#I love Morty the blond in my Au

[dudematya]

A couple of my old sketches that I'm unlikely to finish??? Maybe only if I finish it. In fact I quickly lose interest in any work when I have ten more sketches in parallel xddd

Which are more ambitious. And so these are sketches on my Au where Diane took the place of Rick Sanchez and travels with her grandson

#myart #rick and morty #rick sanchez fanart #diane sanchez #morty smith #diane sanhcez c-770 #I love Morty the blond in my Au #rick and morty fanart #rick sanchez #diane sanchez fanart #morty smith fanart #rick c137

[nirvanaxrhodes]

"Said, I'd get sick of you, I kinda always wanted to" Let me die this little death

whoa! nirvana rhodes just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for three years, working as a/an occult researcher/therapist. that can’t be easy, especially at only 31 years old. some people say they can be a little bit intangible and sarcastic, but I know them to be adroit and dauntless. whatever. I guess I’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to the bronx ! 

►GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Nirvana Christine Rhodes NICKNAME(S): Vana, Ana, Rhodes LABEL: The Mystic AGE: 31 DATE OF BIRTH: October 30, 1992 ZODIAC: Scorpio Sun, Capricorn Rising, Leo Moon GENDER & PRONOUNS: Female; She/Her HERITAGE: English, Maltese SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S): English OCCUPATION: Occult Researcher/Therapist SEXUALITY & ROMANCE: Bisexual; Biromantic

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Samara Weaving HEIGHT: 5'5" WEIGHT: 114 lbs. DOMINANT HAND: Right HAIR COLOR: Blonde (dyed from dark brown) EYE COLOR: Blue SCARS: None notable. TATTOOS: Black cat (right wrist), 'made of stardust' written in script (back of neck)

►PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: Adroit, Dauntless, Beguiling, Open-Minded, Ambitious, Prophetic. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Sarcastic, Intangible, Arrogant, Sycophantic, Self-Sabotaging. LIKES: Stargazing, burning candles/incense, thunder storms, music on vinyl, horror movie marathons, deep conversations with strangers, solving a problem before everyone else, eureka moments, curling up with a book, conducting tarot card readings, making intention jars/journaling, baking. DISLIKES: Dogeared book pages, when people wave you off in the middle of passion-dumping, when people ask for advice but don't take it then complain.

►MENTALITY

PHOBIAS: None. DISORDERS: Not diagnosed. ALLERGIES: Seasonal (Pollen), Mold

►BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Sydney, AUS CURRENT RESIDENCE: Bronx, NYC, NY EDUCATION LEVEL: MA in Clinical Mental Health Counseling; is in a PhD program with an independent specialization/research in Parapsychology at NYU FAMILIAL CONNECTIONS: - Shayna Rhodes - 55, Mother, Not In Contact - Alexander Rhodes - 51, Father, Not In Contact

►FAVORITES

FOOD: Lavender shortbread cookies DRINK: English Breakfast Tea MOVIE: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, Practical Magic, Scream TV SHOW: Bridgerton, Criminal Minds, Rick & Morty BAND/ARTIST: The Killers, Lana Del Rey, Nirvana, Fleetwood Mac SONG: Fall Out of Love - Salem

► EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: INTP ENNEAGRAM: The Troubleshooter (5w6) TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral SIN: Ego VIRTUE: Wisdom ELEMENT: Air CHARACTER PLAYLIST

Well, there's a black hole inside of me, apathetic vacancy Even just a touch is war

► BIOGRAPHY

TW; Religion mention

Nirvana was born with a gift to appreciate the unusual. At least, that's how her aunt would explain her all-black attire and obscurely-colored hair phase at family events. She was always a square peg in a round hole. This was something she grew used to and actually favored her individuality. There was a part of her that pitied the other girls who attempted to fit in when she grew up being shamelessly herself. Though she was labeled as an outcast, she still had something about her that drew people in. She had a great group of friends, and her fair share of experimental relationships. In short: she didn't miss anything, but she wouldn't have cared if she did. Her aunt was the one who taught her about spirituality after Nirvana had a paranormal experience at the age of 5. Whilst being in a Catholic household, Nirvana and her aunt would often sneak in order to practice their own eclectic belief. Magic, tarot cards, seances, you name it - Nirvana has dabbled in it. What no one was expecting was for her to make a career move out of it. It started in high school, she helped assist her teacher in their paranormal investigation group. It was through this teacher that she learned about anomalies and the role of the paranormal in anthropology. Her job as an investigator was just the groundwork for her BA in Anthropology with a specialization in Women and Minority Studies where she learned more about the occult across various religions and cultures as well as witchcraft and the impact and power women have within interaction, at the University of Exeter. She then went on to gain a MA in Clinical Mental Health Counseling from Stockon University in NJ. Currently, Nirvana is working on her PhD at NYU with an individualized specialization/research concentration in Parapsychology. At this point in her career, she can be seen as an expert in the occult. She actually works to help victims/survivors of cults, is still a researcher for a paranormal investigation team, and is also hosts a podcast about horror movies, the paranormal and the occult.

► PERSONALITY (DEEP DIVE)

Nirvana is one of those people who can attract and attract and attract, but still feel alone underneath the surface. She loves knowledge and the pursuit of knowledge; If she could be a student her whole life, she would. This combination of coming across as approachable but also seeming highly intelligent, is very intimidating to most. Though, if one were to sit and speak with Nirvana, they would see she has a heart big enough to match her mind and is just an obscure nerd in her own right. She can be sarcastic and condescending if someone asks a question she deems as 'stupid'. She's known to bully as her type of flirting. She's actually not online, and prefers it that way. She's clever and witty and goes on passion-dump sprees pretty often about a new book she's reading, or about her research or podcast. She loves people who have a sense of humor. Nirvana is more introverted than extroverted and also has a busy schedule, so it may be hard to reach her at times and she's well aware of this. If she values someone, she makes sure she sets time aside for them. She's really a big mushy nerd guys, but she has so many phases and you never know what you're gonna get when you meet her. She's moon-coded, okay?

#boroughs.intro #tw religion

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

for the fandom ask, K, O, & W?

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Might be a cliche answer but Zuko's character development in Atla is still one of my absolute favorites ever just because it's so good! I do also really love Wolfgang and Kala's arcs (both independently and together as their relationship develops) in Sense8.

Similarly, Sherlock and Joan's development, both independent and together, is so fun and a huge part of why I love Elementary so much!

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

Put my spotify library on shuffle and the first song was For The Damaged Coda by Blonde Redhead so the only thing I can think of is Rick and Morty lol

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

I personally don't enjoy genderbends or swaps so I tend to avoid them, I'm also not necessarily a huge fan of soulmate aus or soulmate identifying marks so I don't really read them. God, there's definitely more but for whatever reason I'm totally blanking

Fandom Asks

#thanks so much for the ask! #answered

[shipsforeveryone]

XL Ship For Anon

Their Request - 

Hi! Can I request a ship for all of your fandoms. Males only please!

Oh and for the scenario - First Fight. For TVD?

I am a tall, curvy straight female with blonde hair and blue-green eyes.

I am introverted, intellectual, I have a bunch of interests and hobbies, which I tend to hyper fixate on. I am also a bit of a jack of all trades as I like to learn/teach myself how to do a wide variety of things.

I have a very idiosyncratic point of view, I'm bookish and very interested in history. I have a knack for accurately predicting the likelihood of the future. I tend to test people to see if I can trust them a lot but then I become a friend for life. Literally, a ride or die. I have hidden dimensions and intensity and they're hidden because I'm pretty withdrawn. Wanting to watch people from afar to see if I can even poke my head out of my shell around them.

I tend to act arrogant, cryptic, or cynical when afraid. I can be diplomatic and say things without saying them. I am defiant/rebellious towards authority and habitually find counterexamples to whatever others assert. Despite this attitude, I'm incredibly loyal, hardworking, ambitious, and very idealistic.

I struggle with ADHD, social anxiety, and paranoia. I can brood over injustices or entertain conspiracy theories. I am a bigger fan of sneaky vengeance over outright confrontation. I can be passive-aggressive and self-attacking. I love all animals though I never want to personally own a dog, due to how needy and loud they are. I'm more of a cat or reptile person.

I like to record my thoughts out loud and later organize them.

I'm also currently fighting the urge to delete this because I think I sound very full of myself in this lol

Pretty please and thank you! Also sorry this was so long.

My Response

No worries, babe! You don’t sound full of yourself at all. I love the fact that you didn’t beat around the bush about describing yourself!

Avatar: The Last Airbender 

OTP - Zuko. He would love your idiosyncratic point of view and how insightful you are. And would often come to your for advice.

BrOTP - Aang

NOTP - Sokka

Bright

OTP - Nick Jakoby

BrOTP - Tikka

NOTP - Daryl Ward

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

OTP - Rupert Giles. You have quite a bit in common, and you may even end up arguing the uses of technology while admiring books as much as he does.

BrOTP - Daniel “Oz” Osbourne

NOTP - Buffy Summers

Doctor Who

OTP - The 10th Doctor. He’d gently coax you out of your shell. And he’d take you anywhere in time or space that you want to go. If you don’t outright say where/when you would like to go then he’ll pick up on it by listening to your latest interests. 

BrOTP - Is it cheating to say the 12th Doctor? Oh well. I think you would be partners in crime all the way.

NOTP - Rose Tyler

Dragon Age

OTP - Solas. There’s so much in common and I think you’d probably be the best option to convince him to change his plans. 

BrOTP - Merrill.

NOTP - Cassandra.

Fast and Furious franchise

OTP - Tej Parker

BrOTP - Deckard Shaw

NOTP - Luke Hobbs

Game of Thrones

OTP - Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion would tease you to draw you out of your introverted shell. He'd be very interested in your hobbies, interests and your knack for predicting the future. He'd admire your wide skill set, loyalty, defiant attitude and how hardworking you are. He’d often suggest books to you and vice versa. 

BrOTP - Jon Snow

NOTP - Daenerys Targaryen

Golden Girls

OTP - Dorothy. 

BrOTP - Rose

NOTP - Sophia

Hannibal

OTP - Will Graham.

BrOTP - Alana Bloom.

NOTP -  Jack Crawford

Harry Potter

OTP - Severus Snape. Your mind, skill set and attitude would all appeal to him very much.

BrOTP - Luna Lovegood

NOTP - Ron Weasley

Inglourious Basterds

OTP - Hugo Stiglitz

BrOTP - Donny Donowitz

NOTP - Aldo Raine

John Wick

OTP - John Wick

BrOTP - Marcus

NOTP - Winston

Jurassic Park franchise

OTP - Dr. Ian Malcolm

BrOTP - Dr. Ellie Sattler

NOTP - Dr. Sarah Harding

Kingsman

OTP - Merlin

BrOTP - Harry Hart / Galahad

NOTP - Jack Daniels / Whiskey

Legend of Korra

OTP - Mako

BrOTP - Asami Sato

NOTP - Tahno

Marvel 

OTP - Bucky Barnes

BrOTP - Loki

NOTP - Natasha Romanoff

Mayans MC

OTP - Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes.

