#in case it’s not obvious I slightly aged link down in this au from how old I think he actually is

[skyward-floored]

Impa has had plenty of battle experience in her life.

Countless days spent training in both tactics and fighting itself, long hours plugged into doing nothing but honing the skills of her tribe and other abilities she’s been gifted with. Learning the most effective ways to use them all together, and win any fight.

But there’s really no way to prepare yourself for a battle in which both your past lover (who can’t exactly be called her husband since Impa hasn’t even spoken to him in almost two decades, and has also for some reason aligned himself with an army of monsters) and son (who is unaware of the identity of either of his parents, and shouldn’t be on the battlefield anyway since he’s not even of age) are both running around in on opposite sides, making it impossible to keep track of either of them.

Impa huffs as she dodges a spear, worry and exasperation clashing together within her.

She’s lost sight of Link for the third time already this battle, and only has a vague idea of where Volga ended up. Link has demonstrated he can handle himself, but he’s still only a trainee, and Impa’s seen (even from a distance) what sort of trouble he can get into.

And Volga...

The questions that have been swirling around in her head ever since the battle start to come to life again, but Impa ignores them, focusing not on the hurt and confusion and instead on her current goal.

“Where did the boy go, Link?” she asks the captain stationed at the keep she’s helping defend, slashing past a bokoblin and narrowly saving a soldier’s head.

The captain frowns, holding his shield up to block a stray arrow. “I lost sight of him, all I know is he took out a whole squad of bokos and ran off,” he says, forehead creased.

“I saw him heading to the abandoned fort ma’am,” a soldier calls towards her. “Someone said that dragon-man is back there, I think he went to go fight him off.”

A cold feeling steals into Impa’s chest.

“Idiot boy is going to get himself killed,” the captain at her side mutters, slicing viciously at a monster. “Trainees shouldn’t be out here at all, no less fighting dragons. Boy barely looks old enough to shave.”

Impa more than agrees, but doesn’t waste her time with words, leaving the keep in the captain’s capable hands, and taking off to go find Link.

...and Volga.

She follows the soldier’s words, heading to the fort he’d pointed out. Sure enough, as she gets closer, she sees streams of fire burst into the air, hears the clash of weapons and familiar shouts.

Her heart skips a beat, and she runs past bokoblins and moblins alike, pausing only momentarily to fight her way past a few.

None of the monsters that get in her way are terribly tough, but they take time to fight, and Impa is getting anxious, casting continued glances at the smoke and fire nearby. She’s seen firsthand today how good of a fighter Link is, but she’s also well aware of Volga’s strength.

And Link... will need help.

The last bokoblin falls and Impa runs for the fort, arriving just in time to see Volga slam a clawed fist into Link. He cries out as he’s thrown across the cobblestones, landing in a motionless heap, and Impa bolts, blood roaring in her ears.

She slides to a stop in front of Link when Volga tries to advance, putting herself between them and blocking his path. The dragon knight stares at her, shadowed eyes narrowed, and Impa glares back, unmoving in her defense of Link.

She sees no sign of the man she fell in love with in his eyes.

“How noble,” Volga sneers, embers falling from his mouth. “Enjoy your shared grave.”

The fire around him begins to intensify, and Impa’s eyes widen, knowing immediately what it means.

“Oh no...” she breathes, and turns back to Link in a panic, getting to a knee and touching his shoulder. He shifts at her touch, but just a little, his eyes flickering when she shakes him. Volga growls, and Impa whirls back towards him, knowing she doesn’t have enough time to pull Link out of here.

The air around Volga wavers with heat as flames lick up his form, and then he moves forward, blasting a huge plume of fire directly at them both, hotter than death mountain itself.

And right before the flames hit, Link stumbles in front of Impa, a hand outstretched like he hopes to hold back the flames with nothing but his arm.

Impa barely has enough time to be horrified (he’s only a boy, he shouldn’t be protecting her, she can’t watch her son die—) before the flames engulf them both.

...

But instead of burning alive in her former-lover’s flames, Impa instead feels a gentle warmth.

It’s equally soothing and powerful, and she opens her eyes, not even realizing she’d closed them. The sight that meets her makes her startle, and she stares up at Link in utter shock.

Golden light is pouring around Link— around her son, in a wide, protective glow, encircling and keeping them both safe. All of him holds a shine, but his left hand is glowing especially bright, triangles outlined on the back in a beautiful luminescent gold. A sign of which Impa would know anywhere and had already begun to suspect, but almost doesn’t want to believe, to face what it truly means for them all.

Link is the Hero.

Volga’s flames finally peter off, and the light fades, but Link still holds his hand up, fingers shaking a little. Volga studies him, giving Link a calculating look as his eyes dart across his face, and Impa finds herself holding her breath.

Will he notice the similarities, will he pick up on the features he and Link share, will he put the pieces together—

But Volga appears not to recognize anything amiss about Link, or even herself, and he barely spares her a glance as he growls something about not being beaten, and departs the battlefield.

Link shakily falls to a knee almost the moment he’s gone, and Impa resists the urge to grab him by the shoulders and make sure he’s okay, instead joining his side not too quickly.

“H-how...” he croaks, staring at his hand in equal awe and terror. “What was...”

“The triforce of courage,” Impa supplies, and he looks at her, his face covered in grime and sweat, and layered with a healthy amount of shock.

She takes a deep breath as what the meaning of this truly signifies begins to sink into her chest, fear and pride and several other emotions all vying for her attention. But she ignores them all, especially the sharp ache at the realization her son has a long fight ahead of him.

A monster howls somewhere nearby, accompanied by a soldier’s yell, and Impa closes her eyes, then reopens them, packing the emotions away with practiced ease.

“...I’m afraid we don’t have time for me to explain everything to you right now,” she apologizes, offering Link a hand up. “But I promise I will. At the moment, we have a battle to win.”

Link swallows, looking like he wants to say more. But then he straightens his shoulders and nods, letting her pull him to his feet. Impa can feel his hand still faintly shaking, and she can’t resist giving it the lightest of squeezes before she lets go, quickly returning her attention to the battle still raging outside the fort.

They can figure all of this out later. She can figure all of this out later.

Right now, they have a battle to win.

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [References Bullying and Homophobia]

Prompt: AU Rivalry Teamup

Summary: Sent away to a delinquents academy, Freed knew life wouldn't be easy. That was proven to be the case when he met Laxus, a cocky, aggressive arse who used his fists over his words. At least, that's what he thought when they first met, but things can change over the span of a year.

Notes: This is the sixth submission for Fraxus Week, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This one has a brief descrition of bullying and period typical homophobia.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The London School for Delinquent Boys

Year 1890

Location: London, England

"We've a new boy in class today," The teacher – Mister Porland, that's what he'd called himself – said as Freed stood before the blackboard. "Freed Justine. I expect you all to behave and not cause any trouble with him."

Freed would have picked another way to be introduced if he'd been granted the choice. He would have much rather not had an introduction at all, and instead he'd slip into the back of the classroom, wave off all the questions that would be aimed at him, and try and get through the first day without any complaints. Instead, he'd been forcibly marched to the front of a class of about thirty sixteen-to-seventeen-year-old boys – all of whom had been taken from regular education and placed in a disciplinary academy – and been served up almost on a silver platter.

He had to wonder if this was a punishment in and of itself. A hazing from the teachers.

It wasn't that he was intimidated by them, of course. He'd earned his place in the school just like them, and he could more than handle himself, but he didn't care for the fuss. This was as close to jail someone of his age and social stature could undergo and, due to an enthusiast habit of reading and a slight flare for the dramatic, he'd decided prison rules might best serve him. Rule number one was to keep your head down.

A few jeers, exclamations and a patronising whistle filled the room, quickly quietened by the teacher. Freed made an effort not to pay attention to it. Animals, all of them. At least he could be safe in the knowledge that he held moral superiority over them, not that he'd state it out loud. Idiots tended not to like being told that.

Keeping his head down would be harder than he thought.

After he was allowed to take his seat, he was forced to walk through the lot of them to the back of the classroom. The jeering continued, albeit quietly, and someone tried to trip him as he walked. He ignored them, and nearly got to his seat when a particular classmate caught his eye. He wore an arrogant sneer, had a scar running down his face, and had shoulders larger and broader than a student their age ought to have.

Freed would have thought the boy attractive were it not for the look of challenge in his eyes, one Freed knew all too well. This boy was testing him, wanting to see if he would be a victim in the school or someone to be respected. To show him, Freed halted his step, made eye contact with the boy for a few moments, and then continued walking to take his seat.

A little 'hm' was the blonde's only response, but Freed paid it no mind.

Two weeks passed before the blonde actual did anything. The two weeks consisted of Freed getting used to his new surroundings, idiots trying and failing to one-up him in the hopes of looking tough in front of their idiot friends, and the blonde's presence being constant but in the distance. That changed when the blonde approached him in the dinner hall.

"Hey," The blonde grunted in greeting, storming towards Freed. His body was tense, coiled up and ready for a fight. "You think you're better than me or something?"

Freed didn't know why the blonde thought that, exactly, but his response was instant. "Better than you, yes."

He felt that was a fair way to think. The blonde had proven himself to be nothing of note intellectually, he barely spoke in lessons and when he did it was usually to make an unwarranted joke or to get an answer wrong, and he seemed quick to anger. More than once, he'd lurched at another student, looking ready for a fight he'd probably win. The fights never happened exactly, but they seemed like a constant risk. So yes, Freed did think he was better than him.

"This whole thing might 'a worked out in yer old school," The blonde growled, taking another step forward. Freed didn't flinch. "But actin' like yer hot shit and that yer smarter than everyone here ain't working. You're here like the rest of us, and you ain't better just because your pa's got money."

"I don't think I'm better than everyone here," Freed retorted, also taking a step forward. "But I am better than an idiot who can't shut up and takes his hobby by rolling around in the mud, somewhat like a little pig. My betterment was never in question."

The insult wasn't his best. The reference to the blonde's position in the rugby team tenuous at best, and Freed's supposed superiority complex might have shone through – but it annoyed the blonde, so it served its purpose.

He would have rather not been shoved in the chest, though.

Stumbling back slightly, Freed made a choice. He had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to get into another fight, it was partially the reason he was there in the first place, but the blonde deserved a punching. He seemed to be something of an unofficial head-boy, and the fear of him was obvious to anyone who would look, and as such Freed felt a punch to the face was long overdue. He was a student like anyone else, and while others might want to lie down and take it, Freed didn't.

That was why he punched him. It hurt more than he thought it would.

Their fight was hardly that. It lasted less than a minute, and anger overpowered its elegance. Freed perhaps got another two punches in, and received one in return. Teachers were storming over the moment it started, and were dragging them away before it could get out of hand, but Freed felt good to hit the bastard.

"Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine," Their head teacher yelled, voice filled with a rage that Freed felt was slightly exaggerated given the situation. "My office, now."

As Freed was dragged – literally dragged, which again was an overreaction – into the office, he was sure of three things. He'd already completely failed in his goal of not bringing any attention on himself; his father was going to find out and want him thrashed for getting into a fight again; and Laxus Dreyar had perhaps the most interesting name he'd ever heard.

---

"You heard what he did?"

"Nearly killed him."

"Apparently they're gonna kick him out."

"Nah, he's the team captain."

Freed didn't pay attention to the conversations happening around him as he ate. After three months of being in the academy, he'd learned it was best not to. Most of the people had nothing of interest to say, and the people who were interesting were the ones likely to try and start a fight with you if they knew you were listening. He'd learned that when a younger boy, Natsu, tried to punch him and Freed had ended up dumping a bowl of cereal over the man's head and temporarily strangling him with his tie. The detentions and lack of breakfasts for a week had been worth it.

In truth, he'd forged a comfortable place for himself in the school. He was known as the boy who gave Dreyar a black eye, and that title came with its perks. Mainly that most people would leave him alone. He and Dreyar had… something. He couldn't tell if it was a truce, or simply a stalemate. But either way, Freed would enjoy the calm and only reignite the fight should Laxus need another punching.

Other than that, Freed was forgettable in the school. People ignored him, he ignored them, and everyone went on as if he hadn't arrived. The school was fine – teachers were far too happy to punish, but that was to be expected – and their lessons were as good as his old schools had been. Had his parents been scammed, the tuition fee had been high?

His parents were an issue. They hadn't visited, but they were in constant communication with the head teacher, and apparently their 'donations' meant Freed was put under a spotlight by the staff. Maybe that was why they were so quick to punish: they were being paid to do so. Annoying, but it could be worse.

The food, however, was abysmal.

Mashed potatoes and sausages would be a good meal, but the potato was half cooked, and the sausages were tiny. He'd eaten as much as he could stomach within a minute, so he absently played with the food with a slight huff. The rain, as tended to happen in England, was heavily pouring and Freed knew the moment a teacher saw he'd stopped eating he would be forced into the yard for recreational activities. The eating hall was at least partially warm, and he had to admit that the conversation behind him was of interest.

"What's that got to do with anything?" One boy shrugged.

"They don't wanna piss off the rugby team, they all worship him," The other explained. "If they kick him out, everyone gets angry about it, and they fight back. They'll never do it."

"You didn't see the kid," The first dismissed. "Half dead. They've gotta do something."

"Doesn't seem like Laxus to just beat a kid up for no reason," The second argued, and Freed did have to agree. Laxus was an argumentative and aggressive man, but he did tend to stick to people his own age. Mainly those who knew how to fight back, as well. "The kid must have pissed him off."

"Romeo, nah," The first laughed, and Freed frowned. "Kid's nothing. Wouldn't bother Laxus."

Romeo. Romeo Conbolt. It took Freed a moment to put a face to the name, and when he did his fork stalled and his body tensed. He had heard the rumours of a kid being beaten half to death, of course he had, but he hadn't heard who it was. He wouldn't have cared, were it not for the fact he had seen days prior the beating Romeo had endured. Laxus hadn't been the one to beat the kid, it had been a group of six of his classmates.

Freed had stopped it, of course. They were all thirteen, he was seventeen and the boy who got into a fight with the school's toughest figure, so they scarpered when he yelled at them to stop. He told the kid to go to the nurse, and saw the issue as finished with.

Had the kid used Laxus as a scapegoat? Or had it been the group of brats?

Either way, Freed was a man of principles. As much as he wouldn't mind seeing the back of Laxus and his insistence of approaching problems with his fists, it wasn't fair to have him blamed for something he hadn't done. Especially when a grown man beating a kid was something that could get him taken from the school and placed into an actual jail. That wasn't fair. He stood, and quickly started to walk towards the head teacher's office.

"Enter," The headmaster, Mister Fernandes, said once Freed had knocked on the door. Freed entered, and waited in silence. "Mister Justine. It's rare you're here voluntarily."

"I suppose so, sir," Freed agreed, ignoring the insult. "Sir, I have a complaint to make."

"Of course you do," Mister Fernandes sighed, removing a pair of spectacles, and leaning forward in his chair. "You do know that this is a disciplinary institution, and I don't act on the word of my students. If you have issues with your treatment then it's not my concern."

"I understand that sir," Freed assured him. "But my complaint is more about the treatment of another student: Laxus Dreyar."

"You needn't worry about that," Mister Fernandes dismissed the complaint, despite the fact Freed had yet to make it yet. "I know that you and he have something of a… personal vendetta against one another, and I'm sure that the rumours about what he has done have reached you. I will be following a strict set of procedures which will likely end up with him incarcerated for what he did to a younger boy. He'll be out of your hair soon, so don't concern yourself about it."

"That is not my complaint."

"If this is something to do with your silly feud then I'm really not interested by it," Mister Fernandes sighed. "As I said, he'll most likely be out of here within the month. If you can't be civil for that long then that's a bad reflection on your own character. And boys your age really should be fighting their own battles."

Freed bit back a retort, wanting to point out that the time he did try to fight his own battle he was dragged away and reprimanded. Instead, he calmed himself and spoke again with the level of respect a teacher believed they deserved.

"Laxus wasn't the person who attacked Romeo, sir," He said, and the headteacher paused. "It was a group of his classmates. Six of them, I believe."

"And you know this how?" Mister Fernandes asked.

"I walked in on them doing it, sir," Freed admitted, not flinching when the teacher looked at him with sharpened poise. "They stopped when I approached, Romeo went to the nurse's office and I expected him to tell you who actually was responsible, rather than placing the blame on Laxus. Had I known earlier what he'd done, I would have spoken to you sooner."

Mister Fernandes took a moment, thinking before sighing. "He did, actually. He gave me a list of names, before returning a day later stating that it was actually Laxus to blame, and that he'd lied initially as he was worried about the consequences."

"And you believed him?" Freed asked before he could stop himself.

"Are you questioning me, Justine?"

"No, sir."

He was.

"You're dismissed, Justine. Thank you for speaking with me," Mister Fernandes waved a hand in his direction, and Freed nodded curtly and went to walk away. "It was big of you to do this, Justine. Well done."

"It's what's expected of me, sir," Freed dismissed.

"Good man," Mister Fernandes nodded, before waving Freed off again.

Freed left, closing the door behind him. He immediately turned to the right and started walking towards the courtyard, which was still being battered by the heavy rain. As he walked, he was completely unaware that Laxus was leaning on the wall outside of the office, looking at Freed with an expression of mingled bewilderment, disbelief, and belligerent respect.

---

The idiom that the enemy of one's enemy was one's friend was a complicated one. It was limited, didn't work for all situations, and seemed to fall apart under any scrutiny. Freed had long since decided that it didn't make much sense when thought about, and yet he found himself subscribing to the idea when it fitted him.

That was the reason he found himself walking into the rugby team's changing room.

Laxus seemed to notice him approaching the moment Freed walked into the room, and stopped mid-way through changing into his kit to stare Freed down. Freed wasn't put off by the intense and lingering gaze of the man, walking towards him without hesitation. The room seemed to quieten around him, and Freed couldn't be sure if it was because of his presence in the room or because Laxus apparently changed in the back corner away from most of his team. That worked well for what Freed wanted, at least.

"The hell are you doin' here?" Laxus said, voice growly and angry sounding. He always sounded like that with Freed, but it seemed more intense today. Perhaps this how he acted before a match.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Freed stated.

"No," Laxus rebutted immediately.

"You might enjoy doing it."

"Wouldn't be a favour, it'd be an opportunity," Laxus smirked, seemingly proud of himself. Freed had to give him credit, it was somewhat clever. "So, what's the great and powerful Freed Justine need from a man like me? Lessons on how to be an idiot; that's what you keep calling me. Or is it a few tips on rolling around in the mud? Y'know, because that's all rugby is, right."

"The captain of the team you're playing," Freed began, rather than rising to the bait. "Hurt him for me."

"What?" Laxus asked, a laugh tainting the word.

"Hurt him," Freed repeated. "Kick him, punch him, give him a concussion if you're able to. Or perhaps accidentally kick him in the balls, that'd be rather nice to watch. Just do whatever you can to make him cry."

"Why?" Laxus grinned, clearly enjoying this.

"You're playing my old school's team, and he's the reason I got sent here in the first place," Freed admitted, ignoring the quirked eyebrow he got. "He deserves more pain than he gets, I suspect. I want you to remedy that."

"And why should I?" Laxus said, voice a little taunting as he continued to change into his rugby kit. Freed forced himself to ignore the strong body that was revealed to him when Laxus removed his shirt. "We ain't exactly friends, are we? Maybe I'd have more in common with him than I do with you."

"Do you need an excuse to hurt someone?" Freed asked, and Laxus held his gaze. Freed eventually relented. "I can tell you the team's weaknesses. The coach wont change tactics and so they can be exploited."

Laxus thought for a moment. "Nah, you don't need to. I'll do it."

"You will?" Freed asked. He… honestly hadn't expected that.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "So long as you watch. If I'm gonna put on a show, I wanna know I'm gonna have an audience."

Laxus pulled on his shirt, much to Freed's quiet disappointment, and sat on the bench before his locker. He leant against it and looked at Freed expectantly, who was looking back with confusion and disbelief. His arrival in the changing room was stupid at best – he'd seen the man who had gotten him there in the first place and old resentment bubbled up faster than Freed would have liked – and as such he had thought Laxus would dismiss him. It's what Freed would have done were the situation flipped.

"Why?" Freed asked.

"This place is shit, anyone would wanna punch the guy who put 'em here. I don't get to do it, but it'll be fun to do it to some other guy," Laxus shrugged, standing up and cracking his back when the coach called for the team to leave for their warmups. He stepped past Freed, but halted once they were all alone. "Be there, pretty-boy."

"What?" Freed stammered slightly. Had Laxus just…

"You think I don't know the reason you're here?" Laxus chuckled a little, but it lacked the edge it normally did. He lowered his eyes slightly and spoke softer than Freed was used to. "You two get caught? Or did he catch you with some other guy and squealed on ya?"

Freed shouldn't answer. He and Laxus weren't friends and admitting anything to him was stupid, but he found himself whispering, "The latter."

"Fucker," Laxus growled, equally quietly. Freed didn't know what to think of it. "Yer right, he needs a kick in the balls. I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Freed whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Laxus dismissed. "Besides, I guess I kinda owe you for stopping me from getting expelled, don't I?" Freed frowned a little. That had been half a year ago, and he didn't know that Laxus even knew of it. Laxus didn't seem to notice Freed's change in body language and continued talking with a smirk. "And, you never know, having a pretty little rich boy watching me might make me play better."

That was all Laxus said before slowly dragging a knuckle over Freed's cheek in a gesture so light but so intimate that Freed felt a shiver run over him completely. Laxus grinned at him, pushed his knuckle against Freed's lips for a split second, before leaving Freed alone in the locker room, heart racing and eyes wide.

---

"How did you know?"

"How'd I know what?"

"The real reason I'm here."

Both Freed and Laxus were sitting on the school house's roof. Laxus had been taking a drag of his cigarette when Freed had approached him and sat bedside him, and the blonde absently offered Freed one. He didn't take it, and for a few moments they had been sitting in silence before Freed had broken it.

It was the last day of the school year. Freed would be dragged back to his home, where his parents would no doubt have a list of grievances about his behaviour throughout the year. His father would make threats about how if his behaviour didn't improve immediately, he would be punished off the back of the man's belt. Nothing would come of it, of course – the elder Mister Justine stopped punishing Freed that way the moment Freed was of an age where he could fight back – but the yelling would be near consistent. It always was when Freed met with his parents now.

He wasn't going to complain. There was no point. Instead, he was going to tie off the loose ends of his school life, particularly with Laxus. Because, when it came to the beautifully, and now somewhat flirtatious man, Freed really didn't know where he stood.

"It's obvious, when you've been here for long enough," Laxus explained, puffing out a stream of smoke. "Yer not obvious, I don't mean that, but when you've been here for years you look out for the signs."

"And what were the signs?"

"You never spoke about why you're here other than saying you got into a fight. I'm guessing it was with the guy who told on ya," Laxus shrugged a little, shifting slightly so that his side was pressed against Freed. "Everyone here wears their story like a badge of honour. Getting into fights, beating kids up, stealing from places. They're all good stories and get's you a lot of credit in a place like this. The worse you were, the more respect you get," Laxus chuckled. "There's only one thing that gets you in here that you don't talk about. Yer queer, and you get found out."

"You don't talk about why you're here," Freed pointed out, and Laxus turned to look at him with a lazy smirk.

"My dad saw me with the neighbour kid," He laughed. "He wasn't even good looking, felt sorry for him really and wanted to know what it's like to kiss a guy. But dad walked in, threw a fit, and I've been here since I was thirteen."

"That's awful of him."

"Maybe, but this place ain't so bad once you get used to it," Laxus shrugged again, leaning back against the wall he was resting on. "Kinda funny, really. I'd say about a quarter of the guys are here for the same reason we are. If you know what to look out for, you can have a pretty good time."

"You could have told me," Freed laughed a little. "I've been rather bored."

"If I told ya, I wouldn't have you all to myself," Laxus grinned, and blew a puff of smoke directly into Freed's face. Freed simply quirked an eyebrow. "I've been spending the last couple of weeks showin' off to ya on the field and I think it was working pretty well. Hardly fair on me if I got you all excited only for ya to use it on some other guy."

"You're a manipulative man when you want to be, Laxus," Freed smirked, leaning just a little closer to Laxus. "But you haven't done anything yet, have you?"

"Maybe I want ya to be desperate for me," Laxus whispered, voice low and rumbling. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to make the move on me."

"If that's true, then maybe you've waited long enough."

They were close now, and Freed wanted to be closer. Laxus' hand was resting against his thigh, and Freed leant further in. He could smell the smoke on Laxus breath, see the slight dilation of the man's eyes as he grinned, and slowly brought their lips together in a slow, tentative kiss.

His first kiss. A beautifully electric, smoky kiss that set Freed's very soul on fire.

He tangled his hand into Laxus' short hair, tugging at it slightly and relishing the slight groan that he was given in return. Laxus pushed into him further, and Freed practically melted.

Eventually, when a harsh gust of wind flew over them and shook them from the spell of their kiss, they pulled apart. They were quiet for a moment, the gravity of what happened only just hitting Freed. He had just kissed the brutish, angry, brilliant man he had once expected to hate, and had felt more alive than ever before.

"You better be here next year."

"Nothing could stop me."

"That's right, pretty-boy."

They shared a smirk, and leant forward to reignite another perfect kiss.

[asian-hero]

if possible, could you do todoroki with the “marry me” prompt?

A/N: Thank you for sending in such a fluffy request

Also, (1) this is a pro hero!au since I always age these guys up unintentionally, (2) (Y/H/N) = your hero name, and (3) (Y/L/N) = your last name

“Marry me.” from this prompt list (feel free to send in a sentence(s) and a character)

Summary: Three times that you think Shouto is going to propose to you, and the one time he actually does

Words: 5,876

One: Out having a fancy dinner

It wasn’t often that you and Shouto were able to have date night. With both of you becoming pro-heroes, and having your own agencies, it was quite a struggle for the two of you to make time for each other. However, with meticulous planning on your part, and a whole lot of memorization on Shouto’s, you both were able to come up with a schedule that you accommodate for at least one date night a week. Occasionally you could squeeze out two, but honestly, you were just happy that you could actually see your boyfriend and not have it be at a crime scene. 

Tonight, the two of you had decided that it was time to treat yourselves by going to one of the fanciest restaurants possible. It’d been a while since the two of you went out, as most of your dates had taken place at home, where there were no prying eyes, but tonight was different. Shouto had told you that he’d booked a reservation to a restaurant that Momo had recommended. He gave you no other details about your rendezvous, other than to tell you to dress your best, and not in your old, worn out All Might sweatpants. 

You gave him hell for that one.

In all honesty, you felt more nervous about this date than usual. Perhaps it was because it was the fact that Shouto was the one to take initiative this time, choosing the location and time. Or perhaps it was because Deku had let it slip that Shouto was thinking about proposing to you. 

It truly wasn’t either of your faults that Deku told you. Your lovely, wonderful, and handsome boyfriend really should’ve known that the poor man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. So, by the time the two of you were on a patrol one night, alone, he should’ve known that the number one hero would immediately spill, simultaneously congratulating you and apologizing for spoiling it. You could remember pushing down your feelings of happiness, instead trying to calm down the man, saying that he couldn’t be crying now, especially while under a streetlight, where it looked extremely suspicious.

That was two weeks ago. So, yeah, you could say that you were a little bit nervous about tonight. 

While your shaky hands were struggling to zip up the back of your dress, you heard a soft knock at the bedroom door. Walking over, you opened the door, sending a sweet smile towards the love of your life, who was currently looking at you as if you were a goddess.

“Sir,” You said, straightening out his tie, “This isn’t a grocery store, quit checking me out.”

