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stardusthuntress · 5 months

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Somebody to Lean On

Crosshair x reader (she/they pronouns; I think, I’m not very good with she/they, this is practice, please tell me if I messed it up!)

Word Count: ~1.25k, ~4 pgs

TW/Summary: reader is depressed/anxious and in need of a shoulder to cry on; no smut, just purely a hurt-comfort fic!

dividers by: @/saradika

It’s one of those nights when everything just feels off.

Today was a day just like any other day. You went on missions with the boys, like always, and then you rested, ate dinner round a campfire, and spent a few hours laughing and relaxing before bed.

But something was just off.

Like usual, the bad batch treated you like you were just one of the guys. Normally, you liked that. But part of you had hoped that tonight maybe someone would remember you were a woman, and would appreciate that about you, even if it didn’t get any farther than flirting for a few minutes. But none of them had.

So instead you took some time to yourself and found a quiet rock away from the group to just sit and look at the stars and enjoy the natural world for what it is.

Someone notices you’re gone, no one is quite sure who, simply that they all find themselves looking around at the realization that you are no longer beside them.

Tech finds you and wants to talk at you, but he doesn’t take it too hard when you tell him “I’m really not in the mood for a chat right now. Please leave me alone.”

And he leaves, no questions asked. He’s used to it with his brothers, he doesn’t think too much about it, didn’t even look up from his datapad.

But once he’s gone you kinda miss the company and regret saying it.

He returns to the others, nose still scrolling through data.

Hunter - always a good sergeant - asks where you are.

Tech quickly fills in, always ready with what information he has. “They said they wanted to be alone.”

The others know you didn’t really mean that, you’re just having a rough day. They exchange glances, unsure of what they can do for you.

Hunter opens the conversation, wanting to keep his squad functioning at it’s best, with all its members content. Well, as content as possible, considering this is war… Before they can figure out what to do about it Hunter notices that Crosshair, who was there when the conversation started, has disappeared. He knows that means his brother is looking for you.

Crosshair traces Tech’s steps back to your hideout.

You know it’s him approaching. Silent footsteps, as always, no matter how many crunchy leaves you always seem to find with every step. But he makes a point to snap off brittle twigs and spring snappy branches every few feet so you know he’s there and that it’s him.

Part of you wonders if that’s a habit because he knows Hunter could track it if something happened to him.

Instinctively and impulsively you prepare to tell him you want space right now. Your voice is shaky when the message is finally delivered.

He ignores your comment, wordlessly walking over to you, but pauses for a moment a pace away.

You try to guess what his sarcastically rude comment is going to be this time… When his backpack plops down next to you…And he turns and sits down.

He faces away, knowing you probably don’t want to feel pressured by an intense stare. But he sits where his hip brushes yours, as he moves to get out his cleaning kit.

He sits beside you in silence, cleaning his fire puncher for a while.

Realizing he’s not going anywhere, you eventually start to lean into him a bit. Over the course of a few minutes, it evolves to resting your temple on his shoulder.

Crosshair sighs and you immediately retreat and mutter a ‘sorry’ under your breath, knowing he doesn’t really like touch.

But what he does next surprises you… He gets up to adjust, and you automatically retreat into yourself more… Until the shuffling gets closer, and suddenly two knees appear on either side of yours, but he’s careful not to touch you since he hasn’t asked yet. Soon, it’s followed by two arms just above his legs, hands gesturing for you to lean back into him.

You pause, confused, staring at the hand that gestured to you, brow knitted.

Crosshair almost never suggested touch nor outwardly comforted anyone. Though, Echo has a few stories from Skako Minor that suggest this isn’t a new thing, simply a very rare one.

He patiently gestures again.

You finally look back at him confused.

He simply looks back, toothpick bobbing, hiding the small smirk in the corner of his lips. Satisfied at your reaction to knowing you are one of the rare recipients of his offer to touch.

Slowly, he turns you using a soft touch upon your knee. One hand finds your shoulder, the other your calf and he carefully pulls you back into his chest. His touch is so gentle you know if you resisted, even a little, his tugging wouldn’t shift you at all. But you trust him so you let him, even if you’re not sure why you do.

After a moment of awkwardness you give in to the need for soothing touch and nestle into his shoulder/chest.

He starts rubbing your shoulder and then your back, slowly, and barely there.

After a few minutes it’s clear he’s not going anywhere and the intense emotions you were dealing with when he showed up have decided that the coast is clear and they can visit you once again.

You end up crying into his shoulder.

He doesn’t say a word, but he also doesn’t go anywhere. He just stays put and holds you. He never asks why. He just sits with you through it all.

“Thank you” you mumble after a it subsides, drying your tears on your sleeve.

He just shrugs and continues to pet your hair.

Your brows furrow. You don’t know why you just cried into his shoulder. But it does feel better now that it’s out. Maybe he deserves an explanation for why you just found yourself bawling into his arms, though?

But do you even know why? You rack your brain. Surely, there must be a logical explanation for this, right?

Crosshair, with his knack for reading people like an open book, guesses what you’re worrying about and heads you off. “You don’t have to tell me,” he grumbles.

You huff a sad laugh, “Thanks… I’m sorry to do that to you though. You shouldn’t have to deal with me when I’m like this.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” is all he says

You look up at him, shocked.

There’s no anger or resentment in his eyes when they meet yours, just a softness that’s so uncharacteristic of the man you thought you knew, but perhaps he’s not as gruff and hardened as you once thought he was.

You feel the tears welling in your eyes again, a sob getting lodged in your throat, the softness in his eyes something you are unaccustomed to seeing directed at you from anyone, these days.

“Let it out, doll. I got you.”

And the tears flow, once more.

When you’re done, still sniffling into his shoulder a bit, he plucks a tiny flower from amidst the grasses and uses it to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You smile, and look up at him sheepishly. He gives you one of his characteristic half-smiles, and holds you tight, content to just sit there with you for as long as you need.

The next day, he’s happy to see that familiar spark of your fiery personality rekindling in your eyes when he wakes you for your watch shift with a kiss on your temple…

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog (don't just like, PLEASE) to share instead of reposting it! And NO dropping it into an AI! That’s stealing my work and feeding it to an AI without my consent. It is not okay to give an AI something you didn’t write yourself!

#zenith writes #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #hurt comfort #crosshair hurt comfort

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milayawr · 1 year

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Sweet Apologies

Nikolai Lantsov x F!Reader

Summary: Anniversaries are important for Nikolai, but yet, he can ignore some tiny mistakes of yours.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,027

Notes: I need a Nikolai Lantsov.

My requests are still open but I didn't have time to finish writing them. The school is keeping me busy enough. I'll finish them and share them, but you can share your sweet fic ideas with me!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

He knew that waiting for an angel might be so hard. It was devastating from the inside. His angel was not showing up, but he held onto his hope so tightly that his hope had been hurt.

He had everything ready. A romantic dinner with candle lights, some music to dance; cause you loved dancing and he was excellent at it. He even left his latest project to get ready. Everything was there but you.

The most important thing was you. He couldn't just sit, eat, dance, and chat all by himself at an anniversary of yours.

This was the second year that you both were together. After the war that happened Nikolai had confessed his love for you. There had been sweet moments between you two this year. Like he always had some place of his body injured just to be healed by you.

He knew that you were the best healer, even before he fell in love with you. You were brave, selfless, and careful. You had attended the war to heal people and Nikolai had to admit that he was fascinated by your selflessness, and a little bit scared for you.

You saved his life once, when he was injured you came to the rescue. He had seen He deserved to get his happy moments more, and you longed to give it to him. your face before so he was familiar with you, but he had never seen your pretty face that close. He could remember slightly because he was nearly unconscious but your sweet voice telling him things made his life better. Seeing your face had changed his life. He felt like he died that day and was reborn as a man who was precisely in love.

So after the war, he had his ways to see you more. When he understood that you flirt back with the charming king he took the first step.

The best choice he made was when he first kissed you and he didn't want to know about the last one. He wanted his last breath to be intertwined with yours, he didn't want to die without your kisses.

Your always shy kisses and touches... He would die for them.

He missed you.

He had to see you, touch you, kiss you, take your breath in his lungs... He needed you as he needed air.

But where were you?

It had been three hours. He was waiting and waiting for you to show up. He was clearly upset. First, he missed you because he hadn't seen your pretty face since last night. Second, it was an anniversary for saints' sake. Celebrating the anniversaries meant showing some kind of affection and love. Nikolai knew that you knew how he was looking forward to this night to come.

And yet, he was all alone in the room.

He blew out the candles as the clock went to midnight. Five hours. He spent five hours for you but you didn't show up. Maybe there was something wrong. He hoped it was wrong because he didn't want anything to happen to you.

Nikolai felt hopeless as he went to the healers' infirmary. You were always there. Working. Sometimes making out with your handsome lover, and sometimes even naughty things, but always working apart from the little getaways.

As he entered there, as always, he had everyone's attention. They started to whisper but he didn't care.

"Have you seen Y/N?" He asked to some girk that was passing by him.

"She left hours ago, My King." The healer said. "Actually left earlier today. She said she had to sleep because she felt so tired." She explained and explained.

Nikolai's face never went to relieved and this scared the girl a little. She looked like she was going to say more but Nikolai left her side.

He went right into your room. Where you started to stay at the palace. It was Nikolai's favorite place as it smelled like you.

He quietly entered your room. His eyes wander around your room to find your bed. He saw your figure lying on the bed. You didn't even bother to cover yourself up. He ushered to the bed.

Nikolai gently pulled the duvet and covered you up. He sat on the bed and watched your face. Your tangled hair was all over the pillow. He wanted to hold them and take their smell inside of him. They always smelled so nice.

"Nik," You murmured as he started to play with your hair gently.

"Yes, love." He whispered. His voice was low but his eyes were loud enough to express his love.

"Will you take me to the sea?" Your eyes were still closed and he was sure that you were still sleeping. He loved your little chats while you were asleep. It was cute.

He remembered his little promise when you learned about his days at the sea. As Sturmhond. You wanted to see the life that he lived as a privateer. He wanted to show you.

"Whenever you want." He was busy but he could delay things as he wished. He was the king after all.

"What about now?"

He laughed, "now?"

"Hmhm..."

He kissed your hair. "We can't now since you're sleeping, love."

Something left your lips but he wasn't sure what was it. He kept kissing and playing with your hair. As time passed he took his shoes off and laid next to you. You snuggled close to him as soon as he did that.

To you, he was an escape from the malicious reality of this world. He gave you feelings that only another version of you would feel. Love and being loved were what you desired secretly, but you never thought you'd have those. It took months and years to understand you loved him and he loved you.

You thought it was complicated but it was just that. Love.

Nikolai listened to your breathing as he fell asleep. After meeting you sleeping became as easy as he fell in love with you.

———

Shit.

You might be in deep shit.

Shit, indeed.

That was your first thought as you started to wake up. The curtains that you forgot to close couldn't help you with the sun at all. Your mind was as tangled as your hair. You felt two strong arms around you and it came—

You didn't want to open your eyes. As childish as it sounds, you just didn't care. You knew you couldn't face his disappointment. It was too hard to get through.

Yesterday was busier than you'd ever imagine. Your plans were the same as the last one. Work, leave early, get ready, and celebrate. But you were so tired that you left even earlier. You said that you should sleep before the evening. Not the whole evening.

But you couldn't help. It was a tiring day. But on the other hand, it was a special day. It was your anniversary. It meant everything for Nikolai.

If you kept pretending to sleep you'd never have to see his disappointment, sadness, and a bit of anger.

Yeah, just sleep.

"I know that you're awake, love."

"Nikolai, I'm so so so so sorry." You said as your eyes met. "I fell asleep and I know that I should never and I'm sorry for this."

His rough voice made you shiver. You wandered your hand around his chest as you yawned. You slowly opened your beautiful eyes. He was already watching you. He always did that. Waking up early just to watch you sleeping. It was a bit creepy but you didn't care at all.

You can't take time back, he always said. He gives these events so much importance. What earth were you on? You should've never slept.

"It's okay—"

You cut his sentence from the beginning. "I know it's not! Please stop pretending as if it's alright to ditch you."

"Y/N," he said softly. "It's really okay. You were tired and I saw it all this week. It's a busy working week. Also, I'd rather you rest than stay awake."

You were glowing and he could guess how much you had used of your small science. He always had the idea of healers having the easiest of all but he was definitely wrong.

He slowly kissed your forehead. "It's really okay."

"But I know that you're upset."

"I am, not gonna lie. But seeing you like this melts my sadness." He smiled as an idea popped up. "Let's have breakfast in the garden together. We can ask for anything you crave. I, for one, would kill to eat some bread with jam."

His love for that thing always made you laugh.

"You aren't angry, right?"

"You're kidding, right?" How can I be mad at a pretty face such as yours? Believe me, I'm not."

You knew it was slightly wrong but you were still relieved.

"I love you, Nik. I'm sorry."

"I love you. And stop apologizing." His hands wandered to your sides and his mouth came close to your ear to whisper. "But I might have to give you a punishment."

"What—"

Your laugh was the thing that stopped you from talking anymore. You kept laughing as he tickled your sides.

"Wait!" You screamed as you laughed more. "I—" You tried to continue, but still he was being naughty. "I thought— I was forgiven!"

He ended it as he left your cheek a kiss. "Now, you're fully forgiven, my sweet."

"Oh, I'm glad." You breathed. Your chin had hurt because of your laughing session. "I love you and I'm so—"

This time it was a kiss that interrupted you. His intoxicating lips were on yours in a second. Your only reaction was to kiss him back. It was a slow kiss. Laziest ever, but still special.

He pulled back to say something. "I told you to stop that." He left a tiny kiss again. "Come on," he pulled you with him as he got up. "Let's have breakfast and talk about your day, then my day, and after that maybe we will walk beside the lake. I'm all yours till tomorrow."

"I thought you had meetings."

"Not today. No, not when you have booked my whole day."

He was the sweetest man that ever entered your life and you loved him for it. You loved him for many things.

You got up smiling. He reassured you that he was not heartbroken, sad, mad, or disappointed. Having a day with him would fix his little broken emotions and you were far more than ready for it.

It was what love meant. Doing anything to make the other happy. Having a day with him would have to fix his little broken emotions and you were far more than ready for it. If he was happy, you were happy.

You'd be more than happy to spend this day with him. Because this was love. You were ready to do anything to have love even after your death. You wanted Nikolai to be your end.

You loved him and he loved you. It was that simple.

"Okay," you said. "Let's have breakfast and do whatever you want. I want it to be your day."

"Well, how can I say no to that." He smirked. "I'll be in my room, changing. You'll take me there." He winked at you as you giggled.

"We have a date then."

"Yes, we do my sweet lady."

You kept your smile on your face as you got ready for the day. You had to make it up for last night and you were going to try your best to keep him away from his daily duties.

This day was for him and you. Nothing to interrupt. You wished for this morning to go the same. You wanted to apologize without the words.

You were so sure that you'd make this day his best.

Last night was a mistake that you made because of your tiredness. But today you were fully recovered from yesterday and ready to make it up with your lover.

He deserved to get his happy moments more, and you longed to give it to him.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #shadow and bone #grishaverse fanfiction #fanfiction #books #sturmhond #fluff

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baelaria · 20 days

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Coming back from Narnia pt. 2 Edmund

When Edmund is put back into the body of a ten year old, after having a taste of adulthood, he’s absolutely distraught. His chess pieces, Cair Paravel, the street lamp, everything’s gone.

He looks at his siblings, almost likely suffering, and they slowly stand up, hand in hand, facing the now strange world once again.

At home Helen doesn’t notice much change in her youngest boy. Apart from the newfound affection towards her and his beloved people and the interest he seems to cultivate in war strategy and chess, he looks like the boy he was before the beginning of the war.

But nothing’s like it seems.

Edmund is pestered by violent dreams full of war and bloodshed, just like Peter is. But he somehow controls them better, at least doesn’t wake up screaming at the top of his lungs. Even though sometimes he does wake up in the middle of the night, and not for the scared screaming of his brother next door, and so he silently rises from his bed, clutching tightly his night robe, scared to hit something in the dark as he ascends down the corridor to his older sister’s bedroom.

Susan barely even opens her eyes as she feels Edmund hugging her tightly, pressing his tear stained cheeks in her nightgown silently, listening to her shallow and regular heartbeat.

She slowly moves her hands through his hair until he calms down and stops shaking, until his breath becomes shallow and regular as well.

She doesn’t sing a melody, nor comforts him with words. She knows that nothing will ever fill the deep chasm that is inside Edmund’s heart since he began fighting at the ripe age of eleven. And she doesn’t mention it during the day. But their mother has found them countless times curled up into one another well past the rise of the sun, also comforting one another in deep sleep.

Edmund’s teachers find him astonishing. He’s very talented and good with words, so precise with his wording that a few classmates have started to call him silver tongue.

Ed’s flattered, but every time he hears that name he makes a very nostalgic expression, almost like remembering something far, far away.

Mostly because his counselors used to call him silver tongued, also astonished by his long formal and exquisite letters he used to write to neighboring countries in the name of Peter the Magnificent.

But he is not only good with words.

As soon as he joins the chess club, which, obviously, is one of the first things he asks to do to his mum shortly after coming back; he finds truthful rivals worth many long nights in front of fireplaces with a chessboard at hand.

His rivals actually never find a way to understand his strategies, but once or twice somebody manages to beat him. Maybe after having had a short chat with one of Edmund’s sisters, but that he mustn’t know of course.

So through this valid rivalry he does find one or two friends and so often invites them to play against him in front of a freshly made pack of Turkish delights and a hot cup of tea. Who is to say no that ?

But Edmund also takes on fencing. Sure, the literary courses and activities are between his favorites, but he dearly misses fighting with a sword at hand, forever reminiscing the time when he always had a sword at his side and a shield in his hand.

So he takes on fencing. And he is surely grandiose at it. Actually, after not even a week, he even manages to beat the instructor, who baffled, must also somehow explain to his other students how Edmund beat him, even though he himself cannot really formulate a proper explanation.

So, bored, Edmund forces his brother to take on fencing as well.

At first Peter isn’t really delighted of the idea, thinking that the balance of fencing is completely different, making it hard for such a prude knight as him, but somehow Edmund manages to convince him, and boy was it the right decision.