BrOTP - Johnny “Coco” Cruz

NOTP - Emily Thomas-Galindo

NCIS

OTP - Timothy McGee

BrOTP - Abby Sciuto

NOTP - Tony DiNozzo

New Girl

OTP - Nick Miller

BrOTP - Winston Saint-Marie Schmidt

NOTP - Julia Cleary

Once Upon A Time

OTP - Killian Jones / Captain Hook

BrOTP - Regina Mills

NOTP - Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White

Parks and Recreation

OTP - Ben Wyatt

BrOTP - April Ludgate

NOTP - Jean Ralphio Saperstein

Peaky Blinders

OTP - Tommy Shelby

BrOTP - Alfie Solomons

NOTP - Ada Thorne

Pokemon

OTP - Brock

BrOTP - Bulbasaur Ash Ketchum

NOTP - Jessie

Rick and Morty

OTP - Rick Sanchez

BrOTP - Beth Smith

NOTP - Jerry Smith. 

Schitt’s Creek

OTP - David Rose

BrOTP - Ronnie Lee

NOTP - Moira Rose

Sherlock (BBC)

OTP - Sherlock Holmes. He'd adore your mind and find your skill set useful. Sherlock would love your defiance of authority and ambition. Though you'd butt heads every now and then ultimately your differences would make you an even better match. You'd both bring out each other's emotions more and understand each other better than anyone else ever could.

BrOTP - Mycroft Holmes. I know, very surprising. But like with Sherlock there’s a lot in common and a lot different. So you’d frequently argue But in the end you’d have the common goal of looking out for Sherlock to make you both closer.

NOTP - Jim Moriarty.

Sons of Anarchy

OTP - Jackson “Jax” Teller.

BrOTP - Bobby Munson

NOTP - Tara Knowles

Star Wars Prequels

OTP - Obi-Wan Kenobi

BrOTP - Qui-Gon Jinn

NOTP - Anakin Skywalker

Star Wars Original Trilogy

OTP - Luke Skywalker

BrOTP - R2D2

NOTP - Han Solo

Stranger Things

OTP - Jim Hopper. I think Hopper would admire you for testing people so thoroughly to see if you can trust them. And he’d really love how loyal you are to the people you do trust.

BrOTP - Alexei. Here me out, the two of you seem to have a bit in common. First and foremost your intelligence. And I think you’d make Hopper quit being such an ass to Alexei.

NOTP - Nancy Wheeler

Supernatural

OTP - Sam Winchester. Okay I can just see you researching together. Staying up all night in the Bunker’s library poring over every single book.

BrOTP - Charlie Bradbury. Do I need to say anything more than nerd power?

NOTP - Mary Winchester.

Teen Wolf

OTP - Chris Argent

BrOTP - Stiles Stilinski

NOTP - Lydia Martin

That 70’s Show

OTP - Eric Forman.

BrOTP - Donna Pinciotti

NOTP - Jackie Burkhardt

The Expendables

OTP - Lee Christmas

BrOTP - Barney Ross

NOTP - Mr. Church

The Hobbit

OTP - Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin would admire your wide skill set and your ambition to learn how to do so many things. He'd adore your loyalty and knack for diplomacy. 

BrOTP - Fili Durin.

NOTP - Thranduil

The Lord of the Rings

OTP - Faramir. 

BrOTP - Samwise Gamgee

NOTP - Denethor

The Vampire Diaries & The Originals

OTP - Elijah Mikaelson. I think that Elijah would adore your intelligence and would encourage your interests and hobbies. If you want to know anything about history? He'd be more than happy to discuss his own experiences with you. He'd often get your opinion on a course of action before doing it, due to your with and ability of predicting the possible outcomes. He'd love your original, no pun intended, point of view. And though he loves your tenacity, your ambition, your idealistic nature and your loyalty, sometimes it can frustrate him when he thinks certain people who have your loyalty don't deserve it. Or at least not at the intensity that you give it. 

First Fight - Your first fight would probably have to do with your friendship and loyalty towards Klaus. While sometimes he admires it, he often wishes that you weren’t so loyal to his brother. Thinking he isn’t always deserving of it. Afterwards you’d both go in different rooms to brood until ready to make up.

BrOTP - Niklaus Mikaelson. Klaus would admire your intelligence, ambition, hard working and even defiant attitude. Your skills and ability to think differently from everyone else. He would also come to you for advice though he wouldn’t always adhere it. Though what Klaus would love most of all is your loyalty. Especially after he made it through all your tests and found himself on the receiving end of your loyalty. And he would feel guilty when your loyalty and friendship with him would cause a rift in your relationship with his brother. 

NOTP - Damon Salvatore. Damon is impulsive and has his own way of testing the loyalty  of those around him. Though his form of testing is more of him doing things that makes them less loyal and trusting of him. He’d probably end up trying to test and strain your loyalty towards Elijah and Klaus. Which would infuriate you. And he would fail which would infuriate him.

The Walking Dead

OTP - Negan.

BrOTP - Carl Grimes. In an AU where Rick’s Group became saviors instead of finding Alexandria. I think Carl would have become Negna’s protege and may have even softened him up.

NOTP - Rick Grimes.

The Witcher (show)

OTP - Geralt of Rivia

BrOTP - Yennefer of Vengerberg

NOTP - Queen Calanthe

True Blood

OTP - Eric Northman

BrOTP - Bill Compton

NOTP - Sam Merlotte

Vikings

OTP - Ragnar Lothbrok

BrOTP - Ivar the Boneless

NOTP - Björn Ironside

WWE (kayfabe personas)

OTP - Roman Reigns

BrOTP - Finn Balor

NOTP - Chris Jericho

#ships #ship request #ships open #xl ship #this took forever but it was really fun #avatar the last airbender ship #legend of korra ship #bright ship #buffy the vampire slayer ship #doctor who ship #dragon age ship #fast and furious ship #game of thrones ships #golden girls ship #hannibal ships #harry potter ship #inglourious basterds ship #john wick ship #jurassic park ships #kingsman ship #marvel ship #mayans mc ship #ncis ship #new girl ship #once upon a time ship #parks and rec ship #peaky blinders ship #pokemon ship #rick and morty ships #ship for anon

[heliosthegriffin]

Gamer AU Clip II

“J-Ja-Jaune?” Hearing my sisters voice tremble, it hurt, it hurt so bad. Taking a bullet had hurt less. The fact I was the cause of her distress burned my soul.

“How, how, how, how, could you do that?” Her voice so weak like her throat refused to cooperate with her brain, like she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. She shouldn’t have to see me doing what I do to keep our shrinking family together, but she did... and there was no backing down from what I had done.

“Sarah, I need you do something for me,” My voice came out calm, I didn’t think I was capable of speaking so, so, what’s a good word for it?

Lifeless.

Like my throat was being puppeteered by some unseen force.

But, that unseen force was also me. I was a puppet to my own desires. My master was my own crippling need for love, love and family.

She flinched, it was unsurprising but it drove that stake of burning pain so much deeper.

“Take one deep breath, hold it for five second and then let it out over another. Would you please do this for me?”

She froze briefly, her eyes darting around for escape, I could see her chest rapidly contracting. She wasn’t listening.

The look in her eyes told me all I needed to know.

She thought I was a monster now... She know’s I am a monster.

She’s right.

A part of my heart disappeared, and my mind acted before my heart did.

“Sarah,” My voice was being puppeteered again, It was so cold, and hard to my own ears, it shouldn’t sound like that. It scared me. “Take a deep breath or you’ll fall down like Mr. Ermine did.”

“B-bu, but you killed him!”

I shook my head with a mournful frown.

“No! He fell down, he was coming at me! And then he tripped, honest!” My mind puppeteering my face, the slightest tears began to form at my eyes. “I didn’t mean to have the knife out, honest! You gotta believe me, sis, please!” It was all an act by the that dark little voice in my head, I could take back the wheel at anytime... But, I wasn’t the one who could lie to my family.

“But Mr. Ermine, he just wanted to help us, why would he try to act you.”

The dark voice in my head could only smile in glee, he had hooks in her mind. “He, he,” It made me tear up even more so to sell the story. “He knew about mom and dad, he wanted something to keep silent...” My sister didn’t seem like she could believe me, not with the blood on my hands.

Good, it made the part of me not behind the wheel smile that my sister could see through my facade. The dark voice only smiled deeper though, it spoke to me, told me the story had only just begun.

“Sniff, sniff,” It made me fake holding back tears, “He wanted to hurt you, and, and I wanted him to leave us alone!” I screamed out, it’s fine I want to be heard, we’re alone at home anyway.

“He said, ‘I always wanted to have my own blonde dolls, to play, and dress up.’ unngh,” I fell to my knees, letting tears fall from my eyes. “I told him to leave us alone, and he came over to grab me.” I looked Sarah in the eyes, I could see her tears beginning to spill. “His hands, they, they hurt so much Sarah, why would bring him here!” I covered my head with head arms, and the breakdown came.

My eyes stung with burning tears. Not a damn one real.

“Stop, stop, please just stop, Jaune, I’m sorry Jaune, I’m so sorry.” I felt my sisters arm around me and pull me into a warm hug. And I let myself breakdown in her arms.

A breath of relief came through the tears, and eventually the tears stopped.

Relief that my story sold and stuck. That I had lied and gaslit my sister. I wanted to puke from shame.

I took back control and put that little voice back in the passenger seat in case I needed him.

I squeezed my sister tight now that she couldn’t go anywhere. Tighter, and tigher, she squirmed, I put my face beneath her ear and whispered so sadly. “I’m sorry Sarah,”

“What?”

Reach up and grabbed her face, looking her in those beautiful green eyes of hers.

I leaned back and whipped my head forward.

SNAP

Her nose broke, bleeding freely.

She was out cold, likely with a concussion.

I took Ermine’s dead hand and made a fist from it, rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet.

I got to work making it look like an attack, from a teacher who went crazy from obsession.

A smile came to my face. Which he was, he had wanted to break up my little family, take Sarah from me and make her his perfect little wife.

If it wouldn’t have contaminated the scene I would have broken his body into little bits. My strength was more than high enough.

The bastard.

My family needs me. Poor little Jasmine wasn’t even potty trained yet, and that bastard say’s she need real parents, not some brat playing pretend.

Well, where are my damned parents when I need them!

Fuck ‘em I say.

Jasmine my baby sister, and for all-intents and purposes now, my daughter.

Mary sweet little Mary, I will protect you to the end.

Sarah my genius little sister. I will make sure to solve the problems you can’t

Blaze my amazing, huntress in training older sister. I’ll support you when you can’t support yourself.

Saphron my hopeless lesbian of a sister. Terra loves you, I made sure of it.

Gerbera... Maybe one day I’ll forgive you.

Gris, who I knew in my heart was still alive out there in the Grimmlands, was the most amazing women in the world. She’d come back to us one day.

If anyone thinks that they can try to put them in any sort of home away from me...

I will never be alone, never!

I took a deep breath, and reviewed my plan, then put it into action.

Staging the scene of the crime.

It hurt breaking my arm, and giving myself so many bruises.

That pain didn’t compare to the pain from having to hurt poor Sarah.

But, it was necessary.

Once it was all done, I made sure to crawl across the floor to where I flung my scroll.

I let the passenger take the wheel, as I called the police.

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

Jaune Arc

Age: 13

Gender: Male

Stats

Strength: 30 Speed: 40

- Toughness: 3 Grace: 4

Wits: 25 Wisdom: 34

-Calculation: 2 Mental Fortress: 3

Personality: 43 Perception: 51

-Attraction Value: 4 - Sensory Value: 5

Anima: 223

Aura Level: 2230

AN: This is pretty fucked up, but this Jaune has psychosis. That said, when I meant Jaune will do anything for his family, anything even if it hurts them. Now, I’m going to take a cold shower as a punishment for writing this.

I’ll upload something more uplifting in a bit.

