypothetical perhaps’, had started to come to fruition. She’d been packing a trunk for some days now and was fretting about whether to take just some of her furs, or all of them. She was clearly planning to stay away. Ross’s response was to arrange a driver.

“Well then,” Demelza said and pushed away her plate. “That will complicate things but doesn’t change reality one bit,” she continued crisply.

It was an office voice. With it she would manage the girls under her with confidence and efficiency. No time for emotion, yet it wasn’t sour. Must keep morale up. They had jobs to do and every memo taken, every letter filed, was a fulfillment of their duty.

It was not the soft, easy voice that laughed in his ear as she lay next to him on the pillow in the blacked out room. The dusky voice that had whispered his name as he crawled up her body like a soldier crawling through mud. On a mission. Towards his target.

“It seems, Mr. Poldark, that I’m to have a baby.”

He held his glass aloft and stared at her.

“What?” he spat. “Well, it can’t be...I didn’t…not in...” Of course he couldn’t utter those words in daylight. Not over a sandwich at lunchtime. One needed a stiff drink before dissecting the mechanics of love. Yet somehow he knew it was possible. He thought he’d been careful not to leave seed in the field. Now it hit him he’d in fact laid a land mine.

“Well it doesn’t really matter what you believe you did not do, because apparently whatever you did, was enough,” she responded coolly.

He didn’t dare ask if there were any others who might stand accused with him in the dock. His gut told him she wasn’t that type. And though she hadn’t confirmed it during their night together--nor had he looked for evidence later--he suspected she’d been intact before he took her to bed. Oh, she’d been a quick learner!

He also sensed that she’d rather be sitting across from just about anyone else than talking to him now, so she certainly wasn’t trying to trap him.

“Are...are you sure? I...I need to think,” he said, aware that he sounded like an old Spitfire whose propeller couldn’t quite get going. So much sputtering.

She lit a cigarette, took one long drag, then ground it out carefully in the ashtray. No doubt she’d revisit that same fag again later, at a time when she was less impatient, when she could enjoy it alone.

“Well, you do that then,” she said, and gathered her handbag, ready to take her leave.

“Wait! Where are you going? How can I reach you?” His words came out in a fast and frantic stream. The engine had started--the sputter became a steady buzz filling the room.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head lightly. Today her hair was held back with tortoise shell combs on either side. Tidy, discreet, and appropriate for an unmarked office. Or any office.

He recalled his hands getting lost in a sea of those curls, fistfuls he’d grasped in passion. An unexpected lifeline, it had seemed at the time, that prevented him from drowning.

He felt himself going under again.

“Now you want to reach me, Mr. Poldark?” she said archly.

“Hey--you left me! You were the one who waltzed out of that hotel room while I was asleep, without so much as a backwards glance,” he growled. He’d been rankled that she continued to call him Mister Poldark, especially when he could still hear her hiss in his ear--Ross--while her body bucked under his.

“I assure you it wasn’t a waltz,” she said. And that was all she said. At least she didn’t claim she’d been trying to save him the embarrassment of a morning after. “I share a flat with another girl in Kingley Street. We don't have a telephone but you can find me at the office--unless I get reassigned in the next few days. There are changes coming, I’ve been told.”

She rose to her feet and towering over him, nodded.

Ross tried to stand up quickly--to plead with her to stay? To follow her out? He couldn't say what his intentions had been but it mattered little. He was too slow. His legs got twisted under the narrow table, his chair scraped awkwardly, and the remaining lunch things began to tip before he caught them with his broad hands. He narrowly avoided one mess, aware that he had quite another still to be cleared up.

And just like that she was gone. Leaving her entire sandwich and almost-intact cigarette behind afterall.

In a strange flash, Ross was surprised she didn't offer to pay for her own lunch. Of course a gentleman should pick up the bill for a lady no matter the circumstances, but there was something so determined and iron about her now, that he couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to help her.

And yet help her he must. Somehow.

He felt his pockets frantically for a scrap of paper but only found a stub of a pencil.

Kingley Street, he scrawled on the back of a matchbook. He had no house number, nothing else to go.

Could he ask someone to watch the street? He knew some blokes who would do a job like that--a stake out--for the right price. Or was he better off handling this himself, intercepting her at work? Even if she did get moved to a different sector--one that also did not officially exist--he might have channels to find her.

He sat back in his chair and reached for her cigarette. He imagined it smelled like her but he lit it anyway. It helped him to relax for just a moment while he planned his next move.

Ross knew he had a duty to this woman--to their child if one was to be--and while that was an overwhelming and unforeseen realisation, he was taken aback by a different unexpected sensation.

Desire.

He wanted her. Again. Now.

And he had to find her.

[ignify-caligo]

hello!! i hope u don’t mind me sending another one of these, but maybe ■ or ♒️ for roche if u want to and ur still doing hcs? <3

I’m so excited to finally write a little about our spice merchant, Emhyr var Emreis! Alright, I should probably stop using that quote, oh dear. Nonetheless, I was so ready for any Roche headcanons, this man is an absolute unit and I adore his personality, even though he’s a prick (according to Thaler, not me!). So, let us talk about the Chaperon man, shall we?

■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

Since the time of his birth, he has been accustomed to living in tight spaces. He had spent his childhood in a studio-like apartment in the poorest part of the Temerian capital. Living near the brothel his mother was working for, gave her the chance to somewhat keep an eye on him. Though, she usually left their ‘room’ for almost a full day, being busy with her ‘visits’ as she referred to them. After he was taken under the ‘care’ of Foltest, he was gifted a small officer room, containing a simple triad of a bed, closet, and a working desk. This led to him preferring the smallest spaces to live in, rather than grand bedrooms or houses with several floors and rooms.

When it comes to how his bedroom looks like, you can most likely guess that he sticks to the ‘military tradition’ of owning only the essentials. His room is as minimalistic as it possibly can be, only housing necessities and easy to relocate objects, which makes it easier for him when he leaves on field patrols, emergencies, etc. That doesn’t stop him from owning some sentimental belongings.

The first thing that is distinctively not ‘warfare aiding’ is, an amethyst geode that Shorty gifted him. It sits on his desks and sometimes is being used as a paperweight, so it’s also practical! Right beside the geode paperweight, sits a bunch of handcrafted wood figurines. All of them were made by Ves, some of them being birthday gifts or any other festivities presents. His all-time favorite and valued is a carved figurine, in honor of Roche’s first horse named Halabarda (polish name of the weapon halberd). Lastly, the most prized possession of Vernon Roche is… A plushie. But it’s not a random plushie, but a childhood souvenir. It is in the shape of a bunny, which was quite expensive at the time his mother bought it for his birthday. Now though? It reflects his appearance, being all battered up and bruised, but still holding on. He named it Pasha and nobody besides a few trusted people now of Pasha’s existence. Shorty, being one of them, has sewn a little chaperon and gear replica, so Pasha can match his best friend.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

In general, Roche is more of the ‘sideline cook’ than anything else. He would always prepare the dinner's ingredients such as peeling the potatoes or seasoning already cut meat. This would then speed up the process of making the dishes when his mother would come home after a full day of work. Even if she asked for Vernon’s help, his mother would never allow him to do anything more ‘dangerous’, like setting up the fire and so on. It was because she was afraid, that he would get hurt and she wouldn’t even know about it before she made her way back home.

While he was a little bit involved in his childhood home, when he came to live in the palace with Foltest and the court, the option was taken away from him. He had the option to chose between eating soldier rations with his troops, but many of his suppers were in the company of Foltest himself. In all honesty, Vernon much preferred spending time with his troops, but how could he bluntly reject his king’s requests?

When it comes to his time after retiring from his occupation, he tried to pick up some skills within gastronomy. He wished to recreate some of his childhood memories by fixing supper for himself and Iorveth. That didn’t work as planned. Though he didn’t get banned permanently from the kitchen area, each time he goes in that direction, he ends up with Iorveth at his heel. Which to be honest, I’m not surprised, Iorveth would appreciate it if his other half stopped trying to set the whole house on fire.

Many of his friends and companions wouldn’t even think about Roche, as someone who’s allergic to food. But truth be told, he is! He’s allergic to strawberries. How did he find out, you probably wonder? It was his mother’s idea to give him the fruits, as a treat after he recovered from a bad flue. That gift ended up giving Roche an itchy mouth and puffed-up lips. And as the last nail to the coffin, he ended up throwing up all he had eaten that day. Besides that, he also is lactose intolerant, he hates the feeling he gets after eating foods with lactose, so he tries to avoid them at all costs.

Headcanon Meme Here

[lassieposting]

Any alive! Skulduggery hcs that you haven't shared? I live by your version of him tbh

Hi anon! I think I covered skug's backstory up to when he signs up to fight and then skipped ahead to when he meets his wife, so you can have the Early War Years

- so when we left skug, he'd been on the pirate adventure and essentially moved in with ghastly's family at age 16, and that's where he stays for the next three years. Ghastly's father introduces him to taking pride in his appearance, Ghastly introduces him to Hopeless, and Ghastly's mother Saoirse introduces him to three things: motherly love, household chores, and the back of her hand for swearing in the house. He settles into the family, flirts with the prettiest local girls, develops an allergy to manual labour, and starts Experimenting™ with Ghastly, who's absolutely besotted with him.

- at 19, he has his surge, and it's bad. Ghastly has his a few months earlier, and it wasn't pleasant, but Ghastly was always going to be an elemental. He was sick and achy for a few days and howling in pain for just one or two. Skug expects much the same: he hasn't used necromancy in years, and he's had the best elemental tutors his parents could find.

- But he's inherited an insanely strong necromancy gene from his biological father, and an insanely strong elemental gene from his mother, and his surge ultimately comes down to two branches of magic trying to destroy each other to be the last gene standing. His temperature skyrockets as the elemental gene tries to burn the necromancy out of him. What looks like black blood seeps from his eyes and his nose and the corner of his mouth. His veins go black as the shadows retaliate. It goes on for days. Ghastly's mother is beside herself trying to get water into him so he doesn't die of thirst.

- If he hadn't also inherited the extremely rare genetic abnormality responsible for magical ambidexterity, his surge would've killed him. But he did, so it doesn't, and eventually he comes out of it and spends the next six months or so just recovering.

- at this point, the sanctuary is pushing recruitment. Ghastly doesn't look twice at the posters, but skug does. Ghastly's whole world is his family, their farm, and his father's tailoring business. But skug's father is a diplomat, he's got extended family involved in the war, he was supposed to go to a fancy French university that ended up being burned down during an attack by some pro-Mevolent riots, he's had to field questions from smaller siblings about when - and if - their dad would be coming home. He's highly educated, politically savvy, and emotionally involved. He decides he wants to sign up to fight.

- Saoirse does her best to talk him out of it, but skug is skug, and he digs his heels in and insists this is what he wants to do. He's going to join the war effort.

- Ghastly and Hopeless think it over and decide to join up with him. Hopeless, because he's an idealistic young man looking for glory, and Ghastly because someone has to watch skulduggery's back and keep him out of trouble, or he'll get himself shot long before he gets to set foot on a battlefield.

- honestly, ghastly isn't expecting skug to last long in the army. Skug is a pampered spoiled rich brat, and he's about to be surrounded by people who will scream in his face and make him do drills and expect him to obey orders, and he thinks it will take a few weeks tops before skug wants to desert

- that is. Not what happens

- like. none of them like it very much to begin with. hopeless has never had to do this much exercise in his life, and he hates it. ghastly is lonely and homesick and just wants to go back to dublin. and their first CO decides he hates skug on like, their first day of training, because he's a smart-mouthed arrogant asshole who's never had to be afraid of anything but his own father, and he does not react well to being ridiculed during drills. skug's ego takes a good solid battering because the other enlistees don't appreciate being given extra chores as punishment for him mouthing off, ghastly has to crack some skulls to make sure he won't be bullied for his scars, hopeless doesn't quite fit in and gets some nasty ribbing over it

- but also? they've got untapped talent, all three of them. they end up black ops fighters for a reason. hopeless tops the class for intelligence and undercover operations, because he can become anyone. ghastly is strong and level-headed and does well under pressure. and skulduggery is a natural leader, a ruthless tactician, and has a tendency to pull off insane plans that would go horribly for anyone else.

- they survive basic training. they get sent into the field. and ghastly and hopeless find that they're actually pretty good at this. they earn the respect of the rest of their platoon. and skulduggery? he starts to thrive

- this is the era of wealthy aristocrats buying their way into leadership positions they don't have the experience or common sense to do well in. almost none of the lower-class soldiers have any patience for it, but as a fellow aristo Skug has the social standing to call them out on it, so he still has a habit of making enemies of his commanding officers. he resents being handed orders by men who are less than he is, less clever, less observant, less capable. he goes out of his way to prove that his way of doing things is better.

- and? it works for him, sort of. he gets promoted several times - first he's pulled out of the enlisted ranks to be trained up as an officer, then he makes lieutenant, then captain - partly because he's Challenging to deal with and partly because he's becoming incredibly competent. it's fairly common for skug to get a flogging (for disobeying orders) and a promotion (because it worked out well for him) simultaneously. he has quite a few stripes by the time he meets wifey. when he starts being given command of a squad of his own, he takes ghastly with him as his number two, and hopeless comes along for the ride.

- at some point, skug gets palmed off on then-colonel corrival deuce. it's phrased as "oh here i'll give you some of my best men", but corrival is experienced enough to recognise "god please take this one off my hands im begging you" when he sees it, and sure enough, he butts heads with skug almost as soon as they're introduced.

- by this point skulduggery's men have developed a reputation for being a bit wild, and they're very loyal to him, so corrival has his work cut out. but? he's got a bit of a different approach to a lot of his fellow officers, because he came up through the ranks himself. so instead of locking horns with skug and trying to flog him into compliance, he turns skug into his pet project, his protégé. he gives him a loose rein, defends his decisions to the higher-ups, and doesn't interfere too much with how skug runs his team, but he also doesn't tolerate backtalk, bullshit or cheek. he's the stern-but-fair mentor figure - the Captain Holt/Captain Pellew/Lord Wellington to skug's Peralta/Hornblower/Sharpe. and skug's never had a very involved father figure, because ghastly's father is massively introverted and his own was short-tempered and perpetually disappointed in him, so corrival trips his "kids want boundaries" switch and actually wins him over.

- corrival hangs onto him after that. as he gets promoted and moved around, skug goes with him, and by extension so do his team. corrival learns to use the sensible members of the group - ghastly and hopeless, then erskine - to triangulate skug and stop his temper getting the better of him. he's incredibly proud of his chosen men, and all three of them really come into their own under his guidance. skug turns down promotion a couple times because it would mean a change of CO, and he knows there aren't many people he'd take orders from anymore.

- and then skug meets wifey.

- when skug gets married, neither his mother or father attend. they don't approve of wifey or her pitiful dowry. they assume, as does kenspeckle, that he's marrying her to Do The Decent Thing because he's knocked her up, and his father reassures him that he doesn't have to marry the girl, just send her somewhere far away and send her money to support her brat, and this whole sorry indiscretion can be put behind him. skug is. furious. he was smart enough not to take wifey with him to announce the engagement, and he ends up having a screaming match with his father that ends with him a) walking out and b) getting disinherited. he marries her anyway, and despite mr and mrs pleasant senior snubbing the whole event, he's got a full complement of parents there all the same - ghastly's parents turn up, and so does corrival.

- it's a military thing - skug's in his military dress uniform, they cut the cake with his sword - the parade sword, at least, the one he's never actually used, they walk out of the venue through the sword arch and skug's team do the rifle salute. ghastly's mother drags him to one side, pulls him down by the shirtfront to fuss over his hair and try to make it lay flat, licks her thumb and wipes a smudge off his cheek, embarrasses him in front of all his friends. then corrival snags him while they're waiting for the bride, tells him off for not having perfectly shiny buttons, redoes his collar for him, and tells him, "You'll do" like he isn't about to cry a lil. he offers skug some whiskey from his flask "for courage" and without really thinking skug says he doesn't need it because he's never been so sure about anything in his life and corrival is just. he's fine. he's not choked up at all. stand up straight, boy, for god's sake.

- he also makes a speech ghastly still brings up hundreds of years later, because it's the soppiest the old man ever got with any of them. along the lines of "i never had a son, and if i had, i like to think he would've turned out absolutely nothing like you, because you are single-handedly the reason i am going grey several hundred years ahead of schedule. that being said, i couldn't be prouder of the man you've become; you are at least half as stubborn and annoying now as you were when i met you, and i think i can claim at least some of the credit." and then, to wifey, "as to you, my dear, you have freed me, this monster is yours now. to your health, and my heartiest hopes that your future children turn out like you, because one of him is plenty."

- wifey laughs until her sides hurt and she's wheezing. skug pretends he's offended. ghastly wolf-whistles noisily and gets clipped round the ear by his mama. corrival tears up a little in the middle of his speech and clears his throat to hide it. and when it's all over and they're about to leave, wifey thanks him for coming because she knows it meant a lot to skug, and he promises her he'll do his best to bring skug home safe and sound until this damnable war is over.

(he wishes he'd been able to keep that promise until the day he dies)

[auror-lovie]

I Loved You, Mr. Scamander; Chapter 2

━━━•✦.✧. Author’s Note.✧.✦•━

Chapter 2 is O U T!

GOSH THE AMOUNT OF RESEARCH I DID JUST TO MAKE THIS CHAPTER. 

Besides the point, I had a lot of fun doing the research. (Where was this version of me in high school-)

I hope you guys enjoy it! This chapter is a bit longer than I anticipated. It was a mix of research, personal experiences, and listening to the same song for hours-

You can find the playlist and the taglist form link in my bio! (Or you can just comment, send an ask, or PM- whichever feels comfortable)

━━━━━•✦.✧. Summary .✧.✦•━

After Hogwarts, (Y/N) and Victoria become the MOM’s Investigation Department’s secret weapon. While celebrating the completion of a recent case, she meets someone new. Who knew that this someone is related to her first love?