Edmund and Peter right away find a kind of balance of their own, swinging through the classroom light as feathers. A few students even think that they’re dancing instead of fencing. But the Pevensie brothers just have a connection of their own, different from all kinds of stuff those people had seen before.

Ah, and of course another hobby of his. Edmund deeply enjoys reading, often also to other people. He loves reading lavish tales about faraway kingdoms to Lucy, who loves to be lulled into his arms while imagining those faraway kingdoms.

But he also appreciates silence while reading.

All the siblings know where to find their brother when they’re desperately searching for him, and he is overjoyed to be found in the library, feet tucked under his legs, arms with book in hand resting on the mahogany leather armrest of the comfortable chair he was sitting in.

His library back in Narnia was almost as big as a small ballroom, but back in London he has to settle with a single wall full of books.

But that does not stop him from buying more books. The bookshop employees of the little bookstore at the angle of a small street know him very well by now, even offering discounts, knowing he will always be back for other books that might peek his interest the next time he visits the little bookshop.

And so also Edmund has left a piece of his soul back in Narnia, desperately trying to fill the hole with hobbies and interests he also had back there.

But nothing will ever feel like Narnia, except - maybe- returning there…

#I’m crying i wanna hug him so bad #edmund pevensie #narnia headcanons #king edmund the just #narnia the lion the witch and the wardrobe #narnia #peter pevensie #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #queen lucy the valiant #queen susan the gentle #high king peter the magnificent #narnia is life #aslan #chess #books and reading #fencing

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sharedramblings · 1 year

Text

Kept Up

Summary: Sleep doesn't seem doable while you miss a certain blonde.

Contains: Slight worrying

Author's note: Pretty sure the ideas I've outlined before this are side-eyeing me as I post this one. But I'm also pretty sure those ideas (not calling them wips because there's no progress) would probably not see the light of day.

Taglist: @friskyfisher (I remembered your comment regarding this so I did! But to be certain, is this still okay?)

—-—-

Call her.

Don't.

Just try.

She's probably busy.

There's an active war going through your head while you lay in bed, your phone clutched in your chest.

You're tired from today's events, to summarize it all up, yet sleep seems hellbent on evading you. You were doing well this past week, adjusting fairly to the fact that you're cities away from her, so why must this happen now? And why must the yearning be so deeply rooted that it's physically preventing you from doing anything?

What's more frustrating is that the relationship isn't new. It's been going on for almost three years now, so you're honestly blindsided by the shyness you're feeling all over.

Just do it.

What if she's preoccupied?

It's just a video chat!

There's still a possibility of disrupting her.

You forcefully shut your eyes, willing your own thoughts to die down. Your head throbs at the internal back and forth, and all you can do is massage your temple in an attempt to soothe yourself.

A text, you decided. You'll shoot her a text and see if she's busy. That's as good a place as any to start.

'Baby, are you busy?'

Before you can overthink it, you've already hit the send button, staring at your screen for a bit before lowering the phone back to its former place.

You waited, and it felt longer than it should have been. Maybe because you've been fighting yourself with this for a good, solid time. Maybe because you were silently hoping she's free. Maybe because you're slowly feeling ridiculous. Maybe it's all that and more. Whatever it is, you're starting to feel restless, more than what the exhaustion has brought upon your spent body.

The vibration you felt in your hand accompanied by your ringtone felt like a huge relief. You eagerly unlocked the phone, reading her reply.

'Just finishing some email, my love. Everything alright?'

You felt the immediate dip in your spirit, feeling like it's the end of the world. She's busy. You've always admired her diligence, how she's on top of everything most of the time, but right now it looks like an opponent of your want, and you very much dislike it.

'Oh, okay!'

The exclamation point was purposefully put in place so she wouldn't think much of your message. You feel more frozen in place after that. You honestly can't pinpoint what's making you hold yourself back. Is it because this is the first time you've been away ever since the relationship blossomed? Were you so accustomed to her presence that you're finding it difficult to part from her? Is it because you can't immediately tell if it's alright to get her attention? Perhaps it's finally settling in that it's been a week since you've felt her skin on yours, and your heart isn't taking such realization lightly. You miss her so damn much, your heart is aching for her.

It's... it's okay. You got this. Just a few more days and you'll–

Ring... ring... ring!

Your ringtone pulled you out of your supposed comforting of yourself, the vibrations thrumming in your hand. The name of the caller made your heartbeat flutter, the phone quickly finding its place in your ear once you've accepted the call.

"Hi" you whispered, awaiting her voice on the other end of the line.

"Hi, darling. What's the matter?"

A deep inhale was immediately breathed in the moment you heard her voice. God, you miss her. Truly and achingly so, that her voice seemed to alleviate some of the heaviness you feel.

You were silent for a beat before attempting to shrug everything away. "Just wanted to see if you're still up. You ought to sleep by now, you know?"

Play everything off all you want, but she knew something was up. She knows you and could completely read between the lines, or in this case, caught on the fact that you didn't answer her question twice now.

"I'll be off when I'm done. How about you?" You can practically imagine her sitting in her chair, her other arm supporting the one that's holding her phone close to her ear, while fully leaning back on the backrest.

"Already in bed."

Larissa acknowledges your answer with a hum, debating whether to poke again or just wait for you to spill it out.

Silence. There was silence and it stretched out, making her think you've fallen asleep until she faintly hears what could have been you clearing your throat.

"Rissa?" you asked, hesitance coating your already small voice.

"Sweetheart?" comes quickly, and you can't help how the endearment makes your heart soar.

"Can I... can we do video call?" There. That wasn't so hard now, is it? Out in the open. You unconsciously held your breath, afraid it's loud enough that you'll miss her response.

There wasn't one though, so you check to see if the call was somehow ended the exact moment that Larissa's name appeared, an incoming request of what you've asked for displayed on your screen.

You hurriedly accepted, rolling in your side to sandwich the phone between your hand and the bed. There she was, in her late night, still working glory. It's beyond you how she still managed to look so beautiful even when she's tired. Blessed by the higher beings, you supposed.

"Hey" you greeted, giving her a small wave of your hand.

She smiled at you, returning the wave with her own while she set her phone up in the best place she could prop it.

"Any reason you wanted to see me?" Her voice was tinted with a teasing tone, and you can't help the breathless little laugh you let out despite your tired state.

"Just because."

The comfort that the bed should have brought the moment you laid down finally washes over you. You released a contented sigh, this will tide you over.

"Seems like someone misses me, huh?"

"You don't have any idea just how much, baby." There was no point in denying, and you weren't really keen on doing so. Your gaze never left your phone, taking in every chance to look at her.

"Is this okay? Am I not bothering you?" There it was again. You were uncharacteristically shy and worried, which she has picked up on ever since you've asked for the call. What she's wondering though is the why. You seem alright the last time you've talked, so something must have happened.

She waved your concern away. She liked this set up even better since it has you on it. "You're never a bother, my darling."

That melted all the worrying you've had, a gentle smile appearing after her reassurance while she continued working on the email she was in before she called you.

The clacking of her keyboard as she typed was the only sound audible on both your ends, and you silently watched her while hugging a pillow. It went on just like that, and soon sleep seems to finally be on your side. Your eyes flutter close, your vision slowly becoming a blur that you haven't noticed your girlfriend watching you slowly accept it.

Once she's sure you've fallen asleep, she quickly finished the last email for tonight so she herself can rest. She didn't end the call, wanting to pretend that you're by her side. She misses you too, and Larissa can't wait until you're back in her arms once again.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

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islandtarochips · 4 months

Note

[MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM: UNKNOWN]

"Koa Nakiu.

Hope this message reaches you well. I've always wanted to say that you've been one of the closest aids I've ever met, and I'm grateful for your kind companionship. But now, with everything in my control, I just wanted to say this very thing to you — that I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that you went through all that pain just to come this far. You never deserved that in the first place. And I'm sorry that I have to let you go, as well. Maybe one day, I'll see you again. Because right now, we all are balancing on a tight string and a huge pit surrounding darkness is waiting for one of us to come down. I can't let that happen. I need to make things better, in my power.

That's why. I would only want you to tell the rest of our allies.. that they shouldn't worry about me. I could be everywhere, making sure you all are okay. Tell Aleks and Charles that I'll be fine, because I've vanished from the world now. Only for the sake of them, and for the world.

Your truly, Vorona."

Arthur's Note: I shall answer this one...with a ONESHOT story. Here it is! (And sorry @welldonekhushi for taking so long! It took me a while to find some time and ideas to get this right. Hope this is ok...)

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“Vorona? Who the fuck is Vorona?” Koa asked himself after reading this mysterious letter.

He had found it in his drawer after withdrawing himself from the party. The party that they are celebrating for winning the war. Him and the gang had saved Europe from Perseus who was about to release the Nuke all over the area.

And they have stopped him. All thanks to Bell for telling them the location of where Perseus was at.

Koa had kept staring at the letter, trying to figure out who would put this paper into his drawer before heading out to finish the mission.

He also questions how this mystery person knows his name and knows about Aleks and Charles. He thought it might be a threat but the way he reads sentence after sentence.

It…doesn’t sound threatening at all. It somehow makes him feel…guilty all of a sudden.

Koa rubbed his head as he felt puzzled. He wanted to know of who actually left this letter in HIS drawer and how they know about him. Until he smells a familiar scent from the letter.

He slowly put it up close to his face as he took a good sniff from it. The scent of a cologne mixed with a smoking smell from a cigarette. And then it triggered his memory of seeing someone recognizable.

Koa looked at the wall as he remembered now. “...Bell?”

He imagined the Russian man smiling at him softly.

“What the-”

He looked back at the letter as he felt something bad had happened. Something happened that HE wasn’t there for the man he called his close friend and brother.

He read it again as his hand started shaking.

Why does he feel the heaviness in his heart?

Why does he feel like his body is shaking so much?

He folded the letter and put it in his pocket before walking out of his room. As he saw the gang is still partying.

Park, Sims and Lazar were talking. While Hudson was getting annoyed by Woods drunkenly talking to him as Mason was just laughing.

And then saw Charles and Aleks were chatting away remembering a good time.

But where is Adler and Bell?

He walked over to Charles and Aleks as he got the two attention.

“Koa! Hermano! You’re missing yourself with the drink that you like!” Aleks said with a cheerful tone and with a bright smile; as she grabbed another cup that was on the table next to her. She walked up to him before she saw Koa’s expression. “Hey…you ok? You seem like you saw a ghost.”

Koa looked down at Aleks, seeing her worried expression. He cleared his throat before looking around. “Have you seen Bell and Adler? I need to talk with them. Or…make that Adler.”

Aleks pondered a bit as she tried to remember. “Um…well…I only saw Adler. I was also questioning where Bell was as well. But I didn’t ask him yet.”

“Then where is Adler?”

“He should be outside smoking.”

Charles stepped in looking at the two. “What’s going on?”

“Koa was just asking where's Adler and Bell.”

Charles was taking a sip from his drink before looking around. “Hmmm. All I can remember is that it was only Adler who came in last. I don’t think I’ve seen Bell anywhere.”

Charles saw Koa’s expression had turned pale and saw he didn’t hear him. “Nakiu? Helloooooo? Earth to NAKIU.” He snapped his fingers in front of Koa.

The big man jolted at hearing the snap of the Professor’s fingers. “U-Uh- Sorry! I um…”

“¿Estás bien? What’s going on?’ Aleks asked as she looked even more worried for her Māori friend.

Before Koa could answer, he saw Adler walk back in. “I’ll be right back.” He quickly walked past Charles and Aleks as he hurriedly walked up to the CIA man.

“Adler!”

Adler turned his head to see Koa walking up to him so quickly as he stood firm. While flicking his cigarette away. “Yes, Nakiu?”

Koa got up to him as he took a deep breath and looked at him. Looking deep through this man’s sunglasses that he always wore wherever he goes. “Adler…I…I need to know. Where is Bell?”

Adler raised his eyebrows a bit after hearing that question. Before looking away to avoid the Captain’s gaze.

Koa knew something was up. He kept asking him that same question. “Adler. WHERE is BELL?” He saw him trying to turn away from him but he stopped him.

“Don’t you fucking turn away from ME, Adler. ANSWER my question.” Koa started to protest while blocking his way.

“MOVE. NAKIU. I got other business to get done.” Adler warned the Captain.

“The business shit is ALREADY done!”

Aleks quickly stepped in between the two before looking at Koa. “K-Koa, calm down. What’s going on?”

Koa started to point at Adler as he didn’t listen to Aleks. “Where IS he, Adler? I just want to KNOW!” He didn’t pay attention to anyone else except to Adler. He was so focused on getting an answer from this CIA agent. He KNOWS that he had something to hide.

He’s feeling impatient but did his best to stay cool.

Charles also stepped in before touching Koa’s shoulder. “Nakiu. You need to calm down.”

Koa shoved his hand away before pushing Aleks aside gently as he took a step forward towards Adler.

The Agent took a step back as his back touched against the wall. While staring up at the angry Captain.

The rest of the gang saw this as well as they walked over to see what was going on.

Mason stood next to Aleks. “What’s going on? Why is Koa like this?”

Aleks was just looking worried as she wanted to stop Koa from doing anything stupid. But somehow deep down inside of her tells her to wait and see. “I-I…I don’t know. Koa kept asking Adler where's Bell…”

“You know…I was questioning that too.” Woods said as he took a step in. “Hey ADLER! Where IS Bell huh? I thought he was with YOU.”

Adler was silenced as he was just staring at Woods, who is a bit drunk, through his sunglasses before looking back at Koa.

The Māori man was towering over him a bit, he was DESPERATE to know where his friend, his ally, his BROTHER.

“ADLER. PLEASE. I’m begging you. WHERE is BELL?”

Adler was still being quiet as he looked away. Koa was getting annoyed at this. He took another step forward, cornering Adler, and glared at him. “ADLER! Where is BE-”

“HE’S GONE!”

The garage was in deep silence after Adler had yell with those TWO simple words. The words had cut so deep into Koa’s heart.

Aleks, Charles and everyone else in the garage were shocked to hear this. Except for Hudson, Sims and Park. For some reason...

Koa was just standing there with wide eyes. “W-What…?”

“He’s FUCKING gone, Koa! You happy now?” Adler said with an annoyance in his tone but with a small guilt mixed with it.

Aleks was covering her mouth in shock. While Charles was just standing there also being shocked and was gripping his glass.

Mason walked over as he touched Koa’s shoulder while glaring at Adler. “Russel. What do you mean he’s GONE?”

“What did you do to him, Adler?” Woods asked the question as he took a step forward while glaring at him.

Adler was silenced again as he sighed trying to find the right words.

Aleks looked at Adler with saddened eyes. “Adler…?”

He was about to say something before jolting at Koa, grabbing him by his leather brown jacket and getting his back slammed against the wall.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?!?” Koa yelled, making everyone panic.

Mason quickly grabbed Koa’s shoulder trying to pull him away but he’s too stubborn and strong to be pulled back. “KOA! CALM DOWN!”

“Koa! Let go of him NOW!” Hudson ordered the Captain.

But he didn’t listen as he slammed Adler again against the wall. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO BELL?!? TELL ME!”

Adler groaned as he grabbed onto Koa's arms. “Let GO of me, you bastard! Get OFF!"

“Not until you TELL me what you did to the man who had HELPED us!”

“For fuck sake- LAZAR!” Hudson rubbed the bridge of his nose before pointing at Lazar.

Lazar stepped in and helped Mason to pull Koa away.

The Captain struggled to get out of their grip while still yelling at Adler.

Charles scoffed seeing this scene before looking at Adler. “Answer the DAMN question, Adler. What did you do to him and WHERE is he?” Then he glared at Hudson. “I know YOU have something to do with this as well.”

Hudson glared back at the Professor. “What made you say THAT?”

“Don’t play the dumb shit game here. You both are in the same agencies to SAVE the world but I know deep down that you’re just a bunch of BULLSHITS.” Charles snarled at both of the CIA agents. “So tell us the truth or I might reconsider Nakiu here to disfigure BOTH of your faces.”

Charles gave them both a daggered stare as he took a quick swig on his drink down to his throat. Before Adler sighs in defeat and fixes himself up.

“The CIA had already put Bell under a death sentence. We’re only using him and keeping him alive for some information about Perseus.” Adler explained.

Aleks was confused as she looked at Adler. “DEATH sentence? What does that supposed to mean?”

Hudson stepped in to answer that. “Which means that he’s already no use for us after this mission.”

Everyone was stunned. Except for Park and Sims as the two looked away. Koa caught the two as he glared at them. While still being held back by Lazar and Mason.

“You two know about this DIDN’T you?” Koa said with anger.

“Hey man! I’m just a guy who solves problems! Which, in case you FORGET, that I provide materials for y'all. I didn’t know about the death sentence until NOW!” Sims raised his hands in defense.

“Yeah, by putting a SYRINGE into his fucking EYEBALL?”

“You WHAT?” Mason looked at Sims and Park with a dumbfounded look. “You put a syringe into Bell’s EYES? WHY?!”

Park motioned her hands towards Mason to calm down. “It’s the only way to get his memory back for him to tell us of where Perseus was at.”

Woods walked up while pointing his finger at her. “BULLSHIT! He could’ve died from how many times you have to put that in him!”

Hudson stepped in between Woods and Park. “Alright ENOUGH! Let’s just take a breather!”

Aleks was just looking at the gang back and forth before looking at Adler who was just standing there. “Adler…why would you do that? He TOLD us of where Perseus was at. And yet, you decided to…to KILL him?”

“That wasn’t my choice. He’s already on a death sentence under the hands of the CIA. It’s unfair, yes. Which is why Hudson wanted me to end him instead of them.”

“You CAN’T even think of another way to let him stay? O-Or let him walk freely just for a bit?”

“It’s not that simple Aleks-”

“It should’ve been simple!” Aleks yelled at Adler as tears slowly appeared into her brown sad eyes. She could feel a small pain piercing into her chest. “He TRUSTED us! He trusted KOA! He trusted CHARLES! He trusted WOODS! MASON! ME! EVERYONE in this fucking safe house!”

Everyone was looking at Aleks, seeing her for the first time being upset. Of course, she’s upset most of the time but not like this.

“¿¡¿CÓMO PUEDES HACERLE ESTO?!?” She walked up to him as she pushed him back. “¡¿POR QUÉ TIENES QUE HACER ESTO?!”