#Jaune Arc #Gamer!Jaune #Psycho!Jaune #Arc Family #Murder #Fucked up #Dark and disturbing.

[twilightbimbo]

Solstice pt. 4: Twilight AU

Solstice is a Twilight AU with my own OC characters. 

Nathalia

I crouched down on a small cluster of boulders. I felt my lips curl back as I narrowed in on my target. A herd of deer, five of them, grazed the forest greenery. I had hoped that I would get over it by now. I hate killing those deer, I feel bad. There. I said it. Also, they taste kinda gross. It’s just not the same. 

With just a  quick leap off the boulder, I launched myself in the direction of the biggest one. My mom used to yell at me so much for how much of a messy eater I was. I guess some things never change. Gross, I know. 

“Oh fucking hell,” I exclaimed. “I just bought this shirt!” I moaned, hitting the palm of my hand against my forehead in frustration. Blood soaked the upper third of the front of my top and splatters dotted my sleeves. I sat on top of the poor dead animal, dabbing the front of my shirt in vain. I finally gave up and rested my head in my hands, my elbows firmly planted on my knees. 

I felt exhausted. Mentally, of course. Physically? I felt like I could demolish a tank. I had talked to more people in the past thirty six hours than I had in months. 

Suddenly, I heard the soft crunch of a leaf being stepped on in the distance. I stood silently, appraising my early morning breakfast. If my heavy-footed friend was a human, maybe a fisher or hunter, they couldn’t find this deer and get suspicious. I kneeled quickly and made the wound look more animalistic, more feral. It wasn’t hard to do since my messiness helped me in the beginning. 

Curiosity got the best of me, I wanted to see who intruded on my introspective wallowing. I climbed up the nearest fir, finding the best branch with a view that also allowed me coverage. I became still as a statue. 

While the sounds of the footsteps sounded closer, they also sounded lighter. Maybe my friend slipped earlier? I listened carefully as faint grey-green light began to leak through the crowded forest ceiling as I waited. 

Rigor mortis started to set in on the poor animal when the footsteps became loud enough for a human to hear. I craned my neck a bit further to the west, the direction the person was coming from. In one lithe and dramatic jump over the boulders, my guest was directly under the tree I perched on. This was no human. 

The vampire was definitely a woman, she was short but I couldn’t see much else as she wore a long and black hooded cloak. She hesitated by my kill, briefly analyzing it before moving on. I could tell it distracted her, she must be curious about what, or who did that. 

My chest tightened and a phantom feeling of my heart pounding ached deeply. Her vampire scent wasn’t familiar to me, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t recognize mine. There was no way I was followed all the way out to Brookings, much less this deep into the forest. My mind raced as I replayed all my movements over the course of the late night into the early morning. I was certain that I was alone the whole time. 

So who was this visitor? This area of the woods was too far away for humans to be wandering into, so it wasn’t ideal hunting grounds. Maybe they are hiding a body. I’ve stumbled across quite a few discarded meals with the iconic two point bite mark. 

I waited patiently for a long time before even considering relaxing my posture. The sunlight faded as the cloud cover settled deeply into the sky. When the stranger’s scent finally dissipated and I was positive that only the scattering of birds was my only company, I made my way down the fir tree and started to make my way back to town. 

The brief encounter with the other vampire never quite left my mind but I focused on making my new apartment my own as the days of the weekend slowly melted together and passed me by. 

My animal based diet gave me golden eyes when my thirst was down. They looked a bit unusual but allowed me to blend in with the humans. Thanks to my gift, the local coffee shop was hiring. I didn’t need a job but I thought having a job gave me a better chance at blending in. And, it gave me something to do. When I was in high school, and a human, I was a barista. I saved up quite a bit and put it in a bank, my parents prided themselves in teaching me finical responsibility. It gave me a bit of comfort that they had inherited my pocket change when I went missing and eventually declared dead. 

I missed my little sister the most. She’s only fourteen months younger than me and everyone would mistake us for twins. We had the same green-blue eyes and messy dirty blonde hair, but she kept hers way nicer than mine. She was driven, determined, and was wildly competitive. She thought she was stuck in my shadow. I always knew that Margot would do a million times better than me in life. I was right. It’s probably the hardest thing to do every day to not check in on her. 

I wasn’t too close to my mom. She’s too much like me. We’re stubborn, opinionated. We would argue all day and night, but I knew she loved me fiercely. Fierce is a good word to describe Josie. She was the CEO of a record label, climbing her way to the top and taking about every man down along her way, my father one of them. My dad liked that she was in charge and bossed him around. My mom was lean and slender, with a mildly obnoxious boob job. Margot and I got our hair from her, but my mom chemically treated it to be straight. Vanity is a deadly disease in Southern California. 

My parent’s marriage is rocky, to say the least. They took “breaks” often. When I was thirteen I thought they were about to actually divorce but after sticking my sister and me with an au pair for a nearly two months long trip to some private island off of the coast of Mexico things settled down for a couple of years. I never asked what they did down there. 

Beau, my dad, was about twenty one years my mom’s senior. “Spineless bastard,” My mom often muttered behind his back. My dad was quiet and an avid believer in red wine. He spent more time in his cellar and vineyards than he ever did with us, which I didn’t mind. It was pretty obvious that it bothered Margot but she wasn’t one to talk about her feelings. It was a family trait. It’s not like my dad didn’t love my sister and me or anything, in fact in some ways I felt more loved by him than my mom. He just did it in his own way, like making sure my favorite snacks were always stocked or carrying my sister to bed when she stayed up too late studying. 

I wouldn’t call us a happy family, but we were family. I miss them. It made me sad to think about what they about me since my disappearance was framed as drug-related. I try not to fixate on that, though.

I was weirdly excited to go back to school. But, I was also scared. What if I couldn’t control my thirst? What would they say happened on the news? “Crazed teen ruthlessly murders entire class, more at eleven”?

I want to stay. I want a home. I decided I was going to feed as much as possible before my first class. I wanted to be so full that the smell of humans would be overwhelmed. But that could never happen, not for a vampire.  Satisfying our thirst was our number one priority, always. I’ve heard that some very, very old vampires don’t have the same obsession anymore but I find that unlikely.   

My thirst was the first thing I noticed when I came to. My transformation was painful. It felt like I was set on fire and every pore on my skin had a sharp needle stuck through it. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. It didn’t help that I didn't know where I was when I woke up. 

I shook my head rapidly, almost like I was trying to physically get those thoughts out of my head. I was nearly done re-furnishing and decorating my apartment. The large windows were shielded by blackout curtains with delicate lace accents weaved into it. I kept things minimal as possible, light, and beach-y. I updated the furniture to the twenty-first century and hung the one personal item I owned, a photo of my family. The one thing that I probably had too much of was plants. Something had to be alive around here. 

Samson 

“Are you sure it’s one of us?” I asked again, two days later after Stella announced her discovery. 

“I’m not a dumbass, Sam” Stella snapped. Stella hates when vampires roll into town. We all do. They usually fuck things up and leave us to clean up the bloody mess. Literally. “Also, shouldn’t you be able to tell?” She pointed out. 

It was true, if she was lying I would know it. But, it’s still shocking. We haven’t encountered a nomad in the three years we have lived in this town. When we lived east of Seattle it wasn’t surprising to get four or five nomads a year.

Suddenly, a wave of calm washed over the room. I could see my siblings relax, Esther’s eyes drooped, the new trashy book she was way too invested in relaxing slightly in her hands. If she was a human, she would pass out on the spot. 

“No fair, Sun,” Stella rolled her eyes. 

“This was supposed to be a nice family game night, you kids are ruining it by getting worked up,” Sunny said sternly.  

“You shouldn’t forcibly quiet us,” Stella retorted. Stella hated being told what to do. Sometimes I’m shocked she even chooses to live with us. 

“I didn’t shut you up, I wish I could!” Sun said, chuckling to herself and patting me on my head. “I just calmed you down, you all are children,” 

We sat around the “dinner” table, Sunny at the head with me sitting on her right. The mahogany table was oval shaped with an ornate red and tablecloth runner. Stella sat facing Sunny on the other side of the table glaring at Sunny with hands folded neatly in front of her and her hair braided and resting on her shoulder. Everett sat on Stella’s left staring intensely at her, most likely talking to her in his own complicated gift’s language. Chip and Esther sat together, Esther perched on his lap, engrossed in her book and Chip absentmindedly played with her hair. 

The stars shined brightly tonight and despite the thick coverage from the forest encasing our home, the moonlight lit up the dining room. Our entire south facing wall was a glass with a view of the Rogue River snaking around our home. I paid little attention to Sunny and Stella’s bickering, focusing on the light bouncing off the crystals of the chandelier which reflected rainbows on the walls, reminding me of my skin in the sunlight.  

“Sam, what do you think?” Sunny asked, nudging my elbow. I cocked my head to the side and gave her a funny look. 

“Huh?” I said quickly and then went over the conversation the family carried on that I barely processed while I was zoning out. “Oh, I don’t know about hunting this vampire down,” I shrugged. “I don’t really see the point in doing that, they might just be passing through,” I continued. 

“If they were just passing through Sam,” Stella said sharply, she hated when I challenged her gift. “I wouldn’t feel their presence anymore,” She finished bitterly. 

I rolled my eyes at her and started to fiddle with the dice that came with the game. “Give them a chance Stells,” I mumbled under my breath, knowing that would just piss her off more. She narrowed her eyes and chucked her phone at me which bounced off my head and landed on the hardwood floor, surprisingly not breaking. 

“I do think it would be best if we got the upper hand on our visitor,” Chip said quietly without interrupting his focus on Esther and her hair. 

“What if they are cool?” I asked jokingly. 

“When are nomads ever not a pain in the ass?” Esther teased, poking fun at Chip who is our newest addition to the family. Chip was a nomad for roughly a hundred years. 

“That is a good point, Esther,” Sunny said, her face soft and thoughtful. “It’s worth looking into who this nomad is,” 

“I’ll round up the search party!” I exclaimed, standing up and slapping the table in excitement. 

“We are the search party, dumbass,” Stella huffed in exasperation. 

Esther

My family decided to waste their evening arguing about the newcomer and then later doing a run around the perimeter of the town, coming up empty-handed. Stella, Everett, and Sunny returned solemnly, a bit defeated early in the morning. Sam was oddly excited to plan another search. 

“Should we go again tonight?” Sam asked, about bouncing on his feet. 

“Let’s wait until their scent leaves a trail,” Sun said, her decision final. While they were chasing down a ghost, I got ready for my first day of school. My seventy-sixth first day of school. 

Thanks to an old friend in Seattle, all of us had forged official documents so no one questioned us enrolling. In my human life, I was Esther Rosenburg. After joining the coven, all of us took the surname King, except for Stella and Everett who kept Stella’s last name Hayes. Samson, Chip, and I typically went to high school while Stella and Everett did community college. This time around, I switched it up and did community college with Chip while the rest abandoned education. 

“Let’s take a first day of school picture of y’all,” Sam said chortling, slapping Chip on the back. 

“Yay!” I exclaimed gleefully. Stella rolled her eyes, yet again, at us but still helped set up the camera to take a tasteful photo of Chip and I standing in front of the spiral staircase. Chip wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close and kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him smiling and I heard the lens of the camera shutter. 

“Beautiful,” Sunny said, looking over Stella’s shoulder at the digital screen of the camera. 

“Thanks, Mom,” I grinned at her. Chip laughed quietly and squeezed me tighter. 