━━━━━•✦.✧. Add-Ons .✧.✦•━

A little back story of what happened during their last year at Hogwarts

Theseus~! ( Gosh, I hope I didn’t write him too out of character. Then again, in this chapter, he’s fresh out of WWI )

Victoria and (Y/N)’s friendship is solely based on the friendship I have with my fellow RavenPuff best friend. ( If she ever finds this fic, though I doubt it, I love you~! )

Fluff! (Hopefully)

Theseus and Reader being oblivious to these coincidences.

CLICHE ROMANCE STUFF. I’M A HOPELESS ROMANTIC, OKAY???

Hilarity ensues

Blood, but it’s a short scene

Slight angst at the end

━━━━━━•✦.✧.☾.✧.✦•━━━━━

Before Newt left, he promised to owl them. He was set on working for the Ministry to work with magical creatures in some way. Though his letters always came at odd hours- stupid time zones.

The day after Newt's expulsion, (Y/N) and Victoria had cut ties with Leta. They couldn’t trust her after what had happened. Despite all that, (Y/N) wished Leta the best in life.

For once the roles reversed, Victoria wanted to hex the hell out of Leta, but (Y/N) talked her out of it. Told her that it wasn’t worth it. Instead of spending all that energy on hating someone, it was better to wish them the best and let them go.

Sixth year had come to an end. On the day everyone was set to go back home for the summer holiday, Headmaster Dippet had summoned Victoria to his office.

“Headmaster Dippet,” She said as she stepped into his office. “What can I do for you?”

“You can take this, Miss Howard.” He replied, his hand gesturing to a small, yet elegant metal box that sat near her side of the desk.

Puzzled, Victoria walked closer. She hesitantly grabbed the box and opened it. On the small cushion, laid a navy blue pin, with the words HEAD GIRL in bronze.

“T-This is an honor, sir.” She stumbled, picking it up. It was funny how valuable a small badge would be. How much weight and responsibility it held while being almost as light as a feather.

“I want you to wear it on the first day back.” He gave a small smile.

“I understand, Professor. I can’t thank you enough-“

“Hush child. Come next year, you’ll curse me out for giving you the responsibilities.”

In their final year at Hogwarts, they made it their best year yet. They went to all the Quidditch games and Hogsmeade trips. They studied their hardest and gave it their all. When they graduated, they both got “Exceeds Expectations” and “Outstanding” in all the subjects needed to apply for the Auror Training Program. These subjects were Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms.

~*~*~

Auror training required strenuous work to complete, but nothing they couldn’t handle. It was mandatory to undergo a rigorous series of character and aptitude tests. These tests showcased how well they reacted under pressure. They trained extensively in advanced magical combat, other elements of practical defense, and methods of criminal investigation.

Other training courses were Concealment and Disguise, Stealth and Tracking, Battle Instinct, Best-Laid Plans, Duelling in the Dark, Field Training, History of the Dark Arts, Method in the Mad-Eye, Resilience Training, and The Auror Advantage; while poisons and antidotes were also essential studies. Their training lasted for three years and was difficult work.

(Y/N) excelled in courses like Battle Instinct and Dueling in the Dark. Victoria showed her prowess in courses like Stealth and Tracking and Best-Laid Plans. Their personalities complimented each other. Apart, they had their successes, but together? They were a force not to be reckoned with. You’ve heard of power couples, but they were a powerful dynamic duo.

The Ministry of Magic in the Investigation Department is where they started. They were the department’s secret weapon. The only people who knew of them were those also in the Investigation Department. If they left the department due to any reason, they would be obliviated of their memory of (Y/N) and Victoria.

•✦.✧.🔎.✧.✦•

Another report was finalized and another dark wizard in Azkaban. In celebration, Victoria had convinced (Y/N) to go out to a pub with her. Coincidentally, the muggle world was celebrating a victory of their own.

At the pub, (Y/N) and Victoria was sitting at the bar, both on their second glass of Sidecar cocktail. Their work clothes were more wrinkled than usual as they relaxed on the stools.

The place was hot (despite it being winter), loud, and reeked of perfume and alcohol. People were celebrating the victory of “The War to End All Wars”. Men in uniforms were all around. Some were at home with loved ones. Others were kissing random strangers at the pub or hanging around with their mates. Then there were a couple of groups raising a glass to their fallen comrades.

“I’m headed to the restroom. You coming?” Victoria asked after finishing her glass.

(Y/N) swished her drink in her glass. “I’m good. I’ll wait here for you.”

Victoria nodded, “Alright, dear. Remember no boys, and if one won’t leave you alone- hex him or punch him.”

(Y/N) gave her a look.

Victoria laughed. “Be alert.” She said before leaving.

She nodded, “I will, Vi. I always am.” (Y/N) let out a sigh as she watched Victoria walk towards the restroom.

Her train of thought started with work but soon drifted to Newt. Over the years, she and Newt continued to stay in touch. Since she graduated, Newt had served on the Eastern Front- not in the war, no. He was there to wrangle some Ukrainian Ironbellys. That year, Augustus Worme commissioned him to write a book about magical creatures.

“Of course he took the job. It’s the perfect job for him…” She mumbled before taking another sip.

If there was anything (Y/N) wanted to do right now, it would be to go home. Being at a pub wasn’t her thing- neither was it Victoria’s, but she let it slide this time. ‘To whatever God or higher celestial being up there, please keep Newt safe.’ She thought, staring at the remaining liquid.

“Hey, what’s a pretty little lady like you doing in a place like this all by herself?” A male voice cooed as he sat on the barstool to her left.

Snapping out of her thoughts, (Y/N) turned to face a man in uniform. He had short blonde hair (but if it were any longer, it would break regulation) and light brown eyes. Attractive? Yes. Her type? Definitely not.

“I’m not here by myself,” (Y/N) eyed the single chevron patch sewn on the upper half of his uniform’s sleeve. “-Private.” She said before meeting his gaze. “I’m here with a friend.”

“Private Keaton Williams.” He said as he took one of her hands in his, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles.

‘Merlin’s beard. Where’s Victoria?’ She thought as she saw the satisfaction on his face. (Y/N) slowly retracted her hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Thank you, Private- er, Williams. But I should be looking for my friend.” She said, getting ready to stand.

He held onto her wrist, preventing her from leaving. “Come on. We both know it’s a lie. You’re not really here with anyone.” Keaton teased.

She tried to think of a way to turn him down. She couldn’t hex him- he was a muggle. There were rules about using magic in the presence of muggles! And she couldn’t punch him. How could she punch a man who had fought for the country she called home?

“She’s with me.” said another male’s voice. This time, it came from behind her.

Keaton looked past (Y/N) to see another man in uniform. “Oh wow. I’m another bloke in a uniform. What makes you so special?” He mocked.

“I don’t condone men flaunting their uniform as a way to catch a woman’s heart.” The one behind her replied. “I’ve dealt with idiots like him. Play along.” He whispered in her ear. (Y/N) nodded, before taking back her wrist.

“I know how to get what I want 's all,” Keaton boasted, then turned his attention back to (Y/N). “Let’s go, love. Let this soldier show you a good time.”

(Y/N) turned to get a look at her savior. Oh great. Yet she stared for a second longer- he looked so familiar.

Shaking her head from her thoughts, she leaned into his chest. “I’m sorry, Private Williams. You had no chance from the start. This soldier had already caught my attention.”

The man looked shocked for a split second before playing along with her little skit. “Ah yes. I’m glad I was able to return home to the love of my life all in one piece.” He said before wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder.

She blushed. ‘Love of his life? No- stop it. It’s a ruse.’

Keaton looked at the other, eyeing his rank. “What’s a Sergeant got that I don’t?”

The man shifted, a crimson ribbon pinned to the pocket flap of his left breast pocket revealing itself. “I have the right mind to back off when a woman says no.”

Keaton looked again, seeing the ribbon, and gasped. The Victoria Cross Award. “Y-You’re him. T-That Theseus guy… The War Hero.”

Theseus. The name of her saviour was revealed!

Theseus rolled his eyes. “It’s Sergeant to you. Now scram before I report you to your commanding officer.”

“Y-Yes Sergeant,” Keaton said before walking away from the pair.

(Y/N) let out a sigh of relief as she relaxed her shoulders. “Thank you… Theseus, was it?”

Theseus hummed in agreement, removing his arm from her shoulder. “It’s no problem…” He trailed off, running his hand through his hair.

She turned in her chair to face him. His hair now slightly messed up due to his recent action. His uniform suited him- good and squared away. But his face. It was so damn familiar. It was as if she’d seen those blue eyes somewhere before.

“Uh… Like what you see?” Theseus joked.

(Y/N) blushed. “I-I didn’t mean to stare…” A small pause before sticking her hand out, “I’m (Y/N).”

Theseus gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Theseus. Charmed to meet you.”

‘Did… Did he just…?’ (Y/N) giggled, taking her hand back and interlocking her fingers together. “So what’s a wizard like you serving in the military?”

He sighed, sitting on the seat that was once Victoria’s, “The military part was a cover-up to get me on the front lines. Even if the muggles were at war, that didn’t mean dark wizards would stop their heinous crimes. I was working double time. A field agent for the Ministry and a Sergeant for the British Armed Forces.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Thank you for your service… For our world and theirs.” She smiled at him.

The silence was deafening between them, but it wasn’t awkward in any way. It was more comforting.

(Y/N) brought herself to look at his eyes again, her pupils dilating. His eyes made her heart swell with love- the type of love she reserved only for Newt. Though, she couldn’t help but spill a little bit of that to Theseus. Love at first sight?

Theseus returned the smile. How could someone, let alone a stranger he met, be this beautiful? His mind drifted to a small montage of made-up scenarios. He could see a growing relationship with her- a family even. Would his mother approve? Would Newt approve? She’d make a great addition to the Scamander family.

“Sorry I took too long. Ready to- Merlin, (Y/N)! I leave for five minutes!” Victoria’s voice yelled from behind Theseus.

“Sorry about that.” (Y/N) mumbled.

He turned in his seat to face Victoria. “I-I’m sure you’d like an explanation, but first, hello.” He stuttered.

(Y/N) emerged from behind him, walking over to her friend. “Vi! This is Theseus. Theseus this is my best friend, Victoria.”

‘He looks so familiar. I’ve seen his face somewhere before.’ Victoria thought.

•✦.✧.🔎.✧.✦•

On Theseus and (Y/N)’s first date, they went to a coffee shop.

“So you’re part of the law enforcement? Are you sure you retired from your military work?” She joked.

Theseus chuckled softly before sipping on his tea- he was never a coffee person. “First, yes. I’m retired. And yes, I work within law enforcement. I’m what you call “well respected”. And what about you, love?”

She blushed. “I work in the field then do some paperwork. That’s all. Nothing that special.”

“Hm…” He thought for a moment before an idea popped into his head. “Ever thought about working for the Ministry? They could use a couple of recruits in the Auror Department. I’m sure Victoria would join as well. Training is only about three years and with your skills, I’m sure you two would be a great Aurors.”

(Y/N) smiled before sipping on her cup of coffee. ‘Only if you knew…’

~*~*~

For their next date, they went out for a walk in the park. It was cold out, so they wore their long coats and their house scarves.

“No way! You were a Hufflepuff? I thought you were a Gryffindor!” (Y/N) exclaimed as he neared their meeting spot.

Theseus smiled, “Well, hello to you too.” He then stood in front of her, ruffling her hair. “Well then, Little Miss Ravenclaw, aren’t you full of surprises?” He teased.

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “What house did you think I was in…?”

He gestured to his Hufflepuff scarf.

“If the Sorting Hat sorted me again, I’m pretty sure I’d be in Hufflepuff. If Victoria got sorted again… She’d definitely be a Slytherin.”

“Then again, you’re the feistiest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met.” Theseus teased, poking her cheek softly.

(Y/N) swatted his hand away from her face, “W-Well you’re the cockiest Hufflepuff I’ve ever met.

~*~*~

The third time they went out, they went to a fancy restaurant.

“Theseus… Where are we going?” She asked as they walked hand in hand.

“Somewhere special. I’ve been dying to take you out here for months.”

“Oh?” She asked. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He smiled as they turned the corner. “Ah, here we are!”

(Y/N) looked at the building and gasped. “Theseus… The Ritz?! This must've cost you a fortune!”

He kissed her cheek, “Anything for you.”

~*~*~

Then came their fourth date. Theseus had decided on that night, he’d make their relationship official. He would’ve done it sooner, but he’d only met her a year ago. He wanted time to get to know her and make sure it wasn’t an impulse decision. To his surprise, she agreed. So after a year-long wait, he took his chance. Nothing to lose… right?

After dinner, they decided to take a walk in the park. A last-minute plan she was not dressed for.

“You know, despite its kleptomania for shiny things, I always wanted a Niffler. They’re such interesting creatures.” She admitted.

Theseus chuckled- a sound that was now music to (Y/N)’s ears. “You sound like my brother. He’s into all that care of magical creatures stuff. Me? Not so much.”

She hummed, “I’d like to meet your brother sometime…”

“I’ll set up a date for all us to have tea when he comes back from his travels.”

“C-Can’t wait!” She stuttered as she rubbed her upper arms for warmth.

He noticed this and nonchalantly removed his coat. He draped it over her shoulders, “Sorry. It’s my fault you’re cold.”

She held the lapels of his coat, “But now you’ll get cold!”

“It looks better on you than it did me.” He gave her a playful wink.

(Y/N) gasped as she remembered a moment like that. All those years ago at Hogwarts- with Newt. Though she dismissed the thoughts of her first love. Newt wasn’t there with her. Theseus was. Newt hadn’t taken her out on those wonderful dates. Theseus had. Newt didn’t love her. Theseus did- or so she hoped.

Theseus had stopped them in front of a water fountain. The sound of trickling water and the echoes of the city filled the silence. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Were his hands always this sweaty? He took a deep breath and exhaled. It was now or never.

“Theseus, darling, A-Are you alright?” She asked, one of her hands cupping his cheek.

He hummed and leaned into her touch. Despite the cold, her hand was radiating so much warmth. He looked at her lovingly, “Yes, dear. Everything is fine.”

“(Y/N)… During my Hogwarts years, I never gave dating a second thought. And after I graduated, I immediately started working for the Ministry. Then I got sent to war. Merlin- I never want to step foot in a muggle war ever again.” He paused to make sure she was paying attention.

Her hand returned to the warmth of his coat. She nodded, giving him the okay to continue.

“And when I returned home, I was so set on returning to my duties at the Ministry. Then I met you. You wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman. I couldn’t believe that I caught your attention. I know I’m rambling and your feet must be in pain for standing for so long, so let me ask you this.” He paused for a second. “Will you allow me to date you properly? To make this- us, official?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Theseus… I never thought you’d ask. I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

Full of joy, Theseus wrapped his arms around her and spun around. Their laughs mixed, composing a duet that harmonized with each other perfectly.

When he set her down, she sighed in content. “Oh, Theseus…”

He cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Can… Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. “Yes-”

He cut her response short, closing the gap between their lips.

•✦.✧.🔎.✧.✦•

The New Year’s season came to pass and it was the start of the 1920s. Victoria and (Y/N) transferred to the Aurors Department. Effective immediately. They loved the Investigation Department and everyone there. Must've been something serious if their transfer was immediate.

Little did they know, Theseus was the Head of the Auror department.

On the way to the meeting room, (Y/N) was ranting about the sudden change. Victoria was saying her thoughts about the matter but listened to her friend’s distress. They walked past an office and Victoria caught the nameplate on the door that read “Theseus Scamander”

Scamander? Oh-

Before Victoria could ask questions, they had gotten to the meeting room. There were other Aurors in the department. Everyone there knew each other, so Victoria and (Y/N) were the “newbies”.

Victoria turned to (Y/N), “Hey… You know that boyfriend of yours, did you by any chance get his last name?” She whispered.

(Y/N) shrugged, “No. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Well, let me tell you-”

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Torquil Travers, entered the room from the back entrance. “Fellow Aurors! As you all know, Grindelwald is gathering up recruits for his “For the Greater Good” revolution. All of you are here today to form up a special task force in bringing him and his organization down. Leading you in this endeavor is the new Head of Auror Office and retired War Hero, Theseus Scamander.”

A round of applause erupted, welcoming the new Head of Auror Office.

Turning towards Travers, Victoria clapped along. “I’m sure it’s not your Theseus-”

“Oh shit.” (Y/N) cursed as she saw her beloved walk through the doors.

Theseus nodded as he walked towards his new task force.

Travers patted his back, “You’ll need to choose an assistant and a communications liaison, but take your time.”

Theseus scanned the room. He knew all of the people, some he trusted, and some he didn’t. Then he saw a pair he knew all too well- but he only saw them outside of work- (Y/N) and Victoria.

(Y/N) gave a shy smile, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Victoria smirked, “You’re screwed.”

As the applause died down, Theseus announced, “I’ve already chosen the people for the positions. For my assistant, I’ll be having Miss (Y/N) (L/N).”

She blushed as she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Though slightly confused, the other Aurors in the room applauded.

Victoria leaned down again, “Try not to make too much noise in his office, eh?”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to gasp, but nothing came out. “I would never!”

“And my Communications Liaison will be Miss Victoria Howard.”

(Y/N) nudged her friend, “You’re stuck with us now.”

Victoria laughed nervously, waving at everyone. “Brilliant…”

~*~*~

The three of them were in Theseus’ office. (Y/N) was pacing back and forth as Theseus was sitting at his desk and Victoria leaning against the bookshelf.

“Why me? Why another Scamander?” She groaned in agony. “How did I not know!” She muttered.