He smiled back at you, his hands finding their way to your hips. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You look great,”

Humming, you turned around, removing yourself from his grip and revealing your half-way up zipper. “I’ll look even better if I’m zipped up all the way.”

Shouto didn’t need to be told twice as he finished zipping you up, his hands lingering on your back just a bit too long. Clicking your tongue, you moved yourself away from him, turning back to face him.

“C’mon, handsome. We’re gonna be late if you keep feeling me up like that.”

Before he could even let out a retort you linked your arms together, leading the two of you out the door and into your car.

Once you had arrived to the restaurant, and the valet had taken your car, the two of you entered, greeted by the sounds of gasps and whispers. Ah, yes, this was why you two didn’t go out often. As much as you knew what being a hero entailed, there were times that you wished you could just walk around and not be recognized. However, because you knew Shouto put a lot of thought into this, you bit your tongue, and instead focused all of your attention on him. 

The two of you were brought to your seats, where he made sure to pull out yours, and then jokingly mumble about how heavy you were, which you awarded with an unamused stare. As you two were ordering and pretending as if the entire restaurant wasn’t staring, you couldn’t help but anxiously glance from your menu, to him, and then back to your menu before he could see you. This happened a few more times before he finally decided to say something:

“Is there something on my face?”

You snapped your head up, tilting your head slightly.  “No, why would you ask?”

“You keep looking at me, I thought you were trying to tell me something,”

You could feel the heat creep up your cheeks, a wave of embarrassment crushing you. Clearing your throat, you looked back at your menu, not willing to make eye contact. “Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help that I have such a pretty boyfriend.”

It was Shouto’s turn to blush, as a nice crimson color rose up his neck, making you let out a small snicker. Before you could tease him anymore, the waiter had come around. After he promptly freaked out over the two pro-heroes he was currently serving, he took your orders, and left with a bow, saying that your dinner should be out shortly. 

Without the distraction of the menu, you couldn’t help but feel naked. Fiddling with your hands, you were staring at everywhere but the person you were supposed to be on a date with. Even though the two of you were practically married, if the amount of years you’d been together had anything to say about it, you still couldn’t help but feel anxious. You really wished that Deku could’ve kept his damn mouth shut, because now you felt about as awkward as you had been on your first date. 

As if sensing your unease, Shouto spoke up:

“So, I saw Bakugou trip and fall on his face while on patrol today.”

With those few words, he was able to bring the two of you into an animated discussion. You were grateful that he was able to make you feel comfortable with such ease, and that he never called you out on your awkwardness. 

Once your dinner had finally reached your table and your hungry mouths, the conversation came to a lull. Sometimes you’d speak up, but you mostly ate your dinner in comfortable silence. Somehow, though you didn’t notice it, you had knocked your napkin off the table and onto the floor. You didn’t pay any mind to it, but your partner seemed to notice it almost instantly. 

Looking at him with curious eyes, you watched as Shouto stood from his seat, and kneeled down on one knee in front of you. Unfortunately for you, this all occurred while you were happily sipping down your wine. Once you saw the tuft of red and white hair beside you, and the position he was in, you felt your self choke on your drink, some of it going up your nose.

Coughing loudly, you covered your face with both of your hands, an embarrassed look coming across your features. Popping back up, Shouto pat your back lightly, attempting to help you with any wine that lodged itself in your throat.

“Shouto, what the hell are you doing?” You hissed, desperately trying to shield yourself from onlookers who were worried over your outburst.

“You dropped your napkin,” He said, holding up the offending article, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

While normally you would be taken aback by how sweet your boyfriend was, with what was currently going through your head, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that you actually thought he was going to propose in front of such a large crowd, how you, one of the top ten heroes in Japan, nearly choked on a glass of wine. Sinking behind your hands, you groaned quietly.

“Please just get back in your seat. People are staring,”

“I think people are looking more at you than me,” He raised his hand to wipe your face with the napkin.

Moving your head, you gripped his wrist. “I know you did not just try and wipe my face with a floor napkin,”

He rolled his eyes, but moved back into his seat and handed you his own napkin instead. As you wiped yourself down, you couldn’t help but feel the heat from your embarrassment creep up the back of your neck. The rest of your dinner was in silence, with the occasional teasing remark from Shouto, and your grumbles of how you’d kill the man if he kept it up.

For the next few days, (Y/H/N) chokes was trending on Twitter. Bakugou never let you live that down.

Two: Watching the stars together

The cold air brushed against your cheeks as you hopped from one rooftop to the next. It was one of those nights where not a sound could be heard, yet some heroes opted to patrol, just in case someone suspicious popped up. As you took a deep breath, you couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to the stars shining bright above you. If you looked close enough, you could see Orion, bathing you in his light. You felt yourself smiling back up at the stars, a serene expression melting into your features. 

You were grateful for these peaceful nights, even though you’d much rather be curled up in bed. While of course, any sane person wouldn’t want to be walking around in the dead of night, you found that even the dark could be comforting, with the stars acting as your guide. 

Since you were so wrapped up in your own inner monologue, you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you. You also didn’t notice the hands that were reaching out to you, but once the hidden figure placed their hand on your hip, you swung into action. Gripping the offenders arm, you twisted your way out of their grasp and pinned their arm behind their back. Glaring at the person, you narrowed your vision to see them better, only to be both shocked and relieved at who it was.

“Shouto?” You called out hesitantly.

“Hey,” He said, saying it as if this were just a normal, everyday occurrence.

Letting go of his arm, you placed your hand on your chest, as if trying to catch your breath. “Why would you do that? I could’ve hurt you!”

He rolled his shoulder, attempting to relieve any pain your grip had caused him. “I tried to text you, but you weren’t answering. I didn’t think I’d get attacked,”

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you felt a slight pang of guilt shoot through you as you saw three missed texts from Shouto. All of them asking where you were. Looking back up, you rubbed your neck sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” You started, before pointing towards the sky, “I got a little distracted.”

Shouto glanced up at the sky, then at your embarrassed face, back to the sky, and then towards his phone. After a few more beats of silence, he moved towards the ledge of the roof, sitting down and letting his feet dangle from the side. He motioned for you to sit next to him, which you happily did. When you looked to him in confusion, he merely shrugged his shoulders. 

“Our shift is over, we may as well enjoy the rest of the night.”

For a second time that night, your face lit up in happiness. Not only did you get to gaze at the stars, but you got to do it with the love of your life. Soon, you found yourself rambling about anything and everything about the stars and planets, like how the Big Dipper was one of the easiest identifiable star patterns in the sky, or how there were a multitude of planets that you could see with the naked eye. When Shouto had a hard time finding the constellations, you gently grabbed his hand and traced the outline of the stars, and giggled when a childlike expression crossed his face once he found it. As you continued to ramble on about the night sky, Shouto couldn’t help but stare at you in admiration. He found it cute that you got so excited over something seemingly so mundane. The way your eyes glowed whenever you’d recite a fact that you learned, or the fact that you spoke quicker the more invested you were. It was days like these that made him love you even more than he thought possible.

“So that’s how—honey? Are you listening?”

“Ah,” It was his turn to be sheepish, “I apologize, I was just a little distracted by how ecstatic you are,”

You ducked your head, heat creeping up your neck. “Well, who wouldn’t be ecstatic about the galaxy? It’s so vast, and we’ve only scraped the surface! Knowing that, even though we’re just on one small planet in a gigantic universe, we’re never alone, because we have the stars to guide us,” You paused, trying to find the right words, “It’s just, there’s something beautiful about that.”

As you looked up at the sky, you didn’t notice that Shouto’s gaze was still on you. In fact, his eyes had never really left you. 

“Well, do you know what else is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes and snorted, but answered nonetheless. “What, me?”

“Yes.”

Snapping your head towards him, you looked at him incredulously. “C’mon, be serious here,”

He tilted his head to the side, his sign of confusion. “I am being serious,” He leaned towards you, a small, uncharacteristically content smile spreading across his lips, “I think you’re more beautiful than anything in this universe.”

“I think you’ve been hanging out too much with Kaminari,” Pushing him away slightly, you fanned your face.

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Looking back up at the stars, the two of you listened to the night ambiance, with some cars driving by, the humming of the old streetlights, and the whistle of the wind. You found yourself leaning into his side, warming yourself up as you traced the constellations, quietly muttering which were which. His arm wrapped itself around your waist, making sure that you were secure. As the two of you sat together, you could feel his eyes on you, how whenever you’d point up at the sky, he’d hum, pretending to be paying attention. If you turned your head to catch his gaze, he’d look away from you, a slight blush dancing across his face. Frowning, you lightly patted his cheek in an attempt to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” He responded, still not looking at you.

You pouted, letting out a small huff. “Shouto, why aren’t you looking at me?”

You could see him glance at you from the corners of his eye. “There, I looked.”

Scoffing, you waved your hand, dropping the subject. In all honesty, the fact that you still had this sort of effect on him made you giddy. You were happy that you could still make him feel flustered, even after all these years. As you continued to take in his face, you noticed the purple bags under his eyes, how he seemed to be hiding his exhaustion. Sighing, you ran your hands through his hair, feeling your heart melt when he leaned into your touch.

“You said our shift’s over, yeah? Let’s go home,” When he didn’t seem like he was moving any time soon, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “We can cuddle in bed, Shouto. It’d be much more comfortable than a rooftop,”

Once you pulled away and stood up, you felt his grip on your hand tighten. Looking back at the man, you let out a noise of confusion. He finally stood as well, resting his forehead on you down. Before you could question his behavior, you found yourself freezing at his words:

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,”

Slowly, he began to sink a little further, causing you to panic. Was this really the time that he was going to propose? It certainly was romantic, with the stars hanging above you, and the city being peaceful. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach. Just as you were about to call his name, you heard snoring. 

Peering down, you noticed Shouto, laying like a deadweight in your arms. Ah, he was sleeping. Groaning, you faced up towards the sky, praying whoever was out there to give you the strength to slap this man for giving you not one, but two heart attacks. Of course he wasn’t going to propose here, it was too spontaneous for him. 

Shifting his body, you managed to drape him on your back without waking him up. Once you found a position where you were comfortable, and were sure that Shouto wasn’t going to fall, you set out to your shared home. You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face.

By the time the two of you got home, your back hurt and your arms were exhausted. It was okay though, as the next morning, Shouto treated you to a lovely breakfast in bed.

Which he bought from your favorite cafe, of course.

Three: Cooking together (or at least attempting to)

“Shouto, honey, what are you doing?”

“You said you needed room temperature butter,”

“Yes,” You started, trying to hold back your laughter, “But why are you using your quirk to melt it?”

If anyone had seen Shouto, the number three hero, attempting to use his quirk to melt the butter into submission, they’d convinced themselves that they were dreaming. Unfortunately for you, you knew of your boyfriend’s stupid behavior, so this was just another day for you.

Today, you woke up with an intense craving for lemon cupcakes. So, as any person would, you walked over to your kitchen and began to prepare. About ten minutes into your preparation, a sleepy Shouto stumbled into the kitchen, complaining about how you were up too early, and that you should come back to bed. When he saw that you had no intention of coming back to sleep, and that you were making some treats, he pulled on an apron and asked what he could do to help. While it was very sweet that he wanted to help you out and spend some time with you, Shouto was an absolute mess when it came to the kitchen. The poor man would live off of instant soba if he lived by himself. 

So, here you were, standing in the kitchen, watching as your pro hero boyfriend attempted to melt the butter to room temperature, before realizing that he had melted it too much, and then attempted to freeze it back, which resulted in you having a frozen block of butter. As he let out a quiet apology, you just sighed, putting the block of ice into the microwave, allowing it to defrost from its icy hell. 

“You know,” You said, turning away from the microwave to measure the flour, “Sometimes I wonder if you have any braincells.”

He let out a soft snort, not bothering to dignify your words with a response. Once the butter had finally defrosted, albeit still a bit cold, you finally began to combine all of your ingredients. As you mixed the dry ingredients together, you called out to Shouto.

“Hey, can you juice those lemons?”

With a hum, he moved towards your cutting station, where he cut both lemons in half. As he was squeezing the lemons, he felt a slight stinging in his hands, but he paid no mind to it. He probably got a paper cut earlier in the day. It wasn’t until you turned away from your bowl and gasped that he realized that he’d actually nicked himself with the knife.

“Honey, your hand!”

Before he could even react, you rushed out of the kitchen, only to return minutes later with a box of hero themed bandages in one hand, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the other. Skidding to a stop, you placed the bandages on the counter, grabbed a paper towel, and doused it in rubbing alcohol. You gently grabbed his bleeding hand, muttered a small sorry, and pressed the damp napkin to his fingers. 

“You know,” Shouto started, an amused glint in his eyes, “This wasn’t a life threatening injury.”

“It’s about to be if any blood got into that lemon juice,” You warned, though your glare was anything but threatening.

Once you finished disinfecting the cut, you pulled out a Ground Zero bandaid, and as you attempted to put it on his finger, Shouto pulled his hand away, almost looking insulted. Sighing, you put the bandaid back in the box, shuffled around a bit, and then pulled a Deku bandaid instead. When he still refused, you furrowed your brows, then hesitantly searched for a Shouto bandaid, only for the box to be pulled away from you. After a few more seconds of shuffling, he eventually pulled out a (Y/H/N) bandaid. He held it out towards you proudly, causing you to scoff. 

“You’re such a dork, it’s just a bandaid,” You teased, wrapping it around his finger securely. 

With that, the two of you went back to work, with Shouto being more careful about what he did, and you observing every single task he’d do. Finally, you two were able to get the cupcakes into the oven without any other mishaps. With the time you had before the cupcakes were done, you quickly whipped up a buttercream frosting, which you had to guard from your lover’s surprising sweet tooth. Luckily for you, by the time the cupcakes were out of the oven, your frosting was still there, though you had a grumpy boyfriend to deal with.

Once you allowed for the treats to cool down, with a little help from your thermostat of a man, you two piped the frosting into some bags and began to decorate. You decided to divide the job evenly, with six cupcakes being yours, and six being his. While your frosting skills couldn’t compete with a real baker, you still thought you did a damn good job. They weren’t terribly uneven, and none of the frosting was tipping over and spilling, so that was a good sign. You couldn’t say the same for Shouto’s, however. After you had finished your last cupcake, you turned to Shouto’s, wanting to see how he did. 

It took all your self restraint to not just laugh at him.

His frosting work was, subpar, to say at best. Frosting was covering his hands, there were gaps in between the swirl he was attempting to make, and it was starting to slip. If anyone saw them, they’d assume that a child decorated them. You didn’t even take a breath before he spoke:

“I don’t want to hear it.”

You snorted, trying your best to hold in your laughter, “I wasn’t going to say anything,”

He turned his head to look at you, an unamused expression painting his face. It was only a few seconds before you broke down, covering your mouth to conceal the giggles and wheezes that were spilling out. 

“Oh my god, honey, it looks—“ You took in a deep breath, which only resulted in more laughter, “It looks like a five year old did it!”

He set the piping bag down and crossed his arms, pouting. “It’s harder than it looks,”

Letting out the last few giggles you had in your system, you pulled his arms away from his chest, making room for your body. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you pecked his jaw.

“Don’t worry, it has a lot of, character.”

There was a beat of silence, before Shouto smeared the remaining frosting from his hands onto your face. Gasping, you tried pushing yourself away, only to find yourself trapped by his arms. As you attempted to wriggle free, Shouto was only getting started, as he now grabbed his piping bag and began to squirt frosting into your hair.

“Todoroki Shouto I swear to everything holy I’m going to—“

“Hold on, stop moving. I’m trying to paint,”

“I’m not a canvas, Sho—“

He shushed you. Sighing, you closed your eyes, accepting your fate. After a few seconds, Shouto finally put down the bag, wrapping his arms around your waist once again.

“Okay, finished.”

Cracking an eye open, you noticed the absolute love-struck look on his face. It was odd, since you were certain that he’d drawn a mustache on you, and many other things. Ducking your head down, you folded in on yourself.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Glancing up at him, you saw the curiosity dancing in his eyes. Honestly, you never felt as embarrassed as you had in that moment. 

“Stop looking at me like,” You paused, searching for the right words, “Like such a love-struck idiot.”

He tilted his head, moving even closer, if that were even possible. “I don’t know how else to look at you,”

You moved your head to the side, feeling too close for comfort. One day, this man was going to give you a heart attack with how sweet he could be. When your eyes met once again, you couldn’t help but remember what he’d said to you a few nights back. How he told you that he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. Looking back, you wondered if he was just content with this, living together, being together, but not necessarily married. After all, you two already acted as if you were married, so there’d truly be no difference in your lives. 

Still, you couldn’t help but ask.

“Hey Shouto?”

When he hummed in response, you took a moment to steady your breath. “Do you ever think about getting married?”

There was a pause, the air filled with a tense aura. It took him a few moments to respond, most likely due to the shock from your question.

“Maybe one day,” He took your hands in his, running his hands across your knuckles, taking an extra second when it came to your ring finger, “I’m not sure.”

You felt your heart break a little, but you smiled. Of course, you weren’t going to leave because he may not want to get married, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit let down. Perhaps Deku had gotten it wrong? Maybe he was just talking about whether or not the idea of marriage sounded good, not necessarily that he wanted to get married to you. 

As if sensing your change in mood, Shouto’s grip on your hands tightened, gaining your attention. “Are you alright?”

Putting your negative thoughts in the back of your mind, you nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from his grip, heading towards the cupcakes that were long forgotten.

“C’mon, these cupcakes aren’t going to eat themselves!” 

+ One: By complete accident

If there was one person that you hated most in the world at this current moment: it’d be Ochako. 

Not only did this woman come to your home and brag about getting engaged, but she also asked, or, more so forced, you to take care of her dog while her and her partner were away on vacation. A “pre-honeymoon,” she called it. You were both happy for her and envious of her. Of course, you agreed to take care of her dog, after all, it’d only be for a few days. How hard could that be? Even Shouto had agreed, so it couldn’t be that bad.

Well, it wasn’t necessarily the worst time of your life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like dogs, in fact, you loved them. They had such cute faces, and you found it adorable that they would get all excited to see their owner every single day without fail. However, Ochako’s dog, Mochi had a personality that was as if you combined Tenya’s, Deku’s, and her personalities into one being. Somehow, the dog could go from being a complete and utter obedient angel, to a hyperactive monster. One moment Mochi could be relaxing with you and Shouto on the couch, minding her own business, and then in two seconds she’ll see an animal on your TV and start barking all over the place while running laps in your house. At one point you saw her get scared at her own reflection and start barking. 

It also didn’t help that she was pretty smart, too. Mochi had gotten into your closet at one point, and made a mess of your clothes. When you went to go and discipline her, you saw her curled up next to Shouto, staring right at you. With the both of them looking so cute, it was impossible for you to do anything, so you just begrudgingly sat beside the two of them, feeling as though you’d just been played. 

One of the things that you hated to do the most, though, was picking up her poop. While you absolutely adored dogs, and you probably would want one in the future, picking up their poop was not your favorite activity. You had tried getting Shouto to be on poop duty, but he outright refused, and really, you couldn’t blame him. Mochi was a big dog, and with big dogs, comes big poops. 

This is what led you to your current predicament. It was currently seven in the morning, and here you were, standing outside, waiting for Mochi to go. While you’d love to sleep in and catch up on some much neglected self-care time, you knew that if you waited any longer, she was going to do her business in the house instead. Every morning, Mochi would need to use the restroom, at a specific time. While of course you understood, the poor baby has been holding it in all night, you also couldn’t help but feel that seven in the morning was too early to pick up large dog poop. 

After what seemed like forever, she’d finally done her business, and was now happily prancing around the yard. In the time that she took, Shouto had wondered his way out of bed and onto the back porch, where he’d struck up a quick conversation with you, which was interrupted by your need to pick up Mochi’s mess.

As you bent down to pick up the mess, you could hear Shouto faintly call out:

“Marry me.” 

Pausing, you took a minute to process what was being said to you. Once the realization finally set in, and you were finally caught up, you quickly picked up the poop and tied off the bag, throwing it in the garbage can. Looking up at the man, you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“What did you just say?”

Even he seemed to be shocked at what came out of his mouth. One hand went to cover his mouth, while the other gripped the railing. 

“Well—“

“You did not just ask me to marry you while I was picking up dog shit.”

He nodded his head, letting go of the rail and heading back inside. “I’m glad we’re forgetting this moment. Good bye,”

“Shouto don’t you dare!”

You ran up the deck and slammed the sliding door shut before he could leave. When he didn’t turn to look at you, you sighed.

“Out of all the places you could’ve proposed, you just had to choose the most embarrassing one,”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” You yelled, placing your hands on your hips, “I didn’t even think you wanted to get married to me!”

He looked at you like you were the craziest person in the world. As if you’d just said something sacrilegious. “Why would you think that?”

You deadpanned, using all of your self restraint in that moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because a few weeks back I asked, and you said, ‘maybe one day.’”

“And? How does that translate to me not wanting to marry you?”

“Maybe, Shouto! You said ‘maybe.’ That usually means ‘no!’”

He crossed his arms, a slightly irritated look on his face. “Or ‘maybe’ means that I’ve been trying to propose for the past few weeks but I’ve been to afraid to go through with it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly confused at where this conversation was headed. “What?”

Shouto looked up towards the sky, as if summoning all of his patience and courage, before taking your hands and looking at you.

“I’ve tried to find the right place to ask you, but every time it’s just ended up with me choosing not to do it at the last second. Since I’ve already messed it up, I may as well ask you now,” Getting down on one knee, his lips stretched into a soft smile, albeit a little shaky, “(Y/L/N) (Y/N), will you marry me?”

You could feel the tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. As much as you wanted to rip into him about proposing to you while picking up poop, you couldn’t think about anything else other than how happy you were. Sinking down to your knees, you tackled him into a hug, sending you both flying to the ground. 

“Of course I will,”

Pulling you away slightly, he checked your face to see any signs of hesitation, or any other signals that were opposing what your mouth was saying. When he found none, he finally broke out into a grin, cupping your cheek.

“I have your ring in our room. It’s in the sock drawer,”

You snorted. “The sock drawer? You do realize that is one of the worst places to hide something from me?”

“To be fair, I was planning on proposing once I got the ring,”

“When was that?”

Silence. When he didn’t respond, you giggled, taking his silence as an answer. Leaning down, you captured his lips with yours, sending all of your love and happiness into it. He seemed to get the message, as he deepened the kiss, with one hand traveling down to your lower back while the other was still caressing your cheek.

You two could’ve stayed there forever if it weren’t for the hairy monster who pounced on the both of you, effectively crushing almost every bone in your body. Swatting her off, you looked down at Shouto to see if he was okay. 

You didn’t have anything to worry about, as his laughter soon began to ring through the air. Smiling down at him, you got up, extending a hand for him. As the two of you got up, you couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous this whole day had been, and it was only seven thirty. 

As you watched Shouto go back into the lawn to get Mochi, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were, to be engaged to a man like that.

Though, you’d definitely be telling your friends and family a different story of how he proposed.

[likeholymary]

— one with the force

the phantom menace i: 1.8k words

AU: What if the Clone Wars never happened, but instead Darth Sidious cast aside the Rule of Two, forging a new way for the Sith and began amassing an army of Sith warriors to overthrow the Jedi and the Republic?

A/N: hello friends! so, i actually posted part one for this series a few days ago, but ultimately decided it wasn’t how i wanted to start this series. i also just don’t want to have to write for the entirety of the phantom menace, lol. however, Rhea’s story will still be the same, a young padawan just abandoned by her master, Dooku, who has left the Jedi Order to chase his families fortune. she still grew up with Obi-Wan, and hopefully we will delve some more into their past together as younglings soon:) this chapter will take place towards the end of the phantom menace, so we will be quickly be on chapters with bearded Obi-Wan!! please comment any thoughts or ideas you would like me to incorporate into the story! reblog if you’d like, and comment below if you want to be added to the tag list i will be starting very soon! again, thank you all for reading!

warnings: angst. mentions of abandonment.

She had once had such future, such promise, and now, she felt as though she were nothing. Being abandoned as a padawan was not something many Jedi experienced often, if at all, and yet here she was, the third padawan of her master, abandoned, alone.

Master Dooku had left so quickly that twenty-one year old Rhea did not have much time to process what the cause could be. She supposed she should call him Count Dooku now. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. What was once a great Jedi Master, was now a man who had wealth beyond measure and power that was rarely attainable.

Had it been her fault? What had she done to have failed him, to cause him to leave the Jedi Order he so dearly loved? She asked the question so many times, but she knew it was better to not reflect on the situation so selfishly.

Surely, it could not be entirely her fault. She recalled how he seemed to wane in the Force, his light turning into a flickering speck over the course of the past few years she had known him. What power he had as a Jedi that once blazed soon became disillusioned, something she could feel each time they spared or sat on the brig of their ship while on mission. He had retreated, growing into something she no longer knew, and when he left it should not have come to such a shock.

But she could not forget the fatherly affection he had for her, the kind eyes he would spare her in the library while she studied tirelessly over the Jedi prophecies and scripts of old.

She could not forget his encouragement, nor his sarcastic tone, nor the way he would lift her up and direct her in the ways of the Force so brilliantly so much so that she felt like some chosen creature, blessed to be taught by such a master.

She could not forget the attachment she held to him, and how it was slowly severed as he began to drift away from the Jedi.

And now, it had ended. Now she knew why the Jedi did not allow attachments.

Rhea Illyria tried to catch her breath but the brilliant purple lightsaber of Master Windu came rushing towards her head, and she quickly had to block it from severing it off from her shoulders.

“Concentrate, Illyria! Your heart betrays you. Let go of your attachments. Focus on the present or fail.”

With her lightsaber still above her and blocking Windu, she closed her eyes, breathing through her nose. Focus on the present or fail. Let go.

Releasing the breath through her mouth, she pushed forward with her saber against Master Windu’s, watching as he stumbled back a few steps before raising her blue lightsaber once more to clash with his.

Master Mace Windu was to train her for the foreseeable future until she was to have her trials. Despite her feelings of confusion, she actually hoped that this could mean her trials would come sooner, that she was one step closer to becoming a Jedi Knight. After all, she had been practically born in the Jedi temple, having no home of her own, having only been a babe who was dropped off on the steps of the temple on a summers day in the pouring rain. The Jedi were the only family she had ever known.

As the new master and apprentice continued to spar, Mace’s comm link beeped, signaling a meeting with the council.

“Jinn and Kenobi must have returned from Naboo. Our lesson is done for the day, my young apprentice.”

Rhea bowed her head respectfully, but also to hide the growing smile on her face. She was glad to see Master Windu jog out of the training area, as he grin began to stretch at the thought of seeing her old friend Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She and Obi-Wan had been in the same youngling clan together. The spent time together, side-by-side training in the art of the lightsaber, meditating on the mysteries of the force, sneaking off to steal baked goods from the pantries, and had lived life together as the best of friends. However, this did not mean that the two were entirely the same, and in fact they often got in trouble for causing trouble, often bickering with one another or just creating some sort of ruckus.

This quickly changed when they became padawans.

Although in his youth a willful-rebel, Obi-Wan quickly became disciplined, determined to follow the rules and make his master proud. Rhea, already a force of nature and dutiful, was placed with Master Dooku, who guided her more deeply in the knowledge of the Force.

Rhea was elated, and could not wait to see the boy from Stewjon, who she could not recall the last time she had seen, but the presence of who she could always feel.

She slowly began to make her way towards the Council’s chambers, crossing through the temple gardens and through a case of stairs, hoping to make it just as the meeting concluded. Rhea made her way through the hall, before nestling herself between one of the pillars close to the doors.

Rhea could feel him in the Council room, the anxiety rolling off of him at his masters words. Something about a boy... Whatever it was, she could feel him growing more tense and frustrated as the situation progressed. It only lessened for a moment, and it was almost as if she could feel him breathing beside her.

