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spaghetti-explosion · 1 year

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Today's performance will consist of four acts.

We begin with a duel. The stage, an open field at the edge of a tiny village.

A company of soldiers stands in formation, rifles and swords glittering in the sunset. The burnished crimson glow makes their silence all the more threatening.

At the front stand the dragoons, armored warriors, tall and terrible in full battle dress. Each is worth more in combat than the entire company behind them.

Their commander stands forth to address the village. His voice is clear and powerful, his words heavy with undisguised arrogance. ｨ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・縲蓋e know that you are hiding a traitor, a fugitive from Kurakake's rebellion. Hand him over at once. If you refuse…縲・

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・縲蓋e will tear your village apart to find him!縲・・ His words are directed at the throng of villagers that has formed a wall before their home.

Not one fails to understand the threat, nor doubts its sincerity. Nevertheless, few succumb to fear.

They are ruled first and foremost by anger. . Jackals… Ghouls… ｯ They have not the courage to shout these epithets at their targets. They must content themselves instead with hushed whispers, sharing their hate with those beside them. Rokuhara…! �� They speak the name like a curse.

Rokuhara. The leader of these men repeats his demand.

The villagers do not respond. Anger and hate still sizzle among them. > The Rokuhara officer delivers a final ultimatum. ｺ The soldiers train their rifles upon the villagers.

Now the villagers cease their muttering. Yet not one comes forward to comply.

Silent malice, met with silent defiance. ｺ The confrontation is at an impasse, with all parties tensed for the Rokuhara officer's command. Before he can give the order to fire, however, something changes.

The voices pick up again, louder than before, as the wall of villagers parts to reveal a new figure striding to the fore.

You mustn't! Go back! They'll kill you! The villagers call for the man to stop. In answer, he says only窶・ｲ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ //縲御ｸ冶ｩｱ縺ｫ縺ｪ縺｣縺溘・ "Thank you for your kindness." ・ The warrior strides toward the army. He, too, is clad in armor, the same as that worn by the Rokuhara warriors窶不ave in one respect. Their armor is as good as new, shining fresh from the polisher's stone. His, however, is beaten and worn, the damage enough to hinder its performance. It is a difference emblematic of his status as the remnant of a defeated rebellion.  The rebel warrior takes another step, but stops when a tiny hand seizes his steel fingers. He looks down to see a girl, perhaps nine or ten years old. She grips his hand with all her strength, refusing to let go. Without a word, he reaches out with his other hand and pats the girl's head, then gently frees himself from her grasp. Her eyes fill with tears, but the warrior does not look back. Leaving her behind, he advances on the Rokuhara formation. Several dragoons draw their swords upon seeing this, eager to claim the prize for themselves, but a gesture from their commander halts them. He alone strides forth to meet the fugitive warrior. 8 The two men square off at the center of the field. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "What are you doing here, Saginuma?" ﾛ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Merely paying my respects to my old commander, Major Kakei. Not that you deserve your rank." ｳ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "…Hmph. You will keep your promise to spare the village?" ﾈ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "If they hand you over, they will not be punished. I am a man of my word." d //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Very well. So… what now? You cannot mean to challenge me yourself." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Perhaps you should ask your men for help." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "I fail to see the need." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "……" ﾕ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "As I recall, you have never been defeated in single combat. I'm afraid that I cannot allow you to take that fame with you to hell." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Your legend dies with you! There can be no honor for one who has betrayed Rokuhara!" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Oh…?" ﾙ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Your wings are clearly too damaged to fly. Out of respect, I will face you on the ground." ｰ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "You've learned to talk like a warrior, Saginuma. To think that a whelp like you would grow so bold." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "I gladly accept your challenge. Your head will mount my mast as I sail to the underworld." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "It is your head that will fall today, Kakei. I look forward to drinking out of your wrinkled skull tonight." ・ Each having spoken his piece, the Rokuhara officer and the fugitive swordsman, two men with no small history between them, draw their swords and face off for the last time. The soldiers and villagers alike hold their breath. ・ Saginuma assumes the seigan position, the point of his sword held at eye level, ready to claim his enemy's life with a single lightning thrust. ・ Kakei assumes the raito position, sword held over his right shoulder, ready to cleave his foe in two with a single mighty stroke. { And there the warriors remain, motionless. Time rolls on, passing them by. Sweat drips from the villagers' clenched fists, and even most of the Rokuhara soldiers can only look on in amazement. A few among them, however, have grasped the meaning of this stillness. They tremble in anticipation of the exchange to come. The intent of both combatants is clear. ｪ Saginuma will thrust, aiming for the throat. Any slash from his current stance would require him first to pull back his sword, which would give the initiative to his enemy. The thrust is his only option. As strong as dragoon armor is, there are weak points that one can exploit. These are the joints whereby the warrior is able to move, and the most vulnerable of these is the throat. Hence this will be his target. ` Kakei will slash downward, aiming for the neck. This is another weak point in the armor. By tilting his sword slightly as he strikes, he can slide his blade through the gap where helmet meets shoulder and cut diagonally into the chest cavity. As with his opponent, he too would have to reposition his weapon before choosing any other attack. ・ Each has already chosen his strike. Yet neither moves. Why? Because each warrior has prepared a counter, and knows that his opponent has done the same. If Saginuma thrusts first, Kakei will turn his body to avoid the attack, then strike to claim victory before Saginuma can recover. If Kakei slashes first, Saginuma will take one step back to escape, then rebound with his thrust and slay his enemy. Each has a defense to go with his attack, the former no less deadly than the latter. Knowing that death awaits should they strike, the combatants have entered a stalemate. In such situations, the duel becomes a contest of endurance, physical and mental. For this stalemate to continue, both Saginuma and Kakei must hold their stances perfectly steady, while at the same time maintaining the intense focus needed to react to their enemy. This effort exacts a tremendous toll, like walking a tightrope across a chasm. Sooner or later, one will falter. The other, if he still has the strength, will seize that chance and strike. Saginuma, the Rokuhara commander. Kakei, the rebel warrior. Who will falter first remains to be seen. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "……" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "……" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "……" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "…ngh…" ﾅ Age has begun to tell the tale. Saginuma is in his physical prime. Kakei, however, is several years his senior, old enough to feel age creeping up on him. The difference is not great, but it is meaningful. If this continues, Kakei will eventually succumb to exhaustion and become fodder for Saginuma's blade. Should he wish to avoid that fate, he has no choice but to strike first and stake his remaining strength on the only hope of victory. It is a slim hope, however. Saginuma, who valiantly chose to face this veteran swordsman alone, shows no sign of overconfidence. His senses are trained on his former superior, ready to react to the slightest motion. Thus Kakei's fate would appear to be sealed. Death if he strikes first, and death if he waits. To an observer, the two warriors might seem as statues. Beneath the surface, however, the scales of victory and defeat, glory and disgrace, are already tipping in one side's favor. ﾓ Time flows on, carrying the silent battle to its end. Slowly but surely, the older warrior's breathing grows labored, and the trembling of his knees becomes ever more pronounced. A number of soldiers smile to see these signs of the tilting balance. Fortunately, none of the villagers has noticed窶冨et. Still, a sense of doom seems to have reached them. You can do it!窶・/I>one of them cries. Perhaps that cheer was what he needed. H Kakei strikes, launching his body forward with a sharp exhalation. , Saginuma responds without missing a beat, as calmly as if strolling along a beach. The battle is decided. No deity has intervened in Kakei's favor. He is committed to his attack, and now all that remains is for the inevitable sequence of events to play out. Saginuma will dodge Kakei's slash, and with his counterthrust, end the old warrior's life. There is no other way this can end. Unless, of course, one of the fundamental variables is not what it seems to be. For example… what if Kakei only繪・I>looks繪幼ommitted? ﾃ Rather than cleave the air before Saginuma's eyes, Kakei's sword suddenly shifts direction and reseats itself at his left side in preparation for a rising blow. Feign a downward slash to force Saginuma to retreat, then take him with the real slash窶付hrough the armpit or groin窶婦hile he defends. Kakei's plan is a simple one. However, if this had been his intent from the beginning, a seasoned swordsman like Saginuma would have read it. It is effective precisely because it was spontaneous, born in a flash of desperate hunger: Kakei's need to crush this繪兎nemy, though it will not change his ultimate fate. In a fraction of a second, the balance has shifted once again. q And now Kakei looses his true attack, slashing upward to cleave his enemy in two. The decisive stroke. //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "……" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "……" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "…Saginuma…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Heh. Heh heh… hahaha!" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "……" p //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "You knew that this was your last battle. Why not trade your life for mine?" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "You set your sights too high, old man." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Guh…!" ・ Blood spurts from the old warrior's mouth, seeping through the cracks in his armor. The villagers cry out in dismay. Kakei never completed his slash. Before his sword could reach its target, Saginuma's thrust had pierced his throat. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "I was prepared to join you in hell, if need be." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "My plan was to strike the moment you moved, regardless繪弛f how you attacked." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "……" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "But you… you wanted a victory繪奏o take with you into death, so you resorted to cheap trickery!" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "And now you end with nothing." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Gurgh…" 2 //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Die, Kakei." //笳・◆縺・＠繧・≧繧翫ｇ縺・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "You are the last warrior who dares defy Rokuhara. At last, all Yamato will be united beneath Shogun Ashikaga Moriuji." //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Glory will be ours!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Never…!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "……" g //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "Okabe… Lord Yoritsuna still lives! There are many brave heroes waiting to rise up!" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ剰誠莠ｺ縲・ "You will never have your glory!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Okabe? He's an old man waiting to die. And do you seriously expect me to fear those too cowardly to face us?" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Save a place for them in hell, Kakei!" X With that, Saginuma draws his wakizashi and strikes the head off his defeated foe. ｢ Kakei's torso falls away, landing with a dull thud. The villagers have no words to express their horror. They can only stare at the corpse of the man who for a short time had been their friend. On the other side of the field, however, excitement and awe are spreading through the ranks. One of the armored warriors steps forward and, bowing deeply, takes the severed head from his triumphant commander. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Magnificent, sir." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Heh. It was nothing." ｢ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Sir… what about the village?" ｳ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "I promised to spare them if they handed Kakei over." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Sir." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Did they hand him over?" ｢ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "…No. He came forward on his own." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Then we have no choice, do we?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "……" ｳ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "The seeds of rebellion must be torn from the field." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Yes sir!" ` The dragoon signals to the rear of the army. A soldier lifts a horn to his lips and blows. ^ The rousing note echoes across the field, and the soldiers raise their voices in answer. O As one, they ready their rifles and advance. Here, at last, the villagers regain their senses窶病nd are overwhelmed by terror. They know what is about to happen. They know what their fate is to be. These expectations are not betrayed. And so the play enters its second act. The tragedy of this little village. ﾖ To the heavily armed soldiers, this is not a battle so much as a hunt, and an easy one at that. These prey are far less agile than the beasts of the wood, and in their terror have taken leave of their reason. m As villagers flee in panicked disarray, soldiers take aim at their backs and fire. One man goes down with a bullet in his spine, vomiting blood and tears as he convulses in the dirt. As villagers kneel and beg for mercy, soldiers lay into them with their swords. One old woman clutches her cloven head, screaming as brains scatter like pulp from a shattered melon. The soldiers kill. The villagers die. These roles are fixed, with no hope of reversal. This is no battle. Perhaps it is not even a hunt after all. At length, however, a handful of villagers find the strength to fight amid despair. 6 Knives, scythes, axes. Arming themselves with whatever they can find in their attics and sheds, they hide in the shadows and wait for careless soldiers to pass, then fall upon them from the rear. An old hunter with his trusty rifle proves particularly deadly, moving skillfully from cover to cover while sniping soldiers at every opportunity.

With each soldier who goes down beneath his crosshairs, the woodsman sinks deeper into a mad ecstasy. I'll kill you all, he thinks, enraptured.繪・I>I'll pay you back for what you've done.

Alas, his vengeance is not to be. A terrible demon, for whom the hunter is but an insect, has set its sights upon him.

The old sharpshooter's skill at concealment is the product of a lifetime's experience. From the ground, he is all but invisible. ﾂ From the air, however, his position is clear. To a warrior borne aloft on wings of steel, the hunter is not a force of nature to be feared, but a mouse caught in an inescapable trap. ・ Seeing the chaos the hunter is sowing, one dragoon dives straight for his head.

Some sixth sense lifts the hunter's gaze. There, plummeting from the sky, is a giant of steel. It is the last thing he will ever see. \ The dragoon's draw-and- slash splits the man from crown to groin and demolishes the shack he was using as cover.

When the dust clears, only a deep crevice in the hard earth remains. Such strength is beyond any man.

But these flying warriors are not merely men. The power granted to them by their armor has made them akin to gods.  Until this moment, they have only been observing from above. Now, spurred by their comrade's actions, the circling dragoons descend one after another, bringing with them such violence as to make all that has gone before seem a gentle spring breeze. ・ With each roar of a dragoon's sword, brave villagers die by the dozen. Bodies fill the streets, mangled beyond recognition. % //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Kill the old and sick, those who can't be used."

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Capture the strong men, young women, and children. Hamstring them so they can't run. They'll fetch a good price as slaves."

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Let not one villager escape! Death or servitude are the only fates that await them!"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ "Such is the end of all who defy Rokuhara!"  A storm has come to swallow the village, a whirlwind of fire and steel.

With infantry at their heels, the dragoons move from house to house, street to street, killing or capturing whomever they please. The villagers are powerless against them. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｡縲・ "Damn you!" ・ One villager raises a rifle to his shoulder. Whether he found it in some hunter's chest or on the corpse of a soldier is unclear. Either way, it is a splendid weapon, the sort that can put a bullet through a man's eye at a hundred meters. ｸ The farmer is no marksman, but as luck would have it, all of his shots are on target: one deadly bullet for each of four dragoons.

It is a miracle. Albeit meaningless. M The first dragoon dodges his bullet with the smallest tilt of his head. 7 The second swats his from the air with his sword. ` The third catches the bullet in his metal fist.

The fourth does nothing at all. ﾟ With a dull thwack, the bullet bounces off his armored hide.

All four responses are equally detached, as though the bullets were but gnats or flies. And indeed they might as well be, for all the threat they pose. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｡縲・ "!" ` The man's will to live, perhaps, deserves praise, though his next actions are hardly sane. % Throwing down the useless rifle, he races to the truck parked nearby窶付he only such vehicle in the village窶・br>leaps into the driver's seat, and stomps on the accelerator as though to drive his foot through the floor.

Perhaps he believes that the truck窶婦hose engine remains silent窶婦ill explode into motion with a screeching of tires and carry him far, far away from these devils. Perhaps he even believes that he will rescue his friends from the massacre.

Whatever the case, he is at least spared the knowledge of his failure. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｢縲・ "Heh!" v In a split second, a dragoon takes position overhead and strikes. The winged swordsman's weapon may be more primitive than the farmer's rifle, but it is also far more effective.

The blade plows through everything in its path, metal truck and fleshy human alike.

The villager has no time to feel pain. He must have been born under a good star indeed, for surely a quick end is better than dying窶賓r perhaps even living窶品n agony.

The halves of his face, split neatly down the middle, express no dissatisfaction with this end: a far cry from the wailing of his fellows being rounded up and hamstrung even now. ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｢縲・ "No… No! NO!" & One villager takes off running, ・ knocking down friends and family in his desperate attempt to escape. There is no malice in this, only fear.

Pushing through the chaos, he makes for the open road.

If he keeps running, he will reach the neighboring village. There, he will surely be safe.

Don't look back,繪塗e tells himself.繪・I>Keep running, and before you know it, this will all be over. ] It takes thirty seconds for him to realize that safety will never be his. For those brief moments of blissful ignorance, he runs on, unable to grasp that he is not moving an inch.

At last, it dawns on him. One of the armored warriors has taken him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. His feet have been pumping air all this time. ｩ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲梧綾繧後・ "Get back with the others." ｫ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｢縲・ //縲後≠窶ｦ窶ｦ縺ゅ＝窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Ah… ahh…" ・ The dragoon throws him onto a pile of captured villagers, where a soldier seizes him and slices his ankle just enough to keep him from running again. ﾔ One by one, villagers are rounded up and reduced to worms. Now and then, a lucky one meets a human end窶品f such a thing exists.

Death or capture are the only fates available to them, just as the Rokuhara commander decreed. And even this choice is not theirs to make.

Whether they run or fight or huddle in fear, in the end their desires are inconsequential. Only the will of the armored has any authority here.

Absolute tyranny rules the village. b //縲雜ｳ鬥悶ｒ蛻・ｉ繧後◆遶･螂ｳ縺ｯ諤昴≧縲・

//縲窶補輔↑縺懊□繧阪≧縲・ Why?窶・/I>wonders the girl who once held a doomed warrior's hand, now lying, ankles slashed, atop a pile of the damned.

Until yesterday, life was quiet and routine.

Her father, a lumberjack, would go out every morning and come back at sunset with bundles of wood. She would play with her friends, or help her mother attend to their daily chores.

Every day was peaceful, the same as the last.

And now it is ruined, shattered to pieces without warning. Why?

Why did these men destroy their village?

The schoolmaster said that bad deeds are punished. If you hurt someone, then you too will suffer.