“Love, what’s the problem?” Theseus asked, slightly worried.

“You wouldn’t by any chance have a brother would you?” Victoria asked, looking at him.

“Yeah.” He replied, his attention still towards (Y/N), who was still pacing back and forth.

“About this tall?” She said, extending her arm to its highest point.

“Around there.”

“Loves magical creatures?” She asked, now crossing her arms over her chest.

“More than life itself.”

“Got expelled from Hogwarts in his sixth year?”

“Yes. Wait, how did you-”

“I figured.” She gave a curt nod before looking at her distressed friend. “Honey, you need to calm down.”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and faced Victoria. Her eyes were on the verge of tears.

Victoria's expression softened as she shoved aside the blunt responses she had prepared in her mind. “Hey… Come here…” She cooed as she walked over to her with arms wide open.

(Y/N) quickly ran into Victoria’s embrace, letting the tears fall. She mumbled something into her shoulder.

“What was that, dear?” She asked softly.

(Y/N) pulled away, “I said, what am I going to tell Newt? I’ve told him that I recently got a boyfriend. How is he going to react when it’s his brother?”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “What’s it to him? He’s your best friend.” She said, emphasizing the fact that Newt was just her friend. “If it’s his brother or not, who you date is not his business.”

Theseus stood from his seat and walked over to the pair. “If it makes you feel better, we can invite him over for tea and tell him.”

(Y/N) moves from Victoria’s arms and walks over to Theseus. “I… I think I’d like that.”

•✦.✧.🔎.✧.✦•

Despite Theseus and (Y/N)’s relationship, they never let it get in the way of their work. (Y/N) had the same workload and deadlines as the others in the task force.

Victoria was still expected to represent the Ministry’s Auror department, write news releases, and coordinate the distribution of information along with her fieldwork.

Theseus randomly assigned partners in every stakeout or raid- mostly because he’d feel like he’d protect the hell out of (Y/N) if she was paired up with him all the time. (Y/N) was capable, and he knew that.

Though there are sometimes where one of them got hurt and the other can’t help but care for them.

(Y/N) had made Theseus take off his blazer and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Blood dripped from the wound caused by one of Grindelwald’s recruits. She sat on a short stool with a bucket of warm water off to the side, just within arms reach.

Theseus slouched in the chair, flinching at the slightest touches (Y/N) made with the towel. She had wiped off all the dried blood surrounding the wound. Then she started dabbing the towel ever so gently on top of it. The towel was damp and warm, but it didn’t make the pain any softer.

He grimaced as he inhaled sharply, jerking his arm away from her.

“I need to clean your wound, love” (Y/N) said, reaching over to where he moved his arm.

“But (Y/N) it hurts!” He whined.

“You’re being childish.” She replied.

“W-Well you’re not the one on the receiving end!”

“Honey, you were a soldier. I’m sure you’ve dealt with more serious wounds than this…”

“That’s because I didn’t have someone as cute as you cleaning me up.”

“Flattery won’t get your wound cleaned up.”

“Can’t you just use a spell?”

“Unlike most wizards, I like to do some things without the use of magic.”

He huffed childishly, not looking at her.

“If you didn’t move, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Theseus grumbled, still moving his arm away.

“Theseus Scamander, hold still or so help me I will hex you!”

“I thought we didn’t allow magic in the bedroom~” He teased.

“Theseus! We’re at work!”

•✦.✧.🔎.✧.✦•

After months of asking and asking, Theseus had finally convinced Newt to come and visit him- to finally meet his girlfriend. (Y/N) had already decided on the tea so they were waiting for Newt to arrive.

As they waited, Theseus was looking over some reports as (Y/N) was leaning on his bookshelf, doing some light reading.

He sighed, setting the papers in his hand back down on his desk. Glancing over to (Y/N), he smiled, ‘She’s beautiful even when she’s reading…’

Theseus looked at her ensemble. A white long-sleeved button-up, a grey vest with a matching blazer, and dress pants. He looked at his suit- the same color scheme. Were they always matching?

He looked at her again and noticed that this time, she wore a tie with her suit, but not just any tie. A yellow and black tie- His Hufflepuff tie. Theseus smiled, “Hey (L/N), nice tie.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning the page of her book. “Yeah? I put it on this morning.” She said nonchalantly.

Theseus stood and made his way over. When he stood in front of her, he took the book from her hands and set it to the side. “Where’d you get it?”

She looked up at him. Was he always this tall? “Hogwarts. From when I went there. Duh.”

“Really? Because I remember you telling me that you were a Ravenclaw,” He said untucking the tie from under her vest. “This is clearly a Hufflepuff tie.” He held up the end of the tie in her line of view.

(Y/N) gasped. “I swear, it was an honest mistake!”

“Hmm…” He trailed off. “I kind of like seeing you in my ties. It’s cute.” He said, leaning in close.

“Thes… We’re at work… A-And your brother could walk in any minute-”

His fingers slid up the material, finally wrapping around the knot. “Yeah… But I haven’t kissed you since we left my flat…” He whispered, tugging softly as if to bring her closer.

She could feel herself leaning in close. Her lip mere millimeters away-

“Here we are! Head of Aurors Office!” Victoria said, opening the door to Theseus’ office. She and Newt walked in.

(Y/N) quickly pushed Theseus away, shoving the tie back under her vest.

“Newt!” (Y/N) exclaimed, shoving herself off the bookshelf.

“Brother!” Theseus said happily as he walked over to Newt.

There, Newt stood in a nice suit, a mustard yellow vest, and a blue overcoat. In his hand was a suitcase. The enchanted suitcase that (Y/N) had read so much about in his letters.

“Wait, when you told me in your letter that you had a boyfriend, you never told me it was my brother,” Newt said, slightly hurt.

“We meant to tell you!” Theseus said defensively.

“When? When I catch you almost snogging each other?” Newt retorted, glaring at his brother

“No! It would be over tea! Which we would be having right now…” She pouted.

“I think… I think I’d like a rain check on that…” He said as he started to back away.

“Newt! Don’t do this!” Victoria pleaded.

He finally turned around and walked to the door. When he got there, he stopped in Victoria’s line of view. Newt didn’t face her. He looked straight ahead, grip tightening on the handle of his case. “You knew and didn’t tell me?” Newt asked bitterly.

Victoria placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something and for once, she didn’t have a blunt response or snarky remark. “It wasn’t my position to say…”

Newt scoffed. “It would’ve been nice to know beforehand,” He said before shoving her hand off and walking away from Theseus’ office. Away from his brother. Away from his friend. Away from her. Newt hadn’t seen then in so long and now that he had the chance… He just left…?

(Y/N) quickly ran after him, “Newt, wait!”

Victoria leaned against the door frame, banging the back of her head against the wood. “It’s always a Scamander…”

Theseus looked at Victoria. “Did… Did they have something?”

Victoria sighed, stopping from her current action to look at Theseus. “It’s not my position to say…”

~*~*~

In the hallway, (Y/N) finally caught up to Newt. She held onto the material of his sleeve.

“Back there,” She panted. “What was that about?”

“You… You’re dating my brother?” He asked. Stupid question, but he needed to hear it again to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” (Y/N) said, but her tone made it sound rude.

“Didn’t think he’d be your type…” Newt mumbled.

“And you know what my type is?” She replied, slightly offended.

“I…” Newt paused. ‘I was hoping that it’d be me.’ He thought.

(Y/N) sighed, finally letting go of his sleeve. “Look, you’re my best friend and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ll admit that it was my fault, but I don’t want to lose you just because I’m dating your brother. I-”

“What?” Newt interrupted. “One Scamander isn’t enough? You need both of us in your life, do you? Why do you need me? You already have Theseus wrapped around your fingers.” He snapped.

“What is up with you, Newton?” She groaned in frustration. “You know what? Now is not the time. I’ll give you all the time and space you need. When you’re ready to talk about this, I’m only an owl away.” She turned to leave, but not before saying something that made Newt realize how he felt about his best friend.

“Just know that before Theseus,” She paused. “It was always you.”

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #30: Abstracted

Abstracted – to have considered (something) theoretically or separately from something else.

I don’t like how I ended this one, but I was trying to wrap it up after midnight, so it’s a bit abrupt. I’ll likely work on it a bit more before I publish it in AO3 later.

“So those crystals, Aetherytes , you said? They allow you to teleport to any that you’ve previously attuned your aether to?”

Aleister Franks nodded. “Indeed. So long as your body has sufficient reserves of aether, of course. Tends to depend on how hearty you are, physically speaking, so adventurers and military folk may the most use of em.”

Gwenefyr Franks stared at the aetheryte. “Well…that’s pretty amazing. Something like this would have seriously cut into all those tips I made making portals back home.”

He laughed. “That it would. All right, now that you’re all attuned yourself, next stop on the tour, or perhaps the last stop, is right over there!”

Gwenefyr grabbed his hand and together, the pair walked eastward.

“Welcome to Bulwark Hall, the heart of the Mizzenmast, love. Originally built as a stronghold to protect the rest of the city from invasion. Elevators over there…” he pointed to the right of the central column of rock occupying the chamber “…will take us back up to the Drowning Wench once we’re done here, and further up to the airship landing we’ll be seeing tomorrow morning on our journey to the rest of the city-states. ” He pointed to the left. “Over there, that’s a direct lift to the Bridge, offices of Admiral Merlwyb and the rest of Limsa Lominsa’s governing officials. And sadly, much as I’d love to introduce you to the Admiral, the man guarding the lift there, his name’s Zanthael, and he’s a real stick-in-the-arse for only letting people with pressing official business in!”

Zanthael looked over to the couple, smiled, and tossed up a rude hand gesture.

Gwenefyr looked back to the doors to their right and left, both slightly behind them. “And what’re those doors for?”

“Um….storage I think? I’ve never been in, they’re always barred shut. Never even seen anyone guarding them, to be honest.”

“Then why is there a man waving at us from that one?“

Aleister looked to her, then followed her gaze to the door on their right, across from the Crow’s Lift. Sure enough, there was a roegadyn man there, clad in a Maelstrom soldier’s uniform. He was waving at the pair, and upon seeing he had both of their attention, gestured for them to follow. He then stepped inside the pair of doors and left one slightly ajar.

Gwen looked at her husband. “Do you know him?”

He shook his head. “No, but there’s a lot of people in the Maelstrom. Can’t imagine what he wants to talk about, though. Still, guess we’d better go see.”

“Lead the way, husband mine.”

The pair walked over and Aleister opened the door to let Gwen go through first, but as soon as it was ajar enough, the pair were both pulled into a shimmering blue portal by an unseen force. Their vision went white.

A few seconds later, both of them were able to open their eyes only to see that they were surrounded by what was definitely not the rock of the Mizzenmast, but instead a large chamber enclosed by what looked like ship bulkheads made of metal. Various technological devices, things that reminded Aleister of Allagan consoles and holographic displays were mounted all along every wall.

“Uh…where the hell are we?” Gwenefyr asked, sounding very concerned.

“I uh….I really don’t know, but unless the Admiral’s been keeping a secret treasure trove of Allagan technology concealed, I somehow doubt we’re in Limsa anymore.”

“We got pulled in, too. Just like I did when I found the portal that brought me here. Do you think that…”

He nodded. “It’s a logical conclusion. Let’s see if we can figure out where we are.”

“Or you could just ask”

Gwen and Aleister jumped, then quickly scanned the room. The voice had come from somewhere, but neither could immediately identify the source.

“Oops. Sorry for startling you. I’m actually not in there, though. I’m further in the….well, ship is probably the best way to describe this. I’m transmitting my voice from the bridge to you via a speaker. But enough about that. I suspect you want to know who I am and why I’ve brought you here, right?”

The pair looked at each other, then Aleister replied. “That would be correct. Assuming you don’t mean to do us harm.”

“Oh, no, not at all. But come, I’ll explain everything once we’re face to face. You should see some green lights on the floor, just follow them, it’ll take you on the most direct path here.”

Sure enough, a series of green lights illuminated the floor in an arrow pattern, which pointed to a section of the wall that slid down into the floor, revealing a hallway big enough for the pair to comfortably walk side by side. More green lighting illuminated the space within.

“You think this is on the level?” Gwen asked.

“I….think so. Whoever this is, this ‘ship’ of theres is packed full of technology more advanced than anything I’ve seen, now that I look more closely. This looks very different than anything I’ve ever seen from Allagan sites, and….I can’t explain it, but it just feels more powerful. Whoever this is, I think if they wanted us harmed, we’d never likely know it was coming. I suppose all we can do now is investigate.”

Gwen didn’t look entirely convinced, but nodded and grabbed his hand again.

The pair ventured down the hallway. As they continued to walk, more lights further up the path illuminated. Aleister noted that there were no other spaces in the floor for lights, nor did they have any kind of a path built into the deck that led any of the other doorways he noted as they walked.

He was intently studying them for the few minutes they’d been walking when Gwen held him fast. He stopped and looked to her, but she pointed ahead. He saw a shimmering transluscent field was obstructing the path, generated by some sort of emitters lining the walls and ceiling.

“Oh right. Hold on a second, lemme disable that. That’s one of the ship’s reality reset fields. You pass through that and….well, it’ll essentially reset your form to, ah, what it used to look like. Pretty sure you guys don’t want that, and I don’t want to do it to you.“

The field shimmered and then faded out of existence. The emitters retreated inside the wall, a series of flaps closing over them.

They continued along the illuminated path until it came to a doorway. The lights ran up the wall and illuminated the shape of a pointing hand that indicated the closed door. The door opened to reveal a large dome shaped room, dominated by a massive viewport that covered fully half of the dome, outside of which they could see an entire world just hanging in the blackness. Parked in the middle of the room were a series of those strange advanced consoles arranged in an arch around a single utilitarian chair seemingly bolted to the floor and facing away from the pair.

Aleister was dumbfounded by the sheer spectacle, but Gwenefyr found her voice. “This is….incredible. What is this??”

The chair spun to reveal a man sitting in it. He was a hyur, or at least resembled one. He looked somewhat stocky, wearing dark blue pants of what looked like a utilitarian fabric, made as a mix of durable and comfortable, and a red shirt with an image in white lines that neither of them recognized. His short hair and longer beard were both dark in color, but going grey at the edges. Excitement could be seen behind his black-rimmed spectacles as he stood to greet them. “Hey, hey, there they are! Been looking forward to meeting you two for quite some time!”

He extended a hand, and both of them tenatively shook it.

“Who…who are you? What even is this place?” Aleister asked, still not quite able to stop himself from looking around.

“Hah, right on to business I see. Well, can’t say I blame you, this is probably a lot to take in. Well, let me start. My name is Brandon. As to what this place is, we’ll get to that. And as to why I extended this invitation to you? Well, that’s a real long story, but it starts with me telling you this: Like you, I’m not from this, ah…what’s the term you guys use here…Star, that’s it! Not from this star.”

That got their attention. Both turned to look at him immediately. “Are you…are you an explorer of some kind?” Aleister asked, a mixture of awe and a little hope in his voice.”

Brandon shook his head. “Not exactly, no. But, perhaps I should start at the beginning.” He gestured to the massive viewport, at the round image that dominated it. “You recognize this, I take it?”

“That…that’s Hydaelyn, isn’t it? From far away, as if viewed in the firmament of the night sky” Aleister replied.

Brandon nodded. “Very good. And this?” He reached outword, hands splayed open. Small blue cubes of light appeared around his fingertips and be brought them closer together in front of him. As he did, the image in the viewport changed. Hydaelyn shrank and other spheres appeared, smaller copies forming a circle of which Hydaelyn was a part, but with gaps in multiple places.

“Wait, I recognize that pattern from one of the texts Urianger gave me! Is that supposed to be…the shards?” Gwenefyr asked.

“Indeed! But now comes the kicker.” Brandon brought his hands even closer, and the viewport shifted again. The circle of worlds shrank and moved to a side and a whole host of other illuminated spheres, each with is own ring of smaller spheres forming their own circles, appeared.

Franks just stared, mouth agape. There had to be well over a hundred of the circles. “What….what are those?”

Brandon smiled. “That, my friend, are other Hydaelyns.”

Gwenefyr gasped as Franks whirled to face him. “You…you did it! You figured out how to do it? What’s the secret, what have I been missing?”

Brandon’s expression shifted into a frown. “We’ll….get there. Still a lot I need to show you. But first…” He brought his hands together fully.

The viewport shifted again. All of the Hydaelyns shrank further, displaying as a wedge, barriered by a line of light, and adjacent to it…were even more worlds, each marked by a barrier of their own, arranged next to each other as though they were part of a large wheel that only a small section of could be seen.

Brandon raised his left hand, only two fingers extended, and made a swiping motion to the right. The display of the wheel shifted, the wedge of Hydaelyns moving to the right and a new wedge with its own series of white lights. An electronic chimed intoned and text appeared on the viewscreen below the wedge.

“Azeroth” Gwenefyr intoned, somewhat breathlessly.

Brandon nodded. “Inside there is your original home….along with with thirty-seven different versions of the universe of Azeroth. Each unique and distinct from each other in a myriad of ways”

“And that, my friends, is the tip of the iceberg of what we like to call the multiverse. A grouping of universes, mostly alike in structure and history, with different versions of a vast majority of the same people found on all of them, but each with certain ‘key differences’ that make them unique. Divergent points in history, different people in key positions of influence or power, things like that. All of them represented by a single one of these wedges. Swipe to another wedge, and you have a set of completely different universes with a different set of rules, history, people, entirely unrelated to anything in another wedge, with their own different universes with ‘key differences’, and yes thats a technical term by the way.”

He extended his hand again and continued swiping. That same chime played with each swipe, and another wedge moved to the center, text appearing that neither of the visitors managed to retain.

“Just to give you an idea of how many of these ‘universal clusters’ there are, I could sit here and swipe once every second, and it would be twelve hours before I even got halfway.”