It was then that the Council doors swung open and Qui Gon Jinn exited with his padawan trailing behind him. They talked in hushed voices outside the doors, slowly walking in her direction. Moving from behind the pillar, she nodded at Master Jinn as she came into their view.

“Master Qui Gon, I am glad to see you returned safely from your mission.”

“Young Rhea, it is good to see your face once again. I am sorry to hear about our Master,” He commented lightly.

“Yes, it was quite unexpected but I suppose it was the will of the Force.” She paused, taking a silent breath before asking, “Could I perhaps speak with Obi-Wan?”

Qui Gon was not surprised in the slightest. He remembered on the night of his padawan’s Initiate Trials how closely he was to a small girl with brown pigtails and olive toned skin. He remembered how fierce the girl was, how she never once faltered in the ways of the Force. And how she surpassed him as their Master’s apprentice, something which shocked him, considering how he assumed Dooku would never take on another padawan. But he seemed to have a special interest in this youngling girl, whereas Qui Gon soon began to feel weighed down by the ways of his padawan. Obi-Wan was his complete opposite in every way, and did not have the same relation his former master and he had.

“Go on, young ones. Obi-Wan, I will see you later this evening at the Council meeting.”

“Yes, master.”

Rhea and Obi-Wan began to walk side by side down the hall, as Qui Gon went the other way. Taking a look behind their shoulders and seeing that his master was gone, Obi-Wan turned to Rhea and engulfed her in such a warm embrace. The girl sighed, taking in the scent of his freshly washed robes as well as the warmth emitting from him.

“I missed you so much.”

Obi-Wan pulled back slightly, giving her his signature cheeky grin. “Oh really? Are you sure? Because I quite remember you saying you couldn’t wait for me to leave on my next assignment the last time we saw one another.”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, and began to walk away, but he simply began to follow in step, slinging an arm around her shoulder like old friends do.

“It’s not my fault you can be so aggravating. Especially when you’re being competitive.”

“Hey, I totally won that sparring match!”

“You cheated! We agreed not to use the Force, simply testing our abilities with a saber.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I would have beat you either way.”

“And why do I highly doubt that?” Her eyes looked up to meet his, an eyebrow raised in a cocky attitude, but she couldn’t help the smile that creeped upon her face. A friendly silence sat between them.

“Care to take a stroll in the gardens, old man?”

“Only with you, dearest.”

Rhea let out an airy chuckle at that. It was the nickname he had so kindly doted upon her as younglings, he at the tender age of twelve and she at the age of eight. The two were bickering about something, who knows what now. However, in the heat of the argument he groaned in frustration when she compared them to sounding like some old married couple.

“Well, fine then, dearest. Why don’t we end this nonsense and retire for the evening?” It had only been three in the afternoon, causing the two to burst into a fit of laughter which ended their nonsensical debate.

The garden looked exceptional that warm afternoon, the sun shining above, casting rays of light that in turn cast shadows from the leaves through the branches. Rhea took in the meadowy scents from the flowers all around them, smiling at the willow tree that they would always sit beneath, either talking or laughing, sharing tears or a stolen pastry. It was peaceful. It was home.

“Why did Master Dooku leave?”

Obi-Wan was never the type to sly away from the obvious. He could feel Rhea’s fear, her confusion. It was a ripple in the Force, growing as each day passed and something he no longer could ignore. It was always so strange how easily he could feel her emotions from parsecs away, but in an even more mysterious way, he felt comforted knowing how his dearest was doing.

Rhea shook her head, turning away from him to stare at the starflowers nearby. “I-I don’t know. I’m so unsure of what reason he could possibly have to leave the Order. It was his life. He was one of the most brilliant Jedi I ever knew, and he abandoned it. He abandoned—”

“He abandoned you.”

She only nodded in response.

“Rhea, look at me.”

When she did not turn, he gently grabbed her chin and turned her face to look in his cerulean eyes. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t fail. If anything, I believe Dooku failed the Order and himself. But most importantly he failed you. He left you at the height of your training. You are no less worthy of becoming a Jedi because of his failures and weaknesses.”

And she fell right into his arms, silent tears pouring down her face. “Thank you, Ben.”

Although she couldn’t see it, Obi-Wan was glad his face was tucked into her dark hair, so she could not see the blush that boomed across his cheeks at the mention of her coined nickname for him. Instead of being like hers, his was only used between them in moments like this, moments of honesty, kindness, friendship.

But to Obi-Wan, it always felt like something more.

[fae-redux]

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t. 

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter. 

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean. 

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him. 

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone. 

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes. 

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his. 

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life. 

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate. 

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason. 

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning. 

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls. 

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back. 

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

[bedlamsbard]

Part 7 of the other side AU!  I had some wrist issues and a massive school deadline in between the last part and this one, thus the delay.  There should be one more part left to go after this one.

Previous: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

About 5K below the break.

***

Hera woke sometime later, not sure what had gotten her attention.  Kanan was a heavy weight against her side and she turned her head to look at him, barely able to believe that he really was there.  She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since he had died, not unless she counted Jacen, and that only on rare occasions since he had been a baby; they were seldom in the same place these days.

She touched the soft spikes of Kanan’s cropped hair gently, then drew her hand back.  He was so exhausted that he barely stirred, but Hera pushed herself up on one elbow to watch him breathe, marveling at the fact that he was here at all.  It could have been any one of a thousand nights spent on the Ghost over the years.  She could have been twenty-six again, both of them exhausted from a day chasing the ragtag members of Phoenix Squadron around Atollon, in her case, or trying to beat the principles of lightsaber combat into Ezra’s head, in Kanan’s. She could have been twenty again, the same age as the girl in the other room, in love and so confused by it that she couldn’t admit it even to herself, let alone Kanan.

It had been a shock to her. It must have been even more of one to the other Hera after years in Imperial service – in the Imperial academies, she had said; she had met Kanan only a few weeks after graduating from the ISB Academy.  Hera hadn’t asked, because it would have been inappropriate beyond belief, but she strongly suspected that the other Hera and Kanan had slept together long before they had done so in her own universe.

 She touched his hair again, disbelieving, and saw him stir a little.  They were familiar enough to each other – or she was to him – that he didn’t wake, just made a soft sound in the back of his throat, acknowledgment of her presence.  Hera swallowed back her tears and leaned over to press a soft kiss to his forehead. They had spent a pleasant few minutes making out until Kanan really had fallen asleep in her arms – fortunately they had both suspected that was going to happen and had already been up in the bunk, or getting him there would have been impossible.

She curled up beside him, smiling to herself as he shifted a hand to curve over her hip.  It took her a few more minutes of listening intently to realize what it was that had woken her; she really hadn’t spent much time on the Ghost in the past few years, or she would have realized it immediately.  The Ghost had uncoupled from the Syndulla’s Gamble, the two ships no longer linked.  Hera waited, half-expecting to feel the Ghost jump to hyperspace, but nothing happened. Not long afterwards she heard steps in the corridor outside, then the door to the cabin next door opening and shutting.

Hera put them out of her mind and reached down to arrange the blankets more comfortably around herself and Kanan.  The narrowness of the bunk meant that they were side by side, pressed closely together – something Hera had been used to six years ago, but was less so now.  Even though she and Kanan had always kept separate cabins, she had lain awake so many nights after his death, unable to bear the emptiness of her own bunk.  She’d have to get used to it again.

“I love you,” she whispered to Kanan in the quiet dark of their shared bed. “I missed you.”

He didn’t respond, still asleep, but his hand tightened on her hip and she smiled.  She leaned over and pressed another soft kiss to his hair, then laid down and shut her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath and his living heartbeat.  It didn’t take her long to fall asleep again.

*

The first thing Hera noticed the next morning was that the younger Kanan looked terrible.  His Hera clearly saw it too; she kept drifting over to him, her expression growing more and more distressed as he – not exactly brushed her off, but it was obvious to Hera that his attention was almost completely absent from the here and now.  The girl had evidently seen it before, and wasn’t happy about it, though Hera thought her dismay wasn’t aimed towards him, but towards the cause.

Kanan – her Kanan – came out of the cabin about an hour after Hera had gotten up and was sitting in the galley drinking caf.  He looked significantly less exhausted than he had the previous day, but there was still strain on his face.  Hera turned her face up to him as he came into the galley and he hesitated for a beat before he leaned down to kiss her good morning.  She wouldn’t have let him do that six years ago, not in front of someone else, and the memory made her feel very slightly ashamed.  She had been in that war long enough that she should have known better.  But Kanan had always seemed so solid –

She had put her hand on his arm when he leaned down, and her fingers contracted at the memory.  Kanan tipped his forehead down against hers briefly, then brushed his lips over hers again before he straightened up.  Hera forced herself to let go of him with an effort, and looked up to find the other Hera watching them with interest.  She glanced aside when she saw Hera looking at her, flushing a little.

Hera supposed she hadn’t seen much of Kanan the previous day, and that it was a matter of interest to see what he would look like given the passage of seven years.

The other Kanan had turned as Kanan came in.  For a moment his expression was dismayed, shocked out of his miserable reverie, then he turned his face away and went back to whatever he had been doing by the cupboards.

Kanan’s weary white gaze followed him for an instant, then he sighed, kissed Hera again, and said plaintively, “Is there still caf?”

“I’ll get it,” the other Hera said.  She moved to the counter beside her Kanan to pour him a cup, then hesitated and added, “Do you take it –”

“Probably.”  His voice was mild.  Hera happened to know that since he had first started drinking caf when he was a teenager with the Grand Army of the Republic, his tastes were for caf the general texture and consistency of tar, with enough sweetener added to kill a tooka.  She watched with interest as the other Hera proceeded to dump several spoonfuls of sugar into the caf and handed it to him.

The girl looked up at him through her lashes, clearly fascinated. Kanan smiled thanks at her, then took the caf like a shot in a way that made both women wince, put the mug down in the sink, and slung an arm around the other Kanan’s shoulders. “Come on, kid,” he said, and only Hera could probably tell how tired he still was. “Let’s talk.”

The other Kanan’s shoulders slumped, but Hera thought that there was a little relief on his handsome features.  He went with Kanan without protest; Hera heard the door to his cabin slide open and then shut again.

The other Hera was looking after them anxiously.  After a moment she turned her gaze back to Hera, her eyes sad. “I know something happened yesterday, but he won’t tell me what,” she said quietly. “He didn’t come to bed last night – he does that if he thinks he’ll keep me up.”  She smiled a little, tremulous but almost as weary as Kanan. “And not in a fun way.”

Hera smiled back at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, playing with the handle on her caf mug. It wasn’t one that she herself had ever owned, which made it interesting from sheer novelty, and Hera had been wondering all morning where the other woman had gotten it.

The girl looked down. She hadn’t covered her lekku today, which made it the first time Hera had actually seen her with her lekku uncovered. It made her look younger and a little sweeter, less severe in general, though even in civilian clothes she had that air that many former Imperial officers had, of being in uniform and prepared for a surprise inspection.  Hera didn’t like to think about what had happened to bring her to that point, though even at her most optimistic she had to allow for the fact that it may just have been the influence of the Imperial Academy.

“Who am I going to tell?” Hera went on. “Well, except –”  She tipped her head in the direction of the door the two Kanans had gone through. “And I won’t, if you tell me not to.”

The other woman sighed and came over to sit down across from her, putting a plate of sweet rolls and blue puffer pig bacon down on the table between them.  She turned her own mug between her hands, frowning down at it.

Hera took one of the rolls while she thought, peeling the layers of bread apart and licking the spiced sugar coating off her fingers.  She didn’t particularly enjoy this sort of thing – the listening, not the eating – but it was an inevitable part of any senior officer’s job, especially a senior officer in direct command.  Mostly it just made her sad.

In this particular case it was also interesting, but it still made her sad.

“When he was at the Crucible, I was on desk duty on Naboo,” the girl said eventually. “Which was –” She flipped a hand. “Boring, mostly. I don’t remember most of it.”

Hera frowned at her but didn’t say anything; what the other woman was talking around was something that Hera herself was more than familiar with, both from the inside and from the outside.  Wars were hard things.  So was life under the Empire.  So was just being alive, sometimes.

“When Kanan came back…there was something missing.”  The other Hera picked up a piece of bacon and began to break it into bits, scattering blue crumbs across the napkin she had laid out.  “Not – I mean, he’s still Kanan.  But it broke something inside him.  And it just never came back.”  She looked up at Hera, her eyes sad, then her gaze flicked to the door, as if making sure that Kanan wasn’t there, listening.  “I love him more than anything.  I did then and I do now.  But sometimes I miss how he was then.  And it’s hard.  He barely talked for six months.  He wouldn’t let me touch him – or – or he would, but he didn’t like being touched, not even by me, and he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t be in a room with me unless he was having a good day, and for months that hardly ever happened.  I wish – I wish he would just tell me, but he won’t, and I know part of it is because he doesn’t want to think about it, but…I wish he would tell me.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Hera asked her quietly.

The girl shook her head. “I’m sure I probably don’t.  But it can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining.”

Hera hesitated, because from what she knew of the Force – and from what the other Kanan had told her – it very easily could be.  Before she could make up her mind about what to or what not to say, the girl said, “Or it could be, but – I wish that he would let us deal with it together.”

“Kanan never told me how he got hurt – how he lost his sight,” Hera said hesitantly.

The girl looked up at her, startled. “I thought –”

“That everything had been perfect between us?” Hera said, raising an eyebrow. “I wish.”  Even before he decided to get himself blown up, she added silently to herself, but she wasn’t about to tell that to the younger woman unless the situation called for it.  And it might yet.  “He doesn’t like to talk about things that hurt him.  He was taken prisoner by the Empire and I know he was tortured, maybe…more…because the Grand Inquisitor was involved, but he’s never talked about it.”

The other Hera looked down.

“He wouldn’t go into the field after that, not for months,” Hera went on, still hesitating over the words. “Things had changed, so it wasn’t…it wasn’t obvious for a long time.  And then he went to Malachor with Ezra – with his apprentice, I mean – and another friend, another Force-user.  She didn’t come back.”  Not then, anyway, she thought with a touch of bitterness.  “Kanan came back hurt, and he didn’t – he never told me what happened.  Ezra did, but he wasn’t sure either, he hadn’t been there.  Neither had Chopper.  Kanan just – he just went inside himself again, for a long time.”

The other Hera nodded. “He did that when we were fighting, before – before.”  She lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug.  “When he first found out I was ISB.  I thought –”  She sighed. “I don’t know what I thought.”

Hera could imagine what her Kanan would have thought at that revelation, and what she probably would have thought in turn.  For the attention-starved teenager the other woman had been it must have been devastating, and it was entirely possible that Kanan hadn’t realized at the time how terrible it had been.

The other Hera looked down at her small pile of bacon crumbs, sighed, and began to eat them piece by piece; Hera guessed that her time in prison had taught her never to waste food.  “I think for a long time he got back he wasn’t sure that he was – that he was really here.  And then, after he was, that he was going to be allowed to stay.  He is better,” she added quickly. “He got better.  He tried – I could tell when he started trying, because he didn’t, at first. But I wish – I wish.”  She rested her chin against the heel of her hand, her elbow braced against the table.  “I wish a lot of things.”

Hera nodded in understanding.  She had been there herself, more times than she could count, and not just about Kanan.

After a moment of silence, the girl went on.  “I never really thought about what would have happened if I hadn’t – if the colony hadn’t fell.  There didn’t seem to be any point.”  Her gaze flicked quickly up towards Hera, then down again. “I tried not to think about it.  That’s how it is in the Empire.”

“Do I surprise you?” Hera asked her.

She frowned in thought. “I don’t know if ‘surprise’ is the word I’d use.  Some of what you’ve said is just…I mean, it’s not anything I’ve ever thought of.  I don’t mean that like –”  She flipped her free hand.  “I mean, a Rebel Alliance.  No one in the service would ever take that seriously.”

Hera smiled. “And that was to our advantage for a very long time – just long enough, in fact.”  She looked down at her half-forgotten sweet roll and peeled another layer off it.  After she had eaten that, she said, “Was it hard for you in the Imperial Academy?”

The other Hera looked down. She had eaten the little pile of crumbs, so she reached out and took a roll of her own, picking at it slowly for a long time before she spoke.  “Yes. I hated it.  I have nightmares about it sometimes, even though it’s been years.  I wasn’t –” She hesitated, but didn’t say the word that Hera silently filled in.  “Most humans just think certain things about Twi’lek women.  Even Agent Beneke – my handler, I mean – does.  A lot of the boys I was at the Academy with made – made assumptions.”  She glanced up at Hera again and said, “I’m sure even your Rebel Alliance is like that. Humans – not all of them, Kanan never did – but most humans –”

“No,” Hera said gently. “Not most humans.”  Not that she hadn’t run into that assumption in the Alliance from time to time, but it wasn’t what she would have called common, and it was a misconception that was swiftly corrected, usually not by her. There had been a few incidents, but most of those had more to do with how she had gotten her rank so young, and those had fallen off over the years after casualties in the line of battle killed off Clone Wars veterans (of which there had never been very many) and elevated people like Lando Calrissian and Han Solo.  Though Hera had to admit that Lando’s rapid advancement probably had more to do with the fact that he had actual administrative experience, which was both a rarity and a badly needed skill in the Rebel Alliance.  Han she just blamed on luck.

A tiny line knit between the girl’s brows.  Hera didn’t need to ask to know that she wasn’t believed.  She said, “You met Kanan when you were in the field, didn’t you?”

The girl nodded cautiously.

“And you did other operations like that, where you were interacting with civilians and not Imperial officers or officials?”

Another nod.

“And how did they treat you?”

Hera was running a risk, because all that belief about Twi’lek women being sluts didn’t come out of thin air, but out in the real world more people had actually met Twi’leks who weren’t dancers or courtesans.

The other Hera looked down, peeling strips off her sweet roll and dropping them on her napkin. “Like a person, mostly,” she admitted eventually. “Even when Kanan and I were –”  She flushed, and Hera tried to remember ever being that young.  When she had been the younger girl’s age she had been falling into bed with Kanan at regular intervals and spending the rest of her time trying to convince herself that it wasn’t happening, something which had both amused and frustrated Kanan.

Love, I’m sorry –

She had the time to make up for it now.

Awkwardly, the girl said, “I’m not really…good, with other Twi’leks.  Or other nonhumans at all.  I almost failed my field test at the ISB Academy because they sent me into the Twi’lek enclave in Theed and I had a panic attack.”  She bit her lip.  “I can’t…pass.  You saw that.”

Hera nodded reluctantly. She hadn’t even been looking for it and she had been able to tell that the other woman had been raised by humans. In a way it didn’t make complete sense to her – the other Hera had been with her family until she was fourteen – but she supposed that after four years in Imperial academies she had put so much effort into trying to blend in that she had forgotten how not to, even if it was impossible.

The girl touched the tip of one lek, self-conscious, then took her hand away.  “Kanan never cared that I was a Twi’lek,” she said, a little wonderingly. “I don’t think he would care if I was a Rodian or a Togruta or a Mikkian or – or a human.”

She looked down at her mutilated roll. “Kanan’s the same way now.  He can’t really…they can’t put us on the kind of assignment we used to do because he can’t – everyone just looks at him and knows that he isn’t…right.  No one could ever work out what I was because it isn’t like anyone thought I could be ISB, but when I was in the field with Kanan before it was all right. Being with him made it…easier, I suppose? People made assumptions.  Right now…he’s better than he was for a long time, but it’s like everyone looks at him and knows he’s dangerous.  Not the way he was before, the way you are and I am and a lot of people in the underworld are, but…”  She let the words trail off, her expression miserable.

After a moment Hera nodded understanding.  She had seen that before, once Kanan had started using the Force on a regular basis again after taking Ezra in hand.  People didn’t always understand what it was they were seeing, but they knew power when it walked among them.  Ezra had had that too, near the end, and she had seen it in Luke and Ahsoka.

“You have some time now,” Hera offered gently. “Both of you do.  To do whatever you want.”

“To get chased wherever the Inquisition wants to chase us, you mean,” the other Hera said, but there was still a little relief in her voice.  She gave Hera a shaky smile and added, “But they have to find us first.”

*

Kanan took in the almost-familiar space of the younger Kanan’s cabin with only a brief tilt of his head.  It wasn’t any way that he had ever kept his room, mostly because he had never accumulated enough possessions for it even after he had been settled on the Ghost; it took him a moment of furrowed concentration to sense discarded armor in the corners of the room, and a scattering of other pieces of Inquisitor’s uniform.  People wreck their living spaces when they feel out of control of their lives, he reminded himself; he had seen that before many times, mostly in the years between Order 66 and taking up with Hera, but on occasion both before and after that too.

He had the sense that this wasn’t the worst the other man had ever done to his room, either.

“Let’s sit,” he said gently.

It would have been easy for one of them to take the meditation cushion and the other to take the bench built into the wall, the way Kanan usually did with Ezra, but instead he sat down cross-legged on the floor.  The younger man did the same, with the boneless grace of youth that made Kanan aware of both the extra years he carried and how exhausted he still was. What he wanted was several solid meals, more sleep, meditation, and a few hours in bed with Hera, not necessarily in that order.  He needed to think and he needed to make peace with the Force, again, not necessarily in that order.

But the younger man’s psychic distress was so intense that it was giving him a headache and Kanan had to deal with this as much as possible now so it didn’t get to the point where it was affecting Hera and…Hera…which was the danger of the Force-strong.  If they let themselves slip they could start affecting the world around them.

“Did the Grand Inquisitor make another try at you?” he asked; he thought the answer was likely to be no, since after yesterday he was nearly certain that a second attempt would have alerted him as well, even as dead to the world as he had been after he had fallen asleep.

The younger man shook his head, then said, “No,” clearly remembering that Kanan couldn’t see him and uncertain of what that meant for his perception.

Kanan didn’t let himself smile, since that wouldn’t go over very well right now; he suspected the Inquisition didn’t train blindfolded the way the Jedi had, and even without that the other man was very clearly wary of the Force, which Kanan couldn’t blame him for under the circumstances. Even without the circumstances.

Their connection the previous day had told him more than the other man wanted him to know and more than Kanan, frankly, wanted to know.  In an hour or a day or a week the enormity of what had happened to the other Kanan would hit him and he would have to process it, but for now he did his best to push the knowledge aside.

It could have been me, he thought, not for the first time.  He knew it with the sick certainty that the Force could convey when it felt like it.  If Hera and Ezra and the rest hadn’t rescued him –

He set that aside with the same mental effort he used whenever he thought about Order 66 and how easily one of Grey’s or Styles’ blaster shots could have ended up in his back. Or how close Maul’s lightsaber had come to taking his head instead of just his sight.  Or the fuel depot –

No, that one had happened, and he pushed that thought aside too.

He could feel the younger Kanan watching him warily, with more resignation than any other emotion except shame.  Kanan fought back his stab of pity because the kid wouldn’t appreciate that; he wouldn’t and he ought to know.

“I –” the younger man began, then gave up on whatever he had been planning on saying and just stared at Kanan in mute dismay.

Kanan could have pushed him and maybe if he had been anyone else he would have, but instead he said after a moment’s thought, “Do you want to ask me anything?”

He felt the other man’s faint start of surprise and spared a moment of regret that he couldn’t actually see his face.  The Force was good for a lot of things, but Kanan had spent years not using it and was – had been – very good at reading people’s faces and body language as a result.  The Force couldn’t tell you everything, and sometimes Kanan resented having to depend on it as much as he did.  And he was just curious.

The younger man was quiet for a long time before he said, “Do you think I made a mistake?  Bringing you here, I mean.”

Kanan blinked and fell back on his earliest teachings. “What do you think?”

He got a faint sense of relief from the kid, as if he was reassured by the familiarity – answering a question with a question was how the Jedi always taught.  Of course, if Kanan knew it, then he would too – he felt the acknowledgment of that at the same instant.

“The Force let me do it,” the younger man said eventually. “But the Force let my master do – do a lot of things, too.  And it let us die.”

“We’re the arbiters of good and evil, not the Force,” Kanan said gently. “The Force is possibility, not truth.”

“What does that even mean?”

He felt rather than saw the other man slump, which meant that he wasn’t certain whether the other Kanan actually had done so or just thought about it.  Probably he hadn’t; Kanan got a strong sense of the kind of durasteel discipline he was familiar with from both Imperial officers and from the Jedi.  Thinking about something didn’t mean doing it, even for the most casual actions.

“What do you –”

“That was rhetorical,” the other man said dryly, a light, familiar tone that made Kanan smile inadvertently. “Would you have done it?”

“No.”  He responded without thinking, and felt the other man’s flinch – he was fairly certain that this one had been physical.  “But I’ve never been in a situation where it was an option.”

There was an instant of hesitation before the other man nodded, his understanding a faint shimmer on the surface of the Force.

“Why did you do it?” Kanan asked him gently.

This time there was good humor but sincerity in the boy’s response.  “I’ve always hated seeing Hera sad, and it turns out that it doesn’t matter which Hera it is.”  He hesitated again before adding, “I didn’t know whether or not it would actually work.”

“I’d be surprised if you had,” Kanan said mildly. He felt the faint buzz of the younger man’s brief amusement in response to that. “Why did you think it would?”

“What Hera –”  He didn’t need to clarify verbally which Hera he meant; Kanan could tell from the Force undertones that only another Jedi would have sensed.  “What Hera said about the way she came here, I understood how it worked.  I think.  And you know Jedi don’t do anything with artifacts that can’t be done with the Force alone.”

Kanan nodded reluctant agreement.  It would never have even occurred to him to try, but he had never been in the other man’s shoes either.  And he did hate seeing Hera sad.

“Being in the Inquisition,” the other Kanan went on haltingly, “– it was…awful.”  Kanan felt his mind touch briefly on the memory before flinching away.  “I knew that, and Hera knew that –”  This time he meant the other Hera, his Hera, “– but there was nothing either of us could, would, do about it.  And then she came.”

“You never thought about leaving?” Kanan asked gently.

“I thought about everything at least once.  But I couldn’t leave Hera.  And she – wouldn’t.”  He raised his head to Kanan, exhausted, and said, “I thought we were both going to die, sooner or later.  Probably sooner.”

Kanan started to reply, then hesitated, because anything he said on that particular subject would be a little biased by his circumstances.  He sensed the younger man’s next question before the other Kanan could even voice it.

“No,” he said, this time with a wince of his own. “No, I didn’t want to die.”  He hesitated, but if there was anyone he had to be completely honest with, it was this boy.  “It’s always a possibility, but I knew – I had a feeling – that this time it was more likely than not.  Not a certainty, but almost nothing is.”  Kanan was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then went on, “Precognition can narrow possibilities in itself, I think, whether you’re trying to avert it or trying to make it come true.  And if I’d known Hera was pregnant –”  He shook his head.  “Sometimes you just run out of choices.”

“Yeah,” the other Kanan said quietly.

Kanan leaned forward to grip his shoulder, feeling the younger man twitch a little in surprise. “I’m not angry with you,” he said. “Just because I wouldn’t have done it doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do, and I can’t exactly resent not being dead.” He smiled crookedly. “And I can’t stand seeing Hera sad either.”

[sparky-is-spiders]

More PoT/OotS AU Stuff (The Hollyleaf Favoritism AU)

I’m hereby renaming this AU the “Hollyleaf Favoritism AU”, because that’s what it is now (it wasn’t intentional I promise).

Today I’ma talk about Ivypool, Dovewing (who is Dovedream now because of her powers fight me), Ashfur, Squirrelflight’s lie, and a little bit about Hollyleaf/storm and Lionblaze’s apprenticeships.

Link to Part 1 here

First off, Dovedream!