“Shall we?” He said, taking my hand lightly. I stood up on the tips of my toes, kissing his cheek. 

“We shall,” I whispered. In the human blink of an eye, I flashed to the side table by the door and grabbed the keys of my black Volvo. 

“Be careful,” Sun warned, both of blending in and the possible threat of the vampire in town. 

Our home was on the outskirts of town, tucked deeply in the forest. Chip drove us to school, following the winding road. Trees crowded the sides of the road with fog clinging to the asphalt. Chip and I listened half-heartedly to the morning news by the local public that droned on quietly from the car radio in the background, but nothing disturbing happened to indicate that the nomad vampire was active. 

Chip kissed the back of my hand that he was holding as we pulled into the parking lot of Brookings Community College. I looked into Chip’s red eyes and kissed him. When I pulled away, his eyes were brown and I knew mine would be the same color, even though I could pass with my golden eyes. 

“Master illusionist,” I smirked. 

“You know it, baby,” He winked in response. He got out of the car and walked leisurely around to my door, opening it for me. 

We only had two classes today, Introduction to Marine Biology and World History. History is one of my favorite courses, it’s fun to see how wrong textbooks get it. Chip grabbed my hand and we walked to the light blue science building, weaving between the humans hurrying to their classes. 

As we walked into the classroom, Chip immediately stiffened and pushed me back half a step as he let out a low snarl that only I could hear. My jaw dropped as my eyes landed on a girl with dirty blonde hair and golden eyes whipped around to stare at us, her mouth shaped in a small “o” of surprise. 

Previous Chapter

#solstice #twilight #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #Twilight FanFic #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #bella swan #alice cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #esme cullen #carlisle cullen

[phoenixflames12]

The Longest March

A/N: This takes place in my WW2 AU that began with An Endless Night and would not have been possible without the support and guidance of @momwendy, who has given this chapter more life than she knows!

The lovely @sassy-sassenach has also done a stunning moodboard for my WW2 AU which can be found here 

Catch up on all of Vergangenheit on AO3 here 

February, 1946

The war is over. Travelling through a broken Germany in a truck full of dead and dying men, Albert Peterson tries to save those whom he can, including a young Lutwaffe pilot named Ehren Krause in the hope that they will reach the safety of Scotland and a young nurse whose actions have touched them both. 

February 1946

The bite of the wind rattles through the open truck as it slowly clatters over roads that do not exist anymore.

The truck is full of wounded men that stink of rotten flesh and the high, iron-sharp tang of blood, the air thick and heavy with their groans as the truck lurches through each hole in the road.

Albert does when he can in the cramped, fetid space, without medical supplies, water or room to move. A breathless wince whistles through his lips as the truck hits another hole, but his mind is too numb to care.

Many of the men who die under his touch could have been saved with instant blood transfusions, but the sharp, carbolic scent of the Glasgow training hospital and then the wards of Broch Mordha Cottage Hospital, a kingdom ruled by a company of white capped Scottish swans in their long, blue-grey dresses, is now no more than a distant dream.

A kingdom where once upon time he had loved and lost a girl with fiery curls and eyes that burnt with every colour of the sky.

Faith.

Faith Janet Fraser.

Her name burns on the crumpled paper now folded tightly in the breast pocket of his dilapidated shirt.

Later, he will take it out to read the words that had ignited such hope in him and see that they are soaked with sweat; strippled with thin, scarlet splotches of blood.  Whether it’s his own or from one of the men, he will never know.

The faces of the dead are ashen, their skin grey and hard as the rigor mortis sets in, their mouths scarlet baths of blood and bone, dribbling over gaping, blue lips.

All he can think about is the here and now, what he can feel under numb, blackened fingers, the well of blood over his knuckles, the soft give of punctured muscle against his palm.

Albert works alone, stripped to the remnants of his shirt, the sleeves torn into bandages; white striped cotton ripping easily between his fingers, his hands caked with dried blood, muck and grime. A volunteer from Zurich who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, had wordlessly handed his shirt over, cradling a mangled hand to his bare chest; his ribs stark against the pale, blue-bruised skin of his torso. His slanted, grey eyes had been dark and distant with pain and he had whistled through his teeth, closing his eyes against a shudder of agony coursing through his broken fingers.

‘You…You take it Arzt. The men that you can save will need it more than I will.’

‘And if I were in a proper hospital, I could set that hand for you. Save you being a cripple. I’m sorry.’

Albert hadn’t paused to reply, simply nodded and gone about his work, watching the tale, pale frame out of the corner of his eye, pick his way across the swaying, jolting floor and slump down into a corner of the truck. The pale, blond head had been thrown back against the slats, the boy’s breath coming out in fast, gulping breaths against the pain.

Instead he had worked on, desperately trying to stem the fiery flood of exhausted emotion that is stabbing at the corners of his eyelids. Trying to remain focussed, to keep the rational part of his brain that he relied on from slipping out of his grasp.

Without the means to perform a simple blood transfusion, the boy will be dead by morning and there is nothing, absolutely nothing that he can do to stop it.

Bracing his hands against the mud stained, blood splattered floor, Albert tries to breathe steadily, counting each breath, trying to ignore the stench of death that assaults him at every turn.

The stink of burning is everywhere. It floods through the rotten wood, burying itself into his clothes and under his skin, making him want to tear his shirt off and peel his skin apart, one layer at a time.

The country is ablaze, only the scattered remnants of civilisation remaining. The ghosts of diesel fumes hang sullenly in the air, the bodies of those who had failed to go before them propped like wax dummies against the trunks of skeletal trees.

A ragged trail of refugees and soldiers follow the trucks, walking steadily into nowhere.

They are like patients coming out of anaesthesia he thinks; grey faced and frightened as they find themselves in the hospital bed, wanting desperately to return to tasks that they had left on the other side of health.

‘Wil… Will that boy die?’

The question, spoken by a man with a torn femoral artery, pulls him up short; scarlet life blood pumping itself into Albert’s hands.

‘Yes,’ he says quietly, because there is no point in lying anymore.

‘And so will you and so will all these men, because I have been given nothing, I have come away with nothing but my bare hands and my brain and I can do nothing. Five years of medical school and eight years in the field and God help me, I can do nothing!’

The thought is a dagger to his heart, unspoken agony plunging into the vital organ.

The man simply nods, his already pale face ashen with the exhaustion of staying alive, small dark eyes slipping closed, as if he has already made his choice.

Albert’s hands rest lightly on the scraps of fabric that he has been using to try and stem the worst of the blood, knowing that it will be no use.

Knowing that all he can do, all he can believe is in this one truckload of wounded, dead and dying men, in the scraps of weak, white sunlight that flicker through the rotten roof slats.

All he can believe in is the memory of a girl with hair the colour of fire, whispering through her tears that she loves him; the words almost lost in the song of the wind through the leaves of a horse chestnut tree.

The cart rattles over a pothole and then judders to a standstill, the cries of those on the road flooding back in the sudden, eerie silence. The driver, a man whom Albert has not had the pleasure of meeting, slams his palm against the horn, scattering the people ahead.

Some of the men have fallen back; their faces crusted grey with dust and dirt, their eyes hollow and sunken with hunger.

From somewhere along the straggling line of fleeing civilians, he hears the high, thin wail of a hungry, terrified child.

Albert has come to realise that hunger does strange things to its’ victims. It warps any sense of time and space, making limbs twitch convulsively, whilst grey, parched lips and tongues swell past endurance.

It makes once rosy, healthy skin crack and peel at the corners, eyesight weakening until they see of a world that is crumbling about them are blurred, indistinct shapes.

It makes growing young men melt like a candle and turns babies whose life has barely begun into old men whimpering for food that is never there.

That child, whoever they are, wherever they’ve come from, doesn’t stand a chance.

‘We’ll get there,’ he says quietly to a boy with a shattered jaw as he tries to stem the bleeding to the lad’s once strong mouth, that rises into high, fine cheekbones which in turn encase a strangely familiar face that rise up into deep set, safely Aryan eyes.

‘Get where? It’s not as if… Not as if we’re moving…’

He pauses, gulping down air like a man half drowned, splinters of blood and bone bubbling against the young man’s lips. With each breath, the wound weeps blood and all Albert wants to do is tell him to be quiet, that speaking will worsen his chances of making it to the transport on the coast and to safety.

But he can’t do that.

‘But we will be. They say that there are still ships. That if you have papers, you might have a chance of getting aboard.’

The words sound more optimistic than he feels, alien schoolboy optimism flooding his heart.

The young man’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly, wincing as he sucks in a breath.

‘Papers. They,’ he scoffs quietly, resting his head further in the crook of Albert’s arms, each word bleak with resignation. ‘And do you have papers, mein Freund? Do any of us?’

Each word costs him dearly, grey eyes glittering from the exertion and Albert nods, readjusting his hands on the man’s head, trying to keep his jaw in place.

From the shadows of the truck, a man groans; a low, agonising moan that Albert can do nothing about as he cradles the young, blond head between his blood-stained hands.

Outside, he hears the soft lilt of a foreign accent which he thinks is British and the creaking slice of a door bolt being slid out of place.

With one hand, Albert tightens his grip on the young man’s head and with the other, fumbles with suddenly nerveless fingers for his identity papers, ration books- German and British, though the British one is nearly five years out of date, waiting.

Against his cheek, the young man’s pulse throbs thin, but the niggling thought that Albert knows him will not go away.

A weak shaft of clouded sunlight pierces the darkness for a moment as the door groans open.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Albert squints as the shadows crowd the entrance, his heart hammering somewhere in his throat.

Two men, both dressed in foreign, khaki uniforms stoop low to clamber into the truck, clicking their heels together and raising their arms in a mock salute that Albert does not have the strength to return.

Instead, he tightens his grip on his patient’s jaw, wishing he had enough cloth for a tourniquet, knowing that if he lets go the man will surely bleed to death.

Out of the shadows, he can see that one of the men is sporting a scraggly moustache, the other with hints of stubble clinging to his chin.

Their eyes hold the same wide, haunted hunger held by soldiers and civilians alike; a deep grey that roves through the shadows, lingering on the dead and dying men, crept in at the corners.

‘Who’s in charge here?’

The man tries to keep his face impassive, but Albert sees the slight, distasteful curl to his lip, the hand reaching covertly into the breast pocket of his tunic for a handkerchief.

Slowly, painfully he raises his head, blinking as the bodies dance and swim before him before they finally solidify holding the grey eyed man’s gaze.

‘I am,’ the words come out more of a croak than anything else, his tongue hot and swollen, lolling uselessly in his mouth.

When was the last time that he drank something?

When was the last time that the canteen of filthy water had been passed painfully from hand to hand; the warm, fetid water dribbling past swollen, bleeding lips?

Under his touch, the boy with the shattered jaw shifts slightly.

‘Your name?’

‘Albert Peterson. I’m a doctor. These men are under my protection. If we don’t reach the coast by nightfall, they’ll die.’

He trails off, watching the British soldier process this information.

The short, blunt words are all he can manage at the moment, his brain too full of the dead and the dying to spare much thought for pleasantries.

The boy with the crushed hand is somewhere in those shadows, shallow breathing slowly thinning to the desperate throaty rattle of impending death.

If I let go of any of them, they’ll die.

The grey eyed soldier’s companion scoffs quietly under his breath, only to be silenced with a look from the other man.

Albert remains quiet, counting the ragged, laboured breathing of the man in his arms, the disjointed thrum of a pulse under his fingers.

‘Do you have papers?’