Aleister turned back to him “I have so many questions…”

Brandon held up a hand to stop him. “I know. But first, you need to understand who I am, or more accurately, who I represent.

“Uncountable eons ago, there was a race of beings, the original name of which has long been lost, who were incredibly technologically advanced. They discovered the existence of other universes and before long, developed a way to generate gateways that crossed the metaphysical barrier that lie between them all. They found a universe similar to their own, but with seemingly small but impactful differences between them. But like them, their neighbors were peaceful, dedicated to knowledge and cooperation for the good of all, and so they established diplomatic relations with each other, working together to benefit both of their peoples.”

“This cooperation proved boonful, and so they did it again and again. A central citadel, home of a dozen different gateways to differing versions of their universe, was established over time, allowing the best minds to collaborate with each other and advance their civilizations together, for the good of all. The completion of a new gateway became a cultural holiday known as ‘Opening Day’, People from all over the varying universes would get together with their own counterparts and celebrate.”

“Unfortunately, they made an assumption. Every universe they’d traveled to, while having some cultural or political differences to overcome, ultimately was not terribly different. Their race was still the dominant one of the world, and they ultimately wanted the same thing, to be brought forward into their shared age of enlightenment and reason.”

“The very last gateway they ever opened was to a universe dominated by a predatory insectoid species that every other universe had destroyed early in their recorded histories. In this universe, however, the insectoids had won. And over time, they’d evolved into a vicious hiveminded swarm that had consumed nearly all other forms of life on their world. And they….were hungry”

Brandon’s face grew somber. “What followed, as you can imagine, was a cataclysm. The insectoids poured through the gateway in uncountable numbers, consuming all in their path. And since all the other gateways were centralized in the same spire, they soon expanded into every other universe. growing in vast numbers as they consumed more and more biomass. The race had no weapons to stop them, they had evolved past a need for them, and so they stood no chance against the insectoid’s single unified mind driving their massive vicious forms.”

“It took only a few months before the race was all but extinct. The insectoids had utterly consumed their entire civilization and culture. I say ‘all but’ because some two dozen did survive, boarding a small number of experimental craft meant to traverse the inter-universal space that separated them. What they found was that there were no other universes belonging to their people. They were all that remained. But as they explored the rift between worlds in their ships, they found others. Nothing like them, but full of live and people of varying kinds. But they also found others where forces of destructive power reigned as well, forces that would consume other universes if they were to learn of them”

“They vowed that they would never let the mistake they’d made happen again. The multiverse was glorious, yes, but also fragile. It needed to be kept safe from itself. And so they would become its Sentinels, watchful protectors and guardians.”

Brandon looked between them both. “And that’s who I work for. The Sentinels. They employ agents from across the multiverse to keep a close eye on individual sectors, a small group of universal clusters. I have the responsibility of keeping watch over the myriad versions of both Hydaelyn and Azeroth, among others. And that’s why we’re speaking today.”

Brandon brought up the images of the Hydaelyn wedge on the monitor. “Now, for nearly everyone, travel between universes is simply impossible. They can’t even fathom that it exists. There are powerful entities in some that might have the capability to tunnel through the inter-universal rift, but again, our best advantage is that they simply don’t know it exists. We keep a close eye on these entities, but most of the cross-universe incursions we have to deal with happen spontaneously and on small scales. Small portals between universes will spontaneously manifest, and sometimes living creatures will get caught up in them. WHen they’re dangerous, we intervene. Agents, like myself, are empowered to recruit beings from these universes to travel to a universe that something hazardous from their own has appeared in, and deal with the problem. They go home, we agents come in and wipe the memories of anyone who saw anything, and life goes on for everyone. These assets then go on with their own pursuits until such time as they are needed again, if ever. They are sworn to secrecy about the multiverse’s existence, but otherwise we ask no other obligations of them.”

“However, your case was a different one, Aleister. In your case, you not only didn’t threaten the universe you ended up in, you ended up actively working towards ending the threat of that universes versions of the Ascians, who as you might imagine are on our “shitlist” of potential problem entities. I decided to watch and see what you did, and you did not disappoint. You kept your origins secret, for the most part, and made yourself an even bigger threat to them. Normally, a cross universe incursion signals us to destroy a spontaneously generated portal, we keep them open for study until that happens, but yours we left open as a result of your choices.”

He looked over to Gwenefyr. “What I absolutely did not expect was that, in her tenacity to be reunited with you, your lady love would also find that portal and go through herself. And while I am a romantic at heart who is thrilled to see you reunited and happy, unfortunately, you’ve told your story to an increasing number of people on your Hydaelyn, which has forced me to act.

Aleister tensed. “Act? To what end?”

“As I said, secrecy is our prime directive. The more people know, the more danger the multiverse is in. You’ve not only told a fair number of people in your version of Hydaelyn, but thanks to the portal’s presence, your version of the Exarch managed to summon heroes to help you from other universes. In every other universe, he summoned people from that universe’s shards. Not in yours. The same thing happened when Rheika used Azem’s crystal against Elidibus. She brought allies from yet another universe. And in both of those instances, those Warriors of Light became aware of the multiverse, opening more avenues for the knowledge to spread. We cannot have that.”

Franks threw up his hands in frustration. “But look at the good we did! The final two unsundered Ascians, defeated! Who knows what other good we could accomplish if the Warriors of Light from all of the Hydaelyns came together? How many more universes could we save from their Ascians, and how quickly?”

Brandon pointed a finger at him. “And this is why I had to sabotage your experiments, you don’t comprehend the consequences of what you are doing. You forget the lesson of the Sentinel’s origins, already! If we do that, then everyone learns of the multiverse very quickly, and then they’ll start trying to enter it on their own. Look at this!”

WIth a series of gestures, Brandon brought a small number of differing Hydaelyn-and-Shards rings into view. He pointed to one of them. “That one? That’s your adopted home. Hydaelyn-83, by our numbering.” He pointed to the closest one. “This one is Hydaelyn-82, your ‘neighbor’ metaphysically speaking.” Four figures appeared on the viewport. “Recognize anyone?”

Aleister looked at the figures. One was a dark-haired midlander woman, another was a dark-skinned rava viera. He recognized neither of them, but the last two, a red-skinned xaela woman and a dark-skinned elezen with purple and red hair, he did remember. “Yes, those two. That’s Toragana and Veilette, they helped us defeat Hades!”

Brandon nodded. “Just so. On their world, these four are the Warriors of Light. Unlike you and yours, however, they allowed themselves to be almost wholly defined by the traumas of their past and elected to use their power to ensure that none would ever control them again. They would utterly destroy any who crossed them, in the name of dispensing justice, including Gaius van Baelsar, who did not escape the Praetorium alive as he did in your world. Their relationships with the Scions and the leaders of the city-states was extremely strained, but it was Gaius’ own death that proved to be their undoing. Without him, Valens van Varro’s WEAPON project went unopposed in secret, and he unleashed them in a devastating attack on Limsa Lominsa, utterly destroying the city and killing three of the four Warriors of Light.”

Toragana and the two unknown women disappeared from the viewport.

“With her sisters dead, Veilette went into hiding with what few followers she had. Though she had killed the Unsundered, no one was able to stop Fandaniel’s plans from moving forward. Now this Hydaelyn is a ravaged battlefield between Lunar Primals and Garlean warmachina, with the rest of the world caught in the middle, hiding in what few pockets of safety remain. Would you go to that world and potentially expose yours to that danger?”

Brandon pointed to another cluster. “Or perhaps this one? Hydaelyn-72. On this one, the Ascians miscalculated. They rejoined the First with the source, empowering the Black Rose gas with all of that Light aether from the First, but it was more potent than they imagined. The gas was extremely virulent, sweeping throughout the entire world, turning everything it touched into Sin Eaters. Now that Hydaelyn is a death world, a barren wasteland roamed by beasts of light and choked by toxic air, while the Ascians wonder how to salvage their grand plan. Would you see someone inadvertently open a portal to that universe and see that toxic air claim another entire star?”

Both Franks looked on in horror. Aleister spoke. “I….I see your point. But could the Sentinels not stop such things?”

Brandon laughed. “We don’t have the numbers or the tech to stop entire armies in a fight or to contain a virulent toxic gas from spreading. There’s a reason we try to keep universes contained, and that’s because if we don’t, once it progresses past a certain point, we don’t have a way to stop it. And so we work from the shadows, clipping small problems before they get big and erasing memories so no one remembers any of it that we don’t want to.”

Franks clasped his hands in front of his face, as Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder. “So, you said you had to act because I came here. What happens now?”

Brandon crossed his arms, his expression softening. “Well, per our protocol, I’ve got two choices for you. Choice one, I wipe both of your memories of all of your time on Hydaelyn-83, return you to your Azeroth, and wipe everyone’s memory of ever having met you. I don’t want to do that one, I really don’t. You’ve proven a net benefit to 83, you really have, but I have to contain this. So there’s my second option, you two, along with everyone else in the Scions that you’ve told, officially sign up as assets for us. If something from a Hydaelyn threatens people in another universe, I ask you to help me deal with it, you do so. I should stress that this is not a common occurrence and when it does happen, it’s even more rare that it’s a really difficult threat. Otherwise you live your lives with the knowledge you have of the multiverse with no other interference, from us at least, so long as you don’t spread what you know. Just know that if you take that option, the portal closes too. You never can go back to your original universe.”

Anger emerged on Gwen’s face. “You can’t possibly expect us to make that decision on our own. We have to talk to them, let them decide for themselves! They need to know what we’re asking of them!”

Brandon smiled. “Already did that. Told them all everything I told you yesterday. Every single one agreed to sign up and keep what they know secret, but only if you chose to stay. They didn’t want you to not have the choice to ‘go home’ as Dahkar put it.”

Aleister looked over at Gwen, who nodded to him. “It’s not our home anymore, we already came to terms with that. If our friends agreed to this, then it’s pretty clear how much they’re willing to do to let us stay, So, we accept.”

Brandon clapped his hands. “Great! I’ll take care of everything else. Just remember, absolutely no sharing this knowledge with anyone else, and no more cross-universe gateway experiments on your own, okay? Awesome. You guys can head out through that door, it’ll take you back where you came in. And don’t worry about being seen, I put up a small field around that doorway that basically makes people suddenly remember far more important things whenever they look at it. No one should bat an eye at you.” He gestured to a newly opened door that Aleister was fairly confident was not there before.

He extended a hand to Gwen, who took it. The pair smiled at each other and walked out of the ship, not looking back.

They emerged from the same doors they’d entered in Bulwark Hall. As Brandon had promised, no one even looked twice at them.

Aleister sighed. “Well, that was….a thing. I guess we better get back to the Rising Stones and tell the other Scions what happened here.”

Gwen nodded. “You think we made the right choice? I mean, I know we committed to this already, but this…it’s kinda final.”

Aleister smiled warmly at her. “Now that you’re here and staying with me? Yes, yes I do.”

“Then let’s head home, my love.”

“All right! Ready for your first aetheryte teleport?”

Gwen smirked and began casting the magick, rising into the air as she did. Franks smiled, and followed suit.

The pair winked out of existence, heading towards their future.

[kiridune]

On Hallowed Ground

Sat, Sep. 07, 2002 Miami Herald

By DAVE BARRY (http://davebarry.com/misccol/hallowedground.htm)

On a humid July day in Pennsylvania, hundreds of tourists, as millions have before them, are drifting among the simple gravestones and timeworn monuments of the national cemetery at Gettysburg.

Several thousand soldiers are buried here. A few graves are decorated with flowers, suggesting some of the dead have relatives who still come here. There's a sign at the entrance, reminding people that this is a cemetery. It says: "SILENCE AND RESPECT."

Most of the tourists are being reasonably respectful, for tourists, although many, apparently without noticing, walk on the graves, stand on the bones of the soldiers. Hardly anybody is silent. Perky tour guides are telling well-practiced stories and jokes; parents are yelling at children; children are yelling at each other. A tour group of maybe two dozen teen-agers are paying zero attention to anything but each other, flirting, laughing, wrapped in the happy self-absorbed obliviousness of Teen-agerLand.

A few yards away, gazing somberly toward the teen-agers, is a bust of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address here 139 years ago, when the gentle rolling landscape, now green and manicured, was still raw and battle-scarred, the earth recently soaked with the blood of the 8,000 who died, and the tens of thousands more who were wounded, when two armies, 160,000 men, fought a terrible battle on July 1, 2 and 3 that determined the outcome of the Civil War.

Nobody planned for the battle to happen here. Neither army set out for Gettysburg. But this is where it happened. This is where, out of randomness, out of chance, a thousand variables conspired to bring the two mighty armies together. And so this quiet little town, because it happened to be here, became historic, significant, a symbol, its identity indelibly defined by this one overwhelming event. This is where these soldiers - soldiers from Minnesota, soldiers from Kentucky, soldiers who had never heard of Gettysburg before they came here to die - will lie forever.

This is hallowed ground.

On the same July day, a few hours' drive to the west, near the small Pennsylvania town of Shanksville, Wally Miller, coroner of Somerset County, Pa., walks slowly through the tall grass covering a quiet field, to a place near the edge, just before some woods.

This is the place where, on Sept. 11, 2001, United Airlines Flight 93, scene of a desperate airborne battle pitting passengers and crew against terrorist hijackers, came hurtling out of the sky, turning upside down and slamming into the earth at more than 500 mph.

That horrendous event transformed this quiet field into a smoking, reeking hell, a nightmare landscape of jet fuel, burning plane debris, scattered human remains.

Now, 10 months later, the field is green again. Peaceful and green.

Except where Flight 93 plunged into the ground. That one place is still barren dirt. That one place has not healed.

"Interesting that the grass won't grow right here," says Miller.

Nobody on Flight 93 was heading for Somerset County that day. The 33 passengers and seven crew were heading from Newark, N.J., to San Francisco. The four hijackers had a different destination in mind, probably Washington, D.C., possibly the White House.

Nobody on the plane meant to come here.

"I doubt that any one of them would ever set foot in Somerset County, except maybe to stop at Howard Johnson's on the turnpike," Miller says. "They have no roots here."

But this is where they are. And this is where they will stay.

No bodies were recovered here, at least not as we normally think of bodies. In the cataclysmic violence of the crash, the people on Flight 93 literally disintegrated. Searchers found fragments of bones, small pieces of flesh, a hand. But no bodies.

In the grisly accounting of a jetliner crash, it comes down to pounds: The people on Flight 93 weighed a total of about 7,500 pounds. Miller supervised an intensive effort to gather their remains, some flung hundreds of yards. In the end, just 600 pounds of remains were collected; of these, 250 pounds could be identified by DNA testing and returned to the families of the passengers and crew.

Forty families, wanting to bury their loved ones. Two hundred fifty pounds of identifiable remains.

"There were people who were getting a skull cap and a tooth in the casket," Miller says. "That was their loved ones."

The rest of the remains, the vast majority, will stay here forever, in this ground.

"For all intents and purposes, they're buried here," Miller says. "This is a cemetery."

This is also hallowed ground.

In the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln was essentially trying to answer a question. The question was: How do you honor your heroes? Lincoln's answer was: You can't. No speech you give, no monument you erect, will be worthy of them, of their sacrifice. The best you can do is remember the cause they died for, finish the job they started.

Of course the passengers and crew on Flight 93, when they set out from Newark that morning, had no cause in common. They were people on a plane bound from Newark to San Francisco. Some were going home, some traveling on business, some on vacation.

People on a plane.

Which makes it all the more astonishing, what they did.

You've been on planes. Think how it feels, especially on a morning cross-country flight. You got up early; you're tired; you've been buckled in your seat for a couple of hours, with hours more to go. You're reading, or maybe dozing. You're essentially cargo: There's nowhere you can go, nothing you can do, no role you could possibly play in flying this huge, complex machine. You retreat into your passenger cocoon, passive, trusting your fate to the hands of others, confident that they'll get you down safe, because they always do.

Now imagine what that awful morning was like for the people on Flight 93. Imagine being ripped from your safe little cocoon, discovering that the plane was now controlled by killers, that your life was in their bloody hands. Imagine knowing that there was nobody to help you, except you, and the people, mostly strangers, around you.

Imagine that, and ask yourself: What would you do? Could you do anything? Could you overcome the fear clenching your stomach, the cold, paralyzing terror?

The people on Flight 93 did. With hijackers in control of the plane, with the captain and first officer most likely dead, the people on this plane got on their cell phones, and the plane's Airfones. They reached people on the ground, explained what was happening to them. They expressed their love. They said goodbye.

But they did not give up. As they were saying goodbye, they were gathering information. They learned about the World Trade Center towers. They understood that Flight 93 was on a suicide mission. They figured out what their options were.

Then they organized.

Then they fought back.

In "Among the Heroes," a riveting book about Flight 93, New York Times reporter Jere Longman reports many of the last words spoken to loved ones on the ground by people on the plane. They're not the words of people in shock, people resigned to whatever fate awaits them. They're the words of people planning an attack. Fighters.

Here, for example, are the last words of passenger Honor Elizabeth Wainio to her stepmother: "They're getting ready to break into the cockpit. I have to go. I love you. Goodbye."

Here are flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw's last words to her husband: "We're going to throw water on them and try to take the airplane back over. Phil, everyone's running to first class. I've got to go. Bye."

And of course there are the now-famous words of Todd Beamer, who, after explaining the situation on the plane to an Airfone supervisor in Illinois, turned to somebody near him and said: "You ready? OK, let's roll."

They're getting ready to break into the cockpit.

I've got to go.

Let's roll.

We'll never know exactly what happened next. Some believe that the fighters managed to get into the cockpit, and that, in the ensuing struggle for control, the plane went down. Others believe that the hijackers, trying to knock the fighters off their feet, flew the plane erratically, and in doing so lost control. Inevitably, there is Internet-fueled speculation that the plane was secretly shot down by the U.S. government. (The government denies this.)

