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ethan-torchio-angelo · 3 years

Text

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.

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mistersshelby · 3 years

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I have an idea for the story. So, maybe Thomas Shelby would be invited to a party to do some business but all of the guests would be speaking in different language (unfamiliar to Thomas) and he would ask the reader to come to the party to translate it (she would be almost native to it) and the guests would hit on her all the time and even though Tom and reader are not together he would be veeeeeeery jealous of her!!! (We love some good jealous Thomas) It’s just an idea, I hope you liked it! 😊

sorry this took so long!! hope you like it! also just disclaimer i don't actually speak german anything i used here i used google translate for so i'm sorry if it's incorrect!!

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“Business with the Germans?” You frown, “I didn’t know you worked with the Germans.”

“The alliance is new. Will you do it?” You’re sitting across from Tommy in his office and he looks rather bored, “I’ll pay you extra.”

You smirk, “Can I get a new dress?”

He sighs, “Sure.”

“Okay.” You fold your hands in your lap, “I’ll do it.”

“Great.” He says dismissively, “I’ll pick you up at 7.” He pushes some cash across his desk, “Go pick out a dress.”

You eagerly take the cash and leave his office. Tommy never took you on business. You had always hoped he would, but you knew for the most part he only ever asked you to check over the books for him, needing your patience and attention to detail. But now, now he needed your German. And you got to wear a pretty dress.

Tommy was silent as he drove you to the party. The only instructions he gave were to not let anyone know that you spoke German, at least at first. Easy enough. After being in Birmingham for so long you were more capable of sounding like a native Brummie than a German anyway. Though your mother had left Germany with you long before the Great War, you knew the way the Brits saw Germans and so you had removed every trace of your native country from yourself.

“You’re German.” Tommy had said the day you sat across from him, to apply for the secretarial position.

“Yes.” You swallowed tightly. You knew a decorated war vet like Tommy was highly unlikely to hire a German, but you had to try. You were out of money and you needed a job.

“When did you leave your home country?”

“1910, sir.”

“And who did you support in the war?”

You opened and closed your mouth, “I was still quite a young girl then, sir, I knew nothing of politics.”

He carefully leaned forward at his desk and folded his hands in front of him. You avoided his eyes, “Which side?”

“I supported the Allied Forces, sir. I like living here, I supported my new home.” You say quietly, still unable to meet his eyes.

“You don’t sound German.” He says.

You look up at that, “When the war started I made sure I sounded like true Brummie. I think you know what patriotic men do to women from the enemy country.” You recalled a memory of being backed into an alley by two Englishmen who had heard you mutter something in German while in a shop. “I rarely speak German anymore.”

“But you can?”

“Yes,” You say and smile sadly, “Sprechen erinnert es mich an meine Mutter.”

He had no idea what you had just said, but it made no difference, “Good.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, “You’re hired.”

You think now as you sit in this car that even all that time ago, Tommy must have foreseen that he would need someone around who spoke German.

Though you had looked forward to this party all evening, you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest as Tommy walked you inside, “Stay close to me and just listen.” Is all he says and you manage a nod.

Hearing the cacophony of German as you entered the room nearly brought you to tears. You loved England and were proud to be English now, but you hadn’t been in a room with so many Germans since you were barely a girl and the nostalgia rushed through you. You thought of family parties, your father sneaking you a sip of beer when your mother wasn’t looking, the smell of her potato pancakes filling the whole house.

“Are you alright?” Tommy asked, noticing the expression on your face.

You shook off the memories, “Fine.”

Tommy grabbed two champagne flutes off the waiter’s tray and handed one to you as an older man approached him, flanked by two associates.

He spoke to Tommy in heavily accented English about a deal. It didn’t concern you and they were speaking English so you directed your attention elsewhere and found there were several sets of eyes on you. You were one of maybe two women that were in the room currently and you found yourself sweating beneath their predatory gazes.

And then one of the associates of the man who spoke to Tommy said something lowly and German and you had to hide your blush. Tommy sensed your change in behavior and forced a smile, “Excuse us a moment,” He takes your arm and drags you from the room, “What did he say?”

You open and close your mouth, “Tommy, it had nothing to do with the business, it’s fine.”

He narrows his eyes at you, “They said something about you. They know you’re German.”

You sigh, “No, but with the way you just pulled me out of there, I’m sure they do now.”

“What did he say?” He repeats.

You chewed the inside of your cheek and sighed, “They want to have a go at me as well in addition to… The weapons that you seem to be selling them.”

He stares at you and then nods, “You can let them know you speak German now.” And then walks back to the men without waiting for you.

You frown to yourself and then walk back to Tommy. When you return, they’re speaking business again and the one who suggested he wanted to fuck you stares you down again. You look away.

He elbows the man talking to Tommy, “Sag ihm, ich will Zeit mit seiner Hure oder es wird keinen Deal geben.” Tell him I want time with his whore or there will be no deal.

You finally look at him, the disgust evident on your face, “Ich bin keine Hure und wenn du mich berührst, werde ich sicherstellen, dass du mit einer Hand weniger gehst.”

The men pale and Tommy leans to your ear, “What just happened?”

“He insisted on fucking me and I told him if he touched me he’d leave without his hand.”

Tommy couldn’t hide the smirk on his face as he turned back to the Germans who still had yet to regain their color.

“You brought a German with you?” The first one said.

“Well, I didn’t want to be at a disadvantage seeing as I’m the only Englishman here, surely you understand. It appears you’ve upset her as well,” He clicks his tongue, “That’s not a very good idea.”

“My men are not afraid of your small woman, Mr. Shelby, and they still feel that since you brought her here she is fair game--”

“I think she made it perfectly clear that no one will be laying a hand on her,” He stepped to the man, “You may not be afraid of her, but you should be very afraid of me. And I don’t take kindly to my associates being disrespected.” He steps back, “Now we can resume the business or we’re leaving. Your choice.”

“You forget, Mister Shelby, that you are outnumbered here.”

Tommy smiles, nodding, “You think I would come alone. I brought a German with me, none of you thought to consider that I would prepare in that way. Do you really want to take the gamble that no one else is with me?”

The Germans hesitantly looked around the room. You were fairly certain Tommy was bluffing, but he could have men waiting outside that he hadn’t told you about. If you were the Germans, you wouldn’t take the gamble. Tommy was fuckin’ ruthless, you’d witnessed it first hand, but he was also clever as hell. Could probably outsmart every person in this room. You would never bet against him.

Suddenly, the Germans smile, “Why don’t you and your woman enjoy the party, eh? The business can wait.”

Tommy stares for a moment before smirking, “Pleasure, gentlemen.” And then he leads you away.

You exhale in relief and Tommy notices, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” You frown, “No, don’t be sorry.” And then you smile, “This is the most alive I’ve felt in years.”

He manages a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “Go enjoy yourself, then. We’ll leave in an hour or two.” And then he’s gone before you can protest.

Before you know it, there’s another man next to you. He has kind eyes, “Sprichst du Deutsch?” He asks.

You nod, offering him a shy smile, “Ja.”

Tommy had disappeared into a dark corner, perplexed by the sudden feeling he needed to protect you, needing to drown it in alcohol. He was watching you still, the easy way you talked to the men who ate up your smiles and shy glances. You were kind, good. And yet, when you bit back at those Germans like a Rottweiler he thought maybe you had been hiding something from him. These men would rue the day they underestimated you, he was sure of it. He was beginning to regret it himself especially as he saw the glint of a knife tucked away in your hair disguised as a clip, something he certainly had not told you to bring.

They all eat you up, and you’re polite, but you keep looking around the room. Looking for more suitable men or looking for him? He lets himself imagine the latter and then feels incredibly stupid for even wanting it. Wanting you. And the want and the jealousy only grows as he keeps drinking and you laugh at some joke the German toff next to you had recited. You even reach out a hand to rest on his arm. Tommy’s hand tightens on his glass.

And then when he leans over to whisper in your ear, his lips fall to your neck. You don’t push him away and the roaring in Tommy’s ears is deafening. He wants you to reach for that knife in your hair and cut him, but instead you lean into his touch, your eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

That’s the final straw. Tommy cracks his neck each way before standing. He walks over to you calmly and clears his throat from behind and you jump, spinning to look at him. “Tommy, I--”

“Are you having fun, love?” His tone becomes territorial and the toff is already frowning. Good. But you’re also frowning at the endearment. He doesn’t blame you, he hadn’t paid much attention to you before tonight.

You frown, “Yes.” You say firmly. He almost raises his eyebrows at the challenge in your voice.

“Go and fuck off now.” He says to the toff, not taking his eyes off you.

“I, but, we were just--” The toff starts and you begin smirking.

“Yes, Tommy,” You continue, “We were just getting to know each other, did you need me for something?” He can see in your eyes you’re aware of the effect you’ve had on him tonight and you’re enjoying this. You’d push him over the edge if you could. He had gravely misjudged you.

“You’d like to continue talking with the toff?”

“Oh, Tommy,” You lower your voice, “We were doing much more than just talking.” There’s deadly rage in his eyes and it delights you.

“Brauchst du mich, um ihn loszuwerden?” Do you need me to get rid of him?

You laugh, still looking at Tommy, “Oh nein, Liebling, du würdest dich nur umbringen lassen.” Oh no, darling, you’d only get yourself killed.

“What are you saying to him?” Tommy asks coldly.

You ignore his question, “What would you do if I kissed him right now?” You whisper in Tommy’s ear.

He looks at you with such disdain, you’re unsure if maybe you crossed the line. “Do you want him dead?” Tommy asks quickly in Romani. You had spent enough time with the Shelbys to pick up some words here and there and he knew you would understand.

You stare him down for a few moments, the poor toff still waiting behind you. Finally, you sigh and turn to him, “I’m terribly sorry, but I must be going.” You tell him in English, “It was lovely to meet you.” You don’t kiss him on the mouth, but you do kiss his cheek lightly and it takes everything in Tommy not to pull that knife out of your hair himself and cut him.

You walk out without waiting for the toff or Tommy and as he walks behind you he thinks of all the ways he’ll give you hell for what you did in there. When you’re outside, he catches up to you and grabs your arm, backing you against the wall. He grips your throat with his hand, enough that it should scare you, but not enough to make it hard to breathe.

But you only look at him defiantly, that smirk still on your face, “If I had known it was this easy to make Tommy Shelby squirm I would’ve done this ages ago.” You said.

He can’t answer you, can’t think of anything but that mouth, that dirty, cursed mouth. And so he covers it with his own. His kiss is rough and angry and his hand tightens around your throat enough to make you gasp, but he can feel you’re still smiling. You like it. That only arouses him further.

“You’re fuckin’ evil.” He says into your mouth and you moan when he tightens his hand again, “Will you come to bed with me?”

He pulls away from you the smallest bit to read your face. “Yes,” You say breathlessly.

He leans in for one more hungry kiss before pulling you roughly by the wrist to the car. His hand wandering up your thigh throughout the drive home. It was probably the best night of your adult life.

#mine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby angst #jealous tommy shelby #tommy shelby fluff #peaky blinders imagine #msbzowy

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cc-0420 · 3 years

Text

au of an au: han and boba parent trap cody and obi-wan

“i’m not doing it.”

“is it really that bad?”

“there is no negotiations. you are his excellency’s best bounty hunter,” the droid translated as the slug looked to boba, “and you are his best smuggler,” he said turning to han. “the two of you will have to work together for this job or neither will get paid nor have his services again.”

“if it’s full pay, i’m in,” han responded, “no reason to turn away from this job.”

“you doubt pirates, child?” han scowls at that. “both you and fett will get the pay promised if you complete the task.”

fett didn’t even glance at han from his helmet, “if he dies, it’s not my fault,” and walks out the door.

“man, you need to chill,” han follows him like a loth-cat, “we got a better chance together, right?”

not responding to the question, “we’re taking my ship,” boba sneers, continuing his path.

“you know, my ship made the kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!”

“i don’t care.”

~~~

the ride to florrum was silent as the two men were up to their own devices. upon landing they were greeted by a group of pirates.

“what can i do for you, boys?” what han assumed was the leader inquired.

before han had a chance to speak, his companion butt in, “we were hired to pick up the product for jabba. i assume you are hondo?”

i see he avoided mentioning that were to capture this hondo under jabba’s orders, han thought, would cody do this? Maybe he should’ve commed him for advice.

“captain hondo, i am. best pirate in the galaxy,” he made a jester to the building, “come on in and we can get you a drink to settle in-“

everything went black.

~~~

“why did you do that? the drugging normally works!” a voice broke out from the ringing in his ears

“sorry, boss, but I thought the helmeted one was going to pull a blaster on you.”

after a moment, han’s eyes were finally able to peel open. he was inside a cell, it seemed, with two weequays watching him, one of which being hondo. before he could quip to them, they already left and locked the door.

han began to look around, his mind running the simulators cody would make him go through for situations such as these, when his eyes landed on the body in armor.

he snorted, not so mighty, are you, fett?

han worked to untie the bonds from his arms, then shifting to the door. kriff, he’s never seen anything like it.

suddenly, a moan was heard as fett began waking up, “what the kriff happened?”

“we got captured, no thanks to you.”

“well, it’s not like you did anything!”

“i’m a smuggler. hurting people is not my job!”

fett didn’t respond, but han would bet 10 credits he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

“did you try and get out?”

“if i could, i wouldn’t be here,” yet still held up his free wrists, “I’ve never seen a lock like this,” han continued pointing towards the door.

“i wouldn’t have expected you to. hondo has captured jedi before. he knows his stuff,” by then, fett already freed his hands.

“how do you-?”

“ah! you boys are up!” before han could finish his question, hondo was already barging in, “and yes. i once captured my best friend, obi-wan kenobi and a few other force users in this cell.”

“oh, i know. though he wouldn’t consider you a best friend.”

“how would you know? sadly, he is long dead. i was sad to hear when the jedi were killed. he will always have a special place in my heart.”

fett scoffed, “thanks for the story. can we leave?”

“nope, jabba’s been a pain in my side for years. instead, we’ll bargain you off for the highest bidder. you both seem pretty valued by the empire…” hondo ended walking out.

“that hypocrite!”

“oh, stop pouting under there.”

the next day passed slowly, the door only opening for food. han was growing homesick. he was with cody for 5 years now and chewbacca 2. he’s taken jobs without them, but at least he was kept busy. fett lounged in his corner, sitting still. it was creepy how he never took off the mask, and han made sure to let him know.

one night, he pulls out his holo of cody. it was hard to forget, but it was easier to have on him on long missions away. the glow from it lit up the room and caught the bounty hunter’s attention.

“what’s that?”

“none of your business,” han reached to turn it off. fett clearly saw it and reached into his own armor.

he pulled out his own holocron and the same picture emerged, cody and a man with red hair and beard. when he first received the holo, han would ask cody about the man in the robes, but would always get brushed off. he learned not to ask as he recognized the faraway look in his eyes.

“how do you have that?” han spit out. cody was his family, through thick and thin and fett wasn’t welcome.

“ben is my guardian,” he said pointing to the other man.

“you know him?”

“obviously.”

the thick air was broken by fett first

“how do you know cody?”

“he’s my father,” and before fett could respond, “well, the closest thing to a father i ever had.”

fett stared again and before han could say anything else, he reached for the helmet.

underneath was the eyes he knew to love. the lips that pulled into a firm line whenever han misbehaved. the nose that would scrunch up when han disgusted him. in front of him was a young copy of cody. a clone.

“you’re a clone.”

“i’m a person.”

“why are you younger than cody?”

“cause i’m a person.”

that didn’t answer han’s questions.

“do you work for the empire like the clones?” fett asked.

“what do you mean? cody doesn’t work for the empire. the clones are there against their will! there’s chips in their brain! cody told me!”

“really?” unlike most times he talked, fett wasn’t being sarcastic, “if that’s true…”

“so, cody knows ben?” han pushed. cody told him many stories of his brothers, but not much of anything else.

“he was his jedi general before he shot him down,” fett’s eyes trailed their faces on the holo, “no one knew of the chips and began blaming the clones.”

“is that why you wear the mask?”

“no!” boba rose from his makeshift seat, “how many times do i have to tell you i’m not one of them? this helmet was my fathers. i was never a mindless soldier.”

“they’re not mindless soldiers!” growing irritated, han thought back to all the times cody stood up for him when he was in trouble. the tales he would tell of his brothers.

boba shrunk at that and whispered to himself, “they’re not mindless soldiers.”

the silence fell over them again. han trying to make out the emotions on boba’s face, while he was looking anywhere but at han.

“cody was a better brother to me than he should have been. i treated the clones like scum, but now i know this truth,” boba waved his hand around, “he never would have wanted us to fight. neither would ben.”

“i’m sorry for your loss.”

“excuse me?” boba stared, “ben is not dead,”

han stared back, “what? you said cody shot him. and cody never talks about him.”

“well,” boba paused, thinking of the pros and the cons. pros being that ben could see cody again and boba wouldn’t have to watch him be all weepy. con would be that han is lying. he weighed his options before coming to a decision, “that was the point. the jedi had to be believed to have been wiped out.”

han contemplated on his end. despite never talking about ben explicitly, cody always talked about how amazing his general was. if fett really knew him, and it seemed like he definitely did, maybe they could come to an agreement, “cody would want to know.”

“i know,” before thinking, boba added on, “they cared for each other too much.”

rather than dwell on that phrase, “can we get them to meet up again? after we get out of here.”