Albert nods, digging into his pocket for his papers, his fingers brushing lightly over the creases of Faith’s letter, her words burning hope into his heart.

‘Ye can stow away on a provisions ship, if it comes tae that and then… Well I dinna ken what then. But I will try tae meet you in Inverness and take ye to Broch Mordha and then doon the hill from the tiny station through the town and over the hills tae Lallybroch.’

He hands them over, schooling his face into a mask of careful blankness.

The grey eyed man scans them, frowning as he places a long, calloused finger on Albert’s barely legible signature, signed in Sister MacDonald’s oak panelled office, a lifetime ago.

‘Keep these with you Doctor’, she had said, peering at him from over her half moon spectacles. The sun had been low in the sky, the soft patter of the nurses’ shoes as they tidied the wards and did the final rounds before light’s out, echoing through the corridors.

Her face had been brown and weathered, a lifetime of work and worry etched deep in its’ creases.

‘They’ll get ye back tae Germany on a fair wind and should, I hope be sufficient should ye wish tae return tae us when all of this is over.’

‘Thank you, sister. Truly,’ he’d replied, the lump in his throat making a grander speech impossible.

He had risen then, pushing back from the desk and tucking the precious papers into the breast pocket of his jacket, trying not to think of how he will tell Nurse Fraser that he is leaving.

Sister MacDonald had nodded, something strange glittering in her eyes as she watched him leave.

His hand had been on the door knob, poised and ready to step out into the quiet, when her voice, quiet and authoritative, pulls him back.

‘Peterson?’ Her voice had been soft, the softest tone that he had ever heard her use, eyes shining with what he had selfishly thought were tears.  

She had sniffed masterfully and reached into the depths of her black habit for a lace trimmed handkerchief; knurled, swollen fingers dabbing away her tears.

‘I canna say how grateful I am for you. You have given this hospital more than you know. You have given us hope. Never forget that, Peterson. Ever.’

‘Never, sister,’ he had murmured quietly, tugging the door open and letting himself out.

Later, as he had walked down the long, cobbled street to the station, the memory of the blazing blue eyes that had pierced his soul anew still fresh, he had berated himself for being so childish.

‘It says here that you’ve got a license to practice in the United Kingdom. By whose authority was that licence issued?’

The grey eyed soldier’s voice is sharp, bringing Albert back to the present with a jerk.

He stiffens and sits up as straight as he can, squaring his shoulders.

‘It was my father’s dying wish that I would come to your country. He… He immigrated to Germany from Edinburgh in 1900 to seek his fortune as a banker,’ he stops and swallows, willing the memories of his father’s final hours away.

Trying to forget the close, dense darkness of the sick room with the shutters drawn tight, the lamps trimmed low, the cold weight of his father’s hand, clammy mottled skin clinging to his own, his breath coming in weak, harsh rasps as he had made the six-year-old, terrified Albert promise that he would go to Scotland.

‘Go, mein Sohn. Go and find your birth right in your homeland. Do you remember the stories?’

And Albert had nodded, blinking back the smarts of salt that had stabbed at the corners of his eyelids as he watched his father’s head turn restlessly away, fighting the heat of the pillow.

‘The stories… The kelpies and water witches and druids and standing stones will all be there mo bhalaiach….’ His father’s voice had grown distant, the precise Zittau accent fading into a cascading lilt of the Gaelic of his youth as the ghosts of the past took shape behind his eyes.

‘They will, Papa,’ Albert had whispered brokenly to the rapidly fading form that was once his father. ‘I will.’

‘I came to your country to study the medical profession in Glasgow in 1933. I worked in the city hospitals for two years after my training before being transferred to Broch Mordha’s cottage hospital,’ he pauses for breath, his throat dry and aching.

‘Forgive me, sir, but you wouldn’t have any water, would you?’ We have very little here and those that are left are thirsty.’

The weight of the young man’s head in his arms, shifts slightly, the numbing pain in his thighs shuddering into painful life.

The grey eyes widen for a moment, a look of marked dislike flickering across the carved features but is gone before Albert has truly realised that it was there.

After a moment, he comes back to himself and pulls a small silver hipflask out of the pocket of his tunic.

Turning it over between his fingers, Albert sees it is engraved, the letters sharp and clear against the metal.

Dear boy,

On the occasion of your engagement,

Your dear Mother and Father

March 1919

Albert nods his thanks and drinks slowly, letting the lukewarm water cascade down his parched and aching throat. It’s bitter and gritty, but after the fetid stink of death that has assaulted his senses for so long, the faint hints of coolness that it brings to his mouth feels like manna from heaven.

The grey eyed soldier nods slowly, still studying the papers, flicking through them one by one.

His companion is silent, taking in the detritus of death that litters the truck with unseeing eyes.

‘You’re ten kilometres from Stendal. With luck,’ here the grey eyed soldier pauses and narrows his eyes in thought that Albert clearly reads as ‘bribery’,‘you should reach the city by nightfall tonight. I’ll try and reach HC and make sure that there are medical provisions set aside for you there. You’ll reach Hamburg by dusk tomorrow.’

‘The Red Cross and the United Nations have chartered hospital ships that are leaving Hamburg for South Hampton to help relieve the refugee crisis. From there, they will take you north, if you ask at the processing station. There will be a sailing at first light. Ship’s named Panacea, as I recall. Make sure you’re on it. There’s no guarantees, mind, but it’s worth a shot.’

Albert nods, relief flooding through him like water. The body in his arms shifts slightly, and, reaching down, he dribbles a little water into the parched, blood-soaked mouth.

‘Danke,‘ he whispers to the soldiers, unable to put into words just how much their kindness has meant to him and the men in his care. ‘Thank you. Truly.’

‘Do you hear that, comrade? There’s hope for us yet!’

Keeping a firm grip on the boy’s jaw, he shakes the soldier’s shoulder, slapping his cheek, the skin painfully clammy under his touch.

After a while, the blue eyes crack open an inch, distant and hazy with pain, his pulse fluttering faintly against Albert’s touch.

‘What… What’s that you say?’

‘We’re getting out of here! Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘Wonderful,’ the word sounds dry and strange on the boy’s tongue, as if he has never spoken it aloud before.

A trickle of blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth and, wetting the tip of his collar, Albert presses close and blots it out shocking scarlet seeping into the tattered flannel.

‘If… If you say so, Peterson. I’ll… I’ll believe you…’

His head lolls back against Albert’s chest, eyes flickering closed, his breathing laboured, body turning limp and heavy in sleep.

He does not utter another word.

March 1946

It is the smoke that bewilders her at first.

The smoke, the noise, the raucous cries of the station porters, the groans of the wounded all seem to swirl about her in a symphony of unintelligible sound.

Faith keeps close to the back of the nurse in front, steeling herself to see only the long, white linen trails of the cap before her, the swing of the grey-blue hem against the cobbles.

Sister MacDonald is leading the long crocodile of nurses, her black habit and flowing QA cap a stark contrast even in a sea of muted browns and greys.

The last time that Faith had been to Inverness train station was when her father had returned, eleven months and a lifetime ago.

Remembers the crush at the ticket office, pressing close to Claire with Brianna on her other side, every woman there a wife or sister, fiancé or daughter, desperate to be the first to hear the slow, steam coated whistle of the night train as it pulled in from London.

Remembers the tall, thin man with the strange, piercing blue eyes crumbling out of an emaciated face, clinging to her mother, their combined sobs choked and aching in the dusky evening light.

Remembers the dense, smoky scent that had clung to him as she had buried her face into the folds of his jacket, clinging to him with all the strength that she had possessed.

Remembers the way that her father had knelt to William and cupped his cheek, trying to smile at his son whom he had not seen grow or change, eyes flicking up in silent question to Claire.

Remembers the way that her brother had shrunk back against their mother’s coat, amber eyes wide and fearful at this strange man who called him ‘blessed.’

‘Faith? Faith, hurry up! We’ll get left behind!’

The weight of Maggie Murray’s hand on her arm, fingers digging into the blue serge of her coat pulls her back to the present.

Ahead of them, she can just make the white tail of Sister MacDonald’s cap disappearing into a throng of grey coats worn by bashful men who touch their caps at the sight of the crocodile of nurses in their long, blue coats, all wearing the white and red armband of the Red Cross on their right sleeve and sweeping, grey dresses and move aside at once with a murmured, ‘sorry sister.’

‘What were ye thinking about anyway, ye ninnie? Ye looked half asleep!’

Maggie’s voice is curt and breathless as they walk as fast as they can without running, pushing past the throng of civilians, to reach the ticket office.

Faith can only shake her head, the jumbling torrent of her thoughts beyond cohesive explanation.

Instead, she hikes up her skirts and grabs her cousin’s hand. Together, they run, rubber soled shoes slapping against the cobblestones, their sudden breath of laughter making passers-by stop and stare at the two red headed nurses, who ran with their coats flying, the tails of their caps streaming out behind them.

For the next few hours, those moments of wild, unabashed freedom are nearly driven entirely from Faith’s mind.

All she can think about is the stream of men before her; wild eyed, grey faced men that do not look like men at all.

Some of their faces are almost invisible under the soiled, bloody bandages that are wrapped around their heads, only the haunted whites of their eyes showing her that they are alive at all.

They are lines of humanity clothed in remnants of soiled green, grey and blue battledress, clutching to the frayed string on which their identity has been scrawled on crumpled yellow paper in fading blue ink with claw like hands.

Most of them are too shocked to speak.

Slowly, Faith guides boys that can’t be much older than Brianna to the ambulances sent by the Ragimore Hospital, bathes their wounds, ties bandages, reapplies dressings, finds sticks for those whose limbs are no more and tries not to think.

Overhead, the sun is slowly setting in a wide, deep death against the blazing purple of the heather.

The orderlies are trying their very best to lighten the heavy atmosphere as they serve cups of piping hot tea, crack jokes and wink at the nurses whenever their eyes are not on their work.

Faith finds herself redoing bandages and bathing faces, trying to smile in a soft, sympathetic manner as the men under her touch writhe away from her hands, barking out expletives as her alcohol-soaked cloths catch at patches of agonisingly tender skin.

Later, they will be reprimanded severely by Sister MacDonald for daring to swear in front of her nurses, but Faith won’t hear it.

Instead, she holds heads and hands and watches faces slowly come to life out of blackened masks.  

It doesn’t feel real.

Any of it.

It doesn’t feel real that she’s running up and down the platform, all dignity forgotten, barely conscious of the fact that each footstep she takes leaves a bloody mark on the cobbles.

She feels apart from herself, an observer looking down on the sea of mutilated lives that continue to spill out of the carriages.

‘N… Nurse? Nurse Fraser?’

She’s just come back from propping up a lad who has lost his leg and has bandages covering part of his face, the site of his left eye a gaping, empty hole underneath his bandages, when she hears it.

‘Thank ye, nurse,’ he’d whispered, his voice, a soft, broken croak as she’d left him, called away by the insistent tones of an orderly.

Two men are staggering up to her, one all but carrying the other, whose legs are dragging under him, his jaw a mangled mess of blood and bone splinters beneath the bandages, his blond head lolling against his companion’s shoulder, eyes fluttered shut.

She knows that voice.

The weight of large, work-worn hands encasing hers as they had stood in the shade of the horse chestnut tree, the rumble of the late afternoon traffic falling away until it just been the two of them.

Feather dark hair flopping down against high, fine cheekbones and hazel eyes that had blazed with unshed tears.

‘Dinna weep for me, meine weiße Taube‘, whispered with a broken insistency as he had cupped her cheek and thumbed away her tears.