Dovedream: Dovedream has always had an uncanny ability to understand the emotions of other cats. She’s always been sure of the love her mother and sister hold for her. It’s passed off as a strong sense of empathy, although Firestar has his suspicions that it might be more.

From a young age, Dovekit knew that there was a chance that she would have powers and a place in an important prophecy. However, she was too young to understand what that meant, and nobody was willing to talk openly about it in case they ended up upsetting Lionblaze.

Dovekit can’t read minds, but she gets powerful waves of emotions from the cats around her. She can even get sensations and images, if they’re strong enough. She hates going into the medicine den. She visited it when she was two moons old when she caught a cold, and she was miserable the whole time. Jayfeather’s death visions of the Dark Forest battle had started at around this time, and he was radiating so many negative emotions that she could practically taste them. When she slept, she sometimes slipped into his dreams, and StarClan cats would have to pull her out. The horrors of war and gore and death would be too much for this young cat. She develops a rapport with Snowfur in particular, and the two spend hours talking, playing, and exploring StarClan. When she’s finally well enough to return to the nursury, the visits with Snowfur continue. She also starts to avoid the medicine den and Jayfeather in particular like the plague.

When the time comes for her to be an apprentice, Firestar gives her to Lionblaze. The young warrior is becoming isolated from his clan with the reveal of his parentage and loss of his sister. It’s also becoming more and more obvious that he has no powers, although he’s still in denial. Firestar hopes that young Dovepaw will give Lionblaze new purpose, that she will keep Lionblaze from seperating himself from the whole clan, and that she will remind him that he doesn’t need powers to serve his clan.

It works out, at first. Lionblaze bonds with Dovepaw and with Cinderheart, who is mentoring Ivypaw. It all changes one night, however, when Dovepaw accidently slips into Lionblaze’s dreams. He’s in the middle of a nightmare, and she tries to guide him out of it. He can see her, but she can’t reach him enough to pull him out, and she eventually wakes up at dawn more exhausted then ever. She asks him about it on the dawn patrol, and she feels wave after wave of saddness and fury and shame and, underneath it all, the profound lonliness that she can always sense but never get a full grasp on until now. Lionblaze returns to ThunderClan camp with Dovepaw trailing awkwardly behind. There’s no question who the third cat is, and it isn’t Lionblaze.

After this, Lionblaze tries, he really does, but he fails. He’s grappling with too much, and Cinderheart becomes the unofficial mentor for Dovepaw. To try and make up for his failings, Lionblaze convinces Firestar to let Dovepaw attend her first gathering, although he himself is left behind.

At the gathering, she meets a handsome and charismatic apprentice called Tigerpaw (Tigerheart and his sibs have been de-aged for the sake of the rewrite). Dovepaw and Tigerpaw hit it off immeadiatly. She’s a little attracted to him, but she is very attracted to the idea of him. This ShadowClan apprentice doesn’t care about her powers, and she can feel that he’s at least a little interested. They hit it off and begin a forbidden relationship. They don’t bother with meeting up in secret, as Dovepaw can always visit him in his dreams.

Dovepaw’s other respite from the burden of being a prophecy cat and her strained relationship with her sister and mentor is StarClan. Snowfur still visits her from time to time, and the two hang out and have fun. Her dream meetings with Snowfur and Tigerpaw are the only times that she feels that she is free to be herself.

Dovepaw’s relationship with Ivypool isn’t great, but it’s alright. Because Dovepaw is often being trained more by Cinderheart than by Lionblaze, Dovepaw and Ivypaw are able to spend a lot of time together, and they have roughly equal skill levels (Dovepaw is slightly better at hunting, but Ivypaw is the better fighter) so Ivypaw only has Dovepaw’s powers and place in the prophecy to be jealous of. Still, they bicker a lot and aren’t as close as they were during kithood. Dovepaw begins to sense something... off. Ivypaw is grumpier than usual, and her fighting skill is improving by leaps and bounds. Dovepaw is worried, but her sister won’t tell her anything. She would visit Ivypaw’s dreams to try and figure out what was going on, but Ivypaw had asked her to never, ever do that, and Dovepaw wouldn’t dare intrude on somebody’s privacy like that without their consent (she ended up in Jayfeather and Lionblaze’s dreams by accident, not on purpose)

Eventually, something seems to snap Lionblaze out of his funk. He was visiting with the Dark Forest, and had been for quite some time. He thought that training with Thistleclaw wouldn’t be that bad, but then he saw Ivypaw being involved in a brutal fight that could easily end in her death. He was furious, yelling at Thistleclaw for 50 hours straight for endangering a young apprentice like this. When he hears that it’s a fight to the death (or at least to the serious, life-long injury), he punches Thistleclaw in the face and skedaddles. And he tells Firestar everything.

Now Dovepaw knows what’s wrong with her sister and she’s hugely upset. She has a long, tearful conversation with Ivypaw that essentially boils down to: ‘You’re my sister and I love you and you are NOT allowed to die’. Their relationship is still shaky, but it’s much better now. Ivypaw is forbidden from visiting with the Dark Forest, as is Lionblaze. Firestar calls a clan meeting to find out how many cats are in the Dark Forest. The clan comes to a concensus: the only cat allowed to stay in the Dark Forest is Thornclaw, a powerful and loyal senior warrior who can report everything that’s going on in there as long as he’s careful and smart about it. The number of cats revealed to be meeting with Dark Forest cats is concerning, and Firestar is certain that they’re up to something. He warns all the clans about it at the next gathering, but none of them listen (surely it’s just a ThunderClan problem. We’ll all be fine.)

Dovepaw was only a kit when Hollyleaf returned to the clans and joined WindClan, so although she’s heard the stories, she’s never met her fellow prophecy cat. Dovepaw hopes that she’s better than Jayfeather, who realized Dovepaw was in the prophecy before Dovepaw even told him (prophetic dreams and visions) and who doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore. Hollyleaf (now Hollystorm) was a mystery until the day that she shows up in camp with the WindClan deputy, demanding to meet with Firestar. Dovepaw, as a prophecy cat, attends the meeting, although she can’t contribute very much apart from telling everybody that StarClan is pretty sure that something is up but they have no idea what’s going on. Still, Hollystorm’s determination and no-nonsense attitude, as well as her story intrigues Dovepaw, and she follows Hollystorm around like a lost puppy, desperate to talk to the only cat who can truly relate to her struggles.

Hollystorm would like to talk to Dovepaw at some point, but she has more important things to worry about. Like Jayfeather! Who was not present at the meeting at all. Dovepaw can feel the emotions blasting out of the medicine den during Hollystorm’s visit. Ivypaw sneaks her sister out of the camp until it all blows over, and they return to listen to what Jayfeather has to say.

Dovepaw is shocked by all the horrors he must’ve been expiriencing day in and day out. She realizes that he must have been so miserable, and she starts to feel sympathy for him. All her life, she believed that he was just a bitter angry foxheart, but he’s not. Dovepaw feels a little ashamed for the way that she viewed him before.

Nobody is surprised when Firestar decides that it’s time for an emergency gathering. Everybody is very surprised when they hear about the Dark Forest. Everybody has a collective meltdown when they hear about the WindClan civil war (the second one). It is time to unite, with Dovepaw set as the prime messenger between the clans.

The next day, Ivypaw and Dovepaw get their warrior assessments. As the sun sets, they become Ivypool and Dovedream, full warriors of ThunderClan.

Dovedream is a little self-absorbed. It’s not her fault, but it is true. She’s used to feeling the love her parents hold for her, the interest that Tigerheart feels whenever they’re together, and the respect other ThunderClanners have for her as a prophecy cat. It’s made her a little arrogant. And now she’s a warrior with an important duty! She checks in with the other leaders every evening and reports whatever they say to Firestar himself.

It puts a strain on her relationship with Tigerpaw. He’s still an apprentice (even though he’s older than her) and he’s a little jealous. He tries not to be, but it’s so hard! Dovedream has powers and a prophecy all about her and a warrior name even though he’s older than her. Of course he’s jealous.

After sporadic attacks from WindClan over the next two moons, the clans plan the WindClan ambush. Dovedream is left behind, deemed to be too valuable to risk. This makes her feel a little useless and left out. An important thing is happening and she’s not invited and it is VERY annoying. But then she feels a sharp spike of distress from the medicine den. She knows that Jayfeather must be sleeping, so while the warriors prepare to leave for the battle (it’s late evening and they want to get to the WindClan border at around moonhigh), Dovedream goes to sleep and visits Jayfeather’s dreams. She hates the idea, but she wants to make sure that he is okay, and she needs to check on him.

In his dream, he’s standing in the WindClan camp, surrounded by the bodies of his clanmates. Among the dead are Firestar, Brambleclaw, Squirrelflight, Hollystorm, and Lionblaze. Dovedream is shocked and horrified when she sees Ivypool’s lifeless corpse. She leads Jayfeather out of the WindClan camp and over to the peaceful lake and asks him about his dream. He’s angry that she just strolled in without his say-so, until she brings up the WindClan ambush. Then he realizes what he was dreaming about and wakes up. Dovedream awakens to see Jayfeather racing across camp (the other warriors have already left) and she follows him. Dovedream realizes that what Jayfeather saw must be the result of the ambush and is desperate to help him. She can’t let Ivypool die!

They get to the WindClan camp and shout out a warning just as the battle starts and WindClan attacks. Dovedream is about to rush over to Ivypool when she sees a cat leaping at Jayfeather. She realizes that Jayfeather, a medicine cat with minimal battle training, needs her more than Ivypool, who is Very Good at fighting. She sticks with Jayfeather as they battle their way over to Firestar, warning him of Jayfeather’s vision. He calls for ThunderClan to retreat, and the outnumbered clans do the same. Many non-Windclanners have been injured or killed, but it isn’t the bloodbath that Jayfeather foresaw.

With the other clans weakened, they collectivly decide that the best course of action is to group together in a single, easily defendible place. The ThunderClan camp, being a giant hole with few entrances and exits, is chosen. Dovedream helps with shoring up the defences, but she is no longer allowed on patrols just in case WindClan attacks her. She’s very annoyed by this, but she appreciates the chance to spend time with the newly-named Tigerheart.

At around this time Dovedream really starts to understand some stuff. Her power-less, prophecy-less clanmates are out there, risking their lives every day to patrol the borders and feed their clanmates. These cats don’t have any of the things that Dovedream believes make her special, but they’re special anyway, and they’re just as valuable as she is. Her ego is knocked down a peg. Watching Jayfeather’s struggles with his powers and Hollystorm’s struggle to fit in to a place that isn’t really her home anymore and Lionblaze’s struggle to feel that he’s worth anything opens her up to the problems of other cats. She becomes less self-absorbed and less arrogant. She demands to be allowed to go out and hunt. She’s tired of sitting still while everybody else contributes. She may be part of a prophecy, but that doesn’t mean that she can just sit around all day. She isn’t allowed near the WindClan border, but she is allowed to hunt within certain areas. She tries to bring back as much prey as she can and become part of the team effort to save the clans. During this time, she bonds with many background characters from all the clans.

During the battle, she uses her empath powers to find which cats are in the most danger and help them. When Hollystorm is injured, she feels a wave of fear so strong it nearly knocks her off her paws. She rushes over to the medicine den and takes Hollystorm and Lionblaze’s place to gaurd it. Ivypool and Tigerheart join her, and the three fight like lions against WindClan and the Dark Forest.

When the battle is over, Dovedream is hit with so many feelings from so many cats that it overwhelms her. She is exhausted and pretty much keels over as soon as Bramblestar appoints Squirrelflight as his deputy. She regretfully watches the other clans go, promising Tigerheart that she’ll continue to visit him in his dreams.

Ivypool: As a kit, Ivykit was very close with her sister and not really close to anyone else. The two were inseperable, and they did everything together. The week that Dovekit spent in the nursery was the worst week of Ivykit’s short life. When they were both made into apprentices, they were so excited to train and learn together.

Things were going pretty well at first. However, Dovepaw was significantly more outgoing than her younger sister, and she made friends with the other apprentices. Where Ivypaw enjoyed training and talking one-on-one with Dovepaw, she disliked having to have conversations with more than one cat, and she began to feel lonely. The two began to get into little arguements and spats, and they drifted apart.

When it was revealed that Dovepaw had powers, everyone was ecstatic. Well, almost everyone. Lionblaze was bitter even though he tried not to show it, and Ivypaw felt alone. Her sister had new friends and an important job and she was just so special. Ivypaw was afraid that her sister would leave her for bigger and better things. That’s when the Dark Forest drew her in.

The first cat she met was Tigerstar. Ivypaw may be many things (kinda whiny and clingy, among other things), but she wasn’t a moron. Her grandmother had told her the story about the dogs he sent to destroy ThunderClan and all the murders he commited and she wasn’t going to accept anything he offered her! It was so lucky that Thistleclaw saved her, wasn’t it? (IMPORTANT NOTE: In this AU, Spottedleaf’s Heart is NOT CANON. Thistleclaw and Ivypaw show NO interest in each other, because that would honestly be horrifying.)

Thistleclaw starts training her, claiming that he’s only in the Dark Forest because Bluestar chased him out of StarClan (she didn’t, he’s just lying). Ivypaw comes to see Thistleclaw as a big brother/mentor figure. He teaches her how to fight, and she starts improving by leaps and bounds. He becomes her only friend.

Thistleclaw isn’t really trying to help her, of course. He just wants to turn her against the prophecy cats. She’s a talented fighter for her age, and he would love to have her on the side of the Dark Forest. It isn’t too hard, either. He convinces her that Hollystorm is a traitor to ThunderClan (this really turns her against half-clan relationships), that Jayfeather is an dirt bag with no redeeming qualities, and that Dovepaw is too wrapped up in herself and the prophecy and her new friends to care about Ivypaw any more. It works.

Ivypaw and Dovepaw barely get along, and she refuses to tell Dovepaw what’s going on. Terrified that Dovepaw might find out about her Dark Forest visits (although she doesn’t know why that scares her so much), she demands that Dovepaw never visit her dreams, ever. She’s a little surprised when Dovepaw does as Ivypaw asks her to do.

Blossompaw and Ivypaw sometimes talk, and Ivypaw nurses a bit of a crush on the older apprentice, but it doesnt really go anywhere, especially when Ivypaw starts seeing Thistleclaw. Thistleclaw is her new friend and she doesn’t need anyone else. Blossompaw and Ivypaw sometimes talk and train together, but that’s about as far as it goes.

Ivypaw gets along with Lionblaze better than her own mentor, Cinderheart. They’ve both been picked over for the prophecy that their siblings are in, and they both enjoy battle training more than either Cinderheart or Dovepaw do.

Because of how isolated she feels, Ivypaw becomes a bit of a lone wolf. She hates working with others or asking for help. In her eyes, if she can’t do whatever it is she’s trying to do, she either needs to toughen up or give up, and asking for help is weak. It’s an obviosly unhealthy attitude that Thistleclaw encourages. It makes her more antagonistic to cats who would help her and less receptive to the problems of others. It also makes her an isolationist who thinks that the clans should deal with their own problems, which is exactly the attitude the Dark Forest cats are trying to promote.

It all comes to a head a few moons later, when Thistleclaw decides that it’s time to get Lionblaze and Ivypaw to train together. Another Dark Forest cat named Silverhawk is training with Ivypaw, but it’s going badly. Ivypaw may be a good fighter, but she’s an apprentice, and Silverhawk is really strong. She’s getting her tail kicked, and if this fight goes on much longer she might be seriously injured or even killed. Lionblaze sees Ivypaw and is furious that Thistleclaw would dare put a young apprentice in this much danger. He fights Thistleclaw and convinces Ivypaw to come with him. They run through the Dark Forest, away from Thistleclaw and the other cats until they wake up, exhausted.

Ivypaw feels betrayed. Thistleclaw was her friend, and yet he refused to save her from the dangerous situation that she was in. Besides, she trusts Lionblaze. He may not be her friend, but he feels more like her mentor than Cinderheart does, sometimes. If Lionblaze says that this is bad, he may have a point. She starts to second-guess Thistleclaw’s motives as Lionblaze comes to fetch her to talk to Firestar.

The Firestar conversation is a little awkward, especially when Brambleclaw confesses to meeting with Tigerstar in the Dark Forest all those moons ago. Firestar decides that something is up and calls a clan meeting. Apparently, a LOT of cats have recieved Dark Forest training. Most ThunderClanners have been meeting with Thistleclaw and sometimes Silverhawk, but a few of the younger cats apparently thought that training with Tigerstar was a good idea. Every cat confesses that a Dark Forest cat had approached them at some point, generally when they were feeling alone and vunerable.

Clearly, something is up. At the next gathering, Firestar asks the other clans about the Dark Forest, but nobody claims to be meeting with any Dark Forest cats (leaders, deputies, and medicine cats are not approached, and let’s be real here, nobody is gonna tell Firestar about how some dead cats are teaching them how to fight. He’s so meddlesome! The Dark Forest cats seem friendly enough, surely everything is fine). Firestar leaves without telling the other clans the extent of the Dark Forest problem in ThunderClan (because with Onestar in the picture and ShadowClan at their border, that would NOT go well).

Not much happens for the next moon or so. Dark Forest visits are forbidden for everybody except Thornclaw (who volunteered to spy (it had to be a strong senior warrior and it couldn’t be Lionblaze after the way he exploded at Thistleclaw)) and life goes on. And then, in the middle of the night, Hollystorm and Ashfoot show up. They refuse to leave until Firestar meets with them, and they report everything that’s going on with the Dark Forest in WindClan. Ivypaw is mostly there for moral support and to briefly talk about her time in the Dark Forest (Thornclaw is invited to join the discussion later, when he wakes up).

Ivypaw isn’t really there for the Hollystorm and Jayfeather mega-showdown, but she does hear about all the horrible things Jayfeather has been seeing. Suddenly, it’s a lot harder for Ivypaw to see Jayfeather as some lazy jerk who doesn’t care about his clanmates, and although she still considers Hollystorm to be a clan-abandoning traitor, she kinda respects the WindClan warrior for her convictions (even if she is loyal to the wrong clan). But hey, if she was wrong about Jayfeather and kinda maybe sorta a little wrong about Hollystorm, what did she get wrong about Dovepaw?

The two make up after Dovepaw has that freak out about Ivypaw being in the Dark Forest. Their bond is shaky, and they have a lot of issues to get past, but they’re closer now than they have been in moons, which is nice.

There’ll be time to sort that out later, because everything has been thrown into chaos. It’s emergency gathering time! Everybody is waiting for WindClan but only about 6 WindClanners bother to show up and none of them are Onestar (who wants to solve this problem on his own and prove that he doesn’t need Firestar). Everybody is like ‘????’ and then Ashfoot climbs onto the leader tree and goes “So Onestar tried to exile, like, half of WindClan and then Breezepelt exiled him and also us.” And everybody freaks out.

So the gathering happens and the clans decide to team up to stop this threat. Dovepaw is assigned to be a messenger between the three remaining clans while the WindClan exiles hang out in ThunderClan. The day after the gathering, Cinderheart and Lionblaze spring a surprise warrior assessment on their young apprentices and the become Ivypool and Dovedream.

Ivypool goes on multiple patrols and gets into fights with WindClan cats. She ends up defending Blossomfall during these attacks. Blossomfall is impressed with Ivypool’s murder skills and her beautiful blue eyes... and asks Ivypool to train with her. Que the mutual pining!

Ivypool is invited on the WindClan ambush and she isn’t too happy about the retreat. When she hears from Dovedream that she was one of the dead cats she changes her mind.

Ivypool goes on most of the hunting patrols after the clans all move to the ThunderClan camp. Some patrols raid WindClan territory (which now consists of most of the lake territories) also include her due to her fighting capabilities.

At around this time, she starts making and strengthening her conections with other cats in ThunderClan. Most notably: Dovedream, Lionblaze, Cloudtail (they get along super well, actually), Brightheart, Blossomfall, and Dustpelt (they hang out while they work on building up the dens and toughening up ThunderClan’s defenses. They work together to build some really neat/strong defenses, like a bramble maze).

During the final battle she fights alongside Blossomfall. When Blossomfall is injured Ivypool drags her to the medicine den. She then fights alongside Tigerheart and Dovedream to defend it.

When the battle ends, Ivypool goes straight (or NOT straight) to Blossomfall to essentially ask her out. Blossomfall says yes!

Working together with the other clans abates some of Ivypool’s xenophobia. It also forces her to drop her go-it-alone attitude. Sometimes she’s gonna need help, and sometimes she’s gonna have to work with others, and that’s okay.

Ashfur: Ashfur is a bitter dirtbag and that is not gonna change. He’s still pissed with Squirrelflight for rejecting him. The fire scene doesn’t happen because Jayfeather predicts the fire and ThunderClan is able to evacuate the camp. Ashfur is a jerk to Squirrelflight and anybody who is related to her. He tries to kill Brambleclaw during the WindClan ambush (in this AU, they stay mates) until Squirrelflight drags him away. He is killed as the clans attempt to retreat.

Squirrelflight and the Lie: Squirrelflight covers for Leafpool. Jayfeather sees their kithood and several signs about their true parentage, but it takes him a long time to realize what it means because of how many visions he gets swamped with and how little he is able to understand them. He tells his siblings, they confront Squirrelflight, she tells them what happened. Hollyleaf reveals everything at a gathering, and then flees to the Tribe.

Brambleclaw is angry and hurt and confused, but he does choose Squirrelflight. He defends her from the vitreol the other cats hurl at her because he does still love her, even though he’s still hurting from the lie. He has a sibling who he loves, he understands. (I know that this isn’t what happens in canon, but I want a healthy, supportive relationship where the two actually talk through their issues and do their best to help each other, so that’s what you’re getting. It’s my AU and I can do what I want.)

Now then, some mentoring factoids!

Lionpaw: Now, Firestar may be dumb, but he ain’t stupid. He isn’t gonna give Lionpaw to Squirrelflight’s jealous bitter ex. No. Lionpaw is part of a prophecy. He needs a strong, smart, dependable senior warrior who can train him up right and knock his ego down a peg. When Firestar is deciding who will mentor Lionpaw, only one cat comes to mind: Sandstorm.

Sandstorm is the perfect mentor for Lionpaw. She’s a skilled warrior who will support Lionpaw, but she isn’t particularly itimidated or impressed with his prophecyness. She deflates his ego without being mean or cruel, and she helps him develop into a capable and respected warrior. The two are super close, and she helps to knock some sense into him after the reveal of Dovepaw’s powers.

Hollypaw: Hollypaw is a prophecy cat with special powers that are obvious from kithood. Firestar decides to mentor her himself. After all, who better to teach the future savior of the clan than a clan leader? (Well, aside from Sandstorm.) This is where most of Hollypaw’s obsession with the Warrior Code and “doing the right thing, no matter what” comes from. Firestar is busy, so he doesn’t always get to spend as much time mentoring her as he would like, but he does his best to make time for her. He and Sandstorm often end up training their apprentices together, and he’s happy for a chance to spend some extra time with his mate. Young Hollypaw sometimes struggles with hunting and fighting in the forest, and Firestar worries that he’s not doing enough to help her, but she passes her warrior assessment with Lionpaw, so he thinks he did a good job.

When she goes to WindClan and becomes Hollystorm, she doesn’t really get a mentor. Ashfoot is wary about her, but decides that Onestar made his choice and that she should go along with that choice. She takes Hollystorm under her wing and teaches her about how to hunt and fight on the moor when she has the time. Hollystorm is a natural at it. During one of these sessions, Hollystorm confesses her real reason for coming to WindClan, which is what earns her Ashfoot’s respect and brings the two closer together.

Alright. That’s all I got for now. Next up: What happens with Onestar? Breezepelt, more about the relationship between the three and both sets of parents, the reason StarClan struggles to understand what is happening in the Dark Forest, and the Dark Forest cat’s evil plan!

[gallantgautier]

Pokemon AU notes

So, this has been a long time coming. I’ve had Sylvain’s team set out for quite some time, but never really got around to writing out anything cohesive. (Sometimes life just be like that.) But over the last few days and their conversations, it was high time I got this out onto the dash. Thank you to Rai for letting me look to her wonderful post about Yuri’s life in the Pokemon world to serve as a template for me!

 Under a cut because oh jeez this ended up over 2.5k

Sylvain’s life notes.

Surrounded by snowy hills and woods, Sylvain grew up in Circhester. Used to such a cold climate, he still very much has an aversion to hot temperatures, poor guy just can’t handle them.

Life at home is similar to canon but has its differences in terms of why things happen. He’s slightly better adjusted in terms of his mental health due to the fact that expectations placed upon him from his family didn’t fall upon him as early as they do in canon. More on that in a bit.

The Gautier family has been full of successful Trainers, some even having travelled to other regions to hold positions within the Elite Four in previous generations. While none alive hold such positions now, they are nevertheless still a respected name when it comes to dark-type specialists.

Speaking of dark-type specialisation, this comes from the Guatier Crest’s link with Death in the Major Arcana. An often-misunderstood card, Death symbolises an end, such an end can pave the way for a new beginning, but it is not Death’s purpose to usher in that beginning, only to make the space for it. On its own, Death could also easily be attributed to ghost type Pokemon, but I feel Dark is a better fit on the grounds of dark often being attributed to evil when such is not the case, and Death often being seen as, well, death and general bad stuff.

Miklan was expected to have a successful career as a Trainer much like everyone before him. He had been gifted a Larvitar as his first Pokemon from his father. He was not ignored upon Sylvain’s birth like he had been in canon, however, in this ‘verse, as Sylvain was second born and thus not expected to climb the ranks of greatness, the younger brother was often coddled where Miklan was always pushed to train. That lack of affection and jealousy over the freedoms Sylvain was allowed became the source of his resentment.

With a brilliant mind for strategy and a ruthlessness born from a lack of compassion, Miklan could have been a Trainer that would become legendary in later years. But the absence of a kind bone within his body is also his greatest flaw, and it creates a barrier between him and success. He and his team are more like co-workers than friends, and it inhibits him from reaching his full potential. He would later fall into disgrace after a certain incident, and all the expectation that was once his would fall to his younger brother.

Sylvain, for his part, was content with never having to become a proper Trainer, preferring to watch Glenn and Felix train, or being able to just play with his Pokemon rather than battle. But after Miklan’s disgrace, his family would then push him towards becoming a brilliant Trainer worthy of the Gautier name. Luckily, he doesn’t have to undertake his journey alone, as it comes at a time when his best friend is preparing for his own.

Being out on the road and without his brother’s torment and his parents breathing down his neck, Sylvain slowly begins to discover the joy of simply learning about all the wonderful creatures that inhabit the wider world outside his snowy home. He comes into his own when it comes to creating recipes that are both nutritious and enjoyed by his and Felix’s companions, studying and coming to an understanding on how different kinds of Pokemon communicate with each other, and discovering ways to help improve the quality of life between a Trainer and their Pokemon. He’ll eventually go on to becomes something like a Pokemon Breeder – think animal husbandry rather than an actual breeder or even a Pokemon Centre staff member.

Yes, I’m aware that he’s almost literally Brock in this ‘verse! And I swear that’s just a happy accident! I thought long and hard before Rai pointed out the similarity to me and had come to the conclusion that this is a life he would lead to reflect canon. In the majority of his endings, Sylvain goes on to open communications with Sreng and brings peace at the border via diplomacy rather than with force like his ancestors had long employed. And it feels fitting that he would initially set out to become a Trainer who is expected to rise up to challenge the League (sent to the Officer’s Academy to learn battle strategy and train to eventually wield the Lance of Ruin and fight at the border) but instead finds his calling in communication and understanding.

But, add that he’s a ridiculous fun-loving flirt, he ends up as Brock. And honestly? I love it.