But whatever happened, we know two things for sure:

We know that the plane went down before it reached its target - that the hijackers failed to strike a national symbol, a populated area. They failed.

And we know that the people on the plane fought back. On a random day, on a random flight, they found themselves - unwarned, unprepared, unarmed - on the front lines of a vicious new kind of war. And somehow, in the few confusing and terrifying minutes they had, they transformed themselves from people on a plane into soldiers, and they fought back. And that made them heroes, immediately and forever, to a wounded, angry nation, a nation that desperately wanted to fight back.

And now these heroes lie here, in this field where their battle ended. This cemetery. This battlefield. This hallowed ground.

Wally Miller, coroner, has walked this ground hundreds of times. He spent endless hours among those collecting human remains and picking up plane parts. Even now, he walks with his eyes down, looking, looking. Every now and then he reaches down and picks up a tiny piece of plane - a thimble-sized piece of twisted gray metal, a bit of charred plastic, a shard of circuit board, a wire. This is what Flight 93 became: millions of tiny pieces, a vast puzzle that can never be reassembled. Despite the cleanup effort, there are still thousands of plane parts scattered for acres around the crash site, just under the new plant growth, reminders of what happened here.

The site is peaceful; no sound but birds. Miller walks from the bright field into the hemlock woods just beyond the barren spot where Flight 93 slammed into the earth. It's mid-afternoon, but the woods are in permanent dusk, the tall trees allowing only a dim, gloomy light to filter down to the lush green ferns that blanket the ground. The woods look undisturbed, except for bright "X"s painted on the trunks of dozens of hemlocks. The "X"s mark the trees that were scaled by climbers retrieving human remains, flung high and deep into woods by the force of the crash.

Some of the hemlocks, damaged by debris and fire and jet fuel, had to be cut down. These trees were supposed to be trucked away, but Miller, who, as coroner, still controls the crash site, would not allow it. Some of the trees have been ground into mulch; some lie in piles of logs and branches. But they're all still here. Miller won't let them be removed.

"This is a cemetery," he says, again. And he is determined that it will be respected as a cemetery. All of it. Even the trees.

Almost immediately after the battle of Gettysburg, people started coming to see the place where history happened. More than a century later, they're coming still.

Some are pilgrims: For them, Gettysburg is a solemn place, where the suffering and sacrifice of the soldiers still hangs heavy in the air. Some are purely tourists: For them, Gettysburg is another attraction to visit, like the Grand Canyon, or Graceland - famous, but not particularly relevant to their everyday lives. You park, you look, you take a picture, you leave.

I think that most of the visitors to Gettysburg, even today, are some mixture of pilgrim and tourist. But as the battle has receded in time, as the scars of the war have healed, tourism clearly has come to dominate the mixture. Despite the valiant efforts of many to preserve the soul of this place, to explain to the waist-pack hordes why this ground is hallowed, Gettysburg, surrounded by motels and gift shoppes, accessorized by a wax museum and a miniature-golf course, is now much more a tourist attraction than a shrine.

But soldiers are still buried here. And people still come to place flowers on graves. And the sign at the entrance to the cemetery still makes its plea: SILENCE AND RESPECT.

Immediately after Sept. 11, people started coming to see where Flight 93 went down. The site is a little tricky to find, but they found it, and they're coming still, every day, a steady stream of people who want to be near this place. They're not allowed on the site itself, which is fenced off and guarded, so they go to the temporary memorial that has been set up by the side of a two-lane rural road overlooking the crash site, a quarter-mile away.

The memorial - the word seems grandiose, when you see it - is a gravel parking area, two portable toilets, two flagpoles and a fence. The fence was erected to give people a place to hang things. Many visitors leave behind something - a cross, a hat, a medal, a patch, a T-shirt, an angel, a toy airplane, a plaque - symbols, tokens, gifts for the heroes in the ground. There are messages for the heroes, too, thousands of letters, notes, graffiti scrawls, expressing sorrow, and love, and anger, and, most often, gratitude, sometimes in yearbookish prose:

"Thanx 4 everything to the heroes of Flight 93!!"

Visitors read the messages, look at the stuff on the fence, take pictures. But mostly they stare silently across the field, toward the place where Flight 93 went down. They look like people you see at Gettysburg, staring down the sloping field where Pickett's charge was stopped, and the tide of war changed, in a few minutes of unthinkable carnage. There is nothing, really, to see on either field now, but you find it hard to pull your eyes away, knowing, imagining, what happened there.

There will be a permanent memorial for Flight 93. The temporary one is touching in its way, a heartfelt and spontaneous tribute to the heroes. But it's also haphazard, verging on tacky. Everyone agrees that something more dignified is needed. The official wheels are already turning: Congress has begun considering a bill to place the site in federal custody. Eventually land will be acquired; a commission will be appointed; a design will be approved.

Wally Miller frets about the memorial. He worries that, in the push to commemorate this as The Defining Moment In The War Against Terrorism, people will forget that it was also - maybe primarily - a personal tragedy for 40 families. He believes that, whatever is done at the site, there should be a place set aide for the Flight 93 families to grieve in private, away from the public, the tourists, the sightseers, the voyeurs, and what Miller calls "the metal-detector assholes."

Tim Lambert, who owns the woods where many of the remains were found, agrees that the paramount concern has to be the families.

"They are forced to live with this tragedy every day," he says. "The site itself is, for the most part, the final resting place for their loved ones. People need to remember and respect that."

One of the most heartrending quotes in "Among the Heroes" is from Deena Burnett, the widow of Flight 93 passenger Tom Burnett, who is believed to have played an active role in the battle on the plane. Mrs. Burnett is describing what it's like to be the widow of a hero:

"In the beginning, everyone asked, 'Aren't you proud of him? Aren't you happy that he's a hero?' I thought, my goodness, the first thing you have to understand is, I'm just trying to put one foot in front of the other. For my husband to be anyone's hero ... I'd much prefer him to be here with me."

So we need to remember this: The heroes of Flight 93 were people on a plane. Their glory is being paid for, day after day, by grief. Tom Burnett does not belong to the nation. He is, first and foremost, Deena Burnett's husband, and the father of their three daughters. Any effort we make to claim him as ours is an affront to those who loved him, those he loved.

He is not ours.

And yet ...

... and yet he is a hero to us, he and the other people on Flight 93. We want to honor them, just as we want to honor the firefighters, police officers and civilians at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon who risked, and sometimes gave, their lives to try to rescue others. We want to honor them for what they did, and for reminding us that this nation is nowhere near as soft and selfish as we had come to believe.

We want to honor them.

And so in a few years, when grass grows once again over the place where Flight 93 hit the ground, when the "X"s have faded from the hemlocks, there will be a memorial here, an official, permanent memorial to the heroes of Flight 93. It will be dedicated in a somber and dignified ceremony, and people will make speeches. Somebody - bet on it - will quote the Gettysburg Address, the part about giving the last full measure of devotion. The speeches will be moving, but they will also prove Lincoln's point, that the words of the living can add nothing to the deeds of the dead.

Thanx 4 everything to the heroes of Flight 93!!

There will be expressions of condolence to the families, and these, too, will be heartfelt. But they will not take away the grief.

I'd much prefer him to be here with me.

And then the ceremony will end, and the people will go home. And the heroes, the people on the plane, will remain here in the ground of Somerset County.

And years will pass, and more people will come here, and more, people who were not yet born when Flight 93 went down, coming to see this famous place.

Let's hope, for their sake, that the world they live in is less troubled than it is today. Let's hope they've never had to feel anything like the pain of Sept. 11, 2001.

Let's also hope that, when they stand here, they know enough to be silent, to show respect.

Let's hope they understand why this is hallowed ground.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Gifts

More sci-fi gadgets for all of you.  I go into more detail on the workings of some of the more interesting ones.  As usual, I own no one except Drake.  Enjoy the story.  

Aboard the Normandy

John Shepard pressed the locking mechanism on the doors to his quarters.  The automatic doors slid open noiselessly, and he stepped into the room beyond.  It was dark inside, the only light emanating from a large fish tank on the far wall.  It was his hobby, per say.  A welcome distraction from the rigors and challenges of his life.  He enjoyed relaxing and simply watching the fish swim.  

The rest of the room was simple, yet elegant, in the way that a mid-level hotel was.  Nothing exceptionally fancy, no wild designs.  It had few personalizations, save for several framed photographs and some slight tinkering projects he stored there.  

He sighed.  It had been quite the long day.  Quite the long month, come to think of it.  The implants that had brought him back from the dead all that long time ago...or was it really that long ago? he asked himself.  Well, either way, that had started to hurt again, a constant dull ache, especially located in the back of his neck.  So much to do.  So much stress.  First his death, then the Collectors, who were still a problem, now this.  Now new worlds, which, in turn, brought new problems.  It was the end of a long day, which would lead into a short night, which would bring yet another long day.  The cycle continued.  

He walked, slowly, over to his bed, before his tired eyes noticed something different.  A package, wrapped in plain black paper, lay upon it.  Attached was a note, written in neat cursive.  

To Commander John Shepard, a soldier after my own heart when it comes to personal weaponry.  From, Thomas Drake

His tiredness forgotten and curiosity piqued, he sat down beside the rectangular package, slit open the paper, and took out a heavy plastic case.  With a click of latches, it opened, revealing a sleek and compact silver rifle sunk into black felt.  On the side, where the ejection port of a bullet-firing weapon would be, was a small vent, glowing with purple and blue energy.  A miniaturized plasma reactor.  Three barrels, each heavily reinforced to take the heat buildup of the weapon, protruded from the front.  A small packet came with instructions on the gun’s cleaning and upkeep.  Emblazoned into the side of the weapon, small enough so it didn’t take away any of its looks, was the name X-45 Plasma Repeater.  

Shepard instantly recognized the gun.  It was the same model that Drake wielded during their missions, and the same model he had told them all was the pinnacle of plasma weaponry design in his home galaxy.  Come to think of it, actually, it was the only plasma weapon in any of their galaxies capable of fully automatic fire.  Drake had just...given one to him.  He wasn’t sure if he should be touched beyond measure or extremely suspicious.  He decided on touched.  Suspicion could wait.  It was an utterly magnificent gift.  The personal shields and armor in his galaxy were all designed around stopping projectiles.  He grinned evilly in the darkness of the room at the thought of what he could do with such a weapon.  He had seen Drake’s melt straight through unprotected torsos.  This...this would do nicely.  

Garrus Vakarian, one of Shepard’s closest friends and most trusted advisors, walked through the sleek halls of the Normandy into his own quarters.  Much more spartan and austere than the Commander’s, or, for that matter, most of the other crew members, his room had only various weapons and projects he had been working on.  He didn’t need anything else.  Plus, his culture was not flamboyant like humans or Asari.  He was a Turian, practical, result focused.  His body was humanoid, with two legs, two arms, and a head, but no one would ever mistake him for Human.  His limbs were spindly, his torso massive, and he was distinctly taller than most other species.  His face was flat, the back of his head a crest that seemed somewhat between a lizard and a bird.  Once, a human had compared him to a velociraptor.  He had taken the time to look it up, and found a distinct similarity between himself and the long-dead animal.  Interesting, but, ultimately, unimportant.  

A single bed sat in his room.  Mass produced, it wasn’t luxurious, but it would suffice.  On, it though...something new.  A long rectangular package, wrapped in black paper.  He walked up to it and read the small note.  

To Garrus Vakarian, a sniper of both lethal accuracy and renown. 

P.S.  It’s probably best if Cain didn’t know this was in your possession. 

From, Thomas Drake

His mandibles twitched as he smiled to himself.  He thought he knew what it was.  Long talons tore through the paper, and revealed a long black box, emblazoned with a double-headed golden eagle.  Bingo.   He opened it silently, to reveal the Exitus Rifle.  Nearly as tall as he was, it was a massive beast of a weapon.  While some sniper weapons were just glorified assault rifles with scopes, others were large, unwieldy, and extremely heavy.  The Exitus was far on the side of bulky and brutal.  A huge scope, able to switch between nine different types of viewing the world, was mounted on the top.  The entire thing was painted black, and a golden skull with outstretched wings was embellished on the side.  Garrus snorted.  What was it with xenophobic groups and their odd need to put their symbols on everything?  A good question, actually.  One to ask a behavioral specialist.  But, back to the task at hand.

Drake had given him the gun to use on the Scoundrels' mission against Batarian slavers, and he had fallen in love with it ever since.  While it was too unwieldy to move around quickly, it had a range of over ten miles and enough power to blow straight through any target he aimed at.  Ten miles.  He chuckled to himself.  

Before the mission, Drake, accompanied by a reluctant Cain, had explained how the rifle worked.  It fired bolt shells, .75 calibre monstrosities as long as a human foot.  Emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila (of course), they were essentially rocket propelled explosive bullets.  Fired at an unarmored target would mean it would quite simply cease to exist in a shower of gore.  But, it looked like there was even more to it.  Located in the box, next to the rifle, were a series of small cardboard cartons, each a different solid color.  Judging by the distinct lack of any Imperial iconography, Garrus assumed Drake, or one of his crew, had added them.  Above them was a note, written in Drake’s neat cursive.  

Special issue ammunition.  I can not easily replace it, so use with care.  

Printed on each box was a small note describing each’s contents.  He went over them all in turn.

Shell Breaker Rounds: Will punch through any shielding, even of a ‘magical’ or biotic nature.

Hellfire Rounds: Contains a very powerful mutagenic acid that eats through organic tissue at a rapid rate.  Useful against large monstrosities.  

Turbo-penetrator Rounds: For use against armored targets.  Will punch through most armor plating.

Seeker Rounds: For when you absolutely, positively, cannot miss a target.  Lock on to your target through the Rifle’s scope, and this bolt will follow it by itself.

Oh, this was going to be good.  Garrus would be enjoying himself very much in the coming weeks.

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir returned to his quarters.  They were slightly larger than those of the regular ratings and officers, as benefitted an Admiral, but not obscenely so.  Cluttering the room were trinkets and items of personal importance, things he liked to keep from his childhood or his travels across the stars.  But this time, something was out of place.  A black package, about the length of his leg, lay on the bed.  Curious, he walked up to it, leaned over, and examined the note.

To Admiral Adam Vir, whose giddiness at seeing new things is a constant source of amusement.  I’ve heard you always wanted a lightsaber.  This is the closest I could get.

From, Thomas Drake.

Intrigued, he opened the box.  Resting inside was a...sword.  Interesting.  The scabbard was of red velvet, edged and wrapped with gold.  It was approximately two feet in length, and looked like an old Medieval-era broadsword.  The hilt was wrapped in a black material that he didn’t recognize, but it looked as if it would give him an excellent grip nevertheless.  The crosspiece was of a white gold color, and while it was a plain and straight design, it still did not diminish the weapon’s beauty.  Vir picked up the blade and unsheathed it.  

Two long groves were cut in the metal, and the blade itself was wickedly sharp.  As he lifted the weapon, a small note fluttered from where it was tucked in the shealth.  Frowning, Vir bent down and read it.  

Activate the blade by pressing the rune near the hilt.  Be careful, as it can cut through almost anything.  

He turned the blade over in his hands.  A small button, inscribed with a strange symbol he didn’t recognize, was located on the hilt near the crosspiece.  He pressed it.  

Instantly, the blade was surrounded by a crackling corona of blue energy.  He jumped back, slightly startled, but still kept his grip.  Spinning the sword through the air, the energy field hummed and sparked.  

It can cut through almost anything…

He deactivated the sword, pressing the button and putting it back into its sheath.  Turning on his heel, he half-walked, half-jogged out of the room...only to return three minutes later with a length of heavy metal pipe.  Once more, he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and activated the energy field.  Slowly, carefully, just in case he had misinterpreted or Drake was mistaken, he lowered the edge of the pipe onto the edge of the blade.  The energy field, supported by the blade behind it, cut through the pipe like a razor through tissue paper.  Vir grinned, then stood from his crouch.    

He lowered the sword to knee length, then dropped the pipe on it.  The blade sheared straight through it with no effort whatsoever.  Vir deactivated the gift.  He knew he was standing there with an idiotic grin on his face.  He didn’t really care.  There was no one to see it and, goddamn it, he had just gotten the equivalent to a lightsaber.  The only question was: what to do with it?  His smile only widened.  

Sunny, the Chief Weapons Officer of the Omen, trekked into the bowels of the ship.  Her quarters were located deep in the engineering section, into the metal-plated, darkly-lit heart of the ship, as benefitted a weapons expert and engineer.  The walls of her quarters were metal, and covered with drawings, blueprints, and schematics.  Various projects and weapons, some in a state or repair of disassembly, sat on tables and workbenches.  The room was a cluttered mess, the type of space that belonged to someone who enjoyed tinkering. 

Despite the mess, Sunny knew her way around the clutter.  Every object had a place, despite the apparent lack of order.  So it was with great perplexion that she noticed something that shouldn’t be there.  Sitting on her main workbench was a large package.  Bemused, she wandered up to it, and read the small note attached to the black paper.  

To Chalan.  While hand to hand fighting is perfectly fine, sometimes the only way to win the day is through superior firepower.  Plus, I think you are one of the few amongst our fleet able to wield this with any sort of ease.  

From, Thomas Drake

Curious, she unwrapped the package.  Inside was one of the strangest weapons she’d ever seen.  Looking more like a massive box instead of a gun, it was painted black, with tubing underneath, connecting one part, which seemed to be the ammunition storage, to the frontal part.  Twin barrels, both extremely large, with vents cut in the side of them for better cooling, stuck out of the front, while an oversized trigger lay to the rear.  She hefted the weapon with a grunt.  Drake was right, it was huge and heavy.  In fact, it seemed to be created for someone about her size.  Odd.  Some sort of alien weapon?  