But she had wept, her heart cracking again and again at the thought of him. Had wept and raged at the black looks that were shot in her direction whenever she ventured into Broch Mordha.

They were looks that spoke more than any words could dream to do and their memory still haunts her.

‘Doctor… Doctor Peterson?’

Her voice quavers in her throat, not sounding her own.

The wide hazel eyes seem to come alive at that, a tiny chink of light flickering through the darkness, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that could be a smile.

‘Albert? Ebren?’

Her voice is lost in wonder as she takes a tiny step towards them both.

The blond head slowly lifts itself from Albert’s shoulder; distant blue eyes cracking open an inch.

‘Kleine Schwester?‘

Yes.

He looks older now than the boy she had knelt beside on the wards, ripping his blue pilot’s uniform apart. Looks older than the boy whom she had sat with when he had regained consciousness from the anaesthesia, holding his hand and telling him gently that it would be all right, that he was safe, that nothing mattered apart from his recovery, the lines of war drawing deep gullies across a youthful, handsome face.

‘Ebren?’

Her voice is barely a whisper and the blue eyes widen a fraction, a shaft of memory stirring from beyond their shuttered gaze.

A tremulous laugh breaks from her lips and without caring what anyone says, she finds herself stepping into their joint embrace.

Three pairs of arms hold each other up, drinking in each other’s scents, laughing through their tears as she finds herself passed into Albert’s arms, drinking him in.

He reeks of the sharp scent of hunger and fatigue, his face lined and ragged in the dying half-light.

But when his lips touch hers, they are the same and for that she can only weep, laughing through her tears as she clings to him wordlessly, not caring who sees.

‘Yes, it’s me. You’re back. You’re home.’ 

#mine #writing #fanfiction #outlander #ww2 au #albert peterson #faith fraser #ebren krause #blood of my blood #thoughts?

[little-blue-bi-blog]

Moving In

dream daddy au, bbs

__

Tamara Fong, teenager, daughter of Evan Fong and soon-to-be high school graduate. She wasn't adopted, he had settled down with a sweet woman.

About a year before they were going to move, something had come up. Angelise Fong, married to Evan Fong, had to rush off. She was a police officer and apparently they had found a body of what appeared to be a killer - boy, they were wrong. It was one of her ex-boyfriends, and he had gotten word of the marriage of her and Evan. He had dealt with it for months, then pulled the trigger. Every guy that she had gone to investigate with agreed, "You should have given him a chance." They didn't know that she had dated him, but he became abusive and demanding, her husband was the opposite. He yelled because he always played video games.

After Evan had heard of what happened, he went down to the station. He and Tamara both. They started blaring "Turn Down For What" and jamming, soon the police realized who they were and went out to laugh.

And now here they were. Moving into a new house, one without the memories, one without Angelise. Evan wasn't too sad, he missed her immensely, however. Both him and Tamara looked at the new house as they approached, grinning.

Tamara looked at Evan. "New house, Dad! You excited?"

"I have to make NEW friends, Tam, I'm ecstatic," Evan replied with a hint - well, more like a fuck ton - of sarcasm in his voice. He looked around. "Maybe they have a coffee shop around here. That'd be nice."

"They do! I checked, it's s'posed to be a really good one, too! Run by two guys, one Irish and.... a Hispanic-y dude? Who wrote this?"

"Bottom le-"

"Jonathan Denis. Jonathan Denis wrote this."

Evan shrugged and unbuckled, opening his door. "He sounds adorable. Any pictures?"

"Jeez, Dad, you sure you're completely straight?"

"I'm bi, we've been over this. Your mother knew when she married me."

They both got out completely, grabbing a few bags (including one from Chipotle), and went to the front door. Evan unlocked it and pushed it open, a clean interior being revealed. "Oh my God, that's a neat fuckin' house! Look, Tyler!" A Southern accent with a hint of insanity spoke, laughing.

"Fuck off, Jon. Someone moved in."

"You have a nice garden! I have a kid too! A dog!"

Tamara gasped and dropped the bags, forcing me to put mine down and dragging me over. "We're the new family!"

"I need to unpack!"

Jonathan grinned and held out his hand. "I'm Jonathan, I live across the road, this is Tyler, he has a dog named Kino, and-"

"Jesus, calm down, Jon," Tyler interrupted. He smiled and put out his hand to Tamara. "I'm Tyler, I live down the street, you have a fuck ton of neighbors. Good luck with us. Oh, and if you'd like to, we can all grab our friends and go out! Coffee shop is actually run by someone in this place, too. They're cool. Kind of."

Evan laughed and shook Jonathan's hand, Tamara doing the same to Tyler. "Woah! Dad, this guy is huuuge," she whispered, Jonathan laughed and winked. "In multiple places I've heard." "What the fuck."

"Kelly said so!"

Evan nodded and glanced at the house across the street. Adorable blue house, sidewalk leading up, plenty of flowers, and a dog staring at us through the window. Jonathan turned and waved. "That's my Baby...."

"Dad. Dad. Dad, you've found a friend. Keep him for the dog."

Tyler waved. "Anyway, I need to get going, feel free to stop by whenever you see a ton of people, like, on Saturday or something. I'm having a party."

Jonathan nodded and waved at Tamara. "And don't worry about messes, they're normal for about half of us."

Everyone started to laugh, Evan took the time to examine Jonathan. He had a pair of black skinny jeans and a blue tank top, a pair of black sneakers as well. Tyler had on a wilder outfit, zebra stripe pants, white shirt with Wildcat printed across the front. White sneakers pulled it together.

Jonathan waved and went to start walking across the street, Tyler went to walk down the street.

Tamara looked at Evan and smirked. "They seem nice, riiiight?"

"I'm not going to date anyone at first sight, kiddo."

"But Daaaaad, I need someone before you go to college! Wait... I... I think I messed up..."

Evan laughed and went back to the front door, picking up all of the bags. He walked inside. "Tamara, something about coffee?"

"Father, please, you know me."

He rolled his eyes and set down the bags, grabbing his wallet. He nodded towards the street. "Come on, then. Coffee at that-"

"It's called.... The Coffee Potato? What even is that name?"

"Isn't one of the people, like, Irish?"

Tamara shrugged as she followed along. "Possibly, Pops. Guess we'll never know." They pointed out little things as they walked, spotting a man with the top of his hair dyed blue, a man yelling because of a game, two women walking a brown toy poodle, and a man getting out of a truck.

Although they saw plenty, it only took them about ten minutes to get to the coffee shop. It was a nice size, although no one was really in there from what they could see. Tamara almost immediately ran in, Evan tapping away on his phone.

Tamara looked a lot like her mother. Short hair dyed purple, however. Small body but big heart.

A lanky man walked from the back. "Hello! I'm David, I co-own this place," he said happily, clapping and waving. He had an Irish accent that made him sound a lot happier. A short Hispanic man ran after him.

"David! I told you to watch the brownies!" "Sorry, Lui..." David slipped off a brown apron, showing his Rick and Morty tee shirt and all of his black jeans. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Cute hair."

Tamara smiled. "Thank you."

Lui cleared his throat. "I'm Lui, David and I stay down the street, weird looking house."

Tamara held out her hand. "I'm Tamara, this is my father, Evan. We live across the street from Jonathan." Both Lui and David burst into laughter. "Fockin' hell, you don't know how he is? He's really gay, gayer than Craig!" "I'm bisexual," Evan mumbled, both the others stopping. David picked up Lui.

"We are too, he's just..... it's the way he acts. It's hilarious." Tamara laughed and nodded. "He seems like it."

Lui motioned towards the counter. "I'm guessing you two actually wanted coffee?"

Tamara and Evan nodded. "I'd like a cappuccino, she'd like a-" "Same thing, please," Tamara interrupted.

Lui nodded and ran off to make their order, David looking outside. "It's gettin' late, can I go home to Joe and Tony?" "No, Nogla, you can't." Evan tilted his head, David knew the question too well and answered quickly. "It's my nickname. Most people call me David, though, he calls me Nogla because he thinks it's cute and 'fits my personality'."

Tamara grabbed Evan's hand and dragged him off to a table, sitting down. "Really? Nice! My friends call me Tam, or Galaxy." Evan looked at her. "Really? Hm."

Lui rushed back out and set down the coffee. "Woo! Record time!"

"Good job, Shortie." "I can lift you, David. Try me." He pat the top of Tamara's head before rushing off to the back.

David smiled. "He wants a new video game so he's working extra hard." "That's what he is," Evan mumbled, smirking. Tamara flicked his head. "No sexual innuendos, father." "How about we go get the dogs and go to the park? It seems like it'd be fun," David suggested, everyone agreed. Except for Lui. He screeched and ran to David, jumping into his arms.

"'Nother spider?" "It's huge!"

"Like me?"

"Fuck yourself, David! But go kill it!" David giggled and set Lui down before going to the back.

When we actually did get the dogs and went to the park, David sat beside Tamara, both on the ground, and started to pet Joe and Tony.

Until Evan got hit in the head with a ball.

A man with red hair rushed up. "Oh my God, I am so sorry, my kid kicked the ball and he is so freaking strong," he explained, Lui looked up. "Calm down, Brian. Knowing your kid, he liked doing that. Isn't he around eighteen?"

"...... he's eight." "Close enough!"

A small boy walked up and waved. "I'm Jake."

"Jacob, go talk to-"

"Cute kid," Tamara said with a small wave. Jacob blushed and shrugged.

Evan put out his hand to Brian. "My name is Evan and that is my daughter Tamara, we just moved in not too long ago."

"We still have to meet a lot of people!" Tamara nodded and rubbed her eyes. She gasped. "My eyeliner! It was perfect!"

A laugh came from behind us before a dog ran up. A dalmatian.

Tyler ran up. "Kino, no!" A blonde woman followed, still giggling. "I feel you, kid......" Tyler looked at us. "Hi. I know you." "Hi, Tyler."

"Brian." "Tyler, be nice," the woman whispered.

"Kelly, please."

The conversation continued on for a bit, then everyone split up and went home. Evan and Tamara spent a bit to finish putting together furniture, only about a bookcase and a chair.

When they were finished, they simply plopped onto the couch and turned on the television. Family Guy was on, surprisingly.

"Doesn't it come on later?" Tamara asked quietly, only earning a small shrug from her father.

"Doesn't matter..... I love you." "Love you too, Dad."

xxx - little_blue_bi

#bbs squad #vanossgaming #h2o delirious #the gaming terroriser #daithi de nogla #i am wildcat #dream daddy

[roman-winter]

tagged by  @sleepygirl-writes​ <3

5 things you’d find in my bag

my mirror sunglasses

an umbrella

an 8 inch wrench lmao

bandaids bc i always hurt myself at work

my iron pills

5 things you’d find in my bedroom

a million pillows

a million books

incense

weird decorative items like a voodoo hand and a birdcage with a skull in it

literally all of my belongings bc i live in a studio apartment lmao

5 things i’ve always wanted to do

publish a novel

get a medusa neck tattoo

move to berlin

fall in love

get a dog and a cat

5 things that make me happy

being able to come home and just chill tf out and not deal w roommates

writing w my amazing rp partners

sitting on the t when it’s close to empty looking out the window listening to good music

talking to my parents on the phone

watching live theater

my comfy bed

5 things i’m currently into

atomic blonde

rick and morty

elliot fletcher like let me be him but also let me date him

true crime podcasts

dick grayson/poison ivy run away w me au whoops

5 things on my to-do list

figure out which cosplay to do which day of bcc lmao

apply for sephora job

make doctor’s appointment to REALLY get things going

work on novel idea

go to the store asshole

tagging: anyone who wants to do it bc i’m lazy and most of my friends have been tagged already!