Did I hurt someone?窶・/I>the little girl asks herself. Did her mother or father? What about the other villagers who died, or those lying nearby, ankles slashed like hers? Were they wrong to take in that man, Kakei, to give him food and a place to sleep? But he was nice. The adults all said they had never known a more honorable warrior. Was it that? Was it something else? t 縲 And if the villagers are being punished for some crime… then what will happen to those who did this? Will the soldiers meet the same fate one day? They have to. Otherwise, the rules don't make sense. But… who? The soldiers are so strong. They wiped out this village in the blink of an eye. Who will do the same to them? Who can punish these titans of steel? Can anyone? If not, then the cycle ends here. The villagers alone will suffer, never knowing what it was they did wrong, and the demons who forced this suffering upon them will never have to answer for it. It's not right. It's not right! It's not right,繪田ries the girl who cannot stand, her voice lost amid gunfire and screams.

Someone, anyone. I won't ask you to help. Just please, please,繪・I>don't let it end with us.

Punish them too. Make them pay for their crimes. Let them suffer just as we have.

The girl prays.

She prays with the sorrow of one who has lost everything, and the anger of one who cannot fathom why.

Please,繪都he begs. This is wrong. Make it right. ｦ ...No. This is not wrong.

It is! If you do something bad, you get punished. That's how the world works!

No.

Then tell me. Tell me the truth.

Throw off your grief. Throw off your anger.

But I can't. Grief and anger are all I have.

You need no grief. You need no anger. You need no hate or malice.

I do!

You do not.

Why not!?

Heh. 4 縲The girl hears a verse. Y And then she realizes that she has been talking to someone all along. The other voice is laughing. Its laughter is gentle, affectionate, as it recites a lullaby. Grieve not, rage not, hate not, it says. All are meaningless. Life has no need of such things. 縲 The girl hears a verse. f Laugh, sing, clap your hands. Dance and dance with joy in your hearts. Throw off the foolish trappings of humanity. Live for the sake of life itself. Do this, and all shall be revelry. Sadness will no longer have a place in your heart. You cannot? Nonsense. Anyone can. You have merely forgotten. Remember! Your purpose is joy! ｻ縲 The girl hears a verse. And then she knows that she was mistaken all along. Yes! I see it now! The verse is a song, the song of life. I was worried about right and wrong, but that's not what life is about! It teaches her the truth. Where there is life, there is no sin to be punished.

Life should just繪礎e,繪・I>pure and true to its desires.

The girl joins her voice to the song. She sings of life and joy.

Ahh, if only we'd lived free from the beginning!

If only we'd known that life itself is joy!

Let us live pure and true, like the beasts we are.

・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｣縲・ "Stop! Please! Spare me!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Nah." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・､縲・ "I don't want to die!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｢縲・ "Too bad!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・･縲・ "I want to live…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｣縲・ "Die." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・ｦ縲・ "I'm gonna live…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・､縲・ "Nope." I 縲・tis time to pose that eternal question: To be or not to be, we ask縲・ J 縲慨o let begin this comedy, on the stage where mad laughter does ring!縲・・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "…?" ｮ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｢縲・ "What am I hearing? A kinchojo transmission?" ｽ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ "No… it's something else. It feels like it's inside my head." ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・､縲・ "Where's it coming from?" P 縲概hunder howls as the loyal dog sinks his teeth into the thief's soft flesh縲・ a 縲蟹n her warm nest, the chick calls for her mother, closed eyes blind to the slithering snake縲・ V 縲外n the wide savannah, the lion stalks his prey, golden mane puffed up with pride縲・ d 縲概he stream burbles softly as frolicking children crush the frog's eggs beneath their bare feet縲・ L 縲該ou who preach life's sacred meaning, heed the jester's heartfelt lies縲・ Y 縲該ou who fear death's cold embrace, know that his mask is but a mirror painted black縲・ J 縲害uestion life's purpose, and the jester and death shall lift a spoon縲・ P 縲界mbrace life's pleasures, and the jester and death shall doff their crowns縲・ L 縲崖un and dance, beasts of the plain, laugh and sing and feast and fight縲・ J 縲皆or now all chains and cages have crumbled to dust beneath your feet縲・・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｣縲・ "Ah… aughhh!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Ugh… guh, ahh…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・､縲・ "Guhg… gah…" L //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "What the hell? There's something wrong with these people."

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ "Have they gone mad?" ｺ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ "No, the men are acting strange too. What's happening here?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後〓縺・ｦ窶ｦ・溘・ "…?" K 縲概he man revered as God's messenger forsakes his faith, vomiting blood縲・ a 縲概he man hailed as the world's conqueror fails in his quest and drowns, still atop his horse縲・ b 縲概he princess chooses love over country and is led to the guillotine amid the stench of offal縲・ c 縲概he orphan seeks sustenance in the blood of worms and rots from within until no flesh remains縲・ j 縲貝isten, all who live, and I will sing your praises, offer forth the malice concealed by weary smiles縲・ u 縲貝isten, all who live, and I will pray for your souls, rest upon the joy which hatred and prejudice have birthed縲・ H 縲晦 life of a hundred years will hear the serenade of fire and steel縲・ F 縲晦 life of seven days will glimmer bright in the silence and dark縲・ //縲謔ｲ蜉・・邨ゅｏ繧翫・ //縲邯壹＞縺ｦ隨ｬ荳牙ｹ輔・

//縲縺昴ｌ縺ｯ縺ゅｋ遞ｮ縺ｮ蝟懷括縺ｧ縺ゅｊ縲・ //縲蜷梧凾縺ｫ蜊倡ｴ斐↑繧区Κ蜉・〒縺ゅｋ縲・ The tragedy ends, and we come to the third act.

It is a sort of comedy, and at the same time, pure horror. ｳ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後ご繝上ぃ繧｡繧｡繧｡繧｡繧｡繧｡!!縲・ "Gahhhhhhhhh!" ｺ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後↑縺｣窶ｦ窶ｦ //縲雋ｴ讒倥∬ｪｰ縺ｫ蜷代°縺｣縺ｦ謦・▲縺ｦ縺・ｋ!?縲・ "Wha窶・ Who do you think you're shooting at!?"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲悟渚騾・☆繧九▽繧ゅｊ縺具ｼ√・ "Have you fools turned traitor!?" ﾀ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後げ繝・√げ繝倥ャ縲√げ繝ｫ繧｡繧｡繧｡縲・ "Guh, geh, gurrrrr!" ﾃ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ丞・螢ｫ・｢縲・ //縲後え繧･繧･繧･窶ｦ窶ｦ繧｡繧｡繧｡繧｢繧｢窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Uhhhhaahaaahaha…" ﾔ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後″窶ｦ窶ｦ閨槭＞縺ｦ縺・ｋ縺ｮ縺九∬ｲｴ讒倥ｉ繧｡!!縲・ "A- Are you even listening!?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲悟ｾ・※縲√←縺・ｦ九※繧る険荵ｱ迥ｶ諷九□縺樞ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Wait. These men have clearly lost their minds." ﾊ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｢縲・ //縲後＞縺｣縺溘＞菴輔□縺｣縺ｦ繧薙□!?縲・ "What the hell is going on here!?" ﾄ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・､縲・ //縲後→縺ｫ縺九￥縲∵ｭ｢繧√ｍ窶補輔〓縺・?縲・ "Stop this at窶婦hoa!" ｨ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・･縲・ //縲後ぐ繧｣窶ｦ窶ｦ繧ｰ繧ｰ縲・ "Giii… guh!" ｲ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・ｦ縲・ //縲後け繝偵ャ縲√・繝上ぃ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Kee! Kaahhhh!" ｷ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後％縺・▽繧峨ｂ縺銀ｦ窶ｦ・溘・ "The villagers too?" ﾃ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後＆縲・ｷｺ豐ｼ谿ｿ窶ｦ窶ｦ縺薙ｌ縺ｯ窶ｦ窶ｦ!?縲・ "Sir! What is this!?" ｽ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後▲窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ //縲縺ｨ縺ｫ縺九￥縲∵・縲・↓謚ｵ謚励☆繧玖・ｒ谿ｺ縺幢ｼ√・ "…Damn! Kill anyone who resists!"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲檎憾豕√・隗｣譏弱・蠕後〒濶ｯ縺・ｼ√・ "We can sort it out afterward!" ｧ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後・窶ｦ窶ｦ縺ｯ繝・ｼ√・ "Y- Yes sir!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｢縲・ //縲御ｺ・ｧ｣・・ //縲菴輔ｒ繝医メ迢ゅ▲縺溘・縺狗衍繧峨ｓ縺碁未菫ゅ・縺医・ "All right, you crazy bastards! I don't know what's gotten into you, and I don't care!"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｢縲・ //縲後←縺ｮ縺ｿ縺｡菫ｺ驕斐′雋縺代ｋ繧上￠縲√・ "You don't stand a cha窶・･ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ螻ｱ蟠弱▲!?縲・ "Yamazaki!?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後↑縺ｫ窶ｦ窶ｦ!?縲・ "What!?" ｴ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後□縲∬ｪｰ縺後ｄ縺｣縺・?縲・ "Who shot him down!?" ｷ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲後←縺薙°繧俄ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "Where did it come from!?" ｮ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・ｦ縲・ //縲後％縺・▽繧俄ｦ窶ｦ縺具ｼ溘・ "Was it them?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後◎繧薙↑鬥ｬ鮖ｿ縺ｪ・√縺ｩ縺・ｄ縺｣縺ｦ窶補輔・ "Don't be stupid! These nutjobs couldn't窶・ｱ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・､縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ縺寂ｦ窶ｦ驫濶ｲ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "S- Silver…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲梧ｴ･逕ｰ・溘・ "Tsuda?" ﾏ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・､縲・ //縲碁橿縺・√莉翫・縺ｯ縲・橿濶ｲ縺ｮ窶補包ｼ√・ "Silver! I saw a flash of窶・・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ繝・ｼ√・ "!" ｦ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後≠縺｣窶ｦ窶ｦ縺ゅ≠!!縲・ "L- Look!" ﾖ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲檎區驫縺ｮ窶ｦ窶ｦ蜉泌・窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "A silver tsurugi…" ･ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲碁橿譏溷捷窶ｦ窶ｦ!?縲・ "Ginseigo!?" ﾊ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後％縲√％縺・▽縺娯ｦ窶ｦ驫譏溷捷縺九ャ!!縲・ "The繪敵inseigo!?" ｻ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲梧ｮｺ謌ｮ閠・橿譏溷捷窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "The Angel of Slaughter…" ｼ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲檎ｴ螢企ｭ秘橿譏溷捷窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "The Destroyer of Worlds…" ｶ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲梧ｭｻ縺ｮ髮ｨ驫譏溷捷窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "The Rain of Death…" ｼ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・ｦ縲・ //縲檎區驫縺ｮ謔ｪ鬲披ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "The Silver Star, Ginseigo!" L 縲・tis time to scorn that eternal question: To be or not to be, we laugh縲・ O 縲慨o let begin this comedy divine, on the stage where lamentations do ring!縲・・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲檎ｩｺ荳ｭ縺ｫ窶ｦ窶ｦ髱呎ｭ｢縺励※縺・ｋ窶ｦ窶ｦ!?縲・ "It's… hovering!?" 6 //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲碁ｦｬ鮖ｿ縺ｪ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ //縲鬟幄｡瑚飴縺倥ｃ縺ｭ縺医ｓ縺縺槭√◎繧薙↑縺薙→縺ｧ縺阪ｋ //繧上￠縺娯ｦ窶ｦ繝・ｼ√・ "It can't be! It's not an airship! Everyone knows tsurugi can't…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "……" ﾌ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲碁嚏髟ｷ繝・ｼ√髫企聞谿ｿ・√驥・・繧抵ｼ√・ "Captain! What do we do!?" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ縺九∵寺縺九ｌ・・ //縲諤ｯ繧縺ｪ縺溘ｏ縺托ｼ√螂ｴ縺後＞縺九↓蜑帛ｼｷ繧偵ｂ縺｣縺ｦ //魑ｴ繧阪≧縺ｨ謇隧ｮ縺ｯ荳鬨弱∵款縺怜桁繧薙〒險弱■蜿悶ｌ縺ｬ //縺ｯ縺壹′縺ゅｍ縺・°・√・ "A- Attack! Stop your whining, fools! It's only one musha! If we attack together, there's no way we can lose!"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲梧寺縺九ｌ!! //縲螂ｴ縺ｮ鬥悶ｒ荳翫￡繧後・螟ｧ蜉溘◇!!縲・ "Charge! Take its head and we'll be heroes!" ､ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後♀窶ｦ窶ｦ蠢懶ｼ√・ "Y- Yes sir!" ｹ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後↑窶ｦ窶ｦ豸医∴窶ｦ窶ｦ!?縲・ "Wha窶・ It disappeared!?" ｻ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後←縲∽ｽ募・縺!?縲菴募・!?縲・ "Wh- Where did it go!?" ｦ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲碁ｦｬ鮖ｿ縲∽ｸ翫□・√・ "Above you!" ｭ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・ｦ縲・ //縲碁滄℃縺弱ｋ窶ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "It's too fast!" //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後￥窶ｦ窶ｦ驫・□・・ //縲驫・ｒ菴ｿ縺茨ｼ√雜ｳ繧呈ｭ｢繧√※謐輔∪縺医ｍ!!縲・ "Kuh…! Rifles! Use your rifles! Keep it pinned!" ﾍ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後￥縲∫ｳ橸ｼ√莉雁ｺｦ縺ｯ菴募・縺ｫ窶補輔・ "S- Shit! Now where did it窶・・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲梧ｦ翫ャ!!縲・ "Sakaki!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後′縺ｯ繝・?縲・ "Gah!" ｻ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲梧ｦ奇ｼ√辟｡莠九°・√・ "Sakaki! What's your status!?" ｺ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ螟ｧ荳亥､ｫ縺窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ //縲縺上◎縲∬・縺ｨ窶ｦ窶ｦ豈崎｡｣繧偵ｄ繧峨ｌ縺滂ｼ√・ "I'm alive… but my arm's busted! And it got my wings!"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲碁｣帙∋縺ｭ縺遺ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "I can't fly!" ｽ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ讎奇ｼ√騾・￡繧・!縲・ "Sakaki! Get out of there!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後≠窶ｦ窶ｦ・溘・ "Huh?" ｦ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・｣縲・ //縲後ぐ窶ｦ窶ｦ繧ｰ繝輔・ "Gii… guh…" ｳ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・､縲・ //縲後こ繧ｱ繧ｫ繧ｫ繧ｫ繧ｫ繧ｫ繧ｫ縲・ "Kaahahahahahahah!" ｰ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｡縲・ //縲後≧縺√＝縺√＝縺√▲!?縲・ "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" ･ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・･縲・ //縲後＆縲∵ｦ岩ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "S- Sakaki…" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・｣縲・ //縲後♀縺・∝漕縺代※繧句ｴ蜷医°・√蜑坂補輔・ "Hey, get it together! It's coming straight for窶・ｫ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・ｦ縲・ //縲後∴窶ｦ窶ｦ縺やｦ窶ｦ・溘・ "What? Where?" ﾔ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城而螢ｫ・ｦ縲・ //縲後◆縲√◆縲・嚏髟ｷ・√鮃ｺ豐ｼ谿ｿ繝・ｼ√縺溘☆縺代・ "C- Captain! Sir! Hel窶・・ //縲��ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ繝・・ "…kuh…" ' //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後♀窶ｦ窶ｦ縺翫・繧娯ｦ窶ｦ・・ //縲繧・▲縺ｦ縺上ｌ縺溘↑窶ｦ窶ｦ菫ｺ縺ｮ髫翫ｒ・√雋ｴ讒倥ぃ・√・ "Damn you… Damn you! You destroyed my whole company, you monster!" ｭ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後が繧ｩ繧ｩ繧ｩ繧ｩ繧ｩ繧ｩ!!縲・ "OHHHHHHHHHH!" ・ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後＄縺｣窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Guh!" ' //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲後∪縲√∪繧九〒騾壹§縺ｬ窶ｦ窶ｦ縺縺ｨ窶ｦ窶ｦ!? //縲菫ｺ縺ｮ蜑｣縺娯ｦ窶ｦ謚縺娯ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Nothing works!? My techniques are useless… How!?"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ菴輔↑縺ｮ縺窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "…What are you?"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲悟・縺ｨ譚台ｺｺ縺ｯ蜚・｣ｰ縺ｧ迢ゅｏ縺帚ｦ窶ｦ //縲遶憺ｨ主・縺ｯ迚・焔縺ｧ縺ゅ＠繧峨＞窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "You drive men mad with your cursed song, and scatter dragoons like helpless children…"

//縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ城Κ髫企聞縲・ //縲瑚ｲｴ讒倥・荳菴薙∽ｽ輔↑縺ｮ縺繧｡!! //縲逋ｽ驫縺ｮ鬲皮視繝・ャ繝・!縲・ "What the hell are you!? Demon of silver!" ｴ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・･縲・ //縲後ぐ繝偵√ヲ繧｣繝ｼ繝ｼ繝ｼ繝・!縲・ "Geeeeeeeeeee!" ｲ //縲撰ｽ・ｽ費ｽ・ｼ乗搗莠ｺ・ｦ縲・ //縲後≠縺ゅぃ繧｢縺・げ繧ｰ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Auhughuguu…" 縲灰ust beneath your feet…縲・ t //縲先勹譏弱・ //縲娯補補補輔・ "……" k //縲仙・縲・ //縲娯補補補輔・ "……" 5 //縲窶補穂ｺ梧擅縺ｮ豬∵弌縺ｯ螟ｩ繧帝ｧ・￠蟾｡繧贋ｺ､蟾ｮ縺励∪縺溷ｷ｡繧九・ The two stars spiral into the heavens, meeting and parting and meeting again.