“ben wouldn’t want to give up his position,” boba put his holo away, “but you are right about them wanting to know. i have an idea.”

~~~

the escape was easy once the two worked together. they also decided, screw jabba and abandoned their mission. both of them were smart enough not to have a debt with him anyway.

they decided that they will each send a signal to their respected guardians saying they need help on tatooine due to a mission gone wrong. it was easy for han to come cody, in which the commander responded he’ll be there in a few hours. on the other hand, boba didn’t have a comm for ben, with the fear of giving up his position. instead, he got in contact with a tuskin raider.

han stared in shock as boba let out a series of growls and hand motions to the creatures before they ran off. at his disgruntled look, boba replied with a simple, “ben helped them out a couple times,” that didn’t answer any of his questions.

ben got their first. he looked much more aged compared to the holo. the man gave boba his best wtf face. “kenobi,” han’s head shot up at that, “sorry to bring you out here.”

suddenly, the man locked up, all emotion wiped and reaching in his robes, “are you turning me in boba?”

“no, i didn’t mean to scare you,” he looked to han, “this is a companion i made on my last bounty. he has some news for you.”

really, fett? you’re making me talk? luckily, cody’s ship was pulling in overhead, but the elderly man got more on edge. han quickly reached for his holo and pulled open the picture of the men.

“umm, this is my father figure,” he said pointed to cody, “boba said he knew you and that you should talk it out.”

ben glanced between him, boba, and the ship that was slowly opening up.

“i didn’t give away our position, but you need to know,” boba said, looking towards the ship.

cody emerged and rushed to han, enveloping him into a hug, “are you alright? did these people help you?”

his eyes swept over boba, not recognizing the armor and turned to ben who was looking at him like he saw a ghost.

“general?”

“cody?”

“i’m sorry. i couldn’t- i’m sorry…”

before he could go on, obi-wan swept him into a hug, “it’s okay, commander, it’s okay…”

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generallynerdy · 3 years

Text

Uncalled they come to me, and told, they still won’t leave me (Din Djarin/Soulmate!Reader)

Spoilers for Chapter 9 (S2E1) of the Mandalorian

Summary: After the ambitious Toro Calican turns on you, his hired mechanic, in hopes of winning favour with the Guild, the mysterious Mandalorian saves your life. Now that you owe him a life debt, he’s stuck with you until you can save him back. It’s not so bad, having a free mechanic and babysitter for the kid, but things take a turn for the worse when both of you realise you might be catching feelings. For someone that might not even be your Soulmate.

Requested by Anon: Hello! How’re you doing? May I please request a Din x reader soulmate au? The one where you don’t see color until you touch your soulmate? It would be very difficult for Din to find his soulmate and I’ve always wanted to see how it played out. If not that’s ok! Thank you and have a wonderful day ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (h/c) - hair colour, (e/c) - eye colour Translations: vode - siblings, Ret’urcye mhi - goodbye (literally: may we meet again), mirshmure’cya - brain-kiss (Basic term, is Keldabe kiss. This is the soft one as opposed to the literal headbutt term) Asked to be tagged in this disaster: @pearlll09 Word Count: remember when i said this would be 4k? Yeah. It’s 6,478 words. What. The. Fuck.

Author’s Note: this is way longer than I intended it to be but I think u deserve it since u were the only one who saw my post begging for mando requests and actually sent one hksjlfdkj tysm!! I’m so happy I got to write a Soulmate AU for him tbh. Btw, I have it in my head that Yodito would’ve given him the ability to see green, as a familial Soulmate bond, but it wouldn’t work for this if your eyes are green so I just left it out. (Also wtf is up with the Cobb/Din shit, Cobb is clearly in a dedicated relationship with the bartender Weequay. I named them Sala :D) The title is from The Teller of Tales by Gabriela Mistral.

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“Do you wear those gloves all the time?”

The Mando gives you a look—one that you can’t read, obviously, but you get the idea that it’s drier than the desert you’re in.

Calican snorts, but you shoot him a glare and he shuts up. You’re only here because he’s paying well for your mechanical skills, enough that his request of an extra hand on his first bounty seemed reasonable. Finding out that he’s hunting Fennec Shand was...less than pleasing, but now that the Mando is onboard, you’re not quite so worried about the outcome. They’re supposed to be fearsome warriors, after all. And he was smart enough to figure out how to wait out Shand, which is what the three of you have been doing for hours.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, “between the armour and the gloves, it must be damn near impossible to find your Soulmate.”

He shrugs. Sort of. It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Calican asks, flopping back onto the sand. “Mandalorians don’t have Soulmates. They start seeing colour after their first battle; war is their only destiny.”

You roll your eyes. They’re folk tales, really, and ridiculous ones at that. Every sentient has at least one Soulmate, romantic, platonic, familial, or otherwise, and there’s no reason for Mandalorians to be any different. Still, the stories make their rounds. There are specific ones, too, like the one about the Mandalorian Jedi who made the Darksaber; he was said to see colour when he lit his weapon for the first time. Fett, too, was said to have seen a new colour with every clone that was decanted—which is mildly ridiculous.

“Maybe the Mandalorians of old,” Mando comments with a scoff. “Not many of us see battle these days.”

“Well, if you’re looking for it, I know a krayt dragon a few hundred klicks away,” you suggest lightly.

He snorts. “No thanks. I’ll take the assassin.”

“Speaking of,” you said, “you guys know I’m just a mechanic, right?”

There’s a pause. Calican nods, but the Mando is still.

“What?” he asks, displeasure in his voice.

“I mean, I’m pretty good with a blaster, but I’m gonna be useless against Fennec Shand.”

Mando whirls on Calican. “You paid a mechanic to be your back-up? Are you insane?”

He shrugs. “(Y/N) has a mean right hook.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Mando huffs. He looks over at you and you can almost feel him glaring through the visor. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m broke,” you scoff. “Same thing. Oh, hey, do you need repairs on that hunk of junk you pilot? I’ll be more thorough than that lady at the hangar.”

He hesitates. “We’ll see.”

You grin. That’s not a no.

“You’re a prick, did I mention that?” you hiss over your shoulder.

Calican shoves the blaster into your side. “Shut up and keep walking.”

The Mandalorian stands on the other side of the hangar, waiting for Calican to make his move. Seriously, this day could not be going any worse. After killing Shand, Toro Calican, certified dumbass, decided that kidnapping you and the Mandalorian’s—pet? Child?—passenger was the best way to go. Whatever the little weird thing that’s in your arms is, it’s pretty cute, and you’d rather he shoot you than the baby holding tightly onto your shirt. In fact, he probably will, because the kid is his ticket into the Guild—you’re just dead weight.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?” Calican asks the Mando. “Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian puts his hands behind his head. Next to you, Calican pushes Peli forward and instructs her to cuff him. With a huff, she moves behind the Mandalorian with the intent to follow orders.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Calican begins. You consider sighing. This sounds like the start of a villain monologue. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”

In a burst of light, the Mandalorian sets off a flash grenade.

You yelp and tuck the little thing into your arms before tucking yourself over into a roll down the ramp of the ship. You fall into the sand just in front of the Mandalorian, who’s moved to fire a shot at Calican, sending him flying off the other side, smouldering.

Breathing heavily, you sit up, the child still in your arms.

“Are you okay? Is the child?”

You look up. The Mandalorian has his gloved hand held out, offering to help you up. Hesitantly, you take it and pull yourself off the ground.

“We’re both okay—I think,” you say hesitantly, holding the baby out to him. “Is he—?”

“Dead,” the Mando confirms, taking the child from you.

You frown. “Good riddance. Thank you,” you tell him hesitantly, though your tone is genuine.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

He distracts himself by checking on the child, who coos up at him contentedly. You smile a little at the interaction, but put yourself back into focus.

“It’s not nothing,” you say firmly. “I owe you a life debt.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Where I come from, if someone saves your life, you owe it to them. Until I can save your life, I owe you,” you explain.

“That’s—you don’t need to do that,” he says quickly.

You cross your arms. “It’s like your Way. It’s my culture, my honour on the line. You’re stuck with me, Mando.”

“What? No. Can’t you...pay me, or something?”

“I’m broke, remember?”

“You saved the child’s life, doesn’t that count?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I rolled with him. You did the work, so, no, it doesn’t count, even though he’s your…” You hesitate, remembering the word. “...foundling.”

“You know, you’re kind of getting the better end of the deal here,” Peli pipes up, directing the thought at the Mandalorian. “A free mechanic, babysitter, and an extra blaster? That’s a bargain.”

“Uh...pre-warning, I don’t know much about child care,” you warn immediately.

He snorts. “Neither do I.” After a moment, he sighs deeply. “Fine. But we’re going to work on those blaster skills before you become a liability.”

“Fair enough.”

Sticking with the Mandalorian is probably the worst decision of your life.

Almost immediately after Tatooine, in need of more funds, he drags you into trouble with another group of bounty hunters and the New Republic, of all groups.

“Who is this?” someone asks, her voice sing-song as she enters the Mandalorian’s ship.

You don’t bother turning around, continuing your repairs on a hull panel. “The mechanic. Don’t touch anything.”

“You have a personal mechanic?”

A few people enter the ship, making you finally turn around. The first speaker is a Twi’lek woman and the second a Human, who squints disdainfully. From behind him, Mando pushes past their little crew—including a protocol droid and a massive Devaronian—to approach you, deciding to stand next to you rather than them, which brings you immense pleasure for some reason.

“No. (Y/N) owes me a life debt and, apparently, credits don’t cut it,” he explains shortly, sounding frustrated and exhausted.

You nudge him companionably—it’s an argument you’ve had a few times, the paying of your debt. He doesn’t want to be free of you, per se, but he doesn’t want you to be in his debt. Having that kind of power or hold over you makes him uncomfortable, you can tell, as every time it comes up he gets twitchy.

“Kinky,” the Twi’lek snickers.

You grimace. That would explain why Mando sounds like he wants to die. “Fun group. What’s the job?”

“One of theirs got caught. We’re getting him out,” he says. “And we’re using our ship.”

Our ship. Maybe it’s a slip of the tongue or maybe he’s making it clear that you’re with him, but either way, it brings a smirk to your face. The Twi’lek looks disgusted.

“Well, at least my hard work won’t be going to waste,” you huff.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek interrupts, “you haven’t introduced us.”

You can feel him rolling his eyes. “(Y/N), meet Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an. Mayfeld is running point, the droid is flying, and the target is a New Republic transport ship.”

“Ugh. You guys better be good; I’m not getting arrested.”

“Mayfeld’s former Imperial,” Mando says before any of them can answer.

You scoff. “A stormtrooper? My shitty blaster skills would be better than his.”

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper,” Mayfeld spits, annoyed enough that he must’ve said it once already. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

All but the droid stay, scattered around the hull. Mando follows soon after the jump to hyperspace, having hovered over the droid while it set their course. He stops Burg from getting into the weapons cache right after he hops down the ladder and the two look like they want to kill each other.

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” the Devaronian grunts.

Mayfeld huffs. “Well, apparently, they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say.”

“Then why are they all dead?”

They all laugh at that—Xi’an with a particularly nasal one, which is irritating beyond belief. You frown deeply, but try not to show how pissed their laughter makes you. That sort of shit isn’t to be made fun of; a dying race. It’s all too familiar these days, what with the death of Alderaan and the crater on Scarif.

When you come back into focus, Xi’an is talking in low tones.

“See, I know who you really are,” she says to the Mando.

You roll your eyes. Unlikely.

(Something in your brain goes: I do, which is stupid. You don’t know who he is, under that helmet, sure, but you’ve seen a lot of him through his actions. He’s reckless, terrifying, and a badass, but he’s also patient and...kind, in his own way. The way he treats the child is like nothing you’ve seen in another bounty hunter. It’s gentle, caring. The kid has really grown on him, you think. And the way he treats you is just straight up polite, even though you’re practically his servant in terms of a life debt. Still, he treats you like a person and doesn’t ask you to do unreasonable favours just because he saved your life. He doesn’t hold it over your head.)

And then they start goading him about the helmet.

Burg actually goes for it, which Mando beats him back for. You jump forward, but just as you do, the door to the sleeping cot flies open, revealing the child.

Instead, you rush to the child, pulling him into your arms.

“What is that?” Mayfeld asks, approaching.

“Back off,” you hiss.

He looks between you and Mando. “Wait, did you two make that?” When you scoff, he frowns. “What is it, like a pet or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Mando says quickly.

Xi’an frowns. “Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft.”

You snort. Soft. That isn’t a word you’d use to describe him, ever. You haven’t seen very much action since Tatooine, but you saw enough there.

Mayfeld reaches for the child and, without hesitation, you lift your blaster. The way he’s looking at the little guy makes you uneasy.

“Fuck off,” you warn instantly.

“Aw, c’mon, I just wanna hold him,” he teases.

Over the comms, the droid’s voice echoes. “Dropping out of hyperspace. Now.”

The entire ship shudders and shakes, sending everyone flying off their feet. You happen to ram into beskar, your face slamming into the metal, which makes you yelp. The baby wails in your arms as gravity makes to tug you away again. Before it can, Mando grabs your arms and holds you in place against him until the ship is steady once more.

“You okay?” he asks, helping you to your feet—again, you think miserably.

“Ugh, no,” you groan, putting a hand on the left side of your face. “That’s gonna bruise.”

Mando takes the child from you. “Sorry. We’ll deal with it after.”

You wave him off. “I’ve had worse. You worry about the job, I’ll watch the kid,” you say, taking the child back. You can’t help but smile when he coos happily.

“Right,” Mando mutters. For a moment, he watches you both, considering.

“Mando!” calls Mayfeld. “Let’s go!”

Before he goes, he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.” You nod, which seems to appease him, and watch him leave.

Petting the child’s floppy ears, you wonder if he meant that to be as comforting as it was.

I should’ve known, Din thinks when Qin walks out of that cell.

I definitely should’ve known, he decides, returning to the Razor Crest to find a sparking droid corpse and a shaking child in your arms.

He tosses the cuffed Twi’lek to the side and rushes to yours, stepping over Zero’s limp form. You look relatively unfazed, for someone who’s just ripped a droid’s head off with their bare hands, but the child is rather distressed. The kid squeaks at the sight of Din and, much to his surprise, lifts your hand to show him.

It’s bleeding.

“What did you do?” Din questions, crossing the hull for his medical kit.

“I...may have tried to punch the droid,” you admit hesitantly. “It didn’t work.”

He scoffs, returning to kneel in front of you with bacta patches in his hands. “No karking shit.”

Your face falls as he reaches for your hand, pulling it toward him so he can patch it up. “It was gonna hurt the kid.”

“You did good,” he murmurs. “Stupid, but good.”

It never occurred to him that you might save the child again. You’re here out of necessity, after all, because you owe him, because your honour depends on paying that debt. The child is just another being in the vicinity, but you still saved him. Again. You’re either very stupid or very kind and he can’t decide which one is more concerning.

“Maybe you should teach me a bit of hand to hand, too,” you suggest warmly, wincing at the bacta’s sting.

Din makes a noise that’s sort of a laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

He moves to put bacta on the bruise his beskar gave you—He feels ridiculously guilty for that; here you are, paying off a life debt to him, and he still manages to hurt you—but with a hand, you stop him.

“Don’t waste it,” you say immediately. “I’ve had worse bruises, seriously.”

He frowns. “It’s not a waste.” Before you can protest, he puts the patch on top of the bruise.

You huff. “You’re a worrier, aren’t you, Mando?”

“Apparently,” he replies dryly. He hadn’t realised it, either.

“Will you stop flirting and get us out of here!?” Qin shouts from the other side of the hull. “The New Republic will be on our asses!”

You roll your eyes. “I hate to say it, but he has a point. Where are the others?”

“Dealt with,” he says simply. “It was a double-cross.”

“Well, I figured,” you shoot back with a knowing look. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The drop is easy enough, especially since Din knows that New Republic signal is beeping steadily from Qin’s pocket. He escapes quickly, dipping back into the Razor Crest, where you wait at the top of the ramp, the child hanging onto your boot.

“Let’s go,” he declares, the ramp shutting behind him as he enters.

“Already?” you question with a raised eyebrow. “There are a few repairs I could make out of hyperspace that might be useful.”

He waves you toward the cockpit. “Later. We need to leave.”

“Oookay.” You frown but do as he says, plucking the child from off your foot. “C’mon, little guy,” you mutter to him.

Din waves away all your questions as he starts the take-off. Finally, when the Razor Crest is a safe distance away from the space station and X-Wings appear out of hyperspace, he glances back at you.

“Holy shit!” you cry as they open fire. You look back at him with a slack jaw, which makes him smile underneath the helmet. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, but it’s enough of an answer.

“You’re a maniac, Mando,” you laugh, watching the scene through the transparisteel.

Din thinks over it, staring at you for a long moment. There’s light in your eyes—maybe it’s the reflection of the explosion, but it’s captivating.

“Din,” he says.

You look over. “Hm?”

He clears his throat, trying to shove aside nerves. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Oh. Oh,” you repeat, eyes wide. Then, you smile, more genuine than he’s ever seen from you, he thinks. “You’re crazy, Din. You know that, right?”

He laughs—and that’s the first time you’ve heard a proper one from him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

When Din drops a pair of gloves in front of you, you laugh.

“You’re telling me the gloves are out of convenience?” you ask him disbelievingly.

“The more skin you cover, the less likely you are to get cut up by a vibroblade,” he replies dryly. “Put them on.”

You raise your hands in surrender and take them, slipping them over your fingers. “Surprisingly comfy.”

It occurs to you that this is...sort of a big deal. You’ve kept your hands bare for as long as you can remember, mostly because you’re a romantic and finding your Soulmate has been at the forefront of your mind for a long time. But now, you think, it’s not such a big deal. You have a debt to pay and, besides that, you’re pretty happy with how things are now.

Life isn’t exactly nice with Din and the kid, so to say, but you’re content. You love the child and he adores you. The Razor Crest feels more like home than any planet ever has. And Din is...well, he’s something. Being around him is mildly addicting and whenever he’s gone, something feels incomplete.

“Better?” you ask, lifting your gloved hands.

“Much,” he says. Then, he holds out his own hand. “C’mon, up.”

You take the hand without thought, but before you know it, he’s swinging you around and shoving you to the ground.

“Ow!” you cry. “What the hell, Din?”

He huffs. “Lesson 1: Never take anything for granted.”

“Rude.” You hit his arm meaningfully, but he just rolls his eyes; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean you can’t tell it’s happening.

“You’ll thank me someday.”

“But not today.”

“Nope. Today, you’re gonna hate my guts.”

He’s dying.

It feels unreal, what with everything you’ve watched him survive so far. A newbie bounty hunter, a group of pissed off bounty hunters, lots of bounty hunters, and the New Republic but a group of stormtroopers is what gets him?

Moff Gideon is what really gets him, though. The bastard that helped destroy his people is going to destroy Din Djarin. Hearing him speak Din’s name makes you nauseous, furious, even. He gave you that name in confidence, trusted it to you, the only one of his handful of friends to even use it, and Gideon decides to declare it to Nevaroo in its entirety. It makes your blood boil, enough that you get out of the initial firefight mostly unscathed.

But Din doesn’t. And now he’s dying in your arms and you feel like you failed.

“Go with them,” he tells you, all croaky and half-assed.

“No. No, I’m not leaving you here,” you declare, carefully leaning him against the rubble.

Flames flicker all around the room and the child is crying. It’s not loud or consistent, but it’s enough to break your heart.

“You have to go,” Din says again. “You’ll die.”

You laugh ruefully. “That’s kind of the point. A life debt means I save your life or I die trying.”

A pause.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he hisses through the pain.

“Afraid not, dumbass. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He grasps your arm, his hands still gloved. If you’re going to die here, maybe you should ask him to take off the gloves. A part of you has wondered…

“C’mon, tell me it’s transferable—some ‘dying wish’ shit like that.”

You nod, though the action sinks uncomfortably into your chest. Leaving him here...that doesn’t sit well with you. But if he asks, then you’ll do it. “Yeah, you name it, but it’d better be a big one, something equivalent.”

The breath he lets out is one of relief. “Take care of the kid. Go find his people and return him to them. Protect him.”

“With my dying breath,” you swear, the words holding an air of ceremony.

Din grasps your arm tighter and pulls you down, your forehead meeting his helmet. You’re not sure what it means, but it must mean something because he mutters words in his own language, which you’ve never heard him do before.

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

May we meet again.

Din does what little he can in saying goodbye to you, as deeply as that cuts. You’ve grown on him, a little too much maybe, and it kills him to think that you’ll be without him now. You still can’t hit a headshot, he realises, suddenly worried for how you’ll fare.

And so he gives you what he can: a Keldabe kiss and a goodbye, instead of the action he wants to take. He wants to take off his gloves and see if he can figure out the colour of your eyes. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t want to leave you with that, of all things, to leave you seeing the red of his blood and the blue-tinged orange of the flames before any other colours.

You take the child in your arms and, with one last glance at Din, leave the room for the covert’s tunnels underground.

The child whimpers up at you.

You look down, sniffling, and pet his ears gently. “I know, little one. I’m so sorry.” You place a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Cara appears, tugging on your wrist. “C’mon,” she says gently. “We need to get out of here.”

It occurs to you, as the three of you and Greef move on, that Cara might help you with the child. For Din, obviously. She’s a good person and, frankly, she and Din seem pretty friendly. The second she saw you, she’d offered her bare hand and bemoaned the fact that her vision was still black and white, much to your amusement. It was all in good fun, but Din had looked a little uncomfortable, for reasons you didn’t know.

“(Y/N),” Cara says quietly, calling your attention back.

You shake yourself from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

She smiles sadly. “It’s okay. Just keep up.”

The small group turns a few corners before footsteps sound from behind. You immediately place the child in the bag hanging from Cara’s shoulder and draw your blaster, watching her and Greef do the same.

From the distant hall, two figures approach: IG-11 and—