She started to hit him against his chest with her fist while still crying and yelling at him. Before Charles walked over and gently pulled Aleks away from him. He comforted her a bit before he gave a disappointed look at Adler.

Adler was just staring at Aleks who was crying as he was about to reach out to her. “I’m sorry…”

“No you’re not.”

Adler looked at Koa seeing him walking up to him. Lazar was about to grab Koa but stopped himself as he knew that the Captain needed to say something.

“You’re not SORRY because if you were you wouldn’t killed him.” Koa said as he blocked in front of Adler from Aleks. Towering over him again. He looked at the CIA Agent as he wanted to end him so badly. But Koa had been learning all of his life. Since the very beginning of him joining the army. He didn’t come this far to end with violence to someone who he was working with.

He took a deep breath as he slowly leaned back. “And even if you DIDN’T. You still won’t trust him.” He looked at Adler with sadden eyes before he slowly dug into his pocket and brought out the folded letter. The letter that he had found from his drawer.

Everyone was looking at Koa confusingly as they saw a paper in his hand.

Koa was just staring at the folded paper.

Breathing calmly before clutching onto it and looking Adler straight into his eyes. Through those ridiculous sunglasses “I’m done.”

Adler raised his eyebrows after hearing that from the Captain. “What?”

“I’m DONE. I’m done with this mission. I’m done with this war. I am done with you and your CIA bullshits.” Koa slowly looked at Adler with seriousness in his eyes. “I’m going back to New Zealand. Going back to the Army. And I would appreciate it if you NOT contact me. EVER.”

Adler was dumbfounded to hear this from Koa. It was unexpected that he would actually let one person who had passed. Could make him quit.

Koa then glared at Hudson. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’m sure there are other people who would like to be your little PUPPET.”

Hudson was silenced when the Captain had pointed out to him. Which he looked away.

Koa kept his glare as he looked at Park and Sim. “I thought you guys knew better. Then being DESPERATE to solve or finding the answer.”

Sims rubbed behind his head and looked away. While Park looked at him with guilt as she rubbed her arm.

Koa sighed calmly before turning around to look at Woods and Mason. “Woods. Mason. It’s…an honor to be working with you both. I apologize that this meeting won’t last long.”

“Hey, we understand your struggles. And…we’re sorry that this is a twisted night.” Woods said as he put his hand out to the Captain. “It’s nice meeting you, Captain.”

Koa looked at Woods' hand and smiled at him a bit before shaking his hand.

Mason also did the same with Koa and gave him a hug after. He appreciated this from him.

So Koa leaned back and gave him a nod before walking over while looking at Lazar. “Lazar.”

“Captain. ….I…” Lazar was trying to find words to say but seemed like he was too ashamed to even speak.

But Koa understands and just gives him a reassuring smile before patting his shoulder. “It’s alright, Lazar. I’m not blaming you.”

Then he got to Charles and Aleks. He slowly looked down at the woman who was crying still. He could see pain in her eyes as if she was blaming herself for not knowing the truth.

“Aleks…” Before he could say anything else. He suddenly felt Aleks hugging him. Koa showed his expression of being worried for his dear friend. As he hugged her gently.

“Lo lamento…” Aleks said it between her sobbing.

It broke Koa’s heart to see this woman who he called sister like this. He gently leaned her back and placed his hand on her cheek before wiping her tears away. “No lo seas. No lo sabías.” He said it softly before smiling at her.

Aleks was still feeling guilty when she saw Koa’s soft smile. She just smiled back a bit before hugging him again.

He chuckled as he didn’t reject another hug. And saw Charles was fixing his glasses. “Are you crying?” Koa cooed at him in a teasing way.

“Tch. As IF. I just got something in my eye.”

“Uh huh. Riiiiiiiiiiight.”

The Captain chuckled as he saw the Professor walk over. Seeing him sigh before running his hand through his brown hair.

Aleks leaned back and wiped her tears before looking at the two.

Koa and Charles were just staring at each other. Despite them hating each other, teasing each other and even getting on each other’s nerves. Koa knows deep down that Charles cared.

“Soooo. Wanna hug it out?” Koa asked with a small smile.

Charles rolled his eyes as he fixed his glasses before putting his hand out to Koa. “A handshake would be sufficient.”

The Captain smiled a bit as he took the Professor’s hand and shook on it.

“As much…as I despise you from the very beginning. I will be missing your annoyance around here. It will be quiet without you.” Charles said as he looked into Koa’s eyes. As if he meant it really well.

“Getting soft on me, Charlie?” Koa said with a teasing grin.

“DON’T make me take my words back, Nakiu.”

Koa laughed a bit before smiling at Charles and then at Aleks. “I…I’m really glad that I have met you both.” He said it softly.

“We’ll see you tomorrow when you go out.” Aleks promised as she wanted to see her friend one last time before departure.

Koa just smiled at her. “I would like that.” Then he sighs before turning to face everyone. “I’ll pack my things.”

After that, Koa had left to go to his room to get his things. Of course, he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to go away after everything that they have been through.

With some laughter, arguments and working together.

But…

It wasn’t the same without that ONE person that he deeply cared for. Hoping it’ll give him a second chance to change once and for all. And now…he lost it. AGAIN. ----------------------

Words: 3040 Characters (Left -> Right)

Koa "Hunter" Nikau -> Me

Aleksandra Clarke R. -> @alypink

Charles "Charlie" Moore -> @deeptrashwitch

Vasili "Bell" Sokolov -> @welldonekhushi

30 notes · View notes

aidanchaser · 8 days

Text

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Marinette left early for the Lucky Lady, not because she was eager to see her friends or get to work, but merely because she was anxious to get away from her parents.

“Was that Adrien Agreste who went rushing out of here?” her mother had asked, and had kept asking even when Marinette denied it.

After hearing her mother ask about Adrien, her father had said, “Adrien’s back from London? You know, you’ve never invited him over for dinner.”

And Marinette tried and failed to explain to her parents that she and Adrien had only been friends for one summer over five years ago, and there was nothing between them. She didn’t dare tell them how he’d broken her heart nor how he had become involved with his father. Just because she hated him didn’t mean her parents had to.

But instead of accepting Marinette’s excuses, her mother had asked, “Then why did you lock him in the water closet?”

So Marinette left the bakery early for once. The winter sky was still pink like the camellias when she slid through the back door of the Lucky Lady and plopped down at the girls’ dressing table. She had tried to do her makeup at home first, but she couldn’t stand at the sink without her hands trembling. Even now, she didn’t feel much like looking at her reflection.

When Marinette put on her makeup before donning Ladybug’s mask, she often felt like she was stepping into the armor of a more beautiful, braver woman. But tonight as she powdered her cheeks, smeared pale blue smoke across her eyelids, and thumbed open her tin of mascara, her stomach churned in protest.

Marinette did not think of herself as a cruel person, but her words to Adrien that afternoon had been sharper than she would have liked. They felt like words that belonged to Ladybug, and she was beginning to grow less and less sure that she wanted to be Ladybug.

Because the truth was, if she dared to admit it to herself, that she missed Adrien—her breath stuttered in her lungs as she remembered the way he had stuttered over a breathless I missed you.—and she wanted nothing more than to just hold his hand again, sit together on the banks of the river, press her head into his chest, feel his hands on her shoulders—

Their singular summer had been years ago, but it felt fresh, as near as he had been, pressed up against the sink. His touch on her elbow and his breath on her neck lingered like a phantom clinging to her. She could be hurt and bitter all that she wanted, but as soon as Adrien had learned that Marinette had not chosen to leave him, he had been ready to try again.

But it was Ladybug, the woman forged for war, who couldn’t forgive. It was Ladybug who was losing her partner because of Gabriel Agreste, and how could she have Adrien again when he was tied so tightly to his father?

Was being Ladybug worth losing Adrien?

But was having Adrien worth losing Chat Noir?

Her eyes burned with tears, but she shoved her heartbreak aside and snatched her mask off of its place on the rack. The only masks missing were Alix’s and Alya’s. There was still time before patrons arrived. It would be the perfect opportunity to compare notes from their reconnaissance last night. There was work for Ladybug to do, and Marinette couldn’t afford to falter now. If this arrangement between Mayor Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste really was everything that Adrien had promised, then she’d see if he was still standing after she toppled his father’s throne.

She did not put her mask on, nor did she bother with some of the more cumbersome Ladybug accessories. Instead, she tucked her gloves into the strap of her dress and fastened her mask to her belt in the place she might have fastened her yo-yo for a different sort of mission.

Marinette always found the empty bar and the restaurant floor eerie in the early parts of the afternoon. The evening mess cleaned up, tables set and waiting for guests to fill them, a stage with flat lighting and abandoned instruments, and nothing but silence in a large empty hall all made her feel far more alone than she liked, far more aware of her own internal voids. She hurried past the rounds and up to Max’s office. If Alya and Alix weren’t discussing their reconnaissance mission over the bartop, they must be upstairs.

Their voices, low and a little urgent, filtered down the stairs like smoke curling beneath a doorway. Marinette knocked on the door twice, quick and sharp, and their conversation stopped abruptly.

“It’s just me,” she said, and pushed the door open.

The tension on Alix and Alya’s faces and in their shoulders visibly unwound.

Alya was dressed in the orange and black gown she waited tables in, but her mask rested up on her high ponytail of reddish curls. Alix was still wearing her usual street clothes, a man’s button-up and trousers, as she perched on Max’s desk. Marinette’s notepad from last night rested between them, along with another set of notes scribbled in Alix’s hand, illuminated by a desk lamp shaded with bottle-green glass.

“You’re early.” Alix’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You’re never early.”

“Did you find anything on your reconnaissance last night?” Marinette hoped her eagerness to further the investigation was excuse enough for her unusually early arrival.

Alya’s pursed lips suggested that her excuse did not work as she had hoped, but at least Alya did not press her.

Alix handed her the notes she had scribbled out. “Notice anything interesting?”

It took Marinette a bit to parse the chicken-scratch that passed for Alix’s hasty handwriting, but nothing in particular stood out to her. “These items are the same ones I saw in Gabriel’s warehouse list, aren’t they?” she asked. “So Gabriel and the mayor have the same inventory on their shipping manifests. That’s not exactly the smoking gun we’re looking for.”

“It’s not exactly the same.” Alya handed Marinette the pad of paper that Marinette had given to Nino.

Side-by-side, the answer was obvious. The items were the same, but the quantity was not. The manifest Gabriel Agreste had written out for his trucks had almost twice the number of items that the mayor’s did.

“So it’s a smuggling operation.” Marinette returned both sets of papers to the desk. “Any idea what he’s smuggling?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Alix said. “You were in his warehouse last night. Did you see anything?”

“They had just unloaded a shipment, but I didn’t get a look at what was inside.” Marinette, once more, cursed her poor timing as she had grabbed the shipping manifest for the delivery.

“We could go back tonight,” Alix suggested, “see what we can see.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose.

Alya immediately groaned. “Were you made?”

“I don’t think they recognized me as Ladybug…” Marinette fidgeted with her red and black mask. She’d been in all black last night, no signature spots save for her yo-yo. Chat Noir had recognized her, but surely Gabriel’s goons weren’t quite so aware.

“Marinette, if you were spotted—Don’t.” Alya groaned as Alix repeated “spotted” under her breath and elbowed Alya with a crooked grin.

Alya swatted Alix’s hand aside. “Why didn’t Nino tell me—Did you even tell Nino you were seen?”

“I was busy trying to record the shipping manifest before I forgot it.”

Alya pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gabriel could have his men show up here tonight looking for you. We need to tell Max.”

“They didn’t know it was me. None of them called me Ladybug or Little Bug or Beetle—none of the old nicknames. I wasn’t wearing my spots, and Chat wasn’t wearing his ears—” Marinette belatedly bit down on her tongue.

“Chat Noir’s back?” Alix asked and tipped her head expectantly, like Marinette might have more to elaborate on.

Marinette did not.

Alya’s fingers pressed into her temple like she was trying to dig her patience out from the inner trenches of her mind. “Chat Noir showed up. You were seen. Gabriel was getting a delivery of some unknown goods. Is there anything else you neglected to tell Nino and by extension myself and Alix and Max?”

Marinette thought of the near miss of both the gunfire and the kiss. She thought of the note from Adrien, tucked into the pocket of her dress. She thought of his promise that he was trying to take down his father, the promise he had made both Ladybug and Marinette.

“No, I think that’s it.”

“If Gabriel comes for the Lucky Lady, we—”

Alix was cut short by a loud thud on the ceiling. All three girls instinctively turned their gaze to the white ceiling tiles overhead. The square tiles were bordered by plaster vines, twisting together and, at the corners, converging on a stallion’s head, where the mane curled into the leaves until the distinction between the two was impossible to find. But the three girls focused only on the tile in the left corner. It was not distinct from the others in any visible way, but each of the crew had used it at one time or another to sneak in and out of the Lucky Lady without being noticed.

Alix reached for the metal baton that Max kept under his desk.

“No one but the crew knows about that entrance,” Marinette said, though she dropped her voice to a whisper.

Alya pulled her mask down from her hair and over her face. Her dark red lips disappeared behind the fox’s snout. “No one in the crew’s used it in two months.”

Marinette hastily fumbled for the cord of her own mask. Her stomach curled with a familiar anxiety, the anxiety of being caught, of being discovered, of preparing to fight—It was the same thrill she had felt in the warehouse, the same thrill she felt leaping across rooftops with Chat Noir.

It occurred to her that perhaps this was what Chat Noir had meant when he had said that Ladybug was uninterested in peace.

She swallowed that thought down and instinctively reached for her waist where her yo-yo ought to be, but her hip was now empty. Her weapon was tucked away in the drawer of the dressing table downstairs. It wasn’t exactly an accessory she needed for waiting on guests. So instead, she unfastened her beaded belt. It wouldn’t have the same reach as her yo-yo, but it could function as a garrot in an emergency.

Alix had neither mask nor hood, but she twisted the baton in her hand with the ease of a gymnast. There was even a bit of excitement in her eyes, too, as she rolled her shoulder, fully prepared to swing at whoever dropped through the ceiling.

The corner tile shifted, and fine plaster dust fell to the floor. A set of bare fingers appeared around the edge of the tile and lifted it out of the way, just far enough for a thin body to slip through. Next followed a pair of shiny black shoes, like the sort made for carpeted office floors, not the slick roofs of Paris, then the rest of a figure dressed in all black, who fell into the room like a man taking a dive and stayed crumpled on the floor.

Alix lifted her baton almost hopefully, but even she couldn’t quite bring herself to strike someone who seemed to be having trouble getting to his feet. Marinette’s heart raced as she tried to determine the shape of his shoulders, currently curled inwards, or the color of his hair beneath his black cap, or if he would just lift his head, she could see his eyes—

But as he managed to push himself up with one hand, his head stayed low and limp, like his neck had forgotten how to do its job. He kept one hand pressed into his side and, as his black cap slid from his head to reveal his tousled blond hair, red crept out from between his fingers.

Alix’s baton hit the rug with a dull thud as all three girls rushed into action. Marinette took his shoulders and Alya grabbed his feet. Alix disappeared downstairs for supplies.

For the first time, the familiarity that swept over Marinette suddenly became unwelcome. She’d enjoyed sneaking through Gabriel’s warehouse, running across rooftops with Chat Noir, and the thrill of secret plans. But readily laying Chat Noir out on Max’s desk, brushing his sweat-plastered bangs back from his forehead, watching the tight stretch of his jaw clenched against pain—the familiarity of seeing people she loved wounded made her skin crawl.

Alix returned, and Alya readily snatched a bottle of vodka out of her hands.

“Ready?” Alya asked, but did not wait for anyone to confirm as she poured the alcohol over the wound.

Chat Noir winced as the alcohol collided with his stomach. His body twisted, but Marinette pressed his shoulders flat against the desk with one arm and pulled his hands away from his wound with her other hand; Alix was quick to throw her weight onto his legs.

Alya peeled back his shirt and examined the wound. They had all seen worse. Not only worse bullet wounds, but gas and shrapnel and fractures. The through-and-through tear in the side of his stomach bled into Max’s desk and stained Marinette’s notepad, tucked beneath Chat Noir, but there did not appear to be any bullet to extract nor even, Marinette hoped, any internal reconstruction to be done.

Alya soaked a napkin in alcohol and pressed it against his wound.

This time, Chat Noir’s sharp intake of breath was more controlled, but he still twitched against the weight of Marinette and Alix. His hands, slippery with his own blood, clung to Marinette’s.

“Is it bad?” Marinette dared to ask.

“Clean tear. I think it’s just a bad graze. We ought to get him to a hospital, though, to be sure—”

“No,” Chat Noir protested through gritted teeth. “I can’t—”

“I’m not stitching you up!” Alya snapped. “We’re not equipped for surgery, and I’m not having you die of shock in Max’s office.”

“I just need it bandaged,” he said, “please. I can’t go to a hospital, I can’t—”

Marinette shushed him softly and let his shoulders go so her hand was free to stroke his hair flat in an attempt to keep him calm. She’d seen enough soldiers hurt themselves further in a panic or worse, slip into a cold shock and never recover.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Please, Ladybug, he’ll find me if—”

A loud, heavy banging echoed through the floor of the restaurant below.

“Maybe Kim forgot his keys,” Alix said nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Chat Noir said. “I didn’t think I was followed—”

“Is it Gabriel?” Marinette asked.

The banging came again and Chat Noir flinched, but he nodded.

Marinette brushed her thumb along the line where his leather mask met the edge of his cheek bone.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“Wait—” Alya protested, but Marinette shook her head.

“I’m the face of the Lucky Lady so that you can do your work better. Besides, Alix is out of costume.”

“I’m still going to help,” Alix said, and picked up the metal baton.

Alya’s expression was impossible to interpret behind her fox mask, but her shoulders dropped with resignation.

Marinette untwined her fingers from Chat Noir’s as Alya took Chat Noir’s hand and guided him to put pressure on his own wound so she could begin cutting napkins into bandages, an old practice they hadn’t had to put into use for months.

Gabriel—or more likely his men—banged on the front door of the Lucky Lady a third time as Alix and Marinette hurried downstairs.

Alix kept herself pressed against the wall, out of sight of the door but ready to swing should anyone try to enter, while Marinette put her hands on the handle of the door. She looked down and saw Chat Noir’s blood still smeared across her palms.

“Break it down, then!” a cold voice barked, and a chill went down Marinette’s spine.