Looking down, she saw a sheet of paper with maintenance and firing instructions, accompanied by a small note. 

It’s called a multi-melta.  It fires massive, short-range blasts of thermal energy, designed to go through armored targets.  

Hmm.  Sunny wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  On one hand, it seemed to be quite the weapon.  On the other, well, she much preferred her spear.  Eventually, she decided that it would probably depend on the situation.  Having a heavy weapon that shot balls of pure heat couldn’t hurt anyone...at least not on her side…

Commissar Ciaphas Cain trudged back to his quarters, a combination office and sleeping area.  Over his long career, he had been assigned to many different quarters, from massive suites in gubernatorial palaces to the cramped and dimly-lit rooms of Mechanicus exploratory ships.  His room aboard the Omen was neither.  It was of decent size, with plain walls and austere furniture.  Nothing elaborate, nothing terrible, they were simply average.  A normal room.  Nothing wrong with that, in his opinion.  

His desk was cluttered with papers and data pads, each describing new aspects of different universes.  He was assigned to report back to the Inquisition on exactly what went on in these galaxies, and, frankly, it made his head hurt.  Councils and Federations and Assemblies, where all species were treated equal, where no one wanted to go to war.  How incredibly strange.  And he used to think the Tau were odd…

He unlocked the door to his room (didn’t want any nosy Guardsmen or, Emperor forbid, xenos rummaging around his papers), but was immediately brought up short.  Laying on his bed was a small package, wrapped in black paper.  Cautiously, he approached it.  Written in cursive was a small tag.

To Commissar Ciaphas Cain, a man who understands that the best way to stay alive is to have a good defense.  

From, Thomas Drake

A frown creased his brow, and he opened the package slowly.  Inside was a black box, about fifteen centimeters by fifteen centimeters.  What the hell…?  Cain turned it over in his hands, then picked up a small note from the bottom of the package.  

My engineers reverse-engineered and combined the shielding from Mjolnir armor and kinetic barriers.  It should stop all but the heaviest weapons, including blows from hand-to-hand weapons.  For it to work, it must be on your person.  To activate it, press the button on the base.  If it starts smoking, sparking, or making funny noises, take it off and return it to me.  We haven’t ironed out all the kinks, but it should work without fault unless it’s hit with sufficient force or dropped from a significant height.  

Cain grunted, then set down the box.  He had a breastplate of carapace armor, worn only on dangerous missions, but this was a lot less bulky, and covered his entire form.  A very helpful gift, if, of course, it worked.  He sighed, picked it up, and walked out of the room.  Time to see if it did what Drake said it would.  He was fairly certain he could find someone willing to beat the pulp out of him.  

Aboard the Milano

Peter Quill’s quarters, were, to put it bluntly, an absolute mess.  Not an organized mess, either, mind you.  Clothing, trinkets, toys, weapons, and other miscellaneous items were strewn throughout the space as if a hurricane had blown through.   He never bothered to organize it.  After all, it took a lot more effort to clean things up and put them into place that it did to search for hidden items.  Despite the mess, he did have a vague idea where things were, so it was with great surprise that he flopped onto his bed, then immediately jumped up as his back struck something hard.  

Rubbing his spine, he peered down at the bed.  On top was a small box-like package, wrapped in black paper.  On it was a small note.  

To Star-Lord, a man who delights in interesting gadgets and weapons.  This ought to fit your fighting style.

From, Thomas Drake

Quill ripped apart the paper, and opened the box.  Inside, was a thin, sleek pistol.  He read the inscription emblazoned on the side: Smart Pistol Mk-6.  Resting on the bottom of the box was a sheet of paper with maintenance and set-up instructions.  Set up?  For a gun?  What the hell?  Neatly folded into the sheet was a small note, written by the same hand as the gift’s tag.

The Smart Pistol scans for hostile targets within a short range and locks onto them automatically.  Any rounds fired will then maneuver to hit the locked targets.  For it to work, you need to synch it to your visor.  Instructions are included.  

Quill rolled the weapon around in his hand.  He briefly considered testing it out inside the ship, but immediately discarded the idea.  Despite what others might think, he did not have a total lack of common sense.  

Re-holstering the gun, he smiled to himself.  This would definitely come in handy.  He didn’t even need to aim anymore!  What fun.  

Gamora stepped into her room aboard the Milano.  Much smaller than its counterparts aboard the larger ships of the Socundrels’ fleet, it was nevertheless comfortable and tidy.  Each piece of gear, each item, object and weapon were in its place.  Not bare and spartan, not large and elaborate, but it would suffice.  Everything was exactly where it should be, so it was with some surprise that she saw a small black package resting on her bed the moment she walked into the room.  Curious, she walked over to it and read the tag.  

To Gamora, a woman of a very particular set of skills, who can find you and will kill you.  I heard you express a desire for a device such as this.  

From, Thomas Drake

Her fingers deftly unwrapped the box, and drew out a silver disk approximately five centimeters across.  What the...

Resting next to it was another note.

Pilot’s Cloak.  Mount it on your wrist, tap the device, and disappear.  However, be warned: it can only last for a short time before it has to recharge, and sharp eyes can still pick out your silhouette.  

Gamora smiled to herself.  Excellent.  One more trick, one more thing to help her in battle.  While the master assassin was good, very good indeed, a little help never hurt anyone but the enemy.  

Aboard the Enterprise

Master Chief John-117 walked to his assigned quarters aboard the Enterprise.  They were grey walled, and though plain, had a simple elegance and comfortable feeling to them.  However, unlike many of the other quarters aboard the ship, they had no decoration or personalization whatsoever.  It was not because the Federation’s guest was not allowed to personalize his quarters.  No.  It was because the Chief had never known anything along the lines of personal items except his weapons and armor.  He was born for war, literally created at a young age to be the perfect soldier.  He owned no personal items of effects.  He did not need them to carry out his duty.  

As he walked into the room, he immediately noticed a black package laying on the borrowed bed.  How strange.  Attached was a small white tag; a note written in flawless cursive.

To Master Chief John-117.  A soldier with no equal ought to have a weapon with no equal.  

From, Thomas Drake

His heavy gauntlets fumbled over the creases of the paper as he unwrapped the package.  Inside was a huge weapon, painted black with hints of purple and red.  The stock and trigger locked normal, but the barrel was a strange cylinder, ending in a purple, cone-like object that looked like some sort of focus.  Surrounding the cylinder were three triangular black fins.  Master Chief turned the weapon around in his hands.  Painted on the side of the stock were the numerals M-490.  

Turning, he looked into the bottom of the box, and found a note.  

M-490 Blackstorm.  Fires miniaturized black holes at a target.  Requires advanced power cells to fire, so use sparingly, as I cannot easily replenish its ammunition.  

Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, Master Chief smiled under his helmet.  A gun that fires black holes at a target was nothing to be scoffed at.  He could put this to great use.  Great use indeed.  

Captain James Kirk looked across the bridge of the Enterprise.  The finest ship in the Starfleet.  He smiled to himself, though his outward appearance remained stern.  He was glad to command her, and even more proud to command her crew.  

���Engines online, sir.  Preparing for warp transition,” radioed the chief engineer, Scotty.  Kirk pressed a button on the command console.  

“Very good.  Proceed.”  After all the strangeness, all the craziness, all the new people, they were returning home.  His mission from the Starfleet had originally been to explore new places, to go bravely where no man had gone before, but that had all changed.  Now there were eight other galaxies.  Eight new places to learn about, and it was all overwhelming.  He was glad to be returning home, to Earth, to present his finds to the Federation.  

He very purposefully ignored the package next to him.  Drake had given him two things.  A suit of armor now hung in the armory of the Enterprise, most likely never to see use.  Drake had pointed out that “a shirt and pants aren’t going to stop any sort of weapon”, but Kirk had never needed armor before, and he wasn’t going to start using it now.  The second gift sat in its box, wrapping paper surrounding it, and left to rot.  It was a heavy handgun, a sleek, matte black .44 calibre monster.  The note accompanying it had been shredded, its mocking message destroyed.

“Stun” is for cowards and fools.  

While some of the people he had met were much like him, and others were simply products of their environment, others were not.  He was going to have choice words to the Federation about Captain Thomas Drake.  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The familiar lights and switches of the Falcon’s cockpit were a reassuring sight to Han Solo.  The past weeks had been some of the strangest of his life.  Or maybe not.  He had seen massive amounts of strange things that shook his understanding of the universe before.  This was just one more to add to the total.  He was a man who rolled with the punches.  

He turned and nodded to his furry copilot, currently seating in the chair next to him.

“Punch it, Chewy.”  The world around the cockpit streaked with stars, and the whine of the starship’s engines filled the air.  Another familiar sight in a changing universe.  He was heading back to his home galaxy, giving his report on the new people he had met.  Hopefully Leia didn't try to kill him for being gone too long.  

Before he had gone, Drake had presented him with two gifts.  A phaser, some sort of pistol-like weapon that could be calibrated to different energy levels.  He wasn’t going to ever use it.  His blaster was much more comfortable, much more reassuring.  He knew what it didn, knew how to use it, knew all of its ins and outs.  Something different would be an interruption, and perhaps a dangerous one at that.  The phaser now was resting in a forgotten box in an unused room.  But it was not that gift that was the most interesting.  

The second of Drake’s gifts had been a heavy metal box, about two feet by two feet.  More the size of a trunk than a conventional box, it had been accompanied by strict instructions.

This box is to be delivered to Luke Skywalker in person.  Under no circumstances is it to be opened by anyone else.  While I’m sure your reading skills are fine, and you can understand directions with crystal clarity, allow me to be perfectly clear about this.  This box is not to be opened by anyone other than Luke Skywalker for any reason whatsoever.  

The box itself was sealed and locked, the keys given to Solo along with the instructions and a letter addressed to Skywalker.  Solo turned in his chair.  It emanated a faint aura of dread, as if some dark secret was locked inside.  Although, that could just be curiosity or paranoia playing with his nerves.  Or maybe it was something else.  Luke was a Jedi.  Some dark secret…

Enough.  It’s perfectly fine.  That didn’t stop him from wanting to get it off his ship as soon as possible, though.

And there you have it.  If you have any comments, concerns, criticisms, questions, explanations, or requests, feel free to ask!  

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (28)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: Tessa begins some light undercover work while Bucky pouts in the background... And Clint sheds some light on what happened years ago in Minsk.

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

They all agreed – some more begrudgingly than others – that it would be a good idea for Tessa to see what she could find out from Cal before getting in any deeper with Lobe. The ingenious businessman, as he had referred to himself, had invited Tessa to come out to his temporary facility outside of Albany. But try as they might, none of them could find anything about this mysterious site. And – “You’re not going out to some off-the-radar science lab on your own. Not with the current lack of intel we have.” – Steve was the one giving the orders.

Well, if intel is what he wants...

“I’m telling you,” she says, as Natasha hooks up the not-even-remotely-noticeable bug in the hem of her sweater, “He’s not going to help.”

Steve looms in the foreground, arms folded across his chest. “He doesn’t have to help. Just get him talking and we can sift through all of it later.”

“It’s looking like this might be more than we thought,” Clint mumbles from his position at the conference table. He’s busy looking through all of the virtual files that he and Nat had spent the last few days compiling. Swiping through another page on the holoscreen in front of him, he says simply, “Since all of the Terrigenesis stuff started, people have been paying more and more attention to… super people.” He glances up to raise a single eyebrow at Tessa. “Depending on what his end game is, this Lobe guy could be the next big bad.”

“Then by all means, let’s go waste some time grabbing coffee with some crony instead of figuring out what the big bad is up to,” she snarks with a pout.

Natasha triggers the bug to make sure everything is set up and pats Tessa on the shoulder. “You’re good,” she tells her. “Just don’t conveniently spill a drink on it when you two start in about the past.” She shoots her a playful, crooked smile before turning to gather her things.

“Alright,” Steve starts, manner and voice all business. “I’ll be in the back of the café.” He moves over to Tessa and gently reaches out to grab her shoulders. “I know this should go without saying, but do not leave my sight.”

She rolls her eyes. “You really think I’d take off with him?”

“I might,” Nat mutters from across the room.

“That,” Steve intones, pointing at Natasha, “is why you three are all off comms.”

Clint rises and shuts down the computer in front of him. “See? Once again, your sexual appetite has us sidelined.”

Natasha cocks a brow in his direction. “My sexual appetite has gotten us out of more jams than it’s ever gotten us into.”

Steve visibly winces. “Enough. Come on, guys. Can we just… not?”

Natasha shrugs and shoves some equipment into Bucky’s hands. He almost drops it and has to regain his balance as she piles more crap into his arms. “Make yourself useful, Sargent,” she tells him. “You can’t just stand there brooding in silence all day.”

“I don’t know,” Clint says as he takes some of the load off Bucky. “If anybody can do it, he can.” He gives the silent, gloomy looking man a wink and heads for the door.

000

It makes perfect sense, of course, that the three of them would be sequestered in a van down the block. Well, maybe it doesn’t really makes sense why all three of them would be… Natasha was the only one actually needed in here working the recording equipment. But Clint wasn’t about to sit any part of this out. And Bucky was obviously not going to let Tessa go out there without being close by. Even if no one really believed that she was in any danger.

After all, this was just a simple, casual meetup with a potentially knowledgeable contact who might be able to supply some intel on what now seemed to be an ongoing op. Fine. No big deal. His lab rat girl was just now invariably working out in the field. He could handle that.

Well, he’d be able to handle it a lot better if he had her in his sights. And if he had a weapon, some sort of recourse, in case something did go wrong. But no sniper should be needed today – especially not one who admittedly kind of wants to blow off the head of the guy she’s meeting with.

“How you holding up, Barnes?” Clint asks as he bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his.

He sighs, long and loud. “I’m not used to being non-essential.”

“Yeah, well… Think of this,” he says, sweeping his hand across the tight space of the cargo van, “as a chance to play stakeout. It’s like we’re the FBI!”

“Hunting down mob bosses?” Natasha supplies as she hands each of them an earpiece. There won’t be any comms going, so they can’t talk to Tessa. And they’ll only be in contact with Steve if something goes wrong. But thanks to the high-tech bug in Tessa’s sweater, they’ll be able to hear everything going on at the café down the block.

“Exactly.” His smile fades a bit when he looks back over at Bucky and notices the concerned look on his face. “Did you two get a chance to talk?” he asks him in a low tone. Natasha would be able to hear, of course, there’s barely a foot of space between them. But his voice makes it clear that this talk is between just the two of them.

He nods. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“Cause, you know, the other day… we were just joking around. I mean… I was there at the tail end of their thing. It wasn’t anything like what you and Doc have.”

The sincerity in his voice, makes the corners of Bucky’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “I know,” he says. Then, his face transforming into a confused sort of pout. “I forgot you said that you met him. That was when you first met Tessa, right?”

Clint settles back into the cushioned bench that runs the length of the van. “Yep. Minsk.”

“Funny, isn’t it? How we mark moments in our lives by either the name of the op or the location of the mission,” Natasha utters, without turning around. She continues to busy herself with the recording equipment, doing one final test to make sure everything is working as it should.

Clint lets out just the shortest of chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“So what happened there?” Bucky asks, genuine interest perking his voice.

Clint gives him a suspicious look. “She never told you?”

He shakes his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tessa’s not great about sharing things from her past.”

Natasha finally turns and joins the men in the rear of the van, all equipment up and running. “Did you know she graduated from med school when she was 23?” she asks incredulously. “I only found that out last year.”

“How’d she manage that?” Clint asks, taken aback.

She merely shrugs. “That, she did not share.”

He pulls in a deep breath and drops his raised brows. “Well… the thing in Minsk was kind of a shit show.”

“You were sent by Fury, right?”

He nods. “Genetech had a facility on Long Island that was shut down back in the 1980s. SHIELD found out about some nanocontagion they’d let loose, and they moved in and took out the whole operation. Or so they thought,” he says with a glint. “Fury heard rumblings about the company starting up again in Eastern Europe, so he sent a couple of us to go check it out.”

“Who’d you go with?” she asks.

He shrugs. “McAllen.”

“Ugh,” she responds, obviously sharing his less-then-enthused view of whoever Agent McAllen is.

“So Genetech was what?” Bucky inquires. “Some kind of medical lab?”

“Hardly,” Natasha answers. “They were a powerful med firm, specializing in genetic research. They were started by a guy who designed bio-weapons with Howard Stark.”

“Can’t say they were always exactly reputable,” Clint intones. “But they did manage to get a big following in the scientific community. No surprise, really, that some new facility popped up even after the company was supposedly shut down.”

“And no surprise that someone like Tessa would want to work there,” Natasha says simply.

“True,” Clint declares. “But, she knew something was up. And she was the only one there willing to help me figure out what it was.”

“What was it?” Bucky asks.

“Long story short? They were engineering a gene that would mutate when exposed to radioactive energy.” He frowns briefly. “I’m still not really sure about the science of it, but the theory was that, if they could introduce it into a human host, and then expose the host to radioactive material, they could create a… super person.”

Bucky grimaces. “A super soldier?”

He cocks his head as if to say, maybe. “The higherups didn’t really share their plans with Doc… and she was the only one who shared anything with me.”

“So wait,” Natasha interrupts, suddenly onto something. “The radioactive genes, or whatever they were… the samples that Tessa accused Calvin of stealing – ”

“One and the same.” He clears his throat before going on. “I shared some confidential intel with Doc about what Genetech had been up to all those years ago. And she agreed to hand over some files on the work they’d been doing. But before she could get them all copied, the facility went on lockdown – with us trapped in it – because samples of the nearly perfected genes had been stolen. She knew right away who did it. Went on a little tirade in the office while alarms were going off around us. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and she’s mumbling and yelling about how that son of a bitch had sworn he was there for her and not some damn job.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Whew, she was pissed.”