“Din!” you half-cry, half-breathe out. Holstering your blaster, you meet them halfway to take more of Din’s weight from IG. “How—?”

“No living thing can see me without my helmet. IG isn’t alive,” Din says dryly.

You laugh, a partly manic sound. “Thank kark. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

The noise he makes is both amused and resigned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Where’s the—?”

“He’s with Cara,” you say, finishing the thought before even he can, in his groggy state.

It’s safe to say that when the Armourer gives him his sigil, Din almost considers correcting the Clan of two to a Clan of three. He doesn’t, reminding himself that you’re here because of a debt and nothing else, but the thought is there.

The months after Nevarro are more peaceful than the first week of your time with Din.

You finally get to pull a proper sleeping space together for yourself. Well, it’s a hammock in the hull, but it’s better than the seats in the cockpit. The child gets his own hammock, too, though it’s in the cot space with Din. He loves it, so much so that he squeals when he sees it. That’s your proudest moment, for sure.

Most days, you tend to forget that you still owe a life debt. To be honest, it just feels like the three of you are normal. Din takes bounties, you take short mechanic jobs on different planets, and the two of you trade off on child-duty. It’s pretty regular, more than what your life used to be, anyway.

Din is still training you in hand-to-hand and blasters, of course. You’re getting better with the latter, but the first is difficult. On the way to Tatooine, where there’s supposedly another Mandalorian, he decides to have another training session.

“Fists higher, do it again.”

Huffing, you wipe your wrist across your sweaty forehead. It’s easy enough to obey the order—the first part, anyway. Getting into his guard is difficult, though.

One hit, two blocks—there. You slip under his guard and make an abrupt drop to the ground, sweeping his legs out under him with a fierce movement. He goes down in a tumble of beskar, joining you on the floor. As soon as he’s down, you flip over and straddle his hips, an arm over his neck in false threat.

He barks out a laugh. “Much better.”

“I’m not entirely hopeless!” you declare joyfully before bursting into snickers.

Leaning down, you thunk your forehead against his helmet. The gesture is fond, you’ve learned, something shared between close companions—or at least you think. Din told you that it’s called a mirshmure’cya in Mando’a, that it doesn’t have an equivalent word in Basic.

(Which is technically true. Literally, it means brain-kiss, but the outsider term for it is Keldabe kiss. It can be used for close companions—vode in arms, family—but it’s also used for romantic partners, so he’s mildly horrified at the idea of explaining its cultural significance to you and having to face his feelings for someone that may or may not be his Soulmate. He hasn’t gotten up the courage to ask if he can check. Or try to do it discreetly.)

A distant beeping starts up, coming from the cockpit. It’s the approach warning, which means the training session is over.

“I’ll get the kid,” you say, climbing off Din and offering a hand.

He takes it without hesitation, dragging himself up and making a beeline for the cockpit.

Tatooine is about what you remember. That is, it’s dry, sandy, and the worst planet you’ve ever been on. Stepping out of the ship and into the hangar makes you smile, though, at the not-so-distant memory of Din saving your life. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been years.

“Oh, hey!” says Peli, after greeting the child—which is fair, he’s adorable. “You’re still with him! Haven’t repaid that debt yet, huh?”

Your face falls. “Uh, no, not really.”

On the way to Mos Pelgo, your thoughts linger on the life debt. One of these days, you’re going to save Din’s life—then where will you be? Will he want you to leave? What will you do if you have to leave? Your old life was nowhere near as interesting as this, nor did you have anyone close to what Din and the child are to you.

The dreary grey slopes of sand only make it easier to think of the worst possible outcomes. Now you remember why you hated Tatooine so much.

You don’t even realise the speeder is approaching the small town until Din taps your arm, which is wrapped around his waist. Jumping at the touch, you loosen your grip sheepishly and glance at the child, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

After the speeder comes to a stop, you take the kid while Din enters the cantina.

When you enter yourself, you find that he’s about to shoot someone, while the Weequay behind the bar looks rather distressed.

“Perfect timing, as always,” Din remarks without a glance.

You raise your free hand. “You’re the bad luck charm, I’m just here for the ride,” you retort teasingly.

“You brought a kid to a gunfight?” his opponent asks, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, you glance over at him and see why Din looks ready to kill him. He’s in Mandalorian armour but his helmet is off—clearly, he’s not Mandalorian. “You’re wearing beskar and you’re not a Mandalorian, buddy. I think you’re in more trouble than the kid is.”

“He is,” Din gets out, a twinge of viciousness in his voice.

Before they can even reach for their blasters, though, the ground starts to shake.

You grab onto the doorway for support, eyes wide as you grip the child. Din and the Mandalorian poser move toward the door, joining you and staring out at the street outside.

The entire planet feels like it rumbles and chaos reigns outside.

Something is moving the sand—coming toward the town.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper as it goes by, shifting the sand like it’s an ocean rather than earth. It flies out of the ground, sharp teeth the only thing you see as it consumes a bantha whole.

When it’s gone, the poser huffs. “Maybe we can work something out.” He turns to you, offering a hand, which is covered by fingerless gloves. “Cobb Vanth. I’m the Marshal here.”

You take it hesitantly, glad that things are still black and white when you make contact. “(Y/N).”

He notices your hesitation and chuckles. “The Weequay in there is Sala, my Soulmate. I’ll see if they can’t whip up something for the kid; I’m sure he’s starving.”

“Very,” you say, just before he goes to leave.

When it’s just you and Din, you look over at your companion. “Krayt dragon, huh?”

“Yep,” he sighs, already sounding tired.

You laugh. “I know I said I could bring you to one when we met, but I was totally kidding.”

He looks over at you and you can feel the low-level glare behind the visor, but it only makes you snicker. “I hate you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you retort immediately.

You finally get to repay your debt.

It’s not what you’re thinking about when you shove Din out of the way of the krayt’s projectile venom, but it’s repaid nonetheless.

Din doesn’t think of it immediately, either, as he’s rather more concerned with the fact that you’re sent flying across the desert into a pile of debris and sharp rocks.

“(Y/N)!”

Before he can run to you, Cobb grabs his arm. “The dragon!”

To be honest, killing the dragon feels like a bonus when he pulls himself together and figures out a plan. When the great beast explodes, the Tuskens and the villagers cheer, but Din races back to the place he saw you last. He pushes aside the remains of one of those massive weapons they built to find you, laying on the ground. For a moment, panic clutches his heart, but then you groan.

“Am I dead?” you ask.

Din lets out a breath, hardly managing it, as he kneels next to you. “Dumbass.”

“Because it feels like I’m dead.”

“Dumbass,” he repeats, ripping your shirt away to find a deep cut in your side, just above your hip. “Of all the ways to pay your debt—”

You sit up, wincing. “Oh,” you say, as if you hadn’t realised it, “I guess I did that, too.”

Din’s heart is still beating a million klicks a second at how close you were to being dead, but for a second, it flips, realising that you hadn’t saved him just to pay the debt. And then, as he’s helping you off the ground and bringing you toward the others, who have bacta patches ready, his heart sinks.

Your debt is paid. You don’t have any reason to stay with him and the kid. As soon as you get back to the city, he’s going to have to watch you leave.

Shit. He didn’t think this through.

Meanwhile, you’re on the same train of thought. Does he really think you saved him for the debt? Does he want you gone that bad? It makes sense. You’re a pain in the ass, with all the training you need. But...well, you thought he might’ve—

“I’ve changed my mind,” you declare.

Din, terrified, attempts to sound neutral. “About?”

“The worst job we’ve ever taken. This is definitely it,” you huff as he helps you down onto a smoother boulder, taking patches from a Tusken.

He goes to use them, but you raise a hand.

“If you even think about getting near my wound with those nasty gloves, I’m going to skin you,” you threaten.

Frankly, Din is too shaken to even laugh. The silence lays there, stilted, as he removes his gloves and sits somewhat behind you, on another close stone. You’ve taken yours off, too, seeing as one is ripped all the way through.

He’s careful with the bacta patch and his bare hands, making sure not to touch your skin.

Now, of all moments, would be the worst time to find out that you really don’t have a reason to stay.

While he works, he thinks, briefly, that he should say something. “(Y/N),” he starts to say. “I—”

But that happens to be the moment he’s putting the bacta patch on. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing. Your hand flies out, reaching for something to ground you. Of course, because something out there has it out for you, you grab his hand, forgetting that his gloves are, for once in his life, not there.

You realise, ridiculously, that his hand is warm.

And then the world around you explodes into colour.

The faded yellow of the surrounding desert is overwhelming with how it burns into your eyes alongside the brilliant blue of the sky. The surrounding Tuskens are in browns and greys, simple things, but so, so beautiful to your new sight. You breathe out, a shaky action.

Behind you, Din comes to see the same, but his gaze is stuck on the back of your head—the (h/c) of your hair and how the light catches in it, despite it being a complete mess.

You barely have the breath to gasp, but you do, whirling around to face him.

His beskar is beyond what you’d pictured: a shining, sparkling silver that could stand out on a star. No wonder rooms fall silent at the sight of him.

Din has the same thought about your eyes. On death’s door, all he’d wanted was to know what colour they are and now he knows, but it feels so useless now. He doesn’t even know what to call them. Sure, (e/c) would work, however weakly. You are...something else. You always have been, but now it’s like he can see it, the beauty of who you are so plainly painted into your features.

Din doesn’t even have the time to be afraid of your reaction before the words are slipping out. “I don’t want you to go.”

You just stare at him for a long moment, words processing.

It...kind of freaks him out.

He jumps when you fling yourself at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug he’s ever gotten. Immediately, he responds, clutching the back of your shirt like it’ll save his life.

“Thank the Force,” you breathe out, just beside where his ear is under the helmet. “I don’t wanna leave.”

Din lets out a breath of relief and tugs you closer so you’re practically sitting on his lap. It can’t be comfortable, but you don’t seem to mind. When you do finally pull away, it’s to press your forehead against his helmet. It sends a swell of affection through him again, your constant Keldabe kisses. He taught you something important to his culture, to him, and here you are, using it without thought.

“Is it too late to tell you that this is the Mandalorian equivalent of a kiss?” he murmurs, more than a little embarrassed.

You laugh softly, arms reaching to rest around his neck. “And I thought you were so cool.”

“I just blew up a krayt dragon,” he argues.

“Oh, you’re plenty badass, Din,” you tease back, “just...not smooth.”

He huffs. “I’m gonna kick your ass next training session.”

A grin comes over your face and, for a second, he can’t comprehend why that would make you smile—until he realises that he just promised a next time. You’d genuinely believed he wanted you gone and Din thought you wanted to leave, but neither of you were right.

A whine from below catches both your attention.

The child reaches up from the ground, making grabby hands.

You laugh, a noise Din echoes quietly, and pluck him from the ground, holding him in your careful hands. “Hey, buddy. Feeling left out?”

He squeaks a confirmation, his little hands—green hands, you realise, deeply amused—reaching for Din’s helmet. Once he has a comfortable hand, he bashes his head against the helmet.

Din yelps, not out of pain, but concern, grabbing for the kid, who wobbles dizzily.

“Oh, shit—” Din says.

“Woah, woah,” you get out between wheezing laughs. “Don’t do that! His head is much harder than yours.”

The kid makes a weak huff and curls against Din’s chest stubbornly.

“I think that was an attempted kiss,” you suggest to Din.

Underneath his helmet, he grins. Petting the child’s head with a gentle finger, he looks back up at you. “It was cute.”

“Very,” you agree.

Without prompting, Din reaches for your hand again, a little hesitant. You take his gladly, running your thumb across his knuckles, which makes him shiver.

“Clan of three,” he whispers.

You lift your gaze. “Hm?”

“The Armourer, she said, ‘Clan of two’ when she gave me my sigil,” he explains. “I wanted to correct her then.”

The smile on your face is beyond words. “Clan of three has a ring to it. You’re stuck with me for good now, Din Djarin.”

He snorts and raises your hand to his helmet, touching it briefly to the metal in lieu of kissing it.

Tatooine might be the worst place in the universe, Din thinks that it doesn’t matter so much where he is. Sitting here, with you and the kid, he thinks that this might be home.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

Prompt #24 ~ Forgiveness

Reference - ♫Not Over Yet♫

The ability of confrontation had resolved inside a pirate's walk. His first destination appointed him to the Far East. His stature and posture resumed on purpose; as if knowing everything required to be done. Determined to turn back his clock. He couldn't reverse the scars or damage etched to the past. But you can relieve the pressure of them. Exorcising them like the ghost they are. A chime-bell rang as an eastern sliding door came, presenting itself before an old-worn Kugane ramen store. He was given a bow and customarily a happy greeting to the House of the Raising Sun. He spoke to code, "I come from far. I think I'd like wisdom, n' one form." Adjusted morning-red sunglasses of the worker came. Almost a sizing up-gaze, suspicious. Then that wayward wanderer drew his index at the point of a bowl of fortune cookies. A particular and odd purchase. This place was a front in the underworld. Mysteriously tethered to a web-line of dangerous individuals. By the scrawny worker, none would ever assume much. An exchange was made from what the client wanted with a marble. The Seeker took his departure cracking open his cookie and reading the slip. 'Happiness is not a pleasure, it's a victory' This was all by purpose standardized. Once the ramen shop cleared out the last customers. The business worker took to the back of his shop. A Magpie awaited perched near a window giving that messenger the marble from earlier and sending it fluttering off. There was a process of demanding a conference with those who thrive in shadows. The pirate ate up and headed to the next location. Heading before a hidden bay of Shirogane in the residences before torches of shore were lit. Breeze flashes through before that wind suddenly felt an feather push of unnaturally distortion against his tail-hairs. A quick cloaked dagger in the dark came hurling forth at the pirate who was centered and faced away. Who blocked barely unscathed with plated wrist-guards.

Out of the trail came a soft-padded step. Disbelief, arm's crossed into a kimono. "Son." Came at the scoundrel. Who, shockingly, was alive. "Nice greeting' ol'man. Gotten a bit sluggish... How b' that arm?" He gave a cheeky-grin, turning to face another. A reunion of fatherhood and child brought to life. The older, more senior man's left arm came out prosthetically augmented. Taken by his own child in an old battle beyond mind. There was a bit of tension, but Father's blindfolded visage loosened, he felt unconditional, his heart restored, believing his own boy perished. It nearly worried him into an early-grave. This was a meeting of revelations waiting to explode. Although the father's eyesight was obscured. He could detect and use his scents to identify his son had grown in the respite of silence. He lived off existence, even outside where phantoms go. "Listen, I'm make this quick. I need ye... pops. You'll b' thrilled t' know ye've got yourself a granddaughter, not that ye haven't before but there's one n' my stead who found me, dare I say she may outdo you. I feel my methods of training would be obsolete. However, under yer tutor. She can waver closer t' my orbit, safer... When I dawn to storm's above skies. --- I want you to meet her." That already was a bombshell that continued by his resurrected son. And although haste surfaced in the boy's inflection, that still showed, he didn't like to share these touchy moments. Especially with the geezer who bastardized him. Left him abandoned and fending to cruelty, there was also less disdain, of that. He was offering back his Father's presence to his inner world. They couldn't outright sew or be fixtures of what happened. But, he gave his Father a reason to make his retired sword-hand raise; alongside give him a future to uphold; breath into lungs. "N' lastly. I need yer expertise. Th' illustrious darkest shadow ye once resided as. The man who brought resistance and forged peace in where no light goes... I'm going t' assassinate, some assassins." A crazed declaration said nonchalantly. His Father exhibited stun. This wasn't the same boy with a sick heart, or the same renegade attitude of a pupil he trained incognito. "You just came back alive... Before me. Yet you wish to wander so dangerously close to death again? Why do you pressurize yourself so much? This world doesn't need you to prove anything." His father imparted with concern, hints of humbleness, more clarity. He blamed this recklessness and attitude on himself, for being incapable of removing himself from prior commitment and engagement sooner. Finding peace, only until now, when nearly too late, at least it felt-like. Yet alarmingly this aura of willpower, sheer command blazed. "I had t' relinquish a lot of my, findings, plunders t' contractors, to not only keep myself alive, but my Crew... What they don't know is, I've ways t' track where they went with my belongings. Rule number one ov' the seas, if ye leave a pirate alive and take his belongings, they'll come with their greed, all t' back. They'll haunt themselves, into ghostly projections, t' devour n' haunt their own. However, th' people I hired for espionage, all faded and failed. I can't get a read how many there are, or if there's just the two, that i was confronted. I don't go into enemy bases, especially one's n' this skill-regard, aimlessly. Although you, have specialty. When comes t' stealth, you're still far better. I'm more of a break yer door down, and set off fuses, and light th' place up, I leave people with recognition, t' know my presence. Knows I'm horribly outmatched, if I don't get the first-advantage against these foes." Was his son actually considering a tactical approach... Even using reason and coming from a more intelligible, before would abandon his life and go-at things alone. This difference was drastic from the impatient and hot-headed pupil before. Whatever events cultivated these ironwork changes. The elderly and Father felt a catastrophic relief. "I will help you son." This moment was uncomfortable but so was this

itchiness of his wardrobe. Being all exposed like this was still a process, undergoing the pirate. He cared not to give exposure to this.

"Meet me again in a Sennight on these same shores, I'll come t' pick ye up. N' old man... This isn't some mission where I want you t' go n' die into silence. You'll track the hideout and leave, and then, afterwards, you've got someone to live for eagerly; if not me." Ruffian youth in pirate gave a little shoulder nudge to his guardian as he walked onto splitting from their ways. The Shadow Father of Echo Past muttered, "It was... good... to see you too." He recognized really what was expressly told through actions, beyond formed words, they were translating signals in silence too.

#Prompt - Illustrious #FFxivWrite2021 #FFxiv #Creative Writing #ffxivwrite2021 #This whole parent stuff is tricky - I get #Father and Son #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Hoku Solaire #The One of Many #Arc seeding #Assassinate Assassin's #It's time to reclaim #Awkward Tension #Bastardized Forgiveness

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itsuki-minamy · 3 years

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“BLUE ICE - RED HOT”

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation & Raws: Naru-kun

"A blue tea with tapioca milk and ice."

When Reisi Munakata placed an order, the employee looked up and stopped breathing.

As he was, there was no response even after waiting a while. When he urged him with his neck bent, he rebooted with a voice that said, "Oh, I'm smart!" Munakata took one and moved sideways for the next guest.

Nobody came.

Looking at him, a semicircle of about 2 meters was filled with the surrounding crowd. "Reisi-san." "Really?"

Munakata decided to change the schedule after hearing a small impression like "Instagram."

A popular specialty tapioca milk tea shop, which has expanded into Shizume and became a hot topic recently. He was thinking of staying a bit and talking about it on a news show that he hosts, but he wasn't really interested in upsetting the store.

"Thanks for waiting! Blue Ice Tapioca Milk Tea!"

"Thanks."

"Oh, you're Reisi Munakata, right? I'm a fan! If you don't mind, could you sign an autograph for me?"

It is easy to say that it is now private. Given the danger of the crowd around him rushing towards him, he should have refused.

But that would disappoint his fans.

He means, it was to honor his cause. Reisi Munakata is an "Idol King", an example for human beings.

"Where should I sign?"

Faced with the clerk who showed the end of the apron, Munakata took one of them and then returned to the exit.

"Huh?! Ah, ah, ah!"

The confused voice became a surprise on the way. Because the "Reisi Munakata" sign appeared on the apron, which was light blue until just now.

Reisi Munakata can finish writing an autograph in 0.5 seconds. Shinsoku's handling of the pen, which does not show the way to draw it, is an application of the technique of drawing the sword that is generally established.

"Thank you!"

As he headed towards the exit, the crowd broke up like the Red Sea welcoming Moses. There was nothing to call or follow. This is because the "Idol King" aura does not attract half-hearted fans.

He left the store and drank his tapioca milk tea as he came downstairs. The sweet, refreshing taste of milk tea and the springy texture of the tapioca blend come together. Munakata calmly analyzed whether it is a popular secret that "delicious" and "fun" are provoked at the same time.

Suddenly, Munakata's foot stopped.

At the end of the street, there was a sign with a large copy of the magazine cover. It is his job as a fashion model, which he filmed a while ago. It's probably because of the guys who were photographed next to each other, rather than the work itself.

"Red Idol King", Suoh Mikoto.

The magazine where Suoh and Munakata, who had temporarily returned from the United States, appeared together is said to have sold out before the launch date. It may be natural because they are "idols Kings", who have exceptional popularity and topicality, they are at the same level.

And Munakata found a man who stopped in front of the sign.

"...Suoh."

When he called out his name, Suoh turned around and narrowed his eyes in an unpleasant way.

On the other hand, Munakata distorted his mouth because Suoh had something different.

It wasn't a lit cigarette, but a red straw, a bright red dye, tapioca milk tea.

Like the sign, Munakata lined up next to Suoh. Of course, it was an action after knowing that he doesn't like this. As he looks at an interesting drink called tapioca milk tea, which is far from Suoh's image.

"What's that?"

"Hot tapioca milk tea."

"Does it contain alcohol?"

"I do not know."

Suoh furrows his eyebrows, as he lets the container hang vertically.

"Anna wants to drink this because it is different."

"Ah. As expected, did you also let her be the current president?"

After Mikoto Suoh stepped down from the position of president of "Homura Entertainment Office", 12-year-old Anna Kushina was recently hired. The reason is also from the "Mendokusai" point of view, which is amazing for Munakata. He was sarcastic about it.

"Besides, I'll be back soon."

"……"

"Until then, I'll listen to her as much as I can."

With that said, Suoh took a sip of tapioca milk tea.

While Munakata was drinking in the same way, he looked at the sign.

Munakata didn't like Suoh. For Munakata, who pursues the ideal idol, Suoh is too devastating. He even thinks that admitting it is denying the cause of it.

However…

"But when are you seriously coming back here?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to come back?"

Munakata scoffed at Suoh's careless words and pulled up his glasses.

"No way. But it's true that the current idol scene without you lacks warmth."

Suoh's eyes seem to be shocked. Looking straight at him, Munakata declares,

"They can't beat you without you."

"If you say it."