She shoved her hands into her gloves and yanked the door open, coming face to face with none other than Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard. His broad shoulders blocked her view of most of the street, but she could just see the tall, slim figure of Gabriel Agreste behind him, wearing a long white coat and white scarf. His matching hat sat low on his brow, hiding most of his face, but she could still make out the angular cheekbones behind his square glasses.

Marinette had only seen Gabriel Agreste twice in her life. Once, from across the street, as she and Adrien had ducked into a nearby flower shop and hidden behind a bouquet of day lilies while he passed by. The second time, Adrien had snuck her into his family home. He’d been insistent on showing her the statue of his mother. While it had been everything that Adrien had promised—his mother truly had been a beautiful woman—Marinette had never thought it worth the risk. Gabriel had found them, and had her swiftly removed from the premises. By then, war had already begun, and within a week, Adrien was gone without a word. Paris became the edge of a warzone days later.

Marinette called on all the bravery and anger she had held in her chest when war had arrived to her city. If Gabriel wanted to bring out old weapons and wounds, she’d bring what she had learned during four years of vigilante spywork on the frontlines of a war.

“My apologies,” she said, careful to keep her voice low and calm. None of them could see how hard Marinette’s heart was racing, and she could trust her mask to hide the flush in her face. Ladybug’s persona was made for confrontations like this. “We don’t open for a while yet. You’re welcome to come back in an hour or two.”

“Where is he?” Gabriel snarled, stepping forward and nudging his bodyguard aside.

He loomed over Marinette, just as Adrien had done yesterday. The setting sun behind him cast his shadow over her and kept his face in darkness, but she kept her steady gaze on the frame of his glasses.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Where is my son?”

She was unable to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. “P-pardon?”

“My son!” Gabriel snarled. “Adrien disappeared hours ago. I know you people have him.”

Marinette struggled to craft a Ladybug-like answer. Her mind was preoccupied with her own final image of Adrien’s shoulders being swallowed by his car, by his pointed if you still loved me, and she had to fight past that memory and her own fears about what might have happened to Adrien in order to recall the last time that Ladybug had seen Adrien.

“Adrien Agreste was here last night with Chloé Bourgeois.” She tried not to think of it as a lie. It wasn’t, not really, but her heart pounded in her chest regardless. “I’m afraid, Monsieur,” she tried very hard to keep the distaste out of her voice and she was not entirely sure that she succeeded, “that we cannot help you.”

Gabriel reached into his coat and withdrew a gun.

Marinette stepped back instinctively, and Alix lifted the baton in her hands—but Gabriel did not point the barrel at her. He held it up, like he might fire a warning shot, or like he was merely putting it on display. Her breath caught in her throat as the deep orange sunset glinted off of a familiar pearled handle.

“Your cat left Adrien’s gun behind, after using a rather unique set of keys to break into my office. I have a set,” Gabriel patted his pocket, “and Adrien has the other. So if you haven’t seen Adrien, tell me where Chat Noir is.”

Marinette swallowed. Surely her panic must be telegraphing as guilt, but she could not help it. Had Chat Noir really done something to Adrien? The idea that her final words to Adrien might have been so terribly unkind choked the breath from her lungs.

“Chat Noir does not have anything to do with this place,” she managed to say. She kept her eyes on the gun in Gabriel’s hand, trying to communicate that her fear was about the gun itself rather than his question about Chat Noir. “Our patrons will tell you, no one has seen Chat Noir since the war.”

“Some of my men claim to have seen him last night. With a friend. A young lady about your height and build, I believe.”

“Then perhaps you should ask her where he is.”

The sound of a door opening and closing behind her nearly made Marinette turn, but she did not dare take her eyes off of Gabriel and his gun. She could see Alix shifting in her periphery, first tensing and raising the bat, then lowering it and waving to get someone’s attention.

Marinette should have guessed who it was by the lanky yet muscular arm that reached out to grab the edge of the door frame, but it was the gentle, sing-song, “What seems to be the problem here?” that told Marinette that Luka had arrived.

Most of the boys at the Lucky Lady wore plain black or white domino masks, but Luka, much like Alya, had stylized his. It hid both his eyes and his nose with the snout of a snake, and a pair of golden fangs on the end of the snout framed his chin.

He wasn’t much in his build, nothing like Gabriel’s bodyguard, but he appeared no less deadly.

“He’s looking for Adrien Agreste,” Marinette replied, before Gabriel could try to reclaim control of the exchange, “and Chat Noir.”

“We saw Adrien last night.” Luka hummed softly and tipped his head. “Been a while since we’ve seen Chat Noir. The Armistice, was it? I’m afraid we can’t help you anymore than that.”

“I did mention,” Marinette added, “that Adrien was with Chloé last night. She’s about my size, isn’t she?”

“About.”

“Perhaps you might ask her if she’s seen Chat Noir.”

Gabriel’s upper lip curled as he surveyed Marinette and Luka. It would not be hard, she thought, for him to simply shoot the two of them and barge into the restaurant. But Gabriel had relied on a good reputation for years, and the Lucky Lady had a reputation of her own. He would need an ironclad reason to come after them directly if he wanted to maintain his public face.

He returned the gun to his coat, but he took a step closer. Marinette could smell hot smoke on his breath, poorly concealed behind a thin layer of cool mint. “If I find out you’ve had anything to do with Adrien’s disappearance, I will see this place burned to the ground.”

Neither Marinette nor Luka said a word. They remained in the doorway until Gabriel’s bodyguard opened the door of the car, and the two of them drove away. Once the car was out of sight, Marinette pushed the door closed and fell against it. As the adrenaline slipped out of her body, nausea settled in. This, too, brought a familiarity that she did not care for.

Luka pulled off his mask and placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. “You did great Marinette. Next time, wait until one of us is here to back you up.”

“I had it,” Alix said, as Marinette sighed, “They were going to break down the door.”

“Better that they break the door than hurt you.”

Marinette scrubbed her hand over her face, slipping her gloves beneath her mask so she could try to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She only managed to smear her makeup. “But we do have Chat Noir. He’s upstairs.”

Luka’s hand on her shoulder tightened. “He came back?”

“He’s been shot.”

Luka did not wait for any further explanation. He took the stairs to Max’s office two at a time, long legs carrying him faster than even Alix, who was notorious for out-sprinting them all, could follow.

Marinette trudged along after them. She was eager to get back to Chat Noir, but her legs were not stable enough to run. If anything, she wanted to sit down at the bar and pour herself a glass of brandy. It wasn’t Gabriel himself that had rattled her, though the idea that he had directly threatened the Lucky Lady was unsettling.

Her chief concert at the moment was for Adrien Agreste. She couldn’t let that moment in the water closet be the last thing either of them remembered of each other. That wasn’t fair to her, and it certainly wasn’t fair to him.

It took the steady support of the wall to haul herself upstairs, but when Marinette arrived at Max’s office, she found the door wide open. Chat Noir was sitting up, wearing only a blood-stained white undershirt and black slacks. The bulge of the make-shift bandage around his stomach peeked out from beneath the torn shirt. He had one hand on his wound and the other pressed against Luka’s chest, like he was keeping Luka at arm’s length.

“Not even a note to say you were alive?” Luka tried to push Chat Noir’s arm aside, but Chat Noir refused to let him get any closer. “Where have you even been staying?”

Chat Noir did not answer. He kept his head turned away from Luka, though his eyes flicked to Ladybug in the doorway.

“He’s not offering any explanations,” Alya said. “Best we can get out of him is that it was probably Gabriel who shot him. Won’t go to a hospital, won’t let me call a doctor, won’t take off that ridiculous mask—”

“You’re wearing a mask,” Chat Noir snapped.

Alya lifted her fox mask back up onto her head. “You’re behaving like a child. I’m going to call a doctor.”

“Wait a minute, Alya,” Luka protested. “Gabriel already thinks we’re harboring him. How do you think he’s going to react if we call a doctor here when he knows Chat Noir’s been shot?”

“Fine.” Alya threw her hands up in the air. “If he bleeds out, it’s someone else’s problem.”

Alix rolled her eyes. “He’s not going to bleed out. He is, however, going to tell us what he was doing to end up shot by Gabriel. Maybe he can even tell us what Gabriel’s smuggling.”

“He’s also going to tell us where the hell he’s been staying for two months,” Luka snapped. “A night or two without coming back is one thing, but two months is just rude.”

Chat Noir still said nothing.

Marinette licked her lips, but her whole mouth felt like a desert. Her voice cracked like dry ground as she broke the silence. “Chat—What did you do to Adrien?”

He looked up at her, and the distance between the desk and the door suddenly felt at once like miles stretched out between them and yet like no distance at all. She could take one step forward and be in his arms. She could take one step forward and plummet into nothingness. It all hinged on his answer.

And when he did speak, it wasn’t an answer at all.

“I’ve been staying with family,” he confessed.

Luka hissed a sharp intake of breath between tight teeth. “And you got out with only a bullet wound?”

“I wouldn’t say I got out. I—” He finally pulled his hand away from Luka’s chest and ran it through his hair.

There was something about the way the golden strands slid through his bared and bloodied hands. Marinette realized she had never seen so much of Chat Noir before. He was always fully cloaked in black, from boots to gloves to cap. His hands and arms, fully bare, and his chest cloaked in only a thin layer of white cotton appeared incredibly vulnerable.

“I didn’t hurt Adrien Agreste,” he finally said. “Whatever Gabriel thinks I did, he’s wrong.”

The anxiety in Marinette’s chest, however, stayed wound up tight like the bandage around Chat Noir’s stomach.

“Then where is Adrien?”

“I don’t know—I—” He bit down on his tongue. “I only broke into Gabriel’s office to see if I could find out what he was smuggling.”

“And?” Alix asked impatiently.

His throat, strangely bare of collar or tie shifted as he swallowed. He spoke, but the single syllable got caught in his throat and came out as little more than a choked gasp.

“I beg your pardon?” Alya raised an eyebrow.

Luka reached over him for the bottle of vodka that Alya had abandoned on the desk. Adrien gratefully took a small sip and, with an oiled palate, carefully annunciated, “Guns.”

“For a… buyer in Germany?” Alix asked.

Chat Noir nodded.

Marinette placed one hand on the doorframe to steady herself. It was no wonder Adrien had promised that this was the thing that could bring down Gabriel Agreste. This would ruin him not just financially, but publicly as well.

“That’s out of our depth,” Luka said. “Black market rations is one thing, but a weapons shipment to Germany is the sort of thing we involve the police in.”

“Raincomprix is on Gabriel’s payroll,” Chat Noir said. “If he doesn’t already know what’s happening, he doesn’t want to know what’s happening.”

“The mayor is also being paid rather handsomely for this deal, isn’t he?” Alya mused. “It’ll have to be us, but we’ll need the whole crew.” She glanced at the wall clock and frowned. “Max should be here any minute. We can draw up a plan.”

“It’ll have to be tonight.” Chat Noir got to his feet and winced from the movement. He kept one hand on the desk behind him for support. “Gabriel will do everything he can to cover his tracks now that he knows I’m onto him.”

“He can’t cover his tracks and hunt for Adrien at the same time,” Luka said. “That may give us a window of opportunity.”

“He’ll choose covering his tracks,” Chat Noir replied.

“How do you know?” Marinette asked.

“Because I know how people like him think.” Chat Noir reached for the black button-up shirt he had arrived in, but Alya snatched it out of his reach.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You stay up here and rest while we make a plan. You’re not going back out in the field.”

“But I—”

“Don’t. Or I will make you work as a cigarette girl again like I did when you twisted your ankle.”

Chat Noir wrinkled his nose. He had never worked as consistent staff at the Lucky Lady during the war. Like Alya, he preferred to be behind the scenes, and liked keeping his face out of patrons’ eyes. If he worked, he bussed tables or did dishes. But the two weeks he’d been forbidden from putting weight on a sprained ankle, she’d stuck him at a booth with a lighter and a box of cigarettes and told him to smile nice at pretty girls. He’d been a success, and plenty of girls and their boyfriends had accidentally spilled information to him, but he’d gone a little stir crazy in that booth by the end of the two weeks.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll stay here.” But Marinette saw the way his eyes flicked to Max’s office window, like he was already evaluating his escape route.

Luka squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll bring you some water. It’s good to have you back.”

The wry smile Chat Noir gave Luka made Marinette’s heart stutter. It reminded her not only of their conversation last night in the catacombs, but of Adrien Agreste, exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke into the evening air. It was a measure of disbelief and self-deprecation that made Marinette’s chest ache.

Luka slipped past her, and Alya and Alix hurried by to replace the ruined napkins before guests arrived. Marinette knew she ought to help them, but she lingered on the threshold.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone,” she finally said, like it made a difference, like he was still her teammate.

“You went in alone last night.”

“I had Nino.”

He tilted his head then laughed. “Carapace?”

Her cheeks burned as she recalled the petty way she had lashed out at his rejection. “I just—I only meant—”

“It’s fine, I—I know what it is to say things that are maybe a bit harsh when you’ve been hurt.” His eyes drifted to something past her shoulder, and she wondered what words he had turned on someone else. “I am sorry, Ladybug. I know we sort of—I’m just—” He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. “Nevermind,” he murmured into his palm. “It doesn’t matter. Just—thank you for helping tonight. And standing up to Gabriel. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“You still won’t tell me what he has on you?”

He hesitated, which was not a refusal.

Cautiously, Marinette closed the door and stepped closer. “Just me,” she said. “We’re partners, right? You can tell me anything.”

“I—I can’t tell you this.”

She placed one hand over the one that guarded his wound and pulled his other hand from his face. “You can trust me.”

“Not with this.”

“Chaton, what do you think I’m going to do?”

His voice was small and he leaned away from her, but there was nowhere else to go except farther into the desk. “You’ll hate me.”

She swallowed. “I could never hate you.”

“I think… I think it’s all right if you do. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Does Luka already know what it is?”

His brow furrowed beneath his mask. “Luka?”

“The way you two spoke tonight—I don’t think I knew you were close—”

“Oh, no. He just… listens well. Always kept a spot on the floor for me. I stayed with him and—and another friend a lot during the war, but—” Chat Noir let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to make you promise not to hate me, but I am going to ask—Ladybug, please, whatever you end up thinking of me, just don’t—don’t tell anyone else. Not yet.”

“I promise,” she said readily, uncertain how else she could demonstrate he was right to trust her. Whatever he was so afraid of, she would make right. She would never hate him, not for anything—

He lifted his hand from his wound and slid his fingers under the black fabric that buried his cheekbones. He pushed the mask up, into his messy hair.

Marinette stared at him, not quite understanding at first. She’d imagined Chat Noir’s face a hundred times before, and the shape of it settled comfortably into her mind. It felt familiar, a familiarity that she enjoyed—briefly.

And then her stomach twisted and she stumbled backwards.

His face was too many other faces. It was Adrien Agreste as she had known him four summers ago. It was Adrien Agreste who had strutted into her family bakery with a gun on his hip, who had cornered Ladybug in an alley to ask for help, who had pressed himself up against her in her water closet and breathed down her neck—

He was all of those things and yet he was none of those things.

He was Adrien, leaning against the desk, in nothing but a thin cotton T-shirt with a bullet wound in his gut and his own blood smeared on his hands. He was, if he was anyone, the boy who had thought that she might still love him. The boy she had rather pointedly rejected.

Why had Chat Noir gone after Gabriel alone tonight?

Because Marinette had told Adrien that he wasn’t doing enough.

After all her agonizing over which boy she could save, she had burned Adrien and damned Chat Noir in one breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, words tripping over the tears that clogged her throat.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

A gentle knock on the door cut off whatever apology Marinette was going to offer. She didn’t know herself what was going to come out of her mouth, but whatever it was going to be died on the vine as Adrien hastily pulled his mask back on over his face and Luka came in with a pitcher of water in one hand, a glass in another, and a pillow tucked under his arm. Marinette had no idea where he’d gotten the pillow.

“Thought you might like something comfortable to rest on,” Luka offered as he set the pitcher and glass down on the desk. He glanced between Marinette and Adrien, as if evaluating the distance between them. Closer than when he had left, but not quite close enough to be called close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Marinette said, though her voice said otherwise. But not only had she promised to keep Adrien’s secret, she didn’t know how to tell the crew that the very boy who had left her two months ago was the same boy she’d been lamenting for four years. “I’m only—I should get to work.”

She fled down the stairs, past the empty bar, and back to the girls’ dressing room, where she collapsed into the chair at the table that that they all shared. Her eyes brimmed with tears and threatened to further ruin her already smudged makeup. But when she looked at her reflection, she saw none of her heartbreak. Ladybug stared back at her, red lips, mask, and unflappable nerves.

She ripped off her mask, suddenly anxious to get out of Ladybug’s skin. Adrien was terrified of Ladybug, and rightfully so. She was hell-bent on destroying his father. She wasn’t just made for war; she was made to ruin him.

She peeled off her gloves and found Adrien’s dried blood on her hands. It was all she could do not to be sick. No wonder he had rejected her and chosen Marinette, only for her to still turn on him so viciously and completely that he had nothing left but to go directly after his father.

Marinette rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, pressing back the tears and smearing mascara across her face. She could not help but laugh at her reflection, a fractured laugh coupled with tears spilling over her cheeks. She was no hero of Paris, no champion of the downtrodden. She was a wreck.

She didn’t deserve either side of him, Chat Noir nor Adrien.

She felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, but how could she have? Adrien was supposed to be in London during the war, not running around Paris’s alleys and rooftops. All the differences in Adrien when he returned, the height, the square shoulders, the set jaw—she’d watched those changes come into place on Chat Noir. She’d watched the boy she loved grow into a man and she hadn’t even noticed.

And he’d seen her change, too. He’d watched the kind, naive bakery delivery girl turn into a vengeful vigilante, made to navigate conflict and tear down the powerful. He must hate her.

But she remembered the way Chat Noir had graced her balcony, time and again, and the dozen bouquets of camellias, the way Adrien touched her elbow, that afternoon—

He didn’t hate her, or at least he didn’t hate Marinette.

But she hated Ladybug, and she was going to be damned if she ever let Adrien find out that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person.