Sylvain’s team

Sylvain doesn’t really have an overarching theme for his team. Granted, when he set out, he was expected to become a dark-type specialist too. But at his core, Sylvain’s growth is always about subverting expectations. There were plenty of choices that I threw out simply on the grounds of too obvious, they’d be Pokemon he would have on his team that would – much like the face he presents the majority of time in canon – not really be him. Instead, I tried to think about how he would feel when meeting various Pokemon, how he would interact with them, and what role they would play in each other’s lives, rather than simply looking for reflections of aspects of his personality.

In order of acquisition:

♂/ Illusion

Sylvain’s very first Pokemon and his other best friend, Zorua was gifted to him at a young age as a pet rather than a partner. The reality of it is that Miklan had been given his Larvitar to begin his training, but since Sylvain was somewhat spoiled and coddled, he had to be given a Pokemon too. To fit with family traditions, it also had to be a dark type, but since his parents were more concerned with giving him a cute little playmate than a Pokemon that would eventually become a powerful battler, they picked fluffy little Zorua.

Zorua would be ever present at Sylvain’s side, weaving between his feet as he’d run down the road to visit Felix, climbing up the furniture to give it enough height to leap up and then curl over Sylvain’s shoulders, laying over his arm while he reads and looking at the pages with him. He would often disguise itself as some of Miklan’s Pokemon and act in a ridiculous manner in an attempt to cheer Sylvain up when his brother’s bullying caused him to withdraw and hide in his room, curling up on his chest while his Trainer slept to keep a watchful eye on the door.

Much like Sylvain in canon, Zoroark is a master of illusion, masking its true self in favour of showing a different face. It’s also fiercely protective of its pack, tricking its opponents to ensure their safety. Zoroark considers Sylvain, and by extension, Felix and his team, as members of his pack. And while Sylvain doesn’t train as hard as his friend, Zoroark pushes himself to become ever stronger to defend them on their journey.

 ♀/ Bulletproof

Applin was also something of a pet for Sylvain initially, found during his childhood before setting out on his journey with Felix, Sylvain found her during a trip to Turffield with his parents. Out for a walk one day with his mother, they were picking apples to bring home with them, and, of course, he had to grab the biggest, shiniest red apple he could find. Imagine his surprise when, after returning home and deciding to indulge in the delicious looking fruit, something green poked out of it! Sylvain immediately ran to his mother, who laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him “that’s a little dragon Pokemon, sunshine.”

 Amazing.

Sylvain could wait to show his friends, charging down the road to the Fraldarius home, proclaiming in a voice full of wonder and awe “It’s a dragon, Felix!” His friend, understandably, didn’t believe him until Glenn told them all about it. Sylvain kept her, wanting to learn all he could about the tiniest dragon he’d ever heard of, amusing both himself and his new apple-like friend by gently rolling her back and forth on the table between his hands.

Miklan made fun of her, called her a ‘pathetic excuse for a dragon,’ but really, that only cemented Sylvain’s resolve to keep her.

This is one of my picks that isn’t attributed to Sylvain’s personality, and is entirely down to how his reaction would be to discovering a creature like Applin. There’s no way he wouldn’t be utterly delighted over its very existence. It’s a dragon. He can’t get over it.

♂/Overcoat

The first Pokemon Sylvain caught after he left home, at first, Sylvain wasn’t really sure what to think of Karrablast. He’s not really the biggest fan of bugs, they’re kind of creepy, and they’ll always remind him of the betrayal he felt when he learned that sweet little Joltik evolved into the terrifying monstrosity that is Galvantula. (Look, he just really does not like spiders.)

Still, he caught it anyway, mostly out of curiosity. It was kind of weird and kind of funny, and he wouldn’t mind learning a bit about it for a while before setting it free. As it turned out, Karrablast had a fierce competitive streak, often wanting to challenge Pokemon much bigger than himself. His sheer determination to prove himself is what caused it to eventually evolve (look, I know it’s a specific trade in game, but this is a far better narrative) and cemented himself in a permanent spot as one of Sylvain’s companions as it defended him and the others during a run-in with Miklan.

Escavalier also doesn’t at all mind using his lance as a makeshift skewer to help Sylvain cook their meals, so that’s a nice bonus.

This one is the only surface level pick for Sylvain’s team, he has to have the cavalier Pokemon. In a sense though, it does fit with Sylvain’s theming of subverting expectations. He doesn’t like bugs, Escavalier is a bug, he has one anyway.

 ♂/Rock head

Abandoned and all alone, Cubone joined Sylvain’s team mostly because of his bleeding heart. Who wouldn’t want to help such a sad looking creature? There was also, though he would never say it out loud, a sense of being a kindred spirit. Cubone had been horribly mistreated by his previous trained before being left behind, but despite it, Cubone still missed them.

Sylvain knew all too well how it feels to wish someone loved them back, especially in the face of such an impossibility. He initially took Cubone in to treat his wounds and keep him safe until they could find a sanctuary to leave him in. But as is natural when encountered with shared experiences, Sylvain grew attached, and Cubone came to slowly consider Sylvain as a safe person to be around, hiding behind his legs and sitting close to him around the campfire.

Through plenty of attention, love and patience, Cubone would grow from timid and tearful into a proud Marrowak as he slowly but surely tried to emulate the strength and confidence shown by Felix’s Corviknight.

 ♂/Defiant

We’re gunna do this one in reverse to the previous entries, where I talk about ooc reasoning first instead of the in-universe acquisition. Simply put, this started as an off-hand comment made not by me, nor by Rai, but by Rai’s muse. The story goes something like this.

 Rai: “Me: looks at Falinks.”

Rai: “My Felix muse: Oh, it’s Sylvain.”

We both laughed. Made jokes about the red plume. But then I thought about it a lot. Falinks is a soldier. Falinks is all about teamwork which lends to strategy which Sylvain is good at. The first individual that makes up the team that is Falinks is the only one that can be seen using its shields, ready to take the brunt of an attack for its teammates much like Sylvain. Falinks has the unique move No Retreat, which raises all of its stats but prevents it from fleeing, much like Sylvain charging into danger to help his friends with no regard to his own safety.

Wouldn’t you know it, Felix really does know Sylvain best.

As a reflection of this half-joking but actually on-point discovery, Sylvain encounters Falinks on the road and finds him to be utterly hilarious. Just look at the way it marches! It’s love at first sight, he’s just so charmed and he absolutely has to catch it.

While Zoroark might be Sylvain’s partner, slowly but surely, Falinks becomes his ace. Their ability to perform complex manoeuvres seamlessly with their unparalleled teamwork is a perfect compliment to Sylvain’s talents in tactical mind.

Falinks are also the only Pokemon on Sylvain’s team to have nicknames! Allow me to hand you over to the man himself to tell you them.

With a smile bright enough to light a Gym Stadium, Sylvain radiates joyful energy as he makes a small gesture to the six round little creatures at his feet. “Alright guys, form up!” In unison, the Falinks line up and stand at attention.

“Let me introduce you to the squad. Cufflinks!” The largest of the six steps forward, jumping up just an inch and waving one of his shield’s in a manner that could be considered a salute, “Hoodwinks!” The first steps back and the second takes his place, performing the exact same salute, “Tiddlywinks!” As does the third, “Slowblinks!” And the fourth, “Fourtywinks!” The fifth, “and Hotdrinks!” and finally the sixth.

As Hotdrinks takes his place back in line, Sylvain beams at him, and they all beam back.

 ♀/Flashfire

A rare sight in the Galar region, this Ponyta hails all the way from Kanto. Much like Cubone, she joins Sylvain’s team after he rescues her from mistreatment, but this time it was at the hands of those seeking to make some money from the black market due to her rarity.

Unlike Cubone, shy or timid are the last words that could ever be attributed to this Ponyta. With a spirit burning as hot as the fire of her mane, she was not broken by her confinement. She was, however, injured and malnourished. Due to her nature, she gave Sylvain no end of grief as he tried to nurse her back to health.

But while slow to trust, once that trust is earned, it’s unbreakable. Her evolution into Rapidash came as a display of her undying loyalty, even allowing Sylvain to ride upon her back without burning him. Unfortunately, that trust doesn’t extend to Felix. She holds an almost-respect for him, but as close to Sylvain as she grows, she doesn’t like how much of her Trainer’s attention he gives his best friend instead of her.

In any universe, Sylvain just isn’t Sylvain without a horse, he loves those big dumb yet loyal animals. There were plenty of options to choose from, but considering his story and goals in this universe, rescuing one seemed the best course, and a Kantonian Ponyta/Rapidash felt like the best candidate for the region his story takes place in.

Also, yes, she’s Chastity.

 Bonus!

I’m not going to go into the story details, but here’s Miklan’s team, also in order of acquisition:

♀/Unnerve

♂/Infiltrator

♂/Moxie

♀/Defiant

♀/Levitate

♂/Pickpocket

[sweetiepie08]

Musician with Poison Tears (Chapter 5)

Miguel Rivera’s been fascinated by the story of the legendary ghost, the Musician with Poison Tears, since he was a kid. He’s always wanted to know the full story behind the weeping specter that haunts the train station with its invisible guitar. Now 18, the travels to Mexico City to try to observe the ghost from afar and get some clues about its origin. Who knows? He might even get a song out of it.

This story is based on the art and ghost!au created by @melcecilia14​. Go check out her artwork here, here, here, and here. It’s really awesome.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Epilogue. 

Bonus.

“So, you actually talked to the guy?”

“Yes,” Miguel explained for about the millionth time. He and Abel were sharing his uncle’s old bedroom and Abel asked him questions constantly. He apparently couldn’t get his head around it. Abel always like scary stories & movies, but lately he was getting into unsolved mystery/true crime/paranormal stuff. He didn’t really believe in the weirder things, but he says it’s just fun to imagine what-if. This ghost, however, he always liked to believe was real.

“What, exactly do you mean by ‘talked to him’?” Abel asked, pressing his hands together.

“Like, normal talking?” Miguel tried to explain, “Like we’re doing right now? Except, he doesn’t move his lips. You just sort of hear him in your brain.”

“Does that feel weird?”

“It did at first, but you get used to it.”

“Wow, I bet no one ever got up that close to him before.”

“He did say most people can’t see him once they get too close. Wait, how did you know that?”

“He’s a legendary ghost. He’s not just in those touristy books moms likes. Here, look.” Abel took his laptop out of his backpack and Miguel sat down on Abel’s bed to have a look. They looked up Musician with Poison Tears on the internet. The screen showed a long list of links to web pages, videos, and even fanfiction about the ghost.

“Wow, people ship him with Eyeless Jack?”

“Ugh, ignore Wattpad and look at this.” Abel clicked on an amateur sleuthing blog. “This guy did some pretty in-depth research on the subject.”

Abel passed the laptop to Miguel and he began clicking through. It was one of those websites with a black background, photo shopped banner, and white text in typewriter font. It reminded him of the Zodiac Killer website Abel showed him once. He clicked on the About Us tab and found that the website had a few different contributors, but the main author claimed to be a private investigator who researched cold cases in his spare time. That could be helpful if true but then this was the internet. For all they knew this was a bored 13 year old with too much time on his hands. But then again, Abel was usually pretty good about sniffing out hoaxes. Miguel kept looking.

The website had different tabs on the top with different subjects the author researched. They were mostly true crime and supernatural cases. The Musician with Poison Tears had a tab all his own. Miguel clicked on it and scrolled through the articles. Some of it was stuff he already found on his own: basic legend, notable sightings, possible victims of supernatural justice, that sort of thing. One article caught his attention. It was called Possible Identities.

It began by explaining that the identity of the ghost was unknown, that it usually disappeared before people could get a good look, blah, blah blah… It also included a grainy picture someone took from far away. It showed the ghost’s profile, but the only details that could be made out were shaggy black hair and a large nose. Miguel had seen this picture plenty of times before, but at least now he could verify that this was, in fact, the ghost. He could tell by the mariachi suit the ghost wore.

He scrolled down a bit more to find a list of profiles of possible identities. Most of them were missing persons or unidentified bodies reported in Mexico City around the time of the ghost’s appearance. Some of them included photos or police sketches. He scrolled past them pretty quick as none of them looked like his ghost friend. He was about to tell Abel this website wasn’t helping, but froze when he came to the last picture.

If it weren’t for the events of that morning, he might have scrolled right past it. It showed a young man in his late teens or early twenties. He was dressed in a shirt and jacket of the times. Miguel couldn’t tell eye color from the black & white photo, but the ghost had irises and pupils which was more than what he had now. The most prominent feature, however, was the grin. It showed off his dimples and brightened up the rest of his face. It both warmed and hurt Miguel’s heart at the same time. The ghost was once happy.

He read the description next to the picture.

This man was found dead in an alley in Mexico City in 1921 only a few blocks from the train station. Age assumed to be somewhere between 18 and 30. His pockets contained this picture of himself, as well as the beginnings of a letter addressed to someone known as “mi amor.” He also held an empty tequila bottle in one hand. No one came forward to claim the body, despite the letter indicating he had loved ones. The police’s top theory is that he was rejected by his lover and accidently drank himself to death that night.

“This is him,” Miguel muttered, mostly to himself. It all fit. The year, the train station, the tequila… Not to mention the fact that the face was a perfect match. “Abel, it’s him!” He shouted, smacking his cousin in the shoulder.

“Really, you’re sure?”

“Yeah I’m sure,” Miguel said. “It looks just like him. Plus, look at the details. He was found near the train station. He died drinking tequila…” The only thing he wasn’t sure about was the lover. The ghost remembered a little girl, but didn’t mention a lover. He obviously had someone. He wouldn’t be writing to “mi amor” otherwise. But, if he had people in his life who he loved, why did no one come looking for him?

“What about the poison?”

They turned to see Rosa standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. They weren’t sure how long she’d been listening, but she obviously heard something.

“What do you mean?” Abel asked.

“What about the poison?” Rosa repeated, getting annoyed. “Don’t the legends say he was poisoned?”

“Could have been alcohol poisoning,” Abel answered.

“How would he poison his victims with one shot of tequila?”

“I don’t know. Ghost magic? He doesn’t really know himself,” Miguel said, getting irritated. “Why do you care, anyway? I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff.”

“I care about facts,” Rosa said, flopping down on the other bed. “If you’re really talking to a ghost, I want to see it.”

“Wait, can we meet him?” Abel asked. “I want to meet him too.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Miguel answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m the first person who’s gotten close enough to talk to him in a century. I’m not sure you’ll be able to.”

Rosa rolled her eyes and marched over to them. “Cut the crap. You think you’re some sort of chosen one?”

“Well, I could be,” Miguel said, flashing a cheeky grin.

Rosa flicked him on the nose. “Fine, Harry Freakin’ Potter. If we can’t see him close up, we’ll just watch from far away.  Us lowly non-chosen can still see him a distance, right?”

“True, that is true,” Abel put in. “Hey, we can show him his picture. That might jog some memories.”

“There, it’s settled,” Rosa said, matter-of-fact. “We’re going to go with you and if we’re not special enough to see him up close, we’ll just hang behind and watch you talk.”

“I don’t get a choice, do I?” Miguel huffed.

Rosa put on a mischievous smirk. “You can choose how you’re going to say ‘yes.’ Use some word-play. Get creative.”

Miguel let out his best, deepest, most beleaguered sigh. “Fine.”

[-]

“Look, he’s not used to so much attention,” Miguel said as they walked into the train station that morning. He prefaced them the night before about how to talk to the ghost. Don’t stare, don’t ask obvious questions, try not to say anything rude about him being a ghost… Mostly, he didn’t want his cousins to scare the ghost away. “He’s a little shy. I don’t want to freak him out. Just hang back for a little bit, then I’ll wave you over.”

“Miguel!”

Miguel looked up while his cousins followed his gaze. The ghost grinned widely and waved his arm in their direction.  

“Yeah, he’s a real wallflower,” Rosa quipped.

“Just wait back here,” Miguel groaned, rolling his eyes. “At least let me introduce you.”

His cousins thankfully listened as he walked up to the ghost who, again, waited by the stairs. The ghost was possibly more excited to see him today than he was the day before. “Miguel!” He called when Miguel was still a few feet away. “Miguel, ever since yesterday I’ve been having more memories about the girl.”

“That’s great,” Miguel said, setting his backpack down on the stairs.

“Yeah, I remember her dancing with me on my shoes and catching fireflies… Oh! And I used to toss her in the air which her Mama did not like at all.”

“Wow, that amazing,” Miguel answered genuinely happy for his new friend. The ghost’s smile was infectious and Miguel couldn’t help smiling himself. “So, who do you think she was?”

“I’m leaning more toward niece or sister…”

“Not daughter?”

The ghost’s smile twitched downward ever so slightly. “I really hope I didn’t forget my own daughter.”

The sound of a foghorn erupted from Miguel’s phone, startling them both. Miguel took it out of his pocket to see a text from Rosa. When did she change my ringtone? The text simply said, “Look.”

Miguel looked up to see Rosa, across the station, glaring at him and tapping her wrist where a watch would be. Oops, almost forgot. “Hey, I hope it’s okay, but I kind of brought my cousins to see you.” The ghost gave him a questioning look and Miguel realized how weird that sounded. Aw crap, he thinks they’re here to gawk at him. “I mean, I’ve been telling them about our conversations and they wanted to see if they could talk to you up close too. They’ve been pretty helpful. In fact, they helped me find this thing I wanted to show you.”

The ghost glanced over at them. “I guess that’d be okay...”

“Don’t worry, they’re pretty nice.” Miguel waved them over.

“Finally,” Rosa grumbled into Miguel’s ear as they joined him. She glanced up at the ghost and nodded. “Yup, I can still see him. Hola, I’m Rosa.”

The ghost gave her a half smile and waved. “Hola,” it said, presumably in both Miguel and Rosa’s heads.

“Oh, good,” Miguel said. This was going okay so far. “Abel, can you see him?” Miguel turned his head to his cousin who looked up, slack-jawed at the ghost. Miguel gave him a nudge and a don’t-be-rude glare. “Abel?”

His cousin shook himself out of his awed daze. “I’m Abel,” he said, extending his hand. The ghost reached out to shake, but his hand phased right through. They went through the motions anyway. Abel shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Uh, we have a famous ghost in our hometown,” he blurted out. “He plays guitar too.”

The ghost glanced between Abel and Miguel. “Uh, that’s nice...”

“Some people think he haunts a theater here in Mexico City, but I think he’s really haunting his grave because you can sometimes here guitar music coming from his mausoleum. No one’s seen him though, but people also say they can hear him singing in the theater. Can ghosts haunt two places at once?”

“I, uh, wouldn’t know.”

Miguel shot his cousin a glare, shutting Abel up. The ghosts was sad enough about being trapped here as it was. He didn’t need to hear about famous ghosts who could possibly jump from city to city as a whim. “So anyway,” He said, sitting on the stairs and opening the backpack. “Like I said, we found something we’d like to show you.” He took out the laptop as his cousins join him on the steps. “We found this webpage about famous unsolved mysteries…” The ghost nodded, but it was clear from his expression that he had no idea what a webpage was. How do I begin to explain the internet to a hundred year old ghost? Miguel just decided to keep going. It didn’t really matter in the long run. All that mattered was the picture. “Anyway, one of the mysteries is the identity of the Musician with Poison Tears.”

“So, you’re identity,” Abel clarified.

“Yeah, and there’s some pictures, but this one looks just like you.” Miguel brought up the screenshot they took of the webpage. The ghost floated behind them to have a look. His eyes started to glow. Miguel started to grin in anticipation. Yes, this was working. The ghost was getting his memories and…

“Hey, Soul Patch!”

They looked up. The same security officer from a few days ago glared down at them with her arms crossed. Oh no, what was it now? They just got here. Miguel looked over at the ghost. The glow was gone. Damn.

“Alright kid, this is the third day in a row you’ve shown up here and I never saw you buy a ticket or get on a train.”

“Umm…”

“And now you’ve got an entourage.  I want to know what’s up.”

Miguel chewed his lip. He wasn’t sure how to explain. Hi, I’m just here having a chat with an amnesiac legendary ghost. No big deal. Even just thinking it sounded like a bad lie. Before he could come up with something better, Rosa spoke up.

“He’s just here ghost hunting.” She laid on a thick layer of cynicism, as if she didn’t believe it; as if she wasn’t sitting next to the ghost at that very moment.

“He’s trying to solve the mystery of the Musician with the Poison tears,” Abel added. “He’s even talked to the ghost.”

Disbelief flashed on the woman’s face before settling into skepticism. “Is this true, kid?”

Miguel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he glanced around at his cousins and the ghost. He hated being put on the spot like that and he was still a little miffed at being called a kid. He thought about denying it and saying his cousins were just kidding around, but he caught the ghost’s eyes and he couldn’t do it. The ghost went a hundred years without a friend. Miguel wasn’t about to pretend that he didn’t exist like everyone else.

Miguel let out a breath then looked the security officer right in the eye. “It’s true.”

“And you talked to him?”

“Yes, he’s actually here right now.” Miguel jabbed his thumb over his shoulder where the ghost was. The security officer looked at the space, but clearly saw nothing.

Rosa sighed and began, “Look. I know it sounds crazy…”

“No, I believe you,” the officer said, her face softening.

“What?”

“I’ve seen him too,” she continued, uncrossing her arms. “Everyone who’s worked here more than a few months has had at least one sighting, but no one’s ever seen him up close, let alone talked to him.”

“And you don’t mind working in a haunted place?” Abel asked.

The security officer smiled and shook her head. “Nah, he seems harmless. I’m glad someone’s getting through to him, though. Some nights, when there’s not a lot of people around, I hear his music. He always sounds so sad and lonely. How’s he been doing?”

“Good, I think,” Miguel answered. It felt weird to speak for someone who was right next to him, but it’s not like there was any other way. “He’s starting to remember stuff and I think he likes the company.”

“That’s good to hear,” The security officer answered, genuine care in her voice. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Ghostbusters. If anyone bothers you, just tell them you’re friends with Lareina, okay?”

As she walked away, Miguel looked the ghost who watched the woman with a faint smile on his lips. When he noticed Miguel watching him, he shook off the smile and asked, “So, you wanted to show me something?”

“Yeah,” Miguel opened the laptop again and pulled up the picture. “Looks just like you, when you were alive I mean.”

The ghost’s eyes flashed as he stared at the picture. Miguel waited intently for the ghost to say something, but he just kept staring. Was there a chance this wasn’t the ghost? Just some guy who looked remarkably like him? “I thought this would help, but if you’re not getting anything…”

“Héctor…” The ghost said, sounding like he just emerged from a trance.

“What?” Rosa gasped.

“It is my name…” The ghost went on. “I’m sure of it now. My name is Héctor.”

Miguel grinned, dimple on full display. His friend had a name. Héctor. Héctor the musical ghost. “Do you remember anything else?”

The ghost…no… Héctor straightened up and puffed his chest out proudly. “I was a musician,” he proclaimed. “I was a professional musician. I came here to play.”

Miguel looked at his cousins. Abel grinned just as wide as Miguel. Rosa looked astonished, but the upturned corner of her lip told him she was happy for Héctor too.

“What about mi amore?” Abel asked.

Héctor looked confused for a second then answered, “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know her. I’m sure she’s lovely, though.”

“No, he means you,” Miguel explained. “There’s a description next the picture. It says you were found with a letter addressed to-”

“Mi amore,” Héctor finished for him. He smiled even brighter as he floated high in the air. “Ay, mi amore, mi amore,” he laughed. “My wife! Beautiful, smart, fierce, passionate… I can’t believe she was mine!” The ghost floated higher as the memories filled him. He looked almost as lively as the picture. Even the color seemed to come back to his face. “I remember her singing. Oh, I wish you could hear her sing. She sang, I played, and…” He suddenly stopped, a look of realization took over his face.

“What is it?” Rosa asked.

“She… she was a mother…”

“So, the little girl…” Miguel began.

“My daughter!” Héctor grinned again and resumed his excitable floating tricks. “I was a papa! I had a family! My family! Mi familia! Maravillosa!” He floated down to his friends on the ground. “Oh, I love them, Miguel. I just barely remember them, but I feel it in my heart. I love them so much.”

“And that’s why you want to go home so bad,” Miguel suggested.

“Home?” Héctor’s face suddenly fell. He sank down into the steps, his colors faded and his tears streaming. “That’s right. Home isn’t here. I never made it home.” The tears came harder and he buried his face in his hands. “I’m a terrible father.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Abel said. He tried to put a hand on Héctor’s shoulder, but again it fell through. “You died. It’s not like you wanted to die.”

“I forgot them,” Héctor went on. “What kind of husband forgets his wife? What kind of father forgets his daughter?”

“You forgot everything, though,” Miguel reasoned. “You couldn’t even remember your own name until a few minutes ago. I’m sure you didn’t do it intentionally.”

“I never came home. I promised, but I never came home,” The ghost sobbed. “I left and I never saw them again.”

“Maybe you will?” Rosa said, scratching the back of her neck. Emotional situations always made her uncomfortable. “You know, in the afterlife?”

“Yeah, maybe once you regain all your memories, you’ll cross over,” Miguel said, putting on the same peppy voice his mother always used to encourage him. “We just have to keep trying, and then you’ll see your family again.”

“You think?” Héctor asked, lifting his head.

“Yeah, I really do.”

The ghost’s ever present tears slowed to their usual thin streams and he forced a smile. “Does your thing at least say if they knew what happened?” he asked. “Did they know I died? That I was trying to come home?”

“Uh, it doesn’t say,” Miguel answered, snapping the laptop shut. “But, they’re your family. I’m sure they came to get you.”

The ghost’s forced smile became the slightest bit real. Miguel let out an uneasy breath then looked at Rosa who glared at him. He lied. She knew he lied. She didn’t say anything, but he knew what he had to look forward to. She’d probably tell him something about how lying leads to more problems and how Héctor will be even more hurt once he finds out the truth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it too. But, he saw the fragile hope on the ghost’s face. How could the truth do him any good now? Besides, there were plenty of reasons why the family never claimed his body. Maybe the news never reached their hometown. It didn’t mean they didn’t love him. They just didn’t know.

But if they never knew he died, what did they think happened to him? Miguel shook the thought from his head.  Every scenario he could come up with was more tragic than the last. No, he couldn’t tell Héctor the truth, at least not now.

The truth would crush him, but the lie gave him hope. How much harm could a little white lie really do?

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nocturne (FFXV) - 2/30

Fic: Nocturne (2/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

——————————————————————————————- ——————————————————————————————-

“So, I’ve done something rash,” Cor says into his phone. It’s not connected, of course – any hope of reception died ages ago – but he likes to record his reports as voicemails to himself in the event that the only part of him that makes it back to Lucis is his phone. Clarus makes a point of checking Cor's voicemail when he's away on mission, and sometimes after, and they've informally agreed that the garbled statements that sometimes make it through are not to be monitored for things like clarity, coherency, or cursing the way normal reports are. After all, one must sometimes make allowances for the weather.

Cor’s currently wrapped up in a thick cloak that’s barely enough to keep out the chill. He’s never been more grateful for the fact that ‘taur physiology permits all creatures, regardless of type, to keep their most sensitive parts retracted inside the body, though of course his poor bare paws are freezing every time they touch down on the frozen earth. Cheetahs are made for warm climates, not – this.

Niflheim.

Yes, yes, he knows this particularly bitter artificial winter that sits upon Niflheim comes from that almost legendary battle when the great Glacian Hind came to life and massacred a large portion of Niflheim’s armies before being killed in turn. And yes, he’s well aware that that battle is one of the only reasons Lucis has managed to hold Niflheim off for so long, but that’s not the point.

The point is that it’s cold.

The point is that Cor is seriously considering buying some of those stupid booties they sell sometimes to keep his paws from icing over, and he hates those.