//縲襍､縺ｮ譏溘・鬢鍋蕎繧√＞縺ｦ迯ｰ迪帙↓縲・ //縲驫縺ｮ譏溘・髮碁ｹｿ繧√＞縺ｦ霆ｽ繧・°縺ｫ縲・ The crimson star is a savage wolf, ravenous and frenzied. The silver star is a mountain doe, graceful and serene.

//縲蜥・動縺悟､懃ｩｺ繧貞娼縺上・ //縲隨大｣ｰ縺悟､懃ｩｺ繧呈ｸ｡繧九・ His terrible roars shake the firmament, while her laughter rings out like the music of the spheres.

//縲襍､濶ｲ縺ｮ豁ｦ莠ｺ縺ｯ諷溷働縺ｮ髻ｿ縺阪〒螟ｪ蛻繧堤ｹｰ繧雁・縺励・ //縲驫濶ｲ縺ｮ豁ｦ莠ｺ縺ｯ謚ｱ謫√・譟斐ｉ縺九＆縺ｧ縺昴ｌ繧呈ｵ√☆縲・ Each time the crimson warrior strikes, sword howling in sadness and pain, the silver warrior brushes it aside with the soft touch of a mother cradling her babe.

//縲諤偵ｊ繧偵∵・諢ｧ繧偵∫┌蠢ｵ繧偵∵ご蝌・ｒ縲・ //縲蝟懊・縺後∵・謦ｫ縺後∬ｨｱ螳ｹ縺後∵ч謔ｦ縺瑚ｿ弱∴繧九・ Rage, grief, guilt, and sorrow… met with joy, compassion, acceptance, and ecstasy.

//縲隨ｬ蝗帛ｹ補補・ //縲縺薙・螟懈怙蠕後・荳蟷輔・縲∵怙蛻昴・蟷輔↓莠､諠・/RUBY>縲・

//縲謌ｯ繧後〒縺ゅ▲縺溘・ //縲辟｡邊九↑逕ｷ縺ｨ縲∝ｽｼ繧偵≠縺励ｉ縺・ｫ倬寉縺ｪ蟋ｫ縺ｮ縲・ It is a mating ritual, a courtship dance, the elegant princess deflecting the advances of her boorish suitor. ・ //縲逋ｽ驫縺ｯ螟ｩ縺ｸ縺ｨ闊槭＞雕翫ｋ縲・ //縲豺ｱ邏・ｂ霑ｽ縺｣縺ｦ鬧・￠譏・ｋ縲・ The silver flits among the clouds, climbing higher into the night, and the crimson races after.

//縲譛医∈縲・ //縲譛医ｒ逶ｮ謖・＠縺ｦ縲・ The moon shines before them, growing larger with each passing moment.

//縲縺縺九ｉ縺九ｂ縺励ｌ縺ｪ縺・・ //縲螟ｩ讌ｼ縺ｮ蜀ｷ縺医◆霈昴″縺ｯ逶ｸ蠢懊＠縺・・ｒ霑弱∴蜈･繧後∫嶌螳ｹ繧・ //縺悶ｋ繧ゅ・繧定ｷｳ縺ｭ髯､縺代◆縺ｮ縺九ｂ縺励ｌ縺ｪ縺・・ But only one is worthy of entrance into the coldly glittering halls of heaven. The other is turned away harshly at the door, his brutish ways disdained by the moon and its servants. ・ //縲驫縺ｮ螯也ｲｾ縺ｯ縺ｩ縺薙∪縺ｧ繧るｫ倥∩縺ｸ縲・ //縲襍､縺ｮ鬯ｼ逾槭・蝨ｰ迯・↓蜻ｼ縺ｳ謌ｻ縺輔ｌ繧九°縺ｮ螯ゅ￥蠑輔″髮｢縺輔ｌ縲・ And so the silver fairy soars ever higher, while the crimson ogre falls away, called back, perhaps, to the hellfire that spawned him.

//縲螟ｩ鬆ゅ∈閾ｳ繧狗區驫縺ｮ蠖玲弌縲・ At the summit of heaven, the silver star blazes. With the moon a shining throne at her back, she gazes down at the avenger still struggling to reach her.

//縲譛郁ｼｪ縺ｮ霈昴″繧偵≠縺溘°繧ら脂蠎ｧ縺ｮ繧医≧縺ｫ閭瑚ｲ縺・↑縺後ｉ縲・ //蟆壹ｂ鬧・￠荳翫′繧阪≧縺ｨ縺ゅ′縺乗ｷｱ邏・・鬯ｼ繧定ｦ倶ｸ九ｍ縺励※縲・

//縲蜈懊・陬上↓蠕ｮ隨代・縺昴・蜿｣蜈・′縲∽ｸ遽縺ｮ隧ｩ繧貞売縺｣縺溘・ She smiles softly beneath her mask, then speaks a single verse. Ladybug… Comet.  //縲仙・縲・ //縲 //縲縲縲縲縲・RUBY text='繝輔か繝ｼ繝ｪ繝ｳ繝繧ｦ繝ｳ'>螟ｩ蠎ｧ螟ｱ蠅・/RUBY>窶補・RUBY text='繝ｬ繧､繝・ぅ繝舌げ'>蟆丞ｽ玲弌縲・ "Ladybug… Comet." ・ //縲先勹譏弱・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ驫譏溷捷窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "Ginseigo…" k //縲仙・縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "……" ｾ //縲先勹譏弱・ //縲御ｿｺ縺ｮ驥主､ｪ蛻窶ｦ窶ｦ・・ //縲縺ｩ縺・☆繧九▽繧ゅｊ縺窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "My nodachi? What are you doing?" k //縲仙・縲・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ縲・ "……" ・ //縲先勹譏弱・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ縲晏嵯縲溪ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "Eggs!"

//縲先勹譏弱・ //縲後ｄ繧√ｍ窶ｦ窶ｦ縺ｾ縺溘◎繧後ｒ縺ｰ繧画鋳縺上▽繧ゅｊ縺具ｼ√・ "No… You mean to spread more of those foul seeds!?"

//縲先勹譏弱・ //縲悟ｯ・函菴薙ｒ逕溘∩蜃ｺ縺吶・縺具ｼ√・ "How many will you infect with your madness!?" ・ //縲先勹譏弱・ //縲悟ｾ・※・√・ "Wait!"

//縲先勹譏弱・ //縲悟ｾ・※窶ｦ窶ｦ縺舌・縺｣縲・ "Stop this窶蛭uh!"

//縲先勹譏弱・ //縲娯ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ蜈俄ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ窶ｦ・√・ "Hikaru…!"

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idy-ll-ique · 3 years

Text

a manny and a pedi

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst

warnings: lil bit of violence

requested: by @maximeevansblog

Its almost mine birthday so, a one with Steve, it is the readers birtday and steve is taking the reader to the hair and nail salon, and that night he has a suprise party for the reader and he is nervous that she wont like his gift but she loves his gift

word count: ~1.3k

summary: it was supposed to be "y/n y/l/n, will you marry me?" it was supposed to be romantic. why, then, did it become "that's my fiancée, you fucking asshole!" "your... your what?"

author's note: hiya peeps! okay firstly, happy birthday @maximeevansblog ! hope you have a wonderful birthday! also, im sorry if i changed your prompt a tiny bit, i hope you still like it. enjoy!

masterlist

---

"Hey lover boy, what—"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Barnes!" Steve exclaimed, startled. Bucky laughed and clapped him on the back once. "What are you doing here, are you spying?" he teased his best friend, peeking past him to look into the room outside which he found Steve standing. Y/N was inside the room, talking to a guy while holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

"Y/N?! Your own girlfriend, Rogers?" Bucky admonished harshly in a whisper, pulling Steve away from the door. "It's not— I trust her completely, honest! It's the guy she's talking to, Manny. I swear to God he's trying to steal her from me—"

"Nobody is stealing me, Rogers, Manny's just a friend! No ulterior motives, he has already promised like a thousand times," Steve heard behind him and whirled around to see Y/N standing there with a smirk, an eyebrow raised. "You taking snooping lessons from Barnes now?" he muttered, "I know babe, I just—"

"Just nothing, Stevie, be happy! It's my birthday!" she laughed and gave him a tight hug, burrowing into his arms. To be honest, Y/N knew about Manny's intentions and Steve was right to worry; he flirted with her all the time, even when she insisted she was dating the ex-Captain America. But she knew better than to worry Steve.

He soothingly rubbed her back, swatting Bucky's hand away when he tried to run his fingers through her hair. "Stop it, that's my girlfriend," he pouted and both Bucky and Y/N burst out laughing. "She's like a sister; jeez, Rogers, tone it down a little bit," Bucky sighed and waved at the couple, walking away.

Steve and Y/N decided to go back to their room. They had been in a relationship for around 4 years now, and they weren't planning on stopping, ever. The only time Y/N would become Steve's ex-girlfriend was when she became his wife. Which he hoped she'd become soon, since he had a special birthday planned for her.

First, he was going to take her to a hair salon, then a manicure and pedicure, and finally, a picnic under the stars. There, he was finally going to pop the question: Y/N, will you marry me? After his retirement, that was all he wanted. A stable life; a wife, kids, maybe some pets. He was even ready to be a trophy husband, as Y/N was still in the Avengers Initiative.

"Steve? Steve!" He snapped out of his thoughts and gave Y/N a sheepish smile. "Sorry, pumpkin, lost in thoughts. So, uh, the flowers look nice," he stammered, looking everywhere but at the flowers which Y/N was putting in a vase. "Oh hush Rogers, you don't have to pretend to like them for me, I get it. I was just like that with you, you know?"

It was true, in the beginning of their relationship Y/N was what Steve was now. Jealous, overprotective, obsessed… somewhere along the line the roles were reversed. "I know, honey, I'm sorry… they're a birthday gift, I should be happy for you." He walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"It's fine. So, I've received everyone's gift but yours, where is it?" she grinned coyly, reaching up to cup his cheek. Steve smirked against her skin and spun her around, bringing them back chest to chest. "In my pants," he whispered seductively. A few seconds passed and both of them burst out laughing.

"I swear to God, Stevie, if that's your only gift I'm gonna be really disappointed." Steve pouted and leaned forward to give her a sweet kiss. "First of all, ouch," he began, "And second, no that's not the only gift. I have a really fun day planned for us, you up for it?" Y/N's eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly, jumping into his arms. "Aw, Steve, I love you so much!"

"I love you too, princess. Now for the first gift—"

"Ste— oh…"

---

"I. Look. Freaking. Amazing!"

Steve smiled softly as Y/N admired herself in the mirror. They had just returned from the mani-pedi session, and Y/N was feeling the most refreshed she had in years. She had also gotten a fantastic new hairstyle, complete with a different hair colour. Y/N was feeling like a new person, all thanks to Steve. She turned to him with a huge smile.

"Words cannot express how much I love you," she began, giving him a tight hug, "But numbers can. 1 million out of 10!" Steve laughed at her excitement, gently playing with her hair as he held her close. "But the best part awaits: the picnic! We still have a few hours to go, maybe I can go some for training?"

"Sure, and I'm going to take some pictures and post them to all my social media sites! Oh my God, this is fantastic—" Steve laughed at Y/N's squeals and left the room, feeling giddier and happier than he was in the morning. You see, Steve was kind of nervous the whole day. First, it was because of Manny, second, he was worried she wouldn't like his gifts and third, will she say yes?

Two out of the three concerns were gone. It was the pesky last one that ran through his mind the whole time he was in the gym. After an hour, Steve decided to go back to their room to relax for a while under the Air Conditioner; he didn't want to be a smelly, sweaty mess on the most important night of his life.

As he was walking towards their room, though, Steve happened to bump into Y/N. And… Manny. Manny took one step forward, Y/N took a step back. One step forward, one step back as Y/N held her hands out in front of her, protecting herself. Without even bothering to know the full story, Steve rushed over and punched Manny straight on the nose.

He fell back with a groan as Y/N gasped, covering her mouth. "That's my fiancée, you fucking asshole! Have some respect for other people's relationships, she said no, no means no!" he yelled, so loud that a few others came over to check on them. Bucky, Sam, Peter, Tony, Wanda, Vision, Bruce and Natasha, all stood a few feet away, watching with wide eyes.

Y/N's head snapped towards Steve when he called her his fiancée. "Your… your what?" she whispered, and Steve finally realized what he had blurted out. Shit. "I… I was going to ask you tonight at the picnic— it was supposed to be romantic, damn it Manny, you ruined—" His speech was cut short as Y/N immediately took him in her arms, kissing him deeply.

"Yes, Steve, I will marry you," she mumbled with a small, teary smile that Steve mimicked as he brought her in for another kiss. They only stopped when they heard the massive applause coming from the others. "Congratulations, you guys, this is brilliant news! Who's the best man?" Sam hollered.

Steve hugged Y/N closer, wiping his tears off with a chuckle. "Well, I was thinking—"

"I'll be honored," Sam grinned, scowling when Bucky smacked him across the head. "He was going to ask me," Bucky sneered and Steve rolled his eyes. "If you keep bickering like that, I'll ask Bruce," he snarked and Bruce laughed as both Bucky and Sam quieted instantly. "Where's the fucking ring, Rogers, there's no proposal without a ring!"

"The ring is in the bedroom, I was training and that's no place for a precious jewel," Steve answered and Y/N smiled into his arms, burrowing her face further into his chest.

"Yes, the hair salon was great. The mani and pedi— not that Manny, Steve— was also great. But this, by far, was the best birthday present I got today," she whispered to him. "What about the sex? Am I becoming an old man now—" Y/N pushed Steve with a disgusted look on her face as everyone else gagged and groaned. "Rogers, it was a sweet moment!"

"Sorry, sorry, couldn't help myself, it just came— there it is again!"

"Blergh, fuck you, man!"

"I deserved it."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you liked it!

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oliviajdjarin · 3 years

Text

Chapter 10: A Weapon

Warnings: injury, yearning, softness, violence. Karga bleeds a little. The child saves the day… as always lol

Author’s Note: We are over halfway! This experience has been incredible so far, and thank you for all the support!

(I can’t remember where I got this gif from so if it is yours please lmk so I can credit you!!)

The rest of that morning went surprisingly smoothly.

The blurrgs were placed in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold and the three of you were now preparing to meet Karga.

From what you had gathered, he seemed very untrustworthy. To be fair, you would see yourself as pretty untrustworthy if you were looking from an outside perspective, so you were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Just protect and survive. That’s the only way you can prove yourself to Mando and Cara.

Cara, Kuiil, and IG-11 (who Mando surprisingly didn’t kill overnight) were all settled in the ship with the blurrgs.

You put out the fire from breakfast earlier and were getting the child settled in his pram, when you saw Mando walking towards you in your peripheral vision.

Is he holding… a weapon?

He walks to you and hands you what looks like a big stick with a pointy end. You hold it in your dominant hand, standing awkwardly with a curious look on your face.

“This is a longspear,” Mando says. “I tried to find something with a structure you would be familiar with to protect yourself, but I don’t really have anything like yours,” he says, referring to your lightsaber.

“This is the best I have,” he says, and he begins to walk away.

Where do you even begin? Mando handed you a weapon, hours after finding out you had been lying to him for weeks. Hours after finding out you aided in destroying the galaxy. Hours after learning you could have been feeding his information to the Empire this whole time.

For all he knew, you could plan to stab him in the back (literally) as soon as you had the right moment too.

You feel yourself choking up again.

I am so sick of crying over this man, you think to yourself. And he hasn’t even made me sad cry!!

“Mando,” you say, which causes him to stop in his tracks.

He turns to look at you, and you wish you could express your gratitude in any other way than stupid words. They are never enough.

“Thank you. I will use this with honor,” you say. “And I will not let you down.”

You try to steady your breathing, because you honestly feel lightheaded. You hope he responds with something. It doesn’t really matter though, he has already proven he trusts you. If you’re being honest with yourself, you just like hearing his voice.

“I know,” he says, and you hope you have as much confidence in yourself as he does.

He has given so much to you. Now, it was your turn.

~~*~~

The journey to Karga from Kuiil’s home planet wasn’t long, but it just felt tense.

You tried to give Cara as much space as possible. She deserves her boundaries. You had hurt her enough. She probably feels like she’s been betrayed by two friends today.

When you finally make it to Greef, he has a trio of bounty hunters at his side.

You rode on a blurrg with Mando, while Cara and Kuiil had their own. Your eyes were on the child floating in his pram the whole time, and you held up your longspear to make it known you were ready.

Greef proceeded to make awkward conversation, which you didn’t really pay attention to, but when he asked where the “little one” was, your senses went up in flames.

Not today buddy, you thought to yourself. Not today.

You turned around to look at Mando, silently asking him what to do.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled, and you nodded apprehensively.

You pressed a button on your wrist gauntlet (which was brilliantly engineered by Kuiil by the way) and the child was revealed to Greef in all his glory.

You honestly didn’t even hear what he was saying your ears were ringing so bad. He picked up the child, and your chest puffed while the grip on your longspear was causing the metal to almost bend.

If he even scratches the child, he’s dead.

Luckily, he doesn’t, and this unlikely crew is on their way again.

~~*~~

The team traveled for a while on Nevaro, but you didn’t mind the quiet. The silence was actually quite calming. Karga hadn’t tried any funny business yet, but you were still not convinced.

The sun set quickly, and so you all gathered around a campfire.

You helped Kuiil feed scraps of meat to the child, who was obviously pretty hungry.

“I guess the little bugger’s a carnivore,” Karga chuckled. “Never seen anything like it.”

He leaned in a bit closer to take a look at the child, which also meant he leaned closer to you. You felt his energy surrounding you, and you felt pretty uncomfortable.