#ml #ml fic #1920s ml fic #miraculous ladybug 1920s au #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #gunsmoke and mirrors

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softguarnere · 1 year

Text

It Will Have Been Worth It

David Webster x reader

Soulmate!au in which the first words you ever hear your soulmate say appear on your skin when you turn thirteen

A/N: Out of everything I've ever written for this fandom, this fic has been one that has given me the most trouble. According to my notes, I started it on October 31st of last year 😬 None of my ideas for it felt right when I had them on paper, and I eventually just left it sitting in my drafts. Randomly got inspiration for it a few days ago, and now it's done! Better late than never, I guess A very special thank you to @brassknucklespeirs (welcome back babe, I missed you!!!!) and @liebgotts-lovergirl who both chatted with me about this fic last fall when I started it, and who both helped me with ideas all those months ago 💕 As usual, this is written for the fictional depictions from the tv show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: alcohol, mentions of war, the author using every impressive high school vocab word she could possibly remember

Just because David has a large vocabulary doesn't mean that he's in total command of it at all times. Throwing around words that make other people furrow their brows as they try to ascertain what he means brings him some sense of satisfaction, but he also has a habit of flashing his arsenal of expressions when he's particularly nervous, hoping to throw off whoever has made him feel as if he's lost his footing. And when he's had a few drinks? Forget about it – all the words he once had at his disposal are suddenly either strung together to form nonsensical sentences or are nowhere to be found.

Is he pretentious? Perhaps, although he would argue that there's much more to the story. An elementary school teacher taking a liking to a poem he wrote when he was eight and exclaiming, "David, I think that you could be a great writer some day!" may have started him down that path, but he ultimately blames the words that appeared on his skin when he was thirteen.

He used to love looking at his parents’ soulmate tattoos. "What a lovely name" on his mother's wrist and "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" on his father's. It always seemed so romantic to him, the thought that those had been the first words that his parents ever heard each other say, and that they got to flaunt those beautiful lines that they had given each other.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it" appeared on the inside of his forearm on his thirteenth birthday. A beautiful line, really.

It's haunted him ever since.

"Make sure that you give your soulmate a tattoo that's just as pretty." His father had winked at him and slid him a piece of birthday cake – strawberry with vanilla buttercream frosting, he still remembers – unaware of the panic he had just set off in David's chest. Because that was the first time he had realized that, yes, he was responsible for giving his soulmate a poetic tattoo. His own is a beautiful turn of phrase. Whoever his soulmate is, they deserve a line that looks just as pretty on their own skin. It’s a duty that he comes to take very seriously.

Every person he meets, Webster makes sure to compose an amiable greeting for them, just in case. He’ll quote Shakespeare if he finds they’re particularly attractive, invoking his parents’ first meeting, since you never know. So what if some people push hard sighs through their nose whenever he opens his mouth to speak? He’s a student of literature; producing striking sentences is half of his job.

And, he reminds himself, one day he’ll find his soulmate, and he won’t have to worry about creating turns of phrase that are unequaled and unforgettable – except for his novels, of course. But whatever words he provides for his soulmate’s mark, he’s determined to make them as dazzling as the bright light thrown from a suncatcher on the clearest summer day.

. . .

It’s at seventeen that he learns that not everyone finds their soulmate. The library is quiet, save for the sounds coming from the diligent scratching of pencils, the turning of pages, and the soft breathing of focused students. He turns a page in his own book and is confronted with the staggering statistic that only twenty percent of people are recorded to find theirs.

“That’s less than one fourth of the population!” He exclaims to himself without meaning to, disrupting the tranquility of the study space and garnering several peeved looks for his outburst. A seemingly unnecessary one to everyone else, but justified in his own mind.

Twenty percent! He’s still aghast as he gathers his own books and escorts himself from the library. The cool breeze blowing through the late afternoon can’t even distract him from the train of thought that has now run off the rails, chugging along through his mind with no sign of stopping.

Because now, come to think of it, people get married all the time, soulmate tattoos or not. And there’s no law or anything stating that you have to marry your soulmate once you meet them; they’re simply the person who would be the best suited for you. You could go about your lives as nothing more than just friends – or worse, nothing at all, even if you did find each other.

To say that the conclusions reached that afternoon astound him would be an understatement of epic proportions. He’s never quite the same after that. But it doesn’t stop his extraordinary expressions.

. . .

War breaks out. He leaves college for the experience. He volunteers for the paratroopers because, even though they’re new, they’re the best. If he wants to write about war – or write anything good, really – he’ll have to get his hands dirty with experience so that the sentences that stain his pages can be clean, clear, concise, and indelible to his readers. Honestly, it’s not until he hears one of the other men in his company point out that the new migrations and travel opportunities given to them by the conflict may well improve their chances of finding their soulmates that he realizes that statistic he once read will soon be incorrect.

For a brief and terrifying moment, Webster – as he is now called amongst his fellow soldiers – thinks that maybe Joe Liebgott is his soulmate, and that he’s responsible for giving him a really awful line. Webster had made an offhanded comment about the quality of the eggs one morning at breakfast, and the Californian had given him such a perplexed look that Webster’s panic led him to believe that the cab driver must have “What do they season their eggs with around here? Sawdust?” somewhere on his person, and that the reason he remained so quiet around him was due to not wanting Webster to hear him speak so that they would never know if they were actually soulmates. Luckily those fears had been laid to rest when Webster caught a glimpse of the words “Cabbie, if you drive any faster, I think the car will start flying” on his leg during a run up Currahee. It turned out that he simply didn’t agree with Webster’s observations on the quality of the eggs. Still, Webster remembers to be more careful with his words.

When he can be, actually. Which is not when he’s been drinking.

The British pub is loud with the sounds of servicemen singing and laughing well into the night. The general consensus that they’re finally going to be thrust into combat soon has filled many men with a renewed zest for life, and from the sounds and sights all around, people are relishing the nights like these while they can. And who can blame them?

“What did they even teach you at Harvard?” Hoobler wants to know as Webster downs a shot. “I mean, as a literature major, and all.”

“Is it just reading?” Skinny Sisk questions. “’Cause if so, then anyone with a library card can probably get a degree.”

Webster purses his lips, his glass returning to the table with a harsh slam that announces the displeasure that he’s trying to keep out of his voice. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”

“I was being serious,” Hoobler clarifies. “You know, just out of curiosity, and all.”

“How do you even use a literature degree?” The conversation has caught the attention of Joe Toye and George Luz at the next table, and they turn to join Webster, Hoobler, and Sisk, suddenly very interested in the academic intricacies of studying literature.

“Well, I’m studying literature because I want to be a writer,” Webster admits.

“And write about what?”

Webster makes a vague gesture, trying to encapsulate their environment, the lives they’ve lived since enlisting, the world itself – everything. “War,” he says instead, an understatement.

“Hey!” Luz says brightly. “You could review books. There’s an idea.”

Toye cocks an eyebrow. “Is there money in that?”

“You could review Hitler’s book,” Luz continues. “Really tear it apart on it’s word choices, and all that.”

“Hitler can read? Who knew!” Skinny asks, making everyone laugh.

“What do you think he even would read? In all his spare time, I mean, when he’s not invading countries and forcing men like us out of our homes to come and stop him.”

All eyes immediately turn to Webster, expectantly awaiting an answer. The literature student freezes with a bottle of beer halfway to his lips.

“What?” He asks.

“It was a question, Professor,” Toye says. “You gonna answer it?”

“You were serious?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Despite himself, Webster can feel his eyebrows shoot up, betraying his surprise. “How would I know?”

“Well, in your expert opinion,” Luz suggests.

Skinny nudges Hoobler. “He just doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know.”

Heat rushes to Webster’s face, and it’s not entirely from the warm glow of the alcohol. If it weren’t for the dim lighting of the pub, the tips of his ears would probably be glowing a bright pink with his ignominy.

“They didn’t teach me that at Harvard,” he says.

Hoobler smirks. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“Awe, come on!” Webster exclaims. “I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!”

“Excuse me,” a new, much sweeter voice cuts in. At once, all the men’s defenses are down as they turn to see two prepossessing women standing at the edge of their group. They look familiar, somehow, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting and the alcohol, Webster would swear that he’s seen them in passing before. “Hi, I’m Evelyn, and this is my friend (Y/N).”

The second woman, seemingly a little shyer, offers them a small wave and a smile as her friend takes the lead. Perhaps it’s the darkness playing tricks on Webster’s eyes, but he could swear that she’s looking at him, and that she suddenly looks a little fidgety as the introduction goes on.

“We’re with the Red Cross,” Evelyn continues, her words providing explanation as to her familiarity. Then, implausibly, she fixes her gaze directly on Webster. “(Y/N) here has been watching you for a while, so I decided it was high time that we came over and introduced ourselves.” She leaves the obvious unspoken – because war is an uncertain thing and it’s better to die with no regrets than to always wonder what could have been.

Me?! The other paratrooper’s eyes flick between (Y/N) and Webster as he stands, his friends struck with the same sense of wonder. With Skinny or Tab, this sort of scene is not infrequent, but nothing of the sort has happened to Webster – if he’s being completely honest, not even in college.

He clears his throat. So focused on willing his hands not to feel sweaty through sheer force of will, Webster extends his for a shake, not even bothering to watch his words.

“Hello. I’m David Webster,” he says, noticing how soft your hand is in his. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You beam at him. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

He freezes. Behind him, he can feel his friends tense up as well. “Oh my God,” he whispers, for it’s all he can do. The words that he’s been waiting his entire life to hear have just come out of your mouth – and he’s just recited what must be the blandest line in the history of soulmate tattoos!

Webster rolls up his shirt sleeve and reveals his tattoo, the beautiful line staring up at him in confirmation. Air vacates his lungs, leaving him breathless as his heart pounds in his chest.

You begin to roll up your own sleeve, and Webster winces at the anticipation of seeing his introduction on your arm. But when the ink on your arm is exposed, you glance up at him, something like a smirk playing at your lips.

“Oh my God,” Webster says again, wanting to kick himself, and for a completely different reason this time.

“It was the first thing that I ever heard you say,” you tell him.

Evelyn gasps, then slaps a hand over her mouth, though it does no good to contain the giggles that still pour out. The other Easy Company men crowd around, trying to catch a glimpse of your arm.

There in the pub, in front of everyone, the first words that you, Webster’s soulmate, ever heard come out of his mouth stain your arm, making several people laugh: I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!

At least now he doesn’t have to waste the rest of his life being so cautious with his words.

#david webster #david webster x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #soulmate au #my writing

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hozaloza · 5 months

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What is this weird fanfic war going on, y'all this is so--

"Please Remember"

They had great times. Amazing moments. A friendship he never thought he would have. Never. Ever since he moved to Georgia, everything was just perfect. An unlikely friendship formed because of a group project, an unlikely bond formed because of this trip, an unlikely romance began to bloom because of this moment.

But, good things don’t always last.

Ben had gotten better with his emotions, feeling much calmer than ever. His uncle and aunt asked if it was possible that he wanted to go back with his parents. Ben felt excited, he really did miss his parents and little sister. But…that meant he had to leave behind his friends. It was a hard decision, but he decided to go back. They hung out in the graveyard one more time, staying up past 12 to bid him farewell.

“I’m going to be honest, it was nice having Ben around with me. He was like a brother to me, I’m gonna miss you bud.” Aiden stated, placing his hand on his shoulder. The tall boy smiled at his cousin, bringing him in for a hug. The group laughed as they kept playing games and eating snacks; even Ashlyn was having a good time. It was nice seeing each person be a whole new being from when he first met them, and yet still kept certain personality traits within them.

Finally, the night came to an end, and they all went back inside Ashlyn’s house for one more sleepover. Ben laid on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t bear leaving them; he had known them for 2 years now. But he was missing home more than ever at this point, it had to be done.

“...It’s too bad we don’t get to graduate all together.” Taylor stated out of the blue.

“You’re still awake? I thought you would be the first to black-out.” Aiden stated, immediately sitting up.

“Meh, can’t really sleep.” “...You’re also sad about Ben leaving, huh?” Aiden asked the brunette. She stayed silent for a moment, letting the silence set in. Then, she turned to face him, and there were tears in her eyes. The tall boy sat up to sign if she was alright, but he suddenly got bear hugged by her. He stiffened as she sobbed in his arms, but soon after calming down, wrapping his arms around her.

“...I don’t want you to leave…” she softly sobbed, clenching his shirt. Ben patted her back to comfort her, looking up to see that the others had gotten up. It was embarrassing to admit, but everyone didn’t want him to leave. Their friendship was extremely strong, it was going to be hard to let go. No words needed to be spoken at that moment, they just got up and hugged Ben. It was silent and long; they needed to make it last as long as they could, in case this was their last ever group hug.

...

Who knew that turned out to be true…

Years passed, Ben had just turned 23 recently. Five or so years have passed since he last moved back to his bio family. He was able to connect with new people, continue his path with the guitar, and overall fit right back in. He tried texting his old friends everyday, but he was getting more and more busy with his own life; it was something he feared he would do, but he slowly stopped talking in the group chat. His connections with Aiden and Ashlyn still remained, so he constantly knew what they were doing, but not the rest…

“[College is alright so far, some of my friends are even sharing a dorm with me!]” Ben typed on his text to speech, smiling at his parents.

“Well that’s wonderful Benny! We’re just happy you finally found something to love as equally as singing.” His dad spoke, grunting as he got pushed.

“Psh, please! You would’ve been better as a cook! Right pops!” Lily spoke. Ben rolled his eyes as he watched his dad and her play push each other off camera while his mom chuckled at them.

“Ugh, these two never stop fooling around, why did my normal baby have to leave me alone with these knuckleheads?” “Hey! I am a normal child! Ben’s always using that text to speech feature like he’s some lizard person! He knows how to sign, he’s just trying to mind control us into following his lizard leader!!” Lily argued off screen.

“[If I’m a lizard then you’re a weasel!]” Ben typed on his phone. He heard his little sister laugh off screen, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He still couldn’t believe she’ll be graduating soon, he remembered her being a baby like it was yesterday! “Well, we must be heading out now, Lily’s rehearsal starts soon. We’ll talk to you later! Bye bye my sweet baby!!” His mom spoke, waving goodbye to him. Ben smiled as he waved bye, hanging up on the call. He sighed as he got up, deciding he needed a quick treat.

‘To the bakery shop it is.’ he thought, grabbing his wallet and keychain.

(1/?)

(spare you the horror angst for now...)

(...NO THIS ONE IS PRETTY TAME,,, I'm talking about a Logan angst fic I got prepared,,,infection,,,,,,,,,,heheheheheheh)

#school bus graveyard #webtoon #ashlyn banner #logan fields #aiden clark #ben clark #taylor hernandez #tyler hernandez #Ben angst #angst fic #fanfiction wars??#HELP WHAT IS HAPPENING FR #This fandom is amazing #I'm bored

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flowerflamestars · 1 month

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Abattoir thoughts round 2:

Things I noticed when I reread (slower this time. to actually, ya know, process all of the words):

That Cassian recognized the handwriting for Beron's name. It was very much a moment of "Hell yeah Az! Offer them you hubby's shitty step-dad as a snack!" Not that Elain'd likely need much encouragement.

I was a little confused as to whether the names were added before or after the people in question got eaten (still am a little bit, Rhysand's name being in there is throwing me a bit. probably both), so it didn't registrar with me the first time that Cassian was trying to add his own name to the wall in his own blood. (and then Nesta punts him back to Velaris and blasts his name off her wall.)

I missed the wheat the first time around, so I didn't connect the field of corpses to Mor saying she was getting Feyre to investigate Illyrians farming the wildlands. (and why Feyre asking "who's the food for" made me think of Erebus and the munchies.) We are feeding this nation using the bones of assholes as fertilizer.

Everybody has Opinions (all wrong) about why Azriel didn't come to Mor and Cassian's wedding but none of them even invited to Az's wedding. Or even know that Az got married. (I imagine that Eris got an invite. Imagine the look of Cassian's face when (if) he ever finds out that he didn't get invited to his brother's wedding but fucking Eris did.)

"Hunger and Horror have always been sisters" Does that make Elain Lady Horror?

If Feyre has the title but Mor has the magic, who would go to a High Lord meeting if there was ever another one? Are the other Lord looking north and scratching their heads because wtf is going on up there?

I'm about 90% sure I answered this already, but it popped up like a new message and tumblr is once more not giving me my notes, so I'm going to chat anyway <3

I extremely love the idea that Azriel does not remember, just like everyone else. He's still vibing with the secrets of the world, discovered a strangely familiar feeling death cult? friendship? very specific menu and went: you know what would be great for my boyfriend? DEAD ABUSIVE DAD

(not to mention it's another fatal mark down on the 'Az + Cas really don't meaningfully talk anymore' tally board)

Rhys is definitely on the wall because someone really, really wanted to make sure he was dead and stayed dead. Cassian puts himself on the wall in a multi-pronged suicidal ideation/MY LOVE IS DEATH I AM VIOLENCE atonement + come hither gesture/flailing breakdown because the life he build feels like a bear trap. And the Illyrians took all his Illyrian weapons so you know there is some part of him that's just. Mad about the sword. Feels like it is resonant.

It's faerytale logic: they fed Nesta when she was starving, so she won't let them starve. Her food is death, she's using it to create life. Hunger and bounty. Horror and wonder. Elain is SO pleased by the appellation.

I like to think Azriel's break from everyone has been coming for years, but it really fractured to the bone during the war. It was finally too much shit. He looked down the barrel of serving Feyre for the rest of eternity while Morrigan ran everything in the background, and slowly, purposefully, took step after step back. (And maybe towards Lucien 'HOT HOT HOT' Vanserra who he'd had some..flirty moments with. The exiles stepping out to make their own way is so intriguing! He's friends with Jurian)

Ooo very fun question! Feyre goes. Just like she did in canon. And just like in canon, they don't actually let her go anywhere alone, or make any real government choices. The side eye is SEVERE, but Feyre's whole hero lady reputation is covering a lot of ground, especially combined with the precedent for Night Court bullshit antics.