The point is –

The point is that Cor usually has more self-control than this. This was supposed to be a covert mission, after all – and it still is, mostly.

There's another explosion from behind him. Cor turns to look, just in time to see a giant swath of the factory ceiling caving in as one of the support pillars goes down. He winces at the sight.

He winces again as a small fire breaks out within the ruins of the factor, penned in only by the gently falling snow.

...mostly still covert.

Well, okay, they haven't actually definitively identified it as an act of Lucis and of Cor specifically yet, and that's about it, really. Every other pretense to subtlety has been blown up – quite literally.

And yet, when he saw – he couldn't leave it the way it was. He couldn't leave them.

The kittens.

Well, puppies, actually; he's fairly sure canideataurs call their young puppies instead of kittens, but it's irrelevant. They’re not even proper kitlings yet, just - babies! Babies in cages, babies in tubes, babies with mechanical attachments, with brands, with barcodes –

Sometimes, Cor hates the rulers of Niflheim so hard it takes his breath away, and he's never hated them more than he does now.

How could they?

How could – anyone?

The letter that Clarus' spymasters had dismissed as an obvious trap, the one that purported to be from a scientist in a Niflheim factory, offering up the coordinates of what was supposedly one of Niflheim's infamously well-hidden Magitek factories, where the tech that made them so dangerous was developed, offering to smuggle them into the factory in return for assistance getting out of Niflheim – it sounded too good to be true, on paper, but it was true.

Justina had just about lost hope of a response when Cor came and made contact with her. She really was a scientist working at one of the hidden Niflheim factories, a big and plump ‘taur of the canine breed she fondly referred to as a 'San-Bernard' or something like that, and she'd worked for the Niflheim Empire for ages without complaint only to find the experiments performed on babies a step too far even for her. She'd developed a plan to smuggle the puppies out of the facility, but she needed help, and she was willing to trade access to the facility in return for that help – like Cor wouldn't have helped her regardless, just for the puppies’ sake. She hadn’t realized he would care about that; that’s why she hadn’t included any mention of the puppies in her letter.

Niflheim is an awful place sometimes, and nowhere is it worse than in its factories.

She'd take them to Cleigne, Justina told Cor after he’d seen them and stopped in his tracks, horrified; in Cleigne she’d made arrangements. There were families there, families living quietly under Niflheim rule, not bothering anyone, families that would be happy to take in some puppies without question. She’d prepared thoroughly in advance; she’d even had passports made up for all of them -

- or so she'd thought.

She hadn't been able to count up how many kids there were – some died during the process, she explained, which in Cor’s opinion ought to be enough reason to stop any process at all right there, and she couldn't afford to have extra passports made for her without having the kids to show for it at the border, so she'd estimated the numbers.

She'd gotten it very nearly right: there was only one left over once the passports were all handed out, a blond baby puppy labeled (labeled!) NH-00O6-O204-1987.

"I'd thought he'd die," Justina whispered to Cor when they found the child, thin and sickly and not even a full year old, but still alive. He was snuffling slightly in his sleep. She looked taken aback by the fact that he was still there. "I thought - he's a runt, even for a saluki, and I thought – all the other salukis his age died already, you see, and were incinerated.”

She gestured at the empty tubes next to the sleeping puppy, and Cor shuddered to think of them being filled with puppies just like this pup – to think of those puppies dying, alone and unloved in these cages, and their bodies callously thrown into the fire.

“What does that mean, then?” he asked. “For your plan?”

“I didn't get a passport for a saluki,” Justina said. “Which is a problem – some of the others, I could pass off as mutts, but salukis? They’re rather distinctive.”

"What does that mean?" Cor asked again.

She frowned at him.

“What do you suggest we do?” Cor clarified.

“We leave him, of course,” she said. “I don’t have a passport for him; I can’t get him across the border.”

“No,” Cor said. He didn’t even need to think about it. “I’ll take him. I have to smuggle through the Niflheim border anyway, and Lucis will let me through with him.”

Justina frowned at him. “Do you even know anything about puppies?”

“I’ll learn,” Cor said shortly. “Better than leaving him to die.”

“They won’t kill him immediately or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Justina said, puzzled. “They’ll just keep going with the process – which, admittedly, will probably kill him, but honestly, he’s so sickly, he’ll probably just die anyway.”

“What do you mean, they’ll just continue?”

Justina shrugged, clearly not understanding the source of Cor's question. “As long as the factory’s still standing, they’re not going to stop production.”

Well.

From Cor’s perspective, there was really only one way to go from there, and he thinks (hopes) that Regis and Clarus will agree.

And if they don’t – well. That’s that, he supposes. He doesn’t think they’ll throw him out of the Crownsguard or anything, their old friendship is good for that much at least, but he might have to endure some sort of punishment. Maybe a suspension from his new role as Marshal.

Actually, a suspension might not be so bad; it’ll give him time to find a place for –

The puppy yawns.

Cor’s eyes drop down to the basket at his paws and he grimaces.

Yeah, no, forget everything. He’s totally fucked this one right up.

He has no idea how to deal with kittens. Much less baby kittens! Or, he supposes, baby puppies, but he assumes they’re much the same, and in either case he’s vastly underqualified here. Thank the Six that ‘taurs are a species with a very short period of early development: ‘taurs are only truly helpless babies for a few months before they grow into (mostly) self-sufficient, if extremely inexperienced kitlings, capable of speech and thought, and from that state they grow into children, then teenagers, then adults…

What Cor wouldn’t give for the puppy to be an adult right now.

He does not know how to deal with puppies!

Six, Cor can barely take care of himself – in fact, he’s almost convinced himself that his king and his advisor sent him on this mission exclusively because Regis and Clarus somehow found out he’d started having trouble sleeping again.

Also with eating, but Clarus wouldn’t let him leave until he’d eaten half a meal, so it’s not like he’s had nothing to eat recently. And Clarus only let him stop after half because it was visibly hurting Cor to continue to eat despite his anxiety; he made Cor promise that he’d at least try to eat some broth while he was travelling because collapsing mid-battle isn’t good tactics (Cor is aware of that, thanks, Clarus), and there’d been that lingering suggestion of a psychiatrist hovering in his eyes.

Again.

Cor does not want a psychiatrist. He hates talking about his feelings, he despises motivational speeches, and while he is perfectly happy for other people to benefit from correctly prescribed medication, he’s had a bad reaction to every single pill he’s ever taken.

(Domestic housecat his spotted ass. He’s still low-grade pissed about that. He doesn't think he'll ever be anything but low-grade pissed about that.)

In fact, just about the only good suggestion a shrink has ever had for him was to up his box time and to invest in some bubble wrap to knead with his paws as an anxiety-reducing measure, and that was someone he saw once when he was sixteen.

The last four shrinks Regis and Clarus strong-armed him into going to see (supposedly because there was a mental health requirement for being appointed to senior Crownsguard positions, which Cor knows is a damn rotten lie but honestly it’s not a bad idea to put in place, so he went along with it) weren't anywhere near as useful. Cor isn’t into mediation or ‘centering’ or self-reflection, and he likes himself just fine, so listing out positive things about himself (good at fighting, good at running, good at surviving, good sense of humor, albeit one that very few other people understand…) isn’t exactly helpful either.

He’s just stressed, is all. And no, ordering him to not work is even more stressful, as shrink number two and twelve both learned.

The most recent one even suggested that Cor think about getting some sort of therapy animal to help with panic attacks. Cor heroically managed not to punch him, but it was a remarkably close call.

It doesn’t help that he’s not dating anyone – of course, Cor doesn’t particularly want to be dating anyone, neither romantically nor sexually, to be honest. It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea or anything, it’s just never seemed important enough to pursue with the same sort of single-minded passion that he does for fighting or command or training and mating doesn’t seem like it would be a project worth going into anything less than whole-heartedly – and really the only problem with the lack is that basically everyone around him assumes that having a mate would ease his anxiety while simultaneously assuming that his anxiety is the only thing between him and a nice mate. Possibly also kittens.

Cor wouldn’t be adverse to a kitten or two down the line, but he's never really seen anyone who he thought of as mate material – he doesn’t even really have an image in mind, just a vague floating checkbox that society claims he’ll eventually need to mark off – and he’s just sort of figured that he couldn’t have the former without the latter and given up on both for the time being. After all, he’s young enough that he can afford to wait.

This plan, while tactically sound, also meant that at no point had he ever put any effort into learning how to deal with kitlings.

And now he has to smuggle a puppy across enemy lines.

Said puppy yawns again, displaying his little milk teeth.

Oh Six, the puppy is waking up.

Cor is so unqualified for this.

He crouches down next to the basket. “I’m going to need you to be quiet,” he tells the puppy, who’s now blinking at him. “Okay? No noise.”

The puppy burbles a little and reaches out for Cor.

“Um.”

When Cor doesn’t move, the puppy’s face starts scrunching up. Tears start forming in the corner of his eyes.

Oh crap.

Cor reaches out and picks up the puppy. This is apparently the right move, because suddenly the puppy is cuddling into him and making contented sounds.

His fur is very soft – silky and pale, just like his skin and his bright shock of hair.

“Well, at least you’re not crying,” Cor tells the pup.

Then he tries to put him back in the basket.

An hour later, Cor concludes that he may as well discard the stupid basket, because the puppy has somehow got it into his head that Cor holding him is the only acceptable way to get around and anything else is to be met with tears and long, mournful howls that carry far too well in Niflheim’s frozen environment.

“You’re not defeating me,” Cor informs the puppy as he trots further into the forest. “I just want you to know that. I’m just compromising with you because I need to get out of this country swiftly and quietly and fighting with you is distracting me from doing that.”

The puppy yips happily and nuzzles Cor’s neck, quite content with his current position.

Yeah, Cor wouldn’t believe him either.

Luckily the puppy’s pretty well swaddled against the cold – Justina’s work – and Cor is accustomed to carrying heavy swords for long distances, and the puppy barely weighs more than one of his swords. The puppy is also remarkably well-behaved, though Cor suspects that it has less to do with behavior and more to do with the ill treatment the puppy received up to now – he’s pathetically glad to be held by Cor, yes, but also his muscle tone is low and his lung capacity isn’t great. The puppy is small and sickly; a runt, as Justina said.

If Cor spends too long getting him back to Insomnia, he might not survive. That is – unacceptable.

Cor has accustomed himself, after all these years, to losses endured in battle. He’s lost colleagues, friends – even soldiers under his own command. And yet, the thought of losing this puppy, who had done nothing but be born in the wrong place at the wrong time, induces a stronger emotional reaction than Cor expected.

That’s probably why, when the puppy finally does start to get over-tired and starts hesitantly to whimper and whine, a tentative sound that nevertheless sounds hopeful, Cor immediately stops and begins to set up camp – hours later than Cor would’ve expected before encountering tears, but hours before Cor would normally have stopped.

The tears dry up immediately as soon as Cor puts the puppy down and frees him from the swaddling – looks like the puppy was just tired of being confined and was testing to see if making sounds would obtain a reaction, which is a horrifying thought in relation to puppies or kittens. No one should neglect a crying puppy to the point that he’s unsure whether crying will do him any good, especially one that’s just barely on the cusp of kitling maturity: old enough to think for himself, to wander by himself, and Six, old enough to be talking and understanding speech, and thus old enough to understand that he’s being neglected intentionally and be hurt by it.

Monstrous.

At any rate, the puppy is no longer on the verge of tears – now he’s frolicking around, rolling in the snow and the leaves like he’s never seen either before.

Probably hasn’t.

Cor groans and makes a small fire the old-fashioned way, not wanting to draw the attention of anything magical. The forest is thick enough that he’s fairly sure the MTs won’t be able to identify him based just on the flame, assuming they’re even looking in this direction after all the misdirecting he’s being doing –

“No you don’t!” he shouts, leaping forward to catch the puppy before he runs straight into the fire.

The puppy beams up at him, babbling wordlessly.

“Fire is dangerous,” Cor tells him. “I know you probably never encountered it before, but don’t touch it.”

He puts the puppy back down.

The puppy goes for the fire again.

“No!”

This is going to be harder than Cor originally thought.

He ends up planting a paw in the puppy’s soft belly (and kneading it a little, to the puppy’s delight) while rummaging in his pack for some food that he can boil down. Luckily he has some soup – surely that wouldn’t be too difficult for a puppy to eat?

He offers the puppy a spoon.

The puppy blinks at it.

“You eat it.”

The puppy pants happily, but show no sign of taking a bit.

“You eat – oh, by the Six.” Cor sighs. He waves the spoon in the air a little until the puppy is focusing on it. “You eat the soup. Like this.”

He takes a bite himself, making a pointed purring sound of enjoyment as he does. Then he offers the puppy the next spoonful.

The puppy eats the spoonful.

Cor sighs in relief. Mission accomplished.

He offers the next spoonful, but the pup whines unhappily.

Cor seriously considers beating his head against the nearest tree. Didn’t he just show the puppy that he could eat the food safely?

He takes another bite himself, and on the next try the puppy does accept another bite. Going back and forth, they manage to finish the whole bowl, at which point the puppy promptly flops over onto its stomach to fall asleep, making cute little snores almost at once.

Cor rolls his eyes and cleans up the campsite in case they need to leave in haste, then curls around the puppy to provide warmth.

It’s not until he’s about to drop off into the light doze he uses on missions where he needs to be on watch at all times that he realizes that the half-bowl of soup is more than he’s eaten in a single sitting for nearly a month.

“See, Clarus,” Cor grumbles as he yawns his way into sleep. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

The puppy somehow maneuvers himself out of the warmth of Cor’s belly and onto Cor’s face while he sleeps, as Cor discovers when he wakes up, but somehow this ends up being charming instead of annoying.

He does wonder why the puppy doesn’t talk, thinking to himself about it as the puppy wiggles around on the ground while Cor goes to hide the evidence of the now-extinguished fire. After all, surely the puppy's something like a year old, now, judging by size comparisons with Regis’ kitten? Little Prince Noctis has certainly started talking, and quite a bit, too, albeit with some fairly terrible grammar. He’s a good comparison.

Unlike, say, Clarus’ Gladio, because even besides him being two years older than this puppy, Cor would be willing to bet against Bahamut that Clarus’ boy is going to out-grow everyone around him. After all, his mother in her youth was one of those tall Lucian warrior ‘taurs that settled in the Duscae outpost, a berserker who knocked Clarus clean out in a friendly bar-fight and whom he’s been madly in love with ever since – and Cor has long since learned not to use anyone who breaks the curve as a standard.

(He used to beat all his friends at footraces when he was a kitten, and they hated him for it, but he couldn’t run as slow as them, he just couldn’t, and he never knew why – just that biting freezing isolation of knowing something was wrong and he wasn't like the others – didn’t have parents, didn’t act right, didn’t love right, didn’t move right, not like the rest of them –)

The puppy sneezes and sits up.

A lone leaf drifts down and lands on his nose.

The puppy watches it fall with absolute fascination, and once it lands, he tries to bat at it, unbalancing himself, and falls over backwards with a surprised expression.

Cor doesn’t laugh, but it’s not for lack of wanting to.

The puppy starts to tear up again.

“No.”

The puppy stops and look at Cor.

“No crying,” Cor says sternly.

The puppy holds its arms out towards Cor, babbling happily, albeit incoherently.

“Why don’t you talk?” Cor grumbles. “You should be talking by now.”

It occurs to him only a moment later that the puppy probably didn’t have people around him to learn from – and no incentive for the scientists to bother teaching him.

Even Justina dismissed him as just a runt doomed to die.

Cor makes a face, mentally damning Niflheim yet again, and scoops up the puppy, starting to trot onwards again.

“Let’s start you on some basics,” he tells the cooing baby puppy. “Don’t want you falling behind just because the Niflheim scientists stunted your development.”

He frowns, trying to think of what would be a good place to start. What’s a basic, necessary, commonly-used element of speech?

“How about ‘no’,” he finally says. “That should be harmless enough.”

By the time they get to the border a few days later, the pup is familiar with ‘no’, ‘up’, ‘mine’ and ‘want’, and Cor has determined that he’s an absolute moron because now the kid won’t stop saying them.

Especially ‘no’.

The border itself is – trickier than expected.

“Papers,” the bored female ‘taur at the window says.

Cor isn’t surprised by the request, even though he’s normally recognizable enough that he doesn’t have to bother with the details: after all, he’s covered in mud from having to do a bit of fancy footwork to get around the bigger MT patrols, he’s not wearing Crownsguard clothing, and he has a baby strapped to his back because that turned out to be the acceptable balance between “being held” and “in a convenient location so that Cor can still fight”.

He passes over his papers.

“Papers.”

“I just gave them to you,” Cor points out.

“For the baby.”

“He’s a refugee,” Cor says. “Also, a baby. He doesn’t have papers.”

“He can’t go through the border without papers.”

“We get dozens of refugees every day,” Cor stresses. “Not everyone can have papers.”

“They can get papers,” the clerk says, clearly uninterested. “You’ll need to go to the administration building down the block.”

Cor sighs, but goes.

There’s a line.

Sure, he could probably cut, using his status as head of the Crownsguard, but that feels a bit too much like being a privileged asshole, and at any rate he’s not looking forward to explaining this to Regis and Clarus anyway, so he waits.

The people at the front of the line are overworked and overtired and he gets three questions in before he realizes that they’re trying to make papers for him, and then he has to explain that he already has papers, it’s just the puppy that doesn’t.

…he thinks they think he stole the kid from someone. That’s definitely the look on their faces right now.

Then they send him to another line, because apparently combined situations are taken care of at the other admin building.

Six lines and multiple hours later, Cor’s fur is standing on end and he’s considering stabbing someone before putting a sword to Clarus’ neck and demanding he fix whatever the fuck is wrong with administration here because this is just plain awful even if they're trying to stall him because they think he’s some sort of child smuggler.

“Listen,” he snarls at one particular female ‘taur, a bobcat, that he’s been talking to for nearly twenty minutes after yet another line. “It’s not that hard. Just make the kid a passport. I’ll get the rest verified when I get to the Crown City. I don’t need a pass. I don’t need a housing permit. Just give me a piece of paper that gets me though the border.”

The bobcat clerk scowls at him. She has circles under her eyes, and Cor would’ve been sympathetic two hours ago but he’s not anymore. “Fine.” She pulls out yet another form. This is the fourteenth he’s seen. Most of them have turned out to be the wrong form only after he’s gone through the process of filling them out. “What do you call him?”

“Pu – oh,” Cor stops abruptly. That’s the first time he’s been asked that. As far as he knows, the kid doesn’t even have a name, just a number.

And he’s pretty sure ‘puppy’ isn’t actually a real name.

Like, 90% sure.

You never know what celebrities are naming their kids these days.

“Prompto,” the clerk says, writing it down. “Got it. I assume he’s also a cheetah?”

“Why would you assume that?” Cor asks blankly. Prompto? Where’d she get that from?

“Prompto means quick,” she says. “Standard cheetah name, and I can see your spots. He’s a cheetah like you, right?”

Cor twists to look at the pup – Prompto, he guesses, because one name is as good as another – and he’s gotten so wrapped up in the swaddling that his legs are barely visible.

“No,” he says. “He’s a saluki.”

“A what?”

“Canidaetaur.”

The clerk frowns at him.

“You assholes know mixed families exist, right?” Cor asks, crossing his arms. “He could be mine.”

“You look fifteen,” she says. “And you’re covered in mud and – is that blood?”

“When I was fifteen, everyone said I looked twelve,” Cor says dryly. They were usually being generous, too. “And no, it’s MT engine oil.”

She looks more suspicious now. Chalk another one up to Team 'they think he's a child smuggler.' “Is he yours?”

“No,” Cor says. “I rescued him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen, if you’re going to have me arrested, can that happen sooner rather than later?” Cor asks. “And preferably after I get the pup’s papers?”

He actually does end up having to talk to a local guard about it, because apparently Cor is a very suspicious person when he’s trying to follow the rules. The guard turns out to be one of the remnants of what was once Lucis’ army, one of the branches that never swapped over to being Crownsguard, but he still recognizes Cor and suddenly everyone is horribly embarrassed about everything, which does not even slightly make up for the fact that Cor could’ve been a normal person going about his daily business with a rescued baby and then he’d still be in those awful lines waiting to get through, and possibly also in prison.

By the Six, Cor is going to Do Something about this, and if Clarus and the Council won’t do it, he’ll just have to file another goddamn lawsuit.

(Regis joked once that Cor must spend half of his Crownsguard salary on lawyers, but he’s not entirely wrong. Winning one massive precedent-setting lawsuit in such a well-known and public manner has gotten the idea into people’s heads that he’s potentially willing to fight others, and unfortunately they’re not entirely wrong about that, either. Cor’s sharp-toothed and very expensive lawyers are very fond of him.)

And then he takes Prompto (is that a typical cheetah name? Cor has no idea; he’s never really fit in with the other cheetahs in Insomnia – his mannerisms and cultural understanding are totally different, having been raised a housecat, and most of them are far too intimidated by his reputation as the Immortal to actually have a conversation with him about what he’s getting wrong) and marches his way back home, through the back end of the city, and straight to the Citadel.

Normally, he’d swing by the barracks to at least groom himself first, but he has a point to make.

“Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Crownsguard,” the doorkeeper announces, as unmoved as ever. The day he sounds surprised about someone coming through this door, Insomnia will be about to fall, Cor swears it.

Cor marches in, stiff-legged and pissed off, his tail stuck out low and puffed up in case they hadn’t gotten the message from the angry stalk.

“Welcome back, Marshal,” Regis says warmly from his throne. “You’re several days later than we expected you; we were beginning to become concerned about –” He stops mid-sentence.

“The border crossing is a shambles,” Cor says, totally ignoring the usual protocol of talking to the King while he’s sitting on his throne. “It is imperative that we fix it.”

“Perhaps you should start with your mission report –” Clarus begins, only to get rather obviously elbowed in the side by Regis. He frowns at Regis, who is doing something bizarre with his eyebrows, and then looks back at Cor. A second later, his eyes go wide as well.

Meanwhile, Cor has managed to get a hold of himself. Clarus is correct. Protocol is protocol, and there are no exceptions. Cor shifts into parade rest – hands behind his back, legs straight – and starts, “I left Insomnia on the thirteenth of –”

“No, no, never mind the mission report,” Regis says. “Cor – is that a baby?”

Prompto has gotten loose of the majority of the swaddling and is attempting to chew on the edge of Cor’s jacket. This is a sufficiently common occurrence that Cor has stopped paying attention to anything more than whether Prompto is still slung on securely and if the jacket is still relatively clean but for the drool. He’s hypothesized that Prompto’s baby teeth require sharpening and that he’s using Cor’s jacket as a substitute teething tool.

“Yes,” Cor says shortly, even though technically Prompto’s probably closer to being a kitling at this point. Prompto is not the issue here. “As I was saying. Upon leaving Insomnia, I went to the check-in point, where –”

“Cor. Why do you have a baby?”

“That part doesn’t come until later in the report, your Majesty.”

“Skip ahead.”

“There weren’t any passports left to get him to Cleigne,” Cor says, being deliberately obtuse. “Which is why I just spent nearly a full day waiting in line at the border – and nearly got arrested for it.”

“Cor, just – please – just tell me you didn’t steal somebody’s baby,” Clarus says. He’s put his face into his hands.

“I didn’t steal somebody’s baby,” Cor says obediently.

“Thank you, Cor. Could you try that again, but this time at least make an effort to make me believe it?”

“He may have been somebody’s baby once,” Cor says, though privately he’s not so sure about that. Some of the puppies Justina had taken with her had looked awfully similar – cloning, perhaps? “But they gave up all moral rights to him when they locked him in a small cage and branded him with a number instead of a name.”

Regis and Clarus’ smiles disappear.

“Start at the beginning,” Regis orders.

Cor starts at the beginning.

[justsomebucky]

Flashes (Part 1)

Summary: Soulmate AU. “The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,783

Warnings: language, fluff, wishful thinking, angst, sadness, borderline depression, sarcasm, did I mention language? might be hard to read for lonely hearts like me.

A/N: Well, I did it…at least I tried. The lovely @minervaem challenged me (sort of) to do an angsty story, so here we go. I’m warning you now, it’s not gonna be pretty. Anyways, it’s only four parts, so only pre-existing permanent tags will be added to this story. Reminder: If you want to be removed from the permanent tag list you need to msg me! Sorry in advance. There’s four parts to this story.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Your eyes widened as you stared at your best friend, Natasha Romanoff. You could tell she was having another flash, and that this one was making her very happy. She stared, unseeing, with eyes glazed over just a bit. A smile formed on her pretty face.

Natasha blinked once, twice, then was back with you, back from wherever she’d been in the vision.

That’s what flashes were – visions.

You’d never had one personally, but from what you could tell, it was like having virtual reality goggles. You could see, feel, and fully experience the entire thing as if you were there.

The fact that everyone else around you had already had at least one flash in their lives made you feel like an odd ball, even more than your personality already did.

Natasha had a vision at least once a week. Sometimes they made her sad because she still didn’t know who her mystery soulmate was, but mostly, she got to experience new adventures, or feel elated for a minute or so.

Today had been your first day off from work in a while, so the two of you were laying on the floor of her apartment, just being lazy. Rain battered the window pane, but you didn’t mind. You always liked the rain.

“That was…awesome,” she breathed out, her smile still present. “This time I was at an archery competition. I’m pretty sure it was the Olympic trials or something, because the logo was everywhere. That means my soulmate is a professional athlete!”

The only thing that would have made her happier was if he was a professional billionaire.

So anyways, they tell you growing up that three things were proven facts regarding these visions.

The first is that every person on earth has one, and only one, soulmate, and when your visions start, you will see glimpses of that person that will help lead you to each other. It could be street names, logos like Natasha saw, or even a tattoo or unique birthmark.

The second is that not every person’s soulmate is guaranteed to survive long enough to meet them.

The third is that this bond cannot be broken, except by death.

Since you never had a vision in your entire life, you concluded that your soulmate had died a long time ago, before the visions would have been able to start. It’s different for everyone, but like puberty, they usually start in happening your teenage years.

Everyone around you would tell you to cheer up, that it wasn’t certain, that they could still start, but you didn’t really put any faith or hope into the idea.

No, you were sure you were meant to lead a solitary life.

A soulmate passing away before one could meet them wasn’t all that uncommon. Your own aunt had flashes, but one day they had suddenly stopped. She’d been able to piece together enough clues, only to track her soulmate down at his actual funeral. They had to lock her in a mental hospital after that.

Not everyone takes the news as well as you have.

“That’s great,” you replied, nudging Nat’s arm gently. “Archery is cool. I bet his arms are really muscular.”

“I bet his whole body is,” she giggled. “I bet he’s just a freaking dream.”

You were waiting for it, for the moment she remembers you don’t have a soulmate. It happened every time someone decided to pity you, and it only got worse the older you got. You cringed slightly.

There it was.

Natasha’s bright grin fell, and she sat up a little to look at you. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to go on about it. I…I never know what to say to you when this happens.”

“Say anything but you’re sorry,” you told her, forcing a smile to your face. “I promise, I’ve come to terms with it, Nat. I want you to be happy. It’s exciting to see it happen, to see your reactions. It’s like I’m living vicariously through you. If your soulmate’s out there, we’re gonna find him, okay?”

“Okay.” She offered you another one of her brilliant smiles, and this time, you didn’t have to fake your own…hers were that contagious.

“So, let’s think about the clues from your visions so far. Male, blond hair, archery, Olympic trials…I bet you could find a list of the competitors on the internet and narrow it down.”

“You’re so right!” Nat stood up, reaching her hand down to haul you to your feet, too. “Come on. I’m dying to see if I can figure this out tonight!”

Once you were on your feet, she dragged you over to her desk and flopped down in front of her laptop.