Muttering in surprise, he turned and started walking.

Beyond that, Anna Kushina was looking at them anxiously. As he walked slowly, Suoh said without looking back.

"You are one of them. Please wait for me."

"I'm waiting, no, I'm looking forward to it."

Munakata drank his tapioca milk tea as he watched Suoh's back as he walked away. Then he realized that he was smiling.

#k #k project #k seven stories #idok k #reisi munakata #suoh mikoto #mikorei

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lu-undy · 3 years

Text

Request #7

The Sniper/Spy Pirate AU! Here on AO3!

Each step taken on the wooden bridge made the planks of it creak under worn-out, heeled, leather boots. The gun's strap needed adjusting, so he stopped and tied it neatly again for the long barrel to rest across his back.

He gulped down his dry throat and thought to himself that a visit to the local bar would do him some good. After all, the past few weeks at sea had been tiring. So he raised his hand and his feathery companion landed on it.

“Hoo?”

The owl opened his eyes wide and round. In the dead of night, it could see perfectly.

“Let’s go.” The hoarse voice said and the owl jumped to the tall man’s shoulder.

After walking in town for quite a while, being offered the favours of women in ragged dresses and men in torn out coats, the man in the long, dark brown, sleeveless coat heard the familiar racket of a pub. Perfect. He pushed the door.

The songs of drunk men and the chatter of the way-past-tipsy were melodies that the scruffy man was used to. He entered the place and bent his head slightly, to not bump his head. Only the colourful feathers of exotic birds on his hat grazed the top of the doorframe.

He sat at a secluded table, and waited for someone to take his order. A beer, fresh and bitter, that's what he liked.

"I swear they exist!"

"Bah…! Nonsense, I've heard the stories."

Some other poor sailing souls were chatting loudly.

"What stories?" A young one asked as the man in the long coat paid for his beer with doubloons. The waitress bit them to check and moved away.

"Listen, kid. There are stories out there about the Great Nine." An old man recalled.

"What are they?"

"You mean who are they? They were the best pirates over all the seas! The bounties over their heads would clean a bank dry of all of its money! Countless folks tried to best them, none of them came back to tell their stories."

"They were? They're dead?"

"Rumour has it they're dead. But I could never believe it, nah…" The old man shook his head, his eyebrows were so bushy that he looked like he had just one going from one end of his face to the other.

"Why?"

"Cause every once in a while, you hear of them."

"Have you ever met one?"

"Nah, but I've heard the stories. Last somebody saw some was over in Europe! Some are here, in the colonies, and there's one that no one knows where he is."

"What's so special about him?" The young sailor asked.

"Some say he doesn't even exist. He could be anywhere. See that tree there?" The old man pointed through the window. "He could be that very tree."

Another sailor sat at the table with a pint. The old man went on.

"Some say he might be your mum right now!"

"Others say he might be with your mum right now!" The sailor who had just joined said and laughter boomed in the dimly lit bar. "He's a master of disguises, as loud as shadow, and so good with men and women that folks say he never sleeps alone! But he could be anywhere and anyone! He could be you, he could be me, he could even be-"

"Oh shut up! The Great Nine don't exist!" Another voice said and disturbed the peace of the man with the owl, who winced.

"Yeah, they do! I heard one of them is around these parts of the world." The old one answered.

"Really?" The young one asked. "Which one!?"

"They say he can see like a bird of prey, even at night, like an owl. Best eyesight on all the seas, can gun down anyone and any prey from any distance, even blindfolded, they say!"

"Bullocks!" Another one answered. "The Great Nine are the stuff of legend!"

"They aren't!"

Two groups formed in the tavern and the argument went on.

"But what's so special about them?" The young sailor asked.

"Each of them are experts in somethin'. Folks say they invented their craft!"

"What do they do?" The young one asked.

"One's said to put mountains to shame. Muscles that pile higher than what you've ever seen."

"Another one's said to have blown up an entire island with one eye. They say his eye socket is haunted!"

"Aye! And there's one who's said to jump so high and run so fast, you can't see him!"

"The fourth can build cannons that fire without being manned!"

"The fifth one drinks his beer only if it's set ablaze and he's the only pirate who can sail a wooden ship on flames!"

"The sixth blasts his gun with his hat over his eyes and can jump in the air with cannons!"

"And the last one is a healer."

"A healer?" The young one repeated, perplexed. "How can he be a pirate then?"

"Rumour has it he's sailing with the pile of muscles and can make him invincible with a secret potion. He also brought some folks back from the dead!"

"How would you recognise them?" The young one asked.

"Only in battle, kid. If you see one of the miracles we described to ya, then you'll know. Legend says some can also recognise each other somehow."

"And you said he was around these parts, the one with great eyesight. How do you recognise him in particular? D'you have to watch him fight?"

"He's got a gun like none other, with one very long barrel. Rumour has it he built it on his own, forged the metal and all. Besides, he's got an owl for a pet." The old sailor resumed. "They say he sees through its eyes."

"Yeah, that's why a lot of folks think they saw him. They see a man with a bird and get scared…!"

"An owl?" The young one repeated. "Like this guy?"

All the eyes turned to that one man with the long, dark brown coat and the hat with two exotic feathers on it. He stood up and took his leave, his owl firmly perched on his shoulder. He had heard enough.

A few days later, the man with the owl looked for a contract again. As a hunter, he was a patient man and could have waited more but he missed the sea. He looked around in town to find something suitable for him. He knew the basics of sailing but that wasn't his strongest asset. He much preferred being hired as an assassin.

In the past, he had had contracts to protect convoys or attack some. He also had hunting contracts for exotic and rare species. As he had spent a lot of time with the wildlife of the colonies, he had become quite the expert with the fauna.

"Hoo."

The owl flew from his shoulder to a sign where people pin letters, advertisements for jobs. The man took a closer look. He eliminated a lot of them until one caught his attention. He tore the paper out of the sign and shoved it in his pocket before heading to the address mentioned on it.

"Sir, a gentleman to see you, for business."

"Let him in."

The house wasn't a house. It was a bloody palace and a half. The governor of that area sure was well-off.

The old, heeled boots clicked and clacked with every step on the immaculate, white tiled floor, as the man with the contract in his pocket followed the butler. They eventually arrived in a spacious and luxuriously decorated room at the end of which was a desk and the governor sitting at it.

"Faites vite."

The man in the ragged clothes didn't move. Ah, yes, that was French territory and the governor was of course, French.

"I said to make it quick." The governor translated himself and one could hear the accent even though he could speak in perfect English.

The man raised a finger and his pet owl flew to it. He looked the governor in the eye and removed his peculiar long gun from his back, holding it firmly in his palm.

"Ah, I see you are here for the job?"

He nodded, the feathers on the hat brushed the air.

"Well, you are hired."

The butler's eyebrows jumped. The governor didn't even ask anything about that vagabond and just hired him?

"Let me give you some details. Pray take a seat."

The man with the long gun obeyed.

"My ship will transport some gold and sugar from this island to further up North. From there, the cargo will be transferred to a group of ships and transported back to Europe. Your job is to make sure that the first step of the plan goes smoothly. Namely, that all the cargo makes it up North. Am I clear?"

"Any particular risk of attack?" The man had finally spoken and his voice was deep and hoarse.

"Pirates." The governor said. "They are growing more and more numerous by the minute, reproducing like rats. The English are of course to be distrusted, and some reports tell us that even some Spanish ships were seen to roam around these coasts."

The feathers on the hat nodded slowly.

"Payment?" The hoarse voice asked.

"As promised on contract, and only when I have received a letter from France saying that they received all of it."

Again, the couple of exotic feathers bowed and bounced back up.

"Will I be alone on the job?"

"No, of course not. A group of my guards will be there."

"Why hire me then? Don't trust them?"

"A pile of gold can make a man's oath for service swing." The governor answered. "Any more questions?"

The man under the hat shook his head.

"Then I have one for you. What is your name?"

"M."

The governor's eyebrows twitched but he then promptly nodded.

"Fine then, Mister M. The ship will depart tonight, the crew will expect you."

M nodded and rose to his feet before turning away.

"M?"

He turned back to the governor.

"Here, take this letter with you. My crew will let you on board if you show it."

M took the letter and nodded before leaving.

It was still early in the day and when M exited the governor's palace, he decided to spend some time on his own, walking around town.

M wasn't a man of many friends. The owl he had, Hootsy, was his longest one. He had rescued it as it was but a young chick and raised it until it became a proud and grown up owl. M wasn't very talkative either. Some people would even say that his owl would speak more than him. But it didn't matter much to him. He was living for Hootsy and himself, he had no family either.

He had his parents back home but when he had come back to them with mountains of money, they had kicked him out. That was a mistake on M's part. Of course a beginner sailor couldn't make that much. He had tried to make them believe that it was all honest money, but of course, they didn't believe him and had guessed that he had joined some pirates.

So much for family and friends. He had none left. And what about love interests, hm? Wanting to start a family? Wave goodbye to the seas and stay on land with a woman and a few kids?

Nah. He liked the sea too much and the women so little.

The truth was that anytime he wanted a night to be less lonely, he would rarely go to women. It happened, sometimes, that he would try a woman again. But there was nothing that got to him more than a man's attention. Somehow, it was more honest, more true, and even if at the end of the day it was but a transaction - a service in exchange for doubloons - it never failed to make a spark in his heart.

And that spark, he had learnt to put it off, bury it and move on. M was cursed, not because he liked men - many pirates were like him - but because he had stepped a foot in a type of life that wouldn’t allow him to exit it. Being at sea, the salt floating in the air, the seagulls chanting the land and men chanting the waves, the bobbing of the ship, the thrill of a chase, of a fight, and emerging victorious against the authorities, against forces that deemed your job illegal and your whole purpose void; yeah, that was what M had developed an addiction to. Of course men would fall and die, people he would call “mate” for a trip, a voyage, they would leave him. And it seemed to him that however big the number of people he called “mate”, the number of dead men would always rise higher and death would swallow them all eventually like a gigantic hungry shark.

And the curse did not end there. M had to hide. He did not want people to call him “mate”. He let them do it, just for the purpose of the job and because it would seem unusual if he asked other crewmates to treat him differently. But the truth was that he was different, he wasn’t like any odd pirate. No, God had to make him special and on top of pushing away any semblance of friendship, the cruel one high above had to make M do the heart-breaking job of actively pushing people away himself. Why? Because if they knew who he was, they would try to kill him.

M looked at the sun and it barely started to go down. A cold beer would do. He shoved a hand in his pocket and felt the coins. Yeah, that should do for a pint or two. He headed for the harbor and entered a tavern there.

The setting was much different than that pub of the previous day. Everywhere around him were official sailors, people who had a wage and all for their work. There were even a few blue coats, officers of the French naval forces. M didn’t pay any attention to them. He went to the counter and placed his order, barely noticing the eyes riveted on him, the odd one in the crowd.

“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fait là? Il n’a pas l’air Français.”

[What the hell is he doing here? He doesn’t look French.]

“A mon avis, c’est un de ces pirates, ou pire, un Anglais.”

[In my opinion, he’s a pirate, or worse, he could be English.]

“Un pirate? Ici? Il tend le bâton pour se faire battre…”

[A pirate? Here? He is asking to be beaten up...]

M’s understanding of French was limited to sailing words. But no matter the language, he could feel the tension rising in the air and the animosity growing towards him.

“Hé, d’où tu viens, l’ami?”

[Hey, where d’you come from, mate?]

M kept on drinking his beer silently.

“Hé, j’te cause….!”

[Hey, I’m talkin’ to you….!]

The French naval officer came closer and pulled M by the shoulder.

“T’es Français ou non?”

[Are you French or not?]

M sighed and frowned.

“No.” He answered.

“Alors casse-toi avant qu’on te casse la gueule.”

[Then fuck off out of here before we beat you up.]

M did not want to attract any attention but… His pint was still pretty full and he had paid with the last few doubloons he had. In other words, he didn’t have much to lose. He whistled and his owl flew inside the pub, landing next to his glass.

"Une chouette et un long fusil… Est-ce que c'est…?"

[An owl and the long gun… Is that…?]

One sailor pointed at M.

"C'est personne! J'en ai vu des gens qui se trimballent avec un hibou et un long fusil. Ils s’habillent comme une des Grand Neuf pour effrayer les gens!”

[It's no one! Countless people I've met with a pet owl and a long barrelled gun. They just dress up like one of the Great Nine to scare people away!]

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Just a beer close to the harbour.”

The people in the bar looked at each other, intrigued. A man with a pet owl and an odd long barrelled gun on his back…?

“Leave him be.” Another officer said from his chair in the corner of the room. He spoke in English with a similar accent than that of the governor. “He paid for his beer as much as you did, thus giving his money to a French landlord. If more of the English scum did the same, we wouldn’t need to hire pirates at each other to help us in this war.”

“J’en ai rien à foutre. Qu’il dégage ou je vais le renvoyer chez sa mère vite fait bien fait.”

[I don’t give a fuck. He should be out of this place, before I send him back to his mum quick.]

People turned to the man who was in the corner, the one who had defended the stranger, and he stood up. He walked to the one who wanted to pick up a fight and looked them straight in the eye.

“C’est toi que je vais renvoyer chez ta mère si tu ne la boucles pas.”

[It’s you I will send to your mother if you don’t shut it.]

He patted his own shoulder where the sewn pattern of his rank was and the feisty officer froze.

“Oh, merde… Pardon, Monsieur!” He saluted him.

[Oh, shit… Sorry, Sir!]

M had ignored the whole conversation. He had asked for a bowl of water and Hootsy was now bathing in it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. The officer sat next to him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. I know you will join us on the governor’s ship tonight. My name is Capitaine de Belzyeux.”

M nodded in thanks.

“You the captain of the ship?”

“No, I will come as a guard with my squad.”

M nodded again.

“See you later.” The Frenchman said.

M finished his drink and the sun gently set in the distance, the sky turned from blue to pink and darker shades of violet in the distance. He looked at his owl and offered his hand to him.

Tick, tack, tick, tack.

Hootsy’s claws clicked on the wooden counter and the feathery companion climbed on his master’s hand, wrapping his claws gently around his fingers. M put him on his shoulder and exited the tavern, heading for the docks.

He walked along the ships, Hootsy flying above him until M located the governor’s ship. The sails were very distinct, his sigil was sewn there gigantically.

Embarking wasn't an issue for M, the letter vouched for him. But once aboard of course, people kept on giving him odd looks. He was the only one not wearing a blue uniform. But as the Captain from the tavern was there, no one attempted more than whispers or looks.

The ship departed from the harbour and was headed deep into the sea. The strip of land on the horizon shrunk to a line, and soon, nothing. The water was calm, one could only hear the occasional creaking of the wood on the ship, or the sails rolling, inflating under the soft wind before they deflated and let a gentle draft through. Orders were shouted left and right but soon, silence fell when the ship was sufficiently far from any land.

The night was deep and everywhere around the ship was an infinite sea, the ripples at the surface gently reflected the moonlight. Most of the crewmates withdrew to get some rest, leaving a few to keep watch.

“Mercenary?” M turned. The Captain from earlier came to him. “Follow me, please.”

M obeyed and went down the cargo hold of the ship, passing the crewmates' rustic beds.

“That’s where the gold is.” He pointed at crates. “Should things go pear-shaped, this is what my squad, me and you will die for.”

M’s eyes lingered on the crates. They were neatly arranged and piled up and he thought to himself that it was indeed a lot of it. Wherever that governor had got it all from was beyond him.

“As you see, there is only one way to get inside, through this door that I have led you through, and this entire level is below the crew’s level where some of my guards are posted. Whoever wants this will have to pass through three levels of the ship and even more levels of guns and guards to get here.”

“Thanks.” M nodded.

“No problem.” Both exited the room and the Captain locked it again. M saw him slip the key in his pocket. “Now, I am not one to be enthused at the idea of working with a mercenary.”

Both men resurfaced on the deck.

“Your kind are competition to the regular armed forces of any country. Besides, your presence here speaks at length of how much the governor trusts me and my men… But I suppose, with what both you and I have seen down there, it is only fair to doubt the loyalty of men. Some would kill for much less.”

They walked along the deck.

“But contrary to a lot of your bunch that I have met through the years, you don’t seem arrogant about it and you don’t provoke my men, or the regular guards in general. Quite peculiar.”

M nodded without adding a word. The Captain stared at him for a second and decided to leave the man to his own peace.

M climbed up to the crow’s nest. He leaned to rest his forearms on the bar there and just calmly watched the starry sky. He took a deep breath. Yeah, that was his life, and one he wouldn’t exchange with anyone else for anything in the world. Out there, at sea, not having to follow anyone’s order, doing a job, getting paid and moving on to the next. No strings attached.

Well, he sometimes wished he did have a few strings attached to something, to someone. M wasn’t getting any younger and the thought of coming back somewhere to a room with someone waiting for him tickled his insides warmly. But who? Who could accept to let him go periodically and perhaps not see him again? Because it was out of the way to stop being what he did best. After all, he was the best in his business for a reason and liked his job. It wasn’t always on the legal side of the line, but it paid enough and he wasn’t bothered too much about the causes or consequences of his contracts. Those were for other people to deal with, in their consciences. He was a means hired to an end. Some would argue he was doing the dirty work. In the eyes of the law? Yeah, very dirty sometimes. But for him? He was doing the exciting part, the part that in fact no one else could do.

His train of thought was broken by a sailor climbing up the crow’s nest. M let him come up and slid back down. His heels hit the floor with a wooden click. He went back to the edge of the deck and let the salty air gently lick his face.

“Capitaine! Pirates en vue! Nord-Ouest et en approche rapide!”

[Captain! Pirates! North-West and coming fast!]

The crew woke up fast at the jingle of the metal bell that resounded promptly after. M squinted in the direction announced by the sailor on the crow’s nest and yes, he could see it. A ship coming closer and closer.

Orders were shouted, sailors put all their efforts into trying to gain some speed but burdened as the ship was, they would never manage to avoid the confrontation. Some other sailors manned the cannons and got ready to fire. The racket of voices slashing the air, heavy cannons slowly rotated to get the right angle on their target as the rest of the crew took muskets and swords.

M whistled and Hootsy perched on his shoulder. He exchanged a few words with the bird before setting it free. M watched as the pirate ship got closer. He removed his gun from his back and loaded it to get ready. He took aim and was the first gunshot that anyone heard. All the eyes turned to him as he reloaded shot after shot. Sailors laughed at him. Taking shots from that far surely was a waste of ammunition. Thank God the man had a pouch with his own and wasn’t using the crew’s or they wouldn’t be laughing seeing his reloading and shooting relentlessly. The captain of the ship ignored the lunatic and went on shouting orders.

“Aux canons! Tenez-vous prêts!”

[Man the cannons! Get ready!]

The French Captain from the tavern took his spyglass out and took a look. His jaw dropped.

“Non!” He roared. “Ne tirez pas!”

[Don’t shoot!]

The sailors looked at each other, confused.

“Ne tirez pas, leur canonniers ont été abattus!”

[Don’t shoot, the pirates manning the cannons are down!]

The official captain of the ship took a look and his jaw dropped. His eyes went straight to M who was reloading with impressive speed and took another shot. Hootsy came back to his master and hooted to him a message that only M could understand. He raised his eyes to the French Captain from the tavern.

“There are more, they’re hidden in the ship and will come out when they’re within boardin’ distance.” He simply said and took another shot that split the air before it split a skull, leaving a bullet hole cleaner than what any pirate had ever seen before.

The pirate ship was helped by the wind and soon it happened. The pirates boarded the official ship and swords slashed, clouds of smoke popped everywhere on the deck where gunshots slashed through the air. The battle raged but the pirates soon manned their cannons again and started taking shots on the regular ship. The water started to flow inside the ship and it slowly rose, more and more. Each loud boom was accompanied by the sound of the wood crunching under the impact of the heavy cannonball piercing through the hull mercilessly. As the water flowed in more and more, the sailors were soon overwhelmed and some abandoned the ship, others were shot dead or thrown overboard.

M was of course caught in the middle of the fight. He put his rifle on his back again and picked up a sword. A pirate ran to him but he fell limply to the floor before he reached him. M turned to a group rushing to him. There was a gunshot and the blood sprang from them, as they were sliced open, but by whom? M couldn’t tell. In the dead of night, it was hard to see even for him.

“Hoo!”

M turned again and this time his sword slashed with an opponent. Soon after, the ship was set ablaze by the pirates and the flames devoured the wood mercilessly. M defended himself and managed to protect himself until he received a hit on the head and blacked out on the vision of hell; flames everywhere, and the smell of burning wood, ashes blown by the air.

When he gained consciousness again, He was tied in a cage like an animal and the French Captain from the tavern was there too, in another cage. M looked around. They were in the cargo hold of a ship, not their original one. And oh… His hat was gone, his braid of brown hair still laid on his shoulder.

“You’re finally awake? God bless you... “ The French Captain whispered. “We’re on the pirate ship and I’m afraid they didn’t make many more prisoners. It’s only you, me and a handful of others.” He nodded in the direction of a cage when other bruised men were tied up.

“Oi! They woke up down there!” A voice shouted in perfect English, which told M that it was one of the pirates. Soon after, a few of the scoundrels came in to examine their prisoners.

“What do we have here, eh? Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie and oh… You! We put you in a different cage cause you’re special. You’re not French.” The pirate captain had an impressively large, black hat with feathers as red as blood. He had a long, unkempt beard and dark eyes. The man was largely built too. “Who’re you, eh? Why’re the Frenchies keepin’ ya? Lucky charm? Well if you’re their lucky charm, we should toss you overboard, eh?”

The rest of the pirates cheered and laughed around him.

“Now, we found you with one hell of a weird gun.”

One of the pirates brought M’s rifle forward.

“You’re the one who took my men down from the bloody Moon, yeah?”