“They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing,” he said, but it almost sounded like a whisper in your ear. His closeness was starting to freak you out more, and you just wanted him away from you.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Mando said, and you gave him a light smile in gratitude. He could see you were uncomfortable, and he got Karga distracted. You wondered if Karga’s closeness to you made Mando uncomfortable too?

Karga proceeded to sketch out the steps. The plan itself wasn’t bad at all. The team would go to the public house with the child as bait, while you stayed with Kuiil and the blurrgs to ensure their safety, and to make sure the Empire didn’t double cross you. You also didn’t want to get recognized, but Mando didn’t mention that to Karga. Mando would kill the client, and if there were any complications, Cara and Karga’s hunters would take care of it.

“Trust me,” Karga said, “nothing can go wrong.”

But of course, they could go wrong. Very very wrong.

As if on queue, a huge winged creature came flying out from the dark sky and Karga screamed in pain. He lurched backwards, and utter chaos ensued.

Blaster fire erupted all around you, and you immediately shut the child in his pram. You turned around with your longspear in hand, and you allowed your training to flow back through you.

You swung at any creature that came your way and cut through their skin if they came too close. Mando and Cara were doing some good damage too, but nothing seemed to make the creatures want to go away.

You heard a blurrg screech in pain and Kuiil yelled “drop her!”

You turned to your right and saw one of the creatures flying away with the blurrg. You took aim, and threw your spear directly into the creature’s neck.

It screeched and dropped the blurrg as it felt to the ground, dead. This was good, but you were left without a weapon. Lucky for you, Mando raised his arm and torched the creatures until they finally gave up.

Silence came over the camp, and it felt strange and eerie. The only thing you could hear were the sounds of pain Karga was making, and the tiny whimpers of the child.

You opened the pram and took the child in your arms, comforting him and stroking his head.

You looked up to see Cara and Mando rushing to Karga, and the wound in his arm looked bad.

“Hold still,” Cara said while sitting down and breaking open a medpac. “They got you good.”

“How bad?” Mando asked.

“Bad,” she said, “the poison is spreading fast. This isn’t working!” she yelled in frustration.

The child in your arms was squirming to be free, so you set him on the ground, and he immediately booked it to Karga.

You trailed behind him, and Cara gave you a glare.

“Get this thing out of here,” she said, and you went to reach for the child again.

“Wait,” Kuiil said, and you backed away. You had no idea when Kuiil was thinking, but he had some years on you, so you trusted his experience.

“He’s trying to eat me,” Karga moaned while looking at the child, whose hand was pressed directly on Karga’s wound.

Karga’s groans of pain were slowly becoming quieter, and he stared at the child in disbelief. The wound was slowly healing, until soon enough, it completely disappeared.

The child collapsed on the ground and you scooped him into your arms.

In all your training, all your pain, and all your hard work, you had never seen something like that. The shocked look on your face said it all.

Mando tilted his head up to you and said, “Have you ever seen something like this?”

“No…” you said, shaking your head in utter disbelief. “Never.”

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @farfromjustordinary @bookloverfilmoholic @440mxs-wife

#din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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deluluass · 3 years

Text

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future!

& @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was.

That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun.

“Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too.

So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat.

His car, maybe.

The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed.

Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

“I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

The larger man laughed again.

“Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left.

“I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

Akaashi passed the box to Wataru.

“Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

Huh.

That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding.

“You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him.

This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

“Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.”

“I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him.

“He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

“Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied.

“That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

His earpiece crackled to life.

Konoha’s voice emerged from the static.

“We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

“Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!”

He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

“I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

“Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

“You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed.

Wataru followed behind him.

“We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

It collapsed and clunked against a stone.

He heard the birds flutter away.

When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor.

And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer.

He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really.

The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world.

Maybe some other time.

“Wataru.”

Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek.

It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

“No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered.

From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion.

(It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm.

“A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

Akaashi halted.

“No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

Wataru stared at him.

Akaashi went ahead.

He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries.

By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.”

Of course he knows the man is married.

But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms.

Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things.

That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing.

But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest.

Yet here he is.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

"Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands.

"S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music.

Yet here he is.

Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing.

Yet here he is.

Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

"Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed.

“Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief."

It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two.

So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

(He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

“Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

He spun you around.

“Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own.

He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

“Is for the way you look at me.”

“Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

“O is for the only one I see.”

Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else.

Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips.

“Where did you go earlier?”

The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you.

Love was made for me and you.

“I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him.

“Are you happy?”

It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist.

“Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise.

Music. Laughter. Running water.

Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

He spoke after the first two rings.

“Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives.

Why?

“Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

“Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

“Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

Three days.

They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo.

To run right here. In Miyagi.

He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter.

And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

“I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement.

Don’t let her stay too long.

That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

“Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out.

He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course.

Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells.

Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat.

Akaashi-san was right.

You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore.

He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth.

It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron.

The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later.

It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

"How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

"Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you."

The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved.

Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

"Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

You looked back down to your bowl. The tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

"So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room.

"I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

"I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel.

"You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

"I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

"And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.

He didn't need to say it.

That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted.

"Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.

Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done.

"I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say.

I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say.

Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

"Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.

"I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed.

You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table.

You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you.

It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

"Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

"I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear."

You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive.

And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

"Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

"I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly.

It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though.

"I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger.

"I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying.

Except, you, too, know it.

When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

"Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning, clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help.

You hated him all the more for it.

"Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway.

But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights.

"We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger.

A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you?

Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top.

You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time.

Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons.

Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

(And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

This man is the real one.

And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

"What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

"N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

"Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

You shivered as his palms swept over your stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

"Look at me when you say it."

You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

"Please," he rasped.

The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her.

"I will be happy," she said.

Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name.

And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck.

"I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.

"You understand, don't you?" he rasped.

Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

The flesh had a memory of its own.

You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue.

You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table.

The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

"Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

You don't know.

When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips, spit trailing down her chin.

"Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

"So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again."

You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

"I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die."

He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day.

But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances.

When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

“I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

“I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x female reader #Dark content haikyuu #yandere akaashi keiji

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messymessyml · 3 years

Text

Breaking and Entering

I'll be moving this one over to AO3 at some point (done, available here), but I'll start this off on Tumblr. This is a lighthearted, multi-chapter Jasonette story.

Summary:

Marinette is away from home when a curious visitor drops in. The kwami don't see any problem letting the man in; the question is: what will the guardian think when she realizes an intruder was in her house while she was gone?

Chapter 1 is below the cut.

Chapter 1: What did I come back to now?

Marinette felt a wave of relief hit her as her key turned smoothly in the lock. She was more than ready to unload her bags and take a well-deserved night in after a whirlwind week of consulting with clients in Metropolis. She’d decided to take Tikki and Sass with her and rent a hotel for the week as most of her clients were only available for early morning consultations, and while it was the most effective way to make sure she didn’t miss a meeting, she was glad to be back home.

Gotham may not be as glitzy or have as many potential clients as Metropolis, but it more than made up for that with the anonymity that Gotham allowed her. The local mentality of ‘take no shit’ and ‘mind your own damn business and I’ll mind mine’ allowed the kwami and her freedom that they wouldn’t get in Metropolis, a city crawling with news stations and a baffling love of all things mundane. Half the time when she visited Metropolis it felt like she had a target on her back; the paparazzi were worse in Metropolis than they ever were in her Parisian hero days and that held for her professional pseudonym as well as plain Marinette. It was a wonder that with so many news outlets (and Superman to report on for crying out loud) that she was still the topic of a news piece twice in the past week: once as MDC and once as plain old Marinette. In all seriousness was helping with a local tree planting event for Earth Day that newsworthy?

‘Enough of that’, she thought, realizing that although her door was now unlocked, she’d thought so much about arriving home that she hadn’t even fully opened her door. A slight twinge of embarrassment hit her. Carrying her tiny friends everywhere was always a blessing, but sometimes, she mused, it might be nice not to have an audience for every action she took—no matter how embarrassing.

Letting go of that train of thought, Marinette stepped through and closed her door behind her, feeling tension bleed out of her shoulders. The underlying scent of vanilla and blossom honey hit her nose as she strode over to the kitchen island. She set her bags to the side and took a hold of one of her swinging barstools with the intention to sit for a bit before making any attempt at dinner for the kwami and herself. Absently tracking the path Sass and Tikki took as they flew in the direction of the room where she kept the Miracle Box, she hesitated to sit as she noticed a slowly building feeling of unease hit her. Something, she thought, was off.

Sharpening her gaze and gripping the barstool a little tighter, Marinette scanned her apartment. At first glance, the living space looked unchanged from how she left it; the furniture was where it belonged, and her shelves and wall art were unmoved. As she looked closer though, she saw items around the house that were shifted a bit more than they would be if the kwami had decided to explore while she was away: the living room rug was centered, the dishes she had left to dry right before leaving the house a week ago were put away, and the barstool she was currently grasping was a bit more level than it had ever been, thrifted as it were. The kwami were a joy to interact with and an honor to serve as their guardian, but cleaners and tinkers they were not.

Marinette released her grip on the stool, rounding the kitchen island to open the cabinets. Like she thought, the dishes she had washed a week ago were put away and the towers of plates and bowls looked straighter than they were normally. Her gut churned as the beginning stages of worry started to fill her.

A chorus of greetings from behind her met her ears, disrupting her thoughts. Turning, Marinette saw the kwami flying towards her from the hallway.

“Marinette, did you have a nice trip?” Mullo squeaked.

“Guardian, I hope all went well on your trip. It is wonderful to have you back home.” Wayzz said.

The other kwami threw in their own noises and words of agreement, mirroring Wayzz’s welcome.

Marinette couldn’t help her small smile, replying, “My trip went well, and I am happy to be back here with you all.” She paused, hesitating before she asked, “Did anything happen while we were away?”

“Not much, Pigtails.” Plagg swam leisurely into view, tailed closely by Tikki, both twirling as they approached. “Some fighting outside, and a bit of a showdown on rooftops at the end of the block, but no damage to our building.”

Wayzz intercepted Plagg’s path, floating into the center of her vision to say, “That may be true, Plagg; however, one of the combatants took a breather on our balcony by using the garden for cover. He didn’t seem injured, but he was breathing heavier than was wise. Most of us hid in the box while I continued to strengthen the wards on the outer walls and windows.”

Marinette interrupted, “No one entered the apartment?”

Wayzz hesitated, then said “The man stayed hidden as best he could, but he was quite large, and I could feel the shifting balance; if he stayed on the balcony, he would have drawn fire here. I strengthened the barrier outwards then loosened the barrier on the balcony doors, undid the latch for him, and asked Trixx to hide us from view. He had a protector’s spirit and none of us could feel an intent to harm any but the ones he’d been fighting outside. I am sorry, Guardian, for making this decision without your input.”

Marinette took a deep breath to fend off the impending tension headache, unclenching the hand she had used to subconsciously gripped her other wrist. She loosened the muscles around her eyes to soften her gaze. “It’s alright, Wayzz. I wasn’t there, and I trust your intuition. What did he do?”

“He seemed distrustful of the open door at first but ended up entering almost silently and quickly moved to scan the apartment.”

Trixx added, “I made sure he could not see the Miracle Box and that he was not visible from the outside at any point, but he stayed away from the windows for the most part.”

Roarr piped in, “He has a fierce spirit, and I agree with Wayzz that he has a strong protective streak.”

She heard some murmurs of agreement from the other kwami, some of them breaking out into small discussion pertaining to the man’s character. “If so many of you saw him, did you leave the Miracle Box then? What did you see?” Desperately, Marinette wished that the immortal beings she called friends could get to the points.

“Some of us came out to see, but most of us stayed in the box. Trixx’s illusions held; he didn’t see or hear any of us.” Barkk confirmed.

“Yes, he mostly stayed in the living room. He sat right here for a while!” Saying this, Pollen surged towards the end of the couch, landing with their back to the armrest in a bored sprawl. “Like this!”

Plagg, swaying upside down near the ceiling, lazily added, “He wasn’t much fun. All he did was check his guns then started cleaning the place. Boring.”

“Guns?! Cleaning? Why?” Alarmed, Marinette’s heartbeat started to pound at the picture painted by the kwami. They had let a large combatant enter her apartment and all he did was inspect his guns and clean??? ‘This can’t be real’, she thought. ‘Was I caught up in one of Scarecrow’s attacks on the way home?’

“He had good manners at the least.” Kaalki sniffed. “His gear smelled of money and he fixed that stool of yours that never would have entered the premises if you had listened to me from the start. At least now it isn’t horrendously squeaky.”

“Hey!” Mullo protested.

Kaalki just turned away.

“He needed the protection.” Wayzz apologetically said. “He didn’t seem interested in your workroom and he wouldn’t have been able to find the box, so we observed. He cleaned a bit and left after checking that the coast was clear outside.”

Marinette allowed her shoulders to sag. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Glancing around, she gave the kwami a smile, eyes hesitating on the glass doors leading to the balcony, she absently added, “Thank you for keeping an eye on things while I was gone.”

Striding over to the doors leading out to the balcony, she peered out. Nothing seemed out of place out here, but she couldn’t be certain. Checking the door handles, she noticed that one of the kwami or her mystery visitor must have relatched the lock. Unlocking it, she stepped out and went to sit at her patio table. Leaning back in her chair, she let her head tip back to view the sunset, partially obscured by the balcony two floors above her own. Her apartment building had mostly staggered the balconies to allow more light to reach its inhabitants, a must in Gotham’s dreary weather.

After a few moments, she let her head droop forward to land in her hands. As much as she loved them, the kwami’s survival instincts always seemed at odds with hers. She couldn’t tell whether that was due to her anxiety amplifying everything past the point of reason or that the kwami’s inherent existence rendering most danger obsolete, but while some intruder might not be a danger to beings that could turn intangible and invisible at will, she was definitely a bit more breakable (‘Mortal’, her brain whispered) than them. If she had been here? Who knows how that visit might have gone?

Taking a few more minutes to calm her body’s response, a few deep breaths, and a moment or two of gratitude that nothing bad had happened, she straightened a bit as the evening wind started to pick up and a splash of white started to flutter at the edge of her vision. Glancing up, her eye caught on a piece of paper at the other end of the table that was weighted down with a rock she had decorated a while back with paintings of ladybugs and cats playfully chasing each other across a meadow. That particular rock usually spent time in the catnip bed Plagg had insisted on and Tikki had seconded as a nod to both kwami. Curious, she reached out and grabbed the sheet of paper underneath. Opening it, she read:

Dear Stranger,

I was in a bit of a tight spot and hanging around your balcony when your door swung open. Haunted house, much? Hope you don’t mind, but I ended up using your house as a temporary safe house while you were gone. Don’t worry, I made sure no one saw me entering or exiting, so you shouldn’t have any problems from the type of shit that follows me.

On the topic of haunted houses, are you sure yours isn’t haunted? Your house is unnervingly the calmest- and safest-feeling place I’ve been in a while, but I kept seeing blurs out of the corner of my eye and I was NOT concussed. Might want to talk to someone about that.

I ended up tidying a bit while you were gone, hope you don’t mind. Fairs fair, you (unknowingly, I know) lent me a place to stay, I tidied up a bit. Stay out of trouble, alright?

Cheers,

- Red Hood

The Red Hood? The RED HOOD is who they let into the house? For kwami’s sake, what were they thinking?!?

#jasonette #Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng #dc x mlb #ml x dc #maribat #meet cute #fluff #my writing #multichapter #Jasonette Breaking and Entering #kwami as immortal beings

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Everything Undesired chapter 4

Chapter 3

Warning: mention of torture? Light victim blaming, Lucifer, Satan, and Beel commit murder.

“I see,” Diavolo had a contemplative look on his face. The demon lord, often seen with a jovial, bright smile plastered upon his face, now had replaced it with a more serious look as Lucifer explained just what had happened to his brother. “And you’re positive this is what happened to Mammon?”

“Asmo is certain enough that he would stake his title as Avatar of Lust on it.” Satan spoke up.

“I see, if that’s the case then I will permit you up to the human world to pay these women a visit. Make sure they suffer, all three of you.” The warmth in his voice, his eyes, now replaced with a cold tone and a wrathful look, absolutely enraged that a demon not just under his rule, but in his cabinet no less had been assaulted in this manner. He may have failed in protecting the Avatar of Greed from this but he would see to it that a crime this grave never happened again to one of his subjects. “I’d would go in your stead to deal with them myself, but I will stay behind and work to pass legislation to ban the making of pacts freely. This will not happen again; I swear it on my life and my throne.”

And with Diavolo’s permission the three Avatars were off, out for blood for the travesty that befell their brother. Once they were gone, Diavolo turned to his butler.

“Barbatos, did you foresee this at all? Was there not anything we could have done differently to prevent this?” For as angry as he is, the demon lord feels a certain sense of guilt for what happened to the white-haired demon. What kind of ruler cannot protect one of his subjects from something so heinous?

“In another reality, yes.” He nodded, “But never in this one specifically, my Lord.”

“What happens next?”

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The three Avatars stand outside the residence of the witches. Lucifer is the first to step forward, demon form manifesting from the wrath coursing through his being. The aura he emits is suffocating to all around him. A knock on the door is all the courtesy he plans to give them tonight.

When the door opens, there is a collective gasp.

“L-Lord Lucifer,” One of the sisters steps back as the three demons barge their way inside the building. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit from not only you, but your younger brothers as well?”

“Do not. DO NOT ACT AS IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO OUR BROTHER!” Satan roars, his demon for making its appearance. He’s ready to go on the attack however it’s Lucifer that stops him with a simple wave of the hand.