#Thank you for the ask!#If Luc + Az get married Eris is going to be their asshole officiant #Elain and Nesta bring like... Nesta's favorite adoptive bratty Illyrian nephew and Bryxasis

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berryhobii · 4 months

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Thread Chapter 2: Solace (pjm x reader)

Pairing: Ares!Reincarnated!Park Jimin x Goddess!Black!Female!Reader, Reincarnation AU, Greek Mythology AU

Word Count: 3.6K+

Warnings: feelings of extreme sadness, mentions of de*th and reincarnation, mentions of sickness/plagues, one mention of the de*th penalty, probably some inaccuracies of Greek Mythology, this gets super sweet and mushy🥰

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m here with chapter 2 of Thread! Sorry it took a while to get out but I was really struggling on how to convey emotion in this. I didn’t want it to sound repetitive so I had to keep going back to change up things. I’m also sorry for any inaccuracies about Greek Mythology. It’s just so confusing! So many stories have different depictions and variations that it was hard for me to keep it all concise. Salute to anyone who studies mythology and understands it because I was struggling. I was literally just typing “what is this in Greek mythology” into google and hoping for the best🤣I ended up changing a few things just to fit my storyline a bit better so hopefully it makes enough sense. Thanks so much for reading and as always much love🩵🩵

Asphodel Meadows was a lovely place; a paradise where fallen gods could come to rest in luxury for the rest of their days. Not even Olympus could compare to the tranquility and serene landscape of this place.

When Ares arrived at the gateway, he was greeted by Hades who felt the moment the war god had passed away. He swept his nephew up into a hug, deep sorrow pulsing at his heart and causing the walls to groan out in response.

“Oh Ares. What has that brute done? Why has he done this?”

Ares sighed. “You know why.”

Hades led Ares through the gateway, both of them chatting about the events that led Ares here. Eventually, the conversation rounded back to you.

“I could feel y/n’s grief the entire time. Her heart has broken so badly that I thought she had arrived as well.” Hades’ eyes glowed a deep shade of magenta, a color reserved for times he could feel death by heartbreak. “I checked the Field of Mourning but thankfully she wasn’t there.”

Ares could only imagine. His memories felt a little fuzzy but he could still vividly remember your face and how broken you looked as he was receiving judgement. If the God of the Underworld could feel your sorrow so heavily to the point where he thought you died as well, your soul must have truly been shattered.

He missed you so much.

They passed Cerberus on the way, the monstrous dog whining and wagging his tail at the sight of Ares and Hades. Ares couldn’t manage a smile for the guardian but pet his head and continued on with Hades.

On their way to the River Styx, Jimin asked Hades a question.

“Is there a way I can see her?”

Hades pondered the question for a moment. Considering he already knew where Ares would reside, he supposed it was possible for you to come and visit. However, there were rules of the Underworld that not even Hades could override.

“She could. However, there’s some things you should know.”

Ares felt a glimmer a hope spark in his chest. So he could see you again? He could hold you again?

“Like what? Please tell me.”

They boarded the boat on the River Styx, Charon the Ferryman greeting them. His soulless eyes widened just a tad at seeing Ares but he said nothing. Simply pushing the boat away from the docks and staring their journey.

“The Underworld is its own entity. It’s meant for the deceased to reside which means alive gods and humans will never be able to stay here. Myself along with Hermes and a few others are the only Gods who have received the approval to be able to remain here. y/n is a goddess, more specifically a Nature Goddess. She would never be able to stay here for more than an hour at best.”

You were a Goddess of Nature, born from a patch of sunflowers on the millionth rotation of Helios, you were meant to bask in the sunlight and take in the energy from the vibrations of the flora around you. The Underworld was no place for you. It would only steal your glow until you were nothing more than a layer of ash along the beach where Charon docked. Ares didn’t want that for you.

Ares absorbed all of the information, that spark being snuffed out. He wanted to see you but he didn’t want you to be hurt or worse just by trying to stay by his side. He’d truly never forgive himself.

“Oh. I see.” He couldn’t really say much else, just staring out into the dark waters of the River.

Hades felt another pulse go through his own heart. Grief truly was a damaging emotion; born of death and fueled by love, time being the knife that twisted in the wound. And for destined lovers such as you and Ares, that grief was nothing if not the most painful experience. He wished there was something he could do.

Wait a second….

“Charon, my friend. Please take us to the Gates of Kindred. Quickly please.”

Charon said nothing. Just turned the boat in another direction.

Ares raised an eyebrow. “The Gates of Kindred? What’s that?”

“Ares, there’s something I can do to help you but it’s a long process and there’s no guarantee it will work. If it does, however, you’ll be able to be with y/n again.”

Ares was already sold. He could see you again! That’s all that mattered right now.

Charon pulled into the dock, bowing as he waited for the two gods to leave his boat. He casted a single glance back before continuing on.

Before Ares and Hades stood a large gate—one even larger than the one Cerberus guarded. Depicted in the stone were illustrations of evolution from every corner of the mortal world along with different versions of what happened after death.

“Ares, I need you to pay attention to everything I’m about to tell you right now.”

97 lives.

Human. Animals. A stillborn. A leech. Women. Men.

For every death, Ares would wake up alive once again. Struggling for survival as the runt of a lion pride, rising through the ranks as a warrior in a developing country and even being pampered as a newborn baby girl to a rich family. He’s taken all of the good and the bad, each life so drastically different from the last. He didn’t retain any of his memories from his past lives as he moved onto the next.

But every night he’d sleep whether as a child sick with the bubonic plague or an assailant waiting the death penalty, he’d dream of his lover. He’d dream of your beautiful face, of your singing voice, of every moment he’s ever spent in your presence. He’d see you as his final breath left his body and he’d go onto his next life with an ache in his chest.

Because everytime he died, it reminded him that he hadn’t found you yet. That you were still out there suffering without him. Were you even still alive? He jumped on Hades’ offer so quickly that he didn’t even consider what could have happened to you. What if you tried to come visit him at the Meadow only to find him gone? Had he really been that selfish?

But this was his only opportunity. He had to take it, no matter the cost.

His 97th life was one of the closest he’s ever been to his godly self. There was only one other time where he retained both his physical attributes and name—his 15th life was the other time. He lived in a small village that worshipped the Greek Gods. They’d construct temples to pray in and leave offerings to ask for favors of the Gods. Since he still retained his godly soul, he could easily see whenever the Gods would descend on the humans and grant their wishes. He could see when the nymphs would bless harvests, see when Hera would touch the wombs of once barren mothers, when Hermes would gather letters to carry to the mortal’s deceased loved ones. He even got recognized by Hermes one time. The messenger God just winked and left a small piece of paper with a single phrase on it.

I love you.

Ares knew it was from you. He could feel you. You were still hanging on, waiting for him. He wouldn’t let you down. Not again.

His 97th life was that of a 25 year old college student. Raised by 2 parents in a middle class home. He even had a younger brother. He had taken on many names of every language during his journey. The name his parents had given him for this life was Jimin.

Park Jimin. A Korean native born and raised in Busan.

The childhood of this life was normal; he went to school, got sick and hurt, was loved dearly by his parents, played sports, etc.

There were times in his godhood where he’d wish he’d wish he could have a life like that. An ordinary one. One where he could socialize easily with people, one where people didn’t cower in fear when he passed, one where his hands weren’t covered in the blood of the fallen.

The only problem Ares had encountered in his journey were the memories he retained. His conscious and subconscious were separate entities. It was like him as Ares was locked behind a door deep in his mind, he knew what he had to do and why he was hear but he wasn’t the one in control of his body or his forefront memories.

That meant, the one in control of his body had absolutely no idea they were a reincarnation nor of their purpose in life. It was frustrating to watch but there’s nothing Ares could do but hope for the best. At least when Jimin was in control went to sleep, Ares could fill his mind with visions of you. Remind him of the only person they’d ever love.

And Jimin would always rise from bed with tears running down his face, a longing ache and a gentle warmth settled in his heart. It confused him. Who was the woman in his dreams? And why did he always feel this way after waking up? It plagued him to the point where he couldn’t even romantically be involved with anyone else. Anytime he’d try, he’d get these sharp pains that would render him immobile. He once told his parents about them and they insisted he go to a doctor but the doctor found nothing wrong with them. He was the picture of health.

It was so confusing. He just didn’t understand.

After another failed date, he decided to take a walk before he went home. He was ignoring the phone calls of his friend Hoseok who had set him up on the date. Jimin didn’t really feel like being asked a thousand questions about what happened. He just wanted to wallow in his sadness for a little while.

Maybe he should just accept the fact that he wasn’t meant for a relationship. That had to be what those sharp pains were telling him, right?

Was it because of that woman in his dreams? Whenever he’d sleep after a failed date, the dreams would feel so real and vivid that it was like he was actually there. He remembers reading something that said incredibly vivid dreams like that could be memories or premonitions of the future. But he wasn’t one to believe ridiculous stories like that. Then again, he couldn’t really think of any other reasons though. Perhaps they were premonitions. That was probably the woman he would be with in the future and his body was physically rejecting everyone else.

He wondered when he’d meet you. If he’d ever meet you.

His feet carried him to a pond. He was about to go take a seat on a bench when he noticed another person sitting there. He was about to just resume his walk to go somewhere else but the moment he tried to walk away, those pains came back. He hissed, holding a hand over his chest to try and alleviate the ache. It was like someone had closed a fist around his heart and was squeezing the life out of it.

Then he heard it.

This stranger had begun to sing a song. A song so full of desolation and anguish that it brought tears to his eyes. The lyrics told a story of endearment, a love song for someone you held dear but the sound of the voice turned the lovely melody into one despair and heartache.

Who had broken the heart of this stranger so?

When they finished, they let out a shaky sigh, choking on a sob.

“I miss you so much, my love. What I wouldn’t give to have you by my side again.”

Another pang of pain. Jimin could feel his lungs constricting, brain racing as he tried to place that voice. It sounded so familiar but why?

Something called in the back of his mind,

“It’s you! It’s you! Go!”

You? Who?

Swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat, he moved forward.

“That was a beautiful song.”

He saw your shoulders stiffen. Oh no, did he startle you? He guessed it was scary for someone to randomly speak to you while you were alone at a pond in the middle of the night.

Your head slowly turned as if you were afraid to even face him. Maybe he should just walk away….

Jimin wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight or any of those cheesy stories. Meet cutes? Spilling coffee on someone by accident? Slipping and falling into someone’s arms? All ridiculous.

However, when your eyes met, all of that pessimism seemed stupid. Who said love at first sight didn’t exist? They must have been a bitter person.

You were……he couldn’t even put it into words. Even with tear streaked cheeks and a sadness he couldn’t place glazing across your eyes, nothing could dim the radiance that seemed to emit from you. In a way, he thought you almost looked imaginary. Like someone had molded you out of clouds and sunshine, your beauty not of this world.

Then he realized who you were. It was you—the woman from his dreams. The woman who had seeped every corner of his dreamland, your beauty greeting him everytime his brain would shut down for sleep.

It was you.

Silence passed between you two, not even the quiet splashing of the fish and ducks in the pond breaking the moment.

He was about to speak but was cut off when you full body tackled him to the ground, a loud “oof!” coming from his mouth. He lost his balance, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you safe. But he just met you…..why did he feel the need to protect you?

He grunted as the hard ground knocked the air out of his lungs but he quickly recovered when he felt you sobbing against his neck. Dismissing that you had just taken him down like a linebacker, he allowed you to hug him. For some reason, he didn’t feel uncomfortable or even the tiniest bit awkward that a complete stranger was hugging him. That felt weird to think. You didn’t feel like a stranger despite the circumstances. He knows he’s never seen you before in real life but those dreams made it feel like he’s known you forever. It was like nostalgia and a sense of deja vu combined.

The hug lasted longer than he thought and eventually, the hard ground was starting to grow uncomfortable on his bones.

“Um…..excuse me….?”

You slowly lifted yourself until you were straddling his lap. The sight of your watery eyes and plump pouted lip breaking his heart at the same time it made the muscle flutter. You were so unbelievably beautiful even in sorrow.

Your hand lifted to cup his cheek, the warmth of your palm sending a gentle pulse all across his nervous system. Just who were you?

A watery laugh shook your body. “Oh my love, how I’ve ached to see you again and now you’re here before me. Your absence has left a void in my soul and my grief has poured into its endless maw.” Wow, even your words were beautiful, poetry spilling from your lips and leaving him breathless.

“Oh….um….” He didn’t really know what to say in response to that, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed.

A look of realization crossed your features, pretty eyes widening and the hand of his cheek lifting with a reluctance he wasn’t expecting.

You stood from his lap, stepping over his body and then holding out your hand to help him up.

Clearing his throat, he accepted your hand, your palms melding together perfectly. Your hands continued to hold on even when he had gotten to his feet, your eyes never breaking contact out of fear that this moment might disappear.

“My apologies for tackling you like that. I hope you’re not hurt.”

Honestly, he wouldn’t even care if he had been because seeing you felt like his entire body was invincible. He felt like he could run through a brick wall and not get a scratch on him.

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

Your smile rivaled the daybreak, serene and heavenly, his heart pounding against his rib cage as if it was trying to break free. You were so utterly resplendent to gaze upon.

“Do I…..do I know you?” He queried with a slight squint to his eyes. “You just look so….familiar.” He didn’t want to outright say he sees you in his dreams. That might be a little weird. Although, knowing that the woman of his dreams actually existed was just as weird.

The look in your eyes changed to one of wistfulness, thoughtful as you contemplated your answer.

But still, you smiled. “You do. And I know you, more than you think.”

“I know this is the first time we’ve ever met but I feel like I know you too but it’s all so confusing.”

“I know it is and I promise I’ll explain everything but not right now. There’s some things I need to find out first.”

He was still confused but for some reason, he trusted you. Something was telling him that you weren’t lying and that you’d never lead him astray.

Your love was truly standing before you and you’d never let him go again.

The two of you just stood by the pond, staring into each other’s eyes and trying to take in as much of the other as you could. No words were spoken and none needed to be, the joining of your hands and gazes speaking a thousand silent words that you both wanted to relay.

If you could freeze this moment in time, you would. And you’d make it so that no one could ever break it.

Eventually, the sound of Jimin’s phone broke your moment, the noise startling him. Painfully, he released your hand to feel around for his phone, finding it in his pocket. Holding it up, he saw Hoseok’s name and silly picture flashing on his screen.

He gave you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Give me one moment.” To which you just smiled and nodded. Ah, you were so beautiful.

Another ring broke his gaze from staring at you, swiping the icon to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Jimin? Where the hell are you? It’s almost 1AM. Sana told me you left the restaurant almost 3 hours ago.” Hoseok chastised.

He made a noise of surprise. 3 hours? Had he really been out that long? The restaurant wasn’t that far from his current location so did that mean he’s been standing here with you for 3 hours? It didn’t even feel that long.

“Sorry, hyung. I took a walk and I guess I lost track of time. I’ll be home soon.” He didn’t know why that hurt to say. Was it because he knew going home meant he had to leave you? Now that he had you in front of him, he didn’t want to leave.

“Well alright. Keep your location on just in case, okay?”

“I will. See you in a minute.” After their goodbyes, Jimin hung up the phone and a silence settled back over you two. However this silence didn’t hold all of the previous emotions of euphoria. No, this one settled over like a cold splash of water, the dreadful realization that you two had to part weighing on your shoulders.

Jimin sighed, looking at you with sad eyes that almost broke your heart. He used to look at you like that everytime he had to leave for war, those sparkling eyes longing and apologetic.

Lifting your hand, you cupped his cheek once again, his face leaning into your soft palm. “It’s okay. You should go. Your friend sounds worried about you.”

“But….” That yearning in his chest ached, his heart calling out for you. He didn’t want to leave you. Not now and not ever.

“It’s okay. I promise we’ll see each other again soon. You should go home and rest.” Your soft voice insisted, thumb running over the apple of his cheek soothingly. He wanted to melt in your embrace.

“Okay.”

After another more drawn out moment, you parted from him. The moon beamed down on your iridescent skin and it made him wonder how you’d look being bathed in sunlight.

“Go and rest. I’ll see you soon.”

Just as you turned away from him, he realized something.

“I’m Jimin.”

And again, you smiled and he truly knew that everything would be alright.

“I’m y/n.”

“y/n.” He repeated.

A name as beautiful as you, one he said over and over again because it sounded so sweet on his tongue. And how you loved to hear it come from his lips, wanting him to say it a million more times because you missed his voice so much.

The splendor image of you in his dreams finally had a name.

And as he lay in bed that night, his dreams didn’t feel confusing or foreign.

They felt real. And he knew they were real because you weren’t just an accumulation of whatever his subconscious had pieced together.

No, you were real.

The pain that normally met him when he rose in the morning didn’t traverse through his heart. Tears fell from his eyes but not from unease or the overwhelming sense of dejection he often felt knowing you were just a dream.

The only feeling he felt was pure and sweet relief.

#bts #bts x black reader #bts fic #bts imagines #park jimin #jimin fic #jimin x reader

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randomreadingtimewithtsuki · 1 year

Note

Hi can you please write chika shihōin x reader

y/n is the Captain of the 14th Division, and she is beautiful, has a nice navigator, always smiles at everyone, and treats them kindly, and this makes one suspect that she is one of the most dangerous and powerful killers in this era.

I love how you care about this character and your posts are really cool ♥️

Hello!

That is very kind of you! I am glad you enjoy what I have to offer!! I hope this is of your liking as well!

Thank you for requesting!

Tsuki's note: I tried to do gender neutral so more people can enjoy, I hope that's ok?

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You were the captain of the 14th division, the most recent one to be created.

You tried your best to let everyone in the team comfortable and trained your lieutenant very well too.

Because of it everyone really liked you. You were kind to everyone, had a beautiful smile and always helped the newcomers.

That didn't mean you were helpless at all. You were a fierce warrior and could easily overkill most of your enemies.

But people hardly believed you were that ruthless - a person so kind, so sweet, how could they be such a killing machine?

The ones that saw this other side of you were the other captains and a few lieutenants - the ones that survived on the battlefield.

Due to this duality, you called the attention of the second division captain Chika Shihoin. He was surprised yet amused when he first saw that side of yours.

You were so gorgeous, yet so ruthless and it was almost gracious. At first he approached you a little bit uneasy, not sure if you would be fine with a chit-chat or not.

When he realized you were just as lovely as he remembered from the meetings and hallways, he started acting more like himself - joking around, swinging an arm around your shoulders, a grin on his face all the time, a free spirit and a ridiculous and prideful stance.

You didn't mind his way at all. In fact you loved it - it was refreshing. You both got sent to joint missing from time to time and he also saw another side of you - someone that got sad and grieved heavily with the passing of your comrades.

But you did not cry in front of others only when you were alone. He could see you fighting the tears and you still managed to smile.