M didn’t answer. His head hurt too much and he didn’t want to even raise his eyes to the pirate captain, who went on.

“Now, some of my men here are scared of you, that’s precisely why I want to keep you. It’ll teach them to not fear anyone. Whatever you are, you’re human and we can kill you any moment. Now, for the Frenchies…” He turned to the French Captain. “You’re the chief there, aren’t ya? Are those your men?” The pirate nodded to the third cage.

“What do you want from us?” The French captain bared his teeth.

“From you? I want to know what was on your ship and if there are more like it coming. It sank faster than an elephant!"

"I won't say anything to some scum like you."

"Well then," The pirate Captain turned to his men. "Get one out of the bird cage and shoot'em."

M was still surfacing back to full conscience when the gunshot made his ears ring loudly. He winced and frowned, trying to catch as much force as he could. His mind was foggy but when he managed to open his eyes again, there were a few corpses on the ground. French sailors.

The French Captain couldn't do anything.

"I told you! We were the only ship with this cargo!"

"Yeah but you didn't tell us what you were transporting. Another one!"

Another gunshot and a body fell lifeless.

"Gold! We were transporting gold but it was the entire stack of it! I swear!" The bloodshed was enough for the French official soldier.

"Are you sure?" He gestured and another French sailor was executed.

"I swear!" The French officer shouted, tears welling at his eyes. The pile of corpses was growing and the man's conscience was gnawing on him.

"Alright then…" The pirate gestured and the French man's eyes snapped wide before his skull got pierced by a bullet and his body hit the floor limply.

M leaned back and sighed.

"Out with the bodies, quick!" The captain of the pirates ordered and his crew got to work.

"And what should we do with this one?" One of them asked, pointing at M.

"We keep him for now."

The bodies were dragged out and M was left alone in the dimly lit cargo hold. He fully woke up and started to move his wrists. Bugger, they were in iron handcuffs. He gritted his teeth and looked around him. That's when he noticed that his ankles were in cuffs too.

Well, time to think of something… Hm…

His eyes darted everywhere around him, as the boat gently bobbed left and right under the waves and the currents, when a smell tickled his nostrils. It was sweet, what was it? It wasn't sugar or honey, no, it was… It was… Vanilla?

He frowned and looked around him but couldn't see anything that could smell of vanilla. It intrigued him and distracted him almost well enough that he hardly heard a metallic click. M moved his wrists. He was free?

Tick, tack, tick, tack…

M thought it was Hootsy but out of the shadows a white cockatoo appeared and entered his cage, slipping between the bars.

"Hey there, baby bird." M pushed the handcuffs away from his wrists and offered a hand to the bird who climbed on his fingers. He petted it. "D'you have any idea how I can make it out of here, eh?"

The cockatoo raised his eyes to the man and nodded, bending his head down to enjoy more neck scratches.

"Sorry I don't have any treats for you. I used to have Hootsy's but they're meat. I doubt you'll like that."

The bird nodded again before jumping down M's lap and curling there. The man cupped him to bring him warmth and petted it, staring at it on his lap.

"There, there…"

Click.

M raised an eyebrow. The noise surprised him and as he raised his head to see in front of him, his eyes met with the silhouette of a man crouching in front of him, with a gloved finger on his lips.

M didn't make a noise.

"Good day, M." The stranger said low enough that the wood creaking almost covered his voice. "Now listen, I will get you out of here, but you need to follow my instructions closely."

The voice had a French accent too, was that one of the sailors? Nah, none of them knew his name.

"Do you understand me?" The stranger asked and M nodded.

"Good." He unlocked the cage and freed M before gesturing to him to follow him. The white cockatoo flew to the stranger.

“Perle, reste avec le Monsieur, ma chérie.”

[Pearl, stay with the gentleman, my darling.]

The bird flew from his shoulder to M’s and both men walked as silently as possible. M grabbed his equipment from the floor nearby, he put his rifle on his back and his hat on his head. When they faced the stairs to go up one level, they saw a pirate standing guard. The stranger motioned M to wait, and he obeyed. He watched as the man dressed with a long dark coat and a hood on his head slithered behind the pirate, killed him in silence and dragged his body down and behind the stairs. When he emerged from there, he was dressed and looked absolutely like the man he had just killed.

M's eyebrows jumped. How the hell did he dress up that fast? And the face? Was he the pirate's twin?

They progressed up level by level. The stranger's abilities were like no others. M saw him stab the pirates in the back stealthily, one by one, putting a hand on their mouths to cover any noise they would make, before disguising as them and progressing further. Sometimes, he would even lure them with a conversation before striking. M would hide behind barrels or crates and watch his improvised ally until they made it to the upper deck. M realised that an entire day had passed since the boarding of the governor’s ship as it was already night again.

"Now, I will have to handcuff you again momentarily and take your equipment from you. Follow me and you will find your freedom."

M nodded and got his wrists back in a pair of cuffs. The stranger took his rifle and his hat that he put on his own head before pushing M outside.

"Now, get outta there! Captain wants you out, whoever the fuck you are…"

M's eyebrows jumped again. Where the hell was the French accent gone to?

It didn't matter much because the acting fooled the remaining pirates who pitched in in the mocking of the unfortunate M, who played the stranger's game and walked on the deck. When he raised his eyes, he realised that the ship was actually stopped at some land. Where that was, M had no idea. But he needed to get far and away from these pirates right now.

The stranger pushed him out of the ship with the tip of a sword poking his back and into the harbour. They walked and walked until they ended up in a narrow alleyway where the stranger resumed his normal attire with the dark cloak in a flash and uncuffed M.

Hootsy came flying and landed on his master's shoulder.

"You must run and hide. Any minute now, they will realise that something is wrong." The stranger said.

M observed the man. His face was hidden under his hood and when the nearby street lamp light hit him right, he realised that he had some kind of scarf around his mouth and nose. Only his very light blue eyes flashed in the night.

"But I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay here, do you?"

"I don't even know where we are." M answered.

"Back where you started. But I doubt the governor will be happy with you when he will know that you lost his gold. So you cannot hide with him."

M nodded and lowered his head.

"Which is why I am offering you to follow me back to my house."

M's head jerked back up. That stranger was awfully generous…

"Who're you?"

"You know who I am and I know who you are too. The legends did not lie, you really have a pet owl and a very long barrelled gun."

M could hear the smirk even if he couldn't see it.

"Now, follow me, we shall go out of town."

They walked through dark and poorly lit streets, stopping every so often to let a group of patrolling guards cross their paths and walk away. After what seemed like eternity, they walked out of town and had to walk on roads never taken before by man. M pushed the dense foliage to follow the stranger not by necessity anymore but out of curiosity.

"Here we are."

Hidden deep in the jungle was a white house. It wasn't as big as the governor's palace but it was more than reasonable in size for a wealthy family.

“Hoo!”

The stranger knocked on his own door and a butler opened.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

[Good evening, Sir.]

"Good evening, Alexandre. Please speak in English as our guest here is not familiar with our tongue. Come in, please, M."

M was taken aback. How did the stranger know his name?

He followed him inside to discover that the house was richly decorated. And M's suspicions as to who his host was were more and more confirmed.

"I imagine you are quite hungry. Alexandre, please prepare some dinner for two, I will show our guest around."

"Of course, Sir."

"Follow me, M."

"Hold on."

Both stopped in the corridor.

"How d'you know my name?"

The stranger pulled his hood down and M saw salt and pepper hair combed back into a slightly long mullet. The front grey lock nonetheless fell between his eyes. M’s eyes went down to his host's attire and he realised that under the cloak, he was dressed as posh as his manners and his house.

"You may call me L." He simply answered with a smile that M finally saw as he removed the scarf in front of his mouth.

A slightly hooked nose, slim face and silhouette overall, and very thin lips under a finely trimmed moustache, French style, with a goatee.

"Now, follow me upstairs… Here are your quarters. Madeleine?" He shouted and a maid appeared. “S’il vous plaît, préparez un bain pour notre invité, il en a bien besoin.”

[Please prepare a bath for our guest, he could do with one.]

"Oui, Monsieur." She nodded and went on her way.

[Yes, Sir.]

“I shall leave you in the hands of Madeleine, M. See you for dinner.”

The expert hunter was so surprised that he didn’t know if he should thank the man or run away as fast as possible.

“Monsieur?” Madeleine’s feminine and gentle voice cut M in his astonishment and grounded him back to Earth. “Veuillez me suivre.”

[Please follow me.]

“D’you speak any English?” He asked as Hootsy flew straight to the bed, between the pillows.

“Euh, je, non, je ne parle pas Anglais.” She blushed and lowered her head.

[Uh, I, no, I do not speak English.]

“It’s alright, just go ahead, I’ll follow.”

Communicating with Madeleine turned out to be easier than expected. Sign language helped greatly. She showed him his room and started preparing the bath. M stripped naked and slipped in before she came back to scrub him clean with - oh - a vanilla scented kind of soap.

“Voilà, Monsieur. Monsieur L vous attend pour dîner et vous trouverez de quoi vous habiller sur votre lit.”

[Here we are, Sir. Mister L is waiting for your dinner and you will find what you need to dress up on your bed.]

M raised a curious eyebrow and Madeleine repeated herself with gestures, pointing fingers and miming actions.

“Ah, yeah, alright, I get it. Uh, merci.” He tried his best and Madeleine nodded with a wide grin on her face. She left the man alone in his bathroom to get out of the bath and go to the bedroom to get dressed.

When he entered the bedroom, M found a few different options of clothing on the bed. He went for the most casual one. A white shirt, with quite wide and puffy sleeves, and a pair of dark trousers. He put them on and slipped some socks. Even slippers were provided.

Hootsy flew to his shoulder as he went downstairs and stopped at the living room door, his hair still damp on his shoulders.

“Ah, M, please join me.” L gestured to him and he entered the room. “Take a seat and join me, I hope you will enjoy your meal. What does your feathery companion enjoy?”

M took a seat and his eyes raised to comprehend everything that was on the table. Chicken, lamb, beef, salads, fruits, vegetables, potatoes…

“Meat.” M answered.

“Oh, come here, then.” L raised his finger and Hootsy flew to him. He fed it some lamb and petted his head. “I like birds, their freedom is inspiring.”

M was still tense. He did not want to stay for dinner with that man. Why was he still there? And dressed by him as well…?

“What d’you want from me?”

“A few answers and a bit of company. But first, please, you must be starving. Help yourself.”

M went for a chicken thigh. He grabbed the large knife and cut it in one confident slice before going at it.

“I presume you know who I am.” L said.

“Have my idea.”

“Pray share.”

M raised his eyes from his plate to Alexandre and Madeleine still standing not far. L turned to them and nodded. Both of them left.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” M said.

“And so are you. I am delighted to meet you, a master hunter and sharpest of all shooters. I saw you in action and it was quite a feat.”

“You’re not bad with your disguisin’ and backstabbin’ either.”

The concerto of cutlery on plate resumed. They exchanged gazes with each other, the tension was making the air electric. Should one trust the other? What were his ideas? His intentions? Should one just ask?

“Why did you get me out of there?”

“I heard that someone dressed like you was roaming the streets.”

“Who told you?”

“Perle.” The Frenchman said and his snow white bird flew to him. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. People don’t mind what they say where birds fly free. Too bad for them, and quite good for me. Tiens, ma belle.”

[Here, my pretty one.]

He fed her some nuts that were in a separate little bowl.

“What d’you want from me?” M asked.

“Nothing. Or rather, I want to suggest something.” L said, becoming slightly more serious. “You might wonder why I was on that pirate ship you got captured in.”

M nodded, his face still deep in his food.

“Well, I could have retired or stopped. As you can see, I live very comfortably and do not need to continue pirating, looting, stealing and such.”

“But?” M raised his lagoon blue eyes to his host and saw the shadow of a smirk on L’s lips.

“But I like it. I like the thrill of it, the tension, the energy and sometimes, the chaos even. On the deck of the governor’s ship, I was there, fighting too.”

“Saw you.”

L’s eyebrows jumped.

“Did you?”

“Never saw anyone fight swords with a short blade.”

“Swords are preposterous, large, inconvenient and at the other end of stealthy. I like to do what I need to do while hiding in plain sight, as you have noticed. If I can make my way without making any noise, then I will.”

“Yeah, saw that too, and never saw anyone like you before.”

The Frenchman’s smirk grew wider.

“Likewise. The way that you took down those people manning the cannons was divine. If your gun had been silent, I would have had to sit down to breathe.”

M stopped chewing sharp. His irises darted left and right as the blush on his cheeks appeared. He cleared his throat and frowned, diving again in his plate.

“Workin’ on it actually.”

“Are you?” L cocked an eyebrow and M met his gaze for an instant.

“Still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Straight to the point, I like that.” L straightened his back on his chair. “Here is my proposition. I know you have nowhere to go and no one left. You cannot wave goodbye to that life of adrenaline either so I wonder, would you like to join me?”

M stopped eating.

“What do you mean, join you?” He asked.

“I regularly go and have fun on my own. My targets are dictated only by me.”

“Sounds… weird. Also, how d’you know things about me?”

“People think that my trade is seduction and disguises. Part of it is, yes, but I also possess means of gathering intelligence unlike you have ever seen.”

M cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair.

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning that I know things, like I know that you were supposed to transport thirty-eigth crates of gold from the governor from here to another city up North where it would then be split up to be transported to France. But, as you are here and the gold twenty thousand fathoms below the sea, you had better either leave or pretend you are dead, at least for this governor.”

M sighed.

“My proposition is simple. We continue enjoying what we do best, but we don’t do it for the money or for fame. I would rather people ignored my existence and if I could, I would wipe out their memories like water washes footprints on the sand.”

M noticed the slight intensity in the man’s eyes.

“Did stuff you regret too, eh?” The Frenchman failed to hide his vexation. “It’s alright, we all do. I guess it’s why we don’t stop. We just always try again to make it right. But it doesn’t change.”

Silence fell.

“Get out of this house.”

“What?” M raised his head off his plate.

“I said. Get out of my house this instant.”

A few minutes later, the hunter was out with his hat, his rifle and his misery. And he still had the slippers on. He looked down and sighed. Well, at least he had a bite. And the food was really good too.

It was deep into the night now but M shouldn’t risk going to town and meeting with a patrol of guards. Surely the governor had learnt about the shipwreck, because if M had the time to make it back, then that news sure did too.

He walked around the impressive white house towards the sound of the waves and after pushing leaves left and right, he found the sand, not far. He removed the slippers, left them there before treading in the still warm sand. The grains flowed on his feet as they sank with each step. The wind was gentle and helped dry his hair as his shirt waved under the gentle draft.

M sat down and crossed his legs looking at the waves roll and the froth periodically slide up to him, before withdrawing again.

What he had said to L, it was unfortunately true. He wished he hadn’t killed that many men, he wished he hadn’t killed the first one, he wished he hadn’t brought that money to his parents, he wished he hadn’t lost them that day, as he thought he would keep them happy forever but ended up disappointing them beyond repair. Maybe he should have just stayed on the farm with them, he shouldn’t have gone and lied for the day on a ship, he shouldn’t. Maybe it was better to be stuck there, with them, find someone to settle with and have a gentle life rather than be here, as lonely as he could get, no family, no friends, no shelter other than the starry sky. Remorse was maybe worse than regret.

M brushed the sand next to him until it was relatively flat. He then removed his shirt and folded it approximately, just so that it would be a square-ish mass of fabrics to use as a pillow. He lay down and stared at the now vertical front of the sea rolling to him and further away, repeatedly, tirelessly.

While him? He was tired. He had had enough. He wished he could live like L. Big house, far from people, and his meals, always hot and ready. And the butler and the housemaid as well… I mean, that’s some kind of company, right? That’s a few people to come home to, isn’t it?

Mundy sighed.

Mundy, that was his name, the name that his parents had given him and that he had decided to bury along with them, all those years ago, on that day that his life had flipped. From farmer to pirate. From son to orphan.

As the waves rolled and rolled, as his thoughts crept up on him and invaded him, he closed his eyes and let it all come to him. The regrets, the remorse, the feeling of being too big, taking too much space, being too visible, attracting too much unwanted attention. He wanted to be forgotten, just plainly forgotten. He wished he hadn’t been a burden for his parents, he wished he hadn’t brought that life of misery on himself. Yes, being a pirate had its moments of adrenaline rushes, of being absorbed into something that sucked all his mind and prevented him from looking back. But when he did, oh boy…

Vanilla.

Mundy opened his eyes. He could smell it.

“I do apologise.”

Mundy sat up and looked next to him. L was sitting there, his elegantly clothed derrière planted on the sand, right next to Mundy’s.

"I should not have reacted the way I did. It was impulsive of me."

"It's fine."

They let the wind and the waves speak for a while.

"Lucien."

"What?"

"My real name. It is Lucien."

"You're really French."

"A curse and a blessing, depending on who you ask."

They chuckled and their eyes met.

"Where are you from, M?"

"Mundy, and I'm from Australia."

"Oh… I have heard legends about that place."

"You ever been there?"

"Non, the seas never took me that far. I… I couldn't afford it."

"What, you always paid a ticket to travel?" Mundy chuckled.

"Non, it is not a monetary cost I am talking about, but an emotional one." Lucien crossed his legs and lowered his head. "If only it was something as easy to obtain as money."

"What was it?"

"I suppose you had a family at some point? Before this whole 'becoming a legend of a pirate'?"

"Yeah, my parents."

"No family of your own, wife, children?"

"Nah."

There was a second of silence.

"What?" Mundy asked, looking at Lucien.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why didn't you have a family?"

"Sheilas are odd. Never understood them."

"Do you prefer men?"

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?"

Lucien lay down on the sand, putting his hands below his head.

"I once was a father, and a husband."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"Really?"

"Oui." He chuckled with a distraught smile on his lips. "I had a son, Jérémy, and a wonderful wife."

"What happened?" Mundy lay down next to him and stared at the stars.

"I thought I could keep them away from harm's way and live my life with both of my passions, piracy, and them. It turned out I had to make a choice, and before I could, God made that choice for me. I lost the only woman I ever had any interest in, and our dear beloved boy."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed.

"There is nothing you or I can do about it, pirate legends or not. But thank you."

Silence fell for a while, the waves still rolled and spilled a few metres away from their feet.

"Have you ever met the others?" Mundy asked.

"The rest of the Nine? Oui, I have. After I lost my family, I was set on travelling and… Dare I admit, I wanted to take the lives of the people who took theirs. So I sailed and ruthlessly killed, left and right. At some point, I even ignored what faction those poor souls were from, for each time I was facing someone, I could not stop that voice in me, saying that this one might be the one who killed them."

"Gosh…”

“I travelled the world and met all of them. Remarkable people, some of them actually work together.”

“Do they?”

“Oui, Mikhail and Ludvig, the Mountain and the Healer work together. The Flame and the Hammer do too, how else would a ship be able to sail on oily flames if not for the Hammer’s ingenuity.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Oui. I… I suggested an alliance between them and myself.”

“Did they accept?”

“What do you think?” Lucien answered. “I am here on this beach with you now.”

“Oh… So they didn’t.”

“Non indeed they did not. Looking back at it, I understand. My trade is very different from theirs. They face their enemies frontally while my methods require more subtlety. It would never have worked. And I am not getting younger.”

Mundy chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re not that old, eh? And from what I’ve seen you do today, you could go on for years.”

Lucien smiled.

“I might. But I am… bothered by something.”

“What is it?”

“The solitude that this life condemned me in. I am restless and obsessed with the idea of some company.”

“I know a few places in town.” Mundy answered.

“I do not mean it in that way. If physical satisfaction was the only thing I was after, it would not be an issue, I would have any man or woman offer his favours to me in the snap of my fingers.”

“Man or woman?” Mundy repeated.

Their eyes met again.

“Oui.”

Mundy nodded to himself.

“I am looking for…” Lucien started.

“For what?”

Lucien turned his head and Mundy imitated him. Their eyes met.

“For exactly what we are doing right now.” The Frenchman answered with a smile. “Some company, some meaningful discussions, an exchange of ideas, opinions, a few laughs, why not?”

“You can laugh?” Mundy teased and Lucien chuckled.

“Believe me, I can, oui.”

“Still have to see it then.” Mundy smiled and it made the waves stop rolling for Lucien.

“Please, stay.” Lucien asked, almost whispering.

Mundy’s smile vanished and he looked away.

“I-I don’t know. Need to think about it.”

“Fine.” Lucien sighed. “I understand if you like your freedom better.”

“I don’t know.” Mundy repeated. “The bit you said about solitude. Makes a lot of sense.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and Mundy took a deep breath.

“I’m… I’m tired too; not of what I’m doin’, I’m tired of bein’ alone. No one gets what it feels like. People say that it’s great and excitin’ and all but at the end of the day, it’s just you, and you don’t want people to know who you are and bother you, of course, but that just pushes you to be more alone and… sad.”

Lucien stared at the man lying on the sand next to him, his rough skin, his odd sideburns and his long, wavy hair, his naked chest too.

“You’re really lonely?” Mundy asked, looking him in the eye.

“Oui, I am. I… This conversation that we are having is… a priceless gift you are offering me. It is more than I had hoped to have with anyone.”

“C’mon, you have yer Alexander and Madeleine at home. You can talk to them and all, you’re not all that lonely.”

“Non, Mundy. Their company is very enjoyable, oui, but it does not fill the emptiness that you presently are with your presence and your words.”

Their eyes lingered on each other.

“My words might seem strong to you but…”

“No.” Mundy blinked with both eyes. “I get it, I… I really do. The more you talk about it, the more I… Yeah… I uh… Yeah, I’ll stay, I think.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped wide and he rolled to his side.

"Are you sure? You may take your time thinking if you want.”

“No, I’m tired of waitin’. I’m tired of everythin’. Maybe this is what I need.”

The Frenchman smiled from ear to ear.

“But hold on,” Mundy asked. “I don’t have any money to pay anythin’, like rent or food. I need to go and get some work.”

“It will not be necessary. This house is mine, I am not renting it, and I will be glad to cover all the costs myself.”

“It’s unfair.”