“We know everything you’ve done.” The eldest’s voice is cold, gaze calculated. “You’ve not only laid a hand on one of my brothers, but my favorite one at that. That in and of itself is enough to warrant your deaths, but to cause him such suffering will ensure they are not quick.

With another wave of his hand, the Avatar of Pride bound the three women before letting his brothers have a go at the other two. The eldest was his.

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Asmo took a step into his brother’s room and was devastated to see the look on his brother’s face. He looked so broken; his cheeks soaked with tears as Asmo heard Arella speaking.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re not strong enough for it. I’m sure there are alternatives we could find if you can’t. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. We all will help you if you decide to go through with this.”

The demon’s curiosity was piqued. Just what we’re they talking about?

“’Rella, I can’t ask that of any of you. This is my punishment for bein’ so powerless.”

Asmodeus cleared his throat to gain her their attention.

“What are you two talking about? Did something else happen?”

Arella only picked up the phone and handed it to him. What he saw was enough to pull a gasp from the demon. It made him sick.

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As soon as it had begun, the torture was over. None of the three brothers had even broken a sweat at this point. The witches hadn’t even lasted that long. Blood and viscera coat the floor, bones stick out from odd places, one has pieces missing from her body here and there- bite marks and missing flesh, even a missing arm- all courtesy of the Avatar of Gluttony.

“Beel, are you hungry or has anger tided your hunger?”

“I'm famished,” The Avatar of Gluttony confirmed.

“Go ahead and dispose of their bodies then. Make sure no trace of them remains.” The Avatar of Pride nods to his younger brother.

It was then that they heard it- the screaming cry of a frightened baby. The sound was easy to miss over the shrieking and wailing- the pleas for mercy that would never come. One by one, their heads turned to the sound just upstairs as they all came to terms with the fact that a child had been born from this travesty.

Satan was the first to move as he climbed the stairs. Just off to the right was a tiny nursery and lying in the crib, he found the child. All of his instincts were screaming at him to do away with the infant. He almost did had it not been for Lucifer’s hand placed on his shoulder. They were soon joined by Beel as all three of them peered down at the tiny child below them.

“What do we do?” Beel asked.

“Do we take them with us? Or do we leave them to the proverbial wolves?”

Both brothers looked to the eldest, demanding an answer. For the first time, the Avatar of Pride doesn’t have the answer. Does he take the life of an innocent child or does he subject his brother to a lifetime of suffering? It's an impossible decision to make where either party ultimately loses in the end.

Lucifer reaches down and takes the infant into his arms, a pained look on his face as he scrutinizes the infant’s appearance. Suddenly, he’s flashing back to his time as an angel, back to the first time he ever held Mammon in his arms. The child is an exact carbon copy of their father, no apparent features from his mother or her sisters, this was the best case scenario, but the little one looks sickly- likely due to the lack of demonic influence that would have been received from their father had he been present during the pregnancy.

Finally, after remaining silent for what felt like eternity Lucifer spoke up. “The child doesn’t look long from this world. We’ll wait for morning. If they survive the night, we’ll take them with us- let Mammon decide what to do with them.”

The other two nodded as Beel went back downstairs to finish the meal he had started.

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“You don’t have to take him, Mammon.” Asmo kept staring at the photo on his brother’s D.D.D. as he spoke.

“He has no one else, Asmo,” The white-haired demon frowns. “I can’t just leave him to die and it’s not like I can just give ‘im away either. As much as I hate it, he’s the heir to everything I am- the next Avatar of Greed, the next ruler of the fourth layer. It’ll be hard at first, but I’ll force myself to look past what happened to me. This isn’t his fault, so why punish him for the crimes of his mother and her sisters? He’s innocent in all this.”

“Even now,” the Avatar of Lust chuckled sadly, “after all these years, you still have the heart of an angel, don’t you? You aren’t thinking about what this will do to you, are you? He’ll be a constant reminder of your trauma. Is that really fair to you?”

“It isn't, but when has life ever been fair? If life was fair, we wouldn’t ’ve lost Lilith- wouldn't ‘ve fallen from the Celestial Realm.” He wiped at his eyes.

“No. It’s not, but I still think this is a bad idea for you. None of us will stop you if this is what you want to do but you shouldn’t do it just out a sense of obligation.” Asmo placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You should only keep him if you want to.”

At the look of resignation on Mammon’s face, Arella placed a hand on his back. “We’re here if you need us. If it gets to be too much, I can help care for him, okay?” She echoes the words she had said previously.

“Babe, you don’t-”

“I know I don’t, but I want to.” She smiled softly. “We’re in this together. All of us.” She looked to the strawberry blonde demon as he nodded in agreement.

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Satan sat in the rocking chair next to the crib while Lucifer was on the phone notifying Diavolo of the situation as well as speaking to Arella in regards to the baby. He studied his nephew, wondering just what might happen to the little boy. Over the hours since finding him here, the tiny half-demon seemed to be getting stronger- likely from just being in the presence of his brothers and him. It was apparent that the child would be coming with them. He wondered what his brother’s reaction would be to the infant. Demons were known to kill unwanted offspring out of panic.

It was the circle of life, the blonde supposed. Not what the child deserved, but if it led to that, there was really nothing anyone could do. He was drawn from his thoughts as quiet chirps sounded from the boy. He watched as the infant brought his little hand to his mouth and he started squirming in the mass of blankets he was swaddled in.

The Avatar of Wrath looked around for a bottle or really anything that could be a source of nourishment. Of course, the newborn would get hungry eventually- that's essentially all babies at this age, eat and sleep. The demon finally finds a mini fridge on the wall opposite the crib, right next to the changing table. He had never fed a baby before but he would be willing to try as long as it kept the boy satisfied and kept him from crying. A trial by fire as they say.

Rocking the infant carefully, he slowly got up and retrieved a bottle from the fridge. It was a lot smaller than he thought an infant should take but it was good enough for the time being. Thankfully there was a bottle warmer placed on a nightstand near the crib. He placed it inside, setting the temperature at that of a human’s normal body temperature. When the milk was sufficiently heated, he gave it to the child who then suckled it down rather quickly,

“Hey now, there’s no need to suck it down so fast. You'll choke if you’re not careful.”

Lucifer had rejoined at him at this point. The scene of his brother trying so hard to feed the baby almost made him chuckle. “I can take him, if you’d like, Satan.”

“Please, I really don’t know how to do this.” He pulled the bottle away so he could transfer the child to his older brother.

“It won’t be long until the dawn. Gather up some of his things as we’ll be taking him with us. I just got off the phone with Arella. She told me Mammon plans on keeping the him.” Lucifer only sighed, wondering if the Avatar of Greed was only doing this out of a sense of obligation and responsibility.

Green to yellow gradient eyes widen in surprise at the statement. “He’s planning on keeping him? I figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with the baby.”

“As did I but, for all of our brother’s flaws, he’s still genuinely a good person. I don’t think he can really leave behind someone who needs him- especially an innocent child.” Lucifer looks down at the child who has now finished the bottle. “Hand me a rag.”

“Why?”

“Well, I would prefer not to be spat up on and now that he’s finished eating, he needs to be burped.” The eldest moved the infant to rest against his shoulder as Satan handed him the nearest rag he could find. “Babies aren’t capable of burping on their own. Now, go gather his things. I’ll tend to him for the time being."

Masterlist 2

#dead dove do not eat #tw: torture but not described #tw: victim blaming #lucifer and co commit murder #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #mammon angst #obey me oc #arella

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paperpocalypse · 3 years

Text

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Day 16, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: T

TW: implied violence and near-death experience (but nothing explicit)

A/N: This is the part two follow-up to Rewrite the Stars.

************

Hermione’s hand trembles as she reaches over to her nightstand and turns on the light. She can’t sleep, which is a common occurrence as of late. Where she once relished in the quiet of her flat, now the serenity is too much to bear. She is running out of changes to make that will erase the worst, most painful decision of her life. The ultra-soft linens she purchased for her bed are anything but comforting and luxurious. They feel scratchy and cold, and the fresh and clean look of the white comforter with its floral patterns gives off more of a sterile vibe than the new slate she’d been hoping for. Instead, it serves as another stark reminder that all the vibrancy and color had evaporated from her life when she pushed Ron away.

It’s been 62 days since the disaster of the Auror gala, and 50 since Hermione’s received any form of contact from him. Ron has honored her wishes to break things off no matter how much it pained them both to do so. Part of her still wishes he’d floo into her fireplace or knock on her door, begging her to give them another chance. But she knows deep down none of that will ever happen. He is a man of respect, and he will always abide by her requests, even if she no longer wants to keep them herself.

It’s better this way. She reminds herself of the constant scrutiny they’d face if they stayed together, and the hurt and discomfort even at the mere thought indicate that her feelings haven’t changed. There is no way she could put him through that sort of subjection just so she can be selfish and happy. Their lives are too different, and they live in a world where the acceptance of all kinds of love doesn't exist.

So, in the grueling months since they ended things for a second time, Hermione has worked to make changes, some drastic, some minute, in an effort to force herself to move on. She is too proud to let anyone in her life know the pain that she feels with every conscious breath that she takes. Hermione has thrown herself into her work, staying at school late to mark papers, redecorate the classroom, or develop new lesson plans to benefit the students and create more hands-on experiences.

And once she realized that her preparation was complete through the end of next term, Hermione turned to her flat. Weekends have been spent on home projects. Painting the walls, updating the decor, and cleaning every square inch of her flat, all to help her forget.

But the problem is, her heart doesn’t want to forget. Every book she sits down to read reminds her of time spent with Ron. Her renewed efforts in the kitchen never fail to bring a smile or a chuckle to her lips as her mind traitorously wonders what Ron would think if he were here to observe the barely edible mess she’s created. Yet, Hermione is not naive enough to believe that it will change anything. She knows it won’t.

As she sits up in the enormous queen-sized bed, she reaches for the parchment that lays in tri-folds on the nightstand. The paper is worn, with visible wrinkles preventing it from lying flat and tear stains causing the corners to curl as she unfolds the delicate sheet. Hermione’s not sure why she’s opening the letter to read. She knows it won’t bring her the comfort she craves or the answers she desires.

The messy scrawl gives way to Ron’s only correspondence with her since the last time they spoke, and she latches onto it as if it’s the only life preserver on a capsizing vessel. It’s the only thing she has left. The only reminder of the life she could have had.

I’m not scared to tell the truth.

I went to hell and back and I went with you

Remind me what we were before,

When you said you are mine, and I am yours

Hermione,

There’s a lot I want to say and I’m not sure if I can fit it all in this letter, but I’m going to try. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I did mean everything I said that night. I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. What we have, er, had, I guess, is special. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life, and I don’t think I ever will. And it’s not just about the case and finding comfort in each other.

When we broke things off after graduation, I felt like a part of me was missing. The Auror academy kept me busy, and sure, my life moved on, but I wasn’t really happy. Not as happy as I was when we were together. And then fate brought us back together and we decided to make another go of it, that’s when I realized that you were what was missing. You make my life so much brighter, so meaningful, and I’m sorry if I sound like a sap, but I need you to know how I feel.

I would give up everything for you. Social status means nothing to me. If the Aurors sack me because of my personal relations, then so be it. I’ll work with George, or find something else. If my family can’t be supportive, then it will be their loss. I’m not willing to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it, and I refuse to give in to the Ministry’s stance on bloody purity.

I know this is all probably ‘too little, too late’ or whatever that Muggle saying is that you like to use, and I promise you I’m going to respect your wishes. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know because...well...there’s this mission that’s come up. It’s going to be bloody dangerous and Robards asked for volunteers because he knows how risky it’s going to be. Anyone who goes isn’t guaranteed to come back and, well, I won’t go into the details, but I volunteered to go.

I know, I know, I can hear you in the back of my head telling me that it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and not to throw my life away because we’re not together, but Hermione, it’s been twelve days and I can’t go on day to day like this. I can’t. Working is the only thing that eases the pain and gets my mind off of everything. I’ll be as safe as I can be, I promise.

I hope you find the happiness you deserve. You’re brilliant, always remember that. Just know that I love you, and it’s because I love you that I’m going to try to let go.

Ron

Tears threaten in Hermione’s eyes once again. It’s no different than every other time she reads the letter. Nothing has changed; Ron’s gone, still on his mission six weeks later and no end in sight. Hermione is sure this is the reason she’s not sleeping. With every passing day and no news of Ron’s whereabouts, she turns to the only object that can provide her with any source of comfort: the letter.

After three weeks of constant worrying and bags under her eyes so prevalent that even her eight-year-old students noticed, Hermione caved and wrote to Harry. Even though they can’t be together, she knows deep down that she can still care about his well-being.

Harry’s response had been timely and brief. He didn’t have details of the mission but reassured Hermione that no news is good news. Hermione thanked him and asked for updates if it wasn’t too much trouble. The two had been friendly in school, growing closer as her relationship with Ron blossomed as well. She didn’t expect his alliance to stray from his best friend but still appreciated his willingness to be cordial with her after everything she’d put Ron through.

“Please come home to me,” she whispers into the darkness.

Her heart aches more as her eyes hover over the parchment once more, searching for the three words that she knows she’ll never read too many times: I love you.

For some reason, this three a.m. readthrough hits differently. She carefully folds the parchment, places it back on the nightstand and turns off the light. There are still a few more hours left to find sleep.

Hermione tosses and turns as she attempts to focus on sleep and quieting her thoughts. At some point, a flash illuminates the night sky, and that’s when the pieces begin forming more vividly in her mind. The clap of thunder follows seconds later, and with it, a realization is born. As the rain begins its slow cadence of pitter-patters on the window, the brevity of Hermione’s decision hits her with the force of the storm strengthening outside.

I don’t know much, but I know myself

And I don’t want to love anybody else

So let’s break the spell and lift the curse

Remember when we fell for each other head first

There is only one question that forms in her mind. One question that surpasses any of the other thoughts she’s managed to cope with over the last two months.

What have I done?

None of her previous attempts to move past this matter anymore, even though it’s too late, and there’s nothing she can do.

Three days later, Hermione is finishing up her night-time routine when there’s a knock on her door. She looks at the antique clock on the wall that reads 10:45. Her heart plummets to her stomach. No one calls this late at night with good news. She stands frozen in place, amazed that the glass of water in her hand hasn’t spilled to the floor as a result of her shock.

Another knock, and Hermione manages to lift her feet from the floor. She reaches over and sets the glass on the counter before pulling her dressing gown tight around her waist. The carpet feels thick and heavy, as if her feet are wading through mud and sludge as she makes the torturous trek to the door. Five steps feel like five thousand. She’s sure all of this has happened in a matter of seconds, but it feels like minutes. Maybe the caller will be gone by the time her eye reaches the peephole.

Her hope is instantly quashed when she peers through the tiny circle to see an older gentleman that she doesn’t quite recognize at first. He’s wearing an overcoat and tan bowler hat, and is looking down at a torn piece of parchment. A pair of cerulean blue eyes drift back up to the number on her flat’s door, and that’s when the familiarity hits Hermione like a muggle slamming into the brick wall that separates platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross Station.

She can feel the blood drain from her face as dizziness overcomes her. Falling forward, she clasps onto the doorknob to steady herself. The noise catches the gentleman’s attention.

“Er, Ms. Granger. Are you home? It’s very important that I speak to you. Please, I mean no harm if you’ll open up.”

Hermione struggles to find her voice to respond. Her hands are shaking so violently that she can barely latch on to the deadbolt that has been fastened for the evening.

“Oh, er, please forgive me. We haven’t formally met, but it’s Mr. Weasley out here. Ron’s father.”

Hearing Ron’s name gives Hermione the strength that she needs to click the deadbolt to the left as she manages to turn the door handle with her other hand. Pulling the door open, she slowly looks up at the elder Weasley.

“Is—is everything okay?” Her voice is raw and weak, and she’s sure the shock is the only thing preventing the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Er, no, it’s not. May I come in?” His eyes dart around, as if he doesn’t want to discuss the matter out in the open.

Hermione opens the door wider to let him in and manages to shut it when he’s through the entryway. Her free hand fiddles with her wand that’s still inside her pocket—just in case—though she fears no imminent threat from Ron’s father.

"Ms. Granger, I’m sorry for calling so late. I wouldn’t be here at all, actually, if it wasn’t for Harry mentioning—ah, well, that’s no matter...”

Mr. Weasley is rambling, and Hermione has trouble processing his words. Her breath catches at the mention of Harry’s name, which draws Mr. Weasley’s attention to her, helping him get to the point of his late-night visit.

“Ron’s been gravely injured. He’s at St. Mungo’s now. They brought him in an hour or so ago. Molly and I met Harry and Ginny there as soon as we heard. He’s stable for now, but the Healers are unsure if it will hold.”

Hermione grasps the back of the couch to keep from collapsing to the ground. A sob bursts from her throat as the tears that threatened moments ago now spill freely down her cheeks.

“Wh-what happened?”

The words are spoken with great effort.

“We don’t have many details. The Aurors are still trying to clean up loose ends on the mission, but it sounds like the operation was successful thanks to Ron’s efforts. One of the target’s accomplices hit Ron with an unknown spell before he was caught.”

Even through Hermione’s own devastation, she can hear the tremor in Ron’s father’s voice. He’s scared, though he’s hiding it well as he continues to explain what he knows. There’s a sheen in his eyes as the moisture appears, emotions raw as he finishes bringing Hermione up to speed.

“Everyone was apprehended, and Ron appears to be the only one who got hurt. We should know more in the coming hours.”