#; about #it's been so long since i've done one of these things #which is weird bc i love talking about myself lmao

[lurkingcrow]

An excuse to give a certain Jedi all the hugs

Ok, this is entirely @forcearama 's fault - her recaps not only got me into TCW, but gave me all sorts of Kenobi feels. I’m not completely happy with this, but It's been hanging around on my drive unfinished for long enough, so here, have a silly Mortis AU created purely to ensure Obi-Wan gets a well deserved hug. Outside the thunder roars, a cacophony of light and noise as the planet tears itself apart in an orgy of chaos and destruction. Inside the cave however it is quiet, the silence only broken by the  crackling of the fire and occasional rustle of clothing as Ahsoka shifts in her sleep. Obi-Wan should be sleeping too. Who knows what new impossibility Mortis will throw at them in the morning?  But rest eludes him. The visions have left him unsettled, his mind turning itself over and over in an attempt to make sense of it all. Ahsoka had refused to speak of what she had seen, but if it was anything like his own experience... ( "you must realise with his power this is a very dangerous place to be" says a ghost ) 

He wishes he could convince himself that it was just a dream - nothing more than his worry for Anakin and his subconscious desire see Qui-Gon again manifesting itself in an unusually vivid manner, but Obi-Wan is a realist. Their strange arrival. The disappearance of the shuttle and the constantly changing seasons. The way the Force permeates the very air... If there was anywhere in the universe that a ghost could make its presence felt it would be here, where reality itself seems to twist and bend ("this planet is both an amplifier and a magnet" but of what? )   His Master had urged caution and Obi-Wan is no fool. Experience taught him long ago that when Qui-Gon Jinn warns of danger it will surely follow (he suppresses the old ache inside his chest. now is not the time for grief). And there is good reason to be wary.  Regardless of their motivations, the focus of these unknown force users upon Anakin and his destiny as the Chosen One is disturbing. There is danger here, far beyond the physical and Obi-Wan is worried. Anakin is as brilliant as a thousand suns, and just as volatile. He is proud, oh so proud of the man his student has become, but the strain of attachment that Master Yoda warned him of so many years ago runs strong through them both. Perhaps Qui-Gon should never have entrusted the boy to him. He knows himself, he knows what he would do to keep his former Padawan (brother, partner, two halves of one whole) safe and well. With all his power and passion what lengths might Anakin go to to protect those he considers his own? (he buries the guilt, the knowledge of his own inadequacy. now is not the time for regret.) But they are a team. (the team, hope of the republic and why does the honour feel more like a chain?) Where one may falter the other will be there to catch them.  As soon as the tempest eases he will wake Ahsoka and they will set out to collect their missing member and get off this planet before disaster ensues.  (he eases away the certainty that it is already too late, that he has already begun to lose Anakin to forces outside his control. now is not the time for doubt.) The sharp noise of rock clattering across crystal interrupts his thoughts, and in a split second he is on his feet, lightsaber at the ready. A quick glance shows Ahsoka still asleep - somehow Obi-Wan doubts she will wake. Whatever knowledge the Force wishes to impart would seem to be private. His eyes scan across the cavern, alighting on the rear wall where a humanoid shape is slowly emerging from the shadows. Unlike his last visitor, the figure does not glow with ghostly light.  Indeed the stranger appears distinctly mundane. A dusty cloak shrouds a form that looks to be human standard, slighter and smaller perhaps than he is used to, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Their features are hidden in the deep folds of the hood, but Obi-Wan cannot sense any animosity.  In fact unless he is very much mistaken the figure appears to be radiating a distinct sense of confusion.  (he wouldn't be the only one…) It doesn't appear that he has been noticed yet. Given the apparently non-hostile nature of his visitor, Obi-Wan shifts his blade to a less threatening position and opens with a friendly greeting. "Hello there!" Confusion turns to shock as the figure spins to face him. The movement reveals dark clothing and a  gloved hand reaching for the lightsaber clipped to a well worn belt. For a moment there is silence as they assess one another. Neither party moves. Pulling out his best Negotiator voice, the one he uses to charm reluctant senators and skittish royals, Obi-Wan addresses the stranger again. "Come my friend, no need to be shy!" He smiles winningly, one eyebrow raised. He steps back, switching off his saber and  gesturing to the flames in front of him. "This is a strange and troubling place, but you are most welcome to share our fire." Obi-Wan has experienced a wide variety of reactions to his particular brand of diplomacy, over the years; friendly delight, irritated disdain, polite interest, occasionally breathless swooning - Anakin always looks so smug when that happens. But the sense of joy and recognition mixed with a faint hint of nauseated horror is completely unexpected. And somewhat startling. Whoever this is they are strong in the force. Obi-Wan had not been probing and yet he could feel their presence, bright and warm like the midday sun, reaching out as if to embrace him. As if that thought had made itself known the stranger's shields abruptly slam down with a faint air of apology. Having ascertained that his new friend seemed to mean him no harm Obi-Wan felt it time to begin the introductions - he could hardly keep calling him "Stranger" after all, it would be most rude. "I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, currently on assignment to investigate the source of a distress signal emanating from this planet. You appear to recognise me, but I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I am certain we have not met before." Another smile, a little more genuine this time. "Your force presence is rather distinctive." Gloved hands reach up to remove the heavy hood, revealing the face a young man with strangely familiar features. He is smiling broadly, blue eyes shining with sincerity as he opens his mouth to speak but nothing emerges. Blond brows furrow in confusion as he tries again, only to fall silent once more. With barely a whisper of effort Obi-Wan feels him call on the force for guidance (how easily it responds! powerful indeed, though his technique lacks somewhat in finesse, much like another young man he knows) before looking somewhat resigned. "My name is Luke. I'm sorry, but I can't seem to tell you more than that." He says with a sheepish grin. His accent is pure Rim, unusual for a Jedi - even Anakin had adopted something closer to the smooth tones of Coruscant. On the other hand he hardly knew every member of the order, and given the course of the war it was completely possible for a Jedi to have spent very little time at the temple. Still, Obi-Wan was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this. 

"I can say this is not at all what I was expecting though" the stranger, no, Luke, continues as he moves closer, eyes taking in his surroundings in a series of rapid glances but always returning to Obi-Wan's face. "Oh? What were you expecting, if you don't mind me asking." Obi-Wan asks, gesturing again for him to join him by the fire, hiding his growing unease beneath the veneer of politeness. The apparent interference from the force is alarming, just like everything else on this planet, but it would not do to let his worry show. ( the force tells him there is no danger but all his well honed instincts are screaming; whatever comes he will not leave this cavern the same as he entered) Luke's bright smile turns a little secretive as he nears, and his eyes twinkle with suppressed mirth as he looks up to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "A conversation with someone a bit bluer more transparent than you seem to be." (more ghosts. oh that did not bode well.) "The sudden change in scenery and the fact that I can't feel my companions is also kind of a surprise." The young man adds somewhat wryly. "I don't know exactly where I am now, but I know it's nowhere near where I was a moment ago." There it is. More impossibilities. Obi-Wan hates being right. "I fear it seems to be something of a trend on this planet" he sighs. "Along with ghostly conversations. While I cannot give you answers as to why you are here, if you are still here in the morning I will see what we can do to get you back where you belong. Provided of course you are not a force apparition or some kind of Sith trickery" he mutters. "Which knowing my luck is a distinct possibility." Luke lets out a rather indelicate snort of laughter before reaching for his lightsaber, clearly telegraphing his every move. The blade lights up a bright emerald green, and the young man grins. "Not a Sith." For all their levity the words carry an unspoken weight, a sense of conviction that only comes in the wake of personal struggle and Obi-Wan shifts his assessment of the young knight, for that is what he must be, up several notches​. The war has exposed many Jedi to the effects of the dark side first hand, but few are willing to face their own potential for darkness and risk doubt eroding the foundations of their will.  (a flash of red, a cry of pain, rising anger and it would be so easy to let it consume him, so easy to give in to the rage and betray his master in the worst of ways. but he can never truly forsake those he loves, and the dark retreats). A warm hand around his wrist brings him back to the here and now. "Not an apparition either." Luke says and Obi-Wan can feel the solidity of his presence, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Luke cocks his head to the side and adds "At least not totally, the Force is rather insistent I be here though. Maybe I..." Again his mouth moves as if to continue the thought only to by stymied by the Force itself, and the younger man lets out a frustrated huff.

Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand through his beard. “And of course you can't tell me more. Wonderful. I suppose I should be grateful you don't speak only in cryptic statements that won't become clear until well after the advice would have been useful.”

Luke gives him an undecipherable look. (the fact that it is remarkably reminiscent of anakin’s “ i cannot believe the bantha shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes master” look is neither here nor there) “I could try if you want? I’ve never been particularly good at that sort of thing but my Master was an expert.” He pauses. “Actually, they both did their best to confuse me. One was just more blunt about it”

It startles a laugh out of Obi-Wan, despite the unwelcome reminder that the war orphaned more than a few Padawans nearing knighthood (could he have accepted another master had he not been knighted? or would he have taken anakin and left? he doesn't know and it scares him). “No, no I don't think that will be necessary. Though should you feel the need to live up to your legacy I warn you that I was taught by the best - Master Qui-Gon could turn a prediction about the weather into ominous portent of doom when he wanted to. It amused him far too much...”

He tries to keep his tone light hearted but something in his voice must give away his inner turmoil, as Luke watches him with sympathetic interest.

“It sounds like you still miss him.” There is a note of pain underlying the statement and Obi-Wan could kick himself - he hadn't meant to bring back the other man’s trauma on top of his own. As a councilor technically he should give the standard response about there being no death, only the Force ( and it appears that his master has gone out of his way to demonstrate as much...if only it had been a happier meeting), but given his own experiences as young knight he feels more practical tone will not go astray.

“I do. And I always will.  There is no shame in mourning those who are gone, but we must remember that the best way to honour their memory is to continue on in a way the would make them proud.” He places a hand on the other man's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "I may not know your full story, but from what I see I can only imagine that your Master would be very proud of what you have become.”

There is silence, and Obi-Wan courteously turns away to give Luke a chance to compose himself (he ignores his own emotions, still raw from recollection. his new friend deserves support, not further grief). He hears Luke take a deep breath, and when he next speaks his voice is thoughtful, with only a slight waver betraying his prior emotions. 

"You know, I think I figured out why the force sent me here."

"Oh? Do tell." Obi-wan keeps his voice soft, a polite enquiry with just a hint of amusement. Perhaps he hasn't managed to entirely kriff up this situation after all.

"I... Be.. Master Kenobi, will you trust me?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, ready to make a flippant comment about the wisdom of trusting randomly appearing Jedi knights with mysterious force bindings but stops. There is something deeply serious about Luke's demeanor; an unwavering sense of importance to his question. Does he trust him? He has given him no reason not to, but can Obi-Wan trust anything in this uncanny place? The Force seems to think so, and a Jedi must follow the will of the Force.

He nods. Immediately he is engulfed. His shields are buffeted by overwhelming waves of joy and affection as strong arms wrap tightly around his torso. It is like being surrounded by an ocean, powerful  and deep. It is like lying in the middle of a sunlit field, bathed in warmth and light as clouds move lazily overhead. It is like standing beside his master in the wake of a successful mission,like laughing with his padawan as they show off their lightsaber skills in a friendly spar, like sitting in the mess watching his Grand-Padawan bicker with the men over the latest holonews. Luke embraces him, mind and body and for a moment there is no war, no doubt, only peace.