“Non, you just did not understand what I said.” Lucien propped his head on his hand, still lying on his side in the sand. “I will repeat myself but your company is priceless.”

They exchanged a smile.

“You barely know me. Maybe I’m hell to live with?” Mundy said.

“Non, you are not. You have been the dream housemate so far. We even had our first argument.” Lucien chuckled.

“Yeah, and you kicked me out the house already, I’m tellin’ you, I’m terrible.” Mundy rolled on his side too, facing the Frenchman, and his hair gently fell on his shoulders and on his naked chest.

“Maybe you are terrible, but you are the kind of terribleness that I look for.”

“Heh, thanks. I like it better when you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Not posh and arrogant, but you just say what you want.”

“Should I tell you what I want now?”

“Go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at the sand and timidly raised his eyes to Mundy again.

“I… I…” His jaw was petrified as his mind raced to find the proper way to express himself. His eyes darted on Mundy, everywhere, his face, his body, his hair.

“I’d like someone for the night too.” Mundy said, and Lucien exhaled the air that he failed to transform into words.

“Fine.” Lucien stood up and started walking back home.

“Oi, wait.” Mundy jumped to his feet, his white shirt still crumpled in his hand.

“Oui?” The Frenchman stopped in the middle of the foliage, the distress still gnawing on him.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Well if you know a few places in town to find the company that you need, then I am only keeping you up and away from what you want. I shall go to sleep. I will tell Alexandre and Madeleine that this house is now yours too.”

“You idiot.” Mundy said and took the step that separated him from his former host, now housemate.

“Quoi?” Lucien failed to translate himself on the spur of the moment.

[What?]

“I don’t want to go to town or anythin’. I… I was meanin’ that maybe uh… I mean… I tend to get cold at night and uh… Hm.” Mundy frowned. “Y’know what? Forget it, it’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Non, please? What do you want?”

Mundy looked into Lucien’s light blue eyes only shimmering in the night.

“You asked me to stay with you, right?”

“Oui.”

“And it’s madness, right? I mean, we just met.”

“Yet we share more in common than I first thought, but oui.”

“Can I ask you somethin’ a bit… mad, too?”

“Pray do.”

Mundy dropped the shirt down and fiddled with his fingers awkwardly.

“Mundy…?”

“It’s a bit… weird. I mean, we just met - oh?” A gloved hand was warmly brushing Mundy’s cheek and he couldn’t help but close his eyes slowly and melt under the touch.

“Please.” Lucien insisted in a whisper.

And it gave him the courage, with his eyes nonetheless closed.

“Sleep with me tonight.” Mundy whispered with his hoarse voice and when he heard himself ask, he blushed and frowned, regretting it already. His hands hovered around the Frenchman’s waist.

“Avec plaisir.” Lucien pushed Mundy’s hands on his sides.

“What?” He opened his eyes and the sight of Lucien with half-lidded eyes made his guts melt further. And what a grin, how…?

“With pleasure.”

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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floraone · 3 years

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The King’s New Clothes

So I wrote this for @nari20 because it happened, lol! (And the reason it happened is because Nari is currently doing a compilation of Mamoru Makeover Art over on twitter because she is a gift to this world and there is a MANKINI IN IT and TUX UNDERWEAR and I am LIVING and how do we deserve this woman in our midst making our days So Entertaining lol?!)

Anyway. Talking about Mamoru fashion ended in some mutual prompting so. Enjoy some Fabulous Fashionable Kendy tumblr short!

---

Utopia had taken a surprising amount of time to adjust to, and no one had had a harder time with it than the new queen of the world.

Especially in the beginning, she'd bottled it up and painted a smile over it. But Mamoru - King Endymion now, or so his official royal name, and what the fuck that would need some getting used to - had been with his wife for long enough to see the tenseness of her shoulders, know what it meant when she gripped his hand so tight.

She'd been terrified.

The leaders of the world intimidated her. Not because she was someone easily intimidated, but mostly because some of them tried very hard to do so.

She gritted her teeth through glassy eyes when another old, bald man in a bland, navy suit tried to talk down at her, and stood her ground.

But afterwards, she'd tremble in his arms in the hotel room in any capital city of the world and try to breathe in deeply through her nose. When she'd started whipping out notebooks asking him all sorts of vernacular intentionally thrown her way because she could not understand it, thinking she had to learn and asking him to tutor her even though they’d done it all on purpose, he got mad in a way he started shouting for the first time in his life outside of life and death situations.

Not at her, mind you.

But they were trying to bring down his wife, not even realising the luck they fucking had to have someone with her heart trying to make them be compassionate and humanitarian and good. Someone so unwaveringly pure, someone with her unfaltering integrity. Someone so easily finding the good in others and bringing it out.

But they'd just fucking have to learn.

He'd hired a personal translator for her then, first thing in the morning. One of what was to be one of many. Someone who'd take these terms fired at her in foreign languages and usually translated just as haughtily and arrogantly to her, and instead explain them without shrouding them in pomp and circumstance. 'Habituation' in the end, was only 'getting used to something over time', after all, for a good translator.

They might have tried to hit her at her flaws, but Mamoru was determined, at Neo Queen Serenity's side, to show off where she was better than any of these assholes combined. The world lacked love, not fancy words. Usagi had him for the fancy words.

And so, even though it all began in endless work hours that tore at Usagi, in stuffy rooms half-way around the world at any point in the year, slowly, she grew into it. If Usagi was good at one thing, it was finding positivity and joy in all manner of circumstances, and this was no different.

The climate treaty negotiations in Brussels might have been mind-numbingly infuriating, but she'd snuck them out during lunch hour to a Belgian chocolate vendor nearby who'd been making paradise for the tongue for over 300 years in their little family run-store, and Usagi's eyes lit up like this had suddenly turned into the best fucking day. She might have to try and wrangle power-hungry men, but she could also buy a restored French carousel from 1872 and put it in her sitting room, and yes, she had. And yes, she rode it.

But even those worldly pleasures that made it all more bearable for someone who struggled with having to concentrate for a minimum 60 fucking hours a week most of the time, those pleasures that had the power to balance out the fact that Tsukino Usagi did not get to sleep in anymore at all, ever, were sometimes turned sour for her.

The second time he'd shouted outside life-and-death situations, he'd found her crying over a tabloid as she emptied hanger after hanger of extravagant dresses from her wardrobe.

One of those pleasures that made it all worthwhile for her? Fucking extravagant dresses. Even when Usagi was 14 and had only just learned she'd one day be fucking queen of the world, she'd started to look at couture differently. Started collecting moodboards and clippings. She'd been looking forward to that. A teenage girl's dream of the glamourous life of being Queen.

But now that she was, this life was more work than glamour. The only glamour she got was the one she made for herself. Like carousels in sitting rooms. Like Paolo Sebastian Autumn/Winter 2018 and George Chakra Autumn/Winter 2016 and Isabel Sanchis Spring/Summer 2020 and Ralph & Russo 2017 and Dior Spring/Summer 1992.

The tabloid was horrid. 'Neo Queen Serenity: What a Little Girl Looks Like Who Mistakes Leadership for Playing Dress-Up. Is the Future in Good Hands?'

Underneath it, a spread of Usagi in glittering, sparkling, over-the-top dresses. Everywhere from cutting ribbons at the newly minted Crystal Tokyo Center for Free Childcare to sitting in week-long conferences somewhere in New Brunswick.

Sometimes, he wasn't so sure if the world even deserved her.

He'd personally hung back every hanger into this wardrobe himself, cancelled their meetings for the day much to Ami-chan's organisational horrors, and took her shopping in disguise.

That day, something profound had changed.

"This one," Usagi had said with a flushed giggle. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were dancing. And really, if it took playing dress up for her, no garment was ridiculous enough to not be worth it.

He stepped out the dressing room in the brightest floral-patterned shiny pastel suit the world had ever seen. Baby blue and pink roses over rococo gold embroidery to bright baby blue patent leather loafers. He looked like a chandelier had fallen into fresh paint and then rolled around in confetti. And his Queen loved it.

"Well, then," he'd winked, and she'd giggled again. "Let's take five."

If they were going to make fun of her choice of clothes, he'd just have to top her game, Mamoru decided.

And really, it made so much fucking sense.

Back when he was a boy with a glimpse of he's future, he'd always wondered how the hell THAT happened. And with that, he'd of course meant something quite specific, and not the fact he'd somehow made it on a throne.

A lavender colored tuxedo that had made him frown into the night for a long, long time. A lavender colored tuxedo that had yet not found its way into his possession. One he'd begun to doubt ever would.

Of course, Mamoru had always liked the more dramatic of clothes. So far, so unsurprising. His favorite attire was a tux and cape that he could flap like no other, after all, and then came a color-blocked puff sleave shirt he'd worn until it fell apart. He'd always liked color. One didn't get married to Tsukino Usagi if they didn't adore a colorful world.

But that?

And yet the royal world they'd found in their future hadn't looked satin and lavender when they'd finally made it there. It hadn't happened. It was navy suits and etui dresses with leaded hems to they wouldn't blow up, covered shoulders and skirts that absolutely had to be no smaller than knee-length, and he supposed it had made sense. After all, the Windsors didn't run around in see-through shift dresses and tiaras, either.

He'd even been a little relieved. He liked blending in. He'd told himself, when he first saw that lavender tux when he was fucking 18 and his mind was blown with too much information he should not have had, that he wasn't gonna do it. No matter what.

Now? Now it made so much sense. Really, he should have known. Of course, this was what was gonna do it.

Someone criticize his wife? They gotta go through him.

If protecting his wife's happiness while she made the world a better place meant Lavender Suits and Capes, then this was what it'll take.

Now, he was gonna fucking do it. Of course, he was.

So no, the Windors still wore unicolor, leaded costumes in the future.

His wife wore skin-tight chiffon, silk and satin.

And he wore mermaid-colored sequined-dinner jackets. He wore heels with flamingo-patterned trousers, complete with a tuxedo stripe at each side. He wore shimmering, metallic athletic wear, skin tight. He wore fake fur collars and thick embroidered velvet robes to black leather gloves. He owned a mankini. A hot pink leather jacket he wore over men's pastel evening wear. The green jacket was jealous somewhere in a closet. Maboroshi no fucking fashion sense.

Nobody ever wrote something offending about the Queen's new clothes once he'd grooved himself in.

(Minako loved it perhaps most of all.)

---

(ANYWAY NARI *ILLUSTRATED* THIS IN THE 50 MINUTES THAT IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS AND YOU GOTTA SEE HER ART. LIKE WHAT THE FUCK HOW DO YOU DO MAGIC SO FAST, NARI?!)

#my fic #my stuff #tumblr shorts #kendy #maboroshi no fashion sense #crystal tokyo #usagi x mamoru fanfiction #sailor moon fanfiction #i love my friends

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four-loose-screws · 3 years

Text

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 9, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 9: The Heroes at the Fort (con’t)

After Amelia joined Eirika’s army in Kiris, at first, everyone was wary of her.

Not only was she from Grado, she was also a soldier, even if she didn’t look the part. It went without saying that many had a feeling that she might be a spy. Whenever Amelia herself became aware that people were looking at her like that, she shriveled up on the spot.

The first person to speak kindly to her was Neimi. She’d broken away from the circle one night, and when she passed by Amelia, who was polishing her armor all alone, her eyes stopped.

“Wow, amazing! Your armor is so shiny! It’s really, really pretty!”

“...Huh?” Amelia looked up in surprise.

Neimi smiled. “Archers like me don’t wear fancy armor like this, so I’m a bit jealous… I had to say something. This armor is for fighting on the front line, isn’t it?”

“Uh… Um…” Amelia was in complete shock, but was so happy for her armor to be praised that she blushed. No matter how tired she was, she never skipped out on caring for her armor and lance. “Thank you…”

“You’re name’s Amelia, right? I’m Neimi!”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Neimi!”

“You can just call me Neimi. In return, I’ll just call you Amelia, okay?”

“...Okay!” Amelia’s face lit up. Though she had accepted that there was nothing she could do about people being suspicious of her, it was very, very lonely for everyone to avoid her.

“Your armor really is super pretty. It’s shiny like michew berries!”

“Oh, I know those… They’re really sweet, don’t you think? A lot of them grow in my village!”

“Really? There’s michew berries in Grado, too?”

“Yeah… There’s a mountain behind the small village of Silva. You can pick fruits of all kinds there!”

“That’s just like my village! I went to pick fruits all the time when I was a child!”

That simple casual conversation made them friends, and from then on, they were always together in both battle and at meals, so much so that it sometimes made Colm jealous.

In time, Amelia regained her smile, and everyone’s wariness of her gradually disappeared as well.

By the time they reached the Teraz Plateau, she was treated like any other member of Eirika's army.

“Innes is in that fort, correct?” Eirika, while continuing to walk down the northern mountain road, strained her eyes to look at it.

She could see a particularly sturdy fort below, as well as a group of soldiers gathering to surround it.

Tana couldn't seem to wait. She gripped Achaeus' reins as they walked and said with a determined look on her face, "I'm going to try flying over there! I want to see my Brother's face already…"

"Tana, I know how you feel, but that's dangerous."

If a pegasus knight neared an enemy unit all on their own, they would become fodder for any archers among them.

"I'll be fine! I'll be careful… Oh please, Eirika! You ignored danger to save Ephraim, didn't you!? Now I want to save my brother!"

She understood how Tana felt. However, she couldn't allow it.

As Eirika was searching for the words to say, Forde cut into their conversation.

“Only an idiot would rush into a battle that they have no chance of winning, Lady Tana."

Kyle's eyebrow twitched at the word "idiot," but didn't try to scold his partner.

Tana tried to argue back, but Ford ignored her and continued speaking. “Just look over there. The enemy army set up a ballista.”

Eirika and Tana both looked at where he was pointing.

Because he had passed through the area of the battlefield with Ephraim before, Forde’s observation was right. It was stationed in a spot one would overlook it if they were careless, but it was indeed there.

Ballistae were terrifying long range weapons that could shoot arrows from unexpected angles. They were difficult to use, and their accuracy wasn’t very good, but there was nothing more dangerous to a pegasus knight. If they neared one, they would become easy prey.

That point made even Tana give up. She became silent in her frustration and stared at the ballista in the distance.

“But hey, there’s no reason to be impatient. With the current number of enemies surrounding the fort, everyone inside is still safe. We made it in time. If we just fight in our standard formation, we should surely be able to defeat them.”

“...I see.” Tana nodded.

The enemies seemed to have realized that Eirika’s army was closing in on them. Their movements became frantic, but they seemed to know what to do.

Eirika’s army had no time to waste, either.

Eirika swung her rapier into the air and gave the order that she was already very used to giving. “Charge!”

The enemy army was a group of mercenaries, so while they were each very skilled individuals at fighting, they had no central leadership. Most of them were impatient to show off their own abilities and swung their weapons without any true strategy, so the battle became one where they could not compare to Eirika’s well-coordinated army.

Seth and those with him routed the enemies before them, opening up the road. Eirika and Tana shielded each other while making their way towards the fort.

When Eirika rounded the corner of the fort and reached its front side, she gasped. There, an unexpected sight unfolded before her eyes.

Innes was fighting. Though she thought he would likely be locked up inside the fort waiting for reinforcements, he was blocking off the top of the stairs, holding his stance and not taking even one step back.

His specialty was in bows, but his was very different from Neimi’s plain weapon. It was huge in size, and its silver color glittered in the light. Of course, it didn’t just look pretty, it was also powerful. He shot swift and accurate arrows straight into the hearts of all enemies before him, and they toppled down the stone stairs one after the other.

It was the first time she had ever seen how he fought, but she already knew much about his skills.

Though he should have been exhausted from defending the castle, he did not show it at all. He looked magnificent every time he drew his bow back, and his graceful movements made her forget for a moment that they were on a battlefield.

“Wow… Not that I would expect anything less from him.” Forde breathed.

Kyle nodded and added, “I’d heard the rumors, but he’s even greater than I imagined.”

“I know it’s rude of me to say this, but I didn’t have a very high opinion of him. I thought he was all bark and no bite.”

“...Watch your mouth! ...However, I can’t say that I don’t know the feeling. If only he would show this side of himself to Lord Ephraim.”

Eirika then noticed the muscular man guarding Innes as he fought.

In direct combat, bows were at a disadvantage. To protect Innes, the man was swinging his large sword at those trying to get close to him.

Eirika didn’t recognize the man. He had a long scar across his face and a terrifying appearance.

Just then, Tana arrived riding Achaeus, and flew extremely low around Eirika’s head.

“Brother! Thank goodness you’re safe!”

The sudden voice startled Innes, and he turned his bow towards the source.

Tana was startled and nearly fell off her mount, but Achaeus was so smart that he quickly regained his balance, and saved his rider.

“...Tana!? What are you doing here!?”

“I came with Eirika’s army! I’m here to protect you!” Tana swung her lance.

Innes’ face slowly turned pale. “Don’t be foolish! Stand down!”

“No, everyone else is fighting! I want to do what I can!”

“What can you do!? Stand down already!”

“No, I will not!”

The man with the scar on his face took a deep breath and shouted, “Sorry to butt in!”

The enemies who’d been taken aback by Tana’s appearance had once again begun to close in on them.

“But can’t it wait until later? If you’ve got time to chit-chat, you’ve got time to fight!”

"I apologize.” Innes nocked an arrow.

Every single enemy who stumbled into the range of Innes or any one in Eirika’s army fell, one-by-one.

Before long, they’d defeated all of the enemies currently within the vicinity of the fort.

Innes lowered his bow and turned back towards Eirika. “I am ashamed to have troubled you by making you come here.” He said in an admirable tone that was nothing like him.

“No, you don’t have to be for something like this… Anyway, who is he?” Eirika looked at the man with the scar she’d been curious about since she’d first arrived and noticed him.

Innes fixed his collar, which had become ruffled during the battle, and answered, “His name is Gerik. He is the commander of the mercenary group I hired.”

“Hey, you canceled our contract, remember?” The man laughed. Though he’d looked like a demon in combat, when he laughed, his face softened, and he seemed very kind.

“You… canceled it? But…” Eirika asked, however, Innes ignored her question and didn’t answer, as yet another person showed herself to them.

The person who came out from behind Gerik’s shadow was a beautiful woman wearing revealing clothing.

‘Why is she dressed like that on a battlefield?’ Eirika was in shock.

The woman gathered up the fabric draped around her and bowed deeply.

“This is Tethys, and one of the mercenaries. It is thanks to them that I was able to hold out until now.”

“Oh, my!” Tethys stepped back and turned towards Gerik. “Did you hear him? He said “thanks”! I never thought the prince could speak such modest words! Do you think he hit his head?”

“Hey now, don’t tease him too much!” Gerik frowned.

Perhaps because he was so embarrassed, Innes continued in a tone that was even more haughty than his usual one. “I am well aware of the fact that you two were very helpful during this battle, so I’d like to hire you again, if you’d agree to it. I’ll double your contract fee.”

Tethys clapped her hands together, and Gerik held back a laugh and nodded.

Innes’ expression twisted in all the anger it could muster, then he turned towards Tana once more. “Now, I will ask again. Why are you here, Tana?” He glared down at her.

She looked so miserable that it seemed as if her normal, energetic self was all an act. “I was worried about Eirika… and came with her. Then, while we were traveling to Rausten, your messenger arrived and told us that you’d been betrayed by Carcino as well… So I, um…”

“Does Father know?”

“...I left him a letter, so he’ll be okay…”

“Tana.” His voice was quiet, but cold.

Not only was Tana there, but everyone else had gathered around them.

“I’m so ashamed of you! Do you have any idea how much Father loves and worries about you!?”

“I do! But…”

“No buts! You better listen to me this time! First of all…”

He seemed to be preparing for a long lecture, but luckily for Tana, Vanessa and her pegasus arrived at the fort at that exact moment. She had been leading a group of soldiers in the battle on the south side of the fort.

“Lady Eirika! We are currently engaged in a difficult battle on the south side, and are requesting reinforcements!”

“Understood. We will leave immediately. Can you describe the enemy forces to me?”

“The unit is primarily made up of axe fighters and archers. While their numbers are not particularly great, there is an exceptionally skilled mercenary among them.”

“And they are?”

“She is a woman, but her swordsmanship is very sharp, and she’s more than willing to gamble her life on risky moves, so she’s too powerful for us to take down. She’s toying with all of us on her own.”

Eirika suggested to Innes and the mercenaries that they rest inside the fort, but Innes wouldn’t hear it. Gerik and Tethys both expressed their will to keep fighting as well.

When Vanessa quickly flew away, they all followed after her, and headed south.

There, a difficult battle was currently raging.

Forde put his hand over his forehead to see better and said, “Is that her? The skilled mercenary. She really is that strong… But she’s so beautiful!”

Eirika also watched how she fought.

Her long hair fluttered behind her, and she swung her sword while dashing around from left to right.

Some of the members of Eirika’s army were trying to surround her, but she was too fast, and they couldn’t keep up. Then, while they were confused, she would show them no mercy, taking them out in a single attack.

And Forde was right in calling her beautiful. Even from a distance, anyone could see that she had a pretty face. She showed no emotion, and she did not even twitch, as if her face was stuck. She appeared to derive no pleasure from the battle.

“Wait, Commander! Isn’t that…!?” Tethys said in a panic, and nudged Gerik from behind.

Gerik folded his arms and shouted, “...Hey, what are you doing!? Why are you with the Carcino Army if you didn’t see us there!?”

“Commander Gerik?” Eirika whirled around in surprise. “Do you know her? That mercenary?”

“Know her!? She’s Marisa! She’s one of us! Jeez… I’ll go talk to her.” Gerik quickly walked over to her.

She also noticed him, and lowered her sword. Her face was still expressionless.

“Hey, is that you, Marisa!?”

“Commander!”

“What are you doing!?”

“Fighting.” She answered simply.

“I can see that… But that’s not what I wanted to ask you. How were you hired by Carcino?”

“The same as always. By the guild.”

Gerik looked up at the sky. “What a mess. Is everyone there half asleep!? ...You see, Marisa, we’re all working as the Frelian prince’s guard right now. They must have messed up your assignment.”

“What should I do?”

“Even if you ask me that, I don’t know… If you quit in the middle of a job, it will damage your reputation. You might have no choice but to see it through. ...But even that is a problem. I don’t want us to have to kill each other.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I mean, I’d like it best if you came with us, but… That’s not really…”