“How did you get out?” Natasha asks. Her chin rests on her fist as she watches the man, clearly enthralled by his story.

“Right, well. First we got caught. Armed guards rushed the office, saw we were stealing files. Chaos ensues… yada yada yada,” he says, waving his hand in a glib gesture. “I got shot. Doc let loose.”

Bucky frowns. “She used her powers?”

“Yep. Smoked ‘em. All eight of them. They just… dropped.” He takes in a deep breath. “She got us out of there and we holed up in this old factory outside of town while she fixed me up.” He turns to Bucky and says, utter sincerity lacing his words, “That was about two weeks before my daughter was born. If not for Doc, I never would have gotten to know my little girl. Never would’ve even made Nathaniel.” With a small smile, he tells him, “I’m never gonna be able to repay her for that.”

Natasha scoffs. “Sounds like you never would’ve been in that position if it hadn’t been for that asshole Calvin.”

“Oh ho,” Clint says, raising a brow, “So now you agree he’s an asshole? Is your crush fading?”

She shrugs. “He’s still hot as hell. But it sounds like he almost got two of my best friends killed. So if I meet him, I might just have to end him.”

Bucky looks to Clint, curiosity lacing his features. “You said you met him?”

“Ah, yeah,” he breathes out. “During my first meeting with Doc… I showed up a little early at this bar and saw them together. He was laughing and whispering in her ear and shit. And she was looking not amused. I stopped him on his way out of the bar… asked if he was an American… you know, play the whole what a small world card. He told me he was in Minsk on business, but would only be in town a few more days. I asked about the woman he was with at the bar, if she was his girlfriend… small talk,” he says with a wink. “The guy just laughs and says when I want her to be. Prick. Then he lights up a cigarette, shakes my hand, and disappears into the night.”

“And no one ever caught him? After stealing the samples?” Natasha asks.

“Nah. Doc said he was sort of a mercenary… doing whatever needed to be done for whoever was the highest bidder. So it was no surprise he managed to disappear. That guy in Africa, the one that Ultron got the vibranium from? Saw Calvin with him in some photos taken about ten years back. That’s the kind of guy he is. Anyway, it was just a few months after Minsk that he got made by MI-6… doing some kind of dirty deal. But then he conveniently got blown up in a car bomb before they could nail him.”

Bucky lets out an irritated huff from his corner of the van. “Nice,” he says with a nod. “Good story. I feel much better about this guy now.”

Clint laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. “The takeaway from all of this is that Doc’s been done with that guy for years. And she knows who he really is. She’s not gonna get sucked into his lies or manipulation.”

“I never really expected her to,” he mumbles.

Clint takes in the thoughtful expression on Bucky’s face and adds, “She’s grown up a lot since then. I, for one, think she’s been making much better decisions.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks up. “Yeah, from asshole mercenary to brooding ex-assassin.”

Clint tosses a reproachful look over his shoulder at her. “Even I think that was crass.” He turns back to Bucky. “Sarge, after what she did for me, I’ll have Doc’s back for life. So if I thought she was wasting her time with someone who didn’t deserve her, I’d chase him off in a heartbeat.”

Bucky cocks his head at the man to his right. “You haven’t been trying to chase me off these last couple years?” he asks with a smirk. “You’re saying this is just how you are?”

Clint snorts. “Hilarious. See?” he says, turning to Natasha. “They’re made for each other.”

She throws up a silencing hand and presses the earpiece into her ear. “We’re on,” she says, tone suddenly all business. “The asshole is in the building.”

[silverselfshippingchaos]

Ash goes to Edenhall to find Yaag during the destruction of Cocoon. Warnings for light swearing, injury and blood, mentions and discussion of death, and an overall glum mood. Also some endgame spoilers for the first FF13 game.

"What the hell..." Ash found herself whispering as she looks down at the sight below her. From her airbike, she could see the full view of Eden. Or, well, what was going to be left of Eden, that is.

Her eyes went wide in horror at all the Pulse beasts, the crushed buildings, the civilians crying for help. This is horrible...

Too much had happened too fast, and she hadn't quite had a chance to process it all. But it finally hit her. Eden was being destroyed. This was likely the end of Cocoon.

She had gotten the report of Cid Raines being dead not too long back, and it still felt surreal. The idea of him once being a Cocoon l'Cie was just as jarring. Him being appointed to Primarch too.

l'Cie or not... He was my friend. And now he's gone.

All she could hope for now was her family and Yaag making it out alright, but one of those seemed a lot more likely than the other. Yaag had left in the Proudclad, hoping to protect Edenhall all by himself. That idiot...

PSICOM soldiers were still pursuing the Pulse l'CIe after their appearance earlier that night, but she was not a PSICOM soldier. She had a different goal. She was going to find Yaag and make sure that she didn't lose anyone else.

“I guess Edenhall is my best bet...” She takes a deep breath and flies towards the heart of the city on her airbike.

~~~~~~

Ash never had much experience with on-field work. Or any of this. She wasn't a soldier, and nor did she want to be, but she did help PSICOM. She helped them defend Cocoon, and even helped with the Purge. Maybe not personally with the weapons, but it was some of her intel that led to the Pulse l'Cie hunts. Who was to say that she wasn’t as bloodstained as the soldiers themselves?

Edenhall, the heart of Cocoon, was off-limits to the public, save for some higher-up officials. She had never gotten a chance to go, but she knew that Yaag had multiple times to meet with the Primarch. Even images of the inside weren't revealed to the people. The Sanctum, in their own words (Cid had given her the intel), saw the people as nothing more than cattle.

She was grateful to the fal'Cie for everything they had provided her. A comfortable home, warm food everyday, an education in multiple fields, everything she considered to be "hers" was all because of them. The education system of Cocoon worked in such a way where anybody could pursue their areas of interest and have it fully paid for, and that only helped cultivate her passion for learning.

It was difficult for her to open her eyes to the truth. Even now, there were some blank holes, but what she had gathered was that the fal'Cie weren't right. Whatever happened to humanity, even if it was their downfall, should be all because of humanity. Not some self-proclaimed god with an ego as large as Cocoon itself.

She had felt this way for many years, but meeting with the Cavalry, learning who they really are, and talking to Yaag when he's not working had only solidified her opinion. Yaag had believed that perhaps the fal'Cie's rule would be best for the present and future prosperity of Cocoon, that maybe the Primarch wasn't entirely horrible. Somebody in his position couldn't afford to have doubts.

After all, he was the officer in charge of orchestrating the Purge, the massacre of all those innocent people in the name of Cocoon's peace and betterment. It was then when his hesitation to oh-so blindly follow the fal'Cie grew.

Ash flew into the building through a large hole in the roof, maybe caused by some kind of winged monster. It's not that she couldn't fight, she just didn't have much experience, so hopefully she could avoid confrontation.

Hopping off of her bike and grabbing her bag of essentials, she runs deeper into the building. It was large, and she couldn't help but feel small. Her footsteps echoed in empty halls, now cluttered with debris and things of the such.

Near the pale walls, however, she spots crystals. She stops, slowly approaching it. "It's... It's dead." And a Cie'th, no less. She shakes her head, stepping away. She had to keep going. She needed to find Yaag. She had already lost a lot, and she wasn't going to lose him too.

When a l'Cie, a human chosen by a fal'Cie, failed to fulfill their Focus before their brand reaches stage 13 and is fully developed, they're done for. They turn into a Cie'th monster and are forced to roam the world while wallowing in their own failure. If they did fulfill their Focus, then they'd slumber eternally as a crystal. Although Ash had heard things of crystalized l'Cie coming back to life hundreds of years later. Regardless, it seemed to be a lose-lose situation.

She thought back to Cid. And the Cavalry. His Cavalry. She had always agreed with their cause, and it would be a lie to say that she hadn't assisted them sometimes. Especially before the Purge. They were all a team back then.

Perhaps not to the point of betraying PSICOM, but she a small part of her couldn't help but wish to see them prevail. What could be better than a free Cocoon? She was sure that Yaag has caught on, but he didn't seem to say much. From what she had gathered, they were old friends. Apparently they went to school together.

Ash always liked seeing Yaag as happy as he was when he was with Cid. Well, happy was a questionable term. Cid always had a way of getting under Yaag's skin, and Ash found it somewhat entertaining. Yaag wasn't the easily flustered type, so Cid's slight teasing was always a blast in her eyes.

Cid was a l'Cie, made one by Barthandelous. Or something. The details were fuzzy. The truth had only come out recently. They all thought he was human. He must have felt terrible and filled with nothing but pure dread. He had both the power and the supplies to make his dream of a free Cocoon reality, but... He couldn't do that when he was just another slave.

"Rest well, my friend." Ash mutters, shaking her head. No use dwelling on what's done.

This is a new beginning. I need to move on.

As Ash ran through seemingly endless grand halls, she saw more and more Cie'th. "There were never this many l'Cie. Only the six... And Raines. But he's done for." She added with a sigh. "So who could all these people be? The only people tasked here were that one PSICOM elite squad..."

She gasps in horror as realization hit her.

"No..."

No, no, no, no, no... Please no...

She looks at her hands and notices how much they're trembling. She tries to steady her breathing. "The only ones with the power to do this are the fal'Cie, but they wouldn't. They wouldn't..." She tried to tell herself. But they would, and she knew that well. She just didn't want to believe it. She'd known that for so long, but this was horrific.

"Yaag... This didn't happen to him, too... Right..?"

She gulps, taking a deep breath. And let's hope that this doesn't happen to me either.

Ash turns around to keep moving, but abruptly stops upon hearing static in her PSICOM issued communication device. I thought communication lines were done for... Thank goodness.

"This is... This is PSICOM Director Rosch.." The voice rasped out, and she gasped. Yaag! He's alive!

"Attention all PSICOM and Guardian Corps units." He took a shaky breath, "Suspend l'Cie operations. I repeat, suspend l'Cie operations. All units should focus their efforts on evacuating the civilian population." He pauses.

Ash's eyes go wide at the order.

"I do not issue this order as an absolute. You are free... to make the choice." He seemed to rush the last part, as if it pained him to even speak. All she heard after that was something falling to the ground. And then more static.

"Director? Yaag? Please, come in!" She called, but nothing came through.

Shit.

~~~~~~

"Stay alive. We'll see you when it's over." Is all the blond l'Cie, (Snow Villiers, if Yaag's memory proved correct) said before leaving.

Yaag clutches his side, and he can feel the blood soaking into the black leather of his clothes. His ears rang, the pain in his head nearly unbearable. It all hurt so much. His left leg was numb. He would move it, perhaps adjust himself into a more comfortable position, but he knew that would be more than a stupid idea and would only cause him more pain.

All he could see was the pale walls of the hall, blurred and unfocused. These halls where he had walked so many times. All in the name of protecting Cocoon.

Yaag thought back to Ash. She would like it here, wouldn't she? Perhaps she wouldn't be too great a fan of Sanctum business, though. He chuckles, a bitter and raspy noise. That was always his department. She had often expressed how the military, let alone the Sanctum was not for her. Funny, considering how things ended.

He would be leaving her behind, but what could he do? He was helpless, bleeding out onto the floor of Edenhall. He drank his last potion in the battle against the l'Cie. Shockingly, they spared his life. But from his current situation, he realized that he was probably going to die anyway.

Yaag thought back to his mother and father. His father was PSICOM, through and through. Just like Yaag. His mother was Guardian Corps, but she had perished in battle when he was a teenager. He remembers the day vividly.

The rivalry between PSICOM and GC was always intense, and he had heard that his parents were no exception. His father had once spoke about how he and his wife absolutely despised each other at first. Clearly that didn't last long.

Yaag thought back to the way his father seemed to light up when speaking about his mother. "You have your mother's eyes..." A rare look for a man known for his serious demeanor. Ash had often talked about how serious and intimidating Yaag could be, too. Perhaps it ran in the family?

How did he even end up here...? He had always wanted to join PSICOM, and not just to follow in the footsteps of his hero, his father. He wanted to protect people. Ever since he was young, he had always feared the fal'Cie. Humanity was ruled by them, and it frightened him. Humans such as himself were so small and pathetic in their hands.

It made him feel less small, telling himself that he's fighting for the people rather than the fal'Cie. He remembers the words he uttered to himself before what he assumed would be his final battle. "This is for humanity. Nothing else."

The main purpose of the PSICOM division of the Sanctum military was to fight threats from Pulse. It was what they specialized in. Yaag knew that he could do all his drills in his sleep, but it turns out that it still wasn't enough.

He didn't want to stop the Pulse l'Cie. Of course, he didn't have a choice. They were a threat from Pulse, after all. So the responsibility of seeing them through to their executions fell onto his shoulders.

He felt strongly about wanting to stop them at first. It was what the people desired, but it seemed that his views had grown over time. He realized that perhaps he was on the wrong path all along. Everything he used to feel so strong about then just felt stupid now.

But all of his doubts, his slight hesitation, none of it stopped him from going through with the Purge orders. None of it stopped him from having all those civilians murdered in cold blood because of him.

A soldier's duty was to follow through with their orders regardless of what their thoughts, and he understood that. A pawn of the Sanctum, a pawn of the fal'Cie. That's all he was. All the fear he had as a boy came flooding back.

He can feel the blood trickling down his forehead. "This is... my punishment, isn't it?" He gasps for air, "Very well,"

After everything he had done, all the blood spilt under his orders, this is what he deserved. He had lived fighting for Cocoon, and would die having fought for it until the bitter end, even if it was all a lie. He knew since the very beginning that it was all fake. But he had fought for it regardless. All he did was for the people.

Or so he told himself.

He smiles. "I accept it..."

And with that, Yaag lost track of time, dizzy vision turning to black.

~~~~~

Every single one of the hallways, all once illuminated by Phoenix through large, glass ceilings, seemed to lead to one door. It was so quiet. It felt easy to ignore the absolute apocalypse happening just outside, all within the city Cocoon proudly called its finest. She looked up at the door, and then back down again. If not here, then...

By her foot is another Cie'th, but this one still seems to be alive. Barely, with it's body half crushed by a pillar, but it was reaching to her. She crouches down, gently touching the cold crystal of its body, "... You're hurting, aren't you?"

She takes a closer look at the beast, and within all the crystal was the face of a soldier, twisted and contorted with pain. She knew quite the handful of PSICOM soldiers since she was always hoping to make new friends, and found this face to be quite familiar. No...

Her heart ached, so she figured that maybe her best bet was to put it out of its misery. If she were to help it, there was nothing it could do to become human again.

All of the Cie'th bodies she had seen throughout Edenhall weren't branded. They were made Cie'th by the fal'Cie by not giving them a Focus, yet still making them l'Cie. That's cruel and disgusting. It was said that Cie'th didn't think nor feel, but she didn't think that was the case. This one seemed sad and alone.

She reaches for her blade. "I'm so sorry."

~~~~~~

Putting her blade away, she gently pushes open the doors. Small chunks of white had been floating through the air ever since the portals from Pulse had opened, but the effect seemed to be heightened as she traveled deeper within the building.

As she pushes the double-doors open, she's met with a cloud of black smoke. She coughs, but pushes through regardless. All of the rooms she had been to so far had been huge, but this one was much bigger than the rest. Intricate patterns ran across the floor, which seemed to be a bridge above the ground floor, and in the center was the ruins of a huge machine.

It was the Proudclad, Yaag's personal airship and normally his weapon of choice aside from his trusty sword. Destroyed, it was barely recognizable. The black smoke was coming from it.

Ash's eyes drift over to a body laying face-down next to it. She could recognize that black uniform from a mile away.

Before she had a chance to register her own thoughts, she was sprinting towards him. She crouches down, gently turning him around so she could see his face.

"Yaag!"

He was unconscious, his face covered in his own blood. His uniform was in tatters, pristine and dark fabric covered in dirt and grime and blood and god-knows-what.

For a moment, Ash feared that she was too late, but he was still breathing. Barely. His side was drenched in his own blood, and Ash stared at her now-red hand in horror.

"Oh my..." She was already on-edge, but seeing him like this broke her heart. What if she hadn't have found him? Then what?

Ash digs through her bag, "I know I have Phoenix Down somewhere..." She rummages through the inner pockets and triumphantly pulls out a tuft of Phoenix Down. First-aid wasn't her expertise, but hopefully she could wing it.

(Get it? Wing it?)

Perhaps Ash would have laughed if she wasn't freaking out. She holds the glowing feathers to his body, and was relieved to see that they had worked, fading into thin air. Legend had it that the feathers of a phoenix allowed a lost fall to be returned to its body, and she had thanked her past self for buying some extra from her local terminal.

In her arms, Yaag stirred. Ash let out a sigh of relief and gently brushed his bangs out of his face. She pulled out a spare cloth and began dabbing at the wound on his forehead, wiping away all the blood.

Yaag groans, silvery eyes fluttering open. "Ash?" His own voice sounded foreign to him, and all he remembered was being ready to die after a hard-fought battle against the l'Cie and even his own soldiers, now turned Cie'th.

"Yeah. You're not getting rid of me that easily." She whispers, giving him a gentle smile. He tries to push himself up into a sitting position, but he found himself clutching his side and unable to move his left leg.

"Damnit."

Ash helps him up, propping him up against the remains of his own ship.

"My... My apologies... You shouldn't have to see me like this.." He says through gritted teeth, but Ash places a finger to his lip. "Nope. None of that. I'm not taking any of it. I'm here to take care of you and get you to safety."

"You... You always have been there to save me. Thank you." Yaag whispers. It's all he can manage, and Ash leans forward, giving him a small kiss on the scar on his forehead. That had always been her favorite spot to kiss him, and even though he was barely alive, he still found his heart fluttering.