He doesn't know how long he basks in the feeling but eventually he notices the soft muttering coming from the vicinity of his neck. Gently he pulls away slightly - not enough to dislodge the other, but enough that he is no longer wedged tightly beneath his chin. “Pardon?”

Luke's head remains bowed, but his voice, though barely a whisper is sincere and accompanies  yet another outpouring of emotion.

“Thank you. Thank you, for everything you've done. For me. For everyone. Thank you.”

Somehow he knows he means every word. But it makes no sense.He does not know Luke,has never met him for all that he feels like an old friend. And yet the Force is clear. Luke cares for him, misses him, is undeniably attached to him and Obi-Wan honestly has no idea how to respond. “I… But...I haven't done anything?”

Luke looks up, cheeks glistening​ with​ tears, but his smile is gentle and his eyes are full of love. “Not yet. But you will... Master.”

Oh. Oh! The Force sings with the truth even as his brain struggles to deny it.  Time and space mean nothing here, and the final proof of this is slowly lowering them both to the ground as Obi-Wan grapples with the revelation. He would be mortified at his reaction but he is too busy dealing with the implications. Time travel. Not just visions but actual time travel. Why would the Force allow this? Does it have to do with him being dead in his (former? future? what is the correct tense for temporal displacement?) student’s time? Why bring him here?

The lightsaber should have been a giveaway, its lines clearly reminiscent of the one tucked into his own belt. Luke lacks Anakin's bulk, and Obi-Wan thinks it must have been pleasant not to have his Padawan towering over him all the time. It seems the dark clothing will remain a constant, though the lack of grease stains and burn marks on Luke's jacket is a nice change. Something about the young knight's face makes his brain itch, but he puts it aside. He’d often thought about taking another Padawan, but between the war and his own doubts he was content with overseeing Anakin and Ahsoka’s partnership. Now he marvels at a future where he is responsible for yet another powerful Jedi with attachment issues and a heart of gold. He can think of far worse legacies. And on that note...

He arches one eyebrow. “An expert at cryptic statements hmm?”

Luke does his best to look contrite. He fails. “From a certain point of view.”

“Oh I definitely taught you that one!” Obi-Wan admits with a rueful grin “I do hope you gave me an easier time of it than your predecessor, I have enough grey hairs as it is.”

Luke laughs helplessly. “I doubt it. You left me your diaries. I had no idea you knew about the incident with the water smugglers. Or the bar f-ghk...” He shakes his head to rethink his words. “But you somehow managed to keep me alive and out of captivity long enough for me to reach adulthood. There was so much you did, so much you gave, and you never said...”

And didn't that sound familiar. Well, at least he knows the future doesn't change him too much. He reaches out and pulls the younger man into his shoulder.

“And I’m sure my older self felt it never needed to be said. Are you happy?”

“What? I mean, I suppose? Things aren't perfect, but my a friends and I, we're working on it. There's a lot to be done, but we can do it.”

“Then whatever he did, I know I would have considered it well worth it.”

For a long moment they sit together in silent contentment. But the night will not last forever, and Obi-Wan needs to be prepared to face the morning.

“ I’m overjoyed to have met you, but I doubt the Force brought you here solely for the purpose of reassuring your old Master that his days of chasing after over-energetic Padawans are not yet done. ”

“No” Luke's expression is serene, without a hint of uncertainty. “ I think that's exactly what the Force intended. Sometimes a single light is all you need to hold back the dark, and without giving anything away, it’s likely things are going to be pretty dark for you in the near future.”

It’s an ominous thought, but between this planet and the war in general Obi-Wan can believe it. Still, it's a bit ridiculous - he could understand if it were Anakin, the Force does tend to favour its Chosen One, but him? He shakes his head in denial, only to be interrupted.

“No, listen Be- Obi-Wan. You are more important than you think. Without you…” Luke's voice stops and starts, the Force intervening as he speaks, but he is intent on passing on his message. “ Without you so many things will be so much worse. I…  Even without me, even right now you have people who need you, who love you, who would miss you. You… If you fall we all fall. Trust me. ”

Luke is earnest, and a horrible feeling settles in his gut as he thinks it through. Anakin, Anakin alone would be enough- hadn't he just thought as much? To lose him would be devastate his former Padawan, with his emotional nature it would not take much more to push him to breaking point. And given the power at his disposal…

His thoughts must show, because Luke nods.

“Attachments go both ways, and I’ve had them used against me. But there is strength there too. Don't underestimate the power in knowing you are loved.” He looks thoughtful. “Which is the point I think. You need to remember that.” A wave of strong affection reinforces his words.

Obi-Wan cannot find it in himself to argue any more. Luke, he muses, will fit right in with the rest of his line. He can already imagine the headaches he will cause among the more orthodox Jedi, it is after all very difficult to rebut a man whose entire debate style seems to be based on unabashed sincerity. (he thinks his master would be proud.he knows he is).  

“ I will. I promise.” He mock glares at Luke. “Even if it means another couple of decades of students past and present  making a nuisance of themselves fretting over my general well being.”

Said nuisance snickers, the expression so familiar. Unrepentant blue eyes look into his own.

“Sorry, I’m told it's genetic.”

The last few things click into place and of course. Of course. It seems his fate is to be forever entwined with that of ridiculous, overdramatic Skywalkers. He takes a deep breath.  He should be angry, outraged in the face of proof that Anakin will leave the Jedi, leave him and all his teachings behind (and now he looks he can see the hint of padmé in luke's cheekbones, the echo of her lips in his smile) but all Obi-Wan can feel is an overwhelming sense of joy. Here is Anakin's child, full grown and strong and so firmly planted in the light. Here stands a knight, tested and true and no doubt recklessly running of to save the galaxy now and then. Here is a future full of hope, in the middle of a present filled with darkness. How can he not rejoice in the gift he has been given?

He places a hand either side of Luke’s face (nephew, student, family. he will not be left alone again.) taking in his features, reaching out to memorise his signature in the Force. He will not waste this opportunity.

“I know you can't tell me anything, as much as I know you want to. But Luke? I am dearly looking forward to meeting you, and to watching you grow.” The part of him that struggles with expressing emotion would leave it there, but if this is his only chance… He clears his throat.  “I doubt you will ever lack for love, not knowing your parents, but just in case, you should know that you most certainly have mine.”

There is something infinitely sad about Luke’s smile.

“Somehow, I think I always knew.”

Obi-Wan doesn't stop to think, he simply pulls his Padawan (nephew, family, hope) back into his arms. Luke takes the opportunity to rearrange things so they are comfortably resting against one another. “Come on.” The young man says softly. “You need to sleep. I’ll bet anything there's a Skywalker in need of rescuing come morning.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “There’ll be more than one if you’re still here. I haven't a clue about the correct protocol in case of time travelling but I know Anakin will find a way to make thing worse.”

The body wrapped around his own shakes with silent laughter, and as he shuts his eyes Obi-Wan cannot help but wonder if he is the only getting a much needed glimpse of the future tonight. ************* In a tower surrounded by lightning Anakin Skywalker cannot sleep. It might be because of the Father's refusal to speak clearly, or the distressing use of his mother's visage by the Son, but most likely it is due to his latest acquaintance.

Anakin glares at the apparition. The apparition glares back. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but if you don't mind I've already had one unwelcome visitor tonight and I would like to get some sleep."

The dark haired woman continues to glare, opening her mouth as if to yell, only for the words to  again be strangled by some unknown force. She snarls, and Anakin is impressed by the sheer amount of outrage contained by that tiny frame.

“I don't know you lady, but whatever is making you angrier than a gundark with mange? Is not my fault.”

Her laughter is borders on the hysterical and her voice stops with sarcasm.

“Of course not! Why should it be? Just because everything else that’s ever gone wrong in my life is!”

Anakin groans. Somehow he doesn't think he’ll be getting much sleep tonight. *********

Obi-Wan is alone when he wakes. A quick prod with the Force tells him Ahsoka is just outside the mouth of the cave, most likely checking that they can safely leave.

 Of his visitor there is no sign, and he would dismiss it as dream but for the dusty cloak, slightly too short in the hem, that has been carefully tucked around his shoulders.

 He smiles, feeling more hopeful than he can remember being since before the war began. Time to go gather his family and get off this rock. Prophecy can go hang, they have a war to win future to forge. Together.

**************** Aaaand that's where the rest of the Mortis arc happens and they leave with no memories and only the vague feelings, except I have decided that the force fucked up and both our generals ended up with a ghostly spectator for the remainder of the clone wars, providing emotional support and advice. Well, Luke does anyway. Leia tends to spend a lot more time screaming at Anakin about his bad ideas, before they start to bond over Padmé's being awesome and their concerns over reckless self sacrificing idiots. Someday I'll get around to writing it.😊

#star wars #my fic

[mp100ficrec]

Soulmate AUs Soulmate AUs Soulmate AUs! Seeing in color AUs are life, and any seemingly one sided love fics are life! Ty ty ty

I feel you anon, I feel you so hard.

He’s Used to It by Wonderjam

Platonic Soulmate/Platonic Hanahaki Disease ReiMob fic. Unfortunately this is the only Soulmate AU I’ve come across so far. 

I will sell my soul to whoever writes more soulmate AUs for mp100, I swear to Mob.

One Sided Love fics I have in abundance!  

Turning Slowly by sorrow_key

Teru has it bad for Mob, and Mob isn’t quite as oblivious as a rock about it. Mob, however, doesn’t know how he feels. Slow Burn.

At the Point of Intersection by Lulatic

Shou confesses to Ritsu, Ritsu doesn’t know how he feels and Shou kind of hates himself a little bit.

in articulo mortis by celestialLuminary

Hanahaki Disease AU. Mobs love for Tsubomi is slowly killing him but is he willing to forget his love for her to save his own life?

The Accelerated Velocity of Terminological Inexactitude by LogicalBookThief

Teru, in his crush-induced stupidity, gives Mob the idea of fake-dating him to get Tsubomi’s attention. 

-Mod K

Kintsukuroi by ribbontype

“Brief snapshots of a life. Teruki Hanazawa finds himself a little too far from the person that he was, and a little too shy of the person he’d prefer to be.” (I love this a lot.)

of cosmic potential by ayadormouse

“A touch from a commoner like him could cause such a chaotic force in the deific boy. […]

But as he watched Mob’s eyes turn starry at one look from the pretty girl with the light pink barrette, he felt like much, much less than that.” 

The Way the Sunflower Grows by uglyelleth

Minegishi’s regret as he gives up on confessing his love for the sake of Serizawa’s new life. 

Do I Wanna Know? by higgsburied

Mob’s pretty sure he and Teru are in a relationship. Unfortunately, they’re not quite on the same page.

For You I Bleed Myself Dry by Dekubakus

Hanahaki AU, in which Mob’s got it bad for Teru. Too bad the blond’s dating his brother. [major character death]

Тихая гавань by Air-kun

“И пускай его спасительная гавань теперь сузилась до этого небольшого предмета, Сэризаве кажется, что он чувствует тепло рук Тойчи��о. Не отдавая себе отчета в том, что делает, он целует рукоять зонта, и смех в голове, наконец, умолкает…”

Shimazaki makes fun of Serizawa’s feelings for Touichirou.

-Mod S

#Request #soulmate AU #Pining #long post #english #mp100 fic recs #russian