“I understand.” Marisa turned around and pointed her blade at the Carcino soldiers that had been fighting with her. “Then I will betray them.”

Everyone from both Eirika’s army, and the shocked soldiers who had been guarding her, all took several steps back.

But the most surprised of them all was Gerik. “You’ll betray them…? Marisa, that’s not something you can just say! It’ll ruin your reputation!”

“I’m fine with that.” She truly was a woman without emotion.

When the Carcino Army lost the person they’d been relying on most, they fell apart in an instant. Eirika’s army used that momentum to reach their base and chase down the commander.

He was none other than Pablo of the Carcino elders. He was a coward with no backbone to see the battle through. The moment it finally became clear that his army would likely lose, he used his mercenaries as shields and fled.

Eirika’s army did not chase after him, as something far more important immediately came up.

Pablo had used a small village east of the fort as his base. After he ran off, an old man appeared from one of the houses on the edge of the town.

Though he was haggard, one could see how wise and refined he was in his facial features. The villagers led him out by the hand, then he kneeled before Eirika and Innes.

“You fought splendidly in battle, but what is most important is that you are uninjured.”

Eirika had never seen him before, so she tilted her head to the side.

The old man placed a hand on his chest and introduced himself. “Sorry for not introducing myself right away. I am one of the elders who rules over Carcino. My name is Kilmt.”

“Carcino’s…?”

Eirika and Innes’ faces hardened significantly, so Kilmt took a step back and bowed deeply. “Please wait. I have no intention of making you my enemies. Pablo is after my life as well.”

“...What do you mean?”

“It is a shameful tale.” Kilmt hung his head.

According to him, The Republic of Carcino was currently divided into two factions in an ongoing dispute. Kilmt was the leader of the moderate faction, who valued the republic’s alliance with Frelia, and wanted to keep things as they were. However, Pablo and the others of the second faction argued that it was not in Carcino’s best interest to fight against the powerful Grado Empire, and proposed they betray Frelia and turn over to Grado’s side.

Pablo and the others supporting him tried to bribe the moderate faction, but it did not go well. They were so impatient to reach their desired conclusion that they even resorted to assassinating the members of the moderate faction.

“...Many of those who share the same opinions as I have been killed. Pablo’s ultimate target is me. I just barely managed to flee the city and was being kept hidden in this village, but ironically, it is the very same village that Pablo and his men were using as their secret base… Until now, I’ve been hiding in the houses of the villagers who support me. If all of you had not shown up, they may have gotten to me too.”

At the end of his story, Eirika breathed a huge sigh of relief.

She now understood that not all of Carcino had betrayed them, rather, it was only the reckless choice of a single group. Though it put them in danger, there were those who supported Kilmt. The group of those who would not give into Grado no matter what was actually quite large.

But that didn’t mean they could feel at ease just yet. This loss had compromised Pablo’s position. He would surely be desperate to try to restore himself to it. If they continued on to Rausten now, there was a high chance that Pablo would violently try to sabotage them.

Kilmt could see how worried Eirika was, and said, “I think it would be best for all of you to return to Frelia for the time being. If you stay here, Pablo will likely hire even more mercenaries, and try to capture you. I intend to go to Frelia as well, and explain the situation to King Hayden.”

They knew that his proposal was a logical one. However, Eirika would not allow her mind to be changed.

They had no choice but to pass through Carcino to get to Rausten, and then Jehanna.

Even if they returned to Frelia to gather more troops, the main force of Frelia’s Army would still be with Ephraim, and it wouldn’t be possible to divide the troops further and have some come with them, no matter how important it was that they inform Rausten and Jehanna of the dangers threatening them as quickly as possible.

Eirika’s army parted ways with Kilmt, then gathered in the village square for the time being, where some simple benches were placed so the villagers could stop to relax. Everyone sat down, and they decided to discuss what they would do next.

The conversation continued on for a long time. Seth unsurprisingly suggested that they should be careful and return to Frelia.

However, Innes did not agree. He understood that it was reckless, but wanted to keep moving towards Jehanna.

Eirika did not want to turn back if it was possible. If they weren’t able to warn Rausten and Jehanna as quickly as possible, then it would only be to Grado’s benefit, and put Ephraim in even more danger as he marched further towards Grado territory...

However, they couldn’t seem to come to a conclusion. Once everyone had given their opinion, a heavy silence fell over the group.

Just then, they heard a cheeky boy’s voice say, “Hey, can I tell you something cool?”

Everyone looked up.

A skinny boy wearing a cape that was far too big for him was standing in front of them. Curiosity overflowed from his big, round eyes.

Was he perhaps one of the children who lived in the village?

“Go away.” Innes ordered him with a wave of his hand, but the boy did not take even one step back.

“You want to get to Jehanna, right? There’s a path through the mountains that leads there!” He seemed to have been listening in on their conversation. He spoke in a whisper, as if he was telling a secret.

“The mountains…? What are you talking about?” Eirika asked, not quite sure if she believed him.

A door to a tavern facing the plaza opened, and Tethys came running out and grabbed the boy by the arm. “Ewan, get back here! Don’t bother them while they’re talking about something so important!”

“I’m not bothering them!” He started flailing in resistance.

Tethys tightened her grip and bowed towards Eirika. “I’m so sorry! He can be so naughty sometimes! ...Now apologize to them!”

“I didn’t do anything to apologize for! I just wanted to tell them something that would help them…”

“That's enough! Now apologize!”

The boy hung his head in defiance.

Eirika noticed the similarities in their facial features, and that they had the same red hair and eyes as well. “Tethys! Is he your…?”

“He’s my little brother. I’m so sorry, I told him to wait quietly at home, but he came along with me…”

“I was worried ‘cause you’re all alone, so I came to see how you were doing!” He seemed to be displeased with being treated like a child, as his face twisted into a pout.

“Don’t be a smart mouth!” she scolded him, then started to drag him away.

However, Eirika stopped her. “Please wait! Is what you said true? That there’s a road through the mountains that leads to Jehanna…?”

“Uh-huh!” The boy puffed up his chest. He looked at Tethys triumphantly, as if to say “How about that?” then continued, “There’s a really tall mountain over there, see? Near the peak is a village called Caer Pelyn.”

He pointed east, where they could see a particularly tall peak among a large mountain range.

He was right about what direction Jehanna was in, but just the sight of the tall mountain made Eirika feel dizzy. “That means we’d really have to climb that mountain…?”

“Yup! All the other routes are no good. They’re sure to be under heavy watch. But that road should be safe! No outsiders ever come near Caer Pelyn.”

“Then that would make it very difficult for us to pass through…”

“You’ll be fine! My teacher lives up that mountain. If we tell him about our situation, he’s sure to show us the way to the village!”

“Your teacher?”

“He’s studying magic.” Tethys explained. “He looks up to mages, so he visited a renowned teacher, and pressured the teacher to accept him as a student. He’s a very strict teacher, so he probably thought he would chase off Ewan pretty quickly, but still agreed to teach Ewan for some reason…”

“It’s because he recognized my talents!”

“Don’t get full of yourself!” Tethys said and lightly hit her brother’s head.

He started rubbing the sore spot and said, “My teacher’s name is Saleh! He’s a famous sage!”

"Saleh…?" Innes muttered. “I’ve heard of him. He’s considered an exceptional spellcaster, and the greatest sage alive today…”

“Yeah, him! My teacher is such an amazing person!” The boy was as happy as if it was he himself who was being praised.

Eirika still had no idea what kind of person this Saleh was, but if Ewan was to be believed, she couldn’t imagine him to be a bad person. She asked Ewan, “Do you think he’ll let us meet him?”

“Of course! He’ll be sure to lend you his power if I ask him to! So, we can leave right away, right!? Follow me, everyone!”

He looked up at his sister and once again puffed out his chest. “See? I helped them, didn’t I?”

Tethys looked like she wanted to say something, but it was true that his suggestion was useful to Eirika and the others. “I suppose so.” She said with a forced smile, then hugged him.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #nintendo #gba #game boy advance #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

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paraclete0407 · 3 years

Text

Stuff I might never get to do (from books I read after I thought I had mastered the Bible / Scripture)

Theories of ‘political vision’ - ex. Obama’s ‘A Promised Land,’ or from someone I miss, UKPM David Cameron’s ‘For the Record.’ Also records of military careers and the consequences and lessons therefrom, particularly Gen., Prof. Stanley A. McChrystal’s ‘My Share of the Task’ - decades of one meal a day, utterly excellent love-letters and wisdom-writings to his wife, sweeping reports, culminating in the operation that ‘extrajudicially or para-judicially executed’ bin Laden. I also never forgot the NYTimes photo of the SEAL operator’s back-muscles. My giant Obama critique, however, was one of those ‘grandfather Hall of Presidents’ books that I want to postpone.

My mistakes and wishes. Ex. the woman I wanted to marry in early 2011; I had cut off my parents for 6 months and called one night my mom; she got really drunk that night, flirted with foreigners from [ultra-mercenary cram-school that hires anyone], got terrorized by [b/Black man of the type who clearly believes ‘As I am b/Black I know everything worth knowing and can terrorize, antagonize, demonize anyone and anything for the greater glory of my own ego / Chairman Mao]. Culminating in me in the ladies’ room telling her to get up and I told her so, going back to the pub-room and threatening the mercenaries, and finally being ‘mogged,’ masculinity-compromised or eclipsed / overpowered, by the man who was either her surrogate father-figure, rapist, seducee-turned-wrist-breaking-controller, no one really knew, and my ex-father-figure who however either a) failed to bait the trap properly and/or b) failed to communicate the true meaning and message and purpose of his love for me, to me. But, it was instrumental in blowing what was probably the best job I ever had, and the only job that ever asked me back.

After that I started honestly trying to live for either a) the younger generation b) ‘just me.’ I also made a number of hard or soft promises to students involving me writing stuff. Don’t say ‘will’ or ‘might’ to Koreans b/c it kind of spiritually translates in to ‘shall’ or ‘must’ or ‘has to.’ They’re the poor in spirit from what I can tell.

I also drove around California for a while, missed a job-offer from a Catholic university in [central Korean city], and thought a lot about F. Scott Fitzgerald. Studied Emmanuel ‘ethics-as-first-philosophy love-of-wisdom-converting-into-wisdom-of-love’ Levinas a bit, read ‘Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother’ and couldn’t sleep

Sundry ‘Teacher Dream(s).’ I’d been hoping in a way that ‘Free Food for Millionaires’ author Min Jin Lee, JD Yale etc, would put this all in her ‘American Hagwon’ but she’s been baking fancy cakes and writing offside / deflective lit. about Japanese gays for like 10 years while NK marched on in real life killing people and Koreans were also dying from numerous causes, running away from home, economically induced suicide, amazing shame- and rape-culture: cashing in. I remember my last night at the hagwon, a time of bonhomie, when I perhaps might’ve even said, ’Y’know, can I un-resign-in-protest?’ Boss, What’ll you miss most about Korea, Korean women?’ Me (playing the fool), ‘There are Korean women in America.’ Boss, (sforzando), ‘Gyopo women.’

My ‘best guess’ anyway at ‘edubusiness’ was sth I labored at off and on for now like 6 years called ‘Three Kings’ which is partly about a white ex-literary agent family named ‘Foch’ after the French Generalissime who actually won WW1, famous for his ‘moral factor’ theory of war as well as his remark, ‘This is not a peace but an armistice for 20 years. He makes 400,000 dollars in his 1st year of college by advising his roommate to publish his ‘freshman’ novel with an extreme ‘point,’ not worrying about winning every possible reader, just let me edit all the sign-post-phrases and tell you what I firmly believe you were trying to write, sell this novel for 2million dollars, marry the Korean girl across the hall, forget RU, cultivate life and love with your stylus, and I’ll continue to march on simultaneously trying to promote love while reading everyone and everything semi-against or [angle / thrust-vector to] their grain (for their own good). Later he starts a school with his two friends, an MD/PhD program dropout from LA and an MBA ex-Samsung Managing Director or something. But in the end his MD/PhD friend can’t stop thinking about [student’s] amazing breasts and [MBA] friend can’t stop hating and short-selling himself w/r/t marriage and self-regard b/c he’s stuck in the other-always-has-more-money-always-more-money-to-make mentality. In the end the protagonist resigns in protest from the company he himself designed, developed, planned, etc. but didn’t have the money to call his own after reaching the position of ‘Joint Department Head’ which is kind of like ‘Chief of Staff’ to a president at a much smaller scale. He’s a devout literal Christian or at least Christianist who wishes the world were Christian and he reflects in the end on the Longfellow poem about the Three Kings who ‘know King Herod’s hate’ and had to travel back to their homelands a different way. There is also a possibly-to-be-deleted ‘Interludio Meridiana’ where he happens across the molested constantly male-gazed student in Nonhyeon (a neighborhood South of the Han River but not at all like the PSY song), starts to hear Palestrina’s ‘Sicut Cervus’ (listen to it on YouTube - Palestrina’s polyphony philosophy is one of the crowns of human art) in his head, wanders down to the bus depot and finds that his thoughts / creativity etc. have become cathected, chained to, or at least led by memory, and he has joined a ‘chain of being’ that connects the past to the future.

‘Bethlehem Dream’ - kind of my homage to the forementioned Kim Minju of IZ*ONE, my last favorite pop-star before assuring Christian friend I’d stop following K-pop (I’m against BlackPink and their entire organization). Connects to all my dreams and theories of education - including my extreme disillusionment with education, and sympathy for anyone made the ‘beneficiary’ of the latest theory or tool - as well my homage to the school that most closely approximates my dream school, Prof,. Pastor, Dr. Chancellor John Piper’s Bethlehem College and Seminary in Minneapolis. And also, women’s desire to have children / babies, even without husbands, men’s desire to bear spiritual fruit with or without traditional fellowship.

Masculinity in novels. Not Norman Mailer Philip Roth stuff but novels that can lens reality from the top down and not get addicted to some or other cupidity or method of endearing / charming the audience, which often makes them stupider or causes them to regard hidden truth as an outright lie and/or triviality. MJL’s ‘Free Food for Millionaires’ was pretty masculine; better is billionaire Michael Kim’s ‘Offerings,’ a novel I wish I could teach someone only I can’t find a good student / reader and maybe I myself missed the point and only thought I got it.

Thinking quitting while ahead - I really don’t know whether adding to people’s minds and knowledge at this point in Time is good or whether writing amounts to feasting the already glutted, furnishing them further excuses for disbelief and inaction and alienating / dividing them from the hungry and poor. I like a song called ‘Love Song for No. 1.’ Remember talking about a walk in the woods I took, understanding something about the Other’s first language the authenticity of this language and its nativity to their understanding and ‘originary’ or ‘birth-mother’ identity or ‘self-system.’ Not something to tell your Anglo-but-ish-they-were-Teutonic biological parents because they will make like they want to backhand your head off then spend years denying they’re either racist, non-believers, or what I have come to call anti-believers; people who amid ‘Delta Covid Summer’ are trying to destroy the beliefs of others. Also Dr. R.C Sproul Ligonier Ministries, ‘Forgetfulness is apostasy.’

‘Flowers on Water.’ Kind of my homage to Krystal Jung Soojung of ‘hieroglyphic’ girl-group f(x) and later IMO excellent actress, her best moment perhaps the final episode of ‘My Lovely Girl,’ a shocking and awesome scene that appears to talk about Resurrection and Eternity. The protagonist is another cynical edubusinessman who is thinking about mass-death, getting mad at mainstream American Christianity for singing songs while people were drowning, and finally on Google Books comes across a teacher-poem from 1881 titled ‘Flowers,’ for a group of rather hapless seemingly American Indian students in California as well as critiques of educational praxis which, in 1881, were identical to what they are today. ‘God is sovereign in all things’ - such a difficult category. I abandoned this novel for a number of reasons such as the belief that I might be able to reverse-engineer Brad Thor or something for a quick buck. Went to Half Price Books (now closed) where they had a picture of the Jackson Five over the toilet in the men’s room. I read a bit of a one-dollar Brad Thor book about Russia but on the way on home I once started once again dreaming mytically about Korean girls / women as it began to snow and thinking about ‘Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming’ (’Es Ist Ein Rosentsprungen) the German Nativity song which Michael Praetorius composed at least in part in response to the appalling Reformation Wars and out of a hope or wish that remembrance of Christ’s birth could somehow reunite the Church. This also made me think about a high school I admire / respect and my old friend and his now-divorced wife with whom I many times fantasized about singing and talking with again; and whom I kind of wish I could tell the author of ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ remarried his first wife eventually but IDK what good it is to give already-dreaming people more dreams either.

It’s 9:35 AM and my ‘insomnia’ type notebook-postings haven’t made me any new friends in a while. My last thing is just, if you care about Education or young girls / American women / culture / schools, achievement, heroines, stories, or for that matter Bible-translation or the latter-day odysseys of the nominal Episcopalian Church, with trembling heart, try to reflect on Headmaster Josiah Bunting III’s ‘All Loves Excelling.’

One of my favorite Christian songs is ‘The Death of King David’

And God said that day shall dawn

to bring that flow’r newly born

from thy stem in fullness growing

in fragrance sweet night and morn

all My people shall adorn

with Breath of life bestowing

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years

Photo

(未定事件簿) 莫弈 SSR [—咫尺遠近] [Tears of Themis] Mo Yi SSR [Far and Close] Card Story Translations (Part 1)

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *In which Ran attempts awakening her Chinese brain after 5 years of disuse... * (y/n) is your name when in direct referral; otherwise referred to as MC.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Video Call

Location: Woods

The stark and harsh sunlight filtered down. I could feel the warmth it brought, despite closing my eyes to its brightness.

MC: How do you feel now, Zhu Man?

Zhu Man: ...I’ve not had such freedom in such a long time. Thank you for bringing me out for a walk, Miss Lawyer.

She stretched before turning around to apologise to me.

Zhu Man: The other me...must have had scared you earlier on today, right? I’m sorry…

She hung her head, hands moving to grip the hem of her hospital robes, not daring to meet my eyes.

MC: Don’t worry. I know that wasn’t you back there.

The girl in front of me was quiet and meek, almost as if the crazed countenance I saw back in the Trial Recording was of a completely different person.

Maybe they were two different people…?

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

MC: I’ve finished reading the novel documenting the crimes committed by people who suffer from Multiple Personality Disorder.

MC: Who would’ve thought that mental damage was capable of shattering a person’s mentality, once whole, into countless individual fragments…

Mo Yi: These individual fragments of the soul, or personalities, so to speak, are all trapped within the same material body.

MC: So that’s how such horrible incidents came to be.

Mo Yi: If one of the personalities were to commit a crime; does that mean that the rest of the personalities will also have to pay penance despite being innocent?

MC: In the novel’s ending, this question…

Mo Yi shook his head, cutting me off before I could finish my sentence.

Mo Yi: You don’t have to answer me. You’ll come to see the answer with your own eyes one day and ascertain for yourself.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Zhu Man: Miss Lawyer? Will you chat with me?

MC: Of course; anything.

I watched Zhu Man in front of me. She, who should have been leading a happy life, had gone crazy during the Military Ball and stabbed the man who had proposed to her with a knife.

There was evidence against her in the case which declared her guilty, but she was exempted from prosecution due to Lawyer Zuo’s defence. What made the defence pass was because of what she had been diagnosed with. Zhu Man was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. The violent personality of hers that had shown up during the day of the attack had claimed to be “her father”.

She may have escaped prosecution, but there might not be a future out there waiting for her anymore. Zhu Man may have to stay in this Mental Health Hospital for her entire life, never being able to leave the place.

Zhu Man: I...I have an older sister, but she left home together with my mother back when I was still small.

She appeared to be lost within her memories, for a vacant expression appeared on her face.

Zhu Man: My sister’s different from me. She doesn’t get beaten or yelled at by dad. She’s free, independent and also very warm.

Zhu Man: We’d always meet each other in secret and she’d take the time to patiently read to me, depicting sceneries that I’ve never seen before in my life.

Zhu Man: You resemble my sister a lot right now, Miss Lawyer.

MC: Me?

Zhu Man: You’re just like my sister. You’re both warm and independent. And you’re both willing to accompany me on walks like this…

Zhu Man: Could I call you Sister Sheng, if you don’t mind, Miss Lawyer?

MC: Uh…

Zhu Man: Oh...Sorry. This must be such a sudden thing to spring on you; please pretend that I didn’t say anything.

Zhu Man looked up at the sky, a lonely expression crossing her features once more.

Zhu Man: My sister loved roses...And that guy...he also had a big bouquet of roses when he proposed to me.

MC: And then?

Zhu Man: Red roses…

Zhu Man didn’t seem to catch my query, only ducking her head and muttering on and on by her lonesome.

MC: ...Zhu Man?

Zhu Man: Roses…

MC: Are you alright? Zhu Man??

I could only edge closer to Zhu Man, but she still didn’t respond. She finally raised her head after a long silence.

Zhu Man: Stay away from my Zhu Man!

Zhu Man whipped out a knife, having hidden it somewhere within her sleeves; its gleaming blade reflecting that of my panicked expression. The other party wielded a knife, whilst I only had my bare hands to my name.

Any reckless action was not going to be a good course for me.

I tried to reign in my panic, trying to appear calmer than I was inside. I didn’t want to tick off the Zhu Man in front of me right now.

MC: Who are you?

Zhu Man: Haven’t you already met me before?

MC: No, you’re not that personality. “He” will never be able to talk to me this calmly. Who exactly are you!?

Zhu Man: You don’t seem the least bit frightened at all...How interesting.

Zhu Man: Don’t you think it odd that THAT Mo Yi would allow you to go out for a walk with me without any supervision whatsoever?

MC: ……

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Two hours ago.

Location: Hospital Corridor

Mo Yi: Won’t making such an impromptu visit here put a hitch in your schedule?

MC: Not at all. I can’t miss this chance to meet the person who’s involved in this famous case. I’m grateful enough that you brought me here.

Mo Yi: You want to meet Zhu Man, but is it really Zuo Ran’s case you’re interested in? Or is it Zhu Man, herself?

MC: Both.

MC: That novel cannot fully represent the actual reality. Perhaps Zhu Man herself might have the answer to the question you asked me before.

Mo Yi: You’re really optimistic, and bold, might I add.

MC: Optimistic? Bold? Why do you say so?

Mo Yi: Because even if you take her other personalities out of the equation; Zhu Man is also a very dangerous individual herself.

Mo Yi narrowed his eyes, as if he saw through me and grasped my intentions.