Hermione can only offer a blank stare as she processes the information. His letter said it would be a dangerous mission. He didn’t sound as if he was hopeful that he’d come back alive. Or maybe he was hoping—no, don’t think like that. It was her fault that he’d gone in the first place. By some miracle, he was still hanging on, and the haziness of Hermione’s previous decisions about their relationship begins to give way. The fact that his father is there in her flat informing her has to mean something.

“Why are you here?”

It comes out harsher than Hermione intends, but after their less than amicable meeting at the gala, Hermione can’t be bothered with pleasantries. Even if his wife’s behavior was ruder than his own.

The older man pulls out a handkerchief and wipes beads of sweat off his brow as he sighs deeply.

“Ms. Granger—”

“Hermione.”

“Right, yes, Hermione. I am aware that we did not get off on the right foot. I’m sorry I never introduced myself on the night of the gala. We weren’t expecting Ron to have a date. I’ll admit that Molly and I were ignorant in the way we treated you that night, and for that, I am sorry. Nothing can take back our words, nor can it change the way others view you based on your blood status, but please know how wrong we were.

“Ron was devastated after you broke things off after the gala, and I suppose that was largely due to our behavior. It’s clear to us how much he loves you, and we don’t want to stand in the way of that. So, when Harry mentioned you had asked for news and wanted to come tell you, I insisted that I should be the one to see you. Please don’t let our ignorance stand in the way of your happiness.”

Hermione stands there, listening to Arthur’s apology. While she appreciates the olive branch, part of her can’t help but feel that it’s too little, too late, and a new wave of tears flood her eyes as she sees those exact words in Ron’s letter. She offers a curt nod to let him know she appreciates the gesture, even as her voice can’t find the words.

“I won’t keep you. I should be getting back, but Ron is in room 408. You are on the approved list as a family member if you decide you want to see him, and Molly’s agreed to let you stay with him if you’d like.”

Arthur gives a weak nod as he dabs his forehead once more before making his way to the door. It takes Hermione a moment to realize what’s happening, and as soon as everything processes, she’s pushing herself off the back of the sofa and calling out to Arthur.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m coming! Please, er, if you don’t mind waiting. I just need to get changed—”

“Of course.”

Arthur offers a paternal smile as Hermione rushes into her bedroom and throws on the first thing she can find. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she throws on her coat and locks the door behind her.

Moments later, they’re entering St. Mungo’s, and Mr. Weasley leads the way through the main hall to the lifts. It’s only as the gate shuts that nerves begin to bubble up in her stomach. She’s been running on the adrenaline of the news, and now she can’t help but wonder how the rest of Ron’s family will react when they see her. Or, what’s worse, how Ron will react if and when he wakes up.

When. It has to be when.

As if sensing her trepidation, Mr. Weasley places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The lift opens, and the first person she sees is Harry in the waiting room. Her feet gravitate toward him of their own accord, and when Harry sees her, he meets her halfway and wraps her in a tight hug.

“He’s going to be okay. He has to,” Harry whispers in her ear.

Hermione nods, forcing her brain to believe his words. When they let go, Ginny hugs Hermione next, which helps her feel more relaxed.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

After one final squeeze, Ginny lets go so Hermione can follow Arthur down the hall to Ron’s room. He opens the door, and Hermione enters the sterile, white room. The most color she sees is his shock of red hair against the fluffy white pillow that’s cradling his head. Her heart begins beating faster as she spots his mum sitting vigil at his side.

Mrs. Weasley looks up to see the two standing there. A hard, stony look immediately sets on her face in defense before it softens slightly. She stands and walks over to Hermione. She knows that she’ll have a harder time winning over the Weasley matriarch based on this interaction, but if Ron wakes up—and will take her back—she’s willing to do anything to make it work.

“Let’s give her some privacy, Molly. The healers will call us in if he wakes up,” Arthur coaxes his wife out of the room as he gives Hermione one last reassuring smile.

When the door closes behind them, Hermione walks up to the chair Molly was perched at and takes a seat. She moves the chair closer to the bed as she observes Ron in his sleeping state. A tear slips down her face as her hand reaches out to take his. It isn’t cold, but it’s also not as warm as she’s used to.

“Please wake up. You have to wake up,” she pleads, choking back a fresh wave of tears.

I can’t find you in the dark

Will we get back to who we are?

And I can’t fix this on my own

Our love is still the best thing I’ve ever known

She’s not sure how long she sits there, watching his chest slowly rise and fall as he breathes. No matter how hard she tries, Hermione can’t look away, for fear that his breathing might stop if she does. She’s so focused on his chest, that she doesn’t see his eyes flutter open.

“Er-my-nee.”

His voice is breathy, with more rasp than she’s used to, but she’d have given all the gold in her Gringotts vault to hear her name on his lips again if she had to. He lifts the hand that she’s holding, and Hermione leans in closer to press her face into it.

“You came,” he whispers.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she lifts off the seat and leans over him, capturing his lips with hers. They’re cracked and dry, no doubt from being undercover in who knows what kind of conditions, but none of that matters. Ron’s alive, and he’s kissing her back.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m so sorry.” The apology seems frail as she mutters the words against his lips.

His other hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and wipe the tears from her face. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

“Only if you give me a reason not to.”

Let the broken pieces go

Just hold on to each other tonight

“I will, I promise.”

She pulls away to look into his tired, bright blue eyes that carry the hope she feels in her chest.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know what life is going to throw at me, Ron, but I only want to take it if you’re by my side.”

“It’s about time you came to your senses.”

The hand that’s still cupping her cheek adjusts to pull her back to him as he does his best to crash his lips into hers for a searing, though still tender, kiss. His breath is hot as he groans against her mouth, solidifying their reunification. There’s an unspoken agreement to let the broken pieces of the past go.

Tonight, they’ll start over, rewriting the stars to match their love story the way it’s meant to be.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #tw: implied death #tw: implied violence #romione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione granger x ron weasley

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thestorycfus · 3 years

Text

The Sweetest Apparition - Part 3

Pairing: Peggy Carter x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and historian who specializes in the life and legacy of Captain Carter. After Nick Fury uses the Tesseract to bring Peggy back, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts the reader to help her navigate life in the XXI century.

Warnings and notes: Food, mentions of Steggy, mentions of Stucky, very small mentions of war. Other characters are also mentioned. This got way longer than the first two parts, but there’s also way more Peggy here. This series takes place after the last scene of What If… episode one, including spoilers to that episode. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Word count: 2,304

Series Masterlist

It should be a short walk to your apartment, but you made a small stop each time Captain Carter was curious about something. You also got some take out on the way, making sure to pick at least four different options from separate places and a couple of desserts too, since you didn’t know her taste yet. It was a while before you made it to your street.

During the entire time, your chatting was limited to safe topics - how loud and bright the city was, how many screens there were, the amount of coffee options that existed now. You watched Carter fall in love with her caramel coffee and made a mental note to buy her more sweets.

Soon, the Captain would also need to go shopping. Fury had gotten her the formal white blouse and the black pants she wore now, an outfit much more discreet than the uniform she was wearing when she fell, but that was her entire wardrobe at the moment. That was another mission you should handle, but it could wait until after lunch.

When you finally got home, you placed the food over a kitchen counter and gave Carter a quick tour of the apartment. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be enough for both of you until she was more familiar with this century. The tour ended where it started: in your tiny kitchen. You pulled a stool for the Captain and presented her with the options for lunch.

“I suppose you’ve never tried some of those, so I got a few different meals. Burritos, sweet and sour chicken, calzones and Pad Thai. For dessert, there’s lemon tart and triple chocolate cake. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Peggy took a seat and examined her options. You wondered if that would be, technically her first meal since the 40’s.

“They are all tempting, but I might start with this one.” Her eyes were fixated on a burrito as if it was the Holy Grail. Yeah, that was surely the first time she ate in seventy years. She dove in, so focused on her meal that you didn’t dare to interrupt. Meanwhile, you took the other stool and picked a calzone, eating it while you watched Carter.

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that she was really here, and it was surprising that you hadn’t completely freaked out so far, but the prospect of the rest of the day started to worry you. The Captain would certainly have a lot of questions and, if there were inquiries that Fury left for you to answer, they probably pertained more to her personal life than to great historical events.

If the registers about her were right, it wouldn’t be long before the real conversation started. Peggy Carter was too smart to have such a debate in the middle of the street, but she wasn’t known for stalling. As soon as she finished her meal, in the privacy of your (now shared) kitchen, you would have to provide about seven decades of answers.

Before you could try to prepare yourself, she was done with her second burrito. You almost suggested dessert, but the look she gave you left no room for pauses. Carter turned on her stool to face you directly, her posture becoming straighter and her eyes never leaving yours. She was the perfect image of Captain Carter, the hero, the legend who defeated all odds. Still, when she spoke, there was softness in her voice.

“The meal was lovely and so is the apartment. I can’t thank you enough for you kindness, Agent L/N, but I must ask a few things more of you. If you have studied about my life, you must know what happened to Steve Rogers after I was gone.”

You should be ready for that. Of course her first personal concern would be about Rogers. His story with Carter went down in history as a tragic tale of love, bravery and loss. To his last days, Rogers had made it his mission to honor her legacy, but that wasn’t all that he did. How do you tell a person that the love of her life went on to live a decades long, fulfilling relationship with someone else, even though, from her perspective, they were together the day before?

“Please, call me Y/N. And you can ask anything, Captain. I will tell you everything I can.” You took a deep breath, going through the words in your head in search of the best way to let her know. It was best to keep nothing out. Carter deserved that. “Steve Rogers continued to serve as the Hydra Stomper until the war had ended and all known Hydra operations had been eliminated. After that, he stepped out of the suit so that Howard Stark could continue his research with the Tesseract. I believe neither of them ever gave up on bringing you back, but, in many ways, they also moved on to build new lives.”

You made a small pause, in case she wanted to say something, but Carter only gave you a nod, encouraging you to continue. It was impossible to look away from her eyes, or to keep anything hidden when she stared at you with such intensity. Even in silence, sitting still, she emanated a power that kept you talking.

“A few years after the war, Rogers and Stark started an intelligence agency to keep the world safe from threats we could barely understand. They named it S.H.I.E.L.D., because of you. That is the agency I work for, directed by Nick Fury.” There was something poetic in the way that same agency ended up being the reason Peggy Carter was back, but it wasn’t your place to point that out. “Rogers never stopped fighting, even without the suit. He was a legendary agent, working along with James Barnes until they retired. They were also together for the rest of their lives.”

That was the piece of information you feared would break Carter’s heart, but she had a bright smile after hearing that.

“That suits them. All of them.” The joy in her voice sounded so sincere, and you couldn’t help but ask.

“Were you and Rogers… Together? It is said so in the official files, but…” In your studies, you sometimes wondered if their relationship was just a myth, maybe a publicity stunt to humanize the fallen super soldier. It was your job to question the data, but you had never paid that possibility much attention until now.

Instead of being offended by your invasion of her privacy, Carter laughed so lightly and freely that you felt your cheeks getting warm.

“Oh, darling, Steve Rogers had a heart too big to have only one soul mate. He was the love of my life, yes, and I was the love of his, but not the only one. A love so beautiful and dedicated is supposed to be shared. Of course I’m sad I didn’t get to share the rest of his life with him, but I’m relieved to know that he and Bucky had each other. And that’s not to say I’m a being of such virtue that I’m above jealousy. I felt jealous of Steve alright, many times, but I could never be jealous of him with Buck. They fit well together and they were good for each other. They were real, just as Steve and I were. Steve deserved to be loved through a lifetime. I’m grateful that he was.”

Carter’s eyes shined with tears, but she didn’t allow any to fall. Maybe she would let herself grief for the lost possibilities later, but for now she was handling such an emotional journey with more elegance than you thought possible. It didn’t seem to be an act at all. On the contrary, what touched you the most was the honesty in her words. That selflessness of being genuinely happy to hear of how her soul mate lived on without her, in love with someone else, told you more about Peggy Carter than any history book ever had. And that’s how she reacted right after being thrown into the next century, coming directly from a war and landing in a world she didn’t recognize.

“I don’t think history ever made you justice, Captain. The general public thinks of you as a hero, but they’re so far from knowing the person behind the suit... You know, it’s very nice to meet you.” You couldn’t help but sharing a bit of what was on your mind. To that moment, your hero was turning out to be even better than your daydreams, and it was only fair to let her know so.

At that, she gave you a big smile and your heart skipped a beat. You would have a hard time sharing an apartment with this woman.

“You are far too kind to me. To be honest, they never showed much interest on me, suit or not, until I went against official orders and started throwing tanks around and fighting the battles that needed to be fought. I am more concerned about what I am able to achieve, regardless of how they will see me. And there’s no need to call me Captain, Y/N. Heavens, we live and work together now and you’re my guide to modern life. Peggy is fine. And it’s nice to meet you too.” She took the initiative to get a slice of chocolate cake, already making herself at home. You had the feeling that her adaptation to this world wouldn’t be too difficult, all things considered. Peggy Carter would take whatever she was given and make more of it than anyone imagined possible.

“As you wish, Peggy. Speaking of that, there’s a lot I think you’ll like to see about life now. What else are you curious about?” You took your own slice of cake, trying to feel at ease in this conversation. You couldn’t be on high alert whenever Carter was around if she was going to be around all the time, but that was easier said than done. Your responsibilities here were enormous and, to be frank, you were determined to be your best self and impress her, even if just a bit. Maybe telling her about the wonders of nowadays technology would do the trick.

“I am curious about everything. I can’t wait to know all about the development of science, or what I missed in seven decades of sociopolitical turmoil, but there’s one more person I’d love to hear about before we get to that. You mentioned Howard moving on with his life, didn’t you? What exactly was that little menace up to while I was gone?”

Now, that was a rich topic of conversation.

“Well, Stark continued his research with the Tesseract and with many other projects, sometimes along with the US government, and he built a billionaire empire. Weapons, all sorts of technology, wild parties. The man had everything. He has a son, Tony, who inherited the tech, the money and the brains, but with a stronger inclination to heroism. You see, Tony Stark built himself a supersuit, partially inspired by his father’s Hydra Stomper, but with a larger variety of uses. It’s said that Steve Rogers was a sort of mentor to him, but I couldn’t get Stark to talk a lot about it when I interviewed him.”

You couldn’t tell which part made Peggy more excited. She nodded along as you listed Howard Stark’s achievements, as if it was all expected, and her eyes got wider when you told her about his son. When you mentioned Rogers, she almost jumped in her seat. She was already invested, but dropping that name sealed the deal.

“Fury gave me this.” She took two business cards out of her pocket. “It has his telephone number and Barton’s too. Could I use your telephone to call him? I would like to meet this Tony Stark, and I bet Fury would be able to reach him.”

Giving Director Fury a call from your cellphone felt strange, but how could you deny Peggy that? If the Director gave her the number, he wanted her to be able to reach him, right?

Instead of dialing yourself, you showed Carter how to use the phone. She looked like a kid on Christmas whenever she was given access to new technology. You would make sure she got a cellphone of her own soon so you could show her everything the device could do.

She called Fury and you waited as they talked for less than two minutes. Peggy handed you the phone when she was done, with a smile that said she got what she wanted.

“So, what did the Director say?” You asked, anxious to know the outcome of the call.

“We’re meeting Tony Stark tomorrow at 2pm in his tower. Was it him who named it Stark tower or is that Howard’s doing?” She narrowed her eyes a bit, still smiling.

“The tower was built by Tony, so I think we can’t blame Howard for that one.” You joked. “Are you meeting Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. before you two go to Stark’s?”

“Oh, Fury is not going. He booked the meeting for you and me, if you would like to accompany me.” Peggy sounded hesitant, as if she had just considered that you might not want to join her on that plan.

"You’re asking me if I wish to be there when Captain Carter meets Tony Stark? Please, if I didn’t get the chance to be a part of that exchange, I would beg you for a detailed retelling as soon as you got home.”

Your reply made Peggy laugh once more, and you were getting used to that sound very quickly.

#peggy carter #peggy carter x reader #peggy carter imagine #peggy carter x you #captain carter x reader #captain carter #what if #what if spoilers #marvel #peggy carter m #marvel m #m #the sweetest apparition series

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hotfrost · 3 years

Text

i hated brambleclaw’s nine lives ceremony so i fixed it at 4am please don’t kill me if this is badly written

also major spoilers for the first four arcs, and there’s some violence in here. (this is also what would have happened if brambleclaw wasn’t an asshole)

Brambleclaw shivered.

The night was clear and bright- Silverpelt shone high above the two of them. A single star twinkled brighter than the rest, its glow more warm than any other in the sky. Firestar, is that you?, Brambleclaw wondered, feeling the familiar pang of grief for his mentor. It had been only one moonrise since the former leader’s death, yet Brambleclaw missed him like he hadn’t seen him in seasons.

“Drink the water.” Jayfeather prodded him and Brambleclaw snapped back to reality. He glanced at his son for a moment. It was hard to think that once the ThunderClan medicine cat had been just a tiny kit in the nursery, mewling for his mother. Brambleclaw felt a rush of affection for the blind tom. I was wrong to abandon you, he thought, regret surging through him.

Then he obeyed and bent down to the Moonpool. The water was crystal clear and the closer Brambleclaw’s nose got to the water, the colder he felt, a harsh freezing sensation that carried from his face to his tail-tip. Still, he drank from the pool and the water rushed through him, filling his body with memories. He felt his eyes began to droop.

“You’re sleepy. Let it take over.” Jayfeather sounded different, unlike himself. Drowsily, Brambleclaw realized he hadn’t ever taken the time to speak to either of his children after Hollyleaf had died. His heart ached for the black she-cat; he missed her the most. The briefest thought of her made Brambleclaw want to wail like a newborn kit calling out for his mother.