That's right. She had been there for him when he had gotten shot in Palumpolum as well. It seemed like ages ago, but it truly wasn't that long ago. So much had happened so fast.

"I'm just doing my job. Don't try to force yourself to talk, okay? You're really beat up right now." Her hands go to take off his coat, but she stops, "May I?"

Yaag nods, and she starts by unlatching all the straps that ran across his chest before undoing the buttons on the coat below, slipping it off his shoulders. She was careful to not accidentally hurt him. That was the last thing she needed right now.

His bare chest is no new sight to her. In fact, it's one of Ash's favorite sights. Firm muscle carved by endless battle experience, long-healed battle scars, the wounds from the gunshots in Palumpolum. But even so, Ash gulps at the sight of the wound on his side and the bruises running across his body. “They really did a number on you, huh?” And Yaag couldn’t help but agree.

Ash never was fond of the sight of injury, and that was made even more clear by how much her hands shook as she tended to his injuries. . Yaag shakes his head (or at least, tries to), "You don't need to. Just allow me." He tries reaching for the cloth, but his hands tremble and it pains him to even move. Pathetic...

"You are in no state to take care of yourself right now. I'll be fine. Just, uh, focus on staying awake for me, okay?" Ash pulls out a few more supplies from her bag. Not only did she try to stay prepared for any possible situation, but she had become close friends with many of Yaag's soldiers, and she knew just how dangerous their jobs could get, so she tried to carry extra healing supplies.

She starts tending to his wounds as best she can. She's not great, not by a long shot, and her constantly squirming at the sight and lack of experience only made it more difficult, but she tied a knot in the bandages she wrapped around him and buttoned his coat back up.

Yaag's vision shakes, but he tries to keep his breathing steady. Ash pulls out a flask and pops it open, holding it to Yaag's mouth. "Drink it. It's a spare potion."

Yaag nods and gulps the liquid down. He can already feel himself becoming more awake at the sweet taste. He feels guilty that she has to see him in such a pathetic state, but can't help but feel grateful nonetheless. She had saved him. Again. She truly is my everything, isn't she?

"Do you think you can walk?" She asks, and Yaag takes a look at his good leg. "I think I can manage."

"Alright. I'll be right back, okay? Gonna go grab my bike. It was a long walk here." Ash gives him a smile, and he tries to smile back for her as best he can. She runs out of the room, and comes back only a minute or two later. She's panting, but hops off of her airbike and back next to him.

Yaag attempts to push himself up from the ground, but he pathetically crumbles back down like a sack of rocks. He mentally curses himself. He couldn't afford to be this weak.

Ash wraps an arm around his shoulders, and he's thankful for the support. He's a good head taller than her, so the position was a bit awkward, but he managed to pull himself back to his feet thanks to her help.

"We're almost there, Yaag..." She says, helping him limp over to the bike. Helping him onto the seat, Ash then sits down. "You doing alright?" She asks.

The numbing of the potion had begun to wear off, and Yaag found himself unbearably tired. But he needed to stay awake. He was pretty sure his leg was broken, and clearly his left arm was not in its best state either. His head hurt. Ah, probably a concussion, He softly groans, resting his head on Ash's shoulder.

"Will be... alright. But what of my... my soldiers?"

"Really is always about work with you, huh?" She chuckles, "They're working on relocating the populace to Gran Pulse, just like you ordered."

Yaag nods.

"But you can worry about all that later. Just stay awake. Some of your - No, our - people set up a medical camp nearby." She puts her hands onto the handles of the bike and begins driving, her pace slow.

Ash can feel Yaag's gentle breathing on her neck, and she's glad. She's so glad. "I love you a lot, you know."

"... love you too." He mutters, "Was... prepared to die... Thank you."

Ash smiles. "I don't want to lose you. Ever." She stops, just feeling the weight of his body against her, his gentle breathing tickling her neck, "Save your strength though."

"Mhm..."

Ash kept driving, but she always made her to check on him every once in a while.

"...'alk to me." Yaag whispers.

"What was that, my dear? Did you say something?"

"Talk to me. I want to... hear your voice... Need to stay awake."

"Oh, of course!"

~~~~~~

Ash finishes her story about some of her school days just as they arrive at the camp. She opted for a fun-filled story instead of their current events, not wanting to overwhelm him. He chuckles. I could listen to her all day...

"Alright. We're here." Ash parks her airbike, stepping back onto the ground before reaching for Yaag, helping him down as well. He held her as support, trying to keep his weight on his good leg.

Ash clears her throat, her tone firming as she addresses the PSICOM team, "Hey, everybody." She puts the hand she wasn't using to support Yaag up, "It's Ash. I've got Director Rosch with me, and he's not looking good. Do your thing."

Yaag gives the medics a firm nod as they carry him away into a tent, and Ash watches him leave before taking a deep breath. Welp, no time to rest.

"Hey, Ash." Says one of the soldiers standing guard around the area. Monster attacks would be more frequent now that they didn't have the luxury of being protected by the fal'Cie.

"Heya!" She grins at him, grabbing one of the spare guns they kept around, "I'm going to go help some of the people near the relocation area now. Look after the Director."

"Stay safe, Ash. The Director'll rip me apart of anything happened to ya." The soldier laughed, "And he's already intimidating enough as is."

Ash chuckles, thinking back to when she first met Yaag. It was hard to even stand in his presence without feeling absolutely terrified. They’d come a long way since then.

"No kidding." After giving the soldier a friendly high-five, she turns around. "See you!"

Ash leaves to return to her trusty bike. "I'm no soldier, but it's my responsibility to help the people." She says to herself as she sits down, grabbing her keys.

Regardless of what happened, she knew that she had to do the right thing.

[buckysbest]

CHAPTER SIX: WILDFLOWER Paring: ex!Bucky barnes x reader Warnings: swearing, cheating, almost smutty near the end if you squint Series Summary: Bucky realizes one can only run from their problems for so long before they must returns home but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to be there when he did. Word Count: 2.6k A/N: this series is based off the album “calm” by 5sos. if you want to follow along in the album, listen to Wildflower while reading this! thanks for supporting the series! i really love you guys! let me know what you think of the series!

series masterlist // masterlist

The blush that sat on your face sank deep into your skin as you lost your color. Bucky took note of your sudden change and concern captained his face. “Y/N… you ok?”

“Bucky...Y-you lied to me?”

“Y/N, what are yo-”

“You lied to me about last night Buck,” you sighed, hiding your face into your nervous hands. His head grew heavy with responsibility as it dropped with an exhale before he placed his hand on your knee and gathered your attention.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I should have said something. I just figured since you didn't remember it, well”, his hand momentarily left your leg as he ran it across the back of his neck. “I just figured that you didn't want to…”

 Before you could start, he quickly continued. “Look at me,” Following his queue, your silent eyes lifted to meet his. “I don’t know what you remember, but I was absolutely sober. I meant every word that left my lips even if you didn’t. That being said, we just fell into a little bit of normalcy and I really don't want to lose that Y/N.” He searched your face anxiously for a response.

You looked down at your newly tied sneakers with a small grin. “I forgive you bucky, but I need you t-” 

Fury’s sharp voice interrupted yours as it rang over the PA system on the course, “All recruits and essential personnel need to hurry their asses up into this building, we have reports of a storm coming our way and it does not look pretty.”

Other agents holding clipboards began walking faster as they made their way inside, encouraging you and Bucky to do the same. As you got into the building, even more agents filtered through you.

 “Hey, Steve’s on his way over... look, why don’t I meet you after we all get settled and have dinner?  Like 7ish?” he smiled.

You smiled back as you tried to control the butterflies that took over your stomach. “Y-yeah, sounds good.” He was quickly swept away by the blonde super soldier who was walking towards the conference room at a timely pace. You headed toward Tony’s office, taking a minute to process the events of the last hour or so. You had managed to lose yourself, replaying the dream-like encounter in your mind on loop, before reaching your destination. You shook the feeling off and allowed your knuckles to rap gently on the door's glass surface as Tony opened the door at the same time, almost trampling you in the process.

“Yea- wait no. just hold that till i get there. I’ll be- oh hey Y/N! Greg, give me a second, I’m on my way to the conference room now” he said before flipping his earpiece off. “Here to accompany me to the training briefing?” he laughed.

“Actually, I just wanted to hand off my paperwork. I need to help Pepper with the schedule for tomorrow,” you smiled warmly before grabbing the top few pages from your clipboard and extending them toward him.

“Oh right! Have fun and tell Mrs. Potts, she looks fabulous for me,” he smirked, taking the clipboard from your hands. You let a chuckle fall from your mouth as you passed him, heading towards Pepper’s office, only a few strides away. 

Again, you found your knuckles knocking on a glass door as Pepper invited you in. “Y/N! It’s great to see you! Whatcha got for me?”

You handed her your clipboard and the remaining papers on it, “I made a list of possible sparring partners with the assistance of Sergeant Barnes during the evaluation which include estimated time based on skill level. It’s a rough outline and doesn’t include instruction time but it's a start” you smiled.

“God, you are the best!” she groaned in relief, flipping through the pages of your detailed work. “Way smarter than any of the other meatheads conducting evaluation,” she laughed before placing the clipboard on the desk and grabbing another. “I managed to get a lot done during the course training so I really don’t need much else. Could you just put this on Tony’s desk when you pass his office?”

You nodded, grabbing the new paper work before pausing, “Oh! Also Tony told me to let you know how fabulous you look,” you giggled, exiting the room and dropping the papers on Tony’s desk next door. After leaving a note that it was from Pepper, you glanced down at your watch and smiled at the timely end to your day.

You found yourself leisurely wandering to your room, dropping your work of the day at the door then closing it behind you when you finally arrived. Your hands found the wooden knobs of your dresser, pulling it open then sorting through your neatly folded pajamas in an attempt to finally get comfortable. Landing on the black t-shirt that your hands now rested on, you slid off your tight leggings and revealing sweatshirt, throwing on the oversized garment in their place. You asked Friday to play some background music as you grabbed a book off the shelf that sat next to your bed before finding a seat on the long gray couch that adorned your back wall. 

Lost in the annotated pages of your favorite novel, the rain that thumped on your window added to the wonderful soundtrack your room emitted as you began to sink back into the familiar life you held here before you left. The time had escaped your mind until a soft knock thumped at your door. Your heart picked up drastically as you glanced at your watch again, this time denoting 7:00. He was punctual if nothing else.

You opened the door gently and welcomed the tall brunette in with a small nod, “Sergeant..” you giggled. 

“Ma’m” he laughed back with a small bow before making his way into your room and  reclining across your previously occupied couch. His eyes glanced over your bare legs drawing a light blush to your cheeks as you sat next to him, curling up into the corner of the gray loveseat. The comfort you had earlier in the day decreased at the lack of people around you as he started, “So you were saying something earlier.. You wanted something?”

The smile on his face infected your heart with warmth causing your body to shiver. “Y-yeah… I just wanted to know what happened last night… I mean I know what happened but I also, uh, well don’t and I know you would have never done a-anything like that but uhm..” you chuckled nervously, letting the hands that were on your knees fall down your smooth legs in an attempt to find any comfort hidden in this situation. 

His hand met yours as he assured, “Nothing happened, I promise. There were some heated words exchanged and, uhm” he cleared his throat before you cut him off with a chuckle. 

“No Buck, I-I know... “ you pointed to the now poorly covered hickey, letting your eyes fall to the ground with a small smile on your face. “I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't missing anything crucial.”

“Of course…” he said with a smile, standing up and offering you a hand. You grabbed his hand and he gently pulled you up from your seat, bringing your faces a little too close for your comfort.

“Nothing more happened than a mistake. I-I’m sure it won’t happen again” you mumbled, quickly becoming consumed in his eyes.

A cheeky grin danced onto his face as the gap between you seemed to be closing at an alarming rate. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

As you held the distance, centimeters from his face, you quickly cracked under the heavy blush that sat on your cheeks and stepped back in a sheepish manor, quickly dropping his hand and opening the door.

“Sargent,” you nodded, this time your eyes not leaving the floor.

“Ma’m.” A blush found itself on his smiling cheeks before he finally exited the room.

As you closed the door, you sank to the floor, holding your hands to your wildly beating heart.

You were made.

                                                               •••

The night passed quickly and it wasn't long before you found yourself in the gymnasium of the training hall, present for the next phase of recruitment week. The groups were divided by skill level and prospects were matched by Pepper using your scouting report. 

Director Fury led the mornings commencements, taking his rightful place upon the platform at the front of the room. “Ok listen up. We are going to start dividing into groups, pay attention and follow orders or consider yourself cut. Howell, Barker, Morton, Hale, Preston. You have been assigned to Agents Romanoff and Barton, please follow your evaluator, Agent Rooney to the training room. Cole, Duran, Gonzales, Sims, Fields. You have been assigned to Agents Rogers and Barnes, please follow your evaluator Miss. Y/L”

As continued to give instructions, you raised your arm with a smile and waved, gathering the attention of the prospects who swiftly found their spots in front of you. Turning around, you began reading off the script while leading them out of the main gym. 

“All right recruits, if you would follow me this way I will be taking you to an offshoot of the training facility. These rooms will be occupied by you and your instructors while I observe your progress and take notes on your performance. You will each battle in hand to hand combat and receive basic corrections from your instructors. This test is about strength and coordination just as much as your ability to receive criticism and be coached,” you paused, stopping in front of a black door. “This is where you will enter momentarily. In the event of an emergency, we will make a right here to return to the hallway we just came from, then another right to return to the main gym. When we enter, you will find a seat against the back wall and your instructors will be in to meet you briefly. Does anybody have any questions?” The small group all shook their heads in response. “Great, good luck!” you smiled, opening the door and letting them inside. Black walls encased the small room and the only illumination was found hanging above the giant white circle that laid upon the center of the black mats. You peeled off through the other door lining the walls and were greeted by two smiling faces upon entering.

“Did you scare ‘em?” Steve laughed as he and Bucky passed you.

You winked before giggling,“Only a little.” 

The boys entered the room, giving a very similar speech to you before calling up the first match. You watched through the one way mirror as Daniel Cole, a tall brunette built like a steam roller and Alexa Gonzales, a small brunette with an athletic build, took their places on the edge of the circle. They quickly entangled themselves, Alexa mercilessly placing hits on him with her unbelievable agility until she found herself suddenly pinned under the much bigger Daniel. 

“That was a really great job Alexa. You had him on the ropes but he managed to grab your arm. Can anybody tell me what shifted the momentum here?” Steve paused. Met with silence he continued, “With you being so much smaller than him, you can't do the normal reversal here which leaves you open to the arm bar he caught you in. Uh, let me- Y/N? Can you come here for a second?” Steve called through the glass. You tried to call back, quickly remembering the room was he couldn't hear you through the soundproof walls. You got up quickly and peaked your head through the door. 

“How can I help?” you offered with a smile.

“Can you demo an arm bar reversal on Bucky for them step by step I can walk them through it?” 

You nodded as you laid down on the mat, allowing Bucky to lock you in the arm bar and Steve to begin. “So with his legs significantly longer than her arms, she can't reconnect her hands to pull herself up,” he paused prompting you to move into your next  position. “Instead, she bridges her shoulders off the ground and rotates, pulling herself under his leg then up and over as opposed to..” his words quickly faded away as you laid on top of Bucky. You could feel his heavy breath on your neck as you held the position, desperate for Steve to say break. As if he could read your mind he speech quickly stopped causing you to jump to your feet and offer a hand to Bucky, eventually pulling him up.

 You disappeared back into the eval room more breathless and red in the face then you’d like to admit. As they continued their instruction, you found it harder and harder to maintain your composure with Bucky demonstrating throw after throw. It drove you mad watching him do what he does best and your close contact didn't help your growing want for him. As Steve handed out correction after correction, Bucky became quieter, eventually pulling Steve in and mumbling something in his ear. Steve nodded with a smile before Bucky began walking towards your door.

He slipped into the room and gently closed the door behind him. 

“Hey, do you need any help with eval?” Walking behind you, he peeked over your shoulder to read your notes and his closeness burned through your hold body. 

Without thinking, you turned your head and connected your lips to his. He quickly broke the kiss, shock written on his face through his raised eyebrows and slightly agape mouth. 

You braced yourself for the cold rejection you knew too well but much to your surprise, he pulled you up, connecting your lips again. His hands slammed roughly into your hips as he lifted you up prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you towards the door, flipping the lock before practically slamming your back into the dark wall behind you. Your teeth caught his bottom lip, drawing a groan from his slightly swollen lips, before breaking quickly to pull off your shirts. He released a quiet needy whine at the absence of your lips but was muted by them smashing into his again. Your hands ran down his chest as he put your feet on the ground and trapped your body against the wall with his large arms, opting to continue his kisses down the side of your neck. His hands ran the sides of your body feverishly, reacquainting him with the details that he had desperately tried to forget over the past year and a half. Your lips then connected with his neck, reliving memories of your own as you gently began to gently suck and nibble at his sweet spot, being careful not to leave a hickey.  

“God, you are the only one who fucking does that right,” he groaned before your lips met again. His hands slid down your waist and on to your ass as he squeezed hard enough for you to know there would be a bruise in the morning. He then moved his kiss down to your collarbone and gently bit down. Your hand found his shoulder as you lightly pushed him back, leaning for a last kiss before breaking all contact between you.

“You don’t get to leave marks if I can’t Buck....” you said softly, scooting under his arm and throwing your t-shirt back on. You tossed him his shirt next and as he slid it on over his confused face you unlocked the door, propping it open slightly. You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door before, your hand found his now clothed chest. 

You pressed up onto your tippy toes to reach his ear, “I can't be a side piece Sarge and you know that. If you decide to end it with the girlfriend, then you can mark me up. Any way you want,” you whispered before fixing his disheveled hair and fully opening the door.