Chika noticed the moment you two were close, very close when you started crying just by looking at him after a mission - you were comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him.

But what scared and thrilled him the most is that his heart ached really bad to see you sad. He wanted to stop your sadness, protect you at all costs - he knows you don't need any protection, but still.

So Chika learnt how to comfort you. He hugged you tightly, sometimes whispering something sweet, sometimes in silence. He would have one arm on the back of your head and the other one around your waist.

When you calmed down, you would lean your forehead to his chest and stay in silence for a while. Soon enough you lifted your head, smiling at him. A faint taint on your cheeks could be seen and his heart skipped a bit all the time.

There was your usual self. You thanked him while hugging him. He soon figured out he was head over heels for you.

He loved that you were so sweet and kind to him - and everyone- and that he didn't need to worry about you fighting. He knew you would win.

So even when the war broke out, Soul Society was invaded, he was at ease about your safety. Completely secure you would be back to his arms.

Holding that thought, he moved through the battlefield swiftly. When it was all over he went to look for you, he missed your smile.

He found you, alive and bloody, but not badly injured. You saw him, you smiled at Chika with tears streaming down your face - you were grieving.

He knew this would happen, that's why he went to find you, to be with you and to comfort you.

In the end, he decided to ignore his family's pleas to marry someone else - he had only eyes for you. Your attitude deceived the Shihoin as it did with most shinigamis.

He loved that. He loved how everyone thought you needed his protection, when in truth he was the one who could be swept off his feet and carried away by a smiling, pretty face.

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

Thank you for reading !

Let me know what you think!

#bleach x reader #shihouin chika #chika shihouin x reader #bleach

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ffxivtribehydrae · 1 year

Text

#5 Barbarous

For FFxIvWrite2023 Characters: Khan and children of Hydrae

Crackling flames cast shadows across the forest floor, dancing creatures reenacting a journey from a time long ago. Among furs, intricate carpets and decorated pillows sat children of a variety of ages, listening in on the words of the tribe’s first Khan, clinging to whatever within reach in fright but wide, curious eyes urged for the tales to continue.

“Escaping the creatures of the wild, I thought I had overcome my journey’s challenges! But little did I know… The scariest was yet to come!”

Around the iloh the rest of the tribe enjoyed the evening dinner, half listening to the story or chatting among one another. Story telling was popular among the children, especially now that there were so many of them. The youngest, Dusk, having just seen his fourth winter.

“Unlike the welcoming Qestir, humble Uyagir, or wise Malqir whom I met along my way, reaching the eastern territories of the Azim Steppe showed me how our own kin could just as well be as brutal as any wild beast!”

“Do they looked like beasts too, Bolgue!?” Dusk chirped in his question to his uncle, it was a miracle he was sitting still to listen, but Auro’usk clung to his arm with such strong anxiety to the tale that he kept the youngest in place.

The storyteller didn’t miss a beat, “Why, at first glance of course they do not! They look just like us, but their minds are dirty with greed, souls stained by blood of their brothers and sisters, and bodies marred by unrighteous fighting!” Bolgue would never once cease his enthusiastic motioning hands, despite bowl of food in one hand threatening to be wasted with every move. “And it was while I wandered the early morning, Nhaama’s watchful light having gone to rest, when a tribe found me all alone. I thought I would be welcomed as warmly as before, but no!”

As the story met a dramatic pause the children murmured and begged for the story to continue, to be taught about the world beyond their safe haven that was the borderland’s forests and mountains.

“It was the Kharlu, I learned, and they brought me to their camp, a massive gathering of poor souls who lost their homes in blood to their ranks! And they lived for the war, as though the lands of the Steppe belonged to them and not its people- prepared to battle with the similarly minded Jhungid with borrowed power…”

Again the children gasped in anticipation and whined for the conclusion of the story. Was their Khan forced to fight? How did he manage to get back home? Did he get scars? What other tribes did he encounter?

The shower of questions met no answers; those were stories for another day.

“Although it was some terrible suns spent under strict rules of this lowly tribe, I was assigned as belonging to the Kharlu against my will! But there was a woman of the Bolir- merchants like us, frail but determined to survive, to flee, and to live the life she chose… We conspired… We plotted and planned and endured the wicked ways of this massive tribe. Until the sun rose on the day of the battle- we fled in the chaos! And watched the savages from afar, prayed for the involuntary warriors, and thanked Nhaama our plan succeeded, that we were blessed to pick our own fate. Dorgene then followed me home; she chose our peaceful living were she was free to practice her trade away from the cruelty of the Azim Steppe.”

The happy ending brought smiles and excitement to the gathering, Bolgue’s children cheering a little louder as they recognized the name of their mother.

“And one day, all of you will also face the dangers of the outside world,” he suddenly spoke in a more serious tone, bringing the youngsters to a silence as they listened with worry about what he was about to share, “When that day comes, remember to always be wary, there are those of our kin who wants nothing more than to harm others, out of greed, or lesser purposes. Remember this well.”

In chorus the children nodded, hummed, and promised to remember their Khan’s lesson. Some were frightened about their time to come; others were excited about the day they’d be set free into the world.

And very few would go further beyond expectations, for better or for worse.

#ffxivwrite2023 #Story Time!#about story time #Dusk Hydrae #Auro'usk Hydrae #for being mentioned #but this is way more just a general tribe story #Hydrae talking shit about other tribes isn't unusual #especially warring and battle happy tribes

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

Text

Fool For Love

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 5144

Tone: Friends to lovers, pining, angst, late-night phone calls, risky decisions, is it too late?

Summary: She’s more than a little tired at work, but then he comes on the line, after all this time, and she can’t hang up. They get to talking about their days in the war and upcoming reunions, and as it becomes increasingly clear she is hiding from him (and everyone), he resolves to bring her back to them as best he knows how—with his unerring love.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @thoughpoppiesblow @victoryrollsandredlips @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @mgdln97 @tina1938 @drinkwhiskeyandsmile @ask-you-what-sir @indecisiveimpatience @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @onlyyouexisthere

I originally wrote this with Nixon but found it worked much better with George; I was also inspired to write more of George and Talbert’s friendship by the scene in “Points” where they play cards and George’s soothes Tab’s unease. This is also partially a fix-it fic, I must admit, because Talbert all but disappeared from Easy post-war. In this fic, he sticks around.

"Yes, that's exactly it."

George peered down the hall, spying the phone that was usually latched neatly over the kitchen counter now placed to Talbert's ear. His friend nodded slowly, listening to the speaker on the other end.

"Right, you're... busy."

A muffled something from the other end that might have been 'got to run' or 'give him my love', George couldn't quite tell. Tab swiveled, shuffling over the threshold into the hall. He peered one way, missing the eavesdropper, then spotted him down the other. Waving George over, he pressed the phone to his shoulder.

"Somebody from Easy's on the line. Come say 'hi'."

George grinned. It would be good to hear from one of the guys. The annual reunion was swiftly approaching, and the time of year had rolled about when he really missed the men and the camaraderie they had shared. Sloughing off his jacket, he draped it over the countertop stools as he came up to the phone. Tab held up a finger as he fronted an introduction.

"Yeah, hey, do you have another minute?" A beat, listening. "Great. I've got somebody here who wants to speak to you." A half-smile. "Yes, it's George. Uh-huh. Okay. Talk soon."

"Heya."

Silence for a beat and George had made up his mind to repeat the greeting when:

"Hey, George."

His heart leaped into his throat, and he smoothed his palm over the receiver, swallowing hard.

"Leah." He pinched his nose. "Uh, Corporal Hedgecomb."

"Hey. Hey, how are you?"

"Good." Better now that I'm hearing your voice again.

Had she always sounded this weary? For most of the war, yes, he remembered well, but he would have thought peacetime would restore her spirits and vigor. He missed the lightheartedness she'd born all throughout Toccoa and Aldbourne, despite Sobel, despite the war, despite the back-breaking sexism she had to carry on top of it all every damn day.

"Look, George, I'd love to chat, but I'm real busy-"

"Please don't go."

He could almost picture her pursing her lips, those sweet lips, the ones he should have kissed so long ago.

"Oh, alright."

She leaned away from the receiver and called to someone nearby, her voice distant as she pleaded with an apparent coworker to take up her station for another few minutes.

"I can stay a little longer."

"Good. Great." He searched for something to say that wouldn't scare her away. Realizing too late he hadn't returned the cordial question, he extended it now: "How're you, Corporal?"

"Busy," she said, and it seemed almost a joke but for the strain present in her voice when she answered. "It's not bad, though, work keeps me occupied."

He smiled fondly down at his shoes. "You haven't changed, then."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that a lot back in, uh, Mourmelon, and Hemmen."

"Did I? It seems like so long ago."

"But not long enough."

They both knew he meant the absence of war, not the distance its end put between them.

"Hear-hear. Oh, and George—you don't need to call me ‘Corporal’. We're not in the service anymore."

"Ah. Right."

A few seconds as George considered whether or not to just be out with it already or mention something less monumental. On one hand, he was running out of time, on the other, he could mess this all up with three little words and listen to the phone click off, his ardor dismissing him from her cares.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Leah asked, soothing the tension steadily rising like a high tide up to their chests and their hearts.

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, yours, too."

He glanced at a split envelope on the counter and gathered a question he hadn't realized was burning him up until that very instant.

"About the reunion...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got your letter, and the one from Sink, with the fancy seal and the flag stamp and the big, official heading-"

"You're not coming."

A long, long pause, broken only by a sigh that barely bled through the wiring.

"Yeah."

"That's not really an answer, Leah."

"No, I'm not coming."

"Why not?"

"I- it just doesn't- it wouldn't work out."

George squared his jaw, scared she was implying what he feared she always might.

"I mean, business really kicks up around here this time of the year, and I don't know if they can spare me. Not that I'm vital to the department, or anything, but any personnel they can keep will help."

"Uh-huh."

At her slow sigh, he gathered she'd easily picked up on his skepticism.

"What's the real reason, Leah?"

She didn't answer for a good fifteen seconds. George attended his watch to distract himself from the weight of her silence.

"George, I'm sorry, but d'you really think any of the fellas wanna remember they served with a broad? No."

"What? That's bullshit! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Watch your mouth, buster, you're a bad influence."

"What?"

"If you go off like that, I'll do it, too, and I can't be swearing like a sailor anymore. I've gotta be all proper in the office."

"What about out of it?"

"Since when am I ever not at work, these days?" She scoffed wryly, drily. "Nevermind."

"Corporal Hedgecomb, I swear to God, if I have to send Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron to kidnap you from whatever martyr's pit you've dug for yourself, I will."

She managed a chuckle, and he could tell it was more for his sake than her own. "Nah, no more foxholes for me. Or for you."

"Or Bill or Babe."

"Don't send them," she warned. "They've got families of their own, right? Kiddos to tend to and others on the way, not to mention their wives, the lovely ladies with enough smarts to handle the three brain cells those two split amongst themselves."

George snorted. "So, no envoys. Alright, I'll drive up there myself and take Perconte with me. God knows he could use the break. Can you believe he doesn't even get Christmas off?"

"No!"

"I know, right? It's the post office, not the goddamn army-"

"No, no, it's not..." Leah audibly cleared her throat. "I meant about you, um..."

"Oh."

"What I mean to say is it's alright. I don't need the persuasion in person."

"Without it, you won't come to the reunion."

"With it, I'm more likely to stay put. So we're at an impasse."

"Alright, fine, but still, you never answered my question."

"Your question?"

"Why the heck-" He hoped she was smiling. "-would you think the men wouldn't want to remember you?"

"... If I was a man, it'd be different."

"Yeah, no shit, but I just don't get it, Leah. You were everybody's sister, cousin—heck, mother. Without you, Jackson wouldn't still have his face and Hoobler would be missing a whole lot more than a foot."

"But-"

"No. You really should come, doll, you haven't been to the last two."

"And nobody but Lip's seemed to care," she blurted in a voice small even for her five-foot-one frame. "Ignore that, please."

"No, I definitely will not." George glowered at the begonias in the calendar that hung opposite the kitchen counter. "Whoever told you I didn't care is a lying sonuva-"

"George."

It was by her tone that he abruptly understood: no one had imposed this opinion on her, she had conjured it for herself.

His cheeks flamed, akin to his heart. "Goddamnit, Leah, the only people I care as much about as you are Tab and Lip, and you know with them, it's not- it's not the same."

He knew he'd said too much when she didn't try a joke or a chuckle or even a dismissive cough. Instead, she remained silent. A muted voice, another woman's, asked her something and she replied she'd be there in a minute. Her voice returned to him as she brought it back to the receiver.

"I know you tried to find me, once."

George tried and failed to steady his breathing. He hoped Leah couldn't hear just how anxious he'd become.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"You sent Lipton to my door with the biggest bouquet in the state of New York. Now, I've never seen a man more committed to his wife than the good lieutenant, and he doesn't even live up here. What the hell could he be doing so far north other than carrying out some favor for somebody we both knew?"

"And you figured it was me?"

"I didn't have to think too hard on it once I saw the flowers."

"You remember them?"

"They were lilacs, George," she all but whispered. "You're the only one I ever told about those being my favorite."

George sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his shoulders stiffening as the breeze against the roof of his mouth went straight to his brain.

"Lip told me you'd just about vanished."

"I wasn't home that day."

A frown creased his brow. "But you saw the flowers."

"A neighbor did, out the window-"

"Don't lie to me, Leah." He set his jaw, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You never were a good liar."

"Fine! I was there and I didn't open the door. Happy?"

"You hid from him."

The accusation caused her to deflate, signifying its truth. He could sense the change even from the receiving end, her face invisible to his eyes, miles and miles away.

"I thought it was for the best-"

Feeling unable to endure another voice crack from the cage of weary isolation Leah had forced herself into, George interrupted.

"The best? For who?"

"For you!"

"But not for you."

She choked on her words and coughed to regain them.

"I'm not some pretty little housewife, George!” she cried. “The war was the only time in my life I felt reasonably put together, and like I could do something. Even better, something worth doing. Really, I don't know what I expected, after it was all over. I can hardly keep myself afloat, nevertheless- no, shit, no, pretend you didn't hear that."

"So that's it." His finger, twirling the spiraling cord around each knuckle, stilled. "You won't come because you don't want their pity."

"Or yours," she reminded with a sternness he knew she rarely possessed. "I want them to remember me better."

"If they can't see you're still our beloved-" My beloved. "-Leah, with a chocolate bar always at hand for some poor homesick sap and the best hugs in the company, then they've all gone crazy and they don't deserve the honor of knowing you."

"The honor?" She scoffed. "Come on, George."

"I mean it. They'll be glad—no, overjoyed—to see you, and if they're not, then- then I'll-"

"What am I supposed to do, pretend everything's fine? While they're off getting married and having families and buying houses and securing steady, profitable occupations, I'm wasting away in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, so far up New York state, you'd be surprised it wasn't Canada, trying not to end up on the streets and so bitterly alone I've started writing poetry! I’m writing sonnets, George, sonnets!”

Leah laughed a sob. George was already reaching for his car keys.

"I'll be there tonight."

"What?"

"I will be there-"

"No. No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. I don't care if it's a five-and-a-half-hour drive. I don't care if you're scared. I don't care if I'm the last person you want to see."

Silence for long enough he guessed she might have hung up. He'd begun to fiddle with the left cuff of his button-down when Leah finally spoke.

"You know how long it would take you to get here."

"What kind of enamored moron would I be if I didn't?"

She laughed, and George wished he could believe it was the call signal that made her sound so hopeless.

"Only if you bring Tab along with you," she said, and he got the sense she was only playing along. "Roll down the windows, the fresh air'll do him good."

"It's December. He'd rather sit in a sauna for five hours."

"Remind me why he still hasn't moved out to California yet?"

"Me," George joked half honestly. "But hey, you're getting me sidetracked. So I'll bring Tab... anything else you want me to pick up on the road?"

"Um." A pause, amid which he could guess she tried to swallow but found her throat too dry. "No."

"If you say so." He checked his watch again, something of a nervous habit. "Y'know, I could probably make it in five hours. The traffic's bound to be lighter the later it gets."

"Uh-huh. You might have to wake me, depending on how late you get here."

"You won't wait up?"

"I work three shifts for two different jobs, George. Sleep is a blessing."

"Right." He swallowed. "Well, you can call in sick tomorrow. To both jobs. And maybe for all the days after that."

"No. No, I can't do that."

"You don't think I'll actually come."

"No, I don't, because I'm really not worth the trip."

Her words sounded like a hammer falling upon a bare anvil, the elements rebounding off of each other with a deafening, heartwrenching clang.

"Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"There's one thing I won't stand from you, and it's that kind of bullshit."

"Wha- what?"

"Don't ever talk like that about my future Mrs. Luz again."

She inhaled sharply into the phone. George squeezed his wrist and prayed that what he was about to do wasn't the most reckless undertaking of his life.

"I'll see you tonight. Probably with a ring. No, not probably. Definitely."

Leah squeaked.

"Damnit, I love you, and I'm not about to stand here while your neverending, wonderful, harmful selflessness keeps you away from the great thing we could be. And from your friends! And happiness! But mostly me. Because I'm selfish like that. But hey, if it means saving you-"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"-then I'll be the most selfish man in the world."

"George-"

"I love you. See you in five hours."

He shoved the phone so jaggedly into its cusp that he missed the latch entirely and the implement took a bungee jump toward the kitchen floor. Yelping a curse, he swung it back up and placed it where it belonged, stepping back from the counter with a long sigh. He glanced at the liquor cabinet above the sink in wistfulness but didn't bother to address it further. He'd drive better if he could see straight. Still, the thought of going to her like he'd wanted to all these months and the absurdity of what he was about to do combined were more than enough to make him dizzy. Tab might have to take over for the last of the journey—or, even better, the first, the middle, and the last.

Speaking of the devil's best friend, he'd vanished upstairs to the third-floor study. He never listened in when someone made phone calls like this, even if they were from his own line. Kind of funny, how George wouldn't think twice about eavesdropping whereas Tab went out of his way to avoid overhearing.

"Floyd! Floyd, get down here!"

Swift, steady footsteps, barely preceded by the scrambling scuffs of a chair being shoved backward.

"What is it?" queried his friend from the top of the stairs.

"No time to explain, just get down here!"