Then he closed his eyes, and sleep crashed over him like a wave on the lake.

When Brambleclaw opened them, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t standing on the ground anymore. He looked down to see he was floating in midair, his feet dangling helplessly below him. Everywhere he looked, he saw stars.

“You can put your feet down, Brambleclaw.”

Brambleclaw turned, eyes widening in shock. Bluestar stood in front of him; he had not seen the ThunderClan leader in many moons before the Great Battle. She looked young and strong and happy, the opposite of how she had been when Brambleclaw had been just a kit in the nursery. She walked towards him, tail swishing happily. Starlight dotted her blue-gray pelt and her eyes shone.

“Welcome to StarClan, Brambleclaw,” she said softly, but her voice carried through the void that they stood in. As Bluestar spoke, eight other cats appeared on her sides. Brambleclaw was sure his heart must have stopped.

He recognized most of them, but before he had a chance to call out to them, Bluestar dipped her head to him. “It is an honor to be giving you your first life,” Bluestar mewed solemnly. “With this life, I give you clear sight in hopes that you may use it to lead your Clan fairly.”

She placed her nose on Brambleclaw’s head and he was thrown off balance by the force of his first life. It roared through him like a blazing fire, and he could have sworn he felt like he was drowning. This must have been what Bluestar had felt as she died, he thought.

Bluestar pulled away. Then she added, “I am sorry I was not able to do this during time with you.”

“That’s not true,” Brambleclaw said quickly. It was true, but he had too much respect for the old leader to say so.

Bluestar said nothing. She stepped back and another she-cat took her place. Her pelt was as black as night and she purred as she approached Brambleclaw. “Hollyleaf!” he breathed, his mew just barely audible.

“Brambleclaw,” she said serenely. She seemed calmer, more collected, in StarClan. More like the kit Brambleclaw remembered, before the tunnels. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I miss you,” Brambleclaw said. He wanted to speak to her, but he knew Hollyleaf only had one job tonight.

“With this life I give you justice.” Hollyleaf raised her head, and Brambleclaw thought she looked more like a leader than he would ever look. “Use it to punish those who deserve it, and look after those who look after others. Be fair in all your judgements and never be cruel,” she finished, and touched her nose to his head.

Another burning life flowed through him, although this one felt good. Brambleclaw felt himself punishing the wrongdoers and looking out for his Clan. It burned like white-hot rocks did, or as if he were looking straight into the sun. He staggered backwards, caught off guard by the force of the life.

When Hollyleaf looked at him again, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Is she thinking of Ashfur?

His daughter left. “Hollyleaf, wait!” he cried, trying to go after her. But something was keeping him in that spot, rooting him in place.

“She’ll be waiting for you.” The next voice was one Brambleclaw knew well; it was the same voice that had soothed him in the nursery and defended him against the Clan. Goldenflower padded up to him, her long body shimmering with the stars.

“With this life I give you compassion,” Goldenflower whispered. “Use it not only for your own children, but for your Clan. They are all your kin now. Love them as a parent, as a brother, as a mentor. They are your family.”

Her head came to rest on Brambleclaw’s. This life was much less painful than the last two. It felt like a fire as well, but instead of a blazing hot one, this one smoldered and burned quietly inside him. Brambleclaw knew he was feeling Goldenflower’s love- for him, for Tawnypelt, for his father, and for her Clanmates. As the fire inside him died, he stumbled and stared at Goldenflower, a cat that had risked so much for him, a cat that had held so much love inside of her.

His mother walked back to her place among the starry warriors. Brambleclaw wanted to call out to her too, but he held his tongue, and gasped as the next cat walked up.

“Sorreltail?”

The tortoiseshell molly gave him a wistful stare. “I know what you’re going to say-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Brambleclaw blurted out, fur bristling in shock. “What- why are you here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brambleclaw.” Sorreltail purred, and her gaze turned sad. “It was my time. I’m okay with that.”

“I’m not!” Brambleclaw said indignantly. “What in the name of StarClan happened?”

“It’s not important.” Sorreltail seemed very focused on giving Brambleclaw his life. “With this life, Brambleclaw, I give you patience. As a leader, it is your job to understand your Clanmates, and to never become frustrated with them. They are your family and your responsibility.”

With that, Sorreltail put her head on top of Brambleclaw’s; he had to duck for her to do so. The life that went through him this time was calm, and soothing. This must be what patience is, Brambleclaw thought. He would do his best to watch after his Clanmates. For Sorreltail, and all the others they had lost.

The next cat to step up was one Brambleclaw admitted he had been expecting. Mousefur dipped her head to him, looking younger and livelier than he had ever remembered her in life. She was like a kit again, looking as if she were about to burst with excitement. “Mousefur,” he said warmly, coming up to the molly.

“Brambleclaw.” Even her voice was different. “Welcome.”

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Purdy misses you, you know.”

Mousefur sighed. “I know,” she said, her mew distant. “But we will meet again, in this life or the next.”

“I’m sure he would be happy to hear that.”

Mousefur shook her head. “Never mind that, I’m here to give you your life!” Her yellow eyes glowed, and Brambleclaw recognized the cat he had known since he was a little kit. “Brambleclaw, a give you a life for listening to your elders. We may be retired, but that doesn’t erase our importance. Elders carry the stories of the Clans, and without them we would never know our own history.”

Brambleclaw took a shuddering breath as Mousefur touched noses with him, and the life that passed through him left his knees shaking. His mind flashed, and he knew he was seeing the elders. There was a fire, a raging fire, and a little brown kit. That’s me. This is Patchpelt, he thought. The elder who had died in the fire that had killed Yellowfang so long ago.

Then he saw a rabbit, and his stomach growled. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of his Clanmates. But he was so hungry... if he just... ate it. This is Dappletail’s memory.

Then it was Longtail, the cat who had become an elder far to soon, and here he saw nothing. The world was black and voices beat down on him from every side; they were so overwhelming that Brambleclaw wanted to curl up and mewl like a kit.

Last he saw Purdy, and Brambleclaw realized he was fighting. He was battling against a big dark tom, and with a sudden jerk he was picked up and thrown across the camp, and then-

The memory faded. Brambleclaw stared at Mousefur, dazed. The brown molly just gazed back calmly, nodded, and went back to join the ranks of her starry Clanmates. Goodbye, Mousefur, Brambleclaw thought sadly. He didn’t know when he would see her again.

If hearts could break, he was sure his did as he saw the next cat walk up. “Ferncloud.” He wanted to run to her, the cat he had known since he was a kit, one he had grown up with.

The gray molly padded up to him, her eyes bright. “Brambleclaw,” she purred. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you to,” Brambleclaw breathed, wishing that he didn’t have to watch her leave. “Dustpelt misses you.”

“I miss him too.” Ferncloud dipped her head. “I miss him, and my kits. But I have a life to give you!” she purred. “The life I give you is for understanding that it is not just warriors who have a part to play in the Clan. Even though we may not add food to the fresh-kill pile, we raise each apprentice, each little kit, as our own. Honor the queens, Brambleclaw, for we are the ones who give you life.”

Brambleclaw let out a shuddering breath as Ferncloud’s life hit him. He had expected this one to be gentle as well, but he was surprised with the ferocity that it hit him with. He saw Ferncloud, battling for her life against Brokenstar, and Sorreltail, defeating Darkstripe. Then he saw his own mother, defending a young Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt from the Clan. You’ve all done so much for us, he thought.

But Ferncloud’s memories didn’t stop. He saw every kit that his friend had ever raised. Brambleclaw had thought it would only show her own kits, but no- he saw Spiderleg and Shrewpaw, and Squirrelflight and Leafpool, Whitewing, and then Hollykit and Larchkit who had died so young, and then Birchfall, the only surviving kit from her second litter. He saw his own kits, Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf along with Foxleap and Icecloud and Cinderheart and Honeyfern and Poppyfrost and Molepaw. He saw Blossomfall and Bumblestripe and Briarlight, and Cherrypaw and Molepaw and Amberkit, Snowkit, and Dewkit and Lilykit and Seedkit, and Brambleclaw thought he might collapse if he had to see any more.

But there was more. He felt Ferncloud’s fierce loyalty to the nursery, he felt how bravely she had defended the nursery. Brambleclaw felt her pain as she saw Hollyleaf’s unmoving body lying in the camp, her pain as the Clan had found Ashfur, her pain as they had buried Brindleface. She’s been through so much.

The memory cut to black and Brambleclaw jumped back in shock. That’s where she died, he thought.

Ferncloud said nothing, but her eyes glimmered like stars. Brambleclaw didn’t even know what to say. What could he say?

As Ferncloud padded back to her new Clanmates, another cat came up. “Feathertail.” His long-departed friend approached, starlight dappling her beautiful gray pelt. “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, my friend,” Feathertail agreed. “With this life I give you courage. Use it to guard not only your own Clan, but also all the cats who need it.” As she touched noses with him, Brambleclaw knew Feathertail was thinking about how she had given her own life for the Tribe of Rushing Water. You were the bravest of us all, he thought.

This life was a roaring, raging storm that ripped through him like claws and Brambleclaw stumbled. He knew what courage was- yes, he saw it in his Clanmates and in his leader, and in Squirrelflight and Hollyleaf. He knew it well.

As Feathertail began to walk away, he cleared his throat. “Where will you go now?” Brambleclaw’s voice faltered. He didn’t want her to leave yet.

“I walk two skies now, my friend,” Feathertail replied, turning her head. “We will see each other again.”

Brambleclaw found that a vague and rather frustrating answer, but he nodded silently and stepped back, waiting for his next life. There were only two more to go, if he was counting right. He couldn’t help but wonder who would give his last lives to him.

He couldn’t have been more surprised by who came up. The small black and white cat looked up at him, and Brambleclaw was surprised. He had never been this small in life. He always remembered looking up at the apprentice. “Swiftpaw,” he whispered, taking in the sight of his brother who had died so long ago.

“Brambleclaw,” he purred. ��Clan leader. Who would have thought?” His voice was young and high, but Swiftpaw sounded so much wiser.

“I certainly wouldn’t have.” He kneaded at the starry ground, still feeling awkward. It was as if there was no floor; it was unnatural. “I wish you’d been here.”

Swiftpaw said nothing, but moved forward to touch noses with him. “With this life I give you mentoring,” he said. “Raise each apprentice to be the best warriors they can be.” Then he paused. “I gave this life to another leader, a long time ago.”

Brambleclaw gasped. Firestar? he thought, and looked around for the leader.

But he had forgotten about the life Swiftpaw was about to give him in his shock, and he was pushed back by the force of it.

His vision blurred and suddenly Brambleclaw was standing in his brother’s paws, snarling at a huge, vicious dog. Through the corner of his eye he saw Brightheart, a much younger Brightheart, standing next to him.

There was a growl and a clamp of jaws and it was over.

Brambleclaw stumbled, reeling from the force of the life. “Brother...” he panted, at a loss for words. Swiftpaw’s death had been so terrible, so brutal. But the apprentice didn’t respond.

“One more life to go,” was all he said before joining StarClan once more. Brambleclaw didn’t even get a reply.

Only one to go! And Brambleclaw was sure he knew it would be.

He had expected it, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised when a familiar flame-colored tom weaved his way through the warriors of StarClan. He was much bigger and stronger than he had been in the moons leading up to his death. The ginger tom looked like Brambleclaw remembered him as an apprentice.

“My apprentice,” said Firestar warmly. “My deputy.”

“Firestar.” Brambleclaw’s voice was thick with emotion. He had missed his mentor more than he could say. He saw Jayfeather raise his head at the edge of the starry clearing, staring straight at them. “Are you here to give me my last life.”

“Yes, I am,” Firestar said, his forest-green eyes glistening. “My life is a life for nobility.”

Nobility. Brambleclaw exhaled softly, watching Firestar continue.

“Long ago, I had an apprentice,” Brambleclaw’s former leader began. He had no idea who Firestar was talking about. “She was a bright, energetic cat, and I trusted her with my life, even after she was no longer my apprentice.”

He’s talking about Cinderpelt. Brambleclaw leaned forward, intrigued. A storm of emotions raged inside him, making him shake at the feet.

“Afterwards, I mentored my own kin. And despite his shortcomings as an apprentice, he is one of the finest warriors I’ve ever had the honor of knowing.” Firestar was talking about his nephew, Cloudtail. Brambleclaw frowned. What was the point of his speech?

“As I mentored Cloudtail, I met a young cat who looked far too much like someone I knew.” Brambleclaw held his breath. He’s talking about me.

Firestar’s eyes rose to meet his, expression stony. “And I held that against him. Yes... I did. I held that against him for a long time, until he was faced with a choice. A choice to join his father, who looked so much like him, or to stay and fight for his Clan. And he chose the second one.”

“I should have seen it then.” Firestar’s mew was hollow. “But I didn’t, not fully. It wasn’t until I had gone on my quest, named him after his father. I didn’t realize until he brought us to our new home. And I realized that what a good leader he was.” Firestar paused. “And I couldn’t blame him for hesitating to kill me on the lake that sunset. I would have killed a cat who had never trusted me.”

Brambleclaw was shaking. How could he tell Firestar that he blamed himself for that day, for that life Hawkfrost’s fox trap had taken from him? How his hesitation was the reason Firestar wasn’t with them anymore.

“What are you saying?” Brambleclaw asked thickly.

“I’m sorry, Brambleclaw. I’m so, so sorry.”

Brambleclaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“For never trusting you. For being so foolish. You’re one of the noblest cats I’ve ever known.” Firestar’s voice was shaking.

“No.” It was so sudden that Brambleclaw hadn’t even known he had said it. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“What?” Firestar didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“I’m not noble,” Brambleclaw hung his head. “I spent most of the past few seasons avoiding my responsibilities, as a father, as a deputy, as a mate. And I’m sorry.”

Firestar didn’t say anything, just listened.

“You’re the noblest warrior I’ve ever known, Firestar,” Brambleclaw murmured. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t be half the cat you were.”

Firestar still said nothing, just touched his nose to his former apprentice’s.

The life that rushed through him was Firestar’s. It was all his.

First Brambleclaw was a little kit, sitting on the fence of a Twoleg nest. He was looking out at the forest, his paws itching to jump into the trees. Then he was fighting a younger Longtail, one that could see and he beat him. And there was Bluestar, and with a shudder Brambleclaw recognized his own father. As he followed Firestar’s life, he saw Silverstream, Feathertail’s mother, dying. And Cinderpelt in the medicine den with Yellowfang, who he had only known for a few moons. And then Cloudtail, and Sandstorm and Firestar rushing to rescue him.

And with a startle, Brambleclaw saw himself, a tiny, mewling kit hanging from a tree, with flames rising up around them. He jumped out to grab Bramblekit and carried him out of the camp. The scene changed, and Brambleclaw was watching his own apprentice ceremony, and Sandstorm’s anger. Then there was Stonefur’s terrible death, and now Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan with Tigerstar.

Brambleclaw watched as Scourge ripped every single life from Tigerstar, and felt Firestar’s shock. He watched in horror as Bone crushed Whitestorm, the most loyal of Firestar’s warriors, and saw Graystripe’s appointment to deputy. Then there was a long pause, and Firestar was leader of the Clan, finding out that Squirrelpaw and Brambleclaw had disappeared. He watched as ThunderClan had fallen apart- Brambleclaw saw Dappletail die, and then Hollykit and Larchkit and Shrewpaw. He felt Firestar’s agony as Graystripe was captured, his sadness as the Clans left the forest and Ravenpaw, Firestar’s other closest friend.

But there was also happiness. Brambleclaw was still in Firestar’s body, giving Squirrelpaw her warrior name and making Birchpaw an apprentice.

But the sadness came again, as Cinderpelt died and Graystripe was declared dead and he was bleeding out on the beach... bleeding, bleeding... and Brambleclaw saw a dark brown shape standing over him. Two of them. Panic rose up in him as the throbbing in his throat worsened. I’m going to die here, he thought.

But he didn’t die.

Brambleclaw, still in Firestar’s paws, watched three little kits stumble into camp, golden, gray, and black. He felt Firestar’s pride as he watched his kin, but also his hesitation. There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws. Then his body broke out into a coughing fit. This is the greencough. And then Sol appeared, his menacing eyes staring right into Brambleclaw.

And there was a long time of peace and happiness after that, until a shadow fell over the lake and Brambleclaw turned fearfully to see Tigerstar standing behind him.

There was a flash of lightning and Brambleclaw was released from the memory.

And it had pretty much confirmed it for him, that Firestar was the noblest cat he had ever known.

But Firestar seemed to make no comment about what Brambleclaw had said before. The flame-pelted tom stood up tall. “I hail you by your new name, Bramblestar. Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

Bramblestar! The rest of the cats broke into cheers of his new name. Bramblestar turned to his leader.

“Go well, Bramblestar,” Firestar murmured. “I will be with you, always.”

#brambleclaw #bramblestar #firestar #jayfeather #hollyleaf #goldenflower #tigerstar #feathertail #ferncloud #sorreltail #mousefur #bluestar #somewhat of a fix-it #fic**#warriors #warrior cats #i wrote this in ten minutes forgive me

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rebelhan · 4 years

Note

May I please request a jealous Geralt followed by fluff? 💖

here you go !!

pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

word count: 1.1k+

warnings: jealousy, tooth rotting fluff

masterlist | ao3 link

Geralt felt distinctly out of place without his armor. His clothing was certainly appropriate for his begrudging attendance of Queen Calanthe’s banquet, and yet he still felt like he’d fit in better with at least his pauldrons strapped on.