It took a couple of hours, but Natasha managed to narrow down her archer soulmate’s identity to one of three people, two of which were from this country and one from overseas.

While you hadn’t been lying earlier, and you really did like seeing her happy, this stuff still weighed down on you, and you could feel yourself slipping again. You told her gently that you needed to get home.

Though, really, what did you have to go home to? An empty apartment, and the reminder that you were alone in this world.

Greeaaattt…

Besides, while you were standing over Nat’s shoulder watching her research her future husband on her laptop, you had an idea.

Maybe there was someone out there, who, like you, hadn’t gotten the flashes when they should have started. Maybe, maybe, maybe there was hope for you yet, sitting out on the internet in a nice, neat little article. You wanted to search this out on your own, though, just in case what you found wasn’t what you were looking for.

You went back to your apartment and sat down on the couch, pulling a pillow over your lap and setting your open laptop down. You immediately pulled up Google in your browser.

Soulmate flashes after teenage years

Over 8 million results, none of which looked helpful. Maybe if you tried re-wording it.

Haven’t had soulmate flashes yet

This resulted in page after page of sob stories about soulmates that died, or people who were forever alone. Yeah, you knew that already, Google. You backspaced that one, too.

Late start to soulmate flashes

Ah, this looked a little better. You leaned up a little, reading through the summaries of each link. At the bottom of page one, you saw a link that said ‘Haven’t had your flashes yet? There could be a good reason.’

“Try me,” you muttered, clicking the link.

A new page opened up which, much to your relief, didn’t look like the homepage of a wackadoo. At the top was a collage of people hugging – just some stock photos that were poorly photoshopped. That wasn’t a warning sign just yet.

Your eyes wandered further down the page. Apparently, there was a man in New York City who called himself Vision (Yes, that was his actual legal name now), and he was claiming that he could help someone with their delayed flashes. Okay, so the name was a little bananas, but maybe it was just a business title. Bozo the Clown wasn’t that guy’s real name, either.

“The number one reason why someone may not have had flashes yet is obvious and painful,” you read aloud. “One’s soulmate might have died or become incapacitated before a flash-receiving age was reached. Since one-half of the connection is now gone, the other will never experience the flashes.”

Well, no shit. You knew that. Everyone knew that. Even Google knew that, about eight million times over.

“But, another reason exists for delayed flashes,” you continued, your voice echoing around your apartment. “There is a stigma surrounding this theory. Many suggest that it is wrong to get one’s hopes up with so little chance at success. However, as someone who experienced delayed flashes firsthand, I can assure you that the theory is valid.”

You scoffed. “Great. A theory is valid? How can a theory be valid? Wouldn’t that push it into the factual category? Maybe he is a wackadoo.”

The next section on the website instructed visitors to watch a short video of Vision explaining his so-called valid theory. You clicked play, expecting to see him, but he only did a voiceover while you watched stock footage of happy couples. He was really getting on your nerves with this Sandals resort-type crap at this point.

“Are you one of the one-percenters? Are you one of lonely few who have yet to realize the probability of a soulmate? If so, you have come to the correct website.”

“Wackadoo,” you muttered.

“While some might consider you to be abnormal, or look down on you with pity, there is still a chance for you, past the normal flash age, to realize your soulmate if they are still alive.”

“That’s a hell of an ‘if’ there, buddy.” This guy was unbelievable. Was he just preying on the lonely, the desperate?

“I, myself, had not experienced my own soulmate flashes until later in life. My darling soulmate, whose name is Wanda, first came to me in my dreams. Then one day, while I was having breakfast, I experienced my first flash. It was as if I was really there with her. I saw her red hair and her leather jacket first. Then her hand reached for mine, and I saw a unique tattoo on her skin. From that one flash, I was able to identify my soulmate.”

Well, then maybe there was a smidgen of hope for you yet…

“How did I get myself to that point? I simply wanted it so much that it happened. I willed it into existence. I went through some exercises in my mind, ones that I can teach you, free of charge. You simply have to be brave enough to experience them, embrace the unknown, and come to terms with what fate does or does not offer in the end. If you are brave enough, if you are open-minded enough, come meet with me in my office in midtown, and I can help you.”

The video ended, and you were left feeling slightly winded somehow. Could you contact a nutball like him and still look at yourself in the mirror?

What if you got your hopes up, like literally everyone had warned sternly against, and ended up even more depressed about it?

Wasn’t it worth the risk, though? If you didn’t take a chance, you’d never know for sure.

The thought of finally, finally belonging to someone…it sent chills down your spine just thinking about it.

You were gonna do this.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

perma tags (not currently adding for this story): @sprinkleofhappinessuniverse @minaphobia @amrita31199 @aenna-4 @ailynalonso15 @psingh97 @sofiadiaz04 @mirkwood—princess @lilasiannerd @coffeeismylife28 @capdanrogers @melissalovesmusicyay @hollycornish @northscorpio @gallifreyansass @ancchor @vaisabu @alurea-actually @hailey-a-s @buckyswinterchildren @cleanslates @minervaem @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @winterboobaer @kjs-s @hardcorehippos @jay-birdbitchez @rchlnwtn @seeyainanotherlifebrotha @aeillo @whyisbuckyso @crownie-sr @neverbeforgotten @givemethatgold @notsoprettykitty @punk-rock-princess-626 @dracsgirl @giannastoico @cosmic-avenger @rockintensse @angelicshinigami @heytherepartner @simplyme8308 @ria132love @dolthiac @feelmyroarrrr @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @johnmurphys-sass @wishingtobelost @nolaimagines

Story tags: None this time. (It’s so short! Sorry!)

[winchesterprincessbride]

Political Animals-Part 3

This is an A/B/O AU.  You are the Omega artist daughter of Naomi Novak, a world-class heart surgeon who is running  for Mayor of New York City.  After a meeting where your mother’s advisors call you a “liability”, she tells you that if you don’t do as your told she will cut you off.  You storm out and wind up in a bar a few blocks away.

The hottest Alpha you have EVER laid eyes on with a scent so mouthwatering you’re practically drooling offers to buy you a drink.  It’s just a drink, right? What do you have to lose? Only everything.

Characters: Omega! Reader, Beta! Naomi Novak, Alpha! Castiel Novak, Omega! Meg Novak, Claire Novak, Jimmy Novak, Alpha! Sam Winchester, Alpha! Dean Winchester, Alpha! John Winchester

Big thanks to @moansmisha  for letting me use some of her ideas from this post

Part 1 (all parts are linked)

Sam Winchester always followed the rules. It stemmed from growing up with a policeman and former Marine for a father. Sam was neat, organized, precise and always on time. He excelled in school and knew at a young age that he wanted to be a lawyer. His perfect grades and stellar test scores practically guaranteed a free ride to an ivy league school.

Then two things happened that altered the course of his life forever: he presented as an Alpha and his mother was killed in a car crash. Sam went wild with grief.  By this time his father was the police commissioner of New York City, and his brother Dean was training to become a mechanic.

Fueled by rage and hormones, he worked his way through most of the unmated Omegas in the city. It was only when he met a pretty blond Omega named Jessica Moore did he finally find peace.

They dated for several years, and Sam eventually did become a lawyer, but the relationship ran its course over time. Sam and Jess parted as friends and he threw himself into his work. Fifteen hour days became commonplace.

Dean’s girlfriend Jo Harvelle made it her mission to find him a mate but so far she hadn’t succeeded. Sam doubted she ever would. He began to think he was meant to be alone.

Despite their busy schedules, Sam and Dean had always remained close and talked on the phone daily. Sam found that he looked forward to these conversations. His brother had a way of simplifying things that made so such sense.

“You gonna be able to make it to Dad’s for dinner on Sunday?” Dean asked him during one of their nightly calls.

“I think so. Are you and Jo?” Sam replied.

“Just me. Jo’s away with some of her girlfriends for a long weekend.  She is scoping out one of them as a potential mate for you, Sammy.”

Sam sighed.  Not this again.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Actually, Dean.  I met someone.  An Omega.”

“What? You met a woman?  A real live woman? Where? How? I need details Man!” Dean said impatiently.

“At a bar.” Sam said shortly.  He decided that Dean didn’t need to know about the amazing sex in the bathroom of the bar.  Or the embarrassing fact that she had snuck out on him afterward.  Or how long he had walked around looking for her. 

Or that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since.  Her scent.  The sounds she made.  The taste of her.  Her tight, wet heat.  Sam had to mentally shake himself to refocus on the conversation.

“What’s her name?  Is she hot?” Dean asked.  “As hot as Jo?”

Jo and Dean had been together for so long that she was like a sister to Sam.  She was really good for Dean.  She smoothed out his rough edges and didn’t take any of his crap.  Before Jo Dean drank too much, slept with too many women and spent most of his time trying to numb his pain.

“She is beautiful.  Her name is Y/N.”  Sam said quietly.

John Winchester had aged well, his dark hair only slightly graying.  He was an imposing figure with an air of effortless authority.  In the years since Mary had died he had managed to juggle raising his sons alone with the demanding job of Police Commissioner.

John had always been a strict parent, but he was fair.  Mary had been the love of his life, and losing her had shaken his foundation.  But above all Mary had loved her boys, and he owed it to her to raise them right.  And he felt he had succeeded.  They had grown into decent, honorable men.

Two years ago when John had told him right in this very room that he had been approached about running for mayor, his sons were thrilled for him.  John loved New York City.  During his years on the force he had received multiple commendations for bravery and had risen up through the ranks.  He had even been wounded in the line of duty, getting shot in the arm during a traffic stop.

Sam believed his father was a born public servant and would make a great mayor.  He did his homework, thought things through, and was always looking for ways to incorporate new technology to save money.  He was also a very natural and eloquent public speaker.  Naomi Novak didn’t stand a chance.

The three men sat drinking coffee and polishing off the apple pie John’s cook had left for them.  She knew it was Dean’s favorite so she always made pie when she knew the boys were coming over.

“So how are things going with the election, Dad?” Dean asked between forkfuls of pie.

“Pretty well.  The fact that Naomi Novak has never held any sort of elected office is going to hurt her, I think.  I’m told she is a brilliant surgeon but she comes across as an ice queen.  Which reminds me.  My first debate with her is in two weeks.  I would really love it if you both would come.  It would mean the world to have my boys there.” John rarely asked them for anything.

“I wouldn’t miss it.  Can I bring Jo?” Dean said immediately.

“Of course, Son.  She’s family.” John said with a smile.  “What about you, Sam?”

“Of course I’ll be there to support you!” Sam commented.

John’s smile lit up his face.  “It’s on the 12th.  It’s a Friday night.  I’ll have Doug email you the details.”

I didn’t think it was possible for my relationship with my mother to become more strained.  I was wrong.  After the disastrous meeting with her PR team, I didn’t call her or take her calls for several days.  I didn’t call Cas either.  The truth was I was still so shaken by my encounter with Sam. There were so many emotions at war in me I couldn’t  decide how I felt.

I was angry at myself for being so reckless.  I was mad at myself for not going back to the bar and getting his number.  I was annoyed that I snuck out like a coward. I was terrified someone might have recognized me and my mother would find out and blame me for hurting her campaign.  But most of all I was frustrated because I couldn’t stop thinking about him and I wanted more.

Finally after several days of me avoiding him Cas showed up at the gallery where I worked part time in exchange for studio space.  I’ll admit my first thought was making a break for it in case he hadn’t seen me yet but then I realized how silly I was being.

“Hi Cas.” I walked up to him and kissed his cheek.

He gave me a thoughtful look.  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls? I’ve been worried about you.”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “I don’t have a good reason.  I just didn’t feel like talking about Mom or the stupid election for a few days,  I just needed a break.  But I’m ready now.  You can tell Mom I will do what she wants but I am choosing what events I will do.  I want to limit the time I have to be on that stuff.  That’s my offer.  Take it or leave it.”

“Are you sure about this?” Cas questioned me.

“I don’t care if she cuts me off anymore. I am through being manipulated by her.  I mean it.  I’m standing up for myself and my rights as an Omega. The only reason I am agreeing at all is that I don’t want to be blamed for ruining her campaign.”

Cas heard the steely determination in my voice and he didn’t argue with me.  He just nodded.  “Mom’s first debate with John Winchester is on the 12th.  She wants us both to attend.  What should I tell her?”

“Tell her I’ll go.  I’m not angry at you, Cas.  I know you’re stuck in the middle.  Thanks for standing up to Mom about the way she treats me.  That really meant a lot. How’d I get so lucky to have such a great big brother?”

Cas’ sky blue eyes got soft. “Come here, silly girl.  I’m the lucky one.” He pulled me into his arms and squeezed me tight.  I laid my head on his shoulder. “I meant everything I said on that message.”

That made me smile.  “I know you did.  Love you, Bro.“

I stared at myself critically in the mirror. Mom’s team had requested/ordered me to dress conservatively for the debate. I wore a simple navy blue wrap dress with just plain silver jewelry. I kept my makeup natural and wore my hair down and curly.

A car arrived to pick me up and take me to the debate location. I was escorted to Mom’s room. She was off in a corner rehearsing something with her campaign manager. I don’t even think she noticed me arrive.

Meg and Cas were already there. I reached over to hug Meg. "You look beautiful, Meg.”

 Cas smiled fondly at his wife. “She cleans up nicely when she doesn’t have kids hanging on her legs.” He teased.

“You look downright hot, girl!  Maybe we can find you a man at that cocktail reception afterwards?” Meg winked at me suggestively.

“Stop trying to pimp out my baby sister, wife.” Cas told her.

Someone came in and escorted us to our seats. The moderator came out and introduced herself and explained the rules of the debate. My mother was introduced, and she waved to the crowd and walked to her podium. John Winchester was introduced and he also waved to the crowd and walked to his podium.

John made his opening statement, welcomed everyone and thanked his sons Sam and Dean for being here to support him. He smiled in their direction, and I could see the love in his eyes.

Meg leaned over and whispered to me, "I had no idea John Winchester's sons were so good looking. Wow!"

"Which ones are they?" I whispered back.

"The one in the front row on the end with the short brown hair that looks like a supermodel and the really tall guy with the long hair next to him."

I glanced over, trying not to be obvious about it. Damn, the one did look like a model! And the other one........

My stomach dropped and I froze, my heart pounding.  As though he could feel the weight of my gaze, he turned and looked right at me.  The shock in his eyes was reflected in my own.  It was Sam.

The Sam from the bar.  The Alpha I had had the most amazing, mind-blowing sex ever with.  The one whose scent made my toes curl.  The one I had thought of every second since I had run out on him.  And he was John Winchester’s son. 

Fuck.

Part 4

@skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it

@fangirl1802 @pinknerdpanda  @atc74  @moansmisha  @oriona75

@buckysmetallicstump  @notnaturalanahi  @ariannalikescake @itsummertime22  @roseblood11   @demondeansdomme @cantchoosejustonefandom @ferferelli @midnightjazzmine @dr-dean @clairese1980 @moonstonemystyk  @bohowitch @jezzula  @growningupgeek

[i-read-good-books]

yoi lotr au

this is from several centuries ago but i think i never made a tumblr post for it and it’s my favourite fic that i’ve written so you know fuck modesty ayy

Title: "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky."

Word Count: 4k

Summary:  Critics have always considered "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." one of the most faithful descriptions of Legend Victor Nikiforov, the greatest elven fighter for more than eight centuries. Although it is narrated by Plisetsky as an adolescent, and thus contains strong language and spends more time ridiculizing his travelling companions than giving thoughtful insight into Nikiforov's psyche, it still remains as an essential reading in every scholar that decides to study Nikiforov [...] //

Day 95: Caught Nikiforov writing love poems. Am appalled at bad writing more than anything else. Example: “I really like your dark eyes / and all the other parts of your face. Your butt is the perfect size / and I would love to see you in lace.” Hope the Hobbit cannot read, or am afraid this love story will not have a pleasant ending.

Alternatively: Elf!Yuri talks shit about Elf!Victor and Hobbit!Yuuri in his diary.

Link to ao3: here

Actual fic under the cut:

"The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky."

Critics have always considered "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." one of the most faithful descriptions of Legend Victor Nikiforov, the greatest elven fighter for more than eight centuries. Although it is narrated by Plisetsky as an adolescent, and thus contains strong language and spends more time ridiculizing his travelling companions than  giving thoughtful insight into Nikiforov's psyche, it still remains as an essential reading in every scholar that decides to study Nikiforov, as Plisestky was his protégé and closest friend. It is also, admittedly, an incredibly honest read, compared to some stories that overglorify Nikiforov and paint him as overworldly. The beginning of his relationship with Yuuri Katsuki, famous hobbit adventurer, is also illustrated in the book.

- Excerpt from "Victor Nikiforov: Legend and Truth", by scholar and famous entertainer Minako Okukawa.

Day -24: Nikiforov barges into my room in the middle of the night, wearing a pink frilly nightdress that I am quite convinced belongs to Mila, and announces, terribly loud, “Yuri! I have found my next adventure!” Proceeds to leave the room immediately, leaving glitter on my floor. My brethren and I have had our sleep disturbed for no conceivable reason. If this happens to be similar to the Human Pleasure Device Incident, will slit Nikiforov’s throat in the night.

Day -23: Nikiforov appears to be convinced that his adventure will be worthwhile. He has promised me he will not request me to undress a human female again. I have politely asked him not to ever mention the Incident again. Might have to invest in more of my daggers, as they have proved to be extremely useful. Nikiforov cheerfully informs me this adventure will involve hobbits. Do not see how this is supposed to encourage me to join him in his mad tourist trips across Middle Earth. Will ask Mila if hobbits are edible. Am unsure if she will know either.

Day -22: Hobbits are not edible, Mila is a terrible tattle tale, and Yakov is considering bringing me to a “place with other elves your age, lad”. If I am found dead come morning, Grandfather, ensure my fellow warriors find a safe place.

Day -21: Nikiforov will not consider my polite request to “leave me the fuck alone”, and continues to bother me at weapons training with plans for his reckless endeavour. He tells me there’s a magic hobbit in the Shire who can attract ancient creatures. Am glad, maybe this hobbit will get devoured before Nikiforov tracks him down. It would be fortunate.

Day -20: The Devil Himself (Yakov, Grandfather, I mention him sparsely, as I rather dislike him. He is too loud and much too tall) has declared he considers the idea of me joining Nikiforov’s wild trips marvelous, instead of repugnant. Do not know if simply stupid or just senile. Will consider murdering him to avoid leaving. Rivendell is not terribly disgusting at this time of year, and my warriors are comfortable here.

Day -19: Got caught trying to sneak into The Devil’s chambers. Mila informs me that “killing is not nice, baby”. Am not a baby. Am nearly 50 years old, you wrench.

Day -17: Neither threats nor pleading have persuaded my instructors. Am supposed to leave in two days’ time to get to the hellhole called “The Shire” to kidnap a prepubescent hobbit and force him to do our bidding. Have informed Nikiforov this sounds remarkably like “sexual harassment”. Nikiforov replies that I should stop reading Mila’s psychology novels. Am offended. I only read them for the plot.

Day -16: Hobbits are apparently smaller than dwarves. Cannot wait to be taller than someone. Am properly excited.

Day -15: Nikiforov apparently packed his whole wardrobe for the journey. Cannot truly say I did not expect this. My warriors hide in my cape, ready to spring on unsuspecting enemies and claw their eyes out. They are not “so cute!” as Nikiforov implies. He is an ignorant, and must be eliminated as soon as possible.

Day -10: Nikiforov has run out of natural glitter. Have never seen someone so utterly devastated. Must make sure to steal the glitter more often back in Rivendell.

Day -5: Nikiforov tries to tell me about the mysterious hobbit we’re supposed to abduct and manipulate. He says I will be happy, because the hobbit is slightly younger than I am in human years. I tell him I will not be happy, because I will be with a hobbit. Nikiforov has nothing to say to that.

Day -3: Arrival at The Shire. It is disgustingly cheerful. Nikiforov tells me to “keep still” until he finds the our target. I tell him to “go fuck yourself”, and proceed to wander around the Shire. Have discovered that hobbits are, in fact, quite shorter than me. They also eat ridiculous amounts of food. I approve of both these facts. Have written down several interesting recipes for Grandfather to make when I am back in Mirkwood.

Day -2: Nikiforov comes back with our kidnapped hobbit. He does not look like much of a magical creature. He is also, indignantly, called “Yuuri”, which amuses NIkiforov to no end, and ignores my attempts at being at peace, alone , insisting that I eat far too little. Am astounded he thinks I consider his opinions about me relevant. Believe the disgusting hobbit and Nikiforov are carrying on an illicit love affair, if their repugnant longing looks are anything to go by. I fear for my virtue.

Day -1: Hobbit: “Well, Victor, I don’t -” Nikiforov: “Did you...did you just call me by my given name?” Hobbit, while an alarming shade of red: “I’m so sorry, please, excuse me -” Nikiforov, the same shade: “No, uh, it’s fine.” I wish for the sweet relief of death.

Day 0:  After a day of making eyes at Nikiforov, like only the blind do, Frighteningly Cheerful Hobbit invites us to sleep at his “hobbit hole” before our journey… I do not know what his “hole” refers to, and do not wish to know. Grandfather...hobbits are such deviants.

Day 1: We set off. Hobbit has forgotten his Pork Cutlet Bowl knife. We return to his “hole” (a type of house in the ground, I was mistaken, Grandfather, although it was painful for the height of the ceiling. Nikiforov, I am happy to say, was hurt much more badly than I was. But he did share a room with the Hobbit, which is a greater punishment than any creature needs) and get it. We set off once more. Nikiforov has forgotten his hairbrush. I throw one of my warriors at him to end his life. Warrior just meows. Am tired of this journey already.

Day 5: Have finally reached Bree. Easily Terrified Hobbit fidgets incessantly and clings to Nikiforov’s arm like a pest. He, disgustingly, seems to enjoy it immensely, smiling besottedly at the creature and making the hobbit get flustered in increasingly obvious ways. Have decided to find some poison in case they act any more smitten around each other. Bought food and blankets for my fellow warriors, although it was of an abysmally low quality. Strangely, miss Rivendell, in a It-was-terrible-but-familiar way. Must make sure to never grow attached to any place again.

Day 12: Hobbit has learnt about elven mealtimes, and is horrified. “How dare you, Victor?” he shouted at Nikiforov today, “Yuri is a child , he must be fed much more than this! I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible! How many meals does he have a day, huh? Huh?!” Nikiforov, looking terrified and backing up, even though he is almost twice the hobbit’s heights, replied, “Um...three, four times per day?” This is my only source of entertainment, Grandfather. The Hobbit is currently not speaking to him, refusing to even look at him, and treats me like a newborn elf, which offends me greatly. Am glad he has seen the light regarding Nikiforov, although he is completely mistaken. I am not a child, and do not need feeding.

Day 17: ....the Hobbit’s cooking is surprisingly edible. Am fine with being a child for him. Hope Mila never finds out. Must destroy all evidence. Hobbit is elated, and calls me “dear”. Must kill him, too.

Day 18: After reflecting on it for a day, cannot believe hobbits are so advanced in the culinary department. Although they lack many other attributes (like basic intelligence and a sense of common decency), they certainly have a great amount of talent and ingenuity regarding sustenance. Truly remarkable creatures, these hobbits, even if they are inferior to us. They eat seven meals a day, Grandfather. Must market this. Inform the Financial Advisor, Yuri Purrsetsky.

Day 19: As of today, have been attacked by orcs, most of them riding drooling wargs (utterly repulsive), trolls and several unpleasant inebriated humans. Nikiforov is ecstatic that Hobbit attracts them to us. The Hobbit does not look as pleased with the confrontations, and has resumed his desperate clinging to Nikiforov, apparently forgiving him for starving me. I enjoy myself while making clever jokes about how the hobbit should learn to handle Nikiforov’s “sword”, and cackle evilly when he flushes.

Day 35: Mila has sent me a letter. It says: “LOL VICTOR SAYS YOU EAT HOBBIT FOOD YOU FUCKING NERD”.  Nikiforov will die tonight. Am prepared to run from the law.

Day 48: Hobbit insists my brethren are “adorable”. I inform him it is a slight on his part, as they are fierce warriors who could kill him in his sleep. Warrior Dreaded Claw discredits me by purring while the Hobbit pets him. Feel betrayed by my comrades.

Day 50: The Hobbit keeps touching my warriors. Get your hands off them, you filthy mongrel .

Day 53: Nikiforov has joined the warrior shaming, most likely to get points from Hobbit, who is delighted someone supports him.  Nikiforov takes advantage of this by putting his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder and walking him everywhere to "get stuff for your kittens, Yuri!". Hobbit makes a point to coo every single time he sees me with my warriors. Am offended this behaviour is allowed to continue without any repercussions, and consider it a baseless infantilization of my noble and solemn partners. EDIT: Must remember to heat the milk I bought for Sharp Fang, as she is sensitive to cold liquids and too young to be risking her health.

Day 60: The Hobbit Yuuko (AKA The Least Unbearable Hobbit I Have Ever Met) has sent me a letter. It is three feet of parchment long, and she explains in great detail how goats are raised in different climates. Am unsure what she means by this. Will ask Hobbit if this is part of some sick courtship ritual between these creatures.

Day 62: Not As Annoying As Most Hobbits has sent another letter. Apparently, the first one was for somebody else. In my letter, she tells me how to take care of my “luscious, glorious hair, Yuri!” and gives me advice on proper elven fashion. ...do not know which of the two was worse.

Day 73: They have not kissed. They very pointedly do not sleep in the same tent. I can feel the gods’ anger. Cannot deal with the residual traces of sexual tension in the air. Am unable to sleep for fear of them starting to become... intimate while I find myself in deep slumber, ignorant of the horrors happening next to me. Am considering calling the Furry Wizard to take me in, such is my desperation.

Day 80: Fought a dragon. Meh, could’ve been better. Hobbit rewarded us for saving his life by giving us some of its Pork magic dish.

Day 95: Caught Nikiforov writing love poems. Am appalled at bad writing more than anything else. Example: “I really like your dark eyes / and all the other parts of your face. Your butt is the perfect size / and I would love to see you in lace.” Hope the Hobbit cannot read, or am afraid this love story will not have a pleasant ending.

Day 105: The Hobbit has sewn pockets into my Tiger Monster cape to keep my warriors there as we travel. Hobbit is extremely worried for my health and that of my brethren, so I allow him to live one more day. Must use him as blackmail against Nikiforov.

Day 110:  "I wonder about all the eros you can give me." The hobbit thinks this is an intercultural thing, and is blushing in a ridiculous manner. I am concerned about the education received in the Shire. I fear for Nikiforov’s blood pressure. Do not know if I will escape to a safe place before he inevitably jumps the Hobbit.

Day 117: Fifty Shades of Gandalf visits us. He says, “Victor Nikiforov, the greatest fighter in the realm, whose name is feared and revered alike. What is your destiny, what dream are you chasing with this strange ensemble of companions and felines?” Nikiforov tells him some bullshit about becoming his better self and chasing something to challenge himself. Am convinced he thought, “Getting da booty.”

Day 134: Am sitting on a moderately comfortable rock, because this is the luxury a young, outstanding elf can find near the Misty Mountains. The Very Hungry Hungry Hobbit comes up to me. “Yuri,” he says. He is clearly nervous, fidgeting and glancing around us to see if anyone is in the area. I understand this because the Hobbit is incapable of surviving on his own (it is a miracle he has reached his age without being murdered) and I feel for him, the same way I do for small rodents, cockroaches, or Victor Nikiforov. “Yuri,” he says again, while I daydream about squashing him immediately after making him reveal the ‘Most Glorious Katsudon’ recipe, “Do you think Victor likes me?”

I…

I am going back to Mirkwood.