MC: But...

I was just about to voice a retort when the alarm in the corridor flared to life.

MC: What’s happening?

Mo Yi: Come with me.

The emergency light of the ward right next to us lit up as I followed closely behind Mo Yi.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Hospital Room

Zhu Man: Why have you come?

Unlike the meek, quiet appearance she had in the photos, she was speaking to Mo Yi in a masculine tone of voice.

Mo Yi: She’s a lawyer; a colleague of Zuo Ran, who was your defendant back then. She’s here today for a review visit.

Zhu Man: A review visit? I know what you’re doing here! You’re the person my daughter, that swindling bitch, hired! Right!?

MC: Isn’t it a little too much to be referring to your daughter as a “Swindling bitch”...?

Zhu Man: I painstakingly raised her up and what did she do when it was time to return the favour? She upped and eloped away with a stinking bastard! So tell me, what is she, if not a swindling bitch!?

Mo Yi: That’s why you took things into your own hands and attacked Zhu Man’s boyfriend?

Mo Yi’s tone was level, almost as if he was talking about any ordinary topic out there.

Zhu Man: Like hell I did! Did you see me doing it?

Shu Man: Do you think I’d let myself be caged up here in this farce of a hospital after I killed her boyfriend? This is all because that stinking bastard went around telling everyone that I’d gone stark, raving mad!

MC: ……!?

MC: Didn’t you plead guilty? If so, then why are you denying it…?

He suddenly turned to me with a vehement glare.

Zhu Man: Who said I pleaded guilty? That’s all false accusations that the bastard called Zuo Ran cooked up! You’re his colleague, aren’t you? Get over here; I dare you!

Zhu Man suddenly rushed towards me.

Mo Yi: Watch out!

Mo Yi had suddenly raised his voice, an unusual act for someone like him. He rushed towards Zhu Man, deftly catching her wrist in his hand. There was no hint of the usual smile on his face, but the warmth he had in his soft golden eyes had significantly cooled as he faced Zhu Man.

Mo Yi: It’s very dangerous to be hiding a Fruit Knife in a place like this.

A thin, slender knife slid out of Zhu Man’s sleeve like a poisonous snake, clattering uselessly to the floor.

MC: A Fruit Knife…? How can this be!?

Zhu Man: Damnnit, this bastard has sharp eyes!

We probably held her up long enough, for the medical staff soon rushed in to subdue Zhu Man by injecting her with sedatives.

Mo Yi brought me out of the Hospital Room before Zhu Man had the chance to regain consciousness.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Hospital Corridor

MC: ……

“Zhu Man” wasn’t willing to admit that she was the killer, and it didn’t seem like she was acting either…

Mo Yi: Are you suspecting that that out-of-control personality of hers isn’t the real culprit?

MC: !?

Mo Yi angled his body sideways as he stood by me, seemingly interested in my answer.

⊳ Choice: Admit it.

MC: I just think that it’s a little strange. Why would “He” deny the crime? All evidence had pointed to him; he was clearly the culprit.

MC: Based on the verdict that had been made that year, Zhu Man herself was innocent...But “He” had caused irreparable damage to the victims.

MC: But that rage “He” had shown earlier didn’t seem to be anything resembling an act...Is there something else that’s being hidden from us?

Mo Yi: Your heart is one that’s pure and innocent. You see the best in people and paint the best pictures of them, especially so for people who are in a vulnerable position or state.

MC: ...Sorry. Lawyer Zuo also says that I often act impulsively on emotion.

Which may, perhaps be considered a shortcoming, for someone who’s a Lawyer. Haa…

Mo Yi: Naive, yet so very sharp.

MC: Sharp? You mean…!?

Mo Yi only nodded, having caught on to my train of thoughts.

Mo Yi: Indeed.

⊳ Choice: …… (Hide it)

If the personality that had snapped earlier wasn’t the true culprit, that means that there was an error in Zuo Ran and Mo Yi’s judgement.

MC: ……

No, that’s not possible. Even if Zhu Man was able to talk Zuo Ran over, that doesn’t mean that she’ll also be able to pull the wool over Mo Yi’s eyes.

MC: I just thought that the attitude of Zhu Man’s other personality was strange. Maybe I’m just overthinking things…

MC: Doctor Mo, did you come to this conclusion because Zhu Man’s showing signs of having other personalities present within her?

Mo Yi: There are doubts surrounding Zhu Man’s person.

Mo Yi: My diagnosis of Zhu Man was that she has Split Personality Disorder; but that’s not quite accurate. I cannot deny the possibility that there might be a 3rd, or even more personalities within her.

Mo Yi: In the face of hard evidence, Zuo Ran could only conclude that the culprit was none other than the other personality residing within Zhu Man.

MC: Will Zhu Man return her normal self after she awakens?

Mo Yi: Yes.

MC: Then...Will you allow me to meet with her again afterwards for a little chat?

Mo Yi: And you’re not afraid that Zhu Man might lose control and assault you again?

MC: Of course I am. Not to mention that “He” seems to have something against women...

MC: However, she was injected with a sedative so she wouldn’t be able to hurt me for the time being, right? It’s a good opportunity.

Mo Yi: Seems like I won’t be able to convince you otherwise.

Mo Yi: You can see Zhu Man alone, but you have to make sure to keep a safe distance away.

Mo Yi hesitated for a moment before he pointed a finger in the opposing direction.

Mo Yi: I’m going to head over there and check out all of Zhu Man’s recent Medical Reports. Make sure to call for me, if you feel like you’re in any danger at all.

MC: Yes! I will.

I managed to meet Zhu Man again, just as I wished. And the real Zhu Man had then asked for me to bring her out on a walk in a small, timid voice. I shot a message to Mo Yi, asking him for his opinion about it before taking her out to the small woods behind the hospital. Everything was fine;

Until――

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Woods

Zhu Man: Don’t you think it odd that THAT Mo Yi would allow you to go out for a walk with me without any supervision whatsoever?

MC: ……

MC: I was the one who brought up the idea of being alone together with you. Are you trying to mess with my feelings; trying to make me afraid of you!?

Zhu Man: Heh, you’re not too stupid. But whatever of it? There’ll be no one coming to save you.

Zhu Man: (y/n), you’re not even worthy of the title, yet you dare make Xiao Man call you sister…?

“Zhu Man” spoke with a light tone, so subtle that it was almost akin to the hiss of a venemous snake. Grasping the knife, she advanced closer to me; step-by-step.

MC: What do you intend to do!?

Zhu Man: What do I intend to do? Haha...Warm, independent...those are terms used only to describe me. What right do you have to steal them away from me?

Zhu Man: How about you stay a little quieter, now that we’ve come to an understanding? I’ll wrap it up much better than the last one…

MC: ...Last time?

MC: ...You’re the real killer who killed Zhu Man’s boyfriend!

Zhu Man: Silence! What’s so great about that man!? He’s only going to hurt my Xiao Man in the end. I only wish for her happiness.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Woods

Zhu Man: I helped rid her of that drunkard! The drunkard she called father! She finally got a new beginning that she went through thick and thin for…

Zhu Man: That man...He was in contact with other women when he was with Xiao Man. Even when he proposed...He’s not worthy to be together with her!

Zhu Man: Xiao Man had originally forgotten all of these; she could spend a life of peace here, where there wouldn’t be anyone around to hurt her…

Zhu Man: Why did you make her remember? Even more so, you wish to steal my position of being her sister!?

MC: I’ve never thought of stealing your position.

Zhu Man: Shut up!

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

A gleaming blade speeded towards me as Zhu Man gave a frenzied cry. All I could see before my eyes was the gleaming silver of the blade as it made contact and the crimson red that appeared out of the blue. I watched as thin thread and droplets of blood fell.

The alarming panic I felt made the moment feel like an infinity, and I could feel my blood freeze at the scene before me.

MC: Mo Yi!!

Mo Yi’s sudden appearance was like a single ray of warmth cutting through the ice; and I could feel life return back to my frozen self.

I had relaxed a little at his presence, only until his injured arm came into my field of vision.

MC: Your arm…!

There was a terrible gash the arm he had raised in defence against Zhu Man’s attack. Bright crimson blood gushed from the wound and fell to the ground.

Mo Yi: Don’t worry.

He stood in front of me, separating me from the now crazed Zhu Man.

Mo Yi: Rather than this…

Mo Yi’s gaze landed on Zhu Man.

Zhu Man: I’m the only one in this world who best understands Xiao Man. Why do all of you wish to separate us so!?

Zhu Man: Everyone out there wishes to harm her...I’m the only one who’ll protect her! I want to be together with Xiao Man, forever; for eternity!!

MC: She’s the real culprit...She’s Zhu Man’s third personality!

Mo Yi: Let’s talk about this later. Just make sure to protect yourself now.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Mo Yi caught onto Zhu Man’s knife-wielding hand, his actions far more agile than I’d imagined him capable of.

The moment he had managed to seize the knife from her, he aimed for the back of her neck, jabbing her with the thin needle he had concealed in his right hand. Zhu Man struggled to open her eyelids twice as the transparent reagent was being injected into her body, before eventually falling limply to the ground.

MC: …………

Mo Yi: Zhu Man thought you resembled her older sister, which in turn, severely triggered the third personality within her.

Mo Yi: Zhu Man’s third personality is monopolizing; She was not willing to let anyone else be the apple of Zhu Man’s eye. Hence, she turned against you with killing intent.

Mo Yi: There would have been a repeat of the incident three years ago, had she managed to succeed.

Mo Yi: The third personality will return to slumber, making the second personality, in other words, the violent personality, bear all charges.

Mo Yi: No matter what the outcome may be, neither her nor Zhu Man will be able to be convicted by law.

Mo Yi calmly explained it all to me, seemingly having concluded the truth behind this entire incident in a short amount of time.

MC: Does Zhu Man know anything about what her other personalities have done?

Mo Yi: The personality change itself is similar to a switch; the main person and their sub-personalities do not share the same memories.

MC: So that’s how it is…

MC: Oh, yes. What are you doing here, Doctor Mo?

Mo Yi: I was a little uneasy so I rushed here as soon as I finished going through Zhu Man’s Medical Reports.

MC: ……

MC: Wait a minute! The wound on your hand’s still bleeding; we should treat it immediately!

Mo Yi: Wound?

He lifted his hand and blinked at his open wound.

Mo Yi: No matter; it only looks bad.

Mo Yi: I know quite a bit about surgery too since I’ve learnt about it. You don’t have to worry; she didn’t get me in any vital areas.

Mo Yi: This works out just fine. We have to wait for a while before the nurse comes to fetch Zhu Man back inside so there’s enough time for the bleeding to stop itself.

MC: ...You should hurry and tend to that wound of yours. One person’s enough to stand watch around here.

Mo Yi: You’ve faced danger precisely because I wasn’t with you. Therefore, I won’t let you be anywhere near Zhu Man alone again.

MC: I…

It was my decision that had caused all of this. All of this, just because I wanted to talk to Zhu Man…

I couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable, the more I looked at Mo Yi’s blood-stained sleeve.

MC: Doctor Mo, will you let me help bandage it at least?

───⋅𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊…⋆⋅☆

#Tears of Themis #Mo Yi #Translations #Otome #Mihoyo #未定事件簿 #莫弈 #—咫尺遠近 #Far and Close #Tears of a Psychiatrist

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

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Someone flirts/asks them out in front of you!: Ezio,Jacob,Arno.

Ezio (Modern AU):

The school had hired a new secretary, [S/n] she was cute, tall, redhead,... And thirsty as hell for Ezio and she wasn't subtle about it! Students and staff alike would noticed and watch her flirt with every chance she got. Example: unbuttoning her blouse to flash her bra, 'accidentally' dropping something and bending down to pick it up, while giving her ass a little wiggle and would peek over her shoulder to see Ezio was watching?

He wasn't he was busy checking over his lesson plan, When that didn't work, she boldly pressed her tits as against his back as she wrapped her arms around his bicep, only for the Italian man to tense up and pull out of her hold, she pouted as he told her the 'no touching during school hours' rule and would like to keep his job thank-you.

Now you think the kids or the staff would step in and tell S/n that Mr. Auditore was spoken for, But she was a grade 'A' B*tch to people when he wasn't around. putting people down, talking about them behind their backs and straight up bullying the kids.

Then S/n saw Ezio leaving for the day, Now was her chance! she ran over to him about to call out, only to back-peddle and sneer in disdain when she saw Y/n with him...

why would someone like Ezio talk to some mouse like Y/n? She decided not to dwell on it, Y/n was plain and S/n was beautiful as if he'll refuse her! she thought smugly.

"Ezio!~, So this is where you've been hiding.~"

"Hello, S/n what I can do for you."

"Oh, what can't you do for me?~" She purred caressing his arm, Ezio looks every uncomfortable, but S/n hadn't noticed as she bit her lip, picturing just what he'd be like in bed. "Maybe you can show me, after dinner perhaps?" She purred eyeing him hungrily.

"Sorry, but he has plans tonight." Y/n's voice cut in sternly S/n pulled away the Italian and glaring daggers at the y/ht woman. "Oh, really and just how do you know that?" the redhead hissed venomously.

"Cuz I'm the one who made them." Y/n barked back with equal animosity, S/n snorted and looked at some spectators like 'do you believe this crap?' And was going to voice that thought! until one of the girl's shouted "You tell her Mrs. Auditore! Fight for yo man!" that's when S/n pulled her head out of her ass long enough noticed the wedding ring on Ezio's raised his hand as he waved the kids off.

"No,no there will be no fighting! Go home." he ordered the students to go home the kids murmured disappointed that there wasn't going to be a cat-fight as Ezio turned to the bemused secretary. "And you, se non vuoi fotterti così tanto, fottiti, cagna!" he huffed annoyed as the redhead raised a drawn on brow obviously not understanding.

"He said if you wan't to f*ck something so badly, Just f*ck yourself bitch!" Y/n translated and high-fives her husband, S/n gawked at the couple in disbelief as they got into their car and drove off, before letting out this pterodactyl like screech. She quit the next day.

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Jacob [modern au] (Jacob runs a gym called Rooks: Fitness and self-defense.):

"She's not here for just fitness training you know.." Evie said to her sister-in law while they observed the new gym members from the front desk. "Who's not just here for the fitness?" Y/n asked cocking a brow curiously, and briefly wondering if someone signed for the defense package and she'd mislabeled them! Her husband had her on desk duty now that she was in her second trimester for their second child, (your son was at school.)

"that brunette girl in purple, apparently she's just smitten with that thick headed oaf of ours." She explained to the y/hc woman hummed not even surprised, this wouldn't be the first time a woman or man joined the gym with the intention of bedding Jacob, they of course they usually backed off once they figured out he was married and wasn't budging from Y/n.

Well, except for that one man who stalked them and desperately tried to coax the couple into having a threesome with him, He was like 50, smelled like sardines and looked like a gargoyle! He threw a big toddler level tantrum; stomping his feet, screaming and name calling, when they told him that he had to leave, he threw a metal sports bottle at Y/n which broke her nose! Needless to say that guy left the gym in an ambulance with three cracked ribs, two black eyes a broken jaw.

Y/n was brought out of her thoughts by a beeping she looked down at the monitor call from training room 4. "Excuse me Evie, Jacob asking for water." She said pulling a water bottle out of the fridge, and heading to the room. When she got there Y/n could hear [purple girl/PG] talking with Jacob they were using the weights if hearing correctly, and the brunette made no effort trying to hide she was flirting with the British man hard.

Every time she tried steer him to details about himself or asked for his number he'd say. "You've got enough details, You've already got the gym number." Basically shooting her down everytime, but she wasn't taking the hint.

Y/n knocked and walked in Jacob's eyes lit up the second he saw her. "Hey there darlin.~" Jacob purred in an instant Y/n watched P/G's face sour as her husband pulled away from the weight machine turning his attention on her. "Hi Jacob." the y/ht woman smiled shyly as her husband moved closer to her.

His body was radiating heat like furnace a welcoming feeling to the pregnant woman; the AC upfront was on full blast so Y/n was freezing her arse off! It took everything she had not to hug and leech off of Jacob who was pretty much oblivious to P/G getting irate as he playfully chatted with his wife. "How goes manning the front?" he mused and before Y/n could even answer.

"Why are you even talking to that cow Jacob, her hair so obviously fake!" P/g's voice rudely cut in jealousy evident in her tone. After a few seconds of silence, Jacob scrutinized the brunette who was giving his wife a nasty look. "Really now? It certainly didn't look fake last night or when she gave birth to my son." he quipped it took a split-second for the brunette to register what the British man had said, her face turned maroon before grabbing her things and leaving in a huff.

The couple watched her leave not even fazed.

"That was what, the third one this month?" Jacob asked pulling Y/n close to him noticing she was shivering, the y/nat woman paused thinking it over. "hmm, The Fifth. four was that blond dude who asked me who the daddy was?" the hazel eyed hummed remembering now, whilst gently rubbing her belly. "one and two just gave up and started dating each other..."she trailed off trying to recall the third person.

"and number three didn't even make through the front door, she walked in saw us kissing did a U-turn and left." she felt Jacob chuckle against her back they walked back to the front desk, Where Evie was sitting she said P/G cancelled her membership before leaving and was absolutely livid. Her brother and SIL just shrugged "Hey she was the one wouldn't take the hint." Jacob said his sister just rolled her eyes and the three went back to work.

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Arno Dorian : [Takes place before they had a kid.]

Y/n was getting sick her throat was sore meaning she was unable to sing for a while, so Arno had to hire a temporary stand in for his wife. {Temp's name: T/n] she was spoiled, had raven hair, was pretty and had blue eyes... And oh, boy did did the others see the dollar signs in the young lady's eyes the second she stepped foot in the cafe and noticed Arno, it was obvious she took this job because she saw Arno was young, attractive and had money. All the attributes a gold-digger looks for in a man.

But what the ravenette didn't know was that Arno was already spoken for, His and Y/n's marriage wasn't exactly common knowledge only a few selection of friends knew including his employees. But none of them had bothered telling [T/n] assuming Arno already told her of his marital status and the french man assumed they told her.

Needless to say T/n laid the flirting and attention seeking on thick, she would always act super sweet and flirty when Arno was around, tried to drag his attention away from the other female staff and customers, The blue eyed vixen tried to convince the brown haired man to take special practice sessions with her too help her improve her melody. Unfortunately for her Arno too busy with his other job and he also knew little to nothing about singing, according to those around him. ""Monsieur Dorian you are man of many talents... But singing is not one of them."" She didn't let that deter her as far as T/n was concern, she and Arno were already together he just didn't know it yet.

[Unbeknownst to Arno, Y/n would secretly leaving their room while he was busy or out doing assassin contracts, She wanted to see how things were going with T/n and if any of her fans was giving the younger girl trouble, what she saw was the opposite, It became quite clear what the ravenette was a spoiled brat whose never been told "no" before, nor had she ever lifted a finger to help around the cafe. and to make matters worse it was quite clear T/n was fishing for a husband and it was obvious she had her eyes set on Arno, luckily he was too worried over Y/n's health and his other work to care.]

Arno was gone for a few days and T/n decided to boss everyone around make them redecorate and cook for her and her friends, of course no one did anything she told them to do! It was like they didn't realize who she was? She was to be Mrs. Dorian one day, and and they best remember that! she snarked at one of the cooks who looked at her like she'd grown three heads.

"Oh Little girl, You are many things. But Madame Dorian you are not." the old man barked before pointing behind her "that's Madame Dorian." he stated T/n nose scrunched up as she whirled around to see a sickly looking Y/nat woman coming down the stairs she Y/ht &Y/wt and had Y/hl/hc hair and wary Y/ec, T/n was confused qui était cette garce? and why was she coming from Her Arno's apartment?!

The ravenette made her way over to this, this...Harlot! with the intention of throwing her out and giving her piece of her mind! How dare she sneak into her cafe! when Arno's voice cut in.

"Y/n! what are you doing out of bed?" the french man said fretfully rushing over to the y/ht woman who was looking around confused. "I heard yelling, and someone calling me so I came to see..." She said as Arno checked her temperature and sighed before noticing T/n staring at them gobsmacked.

The brown haired man frowned. "T/n? go back upfront you're not allowed back here." he informed as the confused ravenette snapped out of her stupor and pointed an accusatory finger at Y/n "You let that in!!" She shrieked as Arno pushed the Y/hc behind him. " Her name is Y/n, She's my wife and can go where she pleases..." he hissed venomously the young woman jaw tightened. "What do you mean she's your wife?!?!" T/n was frothing at the mouth declaring Arno was hers.

"Mine,Mine Mine!!!" she whined throwing a tantrum and like a child denied a new toy, next thing they knew *Slap* T/n stopped screaming and now held onto her now sore cheek as a stony faced Y/n stood before her. "Stop acting like a brat! You're an adult for Christ's sake!" The y/nat woman said sternly as the ravenette gawked at her before glancing at Arno who had the same cold look as his wife.

"Don't look at him, he's not going to help you!"

"*starts crying crocodile tears*"

"Crying won't help either!" Y/n crossed her arms as the ravenette realized no one was falling for her tricks as the y/ht woman kept her gaze on her. "Now you going swallow what little dignity you have left, and your going tell friends to pay for their meals and to leave," T/n opened her mouth to protest but Y/n cut her off.

"Than you're going apologize to the staff."

"I don't have to take this! you can't boss me!"

T/n snapped Y/n turned to Arno with a cock brow he shrugged. "You're fired." he said nonchalantly as the ravenette gaped at Arno like a fish, before realizing he wasn't joking! the blue eyed girl turned a nice shade of purple and stomped out of the kitchen screeching at her friends that they were leaving!

Her friends who hadn't finished their food looked at her confused before Arno snapped they weren't going anywhere until they paid, Which one of them said something about T/n being engaged to the owner and he was paying for it. "Funny because I don't remember making such a deal, nor do I remember proposing..." He sneered at the audacity this woman.

They all paled and stammered about leaving their coin-purses at home before looking at annoyed T/n the ravenette blanched realizing she didn't have the money to pay for all of it she spent it all, the situation was eventually settled as Y/n sent one of their wait staff to go fetch T/n's father who was livid and embarrassed by his daughter's behavior and basically lat her have it it was the last straw!

She's was going to her aunt's farm to learn an honest days work and some discipline! as T/n kept her head down as he drag her out of the cafe. Causing Arno and Y/n to burst out laughing a few minutes later in disbelief that this seriously happened.

"Oh by the way I'm pregnant." Y/n chirped before disappearing up the stairs Arno who was still laughing at the whole situation didn't even register what his wife had just told. "Your pregnant!" He chortled then slowly his laughter died down and his expression changed to bemusement then shock. "Your preg..pr.Pregnant?!" He stammered got up from his chair nearly tripping on his feet as he ran up the stairs calling her name.

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Translation : qui était cette garce? = Who is this bitch?

#assassin's creed x reader #arno dorian x reader #jacob frye x reader #Ezio auditore x reader #assassin's creed syndicate #assassin's creed unity #assassin's creed 2 #assassin's creed imagine

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