Jaskier had no trouble blending in. Of course, he had slept with half of the guests present, and conversation flowed much smoother with no need for introductions. Geralt studied the bard out of the corner of his eye, keeping a watchful eye out for vengeful spouses. When none seemed to be nearby, he redirected his attention to the other side of the hall.

It was easy to find you, it always was. He’d joked that one of his ears was always listening for the distinct sound of your heartbeat, but it was less of a joke than he’d care to admit.

You didn’t just look like you belonged at the banquet, you looked like you could be the guest of honor. You stood with poise, a natural elegance that most could only hope to emulate. There was a flutter in Geralt’s chest and his lips threatened to tug into a smile just from observing your form. Though the feeling was immediately quashed when he noticed the man speaking to you.

He was handsome enough, but he was overbearing, leaning into you, head first. Geralt could see you leaning away by the arch of your back. The brightly colored silks of his clothing and his garish jewelry, coupled with the fact that he was young, indicated that he was here as one of Pavetta’s suitors. So why he was romancing you would be a complete mystery to the Witcher had you not been stealing breaths the moment you stepped into the banquet hall. Hell, you had knocked his breath out too. He was caught between convincing his brain to do anything but scrape his eyes up and down your body and calculating exactly how you had fit this getup in your tiny rucksack.

There was a tug in Geralt’s gut, one that was wholly new, but easy to place. He knew that logically he had no reason to feel jealous. You were clearly uncomfortable, he could tell from your posture. And your heartbeat was steady, so you couldn’t be enjoying this man’s advances too much. And yet there was a particular smile on your face, a smile that he could easily spot in between the guests mulling about from all the way across the room, no Witcher senses necessary. A smile that, until this exact moment, he had assumed was reserved only for himself.

Geralt felt silly about the way his jaw tightened and his inability to look away from the conversation occurring between the two of you. He considered focusing his senses to listen in, but a pang of guilt stopped him from following through.

It was almost a relief when you turned your head towards him, as if you sensed the anger creeping up his spine. The smile on your face remained unchanged. Geralt’s eyes glinted golden, reflecting every shiny piece of jewelry decorating the noble men and women in attendance. But with the look he was giving you, they may as well have consumed by darkness, those of a Witcher on the hunt.

You said something to the man beside you and his face morphed into one of disappointment. In seconds more you slowly made your way across the banquet hall. Half the people you passed parted before you, taking the opportunity to gape. The other half, you stepped gracefully around, their conversations breaking abruptly as they noticed you.

Geralt mapped your path through the crowd with his eyes. The smile on your face never faltered

Then suddenly you were seated beside him. The sound of conversation in the hall quieted considerably as the guests took in the sight of you accompanied by the Witcher. And when they resumed their chatter and the volume rose again, you finally spoke to him.

“Are you enjoying the banquet?” you asked Geralt.

“Yes.” It was a lie. He was very much not enjoying sitting by himself, clutching a half empty goblet, darting his eyes back and forth between you and Jaskier. And he certainly wasn’t enjoying your smile directed at someone other than himself.

You hummed in acknowledgement, but you didn’t sound the least bit convinced of the Witcher’s answer.

“Is that why you’re staring at Jaskier like you want to murder him?” you ask. The bard’s back was thankfully turned, or Geralt would’ve been the recipient of a lecture from the smaller man about scaring off potential bed mates.

Geralt forcibly relaxed his gaze before swiveling his head to you. There was that smile again. Looking at it up close, Geralt felt something in his chest somewhere between relief and anger. He leaned into the anger without meaning to.

“You seemed to be enjoying the banquet plenty,” he said. Geralt winced at the malice coming from his own mouth, but you didn’t even waver. Your smile only grew in brightness. He would’ve been unnerved had he not been so enamored.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked. He meant for it to sound harsher, but you always did bring out the softest sides of him.

“You’re jealous,” you teased. The mirth was returning to his eyes, despite your accusation hitting its target perfectly.

He sighed. “Well how am I supposed to react when you smile like that,” he raises his eyebrows, “at someone else?”

You scooted closer to him until your hand could cover his on the table. You looked up at him. At this proximity, his fear inspiring golden eyes could only be described as loving.

“What happened to that ear you always keep on my pulse?” you asked, one eyebrow quirked questioningly.

“What about it?” he challenged, almost indignant.

“Well, what is it telling you now?”

Geralt took in a breath and willed himself to tune out the sounds of the banquet. Slowly the noises around him faded, conversation dimmed to a murmur like he was listening to them from underwater. And through the gentle noises, an unsteady thump made itself known to his ears.

It was faster than it was before, threatening to speed up even further. And your breath was stuttering. A look up at your eyes and your pupils were blown, black eclipsing the color of your irises.

And then he was back in the banquet, surrounded by noblemen and women, all vying for the same prize. And here he was with you. You with the loveliest smile he never felt like he deserved, heartbeat racing just for him, breaths jumping just for him.

Geralt’s lips lifted into a lopsided smirk and you looked almost shy for once. Then in a quiet voice you nearly split his heart in two. “You needn’t worry. My smile is my own, but my heart is yours to keep.”

----

thanks for reading! :]

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #witcher x reader #witcher x y/n #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #geralt imagine #geralt smut #witcher imagine #the witcher imagine #requested

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

I wrote this the other idea. And then a thought happened.

Enjoy.

Gender Neutral Reader Insert

_____________________

“I’m going to take you out.”

You hum in response, pulling at the last part of the cardboard box. The tape snaps, a soft pfft echoing. You bought new curtains for the kitchen. It was premature given that the curtains would only really go once the backsplash was done and the cabinets repainted. Your delay for both of those was Calum. Though you had painted cabinets before while helping a friend move into their place, Calum insisted that the two of you be the ones that redid the kitchen. Not just you.

The project inevitably got delayed. Calum dragged his feet on nonessential things and with things slowly moving back to normal, he was busier than ever with the band. So you understood--that took priority over cosmetic changes to the house. And you know that you couldn’t nag him into doing anything. So you poked him in a different way, buying the kitchen curtains that would only sort of match with the rest of the kitchen. It wouldn’t bother him at first. It would take a couple of weeks before he sighed, pulled out his old t-shirts and the sandpaper and paint that you had already bought.

Calum hums in your ear. “What do you say? We dressed up fancy too.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a kiss on your neck.

“Fancy? And go where?”

“Oh, that’s for you to decide.” He rests his chin on your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way his arms snake around your torso.

“When did you want to go? This evening?”

“No,” he says and then drags his lips up your skin. “Right now.”

You chuckle, though the end of it is interrupted by a sigh, the tingles running down your spine. “There’s nowhere fancy to go in the middle of the afternoon. And why fancy?”

“Because you have that outfit in the back of the closet and I think it’s time to break it out.”

You originally bought it for your anniversary with Calum two years ago. But the pandemic through a major wrench into the plan. That one passed and so did another and you weren’t sure when you’d be able to wear it ever. But couldn’t return it because you adored it too much.

His lips are hardly touching your skin, but you feel electric. “You know, we could just make this easy,” you return, pushing your hips back into his. “Besides, you said you were waiting on a call.”

His teeth nip at your skin and the heat of his breathe trails up to your ear. It doesn’t shock you when his tongue teases the shell of your ear, but it does make a warmth spread through your stomach. “I can take the call anywhere.”

“Then take it from the bedroom.”

Calum laughs before pulling away completely. “Oh, I absolutely could. But I want to take you out. Because I know this week I’ve been holed up with writing and you deserve more of my time. And we’re dressing up. And you’re going to think of the place right now.”

Without the pressure of his weight holding you to the counter and the warmth of his kisses, you can think a bit clearer. Somewhere fancy to go in the middle of the afternoon felt insane. You turn, using the completely deconstructed box as a shield. “You’re a dangerous man when you wanna be,” you tease.

He smiles, a bit of a blush taking over his cheeks as he leans into the counter next to you. He makes a show of holding his arms to his chest. “I can behave. When I wanna.”

“When you want is so important. But I don’t feel like I’m getting less time. I know this record’s taking some extra TLC.”

“And my darlin’ deserves some TLC too. So c’mon. It can be anywhere. We’re just getting fancy is all I’m asking.”

“The only thing I can think of is a museum? Contemporary Art?”

Gently taking one of your hands, Calum presses a chaste kiss to the back of it. “I’d be honored. I’ll hang these curtains and then get ready.”

“Thank you. I’ll take Duke out.”

He nods and watches you, eyes taking in the length of you. “And I know the curtains are you trying to get me moving faster about the rest of the kitchen.”

“The only thing about the kitchen I want to hear is if it’s on fire or if you’re planning a day to remodel it.”

Calum shakes his head with a hiccup of laughter coming from him. Of course, you would. Of course. He grabs the stepstool you keep between the fridge. It’s not long before he gets the curtains switched out--thankfully the ones you bought fit on the rod already installed. The scratch of Duke’s paws coming closer to the kitchen alert Calum that you’ve gotten back inside.

“What if we do the cabinets on Saturday?” he asks, hearing the fridge crack open. He shakes out some of the creases in the last curtain.

“I’ll be disturbing you bright and early then.”

“Sounds lovely,” he returns, stretching up just a little to get the first part of the curtain onto the rod. Just as he steps down, a cup settles onto the counter in front of him. Water by the looks of it in the glass and then your feet shuffle down the hardwood floors.

You and Calum manage to get finished at about the same time getting dressed. But it doesn’t get past you that a few buttons on his dress shirt are not all the way done as he moves to pass you to grab shoes from the closet. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re playing, but those few buttons are playing with fire,” you tease getting the last of your outfit into place.

“Look who’s talking,” he laughs but steps back over to you. “Hmm, everyone warned me about you.”

“Warned you about me?” This is the first time you’re earring of anyone having a problem with you.

He nods. “They told me I’d fall in love.” The rapid rate of your heart starts to slow.

“Well, did you?”

“Do you not see me dressed to the nines just to take you out? I am whipped.”

Cupping his jaw, you press several chaste kisses to his lips. “Good. I ordered our tickets--so we don’t have to wait in any line.”

“Ah, I knew I found a good one. Thank you.”

“Uh-huh. You’re welcome.”

With Calum’s shoes on, and the tickets saved on your phone, the two of you head out. The drive to the museum feels much too short--between you belting out the songs on the radio and the laughter--you’re not even thinking about the fact that you’re about to head to an art museum dressed like you’d go to an award show with Calum. You hadn’t been to many of those, opting at the beginning of your relationship to hang back from that world.

“Why do this?” you ask softly right as the songs change. The radio host advertises something, you’re not sure what, but you can hear their voice excited as they talk.

Calum takes a brief second to glance at you. “What do you mean? I thought I answered that.”

“No, no, you did. But I don’t know. I’m just shocked.”

It goes silent for a moment. You hear the soft squeal of the tires and you know Calum should’ve taken his car to the shop a month ago, but again, he dragged his feet on some things. But you don’t think to say anything, not now at least.

“You mentioned it,” Calum starts, turning his gaze away from the red light. “When we first started dating, you mentioned that you wanted to get dressed up one day and just go somewhere--it didn’t matter where. But you wanted to go on a date and get fancy and go to a random place in the middle of the afternoon like it was a movie. And I thought and I thought and I even asked the guys where to take you but none of them knew. And then I had this whole plan for our anniversary to get dressed up and go the park. But I got scared and changed it to dinner because I didn’t want to ruin your fantasy. We have lists of them and we make them up all the time. But this one mattered.”

“They all matter. That’s why we create them, that’s why we write them down.”

“But this one mattered to you. There are plenty that we do together. But this one mattered specifically to you and I knew I couldn’t just give up on it.”

Your mouth hangs open for a second and then the car lurches forward, you fall back into the cushion of the seat just a hair but then regain your balance. “You told me once that you missed when you and your sister would sneak these biscuits after dinner. And your mother always knew you two were doing it. So I bought some and put them on the highest shelf. Because that’s where your stash is and I never wanted you to run out so every couple of weeks I do a second trip to the grocery store to buy them. And I’m not sure when you realized I was buying them because at one point there were two and three packages on that shelf, which I knew meant you didn’t know I was buying them. But now there’s only ever the package that I buy.”

“I’ve known for months now, love. I didn’t say anything but honestly, I liked it. But I will admit I’m shocked you didn’t stop once you realized it.”

“I kept doing it because I wanted to give you a tiny piece of home. It’s crazy I know. But I try.”

“I am home. With you.”

“I know, but like your childhood. The things that no one really knows but you and what you’ve decided to share with me. I want to bring that to you.”

“Baby, I-I don’t need that. I appreciate it. I know you feeding me until I become round is your love language but I am more than satisfied to create new things with you.”

“Your trainer cancels out all my attempts. You, sir, will keep your toned abs and biceps for at least another twenty years.”

“Only twenty?”

You laugh, leaning over the console to kiss his cheek. “Once you marry me, baby, you’re getting happy weight and I won’t stop.” The sentiment is punctuated with a pat to his stomach. The only thing Calum can do is laugh.

“I look forward to it.”

“Oh, so you agree, you are going to marry me?”

Calum never thought he’d get here. Not pulling into the parking lot of a museum with the love of his life, dressed in clothes he only really reserved for the stage, a heartbeat away from admitting, “Yes. I am agreeing that I am going to marry you.”

The moment lingers for a beat, then two and Calum’s heart is racing because this isn’t how he had planned on asking. Shit, he thought he’d need another six months before he’d have the guts to even admit it to the boys. But right now, it just feels so right to admit. Your arms are winding around his neck and he’s leaning as far as his still buckled seatbelt will allow him. And you’re kissing him and he’s inhaling your laughter. And somehow the most backward-ass things feel the best.

“You-I need to get you a ring. I was going to do this all differently,” Calum rushes out, holding onto your cheeks. His head shakes, eyes wide. “I swear I was going to do this all differently.”

Your smile is blurry in his vision. But he hears your laughter. “I don’t need it any other way.”

You wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Now, can we please go look at the pretty art with my soon-to-be husband on my arm?”

“Of course.”

The air of the museum is cold and it chills you for a second but it’s coupled with the fact that Calum’s thumb is stroking the back of your hand. The two of you glance at each other, wide grins and giggles falling from your lips. It’s a wonder, as the two of you stroll through the museum. You in front, gravitating towards the brighter works and Calum follows, your pinkies hooked together to keep you two from getting too separated from each other.

All he can do is stare, watch you and your ever-shifting gaze. You float over the floor of the museum as if your feet could never really fully touch the ground. And he’s powerless to it, the following the visible string pulling him to you. At your pause, Calum slides up behind you. His hands settle at your hips first briefly before he catches himself. “Yes, Cal?”

“Nothing.”

You cock your head to the side and then ever so slightly push back against his hips. “Just as I suspected. A lot of something. Approximately several inches in length.”

Calum barely holds the howl of his laughter in before spinning you around. “Do not ever--”

“Or what?” you ask.

“You know I’m not going ever taking you out in public again.”

You take a glance to the left and right, before slipping your hand between your bodies. You palm his length through his dress pants. “Oh what a shame,” you state and then step away to a sculpture.

Calum exhales hard at the action and takes a moment to steel himself before following after you. The teasing continues on back and forth, him passing in front of you and feeling you over the material of your clothes, gently brushing his hands on the back of your neck.

Calum moves to another room and you watch him go for a minute before following behind him. The shivers of his still nibbles on his ears rocked you more than you anticipated. Sliding up behind him, you encase your arms around his torso. “You sir, are just begging for us to get kicked out.”

His small chuckle is interrupted by the buzz of his phone. Calum reaches into his pocket and sees the numbers. He glances around and slides to answer the call. “Calum speaking,” he whispers. You step away and point out a sign pointing to some restrooms. Calum smiles at you, kissing your forehead, and then heads over that way.

You wait in the same area, not wanting to go too far in case the call is quick. You take your time looking at each piece in the room. It feels long but then you can hear the clack of dress shoes on the floor and turn to the sound of it. Calum returns, his face a little pensive.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just--uh.”

“We can go if you need to. Is it work?”

“It’s just bullshit. Something bout a demo needing to be recorded. And I don’t--this is important to you. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“One more room and then we can go back home.”

He takes your hands. “If we do one more room, I won’t have time to take you back home. I’m sorry.”

“Well, our fridge magnet collection needs another one. And I don’t mind if you have to drive to the studio and then I’ll take an Uber or something back home.”

“Or you could stay with me?”

“I’m not about to make life harder. C’mon. We got a fridge magnet to obtain.”

The gift shop is hardly busy. Calum takes a second to text the guys that he’ll be over to the studio soon. It’s not hard for you to pick a magnet. But you look at the postcards, all the colors. “Grab a handful, love. I see you eyeing them.”

You pick up a few and then head to the register. Calum seems to be distracted by something, but you don’t think too much of it as you pay. Especially since he seems to slide up right behind you. At the front of the shop, Calum warns it’ll be a bit of a drive so you scurry to the restroom.

The sun’s brighter than you anticipated and you squint against the sun as you walk back out into the parking lot. As you slide into the truck, you toss the magnet and card onto the back seats, on the blanket Duke lays on. And then another small bag lands on your lap. “What’s this?”

Calum says nothing as he buckles in.

“Oh don’t get all silent on me. Don’t you fucking dare.” You turn the back upside down and a box lands into your lap. Your heart races and then you realize it’s too small to be a ring box though it could be the right size. “Calum,” you sigh and crack it open. A small enamel pin stares back up at you. You laugh.

“You got me good that time.”

“I’ll do one better when it’s an actual ring.”

“I like gold,” you tell him, taking his hand gently and kisses the back of it.

“Trust, I am well aware.”

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