I cannot be expected to stand this. I’m out. Grandfather, I’m coming back.

Day 141: “But, like. Do you think, um, an elf and a hobbit would like, work ? Cause, um, I’m just… very out of my depth? I really appreciate you listening to me, Yuri.” I hate my immortal existence.

Day 158: Yuuko The Most Tolerable Hobbit sends me a portrait of her minuscule hobbit triplets with straw in their head and wearing animal skins, and writes below it, They have a new idol! Am unsure if I should be pleased with this or not. Must write to them about how to improve their fashion skills. Hmmm. On second thought, might be a good idea to have some minions.

Day 173: Nikiforov has decided to teach the Hobbit how to dance, and thinks that the best way for it to go is to educate his worryingly tiny mate in some elven dancing and rites. He has failed to take into account that the Hobbit’s head barely reaches his waist. Watching them flail is the best fun I’ve had in ages.

Day 174: Nikiforov has decided that, since I am only slightly taller than the Hobbit (a fact that I am immensely proud of) we must dance together. Although I thought it terrible and meaningless at first, am now greatly entertained when Nikiforov flinches the moment I put my hands on the Hobbit. Cannot control the urge to smirk. The Hobbit is, of course, completely oblivious.

Day 192: Wake up to the sounds of the Unpleasant Hobbit moaning Victor's name. Proceed to whack them with a stick and scream, yelling profanities at them. Human raiders attack us because of it. I regret nothing.

Day 193: Hobbit is sheepish and refuses to make eye contact with me (good for him), flushing and turning away, giggling, every time That Wretched Elf touches him. Nikiforov, on the other hand, enjoys pulling his undershirt down to show the disgusting marks he left on him. Retreat to eat dinner with my brethren, huffing.

Day 206: “I hope you know that… it won’t change things, that me and Victor are together. I know you two are close, and I don’t want to get in the way of that, Yuri. It would be great if you could come to like me, too. I think you’re a great warrior, and an even better elf.” I fucking hate Hobbits and I do not tear up, no matter what Nikiforov claims. I long for the day I can murder him without repercussions.

Day 218: Nikiforov decides to adopt some rabbits. Do not know if Hobbit will be okay with having children so early into their relationship. My warriors are not unhappy with the development, although Obscure Fur is still on the fence about the bigger one.

Day 219: Hobbit grows a spine and makes Nikiforov release the rabbits. “Victor, they need to be free!” “But you let Yuri keep his kittens!” “They’re his family , Victor, and they are adorable !” Am growing to like the Hobbit more each day. What a pity that he is such an inferior creature.

Day 226: Nevermind. Must remember to always sleep with my whacking stick in hand to avoid a repeat. Will be scarred forever. Did not expect the Hobbit to be this... adventurous . Will stop thinking about the Hobbit in that context.

Day 248: "Yuuri, I...I think you've changed me. I've never felt like this before, never wanted to be with someone else so badly that my heart ached. You're...you're a shooting star across the dark night that is my life, lighting my path." "Uh...yeah, um, me too, Victor." Do not know how hobbits are still alive, if that is their standard reproductive behaviour. Will inform Grandfather not to invest in the hobbit gardening industry, as it might end in the near future because of hobbit shortage. My stick has been graced with another whacking, and Nikiforov coincidentally has another bruise, this time not because of his disgusting deviant tendencies, which are quite unbecoming of an elf of his breeding.

Day 253: I…

Another dragon found us today, while we were travelling. I was not worried, as I have grown used to Nikiforov handling every monstrous creature thrown our way without trouble. The Flamboyant Elf didn’t disappoint this time, of course, but he took longer than usual. Hobbit, in his stupid panic, tried to help. Hobbit...Yuuri (I might call him by his given name, as he might be dead by tomorrow) got injured. I… Saw Nikiforov crying for the first time. Do not want to see it again. Grandfather...have you seen this before? The way an elf fears for their mortal lover? Is this pain the one the stories talk about, woven in the songs? Will Nikiforov, too, die with the Hobbit? ...Will I be left alone?

Day 255: The Hobbit hasn’t woken up. Nikiforov does not leave his side. The ingredients for the past two nights’ dinner are still in the Hobbit’s bag, but I am not hungry. My brethren refuse to eat, as well. That wretched Hobbit should die, as stupid and careless as he is. He will do nothing but bring us grief.

Day 279: After weeks of fever and incessant worrying, the Hobbit is once again healthy.  I tell him it would be a shame if he died before I could torture him to punish him for his misdeeds and insults to my person. He insists on fussing over me, as I am, apparently “too skinny, oh god, did Victor even feed you?”. His desire to take care of me (as if I needed it, the self-centered bastard) must wait, given the fact that Nikiforov hasn’t let go of him for the past twelve hours. Am shocked and repulsed to find that I do not find it as disgusting as I once did. Must be a side effect of living with these deviants.

Day 284: Send poison, Grandfather, I beg of you. My dutiful army of terrifying kittens, it is time to fulfill our destiny and end the suffering in this world. I cannot bear this any longer. Grandfather, you might be disappointed in me if I become a murderer, fleeing the law and taking refuge in the dwarven mountains, but I will not witness the Irritatingly Red Hobbit feeding Victor that Precious Katsudon once more. No more .

Day 290: The Hobbit insists on us visiting the Shire for some time. He says he must give news to his family, and it has been too long since he was home. Nikiforov immediately agreed with the Hobbit and disregarded my protests, because he is whipped. Heard the Hobbit talking about introducing Nikiforov to his family. Am slightly impressed with how manipulative he can be.

Day 302: One of my warriors gave birth to more of our troops last night. Hobbit is delighted, and helps me care of them. I watch him carefully to make sure he does not try to harm them, although I doubt he has enough of a brain to have ulterior motives. Nikiforov enjoys teasing me about them, “Weren’t they supposed to be fearsome warriors who needed no assistance, Yuri?” I retort with, “Weren’t you supposed to be pretty , Nikiforov? People lie.”

Day 305: Nikiforov is still sulking about the comment I made. Hobbit tries to reassure him he is pretty with an endless stream of compliments, and kisses an unnecessary amount of times in my presence. I do my best to ignore them, and fantasize about  tearing them apart limb by limb.

Day 317: Have finally arrived at the Shire, and am quite excited to see Yuuko, The Almost Pleasant Hobbit once more. Perhaps will enjoy my time with my “fans”, the triplets. Have received a letter from Mila. It reads: “Is it true Victor’s banging that Hobbit? Omg, take pictures!”. Did not reply.

Day 319: I take all my nice words about my fans back.Children are demons and I cannot wait to leave the Shire. Why must they exist? When I voiced my complaints to Nikiforov, who looks like an extremely suspiciously happy elf after leaving  Bumbling Fool Hobbit's room in the morning, he cackles very unattractively and says, "But you are a child, Yuri." Grandfather, this is harassment.

Day 321: Have caught a ‘cold’ from the fiendish triplets. I fear for my life. Grandfather, it has been good knowing you. Must say goodbye to my brethren. Wish to die surrounded by them, in proper elvish attire, while Nikiforov’s body burns on a spike.

Day 324: The Hobbit has established himself as my own physician, and pretends to know any knowledge about basic medicine while sharing his observations with an actual medical professional in the Shire. Have made peace with the Hobbit’s overwhelming stupidity. Nikiforov tries to  help, but Hobbit hisses at him and possessively calls me “his patient”. Am overjoyed that this makes the Drama Queen Elf pout.

Day 328: Am feeling much better, and do not think I will die soon. Yuuko brings me pie, which I feel is the least I deserve after her devilish children got me infected.

Day 330: Today, the Bondage Wizard With A Pointy Hat came to the Shire. He informed us that the Hobbit  does not in fact attract any magical creatures at all, and it was all his doing. Therefore, this journey was a road to self-realization (except I somehow got strung along. Funny how it is never wizards that get caught up in “destiny”.). Nikiforov looks slightly annoyed, but is disgustingly happy with the Hobbit. I am not blinded by these trivial matters, and proceed to whack the Bondage Wizard with my stick. Cannot believe I wasted a year of my life on this useless adventure. Will be back soon, Grandfather.

Day 373: Am back in Rivendell. Mila is calling herself “a huge Nikatsuki shipper”, which could possibly be her new cult name. Yakov yells at me, which is normal. Miss the Hobbit’s cooking, if not his presence. Definitely do not miss Nikiforov, not in the slightest.

Day 458: Have received an invitation to the Hobbit and Nikiforov’s wedding. Have advised Mila to bring arsenic in case they engage in intimate activities while in the presence of others. Will consider taking Grandfather with me, so he can inspect the culinary developments in the Shire. Yuuko says the couple is “so adorable, Yuri!”. Poor deluded hobbit.

fin

[wonderfulchaos69-blog]

Fanfic Recs

I’ve been meaning to make one of these for a long, long while and so here it is! Amazing fics that I’ve read and enjoyed a lot =) I hope you’ll find something that you might enjoy, too, along the way. And feel free to share any fics you’ve read/written, I’d be more than happy to add to the list!

Artemis Fowl:

Why One Must Not Attempt to Analyze A Child Genius, fiercejinx - Complete, G. "Artemis Fowl had retired half a dozen counselors from St. Barleby's already this year." Here's how. Six chapters, one for each psychologist losin' it.

Blue Exorcist:

To Be Good, Kizmet - Complete, T. Yukio had always been the good twin, intelligent, studious, disciplined and, most importantly, not a demon. It was obvious that he only wanted what was best for Rin. Yukio's intentions were one thing Rin would never question, no matter what. After Father Fujimoto's death Yukio went quietly insane. No one noticed.

Danganronpa:

A Farewell to All Futures, Yukari - Complete, Not Rated, Oneshot. One of them in theory belonged to the chosen ones, but still wondered if his life had any meaning.

The other one had a chance to become the chosen one, but still wondered if his decision was right. Basically the first, very brief meeting of Komaeda and Hinata before the world went completely insane, because we probably won't get to see it in the anime.

Bad Poetry of a Lopsided Heart, IcicleWieldingManaic - WIP, T. Komaeda likes to write letters that he never sends. However, one time Hinata accidentally receives one addressed to himself. He also feels a responsibility to watch over Komaeda after the events of the first trial. You know, just so nobody else gets killed.It's a good thing Hinata doesn't know who the letter's from, huh? Komaeda/Hinata, slow burn.

just looking at you i enjoy myself, suitablyskippy - Complete, Mature. “Hm?” says Komaeda, and looks down at the grip he’s still got, cold and clammy and squeezed uncomfortably tight. “Oh – that! Of course! You know, sometimes, Hinata-kun – sometimes I forget, when I’m touching you! Because it feels so natural. Like you and I are one, almost! Like we were always meant to be this close – do you know what I mean? Do you feel it?”

“You’re still holding my wrist,” says Hinata.

Komaeda lets him go, and then he touches his elbow, gently, as though in consolation. “With my luck the way it is,” he says, “no one’s gonna be able to kill me unless I let them.”

(Someone's got to die next, and Komaeda would really, really like it to be him!)

Long Road to North, Urponator - WIP, T. There’s nothing as hopeless as a life being a regular salesman at a regular office. And after waiting for years for his life to change, he can’t contain his excitement as he finds himself threatened by a knife, held by a brown-haired stranger on the run. Komaeda/Hinata, slow burn, AU.

Death Note:

A Forgotten Encounter, Alex Prosper - Complete, T. Light is faced with his first murder case at age nine after meeting a strange, hooded teenager in Harajuku. Dupin becomes the one special thing in his childhood, long forgotten. This is L and Light's true first meeting, but they will never know it.

Genius is a Curse, Bloodshot Eyes - WIP, T. If Light had never touched the Death Note, would he ever have found an escape from the depression and boredom that plagued him? Would he have had a future at all? Undertones of Light/L, dark themes.

Leave the Light On, Ne Quittez Pas - Complete, T. Light had dealt with admirers before, but nothing like this. Between an unknown stalker and a mass-murderer with a God complex, it's unlikely that Light will ever sleep again... unless an insomniac detective can help him put a stop to both. Light/L, dark themes.

Detective Conan:

It's Raining Men, Hallelujah, Asuka Kureru - Complete, Oneshot, T. Conan already has some kind of corpse magnet power, but when Heiji is in his orbit the corpses actively come to them. From above. Witness.

D. Grayman:

Fair Play, liketolaugh - WIP, T.  Cross hated his master. Really. Allen fucking Walker was the most infuriatingly mysterious human being on the planet - but even Cross couldn't say Allen had done a bad job looking after him. Oneshot series.

vertigo, hurryup - WIP, Mature. Los Angeles, 1951. Allen Walker, a private eye of cult celebrity status, has been running from his past for a long time. Howard Link, an LAPD cop rising quickly through the ranks, finds himself caught between that which is lawful and that which is right.

As Sunset Boulevard crackles with caged heat, the thread of their investigations meet. With them, corruption, obsession, and celebrity meet in a game of chess that holds the entire city as its hostage.

The descent into hell is easy. All it takes is a little push.

Durarara:

If We Ever Meet Again, Shitsuren69 - Complete, T. AU. Mikado thought that the biggest event in his life was when the love of his life ran off with his best friend. This was, of course, before Celty invited him to Ikebukuro. Eventual Shizuo/Mikado. Prequel to Operator.

Comments: I just really love the way this one was written. From Mikado getting along with Walker and Erika to the falling out in the beginning with Kida and Anri. It makes when they meet again all the more interesting! And there's this one scene that will always stay in my mind - Mikado jumping off the roof, fully expecting Shizuo to catch him. I know, I know, what is the likelihood of something like that happening in real life, right? Still, I got a kick out of reading Izaya's reactions in this story. In addition, this story gives me the same vibe as the series - it's about different forms of love.

Thirty-Two Steps, Nanimonaimono - Complete, Oneshot, T. He guesses it's time to make Anri fall in love with Mikado like she should've from the start. As he opened his mouth, Masaomi fought the ridiculous, overpowering urge to stop and shout that he's been in love too long for this. Kida/Mikado.

Final Fantasy 7:

Beloved, Sinnatious - Complete, Mature. It all starts when Cloud tries to leave during the middle of a Loveless performance. Genesis/Cloud. Tifa/Cloud.

Dishonorable Discharge, icynovas - Complete, T. Seeking a new career, infantryman Cloud Strife attempts to get fired from ShinRa.

Off the Line, esama - WIP, T.  In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there. Vincent/Cloud.

The Fifth Act, Sinnatious - Complete, T. Cloud has an accident with a Time materia. There are people to save, and for that, some people need to die. 

Comments: This is a pretty well-known story in the FFVII fandom, and let me tell ya, it’s worth every second of the read. Even if you haven’t played the game, this sort of storytelling will drag you in and keep your attention. You’ll be left wanting more!

My Hero Academia:

but you gotta get up at least once more, simkjrs - WIP, T. Izuku’s never run into this problem before with anyone else, but it’s still not much of a problem. “Oh, that’s alright,” he says. “I don’t have a Quirk.”

Tsukauchi stares incredulously at him, and then looks at the iron bar that Izuku is currently straightening with his hands.

Midoriya Izuku does not let his lack of a Quirk prevent him from being strong.Also known as that one AU where Izuku follows the ridiculous training regimen of Saitama from One Punch Man and becomes stronger than anyone ever imagined he could be.

Persona 4:

Dare Disturb the Universe, jackdawq - Complete, T, Oneshot.  A creeping, nagging sense of repetition: rewind, replay. Yosuke/Souji, Naoto/Kanji.

Days Without Nights, Angevon - Complete, T. Years after the events of Persona 4, Yosuke Hanamura is married. Then his wife leaves him. Yosuke/Souji, slow burn.

First Impressions (Seventeen Variations), jackdawq - Complete, T, Oneshot.  It sucks to be the new transfer kid. Right?

Reversing Arcana, Sinnatious - Complete, T.  P3, P4. Six months after Souji leaves Inaba, he wakes up to his house on fire. The Investigation Team are the only ones who know he survived. But that's only the beginning of their troubles.

Ten Steps, chisotahn - Complete, T. Written for a prompt over at badbadbathhouse. "Souji never told anyone about being able to enter the TV. So, even though Chie and onward somehow ended up with Souji, Yosuke never wound up knowing about the shadow world. For months on end, Souji has been keeping his otherworldly adventures a secret from his predictably ignorant (yet suspicious) boy [best] friend (though he's still your Magician).

Preferably later in the game, Yosuke appears in a Junes-exclusive interview (bonus if the media was filming Junes without permission), and thus, dungeon time ensues." Only... well, slightly modified. ;) You'll see! Yosuke/Souji.

Psycho Pass:

Unconventional Normality, scorchedtrees - Complete, G. AU: In which Akane joins Division Four to work alongside Inspector Makishima.

Servamp:

Fragile Bonds, Atherin Ashura - WIP, T.  A silent walk home from school can change the outcome of so many paths. Fears arise, secrets that are closely guarded come to light and partnerships can crumble. But if one can survive through it, a brighter, more certain, tomorrow awaits. Kuro + Mahiru, sloth pair friendship.

Honest is Your Only Policy, faecakes - WIP, Explicit.  Being Ex-Lovers can be complicated, especially when your ex happens to be Tsurugi. Mikuni/Tsurugi.

Unmasked, stirlingphoenix - Complete, Explicit, Oneshot. "The smile falls from Mikuni’s lips and he dons a more pensive expression before reaching forward and taking a piece of the paper bag between his fingers.

'I want this gone,' he says casually, like it’s only a suggestion, and not the demand Jeje knows it is. Once again, he feels as if he’s being pinned down by Mikuni’s gaze, and he can hardly think." Jeje/Mikuni.

The World Ends With You:

Blindsided, R. Seldon - Complete, Oneshot, G. Neku has something to say that Joshua does not particularly want to hear. One-shot. Warnings: spoilers; mild, kinda-sorta one-sided Joshua/Neku. Or just Josh being, um, obsessive. Spoilers for endgame.

Dust, DarkRulerDominica - Complete, M. After surviving three weeks of the Reapers' Game, Neku demands that Joshua return him to the world of the living; Joshua agrees, but there's a catch to the deal…. Dark themes. 

Comments: As a thriller/horror story, this one is damn good. It answers one of the glaring questions from the game: what happens to the bodies of those who are playing the game?

Perfect, Infamousplot - Complete, Oneshot, T. One month. That was all the time he gave Kitanji: four weeks, 28 days- give or take a few. Well, now he's down to three weeks. A whole week wasted. Because SOMEBODY, though he won't name any names -Neku Sakuraba -, just won't freaking DIE! Now, he's sprinting through the RG with a gun, a psycho on his tail, and only one goal in mind: Kill the proxy. Now.

The Red Queen series, Kay (sincere) - Complete, T, unfolds in four parts.  In which someone who has been too long alone finally reaches out, building a bridge between his world and another's. It has been decades in coming, and it isn't easy, but the more difficult the ordeal, the greater the reward -- just like in any Game. 

Tokyo Ghoul:

mamihlapinatapai, sinshine - Complete, T, Oneshot. 

“Hey, babe,” he crooned into the phone. “I know you're thirsty but you can't keep calling me at work like this.”

“Hide.” Came the exasperated sigh and he couldn't help but smile at the sound. “You're not really at work, are you?”

“Nah, I'm just getting something to eat.” Hide took another bite out of the dismembered arm he held and licked a drip of blood up his wrist before it could hit his jacket. “What's up?”

Your Cross, I’ll Bear, PTchan - WIP, T. “You make him sound like the hero of a shonen manga or something,” he couldn’t help but comment.

“Who knows,” Koma replied just as Irimi stood to deliver the order. “Maybe he is,” he winked. “And you would be the sidekick right?”

Kaneki sweatdropped, but chuckled all the same. A story with Hide as the main character, huh… he thought, wringing his cloth in the sink before hanging it on the rail and picking up his notepad. Well, if it’s him… then it would surely be one filled with hope.(Or: that fic where Hide wakes up in the past just in time to prevent the Tragedy that was Kaneki Ken's life... by taking it on himself.

Of course, it doesn't have to be a Tragedy.)

Yuri on Ice:

a glide in your step, Yuu_chi - Complete, T, Oneshot.  Ah, Yuuri thinks as his skates touch down on the ice, and even as Yuuko watches him it’s the weight of Viktor’s eyes he feels on his shoulder blades, I’m not ready to let this go. Victor/Yuri.

fight for you, write for you, third - Complete, T, Oneshot.  The thing is, Yuuri had completely forgotten about his account on Figure Skating! until he sees the email in his inbox. He doesn’t know how he ends up awake at 3 AM defending Victor’s reputation from strangers on the internet. Victor/Yuri.

i see quiet nights poured over ice, ohhotlamb - WIP, T. He’s a despicable man, but what he offers is the truth. I’ll make you a winner, he says. And he knows -

This is one thing that Yuuri can’t refuse.

like your french girls, ebenroot - Complete, T. "Victor," Yuri begins, lowering the eighteenth sketch of the figure skater Victor drew this week, "you have a fucking problem." 

--in which Victor is an artist, Yuuri is his figure skating muse, and Yuri is so done hearing about their stupid love story through Instagram. Victor/Yuri.

stay young (go dancing), ryuuzaou - Complete, Explicit, Oneshot. Victor/Yuri.

“Do you do this with every pretty boy that serves you champagne?” Yuuri asks, finally a touch of humor in his tone.

“I’ll admit, I’m the flirty type,” Viktor says, “but I haven’t asked to kiss any.” Oh, fuck it. Yuuri throws caution to the wind and says, “You won’t have to.”

aka: the one where yu-topia onsen caters a celebration party for viktor nikiforov's fifth world championship win, and viktor takes interest in the super hot waiter.

[fallenqueen2]

The King and The Isle Boy 2 [Descendants 2 AU]

What if Carlos was taken by Uma, not Ben? What if the Isle brought out more of Ben’s Beast side? How does everything go down?

Benlos endame

Ao3 Link

Chapter 2

Ben wasn’t completely sure what he just saw, but all he knew was that he was shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was from anger at those two pirates taking Carlos, or being terrified by the fight and then kidnapping he just witnessed. Ben clutched at the crate in front of him and watched the alleyway praying he would see Mal, Evie or Jay soon.

He needed to tell them about Carlos, he needed to get Carlos back, he needed a lot of things so his break up with Mal was pushed to the back burner, after all, they had to get Carlos back now! He refused to leave him behind, Ben felt a growl build up in his chest and he felt more connected to the beast side of himself than he ever did in Auradon.

Ben felt a wave of relief when he saw Evie walking down the alleyway, looking around with a concerned look on her face. Ben tumbled out from behind the crates and latched onto her arms making her yelp in surprise.

“Ben! There you are!” Evie gasped out when she saw the worry plastered over Ben’s face.

“Carlos, they took him!” Ben got out and Evie’s face went from concerned to veiled anger.

“Who?” Evie asked, her voice flat.

“Pirates, one I think Carlos called Hook who I’m assuming is the son of Captain Hook? They said something about taking him to their Captain?” Ben explained as Evie grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the hideout they had found Mal in. Ben and Evie climbed up into the loft where Mal and Jay were talking.

“Uma had Harry and Gil take Carlos,” Evie stated when Mal opened her mouth at seeing Ben again. Mal snapped her mouth shut and anger burned in her eyes, Ben knew if they were in Auradon they would be shining green. Jay swore and lashed out a nearby wall, making a dent in the artwork that was covering the cement.

“She’s going to regret that,” Mal snarled as she looked out of one of the windows.

“E, you and Jay go to Dizzy and get some supplies in case we need to ambush them. Ben, you’re with me, it’s time to see what Uma wants in exchange.” Mal barked out orders. Evie and Jay nodded, Evie sent Ben a look that the King couldn’t decipher before the duo left the loft.

“Let’s go, we shouldn’t let Uma have too much time to think,” Mal said and Ben nodded, willing to follow her lead as the duo left the loft and headed towards what Ben assumed was the docks.

“Ben…” Mal started but stopped when Ben held his hand up and flashed his eyes over to her and wondered what she saw when she blinked and her lips parted slightly.

“We can talk about all of this after, right now Carlos is what matters the most. He got taken saving me and I plan on getting him back. I will let you handle Uma as you know how she and the Isle work, but do not forget I am your King.” Ben stated firmly, feeling bolder and stronger than he had in a long time, perhaps the Isle was affecting him in ways he couldn’t understand, but he liked it.

“Yeah,” Mal murmured as the two came to a stop in front of a shop called “Ursula's fish and chips”. “Here we go,”

Mal shoved the saloon-style doors open and sauntered in while Ben followed a step behind her, taking in the restaurant with the obvious underwater theme. The moment he spotted Carlos he focused his attention on the white-haired boy.

Carlos was kneeling on the floor, his wrists were tied with thick rope to the leg of a chair with bright coral decorating it and his cheek was resting against the side, as he knelt there unconscious. Ben allowed a rumble from his throat when he spotted dark fingers tangled in Carlos’ hair, stroking the strands like the boy was pet and Ben bared his teeth slightly at the sight of a girl their age with aqua hair that must be Uma. He spotted Harry standing on the other side of Uma’s makeshift throne and the burly teen who had knocked Carlos out was standing behind Carlos with his arms crossed.

“Uma,” Mal sated sounding uncaring. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you,”

“From where I’m sitting, it sure looks like the pup is mine,” Uma said back in the same uncaring voice, but anger clear on her face as she stared Mal down, barely even noticing Ben.

“Don’t push your luck, Ben go check on him,” Mal ordered and Ben stepped forward at the same time Harry did, his hook held high and Ben just growled in response. Uma touched Harry’s arm while the son of Hook looked somewhat impressed by the growl the King gave.

“Right this way, I have a table waiting for you. Loser, party of one,” Uma called out as she rose from her throne and Mal rolled her eyes as she followed Uma to a table.

Ben trusted Mal to handle Uma and he quickly knelt next to Carlos. He brushed his fingers over Carlos’ cheek and then his hair, smiling when Carlos’ nose wrinkled adorably and his eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Ben?” Carlos asked confusion obvious in his voice before his eyes flew open wide and he began to tug at the ropes around his wrists.

“Carlos, hey, easy,” Ben cupped Carlos’ cheek again allowing his instincts to take control and he was glad it was the right call as Carlos calmed down as he took in his position and the shop with pirates around them.

“Uma and Mal discussing my price then?” Carlos asked sounding resigned.

“You are not something up to be sold, but yeah Mal is talking with Uma. We’re not leaving you here Carlos, I won’t leave you here.” Ben swore fiercely and Carlos sent him a smile.

“I know,” Carlos said simply, leaning almost unnoticeably into Ben’s touch and something inside of Ben settled in a way he hadn’t experienced before even with Mal. Ben vaguely heard the pirates who had been paying attention to Mal and Uma cheer and holler. Ben did hear Mal speak next and it took a lot more willpower than he thought it would to pull his eyes away from Carlos.

“Ben, we’re leaving.” Mal looked furious and Ben tensed, she wasn’t implying they were going to leave Carlos here was she?

“Two hours Mal, if you’re not at the dock with my prize by then, then the pup is mine,” Uma said with a smirk on her lips and Carlos shot Mal a worried look but the purple-haired teen just pursed her lips.

“Ben!” Mal snapped again and Ben growled lowly but he pulled away from Carlos and followed Mal out of the shop. Hating each step he took and once they were out of the shop he broke and punched a nearby piece of wood, watching it splinter around his fist.

“She wants the wand for Carlos, we need to find E and Jay and make a plan. We will get Carlos back but Uma will not get the wand, I promise.” Mal explained, fingers curled into fists and anger obvious on her face and Ben wondered briefly what he missed while with Carlos.

“We better,” Ben snapped out and Mal’s lips twitched into something like a smile but she fought it back fast as she spun on her heel, a plan forming in her mind already.