Tab proceeded to make his way speedily down, taking the steps two at a time. He followed George around the corner to the garage door, calling his name with another question mark to follow when he received no direct answer. George spun the car keys around so they pressed into his palm, feeling the metal indent his skin as he opened and pushed through the narrow aperture.

"I'm going to go bring my future home, and you're coming with me."

Tab's sigh was almost feigned as he reached back through the doorway to retrieve his coat as well as his friend's. "George, it's almost seven p.m. And I have work tomorrow, as do you."

"So? Love won't wait, my friend." He twirled the keys again and tossed them over the hood of the first of the three vehicles before them. "Besides, you get to drive."

Tab shook his head. "I get to?"

George flashed him a lopsided smile and slid into the passenger's seat. After a beat's more hesitation, his friend followed his prediction and joined him in the car. Tab turned the ignition and they each settled into their accommodations, preparing for the lengthy drive ahead. The garage door rumbled upward—only the most up-to-date technology for friends of the Nixons—and they pulled out into the fading light, the wet afternoon bleeding into a thankfully drier evening.

"How much did you have to drink before deciding on this mad chase?" Tab asked as he leaned over the backseat to watch where he was reversing.

"None."

"None?"

"None," George repeated, and whatever he'd mustered in his tone to guarantee the truth softened something in Tab's tired eyes. His friend sat up a little straighter, and the energy so often sapped from him by hours clerking behind a desk began to return in increments as they drove. At first, they spoke of the usual things; the clearing clouds, an unruly driver here and there, the meaning of life and what changes peace had brought to their world in the past three years.

"Three," George mused after a time, "isn't that a strange number to decide on a reunion? One, I understand for a high school, two for a college, but three doesn't fit anything. A birthday, maybe, but-"

"It's one for me," Tab reminded him with no shortage of gentle reprehension. "I skipped the last two."

"So did she. But she won't be skipping this time, and neither will you."

"... Yeah. About that—what's your plan, here?"

"With what?"

Tab glanced off the road for just an instant to shoot George that disbelieving eyebrow that had always been able to pry any damn thing out of him, all the way back to Toccoa.

"I know, I know, with Leah." George swallowed. "Leah Hedgecomb."

"Yeah, with Leah."

George waved his hand in front of his face as if reading aloud a banner. "Hopefully the future Mrs. Leah Lowry Hedgecomb Luz." He couldn't help a small smile. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He snapped, remembering something vital to his mission. "Oh, shit, right, I've gotta get a- Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tab's spine had gone so taut, it almost seemed to be imitating the straightness of the lampposts they were driving beneath on this long, northbound route. The light from each lamp faded into and back out of the car within a half-second. Once the darkness of the night truly settled it, they would seem ever the brighter and the quicker, keeping the men awake and alert but allowing them no more than a passing glance at each other's expressions.

"Does she know that?"

"Know what?"

"That you're gunning for her to be your wife?"

"As of, uh-" George studied his wristwatch. "-an hour and ten minutes ago, yes."

"Jesus Christ."

His daredevil friend gave a low whistle. "Well, now I know this is a crazy plan. What else could make the pious Floyd Talbert take the savior's name in vain?"

"Oh, come on, Luz. Me? Pious?"

George snickered, and Tab sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you gotta admit this is nuts! You're in love with a woman you haven't seen in a year—a woman who's been purposefully avoiding you, I might add."

"She loves me, too."

"What?"

"She told me back in Austria the day she left." George thumbed his belt loops anxiously. "She told me she loved me and I oughta come find her after the war if I felt the same."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we never spoke of it again." George licked his lips, then confessed, "I have to believe she meant it. It's all I've got, Floyd."

"You need to stop for a minute and think this through."

"And you," his determined compatriot contested, "need to shut up and turn left."

"Why?" Tab asked, nonetheless rounding the requested corner.

"Because we need to make a detour to Cartier before they close at eight-thirty, and right now, it's eight-o'-one."

"Woah, woah, woah."

Tab pulled over to the side of the otherwise empty street. He shifted the car into park and turned as fully as he could in his seat toward George.

"Are you serious about this?"

"Floyd," George replied softly, almost timidly, "this is the first time I haven't second-guessed myself in three years. Yes, I'm serious."

His friend considered, glancing out the windshield onto the pavement and gravel of the road and its side.

"Besides, this is partially your fault."

"What?"

"You know I've loved her since Benning."

Tab's brow twitched. "Well, yes..."

"And you put me on the phone with her just like that, like you knew it was the best thing for us both."

"Um..."

"Come on, Floyd," George pleaded, flashing a smile, "help me out just this once-"

Tab visibly stifled a snort of laughter.

"-and you can be the best man—nay, the officiant—at our wedding."

"Sometimes, I think you've finally gone mad." Tab smiled as he shifted the car back into drive. "Alright. Let's go get the ring, and then the girl."

George let out a whoop, tossing his hands up and smacking them on the ceiling. He winced, shaking out his fingers, though his grin never faltered.

"By the way, I meant it, about the wedding."

"I'm not ordained."

"So? I don't particularly care what denomination ya are, so long as you can marry us."

"... I don't know if that's legal, Luz."

"What, freedom of religion?" His friend shot him a skeptical look. "So sayeth the Quaker's best friend."

"What- George, he's not-"

Tab huffed and went quiet, giving in (and up).

"I'll look it up and figure it out when we get back," he relented. "Dick probably knows something or somebody..."

George smirked, turning his face toward the window to hide the true warmth of his enthusiasm.

"Yeah. He prob'ly does."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leah meant to stay up, to wait. She knew she'd feel like the worst idiot in the world should morning come and she was still sitting in her dark living room, alone; nevertheless, she allowed herself hope and trust for the first time in many years. She tried to keep her eyes open, but seeing the toll of midnight after a sixteen-hour shift proved a difficult task, and she drifted off in her old, raggedy armchair with a blanket over her legs and one shoe half-off her foot.

When the rapping on her door startled her awake, it was precisely 12:46 a.m. When she stepped up to the door, it was 12:50. When she gathered up enough courage to actually turn the knob and pull, it was 12:52.

"-so let's just go and come back in the morning, she's clearly not-"

The two men standing under her porch light, their heads and shoulders dusted with snow, froze and stared at her. Talbert's hand dropped from the back of his neck. George looked like he was trying to convince himself she was more than a memory.

"... home."

"George?"

He stumbled forward and she couldn't help but lurch into his embrace.

"What- what are you doing here?!" she gasped, wide awake now that he was really here with her, his arms sending shockwaves up and down her body. "George, you drove all this way?"

"I drove," Tab suggested sheepishly, raising his hand in a sheepish wave, and Leah forced herself to let go of George to hug him.

"I didn't believe- You actually- How? Why?"

"He loves you," Tab chuckled, nodding at George. "Thought that was pretty clear by now. You mind if I come in? I thought it couldn't get any colder than Rhode Island, but sheesh, New York's something else..."

Leah started nodding without really understanding what he'd asked, and he started humming “White Christmas” as he stepped past her and into the semi-heated house. Left alone on the porch, George and Leah stared at each other for a beat. Once they'd remembered the other was truly here, they all but leaped back into each other's arms. Leah's chest felt tight. She heaved each exhalation into his shoulder like it just might be her last. How long ago was it that such a fear could become their reality at the drop of a hairpin, or, in their case, the flick of a grenade pin? Too recent, too fresh.

"Hey, hey, catch your breath," George said, stepping back to cup her cheeks in his hands, scanning her face worriedly. "You cold? You want my scarf? My coat? My sweater? Hell, I'll give you my socks, if you want, though I don't think you do-"

"You came."

"Of course, I came," he cut himself off. "I brought Tab, just like I promised, and a ring to boot."

Leah flushed. "You didn't."

George dropped down on one knee.

"I did."

Leah squeaked. George beamed to hide the terrific pounding of his heart.

"Leah? Sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Marry me."

She couldn't seem to speak, but she was nodding so fast George could only take it to mean yes. He put the ring on her finger, and she promptly flung herself into his arms and knocked them both off the porch into the nearest snowbank. George burst into such laughter that it woke the neighbors.

"Screw them," he muttered as the complaining started from an upstairs window. "I'm not afraid of nobody and nothing anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Leah giggled, still half-certain she was dreaming, shivering a little. "When'd you get so brave?"

George smiled, drawing his thumb tenderly across her cheek to brush away a wispy curl.

"When I got you."

A beat.

"You will marry me, right?"

Leah turned and kissed his cheek, then his lips, and George felt like he could take on the world.

"I love you," she whispered, "and I've waited six years for you to ask me that question, so yes, George Luz, yes, I will marry you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You drove how far to get to her?"

Leah and George shared an amused smile. No matter how many times they told this story, there was always someone who'd only heard snippets and couldn't quite believe it until they got the straight facts from the source itself. This time—most entertainingly—it was Speirs, their former captain. The humor of his confusion was only added to by Lipton, who was standing beside him with such an expression of This is the farthest thing from a surprise, Ronald that it made Leah stifle a laugh against her hand.

"As far as I had to," George answered Speirs, squeezing Leah's hip affectionately. "I'd have driven all the way to California if I had to. Up through Canada, down into Mexico, or all the way into South America—I'd go anywhere. I'd even sneak aboard a ship if she was somewhere overseas."

"So... how far?"

"Five hours," Leah chuckled. "Five hours and them some, 'cause he had to stop to get the ring."

"And I was the one behind the wheel," Tab reminded with a twinkle in his eye, and George lit up, delighted that he'd made it to the reunion after all.

"And you still get to officiate, Floyd!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tell me when I'm needed, and I'll be there."

"Huh." Speirs paused to think, then took a sip from his whiskey glass. "I'll admit, I never pictured..." He waved at George and Leah, though not at all rudely. "This."

George's arm was slung around Leah's waist and her cardigan was tied just above his hips—the only thing more obviously signifying their relationship was the silver band gleaming on Leah's left hand. Leah pressed a kiss to George's cheek, and as Speirs shook his head, astonished, George let loose a delirious peal of laughter.

"Stop that," Leah giggled, ruffling his hair. "You sound like you're already drunk."

"Oh, honey, I am."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, yeah? Since when? You’ve only had one- oop!"

He'd dipped her toward the floor, his lips ghosting over hers, and when she realized she was not, in fact, falling, she smiled.

"Drunk off you, sweetheart," he whispered as their friends started to holler, noticing the couple's open display of affection.

"Then kiss me, Mr. Luz."

"Happily, Mrs. Luz."

"Wait-" She put her finger against his lips, teasing him. "I'm not the missus just yet."

He groaned. "Why must you remind me? Cruel woman..."

A slight shift in his stance let Leah know he was starting to strain himself by holding her there, so she grabbed him by the collar and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, bolstered by their friends' whistling and cheering.

"I don't think I can wait much longer," George admitted as he brought his fiancée back up to stand. "Literally and figuratively. What with you in that dress, and everybody here—heck, why don't we do it tonight?"

"Do it? Get married, you mean?"

"Get married, run away, honeymoon, hook the moon and drag it down to earth," George hummed, swaying her to an imaginary tune. "You name it, I'll make it happen, sweetheart."

Leah looked at him, and her eyes, brimming with tears of gratitude, struck him with so much love he felt faint.

"So? Whaddaya say, my dearest Leah?"

"Yes. Tonight!"

"Huzzah!" George leaned over his shoulder. "Floyd! It would seem your services are needed much sooner than planned!"

Tab looked up from the buffet table, a slice of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. George and Leah shared a look, then burst into teary laughter, holding on to each other with no intent to ever let go.

"I think they're really gonna do it."

"About time." Dick Winters sidled up to his friend, then nodded at the cake in his hand. "Is that any good?"

Still watching George and Leah, Tab wordlessly passed the cake to Dick, who, in turn, Dick handed it off to a salivating Frank Perconte.

"Dick," Tab queried, "do you know how to officiate an elopement?"

"Not officially-"

"Didn't think so."

"-but I know a guy."

"Of course, you do."

They eyed the happy couple, now dancing to the music Lipton had conjured from the radio, and shared a small smile despite themselves.

"Think you could get him here within the next half-hour?"

Dick checked his watch.

"Uh..."

"Correction: think you could call him up and have him teach me this whole honorary pastor business on the fly?"

Smiling, Dick started for the payphone on the other end of the bar.

"Now that, I can do."

#george luz #george luz x oc #george luz fanfiction #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #hbo war show #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show fanfiction #one shot #fanfiction

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nataliesnews · 1 year

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High court demonstration and israel today 14.9.2023

The soldiers of the Yom Kippur war demonstrating

Sunday was a very fraught day. There was a march against the new laws which are coming up today. People came from all over the country. It started off at the university. I sat there and said to the woman next to me that I felt as if the sword of Damocles was hanging over us. We then walked to the High Court and from there to the home of Netanyahu. I was very lucky at the Knesset as it was packed and very difficult to get through and knowing that we would be walking a few kilometers I had not wanted to take my accordion chair which is heavy. I was struggling through the crowd when a man who evidently remember me.....as usual I have no clue who he was ....stopped and said he would try to get me into the enclosure. I managed to struggle after him ....and I do mean struggle.....and he called a woman over ....I can't remember the name....but she is a captain in the navy and said that the high Court had made it possible for her to get where she was.

But she said she had not seen me since Balfour and immediately let me in and I had the best seat of all in the crowd with all the photographers and those recording the proceedings. It is a very frightening period. I cannot write to you all that is happening here but the police are becoming more and more dictatorial. This is Orlie Bar Lev who remembered me from Balfour. She was the compere of the meeting and always in red with red boots.

Coming back I took a taxi and here too someone I knew helped me as there was chaos and I was very tired. It was dafke a woman taxi driver and we chatted on the way home. She showed me that she had an alarm with which she was attached to the police if she had any problems but so far had had no reason to use it. When we got home I paid her and was on my way to the lift when I heard her calling me and she said I had had an extra 50 shekel in the one note. I phoned her this morning and said that she had been the first light in a dark day.

This is no century to grow old in. Modern medicine is not kind to the old. Nor is the age of automation. When I am told may you live to120 I tell people it is a curse. Everything has become so alienated from humanity. I went to the bank to pick up a bankbook. Two old people like myself came in and had trouble using a computer to take out a number. Eventually another client helped us. Three clerks, only two were working. The days when one simply had to wait for your turn were better however much we complained then. I asked where the numbers were ....there were only three of us waiting. When I asked one of the clerks passing by, she asked me in a very unfriendly way if I had ordered a meeting and for what day. I do not exactly look as if I am a young woman. I told her I am 84 and wanted to direct her to sign saying that people over 80 do not have to book a time but can come in at any time. Another client told me I would be called when my turn came. I was not. Eventually I went up to one of them and was told that she would call me. . I waited for 45 minutes even though the two of them were not busy.

I have started Arabic lessons again with Suha. I have not gone for a few years as to get to Mount Zion meant two buses and to walk. Also, this was the main reason, on the day that I went to the checkpoint. I can see that I really missed out at that time but my conscience would not let me do so as Shlomit and I are the only people who go there once a week. Shlomit also did not want to change the day.. But this time they had to move and to where? Kiryat Ha yovel and dafke at Beit Giora where I started my life in Jerusalem. It is 10 minutes from Nofim. It was then a home for those making aliyah and now it is a home for the lone soldier. It will be a while before I catch up with the group even though I have been with other teachers. One woman said she remembered the rusks which I used to bring. Anyhow I said to Shlomit that this time I did not want to miss out as we are going out after the lesson.

I phoned my friends who are leaving. I feel sick at the thought and wonder how they will make out in their new life. But when I look at the news....

\This is why I say that Israel is becoming more and more dictatorial.

@Mistaclim

Zaina Abdu, 18 years old from Jebel Mokbar, Jerusalem. Today she started serving 6 months of detention in Ramla prison, after 8 months of house arrest, and all this for writing posts on social networks. Meet Xina Abda. 18 years old. Resident of Jebel Mukhabernt n. In the verdict, it is claimed that the content of the posts she uploaded constitutes incitement to violence. Yesterday she appeared in Ramla prison to serve her sentence. "I did not see the sun and we also paid four thousand NIS... The occupation forces would come to my parents' house to check if I was there. could not continue my studies because of the house arrest. The most beautiful moments for any girl were stolen from me. My parents suffered because they had to be at home with me." No coverage in the Israeli media." The terrorist settlersattacked and wounded a Palestinian shepherd yesterday afternoon with an iron rod and they were not called in for questioning.

But not only facebook is forbidden but also being arrested for putting up signs. See the PDF below about Ben Gvir and Kahanism

And some more pictures of the police violence which hs been adopted from America at other demonstrations.

And this was horrible and reminds one very specificaly of the Nazis.

Solduers with dogs, entered the houses of the extended Ajloni family in the neighborhood of Khalat al-Kaba in the south of the city of Hebron. The soldiers threatened with their weapons the 26 family members who were staying there at that time, and imprisoned them in one of the apartments. They handcuffed the hands of three family members, including a 17-year-old boy, blindfolded them and took them to another apartment. Then the soldiers separated the remaining men from the women and children, who were kept in the living room, and conducted a body search on their bodies in a separate room.

After that, the soldiers led one of the women to the room where her children, aged four to seven, were sleeping. The children woke up at her cry, and two soldiers with facial expressions prevented the mother from approaching them and threatened to bite her with a dog they were holding if she did not completely undress in front of them. Thus the mother was forced to undress and walk around naked in front of them, in front of her frightened children. After she got dressed, the soldiers moved her children to the living room and her to another room, then led to a strip search of three other women and a 17-year-old girl. The soldiers gradually separated all 13 children, aged three months to 14 years, from their parents and kept them in the living room for twenty minutes under guard.

Around 5:30 the soldiers left the place, then the tenants found two family members locked in a room in one of the apartments with their hands handcuffed and their eyes covered. Harbi Ajloni, 37, was not found in the apartment, and only later did his wife, Diala Ajloni, 24, find out that the soldiers arrested him and took him with them. He was taken to Ofer prison on suspicion of possessing a weapon and his detention was extended for 35 days and then for another 40 days. The tenants also discovered that the soldiers stole gold jewelry weighing 150 grams and NIS 2,000 that they kept in their homes in cash. That same day they filed a complaint with Kiryat Arba police and the next day the jewelry stolen by the soldiers was returned to them, under the pretext that it was taken by mistake.

There was no mistake....they not look at what they were confiscating?

Sorry this is no way to start the new year but this is the Israel that there is today.

#High court demonstration and israel today 14.9.2023

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